Gray Skies

by Justin Bell

  “But they’re alive.”

  “Definitely alive.”

  “All right,” replied Max. “So when are we getting them out?”

  “Well, let’s talk about what that means,” Greer said. “We’ve got five of us here, and only two grown-ups. That’s not exactly a well-equipped military rescue squad.”

  “We can make it work.”

  “We have no idea how many of them are in there,” Angel said. “We could be charging in there to our deaths.”

  “Me and Brad can sneak in,” Max said. “Same plan we pulled at Vernon Academy.”

  “You knew Vernon Academy like the back of your hands,” Greer replied. “You don’t know squat about this place.”

  “It’s a shopping mall,” Brad replied. “How complicated can it be?”

  “When you introduce a few dozen militia members? Pretty dang complicated, kid.”

  “Then we need to think outside the box,” said Winnie. Greer turned towards her. “I think I’ve got an idea.”

  ***

  Rhonda squirmed against her bonds, twisting her shoulders, trying to ignore the dull ache of pain that still clamped her left clavicle. Her head was aching, too, thick and throbbing from the boot to the head in the van. Craning her neck backwards she could see she was tied up against what seemed to be a coat rack, a long and heavy metal structure bolted to the tile floor in a small room that at one point was likely a clothing store.

  “You awake?” Phil asked, and she looked over. He was also bound to a rack, not too far away, his hands wrapped in silver duct tape, his knees bent up to his chest.

  “Yeah,” she replied. “Pretty groggy, though.”

  Phil looked over at her and winced. She had a busted lip and blood caked all over her left cheek and matted through her hair. It looked like she’d been through the ringer, partly from the RV crash and partly from the over aggressive boot. He wasn’t surprised she was groggy and wondered for a moment if she had suffered a concussion.

  “Well, well, look who’s back among the land of the living.”

  Rhonda looked up, squinting through narrowed eyes as Bruce Cavendish walked through the empty space that used to be the front door of the shop. The bones of a security system still sat there, plastic housing in an upside-down “U” shape. His boots squeaked on the tile floor as he approached.

  “You son of a—”

  “Hey, now, that’s no way for a lady to talk,” Bruce sneered. “I’ll have to call in Ralph to kick you in the face again.”

  “I’m not scared of Ralph and I’m sure not scared of you,” Rhonda hissed.

  Bruce shrugged. “Don’t really care if you’re scared or not. You’re gonna die just the same. Join your little snot son in that lake, maybe?”

  Rhonda snarled, wrenching against the rack, lurching forward. “Untie me and say that you piece of—”

  Bruce lashed out with his boot, bringing it around and slamming her in the chest, pinning her back against the rack. She grunted and slumped left, slapping against the tile floor.

  “Leave her alone!” screamed Phil, trying to angle towards Cavendish, but his binds kept him secured to his own rack.

  “Hey, she started it, you puke!” Bruce barked. “But you can be sure I’ll finish it. Just like you dirt bags finished my brother.”

  “Why don’t you untie us and then try,” Phil said. “See how tough you are when you’re not putting the boots to an injured woman who can’t even fight back.”

  Bruce walked over to Phil, reached for his boot, and slipped a knife from it. He pressed the knife tight to Phil’s fleshy throat above his stained t-shirt.

  “I will slit your throat and dump your blood all over this tile floor. I don’t give two spits if you’re tied up or not. Life ain’t fair, is it?”

  Phil opened his mouth to speak, then pressed his lips closed again and kept quiet. Behind his back, his fingers clenched and unclenched into fists, working through his inner frustrations as he sat there. But he did not speak or react; he remained where he was.

  Bruce shook his head and stood, returning the blade to the sheath on his boot, then walked across the floor and out the front, back into the main lobby of the shopping mall. All around him he could see the scattered members of his and Karl Green’s crews, though first glance revealed more of Green’s guys than his own. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. There were no real hard feelings between him and Karl Green; they all got along pretty well, but things could change, and if they did change, he was outnumbered and out-gunned, two states that left him uneasy.

  Crossing the lobby, he entered another shop across the way from the clothing store where the Fraser’s were kept—an emptied out husk of a candy shop, the clear display cases still ringing the small, square perimeter of the place. As Cavendish entered, two men exited. He recognized the men as Green’s foot soldiers, each one of them with an M4A1 strapped over their back. Bruce nodded to them as they left, but they didn’t return the motion, instead veering right and exiting out into the large, open lobby space, walking towards the decorative fountain in the center. In the former candy shop, Brandon Liu sat against what used to be a floor-mounted cash register counter, his right arm hand-cuffed to a post leg of the counter. He looked half conscious, but when Cavendish’s boots squeaked on the smooth floor, his head lifted and he glared at him.

  “Am I supposed to know who you are?” he asked. Cavendish shook his head.

  “No reason for you to,” he replied. “Though that friend of mine…the guy who those two cronies answer to. I’m betting you’ve heard of him.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “We have our ways.”

  “Look, you should know that I am a Customs and Border Patrol agent, and what you’re doing here is bordering on violation of federal law.”

  Cavendish lowered into a crouch, resting his arms on his bent knees. “We know who you are, Agent Liu, don’t worry. What we don’t know is why you’re here. And how did you get mixed up with the Frasers?”

  “The who?”

  “Don’t play dumb. You had the Fraser boy and his little friend in the back of your car. You know, before they were dragged screaming to their deaths at the bottom of the lake.”

  “You’re a real slime ball, you know that?”

  Cavendish stood up. “Flattery will get you nowhere. Now how about you tell me again what you’re doing up here and what it has to do with the Frasers.”

  “I’m up here for personal reasons. Nothing professional. As for the Frasers, the connection we have is purely coincidental.”

  “I don’t believe in coincidences,” Cavendish sneered.

  Liu shrugged. “Can’t much help what you do or don’t believe in. I can only speak the truth.”

  Cavendish turned away, crossing his arms and drawing a deep, exaggerated breath. “So we do this the hard way.”

  “Whatever helps you sleep at night,”

  Without warning, Cavendish spun around, slamming his foot around and driving the steel toe of his light brown boot deep into the ribs on Liu’s right side. He shouted and lurched down, his face twisting in agony as his ribs buckled under the kick. Cavendish lunged downwards, swinging a fist, and smashed Liu in the right jaw, snapping his head, then swung his other fist, blasting him in the other side of his face. His head lolled on his shoulders, eyes closed, blood forming at his pursed lips.

  “What is going on in here?” a voice bellowed from the entry to the lobby and Bruce looked back from Liu’s slumped form. Karl Green walked in, hands on his hips. “You think you can waltz in here and start beating this man to a bloody pulp?”

  “Take the stick out, Green,” Bruce replied. “He’s fine. I didn’t do any permanent damage.”

  “We need him, you idiot,” Karl said. “We can’t have you breaking his jaw in a dozen spots.”

  “I’m sorry, I must have missed the part where he belonged to you, Karl. Last I looked we were all working together here.”

  Karl Green took
a step forward, coming chest to chest with Cavendish, his eyes narrowing, hot breath blasting in Bruce’s face. It was sour and singed with a foul stink of old coffee and stale cigarettes.

  “Make no mistake, Cavendish, you work for us not with us. There is no debate here. You will do what we say when we say it, full stop. Do we understand each other?”

  Cavendish glared at him, his fists clenched at his side, his face flushing a dull crimson, blooming in his cheeks.

  “This isn’t a fight you want to start, Bruce,” Karl continued. “Trust me on that one.”

  Bruce’s neck relaxed, and he backed away, raising two palms. “It’s all good, buddy. All good. We’re on the same page.”

  “Glad you think so,” Green replied. “Good things await for those who are supportive of the cause. Remember that.”

  “That’s why we’re here, right?”

  Green nodded. “Now, if you please, I’d like some time alone with Mr. Liu.”

  Cavendish cocked his head towards Karl and stepped around him, walking out into the main lobby, while Green walked towards Liu, huddled on the floor. The CBP agent started to stir as he approached.

  “On behalf of our friend Bruce there, I apologize. He gets a little over-excited sometimes.”

  “And who are you supposed to be?” Liu asked, his voice low and unsteady through an aching jaw and swollen lips.

  “My name is Karl Green. I believe you’ve heard of me.”

  Liu showed no response though he’d certainly remembered hearing the name from Ricky Orosco somewhere along the way.

  “Anyway. There is a lot happening here, and unfortunately much of it I cannot discuss with you.” He dropped down to a crouch like Cavendish had a short time before, sinking low, resting arms on his knees. “But we all find it curious that a Customs and Border Patrol agent, especially one who belonged to an Incident Reaction Task Force, found his way to our backyard.”

  “Just lucky, I guess.”

  Green smirked a mirthless smirk and tapped his fingers together. “That’s not really going to work for me, Mr. Liu.”

  Brandon adjusted himself against the counter, trying to straighten up, even though each movement tugged at the muscles of his arm and aggravated his wrist underneath the handcuffs.

  “Doesn’t much matter what works for you, Green. I’m just telling you the truth.”

  Green sighed and stood up. “Maybe you won’t tell me now, but I bet if I go in the other shop over there and drag that woman in here, I can get you talking pretty quick.”

  “What answers do you think I have, Green? What grand mysteries of the universe can I help you solve?”

  “Grand mysteries,” Karl replied, looking up towards the ceiling. “The truth of life after death? Hmm…I’d probably have to ask your wife about that one.”

  Liu scowled and pulled against his chains one more time, just to make sure he couldn’t wrench himself free.

  “Oh, there’s some fire, isn’t there?” Green asked.

  “Was that you?” Liu hissed. “Did you and your scumbags kill my wife?”

  Green chuckled. “So here you are, you won’t tell me what I want to know, but you think I’m just going to tell you everything you want to know? That’s not how this works, Brandon.”

  “If you were behind what happened to my wife,” Liu started, “know that no matter how chained up you think I am…no matter how beaten I look or how defeated I seem…I will find a way to kill you and anyone you care about.”

  Green threw back his head and laughed. “That’s the spirit, Agent Liu! That is the spirit!”

  Liu scowled at him while Green continued laughing, his guffaw trickling to a muffled chuckle. Green’s laugh was long and dry, the sound of cracking twigs, and he was still laughing when he lunged down towards Liu, wrapping his fingers around his neck and slamming the back of his head against the counter, his eyes wide and lips parted in a curling growl.

  “You will do nothing, Agent Liu. Nothing. I have the power here, not you. Not that woman and her husband in the other room, certainly not Cavendish and his team of rednecks. I. Am. In. Charge. Never doubt that.”

  Liu’s face was darkened red, his breath choking in his throat as Green squeezed long and slow.

  “Do you understand me?” Green asked, looking down at him. “Do you?”

  Liu nodded, his lips purpling.

  Green snapped his fingers apart and smiled wide, bringing himself back up into a standing position, working his fingers together as he did so.

  “I’m glad we understand each other.”

  He kept on looking down at Liu, his hands pressed to his hips, glaring at him as if he was a puzzle Green needed to figure out how to solve.

  “I’ll be back,” he said. “I’ll be back and we can talk about how we want to approach this exchange of information. Because you have answers to questions, and I’m going to need those answers, one way or the other.”

  Liu didn’t reply.

  “I’ll be back.” Karl Green spun on his heels and turned, walking out of the small candy shop and disappearing out into the larger expanse of the Lakeview Mall.

  ***

  “So, talk to us, Winnie,” Greer said as they huddled on the other side of the access road near the Lakeview Mall. “You say you have an idea?”

  “Well, sort of,” Winnie replied. “The start of one.”

  “Okay? Shoot.”

  Winnie looked up over his shoulder at the mall, then back to the group. “A lot of these malls are cookie cutter. Owned by the same management companies, right?”

  “Sure,” Greer replied, nodding.

  “I had a friend who worked for a fast food place in the food court at a mall back home. Looked a lot like this place, I think it was probably owned by the same company.”

  “What friend was this?” Max asked. “It was Robbie, wasn’t it? I’m telling mom and dad.”

  “Shut it, you little puke,” Winnie sneered, her mouth twitching into a half smirk.

  “Winnie and Robbie sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S—”

  “Shut up!” Winnie reached over and smacked Max on the shoulder and he laughed out loud.

  “Anyway, me and Rob—me and my friend—used to go out to the back parking lot through these connecting hallways that run all along the edge of the mall. They’re not marked really well with signage, and most people who don’t work for the mall don’t even know that they exist.”

  “Okay. So how does this help us?”

  “Well, if this mall is like the last one, I could go around towards the back, find an access door, and get into those hallways. Once I’m there, I could make my way to just about any store in the place and do a little recon. Get a better idea of how many people are in there and even where they’re keeping mom, dad, and Brandon.”

  “Sounds risky,” Angel said.

  “I agree,” reiterated Greer. “You’re a fifteen-year-old girl, Winnie. I don’t like it.”

  “I’m the smallest and the quickest, even with this bum leg,” Winnie said. “Plus, I know shopping malls better than the rest of you. I’m the best one to do this, like it or not.”

  “I don’t like it,” Greer said.

  “I’m not crazy about it either,” Winnie admitted, “but I think it’s the best option we’ve got. If you have any other ideas, I’m open to them.” Greer stroked his chin as he stood, chewing over the idea, his face twisted like what he was chewing was tart.

  “That settles it, then,” Winnie said, standing up.

  “Wait a minute,” Greer interjected.

  “Too late. I’ll be back.”

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” Angel said.

  Max rolled his eyes. “You obviously don’t know her very well.”

  Winnie stuck her tongue out at her younger brother, then broke away and shambled low to the ground across the road towards the cement barriers. She came to the first, right around waist high, dropping into a crouch and walking on the near side of it, keeping herself low and moving for
ward. She had to halt for a moment to rub the wound on her leg, which seemed to be clotting well. Hopefully her next steps wouldn’t tear the wound back open.

  Peeking over the barrier as she moved, she eyed the loading dock where the van was parked and saw two men in black standing on the concrete dock, each one holding a rifle in their hands. Winnie vaulted low over the barrier, landing on her good leg, and made her way towards the mall, limping across the empty parking lot, the men by the loading dock not even looking her way. Within moments she hit the wall of the building, pressing her back against it and sliding to her left, around the corner where the guards on the loading dock couldn’t see her. As she pressed her back to the wall, she could feel the rigid resistance of the pistol stuffed into her belt at the small of her back. She’d loaded the Ruger .380 with a fresh magazine and stuffed four extra mags in her pockets but hoped she wouldn’t need them. A hot throb emanated from her leg, but she ignored it.

  Glancing over her left shoulder, she saw two narrow metal doors painted the same color as the walls pressed into the surface of the building. This entire side of the building was a monochrome off-white, looking out onto the access road with the front entrance to the mall around the left-hand corner ahead. With the loading dock around the other side, Winnie looked at the two metal doors with hope as she approached the first.

  Wrapping her fingers in the handle, she pulled, but there was no give at all. The door didn’t seem to just be locked; it was sealed shut with layers of eggshell paint. It hadn’t been opened in several years, and as she crossed past it towards the second door, she hoped it wasn’t stuck like the first. Drawing in a breath, she clasped the handle, closed her eyes, and pulled.

  There was a loud clunk, a louder sound than she expected, and certainly louder than she was comfortable with, but the door swung open and she slipped inside, letting it ease closed behind her. The access hallway was dimly lit, and the ambient light filtering through some skylights from down the hall was the only way she could even see where she was going. Her feet slapped on the concrete floor, the twin sheet rock walls unremarkable and closer to her than she anticipated, the entire hallway a narrow trench more than a hall. Up ahead she could see the access passage open up into what appeared to be the backside of the food court, and she realized that she was in the back hallway of the mall, an area that was regularly checked by whatever security was in this place.