Marco had to haul ass to make it to the senator’s office on time. He’d been hauling ass all afternoon—running shower materials from the HomeMart to the garage, sneaking off whenever possible to scout stockrooms as potential hiding places—and he was feeling ragged around the edges. With having to fit in this little meeting, he’d have to skip dinner entirely to move Mike and the others to the back of the bowling alley before evening check-in at six.
It was a kind of brilliant idea. The bowling alley wasn’t currently in use, so Marco had been able to explore it without interruption. There was a storage room for mechanical stuff and extra chairs in the very back that connected via a door to a narrow walkway behind the pin-setting machines. Mike and the others could hide in the storage room, and if anyone came knocking, could sneak onto the walkway until the coast was clear. Even better, there was a food storage room next to the room where Marco planned to shove Mike, and the food people hadn’t cleared it out yet, meaning Marco didn’t have to worry about dinner for the douches. Finally, the storage room was opposite the door to the fire stairwell, meaning should Marco ever have a problem, the douches were easily reached.
The only string left dangling was Ryan. He was nowhere Marco had figured him to be: not the climbing place in Shep’s, not hiding out in the men’s dorm, not in the med center looking around for Shay (Ryan didn’t know she’d been transferred). So in addition to moving the douches, he had to sniff out the one who’d gotten away or risk Mike taking on the task and getting locked up by security.
“Marco Carvajal to see the senator,” he told the guard behind the glass.
The guy nodded and buzzed him in.
The offices were more crowded than they had been yesterday. Regular people in sweats and T-shirts sat filing paperwork into binders. In the computer room, four people sat at terminals typing. There were only two security guards in the place: the guy manning the front desk and the guy in the camera feed room.
The senator was chatting on what appeared to be a giant cell phone. “I’m glad the house arrest program has isolated any potentially infected people, but that really doesn’t do me any good in here. I need information. Have the antivirals had any effect?”
Marco held off on knocking.
The senator dropped her head into her hands. Her shoulders heaved, then she lifted her face, which was again all business. “Let me know if anything changes.” She laid the phone on her desk.
Marco lurked in the doorway. What did it mean that antivirals had no effect? Who was being held on house arrest? Had they found the person who planted the bomb?
“Should I come back?” he offered.
The senator didn’t even glance up. “I know you heard me,” she said, “so let me explain. The government, on my husband’s suggestion, scanned all the security footage of the parking lots and exits to identify anyone who may have been exposed to the virus, but got out of the mall before the quarantine. The government has put them on house arrest. Second, the CDC has been testing antivirals to see if anything can be done to help us, and have so far come up with zip. Now you.” She leaned toward him and pointed at her chair. “Was it your friends who led the little hallway romp my security team corralled last night? I saw your name on the list of those captured.”
“I have no friends, so no,” Marco said. “I can, however, guarantee for you that the individuals you asked me to monitor were not involved in the ‘hallway romp.’ They spent the night in the parking garage closet I left them in.” Marco recalled their state of inebriation from earlier this morning—they were barely capable of speech, let alone romping.
“Aren’t we serious?” The senator smiled creepily. She reached into her drawer and pulled out something. She slid it across the desk. It was a granola bar. “Do you like these? They hurt my teeth.”
Marco snatched the bar and nearly ate the wrapper, he was so hungry. It took him a few seconds to recover from the animal ferocity of his hunger to realize he should thank the woman. “Thunk oo,” he managed.
“I’m not your enemy, Marco,” she said. “I am trying to save lives here.” She leaned back in her chair. “I am interested to hear your suggestions for how to manage this nighttime restlessness among certain mall residents.”
“Why are you asking me?” Marco wiped the crumbs from his mouth on the back of his hand to appear slightly more professional.
“Because you were out in the halls last night. Why were you running around? Checking on the individuals I asked you to monitor?”
Marco wondered if telling her about Shay would be a good idea. Would she help him hide her? No, of course not. The senator thought her Home Store plan was the safest thing going. Of course, she hadn’t had to sleep in one of them.
He cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said. “I checked in with them. Then I got busted by security.”
“So the report that you were in the back of the JCPenney with my daughter is a lie?”
CRAPcrapcrapcrap . . . “I was exploring.” Lamest lie ever—check.
“My daughter?”
CRAPCRAPCRAP! “The mall. The hallways. I ran into her by accident. I didn’t do anything!”
The senator smirked. “Let’s assume for the moment that I believe you. Most of the people caught by security were caught in compromising states of undress with members of the opposite sex. Or simply running around in the dark like idiots. I sense that these individuals are not thrilled with my curfew or my notions of how to prevent the spread of contagion. As a result, I’m thinking of opening the bowling alley to these kids until midnight and having the place supervised to prevent as much contact as possible. What do you think?”
This was a terrible idea. Not only did this obliterate his entire plan for where to store Mike & Co., but from the looks of the assholes in the PaperClips this morning, a chaperoned event in a bowling alley was not their idea of a good time.
“That idea sucks,” he blurted, then reconsidered his approach. “I mean, it’s not going to work. The people in the hallways last night didn’t seem like the types that go to school dances.”
“You have another idea?”
“They just want to fool around and get loaded. Give them a dark room and a keg and let them go at it.”
“And the flu?”
Marco shrugged. “You can’t save everyone.”
The senator rubbed her temples. “I can’t believe I’m even considering this.”
Marco could not believe it either.
“Okay,” she said, dropping her hands on the table. “I will give you your keg and until midnight to have your party. You spread the word that you’re running this thing—I can’t be involved. But you tell me where it’s going to be. I’m going to have security raid the party at midnight and shut it down.”
Marco’s brain seized up at the mention of “your party.” Marco had never thrown a party before. Ever. He, in fact, had never consumed alcohol. The last party he’d attended was a fifth-grade pool party and he’d gotten almost drowned on purpose by a bunch of assholes. Why would the senator think it a good idea to put him in charge of this?
No, the person to host a party was Mike Richter. He threw all the good parties at West Nyack. But Mike wanted to stay hidden. He would never agree to host a party in this place. And even if Marco sold him on the idea, how could Marco cover up the fact that he was doing this on behalf of the senator?
But then he recalled Drew’s request—more booze and girls. What if he had the senator put this keg in the storage room and just casually mentioned to the Douche Squad that he’d heard there was going to be a party there? Drew at least might want to check it out and then Marco would have half of his team of bodyguards with him in case things went south.
“Leave a keg in the bowling alley,” he said, finally. “Tell security to invade the mechanical storage room.”
The senator nodded as she said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She waved him out.
Marco stood. He was sweating all over. So he’d have to find a new hiding place for Mike. He could do that. Also, he’d have to talk to his peers to invite them to this party, wouldn’t he? A potentially awful interaction, but he could survive it. And running a kind of double bluff where Mike didn’t know the party was rigged or that Marco was its host? No problem. Or, manageable problem. I hope.
• • •
Lexi had about reached her limit on helpful daughter stuff. She’d spent all morning logging degenerates, and all afternoon setting up a CB call center in the old Silver Screen store so that people on the inside could communicate with family on the outside. Now, instead of being able to catch up with Maddie and Ginger before dinner, she was being called in by her mother again to handle something that some other person surely could manage. She didn’t even need to know what her mother wanted done. Whatever it was, someone else could do it. This was total child abuse. Were there any other authority besides her mother, Lexi would have totally ratted her out to them.
She stepped off the escalator nearest the offices and nearly ran into Marco. Of all the escalators in this mall, he’s at the top of mine . . .
“It’s you again,” he said, flustered.
“Me again,” Lexi said, not sure if he was happy. Not sure about the exact implication of again. She didn’t want him to go. “Sorry about last night,” she sputtered. “And this morning.”
“Not your fault I got busted,” he said.
“It’s a little my fault.”
He looked at his iPod. “I should go.”
“Wait,” she said. “I need your help.”
He raised an eyebrow. “The daughter of the leader of this mall needs my help?”
Lexi was all nerves—yes, she wanted to tell him about the bodies, but her mother would kill her if she found out; then again, her mother was being kind of a jerk about the whole bodies thing anyway (weren’t there not going to be any more secrets between them?)—and so she just blurted it out: “I think my mother’s hiding dead bodies.”
Marco stepped closer. “How am I supposed to help you with that?”
“I thought maybe, you know, tonight, we could, maybe, meet, and, you know, look for them?”
“Why would I want to find dead bodies?”
He had her on that one. “It’s a mystery?” Lexi said, trying out the concept. “There were some bodies in a freezer in the Pancake Palace, and now they’re gone. I want to know what happened to them.”
He glanced over his shoulder, then walked to a corner. Lexi followed.
Marco leaned in toward her. “Do you think the government’s taking them out? Like there’s some exit still open?” His breath tickled her hair. Her skin sizzled.
“No,” she said, but he pulled away at the word, so she corrected herself. “I mean, maybe. We could find out together.” She put on her charming smile, or the smile she thought looked most charming. She was so not good at this.
Marco was looking past her, so she turned her head to see what he was staring at. It was the ice-skating rink. Which was closed. There was a little printed sign on the door: COOLANT FAILURE. CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Marco said, glancing at her.
“It would be the perfect place to hide them.” Lexi couldn’t help noticing how close they were. She could feel the pull of his body like gravity.
He held out his hand. “I’ll meet you in your office after Lights Out.”
Lexi slid her hand into his. “See you then.” His hand felt kind of sweaty as he gave hers a shake. It wasn’t sexy, but at least they were touching. She liked the touching.
He dropped her hand and trotted away, leaving Lexi in a state of minor meltdown. She had a date. To find dead bodies, fine, but whatever. She was meeting him again. It took her a full minute to remember why she’d even come to the third floor. Refitting the armor of snark she always favored when meeting her mother, Lexi tromped up to the office door and asked to be let in.
Three plastic trays of frozen dinner—not reconstituted freeze-dried slop, but Lean Cuisine—steamed on the Senator’s desk. Her mother was smiling in her chair. “I thought we could have dinner,” she said, “as a family.”
Dad was seated in the other chair opposite the desk. “We have stir-fried chicken!”
Lexi sat down in front of her tray. The smell was beyond delicious. Her mouth hurt from how much she wanted to just wolf the food. “Is everyone getting stir-fry tonight?” Maddie would freak out over this.
“It’s just a special treat for our hardworking girl,” Dad said.
“I really appreciate your pitching in while your father’s recovering,” Dotty said.
Lexi smiled, said it was nothing, and she even actually appreciated her mother doing something nice for her after asking her to do all that extra crap, but it still felt wrong to have this amazing feast. Not wrong enough not to eat it in two bites, but wrong nonetheless.
“I think things are finally turning around,” Mom said. She seemed honestly happy. “People are really getting on board with the whole Home Store concept and the work crews are functioning pretty smoothly. We’ve only had a couple of complaints, and those people came around eventually.”
“I told you people would see the light,” Dad said.
“I’m told by this evening, there should even be showers in the parking garage.” Her mother crossed her arms over her chest, gloating like she’d invented the concept.
Lexi felt like both her parents were waiting for a response. “What about the missing bodies?” she asked.
Her mother’s face deflated. “I told you,” she said, all business. “Don’t worry about the bodies. I have everything under control.”
Lexi felt like a bitch for killing the moment. “I think people will be psyched about the showers.”
Her father smiled. “I know I’ll be happy to use them.”
Dotty raised her water bottle. “Here’s to a good day.”
“A good day,” her father said, lifting his own.
“A good day,” Lexi repeated, and tapped her bottle against theirs.
They finished their meals accompanied by Dad’s anecdotes about training some mall inmates to use the computer system. Oh, how the uninitiated were foiled by things like a macro! It was Dad’s usual method of peace-making between Lexi and her mother. He always had some non-confrontational filler conversation at the ready. Both Mom and Lexi laughed at appropriate times, knowing that’s what they were supposed to do. It was hard now, though, what with their being kind of in the middle of an apocalypse, to just pretend things were cool between them. Lexi wanted to know what was really going on with the mall—were people really getting on board? All those degenerates she’d logged this morning in the PaperClips seemed a rather stark argument to the contrary. And why was her mother being so coy about the bodies? I guess I’ll find out soon enough . . .
Lexi offered to clear the trays, and when she came back, her mother had resumed examining her papers. “I need one more favor from you, Lex.”
All the muscles in Lexi’s shoulders tightened. “Another favor?”
“I got you stir-fry,” her mother said, head tilted and eyebrows raised, like this alone was compensation enough for eons of slave labor.
It wasn’t too awful a request. Apparently, TVs and DVD players and even some game systems had been set up in all the Home Stores to provide people with entertainment. Lexi was to hook all the stuff up correctly and load the first round of DVDs and games into the machines.
“I really appreciate your helping me,” her mother said, standing and coming out from behind the desk. She put her hands on Lexi’s shoulders, then pulled her in for a hug. “I feel like I can’t trust anyone but you and your dad.”
Lexi hugged her mom back, in part because that’s what you did when someone hugged you, and in part because she felt bad about her intended investigation later this evening with Marco. She told herself, I’m not really breaking my mother’s trust in checking out the ice-skating rink. She told herself, It serves Mom right for not telling me about the missing bodies. But she knew, under all that, she was doing wrong by her mom. And worse yet, she knew that she was still going to do it.
• • •
The Sam’s Club was crawling with people. Ryan couldn’t hope to snatch anything from it without getting caught. He tried to approach a giant stack of chips and this old lady got in his face about what his assignment was and that if it wasn’t food consolidation, he had better mosey on back to where he came from. There was definitely something funky going on with all the regular food in the mall. Any stores that stocked some type of food (candy places, restaurants, Target) were gated over like they contained piles of gold and not bags of Doritos.
Ryan would not let these minor setbacks throw him off course from his goal. He had to find stuff for Ruthie and Jack. Though the rioters had cleaned out most edible things from the food court, he scrounged a bag of fried noodles from the Chinese place and a giant can of refried beans from the taco joint. He found a box full of individual packets of fruit snacks in the movie theater, and stole four water bottles from where some workers were building showers in the parking garage. This haul, plus two flashlights and a DVD box-set of Disney movies, filled a backpack, which Ryan carried with no small amount of pride back to the SUV.
“How are we supposed to open this?” Ruthie asked, turning the giant can of beans over in her hands.
Neither of the kids were as psyched as Ryan had anticipated. He had pictured tears of joy, more hugs. All he got was a complaint from Jack that he liked Thomas the Train Engine better than Disney and this insight from Ruthie.
“Here,” he said, snatching the can from her. He placed it on the ground, took a toy airplane he saw lying on the floor of the car, and smashed the top of the can. The can remained sealed. The plane, however, snapped in half.
“That was my favorite airplane!” Jack wailed.
“Quiet!” Ryan whispered, nodding his head toward the workmen. “I’ll find you a new plane.”
Jack shut his trap. He looked miserable. Ryan felt miserable. Why were they making this so hard for him? He was trying to help them, for crissakes!
“I’m sorry,” Ryan said, handing the pieces of plane to Jack. “I’ll find something else to open the can.”
Ruthie flicked the flashlight on and off. “At least we won’t be in the dark.”
“And I’ll find you more food tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” she said.
Finally.
Footsteps echoed from nearby. Ryan scanned the darkness.
“What the hell are you doing?”
It was Marco’s voice.
“Nothing,” he said. He glanced at the kids, placed a finger to his lips, and pressed the door to the truck closed.
Marco tapped his back. “Not too stealthy an operation you have going here.”
Ryan swallowed the anger that crept in, tightening his fists instinctively. “It’s just some kids. They asked me to help them.”
“Just send them upstairs.”
“They don’t want to go upstairs.”
“They want to stay in the parking garage?”
“They feel safe here.”
“Well, they’re not. Send them upstairs.”
Ryan gritted his teeth. “I told you, they don’t want to go upstairs.”
“They’re not your freaking pets, Ryan. Let the adults take care of them.”
“I saw Shay today,” he said, changing the subject to avoid smashing his fist into Marco’s smug mouth.
Marco’s scowl altered slightly. “So?”
“So I don’t think she’s your girlfriend.” If she were with Marco, she would never have dove across the counter when she saw him. Though he was not as sure about this as he was trying to sound.
“I don’t care what you think,” Marco snapped. “I’m the one who’s been there for her every time she needed me.”
Ryan would not let Marco off with that lame excuse anymore. “I can be there for her now.”
“Great,” Marco said. “May the best man win.”
Ryan smiled. I already have. No way that hug was just friendly, especially now that he’d seen Marco’s face. The guy was making the whole relationship thing up. Ryan could smell the lie on him.
Marco shifted slightly to get a better look in the van. “So how many do you have in there?”
“Two.” Ryan was not pleased to have the conversation turn back to the kids.
“Mike know about this little pet project?”
Ryan’s fists tightened again. “I haven’t told him yet.”
“I don’t imagine he’s going to agree to adopting two new teammates.”
“He might.”
“Well, how about I make you a deal? I don’t tell Mike about the contents of this SUV or your extracurricular activities stealing food for them in the mall, and you do me a favor.”
“What?”
“When I saw Mike and Drew earlier—who, by the way, are very worried about where you ran off to this morning—Drew indicated that he was in need of some female companionship. So I was thinking that maybe you could invite some girls to the new hiding place I found you.”
“Girls?”
“You’ve heard of the species?”
Ryan was about thirty seconds from decking the asshole. “Where do you want me to invite them to go?”
“The storage room in the back of the bowling alley. I’ve even snuck a keg in there for you—that might help get the girls’ attention. If they sneak out into the service halls after Lights Out, they can exit into the main part of the mall and then run up to the bowling alley.”
Ryan actually liked Marco’s idea. Maybe he could invite Shay to come? Though he wasn’t sure he wanted to invite her to party with Mike and Drew in a storage room. It didn’t seem like her kind of hang.
“Fine,” Ryan said finally.
“Glad we could come to an agreement.” Marco turned and walked back into the dark.
Ruthie pushed open the door. “Who was that guy?”
“A friend.”
“He didn’t seem like your friend.”
“He’s more like a friend of a friend.”
“He won’t tell on us, will he?”
Ryan patted her head. “I told you I’d keep you safe.”
Jack flashed the flashlight under his chin, lighting his face with ghost-story shadows. “And you said you’d get me a new plane,” he growled in a monster voice.
“New plane, got it.”
“See you tomorrow?” Ruthie smiled.
“Sleep tight.”
• • •
Marco ran across the parking garage. If this completely fraked-up plan of his was going to work, he had to get to Mike and Drew before Ryan showed up. He’d saved himself the stress and embarrassment of actually having to invite anyone to this stupid party. Now, though, he had to get Mike and Drew to come to the party of their own volition. He hoped that having spent nearly twenty-four hours in the dungeon of the parking garage closet would be motivation enough.
He was out of breath and sweating by the time he reached the closet. He knocked on the door.
“Get the hell in here,” Mike grumbled.
They sound ready to change venues. Marco opened the door. They’d turned the lights off and were again sitting in the dark.
“Can I turn on the lights?” he asked.
“How close are the shower people?” Mike asked from the corner.
“They’re on the other side of the garage, which is what I came to tell you. I think you’re safe here for another night.”
“Like hell.” It was Drew this time, from the opposite corner.
Marco flipped on the light, blinding himself momentarily.
“My head just split open,” Drew groaned. He was sprawled in the corner to Marco’s right, vodka bottle between his legs.
Mike had an open bottle of Sportade and some empty cracker packets in front of him. “Did you find Ryan?”
“Yeah,” Marco said. “He was just tooling around the parking garage.”
“All day?”
“I guess,” Marco said, shrugging. “It’s not like I had a GPS tracker on him. I just saw him as I was coming here. He said he was on his way back.”
Mike dribbled some vodka into the Sportade bottle and took a swig. “So we’ll see you in the morning.”
Marco screwed his courage to the sticking place. “Not that you care or anything, but I heard about this party up in the bowling alley.”
Drew started as if electrocuted. “Party? You’re kidding me! Here?”
Mike was not so excited. “How the hell is anyone planning a party?”
“I don’t know,” Marco answered truthfully—after all, he was planning it and had absolutely no idea what he was doing. “But I heard that some kids had gotten their hands on a keg and had stashed it in a storage room at the back of the bowling alley.” He swallowed down a small ocean of saliva and tried to control the jiggle in his foot. “I could take you guys up there,” he said, “if you wanted to go.”
“Hell yeah, we want to go,” Drew said, standing as if ready to be led to the place that minute.
“Sit your ass down,” Mike barked. “We made an agreement to keep away from everyone to avoid contaminating ourselves.”
Drew slammed the wall with his fist. “Screw that, Mike!” he yelled. “I cannot spend another night in this hole. All the vodka in the universe can’t make this place anything other than hell on earth.”
“You want to die, Drew?” Mike said, standing. “This isn’t a joke. You make out with the wrong chick and you end up dead.”
“Ryan didn’t die.”
“That was a lucky break on his part.”
“This isn’t living, Mike.” Drew was quieter now. “And how do we know we don’t have it already? We breathed that same crap air that everyone else did. These could be our last freaking days on earth. It seems stupid to waste them hiding in the basement.”
This was going better than Marco had planned.
Mike and Drew faced off for a few seconds longer, then Mike hurled his Sportade bottle at the wall, spraying them all with red juice.
“Fine,” he yelled. “Screw it. Fine.” He glared at Marco like this entire thing was his fault. “We’ll go.”
Marco did not like that look. “Hey, I didn’t mean to screw with you,” he said, backpedaling. “I just thought—”
“Stop talking,” Mike said. “Just tell us when you’re coming to take us to this goddamned party.”
“Lights Out,” Marco said, trying to breathe normally. “Ten o’clock.”
“Yes!” Drew said, punching the air.
“Turn the lights off,” Mike said, slumping back in his corner.
Marco left while the getting was good.
• • •
Shay had not realized how far the sadness had drifted from her until the mall loudspeaker requested that she come to the medical center in Harry’s to reclaim her sister, at which point it swept back in like a tide. She handed the jars of paint she’d collected to Kris—they were cleaning up from the afternoon’s activity of painting a mural of fall trees. It had been Kris’s idea. He thought people would like to see the flaming colors of fall around them. “It’ll be a kind of reminder that there’s a world outside,” he’d said.
Painting had soothed her mind. But now, as she rode the escalator down to the first floor, her brain fritzed.
Harry’s, now the medical center, was only open on the first level, like the Home Stores, with the gates pulled across half of the wide entrance. The other half was mostly blocked by a phalanx of cosmetics’ counters. A bored-looking woman sat at one and flipped through a magazine. No need for a security guard, Shay guessed, to keep people from invading the disease ward.
Preeti was sitting in a chair by the front desk. She hugged her purse to her chest and stared at the floor. The girl looked like a skeleton. Her eyes were ringed in shadows and her lips bore a fringe of cracked and peeling skin. The shirt they’d dressed her in was either two sizes too big or Preet had shrunk that much in a span of days.
Shay put on her most confident face and opened her arms. “Hey, stranger.”
Preeti glanced up, a smile briefly turning her lips, but it instantly fell away. “Where’s Nani?”
They didn’t tell her.
The person at the counter spoke. “Are you Shaila Dixit?”
Shay nodded.
“Your sister is being released into your care. You should watch for signs of relapse.”
Shay nodded again, barely able to concentrate. They hadn’t told Preeti. Meaning she would have to tell her.
“Any coughing or sneezing, thick green mucus, a fever—if she exhibits any of these signs, you must bring her back here.”
The woman’s words began to sink in—they wanted her to take over caring for her sister. She was going to have to keep Preeti alive again. She could barely keep herself alive.
The counter person handed Shay a medical mask for Preeti. “Keep the mask on at all times. Good luck.” The woman nodded toward Preeti, as if prodding Shay on.
Preeti was staring at her.
“Here,” Shay said, holding out the mask.
“Where’s Nani?” Preeti asked again. She did not take the mask.
Shay found it hard to keep her hands from shaking. “She.” What words to use? There were none. “She’s dead.” She spat the word out like poison.
Preeti looked confused. “She had the flu. I had the flu. I’m alive.”
Shay sat in the chair next to her, thinking it better to sit before she capsized. “She was too old.”
A sob shook Preeti’s shoulders. She fell forward into her own lap. After a few moments, she sat up. “How can you just say that like it’s nothing!”
Shay felt herself retreating, as if there were doors inside her that could be closed, sealed over, better than a Ziploc, leaving only this shell to respond. “It’s not nothing.”
Tears ran down Preeti’s face. She glared at Shay for a few seconds longer, then stood. “I want to talk to Ba.”
There’d been an announcement in the afternoon that CB radios had been set up in the old Silver Screen store. People were invited to sign up to use them to call their families. Someone in the med center must have told Preeti about it. Probably that traitor Jazmine.
“There will be a line.” It was dinnertime, and Shay was sure that everyone would be trying to call out. Everyone, of course, except her. Like she could face her parents right now.
“I don’t care.” Preeti snatched the mask from Shay’s hand and started walking.
Shay followed.
There was a line at the table for the CBs, as Shay had predicted. Preeti was undeterred. She stomped to the end of the line and stared at the prodigious rear of the man in front of her rather than look at Shay. Shay did not mind. The last thing she wanted was to fight with Preeti about whether or not she was showing the appropriate amount of remorse for letting Nani die. Like there were measures for such things. If only Preeti could see the desolation inside her. Would that begin to pay her debt?
When they reached the front of the line, Preeti spoke for herself. “I need to call my mother.”
The man behind the table slid a clipboard toward her. “Write the name and the home and cell phone numbers, address, and then your name. The guard will contact the government on the outside, and they will call your mother and tell her to come to the mall. Once she arrives, they will contact us here and an announcement will be made over the mall’s PA system. Return to this location when you hear your name over the PA. All calls are monitored by the federal government.” From his deadpan tone, Shay could tell this was a speech he’d given one too many times.
Preeti began scrawling information onto the blanks. “We’ll wait here,” she said.
“There is no waiting area.”
She handed him back the board. “That’s okay,” she said. “We’ll find someplace.”
The guard looked over the form. “Suit yourself.” He then picked up his walkie-talkie and read out Shay’s parents’ names and their home address and phone number.
It was bizarre to hear the words. To be reminded that there was a house on Walnut Street with a room just for her. That all her clothes, her books, the scraps of her life still persisted beyond these walls. For some reason, the thought of them made her sick. That didn’t feel like her life anymore.
Preeti hunkered down against the glass wall that had once been the Silver Screen display window. It was covered over now with Kris’s mural of handprint trees. The image felt like a cruel joke. There was no world outside, not for them.
After only fifteen minutes, the guard called them. “Pretty Dixit?” he shouted.
Their mother must have raced to the mall—their house was close but not that close.
Preeti jumped up. “Preeti,” she corrected. “Long e’s.”
The guard handed her a CB. “Station five,” he said. “You have twenty minutes.” He waved her in. “Have a good visit, Preeti.”
Shay followed Preeti into the store. The guard didn’t even acknowledge her passing. It was better that way. Shay wanted Preeti to make the call without even mentioning her presence.
“Ba?” Preeti asked, voice cracking on the one syllable. She fell into a folding chair in front of the table with a number five taped to it. There was a second chair. Shay remained standing. Posters with scenes from famous movies lined the walls. Nearby stood a cutout of a handsome vampire. Oh, to have the blood sucked out of her body. By him, by anyone.
Preeti asked the machine for her mother again. This time, her mother’s voice boomed in answer. “Shaila?”
Preeti lowered the volume. “No, it’s Preeti.”
Ba started crying. Bapuji’s voice took over. “It’s so good to hear your voice,” he said.
They began speaking in Gujarati. Preeti cried as she told them about what had happened, how she’d gotten sick, how Nani was dead.
Ba cried out. Bapuji didn’t say anything for a moment. “And Shaila?”
“She’s fine,” Preeti said. “Here.” She held the CB out to Shay.
Shay backed away from the thing.
Preeti looked at her like she was crazy. “Just say something so they know you’re alive.”
Shay shook her head. She couldn’t even mutter the word no.
Preeti rolled her eyes. “Shaila-bhen is acting weird,” Preeti said into the CB. “The nurse said she hit her head during the riot.”
That got Ba screaming in English. Riot? I’ll sue them! How could they? Suddenly the channel squealed and went silent.
Preeti pushed the volume buttons. “Ba?” She squeezed the talk button. “Bapuji?”
Another voice interrupted the call. “This call has been censored by the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
“No!” Preeti screamed. She marched up to the front and held the machine out to the guard. “I still have ten minutes,” she yelled. “Get my parents back.”
The guard took the CB and shut it off. “If the channel gets cut off by the Feds, it means we can no longer use that channel for a set period of time.”
“So give me another channel.” Preeti crossed her arms and set her face in a scowl. Shay knew this pose. The guard had no idea of how stubborn Preeti could be when challenged.
“The FBI now considers that receiver off-limits. They will investigate the violation, then contact us, after which time you may reestablish connection. The process is expected to take a minimum of twenty-four hours.”
Shay knew she should get angry. That she should tell the guard off, help her sister. But no anger came. She felt the mildest tingle of anxiety, like a skittering light through the black.
Preeti started to cry. The guard apologized, then called another name. The second guard, stun baton in hand, approached Shaila and told her to move her sister away from the station before she caused trouble. Shay followed the guy’s orders. She walked to her sister, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and told her they’d come back tomorrow.
Preeti snuffled loudly, wiped her hand under her mask, then walked where Shay led her, toward the JCPenney.
Preeti shrugged out from under Shay’s arm. “Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked, her words catching on a sob.
“The guard said you could call back tomorrow.”
“To Ba,” Preeti corrected.
Shay didn’t answer.
“What’s wrong with you?” Preeti asked.
Shay didn’t answer.
Preeti stopped. “Shaila-bhen.” She glared at Shay.
“I’m tired,” she said finally.
Preeti turned and stormed to the guard at the entrance to the JCPenney. “I need to register or something?” she asked.
Shay, frozen in the hallway, watched as Preeti took the bag of toiletries and stack of clothes the guard gave her and disappeared into the store. The emptiness would devour her if she let it. But Preeti needed her. However ridiculous that need was—like Shay had anything to give—it was a tether to reality.
She approached the guard and gave her name, then trotted to where Preeti had slumped on a cot near Shay’s own.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “We’ll call Ba tomorrow. I’ll talk.”
“Promise?” Preeti said.
Shay forced herself to nod. “We still have a couple minutes to get dinner.” She held out her hand and Preeti took it.
• • •
The last thing Lexi wanted was to face the happy couple of Maddie and Ginger after slaving all day on her mother’s projects, and yet there they were, hunkered down on neighboring cots in the alcove Lexi had procured for her and Maddie. They’d even wheeled one of the small TVs in there and were watching some series involving very pretty, very skinny girls and oily guys with no chest hair.
“Hey, stranger!” Ginger said, waving as Lexi approached.
Maddie held out a Ziploc bag containing popcorn. “They handed out popcorn to everyone. They said it was to thank us for a great first day of work!” She said the last words in a squeaky voice, arms scrunched in and fake grin on her face.
“Thanks,” Lexi said, surprised that they saved her a bag. She wouldn’t have put it past them to eat her share and not tell.
Ginger stretched out on her cot. “Lexi, are you okay with me moving in here with you guys? There was an extra space, so I dragged my bed over.”
“Of course she’s okay,” Maddie said, play smacking Ginger’s leg.
“Yeah,” Lexi said. “Of course.” Like I have a choice . . .
“Where were you, by the way?” Maddie said, munching kernels from her bag.
“My mom had some stuff she needed me to do.”
“Well, you missed some choice clothing sorting,” Maddie said, sarcasm dripping off the words.
Ginger lifted her T-shirt to reveal a sequined tube top. “We borrowed some stuff that the head sorter said to throw away.” She snapped the edge of the top against her rib cage. “How could she expect me to throw this away?”
Maddie grabbed Ginger’s shirt and tugged it back over the top. “You want everyone to see?” she growled.
Ginger blushed hard enough that her face matched her hair. “Did anyone notice?”
“You’re fine,” Maddie said, and flipped back on the show.
Lexi had never seen this particular sexy-teen soap opera, but from Maddie and Ginger’s running commentary, it was clear they were watching it for a fourth or fifth time. She munched her popcorn, feeling alone even with the two next to her, and wished the minutes to fly by so that she could escape into her office and meet Marco.
• • •
Marco slapped another glow-in-the-dark star sticker against the wall. They were barely visible in the fluorescent light of the service hallway, but after Lights Out, they’d shine.
He was putting down the final bread crumbs that would lead his would-be partiers to his makeshift party. He’d started at the exits to both the JCPenney and the Lord & Taylor and snaked a path marked in star stickers to the fire staircase between them, then through a passage to the exit across from the bowling alley. They would have to make a run for it from there across the open mall walkway, but Marco figured few guards would be patrolling the third floor, since after Lights Out it was supposed to be empty, and honestly, if some kids got caught, he couldn’t give a crap.
Ryan had better have held up his end of the bargain. The party would definitely not happen without his spreading the word. True, Marco should have done the spreading himself, but when Fate hands you a gift like having leverage over someone who is obviously much more qualified to talk to your peers about a party, you take it. Why hot girls specifically? Marco assumed that if you told hot girls there was a party somewhere, they would spread the word faster than this virus. This assumption was mostly based on bad movies he’d watched on late-night television. He hoped it was true.
On the subject of hot girls, Marco wondered if Ryan would invite Shay to the event. He could not hope to keep his girlfriend bluff going with her right there in front of them. How could he convince her to choose him? Screw it. It didn’t matter. Whatever he did, of course she would choose the douche over him. Like he had anything to offer a girl in the boyfriend department.
This party was not destined for success. He’d found the keg the senator had promised him and it looked small. With the way Mike and Drew had been sucking back vodka, Marco imagined this thing would be gone in ten minutes flat.
The space, though larger than the parking garage closet, could hold maybe ten people comfortably. Assuming that comfortably included sharing the space with stacks of chairs and parts for the pin-setting machines.
Marco did what he could to improve things. He threw what scraps of material he could find over the machinery. He unstacked some of the chairs. He stole a CD player with an iPod dock in it from the back of the BathWorks and plugged that in opposite the keg for safety’s sake. And, in his one effort at making the place cool, he’d also filched a strobe light. If that didn’t say party—well, what the hell did he know about parties anyway?
He reached the door to the main hallway and stuck a star to it. It was out of his hands at this point. If people came, great. If not, well, it was the senator’s dumb idea to begin with.
The senator. Lexi. Crap. He had promised to help her investigate the ice-skating rink for bodies during the goddamned party. How the hell was he supposed to host a fraking party and play Sherlock Holmes with the daughter?
He needed a personal assistant at this point to keep track of his schedule. Time-management was not his forte. This had never before posed a problem, as he was used to no life at all, no friends, no one giving a crap about what he was doing ever. But now he had three different—no, four scams running at the same time. What the hell was he thinking?
Calm the frak down. He could do this. Get the douches and drop them at the party. Then sneak away while they get blitzed and meet Lexi. Be back before the midnight raid. Save the douches’ collective ass. And the senator will never be the wiser. All in a day’s scheming.