by Matt James
I put a finger to my lips and duck behind the closest cover I can find. The large table of jeans hides us well but is low enough that I can’t see very much beyond it. I need to see over the taller racks of clothes, not be at their level. I stand and take in the room and squat back down, wincing as I feel my quad flex and burn.
I nod my head to the left and move. Jill is right behind me, covering our rears as we zig and zag through the throng of garments and bodies. Luckily for us, there aren’t as many here as there could be. It was clearly a slow day at the mall when everything went down.
It doesn’t mean that the dead aren’t a horrible sight, though. Some of the victims are intact, but most aren’t. A lot of them are dismembered—missing arms, legs, heads… I shake off the thought and slow. There’s a gap between us and the next rack of clothes. The central walkway isn’t very wide, but it’s large enough that we’ll be exposed. I peek out and see something I don’t like.
Well, something else I don’t like.
A column of reapers, eight in all, march their way towards us, using the main walkway for its intended purpose. Jill grabs my arm and points across the room. There, behind a smashed, glass jewelry counter, I see what she does. The top of Hope’s head is barely visible.
Where’s Wes?
I answer my own question when I realize that Hope is alone. Wes wouldn’t leave a little girl alone in a place like this. Either they got separated or…he’s dead. I close my eyes and grit my teeth. The situation reminds me of John all over again. Another nice guy dead for helping us. How many more good people have to die for Jill and me to live?
Selfishly, I decide that there isn’t a number. I’ll do anything to keep us alive. Besides, it’s not just the two of us anymore.
Jill edges forward, but I stop her with a strong arm across her chest and a shake of my head. She mouths, “Hope,” and I reply with a palm, telling her to wait. She isn’t happy, but she acquiesces to my request and relaxes her posture. I raise my gun, Jill following my lead.
I whisper, “One… Two… Three…”
We leap out into the walkway and watch as a barrage of bullets take down all eight of the reapers. Our savior steps out moments later and collapses in on himself, bleeding heavily from a wound to his stomach.
“Wes!” I shout, charging toward him.
Jill goes to Hope and embraces her, just as I get to my hurt friend. Dammit. He’s in bad shape. Something impaled him in the gut. My mind returns to the siren back in the changing room. She was covered in fresh blood.
Wes’ blood.
“Jumped us…from behind,” he explains. Blood spills down his chin as he continues. “She was as silent…as death.”
“That they are,” I agree.
“Hope scrammed.” He grinned. “Smart kid.”
I spot Jill and Hope heading toward us. Jill still has her pistol raised, reminding me that we aren’t out of the woods yet. I look up and down the aisle just as three reapers step out from behind a display of lingerie. The first one sniffs the air and looks our way. No one moves, but it doesn’t matter. Wes’ blood is fresh and a beacon of sustenance.
Raising my gun, I’m about to pull the trigger, but Wes stops me.
“No,” he says, shaking as he raises his rifle. “Get them…out of here.” Growling, he turns over on his hands and knees and incredibly pulls himself to his feet. “I’ll draw them away.”
“Wes…” I say, unable to form any additional words.
Hunched over, he looks at Jill and Hope. “You’ve got a good guy here.” He turns and gingerly shoulders his weapon. “Take care of each other, will ya?”
One after the other, Wes squeezes the trigger and kills a reaper. “Go!” he shouts, blood enveloping his midsection. His complexion is already ashen, and I can tell he’s doing everything he can to stay on his feet and give us time to get away.
I follow his shouted order and pull Jill and Hope along behind me. We skirt the battle and find a quieter path to the right, away from the action. Wes lets loose a string of expletives, and gunfire, before we’re too far away to understand what he’s saying.
Then, there’s only silence.
No shouted curses and no additional gunfire.
Wes is dead.
I stop near the interior entrance of the department store and look away from the ravaged mall. While I can’t see Wes from here, I can visualize what happened. He ran out of ammo and was overwhelmed and slaughtered.
“Frank…”
Jill begins to pull me away—and I let her. There’s nothing more we can do. Hope is terrified, clutching her jaquin hard. Knowing Jill as I do, she’s only keeping it together for the girl’s sake. Even my eyes are “sweating” again, but I don’t wipe them. I leave the salty liquid be, unashamed of the outward show of emotion. Plus, my hands are covered in Wes’ blood.
I sigh and take up the lead, doing whatever I can to avoid looking at the kids play area below us. I don’t need to see that right now. I’ve got enough nightmarish things banging around in my head. Seeing what I know is down there, won’t help anyone—especially me.
“Come on.”
Instead of looking down, I look up through the glass skylights that make up a large portion of the ceiling and see that it's getting late. “We need to find a place to hole up for the night.”
17
After everything we’ve been through today, it’s nice to find a place to rest and recharge. Jill came up with a brilliant plan to make sure nothing unpleasant bothers us for the night. The only thing I didn’t like about her plan was that involved Jill leaving Hope and me behind while she executed the challenging part.
“I don’t like it,” I said, telling her the truth.
“Has to be done,” she replied, flatly.
“No, I’ll go.”
She snorted. “On that leg? Yeah, sure…”
She’s got me there.
The most problematic and dangerous part of the plan was Jill having to use a nearby staircase to grab an armful of perfume to cover our scents. Yes, that’s right, I said perfume. My stomach ached when she disappeared outside of the entrance to our hideout, the upstairs Hollister clothing store.
One of over 170 stores in the mall, Hollister actually makes some of my favorite t-shirts—but they also make my least favorite jeans. Button flies are the devil. Plain and simple. I mean, the jeans themselves are great—super comfortable—but the flies are tricky if you’re in a rush to “drop the kids off.”
My biggest argument with Jill was that she could’ve just used the colognes and perfumes that Hollister sells. She countered my dispute by saying that they weren’t obnoxious enough and she needed the really gross ones from the crappy kiosk below us. I eventually relented and retreated back into the storeroom, locking the door from the inside. I wasn’t going far, though. I was going to be listening for Jill with my gun at the ready.
She did offer to find us some dinner too. My stomach rumbles at the thought of anything edible.
The good thing about being locked inside the back room of a Hollister? New clothes for yours truly. I know, I know… You’re probably thinking: Really, Frank, another wardrobe change? What are you doing, hosting the Oscars?
Well, unless you’ve been on the run for a week all the while getting caked in all sorts of fluids without a hot shower, then you can shut the hell up! Fresh digs—even button fly jeans—are the only thing keeping me from torching my nostrils. The stink of death is bad enough. My own personal stench is becoming a closer second than I ever thought possible.
Keeping my pistol nearby, I slip into the clothes I grabbed on my way in, feeling ready for round two but hoping it doesn’t actually come. My shoulder holster is the last thing I replace, then the gun. Hope watches me do the last part of my quick-change. She had turned and covered her eyes while I swapped my clothes.
Thank goodness she did too because I needed a new pair of boxers more than anything. The mixture of blood and sweat was starting to chafe something fier
ce. The only thing I didn’t do was sit down. I stayed on my feet and paced back and forth like a lunatic. If, and inevitably when, Jill makes her rushed return to us, I don’t want to have to stumble to the door. I need to be ready for her.
I glance behind me and smile at what I see. Hope has laid out what must be every sweater in the back room, creating a makeshift bed for us to sleep on. It doesn’t look half bad either. Just seeing the padding makes me yawn.
Hope smiles and then lets out a yawn of her own.
Apparently, she doesn’t know that yawns are contagious.
For a second, I contemplate bringing that up, but stop myself before I can scare the already frightened seven-year-old. I’m actually proud that I could show so much restraint. And, yes, that’s my version of self-control—not telling a joke during a moment of crisis.
“She’ll be okay, right?”
I spin and find Hope sitting on the “bed” with her knees to her chest, embracing her stuffed animal. Instead of using a blanket, she’s slipped into one of the adult-sized sweaters. I can’t imagine wearing something that thick right now. Even though we have power, the back room is still a little balmy. The only thing I can think of is that she’s just wearing it for comfort not for necessity.
Poor kid.
“Jill?” I ask back, hands on hips. “Pfft. Please… If there’s anyone that can survive what’s out there, it’s her.”
Her eyes lower. “And Wes?”
Now it's my turn to look deflated.
“That was, uh, something different.”
“Different?”
I nod, trying to come up with a way to weasel out of this conversation. But Hope’s red-rimmed eyes are locked onto me, and I know there’s no weaseling here. So, I decide to be straight with her.
“Me and Wes… It’s what we do.”
“You die?”
“No, no, no,” I reply, smiling at her naturally simplistic way of thinking. It’s cute and reminds me of how innocent she is. “As police officers, we’ve taken an oath to protect those in need. We,” I motion to her and me, “were in need in the worst way.” I look at my feet. “Wes was hurt pretty bad too. Even if we got him out of there, I’m not sure how long he would’ve lasted.”
It’s a difficult subject to talk about—especially with a kid.
“Look, Hope, I know you’re having a hard time understanding what has happened to the world, but just remember that there are still good people out there that will do anything to help you.”
She smiles softly. “Like you and Jill?”
I give her one curt nod. “Exactly.”
She looks away. “Have you ever had someone die with you—like Wes did?”
“Yes,” I reply, crossing my arms. I’m not sure that I should be telling her all this, but I feel that being honest with her will assist in solidifying our bond. I want her to trust us to the fullest.
“Who?” she asks.
I waved her off. “No one close to us.”
Okay, maybe I don’t need to be ‘that’ forthcoming…
A soft “shave and a haircut” knock startles me and gets a laugh out of Hope. It also terminates our increasingly uncomfortable conversation.
Thank, God!
I unlock the door and barely open it before Jill slips in. Once she does, I quietly shut it and quickly re-engage the lock behind her.
“So?” I ask.
“We’re clear,” she replies. “I sprayed every square inch of this store in the nastiest stuff I could find.” She holds up a bulging plastic bag. “I also got this.”
I grab the offered gift, and my eyes light up. Inside is an assortment of chip bags, candy bars, sodas, and bottled water.
“I found two vending machines nearby,” Jill explains. “Figured nobody was going to buy anything anytime soon.” She shrugs and sits on Hope’s left. “Couldn’t let it go to waste.”
Hope tears into a Twix bar, and I excitedly crack open a twenty-ounce Mountain Dew. It’s the only soda I drink, and even then, it isn’t regularly. I chug half of it and exaggerate my indulgence by falling backward, patting my belly after I land. Hope giggles, which is precisely what I was hoping would happen.
Jill runs her hand along the sweatered bedding and looks at me. “Your idea?”
Propping myself up on one elbow, I shake my head and tip my chin at Hope. “Nope, this is all her.”
“Really?” Jill asks. She’s laying on the happy tone really thick.
Hope takes the bait and shimmies closer to Jill, proud of her handiwork. “You really like it?”
I smile and pat her leg. “It’s perfect, Hope.” I meet Jill’s eyes. “It really is…”
Jill hugs Hope hard and tickles her side. The girl squeals, but slaps a hand over her mouth, looking fearful of the outburst. But when Jill and I laugh hard, she joins in, looking very embarrassed.
Even with all the sugar coursing its way through our systems, the three of us lay down a short time later. Our current state of exhaustion can kick the ass of any kind of upper.
“What happens tomorrow?” Hope asks, already sounding half-asleep. She’s curled up between Jill and me, her knees tucked into her extra-large sweater.
“Hopefully, we’ll find Jill’s and my folks and get out of here.”
“Where will we go?”
“Anywhere we can,” I reply, being honest. I don’t have a clue where we can go that won’t have packs of roving monsters waiting for us.
“And what happens…” Hope yawns, “if we don’t find your families?”
“Then we’ll…” Jill answers, her voice catching. “We’ll figure it out as we go.” She combs her hand through Hope’s hair. “Get some sleep, sweetheart.”
* * *
Both of the girls nod off a couple of minutes later. I don’t, however. Instead, I just stare at the ceiling. I concentrate and try to visualize the city around us but fail. I know this town like the back of my hand, which would usually prove to be a much-needed boost to someone in my position.
Know the terrain.
Except, the terrain has been severely altered.
My hometown is generally pretty easy to get around in. There isn’t much going on unless you’re near the major roads like we are now. My biggest concern with tomorrow’s trek is the roadways more than anything else.
Within the city limits, they’re much narrower and wind themselves through what used to be dense swampland sixty-some-odd years ago. A lot of streets go east and west, as well as north and south, following the natural shape of the land that they’re built into. It’s not a concern for me, but I’ve known plenty of out-of-towners that have gotten lost here.
I’d routinely tell people that you have to take Forest Hill west until it turns north. Or, when giving someone directions to a restaurant, I’d say something like, “It’s on the west side of Forest Hill.” They’d look at me funny and say, “But Forest Hill runs east and west.” I’d shrug and say, “Yep.”
And that’s just one of the roads that do that.
But like I said, it’s not a concern for me. I’m more worried about things like transportation issues or getting stuck behind a pileup and caught out in the open.
Like my death-defying romp through Manhattan, I can see this taking more time than I’d like. Wellington is only a few miles in diameter, but at the speed—or lack thereof—that we’ll be forced to travel, it might be another day or two before we get to where we need to go.
Any other day, I wouldn’t fret it. My dad can handle anything that’s thrown at him. Regrettably, both of our families live in a community with a lot of water. Every single home has it behind them, in fact.
My mind goes back to our encounter with the Unseen-squid hybrids at the beach. It’s the last time we saw them. I know we don’t have anything like that living within Wellington, but there is a nature preserve smack dab at the center of the homes, and it houses all sorts of critters. The only thing I can hope for is that we’ll make it there in one piece and that our par
ents stayed put and were able to survive.
18
From above, the Mall at Wellington Green resembles a stressed-out stop sign. At each of the five points is a major department store. Hollister is situated near the eastern store—which isn’t even a store, actually. It’s a movie theater.
“Okay,” I say, relaying my escape plan. “We leave via the theater’s outside entrance and find a car.”
“Then your parents?” Hope asks.
I nod. “Yep.”
I don’t tell her that we’ll most likely fail to reach them by nightfall. The girl has gone through enough, and I need to pretend that I’m confident, even when I’m not. I’m confident in my abilities, but not in the setting.
I don’t know this place. This isn’t my hometown anymore. And it makes my stomach roll. I may even vomit if I keep thinking about it. So, I don’t. Instead, I remind myself that I have two other people relying on me to survive.
“Ready?” I ask.
Jill and Hope nod.
We step out from inside Hollister and head left. We can’t see our exit from where we are, but the movie theater is there. Every few steps, I look to the right and down and check out the lower level of the mall, thankful that I don’t see anything moving.
That doesn’t mean there aren’t any noises though. The telltale call of a siren gives me goosebumps, but luckily for us, she doesn’t sound close. Then again, she can move fast, and silently, and could catch us in no time at all. I immediately look behind us and am happy to see Jill already doing the same thing. She isn’t a hero, in the way that people might look at someone like me as one, but she’s smart and more often than not, keeps a level head.
The siren’s cry echoes around us again, and this time, she sounds close…really close. As an alternative to conveying my alarm, I just pick up the pace and limp onward. Last night’s food, and sleep has given my body the fuel it needed. Yes, my leg fucking hurts, but now, it only feels like someone is shoving a dagger into my quad. Before, it felt as if a goblin was gnawing on it. The latter is much worse, even though the former isn’t much better sounding.
