No Easy Way Out

by Dayna Lorentz

  Lexi kept wanting to check her phone, but it had died, and so the only marker she had for how much time had passed was the incremental increase in her anxiety with each passing heartbeat. First, her leg began to jiggle—classic Lexi move; her mother was always telling her to stop jiggling lest she vibrate dinner off the table. Next, nail biting. Once she’d managed to tug a hangnail to bleeding, she moved on to pacing. Pacing didn’t last long; Lexi transitioned to spinning in the desk chair. She was nearing the nausea point when the knob turned.

  “Marco?” she whispered, trying to stop her brain in its spin cycle.

  “You expecting someone else?” He slipped in and shut the door behind him. “No security escort tonight, Your Highness?”

  “Hey, I didn’t ask that guy to Taser you.”

  “Not yet,” Marco said.

  Lexi wondered if he was implying something of a sexual nature. A twinge of fear tickled her spine, but then he smiled a crooked smile and she laughed a little too loudly to show that she had totally gotten that he’d been joking the whole time.

  They entered the service halls and soon were faced with a locked door.

  “Dead end,” said Lexi.

  “For some,” whispered Marco. Then he slipped a card through the reader and it opened.

  “You stole a card key?” Lexi asked, feeling something between anxiety and awe.

  “Don’t freak out. I used to work here,” Marco clarified, holding the door open. “The card was a privilege of employment.”

  They took the back hallways the long way around the mall, which took for-freaking-EVER, but Marco was jumpy about crossing the “public areas” of the mall when using his card key.

  “You haven’t yet had the pleasure of feeling your nuts burned off by a Taser,” was his explanation.

  When they reached the vicinity of the ice-skating rink, the elevator dinged as they were about to unlock the security door. They bolted down the service hall and hid around a corner, then watched as a shrouded gurney was wheeled out of the elevator and through the doors.

  “We were right,” Lexi whispered.

  “I was right,” Marco retorted.

  As soon as the gurney was gone, Lexi and Marco snuck over to the door. Beyond it was a hall that led to the cavernous storage room for the Zamboni. The retractable doors between the rink and the storage room were open, meaning the air was so cold, Lexi’s eyeballs hurt. She and Marco ducked from pile of crap to pile of crap until they reached the far end of the storage room and peered out the doorway.

  There was no more ice-skating rink. There was merely a gigantic pile of bodies. It was like a garbage dump, just heaps of bodies tossed one on top of the other. The glassy eyes of one man seemed to be staring right at Lexi. She whipped back around the wall and threw up on the cement.

  “Frak,” Marco said, pushing himself flat against the wall. He stared at the huge barrel in front of him as if it might provide some explanation for the body dump.

  Lexi knelt against the pavement, then pushed herself away from her own sick and leaned against the wall. “We’re screwed,” she said. “All of us. Screwed.”

  Marco suddenly dropped and threw himself over her, finger to his lips.

  The wheels of the gurney squeaked past.

  “That makes one fifty today,” said the person steering the now empty gurney.

  “Better than yesterday,” the other said. “We had two hundred yesterday.”

  His forehead pressed to Lexi’s. His breath misted against her cheek. She felt shimmery tingles dart over her skin.

  The door slammed closed. They were alone with the corpses.

  Marco flung himself away from her, careful not to expose himself to another glimpse of the rink. “I should have known.”

  “Known what?” Lexi asked. “That my mother was piling a billion bodies on the ice-skating rink?”

  “That this virus was some freak killer flu. Essentially, that the majority of the mall was screwed. Why else would they trap us in here? To keep the good people of Westchester safe in their McMansions, that’s why.”

  Lexi’s mind kept drawing a blank. “This many people can’t have died. There were only maybe seventy in the freezer. There are—”

  “Thousands. That looks like a freaking Bieber concert worth of bodies.”

  “We can’t tell anyone,” Lexi said, only realizing after she’d spoken that she was repeating her mother’s words.

  “Of course we can’t,” Marco said, standing and beginning to pace between the barrel and the wall. “People would lose their shiznit if they knew this many people had died.”

  “So, what? Do we just do nothing?” Lexi hoped Marco had an answer, because she was freaked out beyond the capacity for rational thought.

  “I’m going to start taking extra precautions. No more interpersonal interaction. I am staying ten feet from every freaking disease-carrying douche in this mall.”

  It took Lexi a moment to realize that this most likely foreclosed any further touching between the two of them. “Does this mean we’re not meeting in my office anymore?”

  Marco smirked. It wasn’t exactly a cute smirk, more like a calculating smirk. “You have any more mysteries in need of solving?”

  “I won’t know until tomorrow.”

  “Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  They snuck back to the JCPenney in silence. Strangely, Lexi could no longer remember what the rink exactly looked like. She could recall the beams of the ceiling, the general level of freaked out she’d felt, but not the bodies themselves. Whatever. Better that she couldn’t. Who wants to remember something like that?

  She bumped into Marco when he stopped suddenly at a door. She tried not to obsess about how much she liked being pressed against him, even for a second.

  “Sorry,” she whispered.

  He didn’t answer, just opened the door for her. She walked through. He didn’t follow.

  “Aren’t you coming?” Shouldn’t they talk more? Didn’t he want to hang out?

  “I don’t live here,” he said coolly.

  “But I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Tomorrow.” And let the door slam.

  Lexi slunk back to her cot in the alcove. Why didn’t he want to hang out more? Of course, for him even entering the JCPenney was risky. Maybe he was afraid of getting Tasered again? She couldn’t blame him for that. And he said she’d see him tomorrow. That was good. He would see her again. That was almost a promise of a second date.

  “Off with your boy again?” Maddie’s voice hissed through the dark.

  “Where’d Lexi find a boy?” Ginger was on Lexi’s other side.

  “Just taking some alone time,” Lexi lied. She would not tell anyone about the bodies. As insane as she felt admitting it, her mother was right to not let that tidbit out.

  “With the boy?” Maddie would not let it go.

  Lexi decided to throw her a bone. “Maybe.” She smiled to herself in the dark. She had something neither Maddie nor Ginger had: a boy.

  “You’re going to have to do better than that over breakfast, so think of some juicy details or I strangle you with skinny jeans.” Maddie shifted in her bed. “I am dying for gossip and you’re the only one who’s got any.”

  A part of Lexi wanted to gossip with them. She’d never felt this way about a boy before, never found excuses to bump into a guy (literally) before, never felt a fire under her skin when he spoke. Was what she felt normal? Was she making a fool of herself? But Lexi wasn’t sure Maddie and Ginger wouldn’t make her the butt of their jokes, they who’d played Truth or Dare enough times to know the rules. Surely tingles from a boy’s platonic touch held little in the way of interest gossip-wise to them. So she rolled over onto her stomach and remembered the feel of his breath on
her cheek and said, “Maybe,” so quietly, she wasn’t even sure Maddie had heard.

  • • •

  Ryan surveyed the party from a chair in a corner. Mike had taken over and turned what had been a lame group of people with a keg into a legit party. Leave it to Mike. He could take even this crappy excuse for a party and make it into a scene.

  Much of the work was done by simply having the overhead lights out, but Mike had also found some flashlights, which he jammed in the corners to provide some “romance,” as he’d said. That plus the strobe plus some decent music equaled not bad.

  The music transitioned to a dance beat and the girls writhed around Drew, who looked happier than Ryan had seen him in days. Other people had shown up, and they mostly kept in their little groups, dancing or hovering around the beer. Someone had stolen some glasses from the bowling alley bar, but even though the drinks were now mobile, there were always those guys afraid to let the keg out of their sight.

  Mike remained on the sidelines, as always. He never really attended his parties. Mike preferred to observe people, then saunter through after people were drunk to receive their congratulations for throwing another awesome party. Drew was the guy calling the shots at the event itself. That was the way they worked—Mike set it up and Drew carried it out.

  At a regular Mike party, Ryan hung by the TV half watching whatever sport was on—there was always some game playing. Parties were all about dancing and drinking, and he wasn’t much of a dancer and tried to avoid the drinking games because they always became a little too intense. Never play beer pong with football players. When his girlfriend of the moment showed up, they’d find some place to hook up. All told, parties were not that great, but they were better than nothing.

  However, these regular complaints weren’t what had his butt glued to the chair. Tonight, he simply wanted to be somewhere else. With someone else. Specifically, anywhere with Shay.

  The song changed and a bunch of the girls squealed. Drew picked two up, one in each arm, and spun them, thwacking a random dude in the face.

  “Hey, dickhead, watch yourself!” the guy shouted.

  Drew dropped both girls—no joke, dropped them—and turned to the shouter. “What did you call me?”

  The guy, who looked about twenty-five, stood taller. “You hit me in the face, dickhead.”

  Drew shoved the guy in the chest, and that was all it took. Three guys launched themselves at Drew and he went down. Girls screamed. People pushed back to give the fight its due space. Mike paused the music and stood. Ryan sensed something awful coming.

  Where the hell was Marco?

  Mike pulled something from his waistband.

  Ryan bolted out of the chair and threw himself into the fight. “Get off him!” he shouted, pulling at every limb he could get a grip on. With his help, Drew was able to shove the mob off him, kicking one in the gut so hard he puked and fell to the floor. Drew squared his back to the wall and Ryan stood beside him, fists up.

  Drew grabbed a chair and wielded it in one hand. “Get out of my party before I have to get angry.”

  The fighters looked ready to test Drew’s resolve until Mike joined the two of them, gun in hand.

  “You heard the man,” he said.

  The guys did not look happy. “Be seeing you,” one said with a menacing chin thrust.

  “Any time,” Mike snarled.

  The four left. Mike shoved the gun back in his pants.

  “Anyone else interested in a fight?”

  People hung back, clutched their beers.

  “Excellent.” Mike went back to the CD player and turned on the music.

  Ryan put a hand on Drew’s shoulder. His shirt was soaked through with sweat. “You okay?”

  Drew set the chair down. “Better than okay, J. Shrimp.” He smiled and Ryan noticed two of his teeth were dark with blood. He pushed past Ryan and rejoined the dancing girls.

  Ryan went over to Mike. “Where’s Marco? Shouldn’t he be keeping things cool?”

  “Why would Marco be in charge of keeping anything cool?”

  So Mike had no idea this was Marco’s party. What else did Mike not know about Marco?

  Mike pointed to the door. “Shrimp, you monitor guests for the rest of the night. Keep the assholes out.”

  Ryan nodded, not sure how he was supposed to spot the assholes. He made a rough assumption that anyone who looked like a person Mike wouldn’t invite to one of his parties was out.

  The best way to turn assumed assholes away was to tell them the keg was kicked. When Ryan saw an asshole in a group of non-assholes, he turned the whole pack away—better safe than sorry. As the night wore on, however, even with turning away a large number of potential assholes, the room was packed beyond capacity. Ryan was not even sure another body could squeeze into the space.

  Footsteps slapped their way toward him. “Sorry, dude, party’s full,” Ryan said.

  “It’s me,” Marco said. “And what the hell are you— Oh.” He looked in the doorway. “Crap.”

  “I’ve been turning people away, but still—”

  “You’ve been turning people away?”

  “Some assholes attacked Drew, so Mike put me on watch to keep any other potential assholes out.”

  Marco swore something vicious under his breath.

  “What, you were hoping for a fight?” Ryan was not sure why turning people away would be such a bummer. Another thing I don’t understand about this guy.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Marco said. “You and Mike and Drew have to come with me.”

  “Why?” Ryan saw a flashlight streak across the wall at the far end of the hall. That could only mean one thing. “Did security follow you?”

  Marco looked confused, then, glancing down the hall, nodded. “We have to get you out of here.”

  “We can’t leave Mike and Drew,” Ryan said.

  He shoved his shoulder into the mass of people by the door and began driving his way toward the music. The music was deafening next to Mike, but Ryan managed to communicate the approaching security problem by screaming directly into Mike’s ear.

  Marco popped out of the crowd just as Mike nodded his understanding. “You’ll never get out that way,” Marco yelled. “Follow me.”

  Some people started to scream, but Ryan couldn’t tell if it was because of the party or because security had arrived. He didn’t bother turning to look. Marco led them to a narrow door at the back of the room and pushed both Ryan and Mike into it.

  “Where’s Drew?” Marco asked.

  Ryan pointed to the dance floor.

  Marco rolled his eyes and shoved his way back through the crowd. There was more screaming now, definitely a sign that security had arrived. Suddenly, Drew’s body crashed against the door frame.

  “What the hell?” he shouted.

  “Get in there and be quiet.” Marco pushed Drew through the doorway, passed something to Mike, and slammed the door on the three of them.

  They were in some mechanical space. Three steps led up onto a metal bridge over the long shafts and gears of the machines. Dangling in the air to his left were bowling pins, all organized in the pinsetters.

  Mike flipped on whatever Marco had passed him. It squealed, then began speaking. It was a police radio. From the chatter, it was clear security was busting the party.

  “We’d better get away from the door,” Mike said, creeping up the stairs.

  The three tiptoed down the catwalk to the far end of the space and listened to the muffled shouts and screams from the remains of the party on the other side of the door.

  • • •

  Marco slammed his back against the door. Before him, the party-goers were roiling like flies against a window. So much for his vow to stay away from people. Security stood at the exit—the only
way out save the dead end mechanic’s passage over the pinsetting machines in front of which Marco stood. There was one man in full riot gear in the open doorway to the hall, but the overhead lights glinted off the helmets of others behind him. Still, the revelers scrambled from wall to wall and climbed on chairs in an attempt to escape their fate.

  “Everyone, calm down. You will not be harmed. We are here to confirm your registration and escort you back to your Home Stores.”

  It took several more announcements of this nature before people stopped raging. Security did not enter the room, but rather ordered people to come out single file to check in. Marco got into the line along with the others. He did not want to draw any attention to himself or the narrow door to the walkway. The only important thing was to keep them from finding Mike & Co.

  At the exit, a man with a stun baton forced Marco against the wall. He shuffled forward with the line until he reached another stun-baton-wielding guard. The baton flipped down in front of him, halting his progress. A second person jammed something into Marco’s ear.

  “What the hell?” he asked.

  “Normal temp.” It was a woman’s voice. “Asymptomatic.” The baton lifted.

  Marco shuffled forward. Near the end of the hall stood three more guards, one of whom had a tablet.

  “Name?” said the tablet bearer.

  Behind him, Marco heard shouting.

  “One-oh-one. Tag him.” The woman’s voice.

  “I’m not going in there!”

  Marco turned and saw a guy get shoved into what Marco knew to be the food storage room for the bowling alley. The door was slammed. The guard flipped down the stun baton in front of the next victim.

  “Name?” the tablet guy repeated.

  Once Marco was identified, he was led by another guard to a table in the restaurant. The metal gate blocking it and the bar area off from the rest of the mall had only been raised halfway, so Marco had to duck under it.

  “Take them down,” Marco’s guard said, pushing him forward toward the table, where there sat four other guys surrounded by two guards.

  On the short journey back to the Lord & Taylor, the others complained about security busting the party, but otherwise seemed pleased with the evening. Marco gave himself a mental pat on the back for having actually pulled the night off. So a few people were jailed for having mild fevers. Given Marco’s recent revelation of the death rate from the flu, he was prepared to accept the willy-nilly bagging and tagging of anyone with even the remotest sign of having it.