I stepped inside. The air smelled of floor wax and stale sweat. Row after row of gray metal lockers stood in uniform silence. In the middle of the third aisle, resting against the damp tile floor, was a blue canvas harness.
I stopped breathing.
I walked slowly toward it, dropping to my knees. It was Leo’s pack. The main hose was completely detached from the primary valve, venting precious, concentrated oxygen into the empty room.
My hands shook as I reached for the harness. The thick nylon chest strap hadn't been unbuckled. It had been sheared at the seam, the heavy stitching torn by violent force. The plastic casing of the concentrator was cracked near the battery housing, proving it had hit the floor with immense weight behind it.
"Leo?" I yelled, the panic finally breaking through my throat.