Elijah took the hallway to the right, jogging down the corridor and keeping his eyes peeled for any dangers. As he weaved past the disheveled baggage carts, he slowed down and started poring through their contents, searching for any sign of food in case surviving on the island became a priority. It was one of the first things he learned about when it came to thriving in the apocalypse, his knowledge coming from a combination of reality TV shows and the occasional internet search. In one suitcase in particular, he happened to find a single granola bar. It wasn't much, but on the grand scale, it was a start.

He eventually reached the end of the corridor, which opened out into a wide area with elevators on both sides. At the end of the area, there was a single person swaying back and forth near an open door, seemingly out of the way. Staying as silent as possible, he tiptoed his way toward an elevator, splaying his fingers over the button panel and feeling around for the down button. Once found, he pressed it firmly, waiting for a ring of light to encircle it, but no light came. Elijah began tapping the button repeatedly when a speaker crackled to life overhead, followed by voice shrouded in nervousness and fear:
[center][color=papayawhip][h3][sub][sub][i]”Hello? Anyone? If anyone can hear me, please, make your way to the security control room. It’s safe here! Don’t bother with the elevators, they’re all out. Look for fire escapes and the stairwells. Use the stairs or fire exits to make your way to the basement! The basement! If anyone’s there, come to the security control room...”[/i][/sub][/sub][/h3][/color][/center]

[color=darkkhaki]"Shit,"[/color] Elijah exclaimed as he stared at the speaker, dropping his arm away from the button. Nearby, the person stumbled closer, arms outstretched. The noise in the speaker seemed to draw them away from the door and towards Elijah, who now white-knuckled the lamp body in his hand. He cautiously backed up and raised the lamp above his head, aligning its solid square base with his intended target's head. For all intents and purposes, Elijah could conclude that this was, in fact, a zombie, and so while he felt a bit uneasy, he knew he could do what was necessary.

And so, he swung.

Past the open door, he found a stairwell. After roughly a few minutes of descending, he stopped to catch his breath, still reeling from the moment. He pressed his back to the wall and slid down its surface until he sat upon the floor, his head feeling light. Beside him, the blood-soaked lamp still had a piece of flesh and brain matter stuck to one of its edges. The smell of blood permeated Elijah's senses, and he hated every moment. He could smell it in the spatter on his shirt, the streaks on his hands, the spray on his face. It covered him, invaded him, debilitated him. He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself, taking deep breaths and trying to forgo the horrid scent. Though it took longer than he wished, he got himself under control and pulled himself to his feet. As his eyes darted around the stairwell, he caught a glimpse of a large, orange sign painted upon the wall, telling him what floor he was on. The second floor was just a couple flights of stairs away.

Clutching the railing, he carefully began the descent once more.