Lexi, Maddie, and Ginger lay awake and watched the lights blink off throughout the mall. Lexi liked having one friend on either side of her, like buoys she could reach out and touch. “Are you going out tonight?” she asked, afraid of the answer. Their alcove now only contained the three of them, the other cots disappearing over the days.
“Go where?” Maddie answered. “Word is there’s no party tonight.”
“I don’t think I could party tonight,” Ginger said. “It would be like dancing on a grave.”
“Any dancing in here is dancing on a grave,” Maddie said.
Lexi did not want to go to her office. What if Marco never showed? What if she had to spend the night alone?
Maddie rolled, rustling her sheet. “Don’t you have a date?”
Lexi took a deep breath. “I guess.”
“If you don’t go, I’m taking your place.” She rolled back. “This is the longest dry spell I’ve had since the family vacation to Grandma’s in the Adirondacks.”
Lexi waited another minute before rising and slinking along the wall to the stockroom door. As she turned the handle on the door to her office, Marco’s voice called out, “Leave the lights off.”
He came.
“You become a vampire since lunch?” Lexi tiptoed into the space, trying to remember its layout so she didn’t face-plant.
“I had my face rearranged by a stun gun,” he said, sounding wasted. “I’d hate for you to remember me like this.”
“Who hit you with a stun gun?”
She heard Marco shift; he was on the desk. “Your friendly chief of security.”
Lexi was only mildly surprised. “Why did he hit you with a stun gun?”
“Because he’s insane. I think he stole the alcohol, or is at least helping the guy who did.”
The edge of the desk chair nudged Lexi’s leg and she sat in it. She needed to sit. “You have to tell my mom. You can’t let this guy push you around.”
Marco remained silent. Finally, he spoke. “Which are better, the Burton Batman movies from the nineties, or the new Nolan ones? Let’s not even consider the Schumacher catastrophes.”
Lexi was confused as to how this was relevant. “Depends on what you’re looking for.”
“Just pick one, whatever criteria you want.”
She sensed that more rode on this question than an assessment of her tastes, so she took a second to consider. Lexi and Darren had watched all the Batman movies, one after the other, from Burton’s 1989 Batman through to The Dark Knight, before heading to the midnight showing of The Dark Knight Rises. The Burton films were funny, kind of silly, more comic book than thriller. They featured things like Danny DeVito as a fat, horny penguin running for mayor. She recalled Darren’s remark after switching off The Dark Knight: “The world sucks.”
“Burton,” she answered. “I like Michelle Pfeiffer’s Catwoman. And the Nolan films are so dark.”
“I thought you would,” Marco said. “I wish I could pick Burton.”
Lexi rolled the chair toward his voice and hit his knee. “Sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be,” he said. His hand touched her face, fingers running from her brow down her nose to her lips.
Shivers ran over her skin. She crawled onto the desk beside him. “I like the Nolan films,” she whispered.
His breath tickled her ear. “I’ve never kissed anyone before.”
“Me neither.”
His lips hit her cheek. She angled her face to meet them, merely brushing lips at first, but then, somehow, they both knew what to do, hers to press harder against his, and his to hers. Their mouths opened like clockwork and Lexi finally understood why Maddie and Ginger were so starved for this sustenance.
• • •
Lexi’s kiss brought life back into Marco’s body. Muscles stopped twitching, his head cleared, everything became focused on the heat burning from her lips down through him. He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, so he gripped the desk, afraid to touch her and freak her out. He didn’t want anything to interrupt this kissing.
She pulled away first.
“Sorry,” he said. He must have screwed something up.
“No, I’m sorry,” she said. “My arm hurt.”
“Did I do something?”
“No, no.” She moved and they bumped heads.
“We’re screwing this up,” he said, rubbing his skull.
“How could we not?” She was farther away. “Total amateurs.”
He wondered how he could get her to start kissing again. Was there something you were supposed to say? What would Ryan do? He hated himself for even thinking that.
The room was beginning to feel wrong. He slid off the desk and flipped on the light. They both winced in the glare. That had been a mistake. The light ruined whatever shreds of mood had remained between them. He quickly flipped it off.
“I guess I should go,” he said, not wanting to at all.
“Oh, okay,” Lexi said.
“So, yeah,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Sure, yeah.”
Not sure what else to do, he slunk out the door. He was no Casanova, but that was it: his first kiss. He’d been kissed. It was the only bright point in the day.
The service hallways echoed with shouts and screams. It was like that first night all over again. He’d failed to deliver on the parties and the freaks were running wild. He had to find cover. And he knew now exactly where he needed to go.
His time in the dark that afternoon had yielded some glimmer of understanding of the craphole he was stuck in. Goldman was clearly in with the guy in the Pancake Palace; Marco had no idea if they had started on the same side, or whether Goldman saw him stealing booze and decided to assist in his operations, but it was clear that they were working together now. The senator, therefore, was a total dupe. Her whole hippy-dippy, we’re-all-going-to-get-through-this-together government was a corrupt joke. How he’d ever gotten sucked into believing otherwise was a critical failure of judgment—the world sucked; how had he forgotten that?
So Marco had to find his own protection. Luckily, he had his own ready-made team of thugs and he was betting that Mike Richter was even more of a psychopath than Goldman. Mike was a career sicko; this Goldman, he was new to the work.
Marco took the shortest route to the bowling alley. The douches were not out in the open, but rather huddled in the back of the pinsetters’ catwalk. Ryan, the closest, stood and stared him down.
“Where have you been?” Ryan appeared to have wormed his way back into the fold after his days of wandering.
“I’ve been unearthing a craphole of epic proportions.” Marco laid out for them everything that had been going on: his deal with the senator—though he gave it the spin that he’d been playing her the whole time—the bodies on the ice-skating rink, the attacks by the other gangs, the discovery of the guy in the Pancake Palace.
“Wait.” Mike stood. “What did he look like exactly?”
“Silver-gray hair, kind of leathery, brownish skin. The guy looked like he had money outside the mall, something about his condescending, I-rule-the-world smug bastard face.”
“Reynolds?” Drew asked, looking up at Mike.
“I will frickin’ kill him.” Mike gripped the handrail like he was gripping a throat.
“Whoever he is, he’s working with security. The chief, this huge guy Goldman, took liberties with a stun gun to convince me to help them steal food.”
“Really?” Mike said, as if gaining a new appreciation for Marco.
“And so, in conclusion, I propose we take these assholes down.” Marco leaned against the handrail and prayed his pitch had worked.
• • •
It took Ryan a minute to catch up with the conversation. Marco had essentially ripped the world of the mall apart—it had seemed so safe, so perfect. Kids went to school, there were showers. The head of security was stun-gunning a kid to force him to steal supplies? There were more than a thousand bodies on the ice-skating rink? The number sounded unreal, like a million dollars or fifty years old.
He was the first to speak. “How has no one noticed a thousand people just disappearing?”
Marco shrugged. “People see what they want to see. And it’s a big mall.”
Mike hoisted himself between the handrails and swung to sit on one, raised up as if on a throne. “My point exactly, Taco. This is a big mall, and what you’ve said convinces me that my original idea was the best one going. We hide and let this whole crapstorm play itself out.”
“I am not going into that basement again.” Drew folded his arms across his chest as if this alone settled the point.
“Screw the basement.” Mike pointed to Marco. “You need to find us a place that is isolated and has few exits for easy defensibility. And it needs to be big enough to store supplies in—we’re going to wait out this thing in the comfort of our own bunker.”
“Got just the place,” Marco said. “The IMAX theater is soundproof, isolated, and has only two exits—one in the front, and one out into a fire stairwell.”
“Go, Taco Supreme!” Drew barked, punctuating his approval with a round of applause.
Ryan thought of Ruthie and Jack, of Shay. How could he leave them in the mall if the place was really the mess Marco said it was? “Shouldn’t we tell someone?” he said. “I mean, we can’t just leave everyone in the mall to die.”
“They’ve left us to die,” Marco said. “The senator was willing to write off anyone who went to these parties.”
“But what about Shay?” Ryan thought at least she would mean something to Marco.
“What about her?” he said, voice flat like he couldn’t give a crap.
Ryan wondered why he was surprised at this change in Marco. “If we’re holing up, she’s coming with us. And Ruthie and Jack.”
Mike landed on the catwalk, rattling the thing like a gong. “We can discuss recruits after we secure our supplies. Marco, you head to the IMAX and clear out any squatters. Drew, you go with him. Shrimp, you’re with me.”
Ryan did not like where this was going. “With you where?”
Mike grinned. “I think it’s time we pay our old pal Mr. Reynolds a friendly visit.”
• • •
Shay liked the tight confines of the cabinet. She had crawled into it when Kris came looking for her—she heard him calling and scuttled into the empty stainless-steel space, the door of which had hung open, probably ravaged of food during the riots. Kris passed her by like she didn’t even exist. That had been hours ago. She had remained curled like a shell in the dark until the lights disappeared and the black was complete. She felt safe, like she was locked in a vault. Nothing could hurt her in here. Even her mind had quieted to a static drone of random, disconnected thoughts.
Voices invaded the black silence. “Damn if this place isn’t cleaned out too.” It was a boy.
“Check everywhere,” said another voice. “I’m freakin’ starved.”
Shay’s heart quivered in her chest. I am safe in my vault.
The door ripped open. “What the?” The speaker knelt down; the dim glow from the other guy’s lighter bounced off the shiny surfaces, throwing him into silhouette.
Shay closed her eyes like that would hide her. He grabbed her arm and dragged her out. “She’s not food, but she looks pretty damn good to me.”
Nothing would happen to her. Someone would come. Security. Security!
The guy slapped his arms around her. She did not want this to happen. This couldn’t happen. Her brain froze. Some animal part inside her took over, pushed against his chest. He pressed his lips to hers. His tongue wriggled against her sealed lips. The animal part of her would not let this happen.
She bit his tongue. His lips retreated.
“She bit me!” he screamed. He slapped her face.
Shay thrust her knee into his groin. He bent forward with the blow, releasing her arms, and she pulled herself onto the countertop.
The guy’s friend grabbed her leg. “Get back here!”
Shay grabbed the nearest thing—a metal container—and smashed it into his head. He fell back. She kicked him in the face and he went all the way down. Scrambling to the other side of the counter, she was clear to run through the doors leading to the front of the Magic Wok. She slid over the counter and ran, kept running, would never stop running.
A baton smashed into her leg. She crumpled to the floor, so fast, she couldn’t protect any part of her save her head.
“Got another runner!” a man’s voice said. He grabbed her arms, wrenched them behind her back, and tied her wrists together with something.
Her voice was broken, she couldn’t catch her breath. He had the wrong idea. She had to get away from them. She struggled, kicked her feet.
“Lie still,” the voice said.
The animal part of her would not listen. She rolled, tried to bite the guy’s leg, and then she was hit with a jolt that knocked her flat.
Shay was still conscious, just couldn’t move. The guy dragged her limp body to a chair and left her slumped in it. He lifted a walkie-talkie to his lips—he was a solid shadow of black against the nighttime light streaming through the glass walls and ceiling of the food court. “One bagged in the food court.”
“More coming your way.”
As if on cue, more shadows came running. The guy yelled for them to stop. They kept running, straight for the glass. They had something with them. A hammer? A big one. Several big hammers. They ran at the glass wall. Smash. They’d broken through! They were free!
Gunshots. From outside. Screaming. Blue flashes in the dark. Thuds of bodies. Shay’s brain had trouble processing the information: Had someone escaped? Had someone been shot?