Between bursts of crack crack pop, when the air is still, the dust falls and settles in the pools of lamp oil on the particle board floors. The room - the vault - is air tight. We put on our masks anyhow. I wonder if there be enough masks for everyone and I am mentally counting people. Some aren’t here. The masks don’t fit the children no matter how tight the straps. The children are all crying because they don’t want to wear masks. He slams the door which only opens from the outside. Don't move until you see God, he says.