Crowds of people fill the mall--it literally looked like a normal day of commerce in the old world, except many people are drinking beer and wine openly, and it has the festive air of a party. Families stroll and laugh together, boyfriends and girlfriends holding hands, roving gangs of teenage boys and girls wandering around checking each other out. And always nearby, a black-garbed soldier in the background somewhere, keeping watch.
“Do you see--” I whisper.
“Yeah, Sam,” Doyle interrupts loudly. “Quit whispering, I can’t really hear you, man. Just enjoy being a member of civilization again, buddy.”
I’m jumpy, and Doyle is right. I need to stop being furtive. Everyone is walking around unselfconsciously, as if this is the most normal day. So I force an air of lightness and continue blabbing about nothing with Doyle, but keeping my eyes peeled for the dark-haired girl whose memory brought me to this place.
As we walk, the corridor opens into a massive open-air maze filled with walkways and planks and ropes hanging in empty space, three stories above the ground. I recognize this is the place they call The Canyon, which is the much-hyped Wonderworks rope course. When it first opened, everyone talked about it, and billboards appeared everywhere directing people to the Wonderworks website for coupons.
I gape at the course for a moment, imagining when the infection spread through the mall that it must’ve looked like a great spot to escape the zombies. But then you’re stuck out there on the ropes while hordes of undead paw at the railings and occasionally venture out after you, dropping to their deaths below. And there you are, no food or water, just stuck waiting on the ropes course, terrified, unsure if rescue is ever coming.
Eventually, your arms would be shaking from hunger, and you’d have to climb off the course to get food. I wonder how many people jumped to their deaths like 9/11, preferring suicide to the alternative. And how many of those hit the ground but didn’t die, just broke their spine or legs and then lay there helplessly as the zombies descended on them.
I shudder at the thought. “Where’s Charisse?” I hiss, as Doyle leads me away from the ropes course.
“Relax, Sam,” he says. “It might take a minute, but we’ll find her.”
I notice an attractive woman approaching us, walking alone. She catches me furtively glancing at her like a mall perv and gives me a dazzling smile.
“Hello,” she says.
“Hi,” I mumble.
Once she’s out of earshot, I say, “People seem friendly here. Happy even.”
“Yeah,” Doyle agrees.
“Don’t you think if they were being raped by Mav’s gang, they wouldn’t be so friendly?”
“Maybe he changed his policies.”
“It seems like he’d have to in order to keep this many people together.” I look around at all the relaxed people in the mall, and it doesn’t add up. Something is wrong here, and Doyle doesn’t seem concerned but my spidey senses are blaring.
We exit the new section of the mall into the familiar, original mall that I used to know. I look at the space where I think Same Bat Channel used to be—it was the first comic store in the mall, and it was one of the founding pillars of strength in my childhood. If you call what I had ‘strength.’
An announcement suddenly comes over the mall loudspeaker. “Attention, citizens of the M.U.R., there is an important briefing in the center atrium in fifteen minutes. All citizens please report to the center atrium.”
I look at Doyle. “This doesn’t sound good at all.”
“It doesn’t?”
“Feels like a trap. We should get out of here.”
“If they see us leaving, that will be suspicious,” Doyle replies.
“Maybe we can hide?”
He laughs and gestures at the mall. “Hide where—behind the benches? Everything’s locked up.”
“We could sneak back to Dick’s?”
He laughs. “Sneak?”
All the people in sight of us are heading toward the atrium now and we look suspicious standing here whispering.
“I guess we don’t have a choice,” I say. “Maybe we can kill Mav there.”
Doyle nods, and we continue walking toward the mall atrium with the others.
At the next intersection, I see a lot of people merging into the main hallway and also heading towards the atrium. Both anchor stores at this intersection have open gates. Plant potters line this hall in rows, and even from here, I can see the insides of the anchor stores had been converted into open, decorated spaces. No trace of the store fixtures that you’d expect to see.
“What do you think M.U.R. stands for?” I whisper.
Doyle shrugs.
We enter the crowds flowing out of these anchor stores, so it’s impossible to speak more without alerting others that we don’t belong here. The fact we’re carrying automatic weapons and no other pedestrians are armed should’ve alerted people, but no one seems bothered except for a couple glances. They remind me of vacant sheep, and I wonder how any of them survived, and how any of them just ‘forgot’ what the world is like out there now and blindly trusts this new government.
The center of the mall has four elevators surrounding a wide, square atrium six stories high. That’s where the suicide jumper leaped from who almost hit me years ago. A large crowd of pedestrians has gathered already here, and loads of armed men in their black clothing stand around ominously. Mav has to be nearby.
“This looks bad,” I whisper.
“Don’t worry,” Doyle murmurs. “I’ve got a high-ranking badge. Nobody will fuck with us. I’ve been in this place lots of times.”
I’m not sure if impersonating a high-ranking officer is a good idea. What if someone who knows the guy sees Doyle’s identification? I want to say something, but there’s no way to really have a conversation now that we’re elbow to elbow with all the ‘citizens’ of the M.U.R.
As we pass the guards stationed along the walkway, Doyle nods to them, and they nod back. So I nod to them, too. The lie is splattered across my face like a pie-eating contest, but they nod back at me.
Twenty to thirty gunmen are stationed around the elevators on this level. More on the upper railings of the floors above us. Most carry machine guns, and a couple have sniper rifles strapped to their backs. There’s definitely no getting out of this alive!
Some of the pedestrians keep looking at my guns, but none of the guards seem particularly interested, so I’m relaxed by the time we reached the crowd assembled around the atrium.
Something looms far overhead which didn’t used to be there: on the sixth floor, the protective railings had been removed around the atrium, and two metal girders spanned across the open air, about three feet apart. It looks ominous, though I have no idea what it’s for. Mav must be planning to cover the atrium up there, turn the sixth floor into a private palace, or a command center, or a missile silo. Who knows.
Infinity Mall really only has three floors and a small basement level, because the fourth, fifth, and sixth levels are just part of the tower that juts upward in the center of the mall. PR reps liked to say the mall had seven stories, although you can’t actually shop on the top three floors; the fourth was all mall offices, and the top two floors are called the Skydeck, a glass-walled convention spot used for parties and events.
The crowd here is huge: there must be at least a thousand people gathered on the three lower floors.
We stand in the middle of the crowd, trying to blend in unobtrusively. My nerves are still fired up and I can’t relax. I can imagine a hundred different scenarios where we’re outed.
Then a roar goes up from the crowds, the sound of hundreds of voices cheering and echoing from the walls, like Christ himself just returned. A man stands on the fourth floor, at the edge of the atrium looking down upon everyone. Cheers and shouts fill the mall, and people raise their arms in praise of this demagogue with a pedophile beard.
“Mav,” I whisper to Doyle.
He elbows me and raises his arms, a
nd I do the same.
“Thank you,” Mav shouts down. “And I welcome all of you to my paradise!”
Chapter 53: Then
I was in the back of the faux monster truck as it sped through the night, engine roaring so loud we had to shout to talk.
I don’t recognize the area, but I know we’re on Genesee Street, going through Fairmount, a part of town I’m not familiar with at all.
Stan had introduced everyone to me. “I’m Stan, this is Gary, and that’s Army Dave. That’s Doyle driving, and Brock riding shotty.”
“I’m Sam,” I shouted.
“So what the hell are you doing out here fighting a mob of zombies with those pea shooters?” Stan asked.
I told them I was luring the horde away to protect my friends. Gary shook his head, told me I was one crazy motherfucker. I explained how I was trying to help a girl get to safety so they could amputate her leg.
“Won’t work,” Army Dave says. “I guarantee it.”
“It works in the movies. We just thought…”
“This ain’t no fuckin’ movie, bud,” he replies. “The human heart pumps eighty-three gallons of blood per hour. It takes about one minute for the blood to circulate the body.”
“I tied off her leg,” I tell him.
“It don’t matter,” Army Dave says. “Blood’s still flowing. Even if you slowed it down to one-tenth of its rate, you’ve got ten minutes tops to stop it.”
This really broke my heart, thinking of her sitting there getting her leg sawed off by Dr. Avipsa, screaming and crying through the pain, only to turn into one of those things anyway. Poor Ma’Sheea.
It was too horrific. I just stared dully at the passing buildings, not registering anything.
“We’re all pretty fuckin’ doomed,” Gary says, like he’s reading my mind.
Army Dave smacks him. “I told you, man. I talked to my buddy Bob. He’s an Army Ranger. The virus has an average lifespan of 53 days. In eight weeks, the military is coming out to take control again.”
Stan rolled his eyes. “Army Dave is our resident expert on conspiracies. See, the illuminati started the plague on purpose for population control. They’re like a world government, run by the Russians or whatever. These puppet masters engineered a solution, and once all the zombies die because of the virus half-life or whatever, the Army is coming out of their underground bunkers to take control and a new humanity will be reborn.”
“It ain’t the Russians,” Army Dave said. “I never said it was Russians. That Cold War shit is done. That was a smokescreen anyway, a false flag, just like the Iraqi war and the World Trade Center. The Illuminati ain’t from any country--they run the whole show.”
I didn’t comprehend what reality I was in at this point. I just hopped from gangsters in the ghetto to these wingnut survivalists, and my head is spinning. Ma’Sheea was the only thing I was thinking of.
“What, you don’t believe me?” Army Dave said.
I shrugged. “I don’t care,” I told him. “As far as I’m concerned, the world has already ended.”
“Mark my words,” he replied. “On November 23rd, the zombies are all gonna be dead, and the United States Army is gonna take control of the situation.”
“Call him,” Gary said, laughing.
“Call who?”
“Call Ranger Rick, and let’s hear it from him.” Stan and Gary shared smirks back and forth.
“He’s not answering his phone,” Army Dave said.
“Just fuckin’ call him,” Stan agreed.
“Fine,” Dave said, pulling out his cell phone and dialing.
Stan looked at me then and made a cuckoo finger around his head. I forced a smile, but my head wasn’t here. I wanted to get back to the church, but I couldn’t ask these random strangers to go five miles out of their way through zombie-infested territory to get me back to the church.
“Where y’all headed?” I asked.
“The fire station on Howlett Hill. Gary works there.”
“Worked,” Gary corrected.
Stan chuckled. “Yeah, well, there’s a ton of shit on fire tonight so get your ass to work!”
“Straight to voicemail; his phone is probably dead,” Army Dave interrupted, putting his phone away.
Stan laughed. “He’s probably dead.” He clapped a hand on Dave’s back. “You see, Dave did a shit ton of acid after Iraq. But he’s a really good sort.”
“Fuck you, man.” Army Dave swatted Stan off and grabbed another beer. “What are you gonna do on November 23rd when you see the government actually did this?”
“The government did not kill off hundreds of millions of people by turning them into zombies, okay?” Stan says. “Gary, tell him.”
“Stan’s right, Dave. You’re off the deep end on this one.”
“They killed billions of people,” Dave replied. “This plague isn’t just in the US…it’s been released across the world. On purpose.”
I recognized the paranoia Dave was experiencing. During grad school, I did my clinicals in a state mental hospital, and it was full of these types of guys who were always pointing the finger at someone else that their lives had gotten bad. Learning to take responsibility is one of the hardest psychological processes we all face, and I didn’t really start doing it until the zombie apocalypse. This guy didn’t start even then.
“Either way, man, this is some crazy shit, eh?” Stan said, addressing me. “Fuckin’ zombies! There are zombies walking around eating people. Do you guys get this? This was predicted in the Bible--these are the actual end times. Are you a Christian?”
I groaned inside at another great psychological hurdle people have for taking responsibility: religion. “Yeah,” I lied, so this guy wouldn’t try to save my soul.
Chapter 54: Now
The crowd roars for a long time, like Mav is Bruce Springsteen or something. He raises his arms, cherishing the attention.
“Thank you, thank you,” he says, motioning for quiet. “I appreciate your gratitude, and I feel the same gratitude for you that all of you feel for me. We can rebuild this world, and together, we can make it better than it has ever been!”
More cheers. I look around for Charisse as unobtrusively as I can, but there’s simply too many people packed into the lower level, first floor, and second floors.
“Every single one of us here is a survivor. We’ve experienced great losses--really the loss of everyone and everything we loved. No words can ever bring back what we had before, and my heart hurts every day as I ask God why this happened.”
I roll my eyes and whisper to Doyle, “Can you just shoot this guy right now?”
“The crowd would tear us apart; they love this jerk,” he mumbles back. “We’ll get our chance though.”
Mav continues, “Mavreides United Republic is a chance to pave a new life for ourselves, to protect our families, to respect and nurture our children. The old systems of government didn’t work for us, and if there is one blessing we can look for in all of this mess, it is that here, now, we can rebuild anew, we can create a world where every single person is respected and has a place in the order. We were all born equal, and God has chosen us to remain here on earth, as part of His plan. So let us weep no more, let us not fall prey to our own fears, and let us not look suspiciously upon our brothers and sisters.”
The crowd goes wild like it’s a Trump rally. Mavreides United Republic? What a dipshit. He sounds like every conman politician who ruled our world before, and these people are eating it up. Things will be different, rah rah, except he’s acting exactly the same as every other conman! Have they learned nothing?
Mav continues, “I’ve been told that there are some in our midst who are not happy with this little paradise we are building. Some of them are even members of my own police force!” He frowns on cue. “That pains me, but I believe we are all entitled to our own opinions. I’ve heard that this small group of people who live among us would like to see me replaced.” He pauses dramatically, and eve
ryone in the crowd starts looking around. I feel like I have a glowing sign on my forehead that says ‘I want to kill Mav,’ so I just imitate everyone else and start looking suspiciously around. No sign of Charisse still. But then I recognize someone in the crowd--Doctor Avipsa, from Hasbro’s church.
She’s far enough away that I don’t think she can recognize me. My hair is a mangy tangle now, compared to when she met me. Still, I give her the back of my head as I crane my neck looking for traitors.
I’m dying to ask what happened to Ma’Sheea. I risked my life for that poor girl, and my heart strains with a silent hope that she is okay. But I know I can’t risk talking to Avipsa.
I start checking black people, seeing if Ornell is here, or Johnny, or Hasbro. But no sign of them either.
Mav continues. “These people think I’m not the right leader for this new era.” He laughs. “I will be the first to say that I don’t know what is right. I’m making the best decisions to try to help the most people, but I’m not God. I’m just a man. So to them I say--if you don’t believe I’m worth standing by: you are free to go! No one here will stop you, or hurt you. In fact, we will provide you with supplies and weapons, vehicles even, and hope that you will be our allies in this world. Form your own democratic republic, become strong, let us set aside our differences.
“What this world needs is for humans to stop fighting, to stop meaningless conflicts between ourselves. To stop talking behind everyone’s back, and be honest, and bring about a new era of truth.”
The crowd roars its approval, including Doctor Avipsa. Democratic Republic my ass--I want to yell out and ask Mav if he was elected by a popular vote.
Mav goes on to detail his plan for those who want to leave. He tells them to meet in the commons level tomorrow at noon, and they will be given months’ worth of supplies and ammunition, and “we will all part as allies, struggling together to make this world better.”
He goes on to justify this necessary schism by explaining that if dissent is allowed to continue, this paradise will be torn in half. A house divided cannot stand. On and on he drones, and all I can think of is that I’d like to meet the people who’ve been quietly dissenting.
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