Going Gray

by Brian Spangler

  From above a patch of tidy freckles, his green eyes quickly looked her up and down. A sudden shyness came over her, and she tucked in her legs bashfully. But in his eyes she saw a gentleness and concern. He wasn’t ogling her at all. Instead, he was just making sure that she was okay.

  Beneath his strong features, there was a beautiful boy that she knew once. A flicker of sentiment sprang to life inside her, an attractive notion. While it had been a few years since she’d last seen him, she’d heard something familiar in his voice. Peter Wilkes was in his final year of high school when she’d just started her first… that also happened to be the year that she’d begun to notice boys. And buried somewhere beneath the rubble of her house—tucked in between her mattress and the box-spring—she’d hidden away a black and white copybook. And inside the jacket of that copybook was a single heart shape, penned in purple, circling the name Peter Wilkes.

  “You are alive?” he asked, waiting for her to say something.

  “I’m alive,” she coughed, and tried to wet her throat to soften the sound of her voice.

  “Emily?” Her ears perked up when she heard her name.

  “Peter Wilkes,” she answered.

  “Ms. Parks asked me to check on you… just wanted to make sure you were Emily.” His reply soured her earlier sentiment. “Wait. How did you know my name?”

  “High school,” she confessed. “Do you know if my brother is okay?” Her throat burned, adding fire to each word.

  “Justin?” he asked. She raised her chin. “He’s a good little dude. Grouped him up to play with some of the other kids. He’s pretty shaken up and all, but I suppose everyone is.”

  An image of Justin’s face came into her mind. The one when she’d begged him to shut his eyes—demanded that he shut his eyes, and not look at their mother. Emily suddenly felt like crying, but she pushed the emotion back, hardening herself, deciding that she was done.

  “Where are you taking him?” she asked, motioning to Mr. Rainer.

  “Rainer?” Peter pulled up again on the man’s shoulders, a rapid pop-pop-pop rang out, catching her off-guard. “We’ve got a spot in the back where we’re putting them.”

  “Them?”

  “The ones that didn’t make it.”

  She only nodded and tried to sit up. But understanding what he meant hit her like a punch. She was dizzy and suddenly leaned toward the floor, falling.

  “Whoa!” Peter raced around the table, taking hold of her shoulders. His hands were gentle yet strong. “Maybe you should lie back down?”

  Shaking her head, she tried to straighten herself, but the dizziness wouldn’t pass. Before she could stop it, vomit spilled between them.

  Oh my God, I just threw-up on Peter Wilkes. Another wave came and she retched again. The embarrassment shrank away as she heaved, and pain knifed her side. The smell of vomit quickly rose up, masking the air’s salty stench. I can’t believe that just happened.

  The watery sight in front of her was a puddle of vomit and blood, her long red locks hanging down. Peter did something then that surprised her. He pulled her hair back, tucking it safely behind her head. She thought that his gesture was sweet.

  “Should I get Ms. Parks?” She heard the worry in his voice.

  Emily shook her head again. The last of it had come up. She was empty.

  “Don’t worry about the floor, everyone is throwing it up.”

  “It?” she managed to ask.

  “The fog. Ya know… poison. That is, anyone who’s been outside. But some like Mr. Rainer—I think they took in too much of it and couldn’t push it out.”

  “You too?” she asked, thinking it would feel a little better to know that he’d also had to vomit.

  “Nahhh. I’ve been here since last night. Working. Beaches by day, and the mall at night.”

  Emily straightened up, quickly wiping her mouth against her palm. Peter let go of her hair, but not before he ran his fingers through a few curls. It was an innocent curiosity, but she noticed. From his back pocket, he pulled a plastic bottle, offering her some fresh water.

  “It’s not cold,” he shrugged. “But it’ll help some.”

  “Thank you,” she said, taking a hurried sip to settle the scratchy burn in her throat. Water spilled from the corners of her mouth, dripping to her chin and down her shirt. She didn’t care. The water felt good.

  “Take it easy,” he told her. “You’ll get sick again for sure.” But she couldn’t get enough, and drank until she felt her stomach turn.

  She wiped her chin and asked, “Your family?”

  Peter stepped back and stretched his gaze to the corners of the food court. When he pursed his lips, unsure of what to say, she knew what his answer was.

  “I don’t know yet.” His voice was soft and quick, trying to cover up any emotion. “Got my mother on her cell phone, but the call died. Haven’t been able to get anything since.”

  “You’ve got a sister, too?”

  “Bug,” he answered her, smiling. “Her name is Christina, but I call her Bug.”

  “Bug?”

  “Started when she was new… a baby. All kinds of small and smelly and wrinkly, I thought she looked like a bug. The name took… just hope Bug’s okay.” A tear rolled down Peter’s cheek, and he rubbed it away impatiently, before turning away, ashamed. She felt the urge to reach out to him, comfort him, but held back, uncertain.

  “I hope Bug is okay, too,” she added, hoping it helped.

  “Thank you. And yours?”

  “Dead,” she answered, and realized how cold she sounded. But in the company of Mr. Rainer, she thought that it might be okay. Mr. Rainer kept his own dead stare on them as if he were a part of their conversation. “Can you… can you do something about that?”

  Peter tilted his head to one side, but then eased when seeing what she was referring to.

  “Oh, yeah. Sure, sure,” he acknowledged. He struggled a moment, his hand hovering just above Mr. Rainer’s eyes. “I’m sorry—never did this before.” Without thinking about it, Emily reached over and pinched closed the dead man’s eyelids. Peter moved away, surprised. While she felt worn and tired, the move surprised her too. She fidgeted with her hands, trying to rub away the feeling of Mr. Rainer’s skin. He felt cold; she’d expected that. But his skin didn’t feel like skin anymore. It felt like paper: dry and chalky. Emily shuddered, and gooseflesh sprouted on her arms.

  “Never liked him much,” Peter began, as if eulogizing Mr. Rainer. “He always seemed to pick on me. Ya know. I mean the guy was such a hard-ass.”

  “It’s the job,” she answered, having seen how much tougher Mr. Rainer was on the boys. To her, he was always nice. “So what’s next?”

  “We’ve got a spot in the back,” he reminded her, swinging a thumb over his shoulder. “A few of us drew the short straw and have to clean them.”

  “Clean them?” Images of yellow rubber gloves, soap and a naked Mr. Rainer popped into her head. She shuddered again. “What do you mean clean them?”

  “We’re supposed to undress ‘em, and then pack their clothes in plastic trash bags,” he answered. Peter shook his head, staring absently at Mr. Rainer’s body. “But none of us knows for sure what we’re supposed to do. So for now, we’re just putting them in the back.”

  “How many?” she asked, but didn’t want to hear the answer. Peter began to answer. “Wait.” She waved her hand in front of her.

  “Sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Well, if you’re feeling better, I’ve got more to do.”

  “Can I help?” she asked him. “I should go check on my little brother first though and let him know that I’m okay.”

  “I sure can use the help—if you’re up for it. Your brother’s fine. We sent the kids off to get some ice cream. Thought it’d keep them busy. Probably gorging themselves, Ya know… before it all melts.”

  “But the lights are on,” she said, pointing to the walls. Peter followed her hand.

 
“Oh those. Those are just the emergency lights,” he started to say, and then wiped a line of sweat from his forehead. Emily realized then, just how warm it was, how stuffy. There’s no fresh air. “The standby generator kicked in when we lost power. It’s running, but it only powers some of the things.”

  The air tasted old and smelled musty. It wasn’t at all like the crisp air she’d known. Maybe that is a good thing. “That might keep the poison outside,” she began to say, sounding uncertain. “How long will the generator run?” Peter shrugged his shoulders, seeming to share the same uncertainties.

  “It has a big propane tank,” he answered, but she didn’t understand. “The generator has its own propane tank connected to it, and it’s usually full. That is, until now.”

  “Is it bad outside?” he asked, his expression changing. For the first time, she saw the boy she’d crushed on throughout her high school freshman year. He was afraid. Emily turned away, preferring not to answer. Not yet. She looked to Mr. Rainer, finding an odd kinship with him. He’d been outside. He’d seen what happened.

  Emily caught herself wincing as she neared the edge of the table.

  “Are you sure you’re ready?”

  “I’d said that I can help,” she barked at him, and then immediately regretted her tone. Peter stepped back. She quickly added, “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to snap. I need to help—I need to get up and move.” And she did need to move. She needed to survey where she was, and where she’d brought her little brother.

  Peter motioned to Mr. Rainer’s naked feet, and Emily stood for the first time since coming to the mall. Blood seemed to run away from her brain, flooding her legs and feet in a torrent of pins and needles. She raised her arms for balance and swallowed up a hearty breath. Hidden beneath the stale air, she could also taste the salt. Still, the air was better than anything outside. But, she wondered, for how long?

  VI

  THE BODIES

  They’d rested three times carrying Mr. Rainer’s body. And by now, Emily was hungry. Should have eaten something first. She’d broken into a muggy sweat, her hands and feet tingling. Just a little more, and then eat something.

  Peter told her that the bodies had been tucked away at the back of the mall. Emily was sure she’d never seen the area he’d described, and wondered why they couldn’t put the bodies somewhere closer.

  “Almost there,” Peter said, motioning to Mr. Rainer’s legs. Emily grimaced, wishing she’d found some rubber gloves or even a few plastic Subway sandwich bags. She closed her hands around the cuff of their vice-principal’s pants and lifted.

  Dead weight, she thought. Now I know what people mean when they say that.

  “Sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m ready,” she answered, picking up Mr. Rainer’s body and following Peter’s lead.

  Peter led them to a set of doors. In all the Friday nights and Saturday afternoons, in her rush to meet up with her friends, she had to have passed by the pair of flap doors a thousand times. A drab olive color, thick resin sheets hung on loose hinges, hiding the service area from the rest of the mall. Emily stared at the large green doors as if seeing them for the first time in her life.

  “Mall Personnel,” Peter said, reading the sign on the door. “This is it.”

  Peter pushed his shoulder into the heavy door flap, moving it with ease as they struggled to carry Mr. Rainer’s body. Once they were on the other side, the plastic door sounded a pistol-shot that made her jump.

  When her eyes adjusted to the changing light, a million wires and pipes spilled over them, running along the ceiling, and climbing up the walls like thick jungle vines. She found a mechanical maze of things she didn’t understand. Large vents ran in every direction. Tin-colored and pitted white; some rectangular, some round—big enough to crawl through. Emily wondered if the vents reached the food court, branching behind the walls like arteries.

  Some of the corners were in complete blackness: hidden. And from where she stood, there was no telling how deep they went. For all she knew, they might not have been corners at all. Just looking at them made her nervous, and their mystery easily convinced her that something was about to jump out and grab her.

  Her mind played an evil game then, showing her a gnarled green arm, putrefied and maggoty, jutting out of the darkness, jerking Mr. Rainer’s body from their hands. And of course—in her imagination, which had gone into overdrive—she heard the sound of crunching bones and the slurping of his flesh. Emily shook herself, ridding her mind of the images.

  “Hanging in there?” Peter asked. His voice pulled her from her imagination. “It’s a bit dark over there, but no worries. We’re going in the other direction.”

  “I’m fine,” she answered, but it was a lie. Emily could hear the hissing laugh of the monster sitting and waiting in the dark. She dared to glance toward the corner once more before turning away. She wanted to be back at the food court where it was bright and open, and where monsters didn’t lurk in the shadows or crawl along the ceilings. “Never been back here, is all.”

  “Guess it is a bit drab,” he said, and briefly looked at what he’d probably seen a thousand times. “Well, I bet you don’t look as pretty on the inside as you do on the outside either.” He laughed, making a comparison, but then quieted when realizing what he’d said. He gave her an embarrassed smile, letting out a short laugh. And even in the dark, she could see the red in his face.

  “I get it,” Emily answered. “But thank you for the compliment… I think.” He laughed again; a bit more nervously, and she laughed with him as they turned another corner.

  There was a smell in the hidden guts of the mall. It was mechanical, the kind she’d smelled before at the auto garage where her father took their cars to get fixed. She’d always liked the smell. The tires, the fuel and oil. Rugged. She liked it even more now, especially since it helped cover up the salt in the air.

  Peter stopped to put Mr. Rainer down. Emily thought it was respectful the way Peter tried to ease the body to the floor. But when he slipped, dropping him, the dead man’s body thumped the ground and fell over. Emily cringed at the sound. When they turned, Emily saw the other dead bodies. Four bodies lay like matchsticks across the concrete floor. Mr. Rainer would make number five.

  “Here is good,” Peter said, leaning over to push Mr. Rainer’s torso alongside the other bodies. While dead was dead, Emily lined up Mr. Rainer’s legs, taking care to lay him down gently. An unfamiliar smell crossed her nose. It wasn’t the machine shop smell, or the salts and chemicals from outside; it was death. Emily realized why they’d moved the bodies to the other side. And then she realized that they’d probably move them again too, finding somewhere further.

  Emily slapped her hands, trying to clap the life back into them. She clapped again, hard enough to set a deep sting. Loose pieces of bubble wrap, paper and plastic covered the bodies. On one, she found a dead eye staring out, as if to see who was trespassing. And on another, a pallid nose poked through the plastic folds. All of the bodies were gray—some of them with deep blue veins turning black as the ink on a roadmap. Emily went to the first body, compelled to close their eyes like she had earlier with Mr. Rainer. She thought it was a small gesture, but respectful given the circumstances.

  “Who covered their faces?” Emily asked. Lifting the plastic, she reached beneath the makeshift wrap, and pinched the last of the eyelids closed. The paper and ash feeling stayed on her fingers. Decay.

  “I’ve been covering their faces,” he answered. “Haven’t done the eye thing though.” He shrugged, shaking his chin more to himself than to Emily.

  “What about Mr. Rainer?” she asked, looking around for something to use to cover him. “Do you have anything?” Peter circled a metal shelf, pulling and pushing on some boxes, until she saw his hands land on what he was looking for.

  “Got it,” he exclaimed, holding up a sheet of bubbly packing material. Peter went to work on Mr. Rainer, turning his nose when he knelt too close. “We’ll hav
e to move them again.”

  “Does the mall have a Doctor’s office or a nurse’s room?”

  “There’s the Security office. But only found the first-aid kit. Ms. Parks had us bring everything when she first got here.”

  “When was that?” Emily hadn’t thought of the timing until now. She wasn’t even sure how long she’d been sleeping. “When did people start arriving at the mall?”

  “Gotta be a couple of days now,” he answered, and then glanced at his watch, counting the hours. “Two days ago, it started.” But to Emily, the first of the poison gray was just a few hours ago.

  “That can’t be,” she declared. “I only got here this morning.”

  Peter shook his head, and she bit her lip. “It’s been two days,” he said. “Once you were cleaned up, you slept straight through.” As she listened, she reached for her side, feeling the outline of heavy tape over her injured ribs. An awful thought occurred to her then.

  “You mean, Justin’s been alone for two days?” Parental guilt welled inside her, and she choked back a tear. “He’s only six, and sometimes he forgets where he puts his shoes.” She didn’t know why she mentioned Justin’s shoes. It was random, and the sudden flood of concern drove her words. She got caught up in the emotion, but there was something more: anger. Her mother should never have left the car. She could still be alive, with them, taking care of them.

  “He’s fine,” Peter answered, placing his hand on her arm. She moved closer to him, a subtle and unintentional reaction. “There are a few kids here, and we have Miss Foster from the elementary school along with Ms. Parks.” Emily nodded, unsure if she could say anymore without crying uncontrollably.

  “I better finish,” she managed to get out, and knelt down to check the next body. It was a woman about her mother’s age, but she couldn’t make out the features beneath the plastic. A brief thought occurred to her then—her father or mother having made it to the mall. A miracle. But the clothes were all wrong. And, unlike Mr. Rainer, the four dead bodies had their shoes. She didn’t recognize any of them.