by Justin Bell
Rhonda nodded.
“Get to work.”
She looked back down at the deer, then lifted the knife, turning it over in her hand, her vision blurred by a mixture of rain and fresh tears. Even through the fogging smear of wetness, the knife glowed like a talisman, a smooth mirror illuminated by some strange glow, bright in the rain-soaked dusk, reflecting her glare back at her. But it wasn’t her. Not quite.
In the reflection of the knife, she didn’t see herself, she saw Lydia.
***
Rhonda’s eyes sprang open, her breath catching, the bizarre mesh of memory and dream still floating fresh in her mind. She could hear the slapping of rain on the roof of the Lakeview Mall and pattering on the parking lot outside. The mattress store they’d all chosen for their sleeping quarters was wedged on the south side of the mall, bordering one segment of the large, paved parking lot and she could hear the faint storm scattering rainwater over the surface.
It wasn’t night, at least she didn’t think so, and it felt like she’d just dozed off. Her brain was in a strange fog, trying to crawl up from the depths of sleep, but not able to find the next rung of the ladder. She laid there on the bed, looking up at the dark ceiling, listening to the soft spatter of rain water, trying to shut out the memories and dreams. The reminders of what was, and for her eldest daughter, what might still be.
Realizing she wasn’t going to fall back asleep, she swung her legs off the edge of the bed and sat there, arms crossed on her thighs, trying to visualize Lydia sitting there with her. Pulling her image from her thoughts, solidifying her into existence.
If she was there, what would she say?
Would she ask her if her grandparents had taught her to shoot a gun? Taught her to hunt other living creatures? Forced her to skin, clean, and gut her own meal?
Why had she gone back year after year? What were Gerard and Jodi Krueller giving her that Rhonda somehow could not?
Was she with them now? Voluntarily or not?
Rhonda lowered her head, the clouds of sleep starting to lift, but not quite enough. Cotton wads clung to the inner curve of her skull, wrapping tight around her thoughts, obscuring what she was trying to say. Trying to think.
Drawing a breath, she pushed herself from bed, walking through the store, eyes darting over mattresses, all empty. She’d woken up later than everyone and had gone to sleep earlier than everyone. What did that tell her?
Crossing the opened section of the store, she ventured out into the dimly lit central passage, not seeing much movement throughout the hall. Over to the left, she thought she saw Angel and Becky Fields talking to Max and Brad, having some kind of hushed conversation on the other side of the fountain, near what used to be an electronics store.
“You feeling okay, hon?”
Rhonda stopped and turned. Phil was in the pretzel shop, sitting up on the counter, sorting the scant remains of what canned goods they had. The pretzel shop had been converted to a food storage closet, which had once been full of non-perishables, but over the past eight weeks they’d been consuming more than they were gathering, and supplies were running dreadfully low. It was a poorly kept secret that they were running exceedingly, dangerously low on food and if they didn’t do something soon, things would be going dramatically sideways.
“I’m doing okay,” Rhonda replied, forcing a wan smile. “Just need to take a little walk.”
“Need any company?” Phil asked.
Rhonda shook her head. She needed some space. More often lately, all she wanted was to be left alone, something she was sure Phil, Winnie, and the boys were noticing.
Walking past the small kiosk where the electronic beds were, Rhonda did a double take, surprised to find them empty. Clancy Greer wasn’t there tonight though she did see Winnie crouched down and checking one of the controls connected to the bed by a coil of cable.
“What’s up, Win?” she asked.
Winnie turned and looked at her. “Hey, mom. We found some spare batteries out back. I’m trying to see if I can get this bed working for Clancy.”
Rhonda nodded. “Where is he, anyway?”
“He’s on watch tonight. First shift.”
“Really? Is he healthy enough for that?”
Winnie shrugged. “He volunteered. Dad was going to take it as usual, but Clancy insisted. Becky’s taking the next one.”
Rhonda smiled. “Thanks, honey.” She continued walking, the tile floor morphing into some strange twisting hallway in the fog of her sleep deprived vision. Up ahead the planked front windows spread out wide, and she angled left, working her way through the narrow front door, out into the dimly lit night. Outside, the rain was softer than it sounded, a light, comforting patter blanketing the parking lot and the Lakeview Mall. A light metal pinging came from the helicopter where rain drops slapped against the bolted hide and rotors of the transport aircraft.
She saw him, over by a small tree growth at the corner of the mall. He was leaning against the wall, his right arm hanging at his side, his head bowed as he stood there. He almost looked as if he were asleep as he stood, but she could see him moving, even in the low light of the setting sun.
“Clancy?” she called to him, taking a few steps toward him.
His head turned toward hers. “Evening, Rhonda,” he said. His voice was a low, pained whisper, as if forming the words was a struggle.
“What are you doing out here?” she asked.
“Doing my part, girl. Gotta pull my weight.” He shifted against the wall, the stub of his left arm flexing. Rhonda’s stomach pitched at the sight of it, a strange, blunt elbow twisting within several layers of wrapped gauze.
“Pull your weight? You think pushing yourself too hard and keeling over out here in the parking lot is pulling your weight?”
“I’m fine,” he said.
“Clancy, you got shot in the chest. We hammered you with antibiotics, but that’s no guarantee there isn’t something festering in there somewhere deep. Then you got half your arm ripped off by an improvised explosive device. That entire left side of your body is nearly useless. If you push yourself too hard, you’ll die, and you’ll be of no use to us at all then.”
Greer shrugged. “Guess that’s a risk I’ll have to take.”
Rhonda took a few more steps toward him and placed her palms on his shoulders. “You’ve done so much for us already. Helped teach Max, Brad, Phil and Winnie how to shoot. Helped us fight off countless threats. Got us out of Colorado, across two states. Let someone else take this one, okay?”
Greer stood there, staring out into the shadows, not moving.
“Clancy. I’m serious.”
“Hush up, girl,” he whispered, glaring out toward the shadows.
“Don’t call me girl,” Rhonda started, but followed Clancy’s glare, out toward the access road surrounding Lakeview Mall.
She saw it, just like he had.
Movement. Vague shapes, moving south to north, along the edge of the road, quiet and careful.
Greer lifted his right hand, a Beretta clutched in his tight fingers. “Stay here,” he whispered and took a step forward.
“Not on your life,” Rhonda replied. She reached behind herself and withdrew her own pistol, the Glock 17 she’d grown comfortable with, and held it in two hands as she followed the ex-sheriff around the bulging tree and out toward the access road. Her eyes followed his, tracing the movements of three shrouded figures, appearing as if they were walking low alongside the road, though starting to angle in the direction of the shopping mall.
Greer cut his movements, making a straight line toward their destination, picking up his pace, with Rhonda close behind. Just as she reached his heels, he was throwing himself forward into a run.
“You there!” he shouted. “Don’t move!”
“Wait!” she heard another voice. A shrill cry.
“Don’t!” another voice shouted, but then Greer was upon them and Rhonda darted forward to back him up. When Rhonda came into the low light of th
e sun she saw the three figures, pressing themselves up against the wall of Lakeview, hands in the air, looking petrified and holding stock-still as Greer aimed the Beretta at them, the barrel of his pistol drifting back and forth to cover all three.
“Don’t shoot us!” a man shouted, his hands moving with the frantic volume of his voice. There were two men and a younger boy, all three of them looking stunned and fearful.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Greer demanded and Rhonda came up on his left, keeping her pistol leveled toward the three, though now that she could see them clearly, it was evident they were not a threat.
“I’m Daisuke Shimizu,” whispered the first man Greer had approached. He was wearing a dirty gray sweater and worn blue jeans, a pair of black glasses clinging to his face. “We mean no harm. We come from Peoria.”
“The barricades?” Rhonda asked, her weapon not wavering. “How did you get through?”
“Barricades are down,” the man said. “They fell. Last night. The crowd got so big and… and… finally had enough. They rushed the barricades. Many people dead,” he closed his eyes and shook his head as if trying to clear the memory from his brain. “It was awful.”
Rhonda’s eyes darted toward Greer’s, and he returned the concerned glare. If the barricades had truly fallen… were they at risk?
“How many people broke through?” Rhonda asked.
“I… I don’t know,” Shimizu replied. “Lots of shooting, lots of dead bodies. Some ran back south. Some got through and went west. We just kept on coming north.”
“What are they saying about Chicago?” Greer asked. “Is that where you’re headed?”
Shimizu shook his head, non-committal. “I do not know where we’re headed. We kept on coming north. We found a car and… and we took it. Drove it about twenty miles, but it ran out of gas. Then we just started walking.”
“You saw no one else on your way here?” Rhonda asked. “We have a group here. Some kids. Should we be concerned?”
“Lots of people went through,” Shimizu said. “We did not see many people coming up this way. That doesn’t mean they won’t.”
Rhonda shook her head. She should have known this safe place wouldn’t be so safe forever. It was foolish of her to think they could just set up shop here perpetually and be fine. How long would a useless helicopter parked in the front lot really fool anyone?
“Who’s with you?” Rhonda asked, gesturing toward the other two.
Daisuke glanced at the two figures beside him. “This is my brother, Jiro. His daughter Kaida. We all live together, with my wife and son, in Chicago. The three of us, we were out of town… at a baseball game. My wife and son, they don’t like baseball, so I go with my brother and his little girl.”
“Have you talked to your family recently?” Rhonda asked. “We may need to venture into the city, we’re wondering what kind of shape it’s in.”
Daisuke closed his eyes and shook his head. “We… we have not been able to reach them. It’s been two months.” He looked back up at Rhonda, his eyes glistening. “I don’t know if they are even alive. We have heard rumors about Chicago. Awful rumors.”
Rhonda nodded. Her pistol lowered, easing down to point at the ground. She glanced over at Greer, and he repeated her motion.
“We’ve heard some scary things as well,” she confessed. “I’m very sorry.”
“We are trying to stay optimistic,” Daisuke replied, though his facial expression looked anything but.
“Why don’t you come inside,” Rhonda said. “We don’t have much, but there’s a roof, and it's a nice temperature. There’s a mattress store inside with plenty of places to sleep.”
Daisuke looked toward Jiro and Kaida, who looked uncertain. He spoke to them in Japanese and Jiro finally nodded.
“Thank you,” Daisuke said, bowing his head. “We will accept your hospitality.”
“Greer, can you lead them in?” Rhonda asked, her eyes darting toward the mall entrance. As she looked over, she saw Angel, Max, and Brad emerge, following the sidewalk, heading over to them.
“Any problems here?” Angel asked, his hand already closed around a pistol at his hip.
Rhonda glanced back over at the trio, then back at Angel. “I don’t think so, no. Some people who could use a place to stay for a short while.”
Angel narrowed his eyes at them, showing no immediate sign of comfort.
“I’ll vouch for them,” Rhonda said finally and Angel looked back at her, then shrugged.
“If you say so.”
Greer led the three past them to the mall entrance. Max smirked and nodded at Kaida Shimizu who appeared to be right around the same age. Her cheeks flushed as she nodded back at him. Moments later, Greer had directed them through the front door and into the mall.
“So where do you think you’re headed?” Rhonda asked.
“Supplies,” Max said quickly. “We’re running way low, mom. We need to expand our run.”
“And this is something you two boys have to help with?”
Max blinked as if just questioning it was almost inconceivable. “Well, yeah. We’ve found some stores a little ways north. Frozen foods distribution center, too. If we find a nice stockpile, we’ll need all the hands we can get.”
“You’re not going into the city I hope?”
“No city,” Angel replied. “I promise.”
Rhonda looked at Angel. For over two months he’d been a part of their crew, risking his life right alongside everyone else, not hesitating to put himself in harm’s way. He’d proven himself twenty times over, yet still, his past nagged at Rhonda. She’d heard the story, heard what he’d said about his arrest, about how it wasn’t his fault, he hadn’t pulled the trigger. But he was a quiet guy who stayed to himself, and Rhonda had a hard time not wondering if a tiger ever did change its stripes.
“My boys’ lives are in your hands, Angel. You sure you want that responsibility?”
“Not much choice, Rhonda. Either we find some supplies, or we all are just gonna starve to death in there. I say it’s worth the risk.”
Rhonda nodded. “Please be careful,” she said, then her eyes darted to Max and Brad. “All of you.”
“Yes, mom,” Max replied, rolling his eyes.
“We’ll be very careful, Ms… ummm… Rhonda,” Brad said, nodding.
“Good,” she replied. “I trust you.”
And she did. She trusted them. It was just the entirety of the rest of the messed up world she didn’t trust, and when it came to letting her son and his best friend go out into it with only limited adult supervision, that wasn’t something she would ever take lightly. She heard the car doors slam as they all pushed into the old vintage sedan parked in the lot as she walked toward the entrance to the mall, following the path the Shimizu’s had just left.
***
Night had fallen on the outskirts of Chicago, dusk wiped away by the dark smear of night, leaving behind only tiny specks of stars and the thick, round glow of moonlight.
Max looked out the window as the sedan navigated a tight right-hand turn, veering through the urban sprawl of Chicago suburbs. One thing that Max just couldn’t get used to, even over two months after the incidents, was the complete and utter lack of background noise. Even as the sedan’s roaring engine cut a noisy swath through the night, Max struggled to hear any other signs of life. Sirens, radio stations, crowd noise… anything. But all he heard was the dull roar of the car against a flat, bleak and noiseless dead city.
He knew the downtown area wasn’t dead. He’d heard the stories. Even now as the Chicago skyline bracketed the horizon just below the off-white sheen of moon, he could see a faint amber glow, the telltale trace of open flame. It was the same sight he’d seen in St. Louis not too long ago, the strange sensation of watching a city burn from several miles away. For a moment, they’d driven with the windows down, hoping to get a better look at the signs on the passing buildings, but as they drew closer to Chicago itself, the rancid
, pungent odor of smoke and scorched earth drove them to roll their windows up and peer close through the safety of the glass.
Angel twisted the wheel, keeping the car close to the right edge of the road as he rounded another corner, headlights splashing on rows of brick buildings.
“Can’t believe we struck out at that frozen foods place,” Max said from his window. “The freezer was cold, too.”
“Yeah, looked like someone just beat us to it,” Angel replied. “I’m sure there’s more out there.”
“Hold up,” Brad said softly, pressing himself closer to his window. “I think I see a grocery store. Take a left up here.”
Angel followed the directions, guiding the long, square vehicle in a gradual left turn down the side street, heading into a thick clutch of strip malls and free-standing stores. He saw it up on the right, a squat, square sprawl of concrete, the signs dim and unlit, but the shape and style of the building unmistakable. Pulling into the parking lot, Angel cut the motor by the front door and as the engine ticked into silence, Max and Brad threw open their doors and spilled out onto pavement, running over to where the normally automatic doors stood closed.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Angel said, coming up behind them. He was pointing to a row of windows near where the shopping carts were parked, and two of the large panes of glass were smashed open, revealing large, jagged, vacant holes in the reflective surfaces.
“Someone’s been here, too.”
Brad darted to the broken window and disappeared into the store, angling through the sharp, ragged edges without any hesitation at all. Max followed him through and Angel brought up the rear, but much more slowly and carefully stepping over the glass and ducking down to fit through.
“Small hole,” Angel remarked aloud, glancing back at the broken window. “How’d anyone fit through there?”
Up ahead he saw Brad and Max, each of them with a shopping cart, one foot up on the bar, the other foot kicking off, riding the metal four-wheeled contraptions like scooters down the long linoleum aisles. He chuckled, shaking his head. Kids would be kids.
