No Easy Way Out

by Dayna Lorentz

  Shay crawled along the wall and back into the stockroom. Luckily, the guard was still asleep. She stood and reached for the door handle.

  The door slammed open and two drunk girls tumbled in, laughing and shrieking. They both fell onto Shay, which set them into even more hysterics. Shay pushed them off, eyeing the guard constantly, waiting for him to wake and zap them all.

  Freeing herself from the tangle of their limbs, she ran into the dark hall. The guard began to shout behind her, the girls began to scream. Shay ran and ran, slamming through broken doors, there were so many broken doors!

  She reached a stairwell and fled down it. Bursting into the parking garage, she finally stopped and caught her breath. Shay fell back against the wall and tried to slow her heart. She hadn’t intended to return here, to see Ryan again—she didn’t want to have to argue with him or explain anything—but now she needed him. She needed to feel safe.

  Shay stumbled back to the SUV, opened the door, and crawled next to him. He groaned, then shifted his arms to wrap them around her. She closed her eyes and snuggled into him and tried to forget that she had to leave him in the morning.

  • • •

  Marco swallowed the last gulp from his cup while Drew relieved his bladder against the nearest wall. The party had died down—Mike had cut off the music, and most partiers had either passed out on the floor or stumbled back to their Home Stores. Some, though, had stayed around to see what happened next. Marco eyed these potential recruits, but found the alcohol had made critical thinking rather difficult.

  Drew staggered back to their perch on the first riser up from the screen. “Dude, I don’t feel so good.”

  “You ate a raw duck.” Marco tossed his glass into the general mass of garbage on the floor.

  “What duck?” Drew asked, looking genuinely interested.

  Marco decided to leave the details out. “Nothing,” he said. “But you might want to dig up some Tums or Pepto or something just in case.”

  “Taco, Drewski,” Mike barked from above. He stalked down the terrace in long strides. Arriving in front of Marco and Drew, he tossed two bottles of Sportade at their heads. “We need to pull out.”

  “Yeah,” Drew said. “It smells in here.”

  “Perhaps we should stop pissing on the walls.” Marco guzzled the Sportade as if it were the nectar of the gods.

  Mike continued, ignoring them, “Security’s bound to notice our little scuffle with their recon team. We have to gather the most valuable players and regroup with them in a new location.”

  “Bowling alley?” Marco suggested.

  Mike shrugged. “As good as anywhere else at this point.”

  “Dude,” Drew whined. “You mean I have to haul all this crap across the goddamned mall again?”

  “You’d rather face Goldman?” Mike did not need to say more. Drew was up and staggering toward the nearest Tarrytown player.

  “What are you looking for in an army?” Marco said, trying to focus on the face of the nearest guy. His head kept floating around like a bubble.

  “More of you,” Mike said. “But sober.”

  Marco could not help but feel a sense of pride in Mike’s compliment. He downed the remainder of the bottle, tossed it aside, and dragged his semi-conscious ass toward the nearest sitting body.

  • • •

  Lexi was lost. It was dark, dark, dark and she was all turned around. She stumbled down the halls, stumbled into and through doors.

  Someone must have slipped her a drug. Lexi knew herself well enough to know that something was way off inside of her. She hadn’t drank anything, so it had to be something she touched. Or someone who touched her. The gross guy. The one who’d kissed her. He must have slipped something into her mouth.

  Her head hurt. She heard footsteps and turned to meet them, but they were everywhere. Then a body slammed into her, laughing, ran past her. Lexi reeled back and slid down the wall.

  She had to get out of these hallways. The floor felt uneven against her legs. The black spun around her—how was that even possible? But there was definitely spinning. She clung to the wall. Closed her eyes. That didn’t stop the spinning.

  Where was her mother? Maddie? Ginger? Anyone? Even that asshole Goldman would be a welcome sight.

  Lexi crawled along the wall, hoping to meet a guard. If they carted her off to jail, at least she’d be with Maddie and Ginger. At least she wouldn’t be in the dark. At least she wouldn’t be alone. Again.

  More footsteps. A person. Lexi lay flat against the wall. Feet slapped by her, voices echoed.

  “Help!” she cried.

  Nothing. Feet farther away. Echoes quieter, quieter.

  Pushing up to try to crawl again, Lexi’s arms gave out. She felt so weak and cold. Her fingers, numb. What had he given her?

  She kicked off her shoes, drove herself forward with her toes, friction. Her hands patted the walls, searching for a door. She had to get off of the hallway. Had to find a quiet place to rest, stop spinning.

  Fingers dropped in from the wall. A door. Lexi pressed herself against the metal, struck up with her arm searching for the handle. Turned. The door opened and she fell into more black. Quiet. She pushed herself forward. Spinning, spinning, spinning.

  Lexi laid her head on the floor, kicked the door closed with her toe.

  “Help,” she whispered.

  L

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  ON

  The lights glaring through the SUV’s windows woke Ryan to the happy sight of Shay curled in his arms. He carefully extracted himself from their embrace without waking her, exited the car to pee near the Dumpsters, and then filled two empty water bottles from the shower heads before anyone came down to begin the daily cycle.

  As he walked back to the car, he discovered a folded paper in his pocket on which was scribbled a note of apology from Shay. She had apparently abandoned him last night and then, at some point, reconsidered. What the hell? Did she not believe him about the extreme danger level? Did she have a freaking death wish?

  She was up when he got back to the car. He opened the door and waved for her to join him outside of it.

  “Are you insane?” he asked, holding up her note.

  “I forgot to take that back,” she said, grabbing for it.

  She did not seem at all sorry. “Why didn’t you wake me up at least?” he said. “I could have gone with you. What if you had met some crazy security nut job? Do you not see my face? These assholes are serious!”

  Shay touched his cheek. “I see your face,” she said.

  He was caught between wanting to kiss her and lock her in the car. “I can’t lose you,” he managed.

  She leaned into him and wrapped her arms around his chest. “Losing you is not my goal.”

  Ryan held her, embarrassed to need her so badly. This was weak, girly crap, this feeling so desperate. He kissed her head. He had no choice in the matter. Girly crap or not, he was desperate for Shay.

  He heard voices from the pavilion and shuffled with Shay to the back of the car, which hid them from view. “So now what?” he asked.

  “Preeti wasn’t in the JCPenney,” Shay said. “Her cot was gone.” Her voice broke then and she wiped her face with her shirt. “I have to find her. And there’s only one place to go.”

  Ryan was confused—was Shay proposing she try to get security to tell her? “I don’t think security is going to help you out. You busted out of their jail, remember?”

  “Not security.” She pulled out Marco’s magic card. “The postal people.”

  Shay had clearly lost her mind. “No,” Ryan said. “They will kick your ass and take the card from you. They’ve already tried! What the hell do you think has changed in a day?”

  �
�They’re my only chance,” Shay said. “They can check the intranet, see where Preeti last checked in.”

  “But we need that card!” He had to stop her.

  “Not as much as I need to find my sister.”

  She had already made up her mind. Ryan could tell from the set of her jaw, the tone of her voice. “Then I’m going with you.”

  Shay smiled, then cocked her head at the car. “And Ruthie? You’ll just leave her alone in this tomb of a truck to see what happens?”

  Ryan was ready to tear himself in two to keep from leaving Shay. Of course she was right—he would not leave Ruthie. Not after everything. But leave Shay as a result? Impossible. He couldn’t.

  “They’ll hurt you,” he said. It was lame, but true, and he couldn’t stand to think of her getting hurt.

  Shay held a finger up, ducked back into the SUV, and returned wielding a tire iron. “I saw this on the floor,” she said, assuming a karate stance she must have seen in a movie. “Pretty threatening, right?”

  She looked about as threatening as a puppy with a stick. “Very.”

  Shay broke her stance and shrugged. “Our options suck,” she said, “but I’m not abandoning my sister and you’re not allowed to abandon Ruthie for me.” She tucked the tire iron into her waistband, which dragged her pants to the floor.

  They both burst out laughing. Shay tugged up her waistband, hiding those legs, then slung the tire iron through the strap of her bag like it was a bandolier.

  “Now I look fierce,” she said, showing off her getup.

  “They’ll pass out with fear.”

  The smile left her mouth and she pulled herself against him. “I will meet you back here before dinner,” she said into his shirt.

  “Dinner,” he said, controlling his voice so she couldn’t hear how scared he was. Would this be the last time he saw her? No. No matter what happened, he would find her, save her. If he had to kill every one of those postal people—would he? He would. For Shay, he would.

  They kissed one last time, and then she walked away, using the cars to hide her from the line of showering people. She waved when she reached the wall. Ryan smiled, waved back, then shut himself in the SUV to keep from running after her. He would see her again. No matter what.

  Ruthie groaned in the back row of seats.

  Ryan leaned over the seatback and pulled the shirt she used as a blanket over her. “You’re safe,” he whispered.

  He hoped he could protect at least one person in this hellhole.

  • • •

  Marco sat on the pinsetters’ catwalk in the bowling alley and scanned the police channels on the walkie-talkie. The security guys he and Mike had shut down had been found. One was in critical condition, the others would recover. He searched himself for some guilt or regret, but found none. This was a survival of the fittest situation. They had tried to kill him; he’d survived. If they died, it was because they were not fit.

  Drew shoved his way through the door, arms laden with hockey and lacrosse sticks, duffels of smaller weapons, and other treasures recovered from the Pancake Palace. “A little help, please,” he grunted.

  Marco waved the radio. “I was put on recon,” he said, grinning.

  Drew dropped his haul by the door, then leaned his head on the wall. “I feel like ass.”

  “More Sportade?” Marco said, waving his head toward where Mike had left his private stash. Surely Mike would share anything with Drew.

  “It’s not a hangover,” Drew groaned. “Hangovers I know. This is, like, bad.”

  Marco scowled, flipped to another channel. A guard was at the med center.

  “Just dropped off another kid from the jail, one of the partiers from last night’s catch. Lady at the desk said this was the tenth flu intake who was a kid this morning.”

  “Roger that. Will relay to the Bitch.” Goldman’s voice, and Marco assumed that he was referring to the senator. So things were not going well between them.

  He looked at Drew, who had taken another Sportade and was drinking it so fast, red liquid cascaded from the corners of his mouth. Was this the effect of the raw duck, or was Drew a victim of the flu? Someone must have brought it with them to the party last night. Mike had been wrong to think they needed an army. They could have gotten food without risking exposure. What else could Mike be wrong about?

  Mike and the Tarrytown guys busted in with the remains of the haul from the IMAX. Behind them was the handful of people from the party whom they’d recruited to their cause. It was tough squeezing them all onto the catwalk, but it was the safest place either Mike or Marco could think of.

  Marco pressed himself against the far wall and listened to the radio chatter while Mike brought the n00bs up to speed on the situation. Everyone seemed pumped for a battle with security. Clearly, some of the new recruits had been residents of Goldman’s jails and were interested in getting some payback.

  The radio provided nothing of interest, mostly just movements of people, more teens at the med center. And then things changed.

  “New orders.” It was Goldman again. “Bitch says to evac all healthy adults and children to the HomeMart. Chen confirms new strain affecting teens.”

  Marco nearly choked on his own spit. New strain? What new strain? How could there be a new flu strain? Unless. Unless this was some sort of weapon. Had the senator concocted some mutant flu with Dr. Chen in the med center to take care of her teenager problem now that the party thing was off the table? No. She couldn’t. Impossible. She wouldn’t do anything like that, even if she could.

  Then again, her security force was Tasering people at will and stun gunning guys in the nuts to gain information. What was really outside her moral code at this point?

  He decided to run the concept by Mike.

  “You have got to be screwing with me,” Mike said.

  Marco turned on the radio and let Mike hear the chatter for himself. The HomeMart was being reorganized to accept more residents. The number of teenaged flu victims was up fifty percent.

  Mike handed Marco back the radio. “Should I be surprised? They shot at us. This is just a new weapon. These people are sick bastards.” He ran his hands over his face. “Fine. Great. So the gloves are off. Perfect.” He then kicked the handrail with such force, Marco was surprised that the thing did not explode off its hinges. After a few breaths, Mike again looked at Marco. “If they’re moving to the HomeMart, they’ve got to take food with them.”

  “Which means they’ve got to move the food either through the service halls or across the main hallway.” Marco sensed where Mike was going.

  “They’ll take the main hallway,” Mike said. “It’s faster, and they sound like they’ve got a deadline.”

  The term struck an odd chord in Marco. Deadline.

  Mike stood and clapped his hands. “New plan, people,” he said. “We hit the food convoy. Ready yourselves for a showdown.”

  • • •

  It took all Shay’s willpower to keep from running back to Ryan. Screw Ruthie. The kid could fend for herself. Shay needed Ryan. The only important thing was getting to Preeti.

  But she did not turn around. She would do this herself. She gripped her tire iron and made the last turn in the service halls before entering the dominion of the post office.

  “Hello?” she screamed. “Crazy postal people?”

  Her voice echoed around her. Maybe they had a less insulting name for themselves.

  “I’ve come to trade for what you wanted!”

  The door in the wall down the hall slammed open.

  “It is her,” said the girl who propped open the door. The same girl Shay had attacked. Sydney. She had a nasty scratch on her cheek.

  Shay took the tire iron from its holster. “I am willing to give you the card if you give me some information.”
>
  A flood of people poured out in front of the girl.

  “Oh, you’ll be willing,” she said.

  The gang ran toward Shay. She did not move. When they came within range, she swung the tire iron. The first guy dodged her swing and grabbed the metal, wrenching it from Shay’s grasp. Hands grabbed her arms and legs and lifted Shay up, carrying her toward Sydney.

  Sydney patted Shay down while they held her.

  “Where is it?” she asked after having completed a disturbingly thorough search of Shay’s person.

  “You think I’m stupid enough to have it on me?”

  The gang dropped Shay to the floor.

  “So you wised up since yesterday,” Sydney said.

  Shay rubbed her butt—a nasty bruise was forming. “You tell me what I want to know, and I will tell you where the card is.”

  Sydney held out a hand. “Deal.”

  Shay pushed herself up. “Let’s see if you can help me first.”

  Sydney led Shay through their system of slightly sealed doorways to the mailroom, where the claw-fisted leader sat perched on his mail sorter.

  “What the hell is she doing back here?” he snarled. He sported a black eye. A gift from Ryan, Shay guessed, smiling.

  Sydney explained Shay’s offer.

  “Information?” he asked, turning back to Shay.

  “I need to know where my sister last checked in.”

  The leader glanced over at one of his cronies with a laptop. “You give me a name, and Giles over there can find her for you.”

  “Preeti Dixit.”

  Giles typed, then nodded.

  The leader cocked his head. “Where’s the card?”

  Shay had to decide whether to trust him. Screw it. She didn’t trust him, but what other choice did she have?

  “Behind the fire alarm, around the corner from where I met your girlfriend over there.” Shay nodded toward Sydney.

  The leader pointed at Sydney, who was out the door and back in less than a minute. As she walked back in through the door, she waved the card above her head and grinned like she’d discovered the thing all on her own.