by Katie French
His eyes flutter open and his pupils dilate. “Dust girl.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “Andrew hates you.”
I frown. “I'm sure he does.” I lean back from his breath. “Lavan, what’s the Messiah planning? We need to know. Now.”
Sadness fills Lavan's face. He shakes his shaggy head and grits what's left of his teeth. “Andrew wouldn't even give me a mask. Or a gun. Gave me hole duty without a gun.” His lead slips down to his chest. When he starts to sniffle, I shake his shoulders again.
“What do you mean give you a mask? What kind of mask?”
“Gas mask,” he says, sniffling. He runs a hand sloppily under his running nose, smearing a streak of snot on his cheek.
I grip his shoulder until he snaps his head up. Then I stare into his eyes. One is cloudy like the Messiah’s; the other is a surprising green. “Lavan,” I say slowly, “why would you need a gas mask?”
He looks up at me, his chin quivering. “It's the plan for the end. The Messiah's emergency plan for if the Breeders ever came.” Lavan hiccups, burps, and continues. “We all go home.” He drops his head. “It's better than becoming an abomination.” His eyes flick to my mother.
I lean back, my head buzzing. Then it's confirmed. They do plan on poisoning everyone. The group has gathered behind me. They all look down with scared faces.
Mage nods. “Papa said if the bad people ever came, he'd never let them get me.”
Clay puts a hand on my shoulder. “So he'd kill them all to keep them from the Breeders? Mage said they're coming tomorrow. Is that true?” Clay asks Lavan, his hand squeezing the life out of my shoulder.
Lavan shakes his head. “Dunno. After the Messiah died, Andrew said the Messiah killed himself to show us all it would be okay. That we should follow.”
“How does he plan to do it?” I ask Lavan, my heart slamming into my chest. “How could he kill everyone in the mall at once?”
Lavan doesn't lift his head, so his next words are hard to hear. “Sprinkler system.”
“The what?” Clay asks.
Mage points to the ceiling. A rusty silver arm protrudes from a pipe there. I've seen the pipes in other parts of the mall too.
“What is that?” Ethan asks, coming over and peering up at the circular metal wheel on the rusty pipe arm.
Rayburn jumps up. “The sprinkler system. Oh, Jesus.” He grips his curls in his hands. “The Messiah would've, uh, would've had to find the main water line and hook up his drum of corrosive liquid. Acid maybe if he found the right type.” Realization dawns on his face. “HF. Hydrofluoric acid.” He slaps a hand to his cheek. “That's why it would be stored in a p-p-plastic container. He could, uh, could deliver it through the sprinklers. It would eventually eat through the metal, but not before killing everyone in the m-m-mall.” He squeezes his fists together. “We'd be d-d-dead in minutes.”
Mage nods. “My papa was working on the sprinkler system a lot last year. He wanted Andrew to test it and fix the lines that were clogged.” Mage slumps down the wall, her knees tenting her jumper. “Why would he do this?”
I follow the sprinkler pipe with my eyes until it disappears beyond the wall. “Where's the main water system?”
Mage lifts her head, sniffing. “Don't know. In the back, maybe.”
“Lavan?” But his eyes are closed again and no amount of shaking rouses him this time.
“It's in the basement.” Prema pushes up and points a brown arthritic finger at the sprinkler. “I've seen it. We had trouble with the wash water last season. I walked down to the filtration system to speak to the engineer.”
“So, we go to the basement.” I stand. “Clay, Mage, Rayburn, and I'll go down and disconnect the acid. Then we find a way out.”
Mage looks up with wet eyes. “If the acid is down there, it's gonna be guarded. If I know my papa, he would've planned for someone to try to disconnect it.” She stares up at me, her eyes round gray orbs. “Riley, he really believed he was helping us by sending us home. He won't care who’s killed. Walking in there'll be a death mission.”
I look at Clay, a sick unease settling in my stomach. “It won't be our first.”
Chapter 24
Gunshots and screams echo down dark hallways. We sneak through the passages, barely breathing. We pass a storefront splashed with blood. The smell of smoke spikes the air as we slip by a large department store. This whole place is a ticking time bomb.
Clay limps silently beside me, his face locked tight, jaw rigid, eyes flitting back and forth as he scans for enemies. He glances at me, nods and then points at a scuffle going on twenty yards from us. Two mutants attack a male Believer in one of the storefronts. The crazed mutants claw and bite. The Believer fights back with what looks like a chair leg, clubbing mercilessly. The mutants take the blows like they can't even feel them. They throw themselves on the man like a pair of rabid dogs, with flashing teeth and sprays of blood. I clutch Mage’s arm and pull her away.
Mage leads us to the back of the mall, an area so poorly lit we nearly collide into one another when one of us stops. The walls are empty of the faded posters and flashy signs that decorate what’s left of the stores. Here it’s bare walls and hard tile. Small black doors line the hallway with plastic signs that read, “Employees Only,” and “Security and Surveillance: Authorized Personnel only.” It's quieter here, nothing but an electric hum that buzzes my teeth. I’ll take buzzing over screams any day.
We follow her to a door that reveals an even darker staircase. We step into darkness, palms running along the cool metal railing. The four of us bump to a stop at the bottom, squinting into the dark. Down the long hallway, the hum is louder and there's another noise too, a mechanical whir like a fan. A hand touches my arm and I flinch. Mage wraps cold fingers around my wrists. I reach for Clay. Rayburn scoots up behind us and his hand touches the small of my back. Then, linked together, we shuffle down the hallway toward the sound.
Ahead, a triangle of light cuts into the hall from an open door. We creep up to it, press our backs to the wall and listen. No sound, no voices, but that tells us nothing. From what Mage says there should be guards. What if they're heavily armed? We got one gun and two bullets.
Clay leans over and whispers in my ear. “I'm going in.”
“Don't!” I whisper.
He pulls away from my grasp.
“No, Clay!”
He leans his head into the light.
I squeeze my eyes shut, my heart pounding.
Silence. Clay takes a step forward, peering into the room, gun aimed. Illuminated like this, he looks stunning. I stare at his handsome face and love slams into my heart. My life would shatter if I lost him and I'd have little reason to pick up the shards. How did I let us grow so far apart? How was I so stupid?
He turns and smiles at me. “No guards,” he says. “Come on.”
Rayburn slides into the light next to Clay. There's a noise from inside the room. They turn and their faces contort into an expression of … fear? I step forward as if in slow motion, my hand reaching. “Clay!”
A gun explodes.
I watch in horror as both the men fall, a spray of blood arching into the light.
I stare, unable to process. Clay said it was fine. There were no guards.
I fall to my knees and grab for Clay. My hand reaches for his bunched shirt. The click of a trigger sounds from the open door. Another gunshot cracks through the air. I duck. The wall behind me explodes, peppering my neck and back with debris. I dive to the floor and curl into a ball. My ears ring. My heart pounds. I need to get away. I need to get everyone away.
Someone screams. Mage. She's screaming in the hallway. I uncurl and flick a glance at the shooter. He's a Brotherhood member in plain denim and heavy boots. His hair is thick and messy like a beaver pelt. His shaggy beard curls wildly from his chin and cheeks. He's fumbling with the pistol, trying to reload with slow fingers. He looks like he's never loaded a gun before. He shakes a lock of damp hair out of his eyes as he fumb
les a bullet into the open chamber.
Movement beside me. Clay jumps to his feet. In two strides he's on the gunman, snatching the gun with his good hand and punching him in the jaw with his wounded one. The gunman's head snaps back, coarse curls flying. His legs unlock and he tumbles onto the concrete floor. Clay takes the gun, flips it around, and smashes the pistol's handle into the man's head with a horrible crack. The skin on his forehead opens up like an overripe peach.
The gunman is still.
I push up, standing on shaky legs. Clay breathes a heavy sigh of relief, his chest heaving through his sweat-soaked shirt. But, he smiles. Thank God he's okay. I run a hand over my body. I'm okay. Mage steps into the light. I expect relief on her face, but there's something else. I follow her eyes to the floor and my heart reboots in my chest.
Rayburn lies in a pool of thick red blood. His face is ashen. His glasses are broken, split in two halves that dangle off the left side of his face. His mouth lies open like he's screaming. But there's no sound. No movement.
I drop to the ground. “No! Rayburn!”
His shirt is already soaked in blood. The fabric peels back to reveal a jagged red hole in the center of his chest. The flesh is flayed open like a punctured can. Inside is a bloody mess. My hands flutter over the wound, unable to help, unable to repair the destruction one cylinder of lead did to his heart.
“Rayburn.” I lean over him. His eyes are open, irises staring up. The trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth slips down his neck. “Rayburn!” I press my hands to his chest to stop the flow of blood. My hands are instantly slick. I have to make it stop or he'll die. “Rayburn!”
I look into his eyes, a deep chocolate brown. They’re beautiful, actually, though I've never really looked at them. Never really looked at him until now.
Clay's hand is on my arm, pulling me up, but I can't go. I keep pressing on Rayburn’s wound. Maybe if I hold him like this he'll…wake up. Maybe if I just stay here in this moment none of this will be real.
“Riley,” Clay's shaking me. “Riley!” A yank on my arm draws me out of my trance. “There's nothin' we can do.”
I stare at Clay. Mage steps behind him, her eyes thick with tears. Why is she crying? Rayburn never saved her life. He never took care of her when she was ankle-deep in hell. I turn back to Rayburn. My friend. My family.
“Riley!” Clay yanks my arm again.
I throw him a tortured look. “We can't just…leave him,” I manage to choke out. My head is buzzing. I can't think. I lift my hands. So much blood.
Clay takes my arms and draws me to him. He folds me into an embrace and gently whispers in my ear. “We gotta save yer ma. We gotta save Ethan.”
An image of them floats into my mind, pushing out some of the fog. “What do we…do with him?” I ask. “We can't just leave him,” I repeat.
Clay looks at Rayburn's body, his face lined with sorrow. “We'll tuck him in safe here and then come back later. ‘Kay?”
I feel myself nodding, though I'm anything but okay.
We carry Rayburn into the room. Lifting his feet, a wave of nausea hits me. More blood dribbles from his shirt onto the floor. His hand flops down. The hand he used to help me pull Clay into the van when we were fleeing the Breeders. The hand that stitched up my gunshot wound and Clay’s. That helped my mama come back from death’s door. The sadness crests, ready to drown me, but Clay locks me with a solid glance and I manage to get Rayburn’s body into the room. We lay him out, his arms folded on his chest, his eyes closed.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to focus as tears slip down my face. I think of Mama. Ethan. Rayburn wouldn't want them to die.
Clay shuts the door with a quiet click. The water room is the size of a master bedroom and houses pipes of all sizes, angling from several metal machines. The pipes are painted blood red, but have a thick layer of dust coating them. I stare at all the valve wheels and yards and yards of pipe. The far wall holds a huge metal box, its open door revealing rusting wires threaded through like tangled yarn. On the top there's dozens of red and black switches, none of them labeled. I shove my hands into my hair and pull. There's no way we'll be able to figure out which one shuts off the sprinkler.
“Shut-off valves,” Mage says, pointing, bouncing on her toes.
Pipes the size of three trunks run up from the floor. Giant orange wheels are attached at waist level. We walk over and stare at the six-spoked metal wheels, their paint worn around the edges where countless hands have gripped them.
“Do we just…turn one?” Clay rests his hand on the wheel. Some blood from his palm streaks the grip. Rayburn's blood. I will myself not to turn and look at my dead friend.
Mage shakes her head. “This doesn't seem right.” Her eyes follow the pipes upward, one finger tapping on her chin. “There would have to be a tube or something spliced into the system. I don't see anything like that.” She turns to me. “Riley, didn't you say there was a drum of poison? It would have to be down here, hooked up.”
I press my palm to the cool pipe, trying to think. If the poison isn't here, where would it be?
Suddenly an alarm shrieks down the hall. We run to the door and pull it open. The loud, incessant beeping drills into my ears. Did we trip an alarm? Is there a fire?
Down the hall a watery hiss begins. A sprinkler turns on above the entrance to the stairwell.
We're too late.
Chapter 25
“The sprinklers,” Clay says, staring. It's the one enemy he can't fight with bullets.
Mage pulls up behind us, her body trembling against the fabric of my shirt. “Maybe it's just water.”
I look up, hopeful. Yet, the mist floating from the sprinklers is starting to make my eyes water. A deep burn begins in my nose. I pull my shirt up over my face.
“It's not water!” I yell into the fabric. “We have to get out!”
Mage looks at me, frantic. “How?! Our exit is being blasted!”
She's right. The spray from the one working sprinkler at the end of the hall is saturating the stairwell with caustic water. The walls sizzle with acrid steam. If we run through, we'll get doused. It'll burn through our clothes and skin. But we can't just sit here and hope they run out of acid. Mama and Ethan are upstairs and God knows what's happening to them.
My eyes do a quick scan of the room. It's bare except for poor Rayburn and the guard that Clay knocked out. He wears thin clothes, threadbare shoes. Nothing to cover us.
Clay pulls out the gun he took from the guard and aims at the sprinkler.
“No!” I say, putting my hand on his arm. “Save your bullets. You'll only bust it and make the acid spray faster.”
My eyes skip past the box of switches, but then I see the door on the electrical box. It's at least three square feet of solid metal, wide enough for all of us. I run over and examine it. The door is screwed into the electrical box with huge screws. The hinges are solid metal too, but they're covered in a heavy coat of rust. I grip the metal lip and yank the door up. The hinges groan.
Clay's face slides into my line of vision. His damp hair clings to his forehead as he frowns at me. “What're you doing?”
“Help me!” I yank up on the door. It squeaks like hundred-year-old car brakes. The metal lip digs into my palm, but I pull with every ounce of my strength. When I stop, Clay takes over, heaving up with a grunt. One hinge lets go. He yanks down, his jaw locked. There's a metal twang and it pops off, clattering to the ground. We run over and pick up the bowed door.
Clay looks at it, shaking his head. “It won't be enough. Hold on.” He runs over to the unconscious guard and begins stripping him.
“How's that gonna help?” I ask, striding over. I look away as Clay tugs off the hairy man's jeans.
Clay tosses me a stiff shirt. “Find a faucet that works. Make sure it's clean water.” He throws Mage the guard's jeans. “We soak these and wrap 'em 'round any exposed skin. Our faces. Hands.” He holds up two socks, nodding. “It might not stop a direct hit o
f the stuff, but'll protect us from the mist.”
With Mage's help, we find a little wash sink in the back. The water seems to run clean, so we soak all the extra clothes and begin mummifying ourselves. With the wet material over our faces, it’s hard to breathe, hard to hear. And the small slit for our eyes makes it nearly impossible to see. I hope to God we don't run into any more guards. We'd be sitting ducks.
Mummified, the three of us huddle under the metal door and lift it over our heads. It seems much smaller once it's hoisted. Shoulders and arms could easily be exposed if we aren't careful. Clay looks at us through his shirt turban. “We move as a team. Always together. No one leaves cover,” he nods to the door over our heads, “got that?”
I nod. Mage's small round head wrapped wet denim nods. She looks up at me for reassurance. How can I be the one to reassure her? I can barely keep breathing through the fear tightening around my throat.
“Ready?” Clay asks.
My whole body screams no, I'm not ready to walk into a cloud of acid. Yet, I find myself walking alongside Clay with Mage in the middle. Clay and I lift the door, keeping our palms up inside the metal sheet. Then we step into the hall.
The hallway air burns my eyes like fire. My nose and lungs seem okay for now thanks to my T-shirt mask. Will our eyes burn out before we can escape? A horrible image of us stumbling through the mall with empty eye sockets flits into my brain before I can stop it. But all thoughts die away as we get to the hissing sprinkler. I huddle closer to Mage and Clay as the first drops ping against our makeshift umbrella. Will it eat right through?
The drops ping loudly on our heads and then cascade over the sides in a poison rain. The sizzling on our roof worries me, but for now the sheet of steel holds. The outside arm of Clay's shirt starts to smoke. We’ve only taken six or seven steps and we have to get all the way up the stairs. I blink tears out of my burning eyes and will myself into the man-eating cloud.
My toes bump the staircase. At least we've made it this far. Moving together, we manage the first step. The second. The third step is puddled with liquid. Mage slips, her shin banging into the stair. Water flies up, pelting us, but surprisingly the water doesn't burn. If only Rayburn were here to explain why. What will this air do to Rayburn's body? Then I realize Mage isn't moving. I look down. Crumpled on the steps, her hand rests in an inch of water. She starts wailing.
