by North, Geoff
They made it back from the toy store without being shot. Michael lit one of the candles and set it on the desk in front of the dead computer. “That was stupid. That was the stupidest, dumbest thing we’ve ever done.”
Amanda was chewing one of her stolen chocolates. “We made it, that’s all that matters. And now we got stuff to eat, too.” She offered him one of the truffles he’d taken.
Michael ate the chocolate-coated ball, wishing he’d grabbed something without burnt almonds mixed in. “I hate almonds.”
His sister pointed to the pile of loot she’d carried in her shirt, now spread out over the floor. “There’s caramel center ones in there, a whole bunch of them.”
He found them and devoured six straight away. Amanda kept up with him—treat for treat—tossing the wrappers down into what remained. She drank from one of the waters and burped into her arm. It left a lip-smeared impression made of chocolate on the skin. “Slow down,” he said, “try and save some for later.”
“Look who’s talking.”
“Seriously, we might get sick. You want him to hear us puking our guts out?”
Amanda slowed down. “I think the music stopped playing because he left. I think maybe he went to another mall to kill more people.”
Michael didn’t like the idea of that, but he hoped it might be true. He sipped his water and prayed the monster had moved on.
“Did you hear that?” The candle light danced in her terror-filled eyes.
Michael wiped chocolate from his mouth with his shirt. He shook his head.
Amanda crawled on her hands and knees towards the office door. She pressed one ear up against the cool metal and whispered. “Thought I heard someone coughing.”
Michael was beside her seconds later, straining to hear beyond the suffocating silence of their hiding place. “I can’t hea—”
A woman’s voice called out. The children jumped back from the door as if it had suddenly become electrified.
“What... what did she say?” Amanda asked.
Michael shook his head. “I didn’t hear it all... something about God and pulling the freaking trigger.” Amanda’s brown lips started to quiver. Michael rubbed her arm, tried calming her. “We can’t just sit here. We gotta take her by surprise—if she has a gun, we have to stop her before she even sees us.”
He didn’t wait for a debate. Michael unlocked the door and started back through the storage room. Amanda blew out the candle sitting on the desk and followed after him. He started pushing the swinging door into the store outward, and she yanked at the back of his shirt. “Don’t! She’s with him... she’s with Roy.”
“We don’t know that.” He kept going, wishing once again he’d taken something from the office to use as a weapon. The butter knife was essentially useless against a gun, but it would’ve been better than nothing. Even the empty raspberry jam jar might have made a difference. There was a box of rubber balls on a shelf in front of him. He plucked a red one out and peeked around the aisle. A black shadow was moving towards them.
“I’ll lead her further back into the dark,” he whispered. “We’ll get that gun out of her hand before she can get a good look at us.”
“Don’t be stupid,” she pleaded. “It’ll never work.”
Michael ignored her and tossed the ball into the advancing shadow. He watched it roll away.
“I’m not fooling around here,” the woman’s voice called out. “I killed a man this morning with a knitting needle, and I’ll kill you, too.”
Amanda squeaked and pulled her brother back. They pushed through the storage room door as quietly as possible and waited. Michael saw her mouth the words, she’s going to kill us. He whispered back to her. “No... I won’t let her.”
There was a small rectangular window set in the door five feet from the bottom. The twins were too short to see through it, so Michael watched, and waited for any change in the dull stream of light. He would make his move then; he would kick at the door as hard as he could, and he would grab his sister and run. We’ll go left—through the sportswear store... we’ll get out of this place and run all the way home.
He didn’t get the chance. Amanda lunged at the door and reached through. There was a clatter—something made of metal hitting the floor. Michael reached with his sister and grabbed at the arm she was scratching. They pulled the woman through together.
“Don’t hurt us,” Amanda screamed. “We have chocolates and water! We can share!”
The three bodies tangled in a twist of fighting limbs. The woman grunted. “Let go of me.” They crashed over the big pink dollhouse and fell to the floor in a thrashing tumble.
Michael found his sister in the gloom and pulled her away. “Back to the room! We gotta get back to the room and lock ourselves in!”
They made it halfway back and the woman yelled. “Wait! Don’t run away, I won’t hurt you!”
Amanda hesitated, and Michael kept pulling her. “Don’t listen to her, she had a gun.” They made it to the office door, and in his panic, Michael forgot it pushed out instead of in. The momentary struggle was enough to let the woman catch up to them.
“You don’t have to hide from me. I meant what I said. I won’t hurt you.” Her short hair stood up in spots like grey, spiky nails. She was covered with soot and ash, and her dress was in tatters. She looked like a crazed homeless person, but her eyes were sane enough. She approached them carefully and held her hands up. “See? I didn’t even know how to use that gun. I took it... I was carrying it for protection, that’s all.”
“You said you killed someone with a knitting needle,” Amanda countered. “Said you’d kill us, too.”
Her head tilted to one side, and she offered them a weak smile. “I didn’t mean it. I was just scared... like the two of you are scared.
“Did you see Roy?” Michael asked.
“Who’s Roy?”
“He killed our Mom and all them other people. He had a gun, too.”
Amanda’s fear was giving way. “She doesn’t know him. She’s just like us.”
The woman looked back towards the front of the storage room. “One man did all of that?”
Michael got the door into the office opened. “This is where we’ve been hiding since it happened. You better get inside before he finds us.”
Chapter 3
“My name’s Angela.” She bit into one of the truffles and sat in the chair behind the desk. “What are your names?”
“I’m Amanda, and that’s my twin brother, Michael.”
“Your mother... was she the only one you were with? Was your father in the mall?” They nodded and then shook their heads in unison. “Do you kids have any idea what happened? Do you realize what took place outside of here?”
Michael answered. “Our Dad was always watching CNN. It was terrorists. They probably came inside the mall with bombs strapped to their chests.”
“It wasn’t terrorists, Michael, at least not like all that awful footage you saw on television. I’m afraid this was much worse. The bombs were much bigger... they went everywhere, hit all the cities. Everything’s gone.” Angela didn’t want to scare the children any more than they already had been, but she needed to let them know the entire scope of their problem. They wouldn’t be able to simply leave the mall and start over. They no longer had a home to return to.
They didn’t seem overly surprised. Michael spilled the accumulated wax from his second candle onto the floor. The scent it let off had made the office smell nicer, like fudge baking in an oven. But even that pleasant aroma didn’t fool the children to what waited beyond the confines of the four walls around them. “I kinda figured it was worse outside. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want my sister to get any more scared.”
Amanda looked at both of them. “Just ‘cause I’m a girl doesn’t mean I can’t handle what’s happened out there. Quit treating me like a dummy, dummy.”
“Quit calling me that.”
“Both of you stop,” Angela said.
The children listened, and she felt relieved. The three of them would have to stay together and paying attention to the only adult would make things easier. “Tell me more about Roy.”
“He shot Mom,” Michael started. “He shot all those people, and we saw him start dragging them into a pile. He was a security guard... he was supposed to help shoppers.”
Amanda continued for him. “And then he started playing that music, that song with no singing. Over and over again.”
“I didn’t hear any music.”
“It stopped just awhile ago,” Michael said. “Right when we went to get the chocolate.”
Angela considered this. The music had stopped just before she’d entered the mall. Perhaps this Roy had seen her coming and didn’t want her to discover what he’d been up to. Or he was luring her in. “We have to get out this mall. I have to get you kids somewhere, anywhere else.”
Canon in D started up as soon she went quiet.
“He’s back,” Amanda moaned.
Michael blew the candle out. “He never left.”
Angela made her way in the dark for the door and opened it. “Come on, you can’t hide in here anymore.” They wanted to argue, but brother and sister remained quiet as they followed her out through the store. Hiding in shadows had only kept them alive up to this point. If they wanted to keep on living, they would have to follow the dishevelled looking woman outside.
Michael poked something into Angela’s back when they were out in the plaza way. She stared down at the revolver handle. “You dropped it back in the store. We might need it.”
She wanted to remind him that she didn’t know how to use it, that it was too heavy to carry, and too terrible-feeling in her hands. Angela took the gun from him, considering the alternative of one of them waving it about even more frightening. She pointed it down the long corridor towards the intersection where she’d run from all those dead bodies. If this Roy was still in the building, it wasn’t any guarantee that he was still in that store. He could be anywhere, tracking their movement on camera. There’s no power. The cameras are all down. So how was the music playing?
“Don’t run, kids.” She stood straighter, tried to look bigger and more imposing. “Don’t let him see how scared you are. We’re going to keep an eye on that corner and walk slowly back towards the sportswear store.”
Put that gun down before you kill one of those children.
Her father’s voice was loud in her head, but it didn’t startle Angela. She’d been listening to him for years; interfering when she least expected it, offering his advice and cutting down her decisions, usually at the same time. “I don’t have time to argue with you, there’s a mad man in here with us.”
Amanda had taken hold of her free hand and was looking up at her. “What?”
“Nothing, just talking to myself... I do that sometimes.”
They backed along the corridor. Angela kept the gun pointed out at arm’s length, sweeping it from side to side across the shadows. “We’re there,” Michael whispered. Angela peered over her shoulder and saw the blasted in remains of the window frame she’d entered through. Fifty more feet.
May as well be fifty miles. You’ll never make it.
“Run to the window,” she ordered the children. “Get outside and hide somewhere.”
“Aren’t you coming with us?” Amanda asked.
“In a minute. I want to take some clothes while we’re here. It might start getting really cold at night.” She pushed Amanda towards her brother before either could argue. “Go!”
The children vanished around a display of running shoes towards the bleak grey opening. Angela ran in the opposite direction, to the youth section of the store, and started snatching once-expensive brand-name shirts off the walls. Nothing short-sleeved, she told herself. They needed to keep warm. Her fingers hovered over a grey hoody—she remembered the teenager in the house across from the collapsed church—and then decided on the white one next to it.
“Just because the world’s come to an end doesn’t mean you get to take that stuff without paying.”
Angela told the voice in her head to be quiet as she grabbed more.
“Hey! Quit stealing that shit.”
A fresh wave of fear crawled up Angela’s back. The music had stopped, and that wasn’t her father’s voice in her head.
“Put it all back where you found it and wait right where you are. I’m on my way.”
She wasn’t about to wait for the man the kids called Roy to show up. Angela started back towards the window, spinning about in half circles, waving her gun around and dropping clothes. He’s watching me... he’s been watching us the entire time since we left the toy store. How? There isn’t any power. How can he see me?
Now isn’t the time to act stupid, girl. Places like this have all kinds of back-up power in case of an emergency. And this is about as big as emergencies get, wouldn’t you say?
Just for once I wish you could say something helpful, Dad. Just this one time.
Okay, I can do that. Remember when you first came through this way... on your way down to that store at the other end with all them poor saps piled up cold and stiff? Angela ran into a golf bag set up in the middle of the walkway. The stand collapsed under it and the bag fell to the floor. Big-headed drivers and irons rattled half way out along the tiles. Easy, girl, watch where you’re going... What was I saying? Oh yeah, on the way to that Bay store... don’t you recall seeing that little hallway just to the left of this place? You couldn’t have missed it... the little hallway with the public washrooms sign above?
Angela nodded. She remembered. Well I’m betting there’s more than toilets and sinks down there. Could be that there’s some offices beyond... maybe a security station. Maybe this Roy character is a lot closer than you think.
There was a loud bang from somewhere behind her. Part of one the floor tiles next to the upset golf bag erupted up into the air. Angela heard something whiz by her ear at the same moment. Another bang and the golf bag jumped forward a few inches. I’m being shot at.
She could see him now, a hulking figure moving out from the shadows of stores behind, with two guns gripped in either hand. He fired two more times, each fat hand kicking up from the recoil. “Fucking thief! I told you to stay put. You fucking deaf?”
Angela pointed her gun at him.
Don’t do it. DO NOT kill another man.
But he’s going to kill me, Dad. Don’t I have the right to protect myself?
Thou shalt not kill! What part of that can’t you understand? Put the gun down, girl. You can repent for the life you’ve already taken. God can be merciful. He can forgive one tremendous sin... maybe... but he sure as hell won’t forgive a second.
The man was still advancing. He was pulling on the triggers of his guns, but they were only making clicking sounds. He’d run out of ammunition.
Pull the trigger. Stop him.
Put that goddamned thing down!
She could see the name tag on his sweaty chest. ROY. He had taken the guns and repositioned them in his big hands. He was clutching at the barrels and preparing to bludgeon Angela to death with the handles.
For the love of Jesus... lower the gun, Angie. It’ll all be over soon enough.
Her step-father had rarely been kind to her when he was living. But there had been times when he wasn’t hitting her mother or yelling at Angela. He had even tried being soft-spoken and gentle. It had been during those rare occasions when he hadn’t called her girl. He had called her Angie... and those were the times Angela knew he loved her deep down. She yearned to hear that voice. She listened to it.
Angela lowered the gun and Roy ran the last ten feet towards her. The gun in his right hand rose up over his glistening head. His eyes clamped shut, as if in sudden agony, and the gun dropped from his fingers. He fell to his knees, howling, and Angela saw Michael standing behind him, clutching the grip of a driving wood like a baseball bat.
Amanda lunged out from the clothing racks and
grabbed up the gun Roy had dropped. Her eyes met Angela’s and pleaded for the woman to run. Angela dropped the gun she was holding in her sweaty fingers back into the pocket of her dress. Roy was roaring like a bull having its testicles squeezed; he crawled towards Angela on his knees, raking his big hairy arms through the air. His fingers grabbed at her dress and tore the bottom half away. “Not so fast,” he gasped between wails. “You have to pay for those clothes... then I’m going to kill you. I’m gonna bash your fucking head in with my—”
Michael hit him with the 1-wood a second time. The big yellow head made a wet smacking sound into the fat between his shoulder blades as loud as the gunshots. He fell forward onto his face and howled.
Good job, girl. You just turned those children into homicidal maniacs.
They haven’t murdered anyone.
Not yet.
They ran for the window, Amanda holding one of Roy’s guns in both hands, pointed to the floor, her brother still gripping his driver, and Angela between them, clutching the stolen jackets, hoodys, and track pants. Michael went ahead and smashed more of the jagged plate glass out of the frame, hastening their escape faster.
They staggered out into the grey parking lot, its white-painted stripes still half-filled with cars, trucks, and vans that would likely never be driven again. Amanda tugged at the remains of Angela’s dress. “Where’s your car?”
“I... I walked here. I don’t have a car. I don’t even know how to drive.” The three moved between rows of vehicles, testing door handles here and there, not actually considering what they would do if they found one unlocked.
Roy crashed out through the last bit of window glass Michael hadn’t managed to clear. “Get the fuck back here and pay for all that shit!”
They watched from fifty yards away as he stumbled about in circles, crunching glass shards into dust under his black shoes. “He can’t hurt you now,” Angela whispered. She had led them further away and hidden behind a minivan. “We’re safe here. I don’t think he could run all that fast after the hits Michael gave him, anyway.”
