No Easy Way Out

by Dayna Lorentz

  “I am chief of security Hank Goldman. I need to confirm that all of you are registered, and then escort you in groups back to your Home Stores for assignments.” He pointed a finger at the exterior wall. “Get your backs against the glass and we can start this process.”

  “Or what?” some idiot shouted.

  “I will personally beat the living crap out of any troublemakers.”

  As if hoping to serve as an example, two goth kids rushed the four of them. Hank smacked the first in the chest with a nightstick, then smacked the second in the back of the head with it on the downswing.

  “Any more of you assholes want to test my resolve?”

  Apparently not. Everyone shuffled toward the wall and formed a single-file line. The goth kids were left unconscious on the cement. Marco stepped over them as he approached the table.

  “Marco Carvajal,” he said, looking purposefully at the daughter.

  Lexi glanced up, then back at the screen. She seemed to be blushing. Did she regret sharing the M&M’S?

  “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  “It’s not your fault I got nabbed.” She seemed genuinely ashamed. Could he use this guilt to some advantage? Perhaps she could be useful in solving his Mike problem. Perhaps she could feed ideas to her mother . . . Check and mate.

  “You’re already registered,” Lexi said, distracted. Then she swallowed. “I still feel bad you ended up in here”—she nodded her head at the line—“with them.”

  “Oh, these gentlemen were charming bunkmates,” he said. Marco tried to glance over the top of the computer to see his file. Just what did Lexi know about him?

  “Any of them you want me to send to bathroom cleaning duty?” Lexi waggled her eyebrows, then blushed deeper, as if horrified by her own eyebrows.

  Hank stepped forward. “Is there a problem with this one?”

  Lexi closed the laptop. “Nope, everything’s fine. Next!”

  Marco gave her a two-finger salute and joined the guard who was waiting to lead him back to the Lord & Taylor. He hadn’t gotten a peek at his file, but he doubted the senator would put their little deal on the books. It was safe to assume Lexi was in the dark. He could play her like a goddamn n00b.

  • • •

  Shay appreciated the regimented schedule the new mall order imposed on her. If every fifteen minutes there was another announcement telling her to use the facilities before breakfast, or to line up for breakfast, or to finish breakfast so that she could line up to receive her work assignment, there was little time in between to dwell on the fact that she could not scrape the image of Nani’s blackened, bloodshot face stuck through with tubes off the inside of her brain.

  There were other distractions too, like the fact that her frontier-woman nightshirt itched like a scab and she had to pretend with every bite that she was eating oatmeal and not the “Southwestern Omelet” the guard claimed he was scooping onto her plate. There were all the people jostling for places to sit around the first-floor courtyards, and all those germ-ridden bodies made her break out in cold sweats. So much to worry about. She had barely enough time to obsess over her misery.

  But what was she so miserable about? She was one of the survivors. Everyone around her was muttering about this. They had survived. Life was a gift. Each day was so precious. Shay tried to agree with them when they looked at her, bobbed her head as was expected, said, Yes, a blessing, when it looked like they needed more. She ate her “Southwestern Omelet” because that’s what you did when you were alive: eat, breathe, sleep, wake.

  She snaked through the line toward the registration table at the entrance of the JCPenney. There were security guards everywhere. A man who was caught without his mask was yelled at until he tugged it on. Two teens caught holding hands were pulled apart and reminded of the ban on non-necessary touching. Was this really living?

  “Name?” the guard said when she reached the table. He now had a laptop instead of a clipboard and sheet of paper.

  “Shaila Dixit,” Shay mumbled.

  “Spell that, please,” the guy said.

  She gave him the letter-by-letter, and he informed her that she’d been assigned to supervise at the school, which had once been Baxter’s Books.

  “Supervise?” Shay was confused. She was a student herself.

  “Everyone over the age of fourteen gets a job,” he said. “There won’t be new clothes until lunch, so just head up to Baxter’s now.”

  Shay did as she was told. A few of the escalators were back online, so she only had to tromp up one flight of steps to reach the third floor. There was a guard standing at the information desk to Baxter’s.

  “Student or teacher?” he asked.

  Shay wondered whether the fact that he couldn’t tell spelled doom for her tenure at the school. “Teacher,” she replied.

  “Movies.” The guard nodded toward the CD and DVD section of the store.

  Inside the walled-off area were some other kids around her age, but most people there looked like grandparents. One harried-looking woman with blond hair and cat’s-eye glasses stood in a corner sifting papers from a stack in her arms into piles. Instinctively, Shay wandered over to her.

  “Can I help?”

  The woman glanced up. “Yes!” she gasped, dumping a load of paper into Shay’s arms. “I’m Alison Chase, director of this whole school experiment.”

  “Experiment?”

  “God knows if this thing is going to work,” Alison muttered, sweeping a stray lock behind her ear.

  She asked Shay to finish collating the stack, then shuffled over to where she’d piled books into different groups. Perhaps due to Shay’s example, some other people approached her and offered to help sort the books. A tiny flicker of warmth sprouted in Shay’s chest. She had done something good.

  Just as Shay sorted the last page into its pile, Alison clapped her hands for everyone’s attention. She introduced herself, then began explaining what they were all doing there.

  “I was asked by the senator to help organize a school for the young children with us here in the mall. I am the head of a private elementary school, and thus have some experience with this kind of thing. Still, we are operating by the seat of our pants. I am going to assign you into teams of two, and give each team five to ten children.” She pointed to Shay. “This young woman is standing next to the packets I’ve put together for each team. Hopefully the instructions contained therein will help you manage your charges. Then again, I wrote it in the wee hours last night, so no guarantees.”

  Some people laughed in response. Shay glanced at the pages, becoming more nervous with the woman’s every word. Who thought it was a good idea to put her in charge of anyone, let alone children?

  Alison answered her question as if reading her mind. “You were all selected for this job based on what little we know about you—either you have a child or younger sibling here in the mall with you, or you indicated that you were a teacher, camp counselor, or babysitter at some point in your registration. Our main job is to keep the children happy. Any ideas you have for how to accomplish this, please bring them to me. I am open to any suggestions. We basically have the entire mall at our disposal.

  “I figure that the older children might respond to some sort of academics, so I’ve put the teachers and parents in charge of them. For the younger kids, I planned that the teams would take them to the food court, which needs to be cleared of tables and chairs. We can use it as a big field, and we have the two rides that the kids can play on.

  “Unfortunately, this is as far as I’ve gotten with the planning. Again, please come to me with any suggestions. I really appreciate your helping to take care of these kids.”

  She began to read off the teams. Shay picked up a packet of paper and flipped through the paragraphs. The instructions seemed highly vague.

 
; “Shaila Dixit and Kristian Olivier. Five-year-old Group C.”

  Five-year-olds? What was she supposed to do with a five-year-old? Did they use diapers? She hadn’t changed a diaper . . . ever.

  A guy who appeared to be around twenty-five walked toward her. “Hi, I’m Kris,” he said, holding out a hand.

  “Shay,” she said, handing him the papers. “I think you should be in charge.”

  “Because of my evident charm and wit? Or was it my spectacular outfit that gave my leadership credentials away?” He tugged on his T-shirt, which featured Tweety Bird giving the finger.

  Shay smiled despite herself. “Because anyone is better than me.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he said. “I mean, I’m an actor-type. Known shady element of society.”

  “You’re an actor?” Shay found herself interested—she hadn’t thought anything would be interesting ever again. “I was Titania in my old school’s production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

  “You’ve been a fairy queen and claim to have no leadership skills? Oh, modesty. For shame!” He swept a hand against his forehead. Then he bowed deeply. “Way back in high school, I played that ‘merry wanderer of the night’ Puck, my lady.”

  Shay felt giddy. She tried to recall a single line from the play, from anything, from Tagore even, and failed. “So what makes you a good teacher?”

  “I run an after-school theater program at Alison’s school. You know, after all-day auditions and answering all the fan mail and before I escape to Broadway for curtain call, etcetera, etcetera.” He rolled his hand and fake yawned.

  “And the Tony goes to . . .” Shay said.

  “You’re too kind.” Kris kissed the air to his invisible fans.

  Alison interrupted them. “Kris, your kids await.” She shooed them toward the store proper.

  “All right, bossy,” he said, giving her a playful shove. “Man, you’d think this was like some crisis situation or something.”

  “No touching,” she said, playfully shoving him back.

  Shay felt tears in her eyes. She liked these people. They seemed so normal. Where had normal been hiding?

  • • •

  Ryan had had about enough of the parking garage. It was nearing ten in the morning and Mike and Drew were still passed out after last night’s bender. He’d stayed in the rat hole with them for an hour after waking up, then had to bolt or risk losing his mind in the dark. Not that the rest of the garage offered much in the way of light. Every exit was permanently sealed over, as he and the others had found out the hard way after crashing their cars into what had seemed like flimsy gates. Every window or hole to the outside world was blocked. The only light came from the glassed-in central pavilion. Security must have cut all the fluorescent ceiling lights to discourage people from coming down.

  Ryan circled the perimeter, first at a walk, then, once he was sure his head could take it, at a light trot. He only lasted a few strides, but it felt good to stretch his legs. He missed running. Every day, he pounded the pavement. It was part of his training, but it was also something he loved. Like rock climbing, it was something he could disappear into, where he was only competing with himself.

  How long would it take to completely recover from the flu? Maybe he could sneak up to the medical center and ask one of the doctors.

  He made it to the opposite side of the garage before hearing any noise other than the squeak of his sneakers on the pavement: A door shut on a car. Ryan scanned the nearest cars and saw a giant SUV rocking.

  Ryan crept up on the SUV from its rear blind spot. He wondered if he should wake Mike or Drew. It was probably not the wisest move to be ambushing a potentially hostile individual alone. He ducked down and crawled the rest of the way to the bumper. He heard voices inside. Sliding up to standing, his back against the chassis, Ryan peered in through the side window.

  A child screamed and the car rocked again. The door creaked open on the opposite side of the car and Ryan heard footsteps. He rushed around the back of the SUV and saw two small heads disappear into the next aisle.

  It was easy to catch up to the kids—one boy and one girl. They kept looking behind them and tripping over their own feet. Ryan guessed they were kindergarten age by their height relative to the car bumpers. He grabbed the backs of their shirts, jerking them to a halt.

  “Let go!” the boy cried. He had curly blond hair and freckles, the poster child for cute kids. And he was literally crying because of Ryan. Ryan wondered how bad he looked—in general, people did not think his face was scary.

  “Calm down!” Ryan said. “I’m not going to hurt you!”

  The kids stopped struggling. Ryan let go of their shirts and squatted to be on their level. As he did, the girl kicked his shin and both ran. What had happened to these kids?

  “I just want to help you!” he shouted, deciding against chasing them, mostly because his head had begun to throb again. “Where are your parents?”

  The footsteps stopped. Ryan heard whispering. Then, from off to his left, “They got sick.” It was the girl’s voice. “They told us to hide in the car until the police told us it was safe to come out.”

  Holy crap. How long had these kids been down here? “When did your parents get sick?” Ryan took a few slow steps toward the voice.

  “Wednesday, I think.”

  “You’ve been in the parking garage since Wednesday?” If the parents had been gone that long, they weren’t coming back.

  “We have a bunch of groceries in the car,” the boy said, stepping out from between two cars. “We’re fine down here. Leave us alone.”

  “The fact that you’re telling a complete stranger about your supplies in a life-or-death situation like this tells me you are anything but fine.”

  The boy looked at his sister. A tear ran down his cheek.

  “Crap,” Ryan said, kneeling again. “I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just that I don’t think the police are going to come and get you for a long time. Do you have enough food to last a while?”

  The girl, who was taller, slung her arm around her brother. “We ate most of the good stuff,” she said. “And some of it started to smell bad, so we threw it out.” She pointed to where the overflowing Dumpsters had been moved. The girl had dark hair, and what little light there was winked off the spangles in her headband.

  “That was really smart,” Ryan said, trying to both calm the kids down and figure out what to do with them. He could not leave them in this garage. It was one thing for him and Mike and Drew to choose this hell, it was another for these kids to be stuck here on their dead parents’ orders.

  “Mom told us to stay here,” the boy said. “I don’t want to leave the truck.”

  “Are people still getting sick?” the girl asked. She sounded older than the boy. But not much older.

  “I don’t know,” Ryan said. “I would think so.”

  “Then we’ll stay down here.” She released her brother’s shoulder and took his hand. They began to walk back toward their car.

  He had two options: One, wrestle both kids up to the main floor and turn them over to security, which was not only risky for himself, but might expose the kids to the disease, or two, leave them in their SUV, where they had been fine until he scared the crap out of them. The decision was clear.

  “My name is Ryan,” he said, backing out of their way. “If you need me, I’m staying with friends in a closet on the other side of the garage.”

  The girl stopped and nodded at Ryan. “I’m Ruthie, and this is Jack.” The boy waved.

  “If you need anything,” Ryan said, “just remember—Ryan, in the closet.”

  N

  O

  O

  N

  It took Lexi the entire morning to process the delinquents in the PaperClips. By the time the la
st one was escorted out, Hank told her to take the rest of the morning off until lunch.

  “Isn’t lunch at noon?” Lexi asked. According to her phone, it was eleven fifty.

  “Enjoy your ten minutes of freedom,” he said, taking the laptop from her and exiting through the stockroom.

  This was the thanks she got for working without a break since eight in the morning? She cracked her knuckles, then flopped onto the table. Alone in the PaperClips yet again. At least this time she wasn’t buried under anything. And there were no bodies.

  At least not on the floor in front of her.

  There were over fifteen hundred unregistered names according to the database last night, and this morning, she’d only accounted for fifty of them in the PaperClips. Where were the rest of the missing? Maddie could not be right in thinking that they were all dead. But in these ten minutes of freedom, Lexi decided to count the few bodies she knew about.

  The hole in the wall leading from the PaperClips to the Pancake Palace was still covered over by a sheet of plastic, though the material now sported some holes and was so wrinkled it was no longer transparent. Lexi pushed it aside and stepped into the Pancake Palace. The lights were off, so she followed the wall toward where she remembered the doors to the kitchen to be. Beside the swinging kitchen door, she found a light switch.

  The lights shone down on an empty space. Everything that had been in the Pancake Palace—the beds, the boxes of supplies from the government, the patients—had been taken out. Lexi pushed through the swinging doors and entered the kitchen. The door to the freezer was closed, but there was no evidence of it having been sealed over as her mother had ordered. Which means they haven’t gotten to it yet, which means I’m in business . . .

  Lexi pulled on the freezer’s handle. With a thunk, then a rush of air, the door released and swung toward her. Cold air kissed her face. The freezer was empty.

  Lexi stuck her head inside. Empty. Nothing. The freezer contained shining steel walls coated in a dusting of white frost, that was it.