by Susan Kim
Bone racks . . . Maturing chops . . . Slaughtering . . .
“Here we go!”
Ramon was stumbling toward him. He was carrying an unwieldy armful of folders, files, and other bits of paper.
With an impulse that went against everything he believed in—honesty, respecting other people’s property, and the sacredness of printed material—Joseph grabbed the sheet of paper and stuffed it into the pocket of his jacket. Then he took the entire remaining stack of records off the floor and hoisted them onto the desk.
Ramon appeared at his shoulder. “Hey,” he said. “What happened here?”
Joseph struggled to come up with an explanation. But Ramon had already opened one of his notebooks on the surface before them.
“Now you’ll see,” he said, “these records go back several years, when I cleverly went from longhand to a kind of shorthand I devised myself. You see, these symbols over here . . .”
In all the excitement, Joseph hadn’t noticed that Stumpy, still hungry, had ambled across the store and out the door.
Silas had drifted away from the dancing, too. Though he couldn’t admit it to anyone, if there had been enough girls, he might have given it a chance. But dancing with Joseph? Probably not.
There was nothing to look at in the hallway outside the party; so he, too, headed for the windowless stairwell and descended to the lower levels. He walked through the dim floors of the mall, the soles of his new sneakers squeaking on the marble floor. Idly, he peered in at shuttered stores—CHANEL, COACH, BURBERRY, LULU GUINNESS—and examined the endless items on display: handbags, watches, scarves, overcoats, wallets. Reaching the street level, he decided to go even farther, down the final set of stairs.
Silas and the others had not yet been shown around this section of the complex. In the scant light, he saw that the basement floor had much the same layout as the ones above: an open area, lit by the waning light from far above and ringed by what looked like restaurants: PRET A MANGER, JACQUES TORRES CHOCOLATE, HARRY & DAVID.
He tried to peer past the metal gate that guarded the giant doorway of one store. He could see a glassed-in counter, a cash register, and what seemed like crude bedding on the floor. But just as he was about to turn away, Silas noticed a reflection in the counter and whirled around.
Joseph’s cat was roaming the basement by herself.
It was an unusual sight. The animal was rarely out of her carrier and always stuck close to her owner. Silas thought he ought to at least follow her. If nothing else, he could do Joseph a favor and keep her from getting lost.
“Hey,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Come here.”
Stumpy paid no attention to him. She slunk low to the ground, darting forward and then freezing in place. She was clearly stalking something hiding in the murky shadows.
Silas didn’t want to ruin the tabby’s hunt by scaring away her prey. Besides, he thought it might be fun to watch her catch something. So he moved after her slowly and kept his distance. Whatever she was pursuing seemed to be heading farther into the darkness, and soon Silas found himself far from the metal staircases.
At last, he saw what she was chasing, sniffing at the foot of two metal doors. He smiled. Well, what else could it have been? It was a rat, large and grayish brown.
Silas wondered how there managed to be vermin in such a pristine environment. There had to be food somewhere nearby; the rodent was surprisingly fat. Stumpy was frozen in place with a paw raised in the air, with only the tip of her tail twitching. When the rat nosed the ground, she crept forward two paces, then stopped again.
Silas held his breath as the cat coiled herself like a spring. She shimmied her hindquarters once, twice, three times. But in that moment, the rat glanced up, its beady eyes perceiving the threat. Even as Stumpy launched herself at her prey, claws extended, the rat was scrabbling at the impossibly narrow threshold, flattening itself enough to slide under the door and disappear.
Stumpy examined her paws, which had closed on thin air. The appalled expression on her round face seemed almost human, and Silas laughed. Then he glanced up and noticed the doors under which the rat fled.
Unlike the rest of the immaculate building, they were badly dented and scratched. There were letters on one of them, which he sounded out with difficulty: TO GARAGE. He pressed the metal bar handle, but it was locked.
Then he heard people approaching.
From the far, dimly lit end of the hall, he saw silhouettes heading his way. Two older men were wheeling a large plastic can on a hand truck and chatting with each other. Even from where he stood, he could see the pistols at their belts.
There was no real reason to fear them. Yet Silas obeyed his instincts, which were overpowering. He grabbed the startled cat, which gave an indignant mew. Then he fled to a shadowy corner across the hall and hid in a doorway.
Sure enough, the guards were headed toward the dented twin doors. When they got there, one took out a huge key ring and fumbled with it until he was able to unlock them.
“Shh,” Silas whispered to the protesting Stumpy.
In the meantime, the other guard had wrenched the lid off the barrel and pulled from it a black plastic bag, knotted securely. He disappeared in the room and when he returned moments later, empty-handed, his partner handed him another bag. Maybe six in all were brought into the room, one by one, before they were done. Then the guards shut the doors and locked them up again.
It seemed to be a dirty, unpleasant task. And strangely, thought Silas, it was one they hadn’t asked their guests to do.
The two men walked away, the empty plastic container now rattling before them. Once he heard their footsteps fade, Silas placed the cat down and stepped out.
Silas knew he could go back upstairs and no one would know where he had been. But by now, his curiosity was too strong.
The animal at his heels, Silas stepped toward the door. From his sock, he retrieved his thieving tools, which were two slim pieces of metal. He slid one into the lock, and jiggled it until the tumbler turned. Then he took the other one, a thin yet unbendable steel hook, and inserted it. Patiently, he attempted to tap the lock from inside. It took longer than he expected; after a while, he started to sweat and his hand to shake. Impatient, Stumpy began to cry next to him.
“Okay, okay,” he whispered. “I’ll get it.”
At last, he heard a click.
Checking behind him, Silas pushed the metal bar and stepped into darkness. The sound of the door opening echoed, telling him it was a cavernous place, even as the stench of the room hit him. He clamped the crook of his elbow over his nose and tried not to breathe.
Stumpy had her own agenda. Rushing past him, she darted into a black corner. Silas heard a tussle, a squeal, then nothing.
It was impossible to see. Silas reached behind him and pushed the door further open, allowing in more light.
There seemed to be an underground mountain range in the garage. Shadowy, hulking forms surrounded him on every side; immense heaps of garbage sorted by type: empty cans, bottles, discarded clothes. These were dwarfed by piles of black plastic bags, filled with human waste and in some cases spilling their foul contents onto the ground.
All around him were the active sounds of rats: squeaking, battling, tearing open bags. As he picked his way through the mess, Silas was astounded that such squalor existed mere floors below great luxury.
That was when he saw it on the floor.
At first, Silas was not sure what it was. It was small, the size of two fists, and its pale material caught the faint spill of light from the hall. Then as his eyes adjusted, he was able to make out more details. They made his stomach lurch and his blood feel like ice.
Empty sockets. Teeth. Nasal bone.
It was a human skull. And small enough to have belonged to a child.
Nineteen
OVERCOMING HIS REVULSION, SILAS MADE A QUICK DECISION AND PICKED the object up. It was surprisingly lightweight, as dry as a piece of old wood and so small, h
e could carry it tucked under his shirt. Then he looked around for Stumpy.
She was crouched behind a pile of garbage bags, devouring the remains of a freshly killed rat. He tried to lift her, but when she tensed up and growled, he relented and set her down again. It was, after all, the first real meal she had eaten in days. But Silas was uneasy about remaining much longer; he didn’t like the possibility of the guards returning and finding him. He was relieved when the cat finished eating, licking her jaws and letting out a tiny belch.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Holding her, Silas picked his way back to the open door. When he pulled it shut after him, he was glad to hear the lock click.
But in his eagerness to get away from the hellish room, Silas did not look to see who might be watching. He bounded up the narrow staircase that led from the basement level, taking two steps at a time. He was halfway up when a harsh voice boomed from above.
“Hey . . . you! What were you doing down there?”
Two adult faces were staring at him over the railing several flights above. Even from that distance, he could tell they were furious.
Moments later, the clatter of their footsteps running down the metal stairs began echoing throughout the marble atrium.
But no one was there to hear.
By the time the men reached the basement level, Silas had already sprinted down the hall to the enclosed stairwell. Still clutching the protesting cat, he raced to the third level before disappearing into the expanse of the mall.
Michal spun in a circle, her dress glinting in the torchlight.
Much to her disappointment, the dancing had ended half an hour earlier. Now, she and Skar were alone in the store that was their room, SUNGLASS HUT. As she had been so often lately, Skar seemed preoccupied and thoughtful, sitting on the edge of her cot and chewing her thumbnail. But Michal continued to dance alone, admiring herself in one of the many mirrors that adorned the walls of the store.
The adults had not allowed their guests to drink any of the intoxicating liquid. Still, Michal felt as free and loose as if she had finished an entire bottle by herself.
“‘’Cause I couldn’t take the shame,’” she sang. Then, with a smile, she opened her arms to her partner. “Come on . . . dance with me again.” But although Skar returned the smile, she shook her head.
Michal sat next to her, her face flushed. “What’s wrong?”
Skar didn’t answer at first. “It’s Esther,” she said. “I’m worried about her.”
Michal flopped onto the bed and raised her arms above her head. Earlier that afternoon, Inna had asked Bao to take Michal and Skar to a jewelry store on the third level. Once there, the girls were allowed to select as many things as they wanted: emeralds, sapphires, rubies. Now Michal admired the glints of colored light that glanced off the gems in her rings and bracelets and played across the ceiling.
“What do you mean?” she asked, not really paying attention.
“I don’t know,” said Skar. “She seems different.”
“Different? Like how?”
Skar searched for the right words. “Esther is very loyal. But that is only after you have earned her trust, with actions. It is unlike her to give it away so quickly, without even questioning the other person’s motives.”
Michal was puzzled. “Who are you talking about?”
“Inna.”
Her partner’s bluntness surprised Michal. “Don’t you like her?” she asked, sitting up. “I think she’s nice.”
Skar shook her head.
“It is not a question of liking. Esther is our leader, and I am speaking of her judgment. She trusts Inna, even though the woman has not yet earned it.”
Michal wrinkled her nose. “But she gives us so much nice stuff.” She shook her arms one last time, making the bracelets jangle. “She said we can have whatever we want. All we got to do is ask.”
Skar sighed. “True,” she admitted. “But we don’t know who Inna is . . . not yet. Not really. And each day, Esther’s trust in her grows and grows.”
Michal put her arms around Skar’s neck. “You sound like you don’t trust Esther,” she said. Then another thought came to her. “Or maybe you’re jealous,” she added in a teasing voice, “because Inna likes Esther more than she likes you.”
Skar smiled and was about to reply when something darted into their room.
It was Joseph’s cat, Stumpy.
As the animal disappeared behind a display case, Silas appeared at their doorway. He was ashen-faced and breathing hard.
“What are you—” Michal started to say, but Skar, realizing that something was wrong, had already leaped to her feet.
“Stay here, in case anyone comes,” she said to Michal. Then with a glance into the hallway, Skar grabbed Silas by the arm and pulled him deeper into the store.
Ducking behind a counter, the two were hidden from view. “Are you all right?” she asked. He nodded, unable to speak. “But someone is chasing you. Who is it?”
Silas caught his breath. Then speaking in whispers, he started to tell her what had happened.
Skar stiffened and held up her hand, silencing him. Seconds later, they could hear footsteps approach and stop in the doorway.
“Did you see anyone come by here?” said a man’s voice. A murmured reply came from Michal, and after a moment, the footsteps continued on their way.
“What did you find in the garage?” Skar whispered to Silas, once she knew they were safe.
Without saying a word, he untucked his shirt and pulled something out.
“Maybe it’s an animal,” he said in a low voice. “I don’t know enough to tell.”
Skar held up the object and turned it around, examining it. With her finger, she traced the empty eye sockets, the delicate jut of bone at the nose, and the teeth, which were mostly intact. Then she shuddered.
“No,” she said. “It’s not an animal.”
Michal had joined them and when she saw the skull, she gasped.
Skar looked grim as she turned the object around. “And that’s not the worst part. You see this?” Holding it up to the torchlight, she indicated where a section of bone had been smashed away in the back. The jagged hole radiated into fine cracks.
“Whoever it was,” she said, “somebody killed him.”
In the party room upstairs, all that was left was the beautiful wreckage of the table: dirty plates and goblets, crumpled napkins, empty bottles. Yet there was still so much food—not only figs, berries, and grapes, but also more-familiar treats made of packaged ingredients. Gleaming silver trays and bowls were stuffed with salted flatbreads dripping honey, sugary porridge, candies, and plastic containers of soda.
Esther stood alone at the table, nibbling a crust. The only other person left was Eli. He was watching her from across the room, but he was too shy to approach.
In truth, he was still dazed from the dancing. He liked it more than he had expected, a lot more.
Holding Esther and moving with her, feeling her body pressed close, her hand enfolded in his—it had unearthed all the old emotions and made them even stronger than he remembered.
And, unless he was crazy, he thought she had felt a flicker of something for him, as well.
Could it be true? Maybe at long last, after all the loss and struggle and pain they had both been through, he and Esther were finally ready to meet in the same place.
If that were so, Eli thought with a new sense of gratitude, it was because of their hosts. Inna and Ramon had introduced them not just to music, dancing, beautiful clothes, and fine food, but something rarer. They had taught them that they were entitled to pleasure, as well as something few of them had ever fully known in Prin.
That thing was happiness.
Though he had eaten less than an hour ago, Eli realized he was hungry again. As he filled yet another plate, marveling for the hundredth time at the opulence of the banquet, a funny thought struck him. The adults never ate with them; they always stood to the side at mea
ltimes, watching as their guests ate and then finishing up what little was left. Yet they had never once stinted on what they served.
“It’s almost like they want to fatten us up,” Eli joked to Esther.
But the two had no sooner sat down and started to eat when something made them look up. Joseph had entered the room, looking pale and unsteady on his feet.
“I—” he started, then stopped. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Esther had already crossed the room. “What’s wrong?”
He found the nearest seat and sank into it. He was panting and blinked a few times.
“It’s all right. Just calm down.” Esther knelt beside him and smoothed the damp hair from his brow. “What’s happened?”
“I wanted to get away from where I was.”
She spoke as if addressing a panicked child. “Where were you?”
“I was reading some of the . . . records. The ones that they keep. Inna and Ramon and . . . the others.”
“And what did they say?”
“They seemed to . . .” Joseph had regained some of his composure. “They seemed to refer to . . . how they’ve survived. What they . . . what they eat.”
Esther was losing patience. “We know what they eat. You remember their garden? They grow it all themselves.”
Joseph swiveled and stared her right in the face. “That’s not all.”
Unnerved by his intensity, Esther felt a prickling sensation at the base of her scalp. Then she dismissed it. Joseph was forever worried about something. In fact, he was already fussing with the leather carrier he always had across his shoulder and which now hung open, empty.
“Where’s Stumpy?” he asked, his voice rising with panic. “Has anyone seen her?”
“I’ve got her.”
Silas stood in the doorway, the cat struggling in his arms. The second the animal saw Joseph, she pulled herself free, leaped to the floor, and sauntered over as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Joseph reached down to scoop her up.
