“Oh, my! Everyone okay?” he asked, and then brushed pieces of debris from his head. “So much for hoping that we’d felt the last of the shakes.”
“Was that the machine too?” A voice from the back asked.
“Jeter?” Mr. Halcomb asked, raising his palms to catch a piece of falling debris. “Still think it’s the machine? If so, what else might we expect?”
“Could’ve been one of the Navy boats,” a voice came from behind Jeter: scratchy and dry. A younger man stood up. With short cropped hair, he held a blue and white cap in front of him. Blocky letters spelled out NAVY above the brim. “I mean, if a boat is left unattended, who knows what will happen.”
Shoulders turned to glance at the young man. A few heads stayed; eyes fixed on him, recognizing the uniform. She’d seen the outfit before too, seeing it on other men and women visiting from a Navy shipyard near town. Emily thought it odd that he still wore his uniform. Surely he would have changed into something clean of the fog’s stench. Maybe he already cleaned it? Mr. Halcomb considered what the young man said.
“I’d hope that you’d know, or that maybe someone else would know,” Mr. Halcomb said. The young man shifted uncomfortably. “If that explosion was a ship, any chance we’re at risk?”
“Sorry sir?”
“I mean, ships have fuel. Some have different kinds of fuel. Any chance we’d be at risk?”
“I’ve no idea, sir,” the young man answered, his expression regretful. “But aren’t we already at risk? I mean with what is outside, I can’t imagine it getting any worse.” When the man finished, he eased himself back down to his seat.
“True… true,” Mr. Halcomb mumbled. “Let’s hope it doesn’t get any worse.”
“Wasn’t no ship! I’m telling you. It was the machine,” Jeter raised his voice. “And it ain’t just the aftershock—that machine is causing all of this. Vomits the poison from these tall stacks right out into the open sky. Been doing it for weeks! Just need to find someone who’s been working there…”
“Okay, that’s enough Jeter… please,” Mr. Halcomb pleaded, trying to quiet the old man. “We’ll talk about this later. Right now we need to get the status of where we are.”
“I’m just saying…” Jeter’s exclaimed, his voice becoming quiet, somber. Emily’s heart thumped, and then settled when Mr. Halcomb shut the old man down.
“Ms. Emily, it is good to see you up and about,” Mr. Halcomb said, addressing her. His tone changed to one that was endearing. Emily jerked her head up, surprised by the sound of her name being called out. Long necks turned briefly, some stretching to take a look while others only lifted their chin. At once, she felt like a thousand eyes were upon her, and she tried to step back. With Peter behind her, she did the only thing that she could think to do, answer them.
“Hi, I’m Emily, and that’s—over there somewhere—that’s my baby brother, Justin.” A few heads nodded, some smiles and a hello or two answered back, but most turned away tiredly, showing little interest.
“Well, it is good to see you up and about… we need all the help we can get around here.” Mr. Halcomb wiped the sweat from his brow again before pulling a rolled sheet of yellow paper from behind him. “Now, let’s get a quick status of where we are with things. Communications?” All heads turned in unison. The sight reminded her of wintering blackbirds, racing against a closing sunset. One mind, her father told her once. Someday, we’ll strive to be one mind too.
A slender man stood, cleared his throat, and flipped the cover of a phone protector. She rubbed her hand over her front pocket, searching for the outline of her phone. It was gone. Batteries? Emily wondered as the younger man thumbed the screen before saying a word.
“We’ve got something setup in the electronics store,” he answered, nervously jerking his head down to face his phone.
“And… ” Mr. Halcomb asked, his words leading. “Jerry, have you heard anything? Anything at all?”
Jerry stopped thumbing his phone and dropped his shoulders. He shook his head once. “We’re scanning all the CB channels and sending messages on channels 9 and 19 where people should be listening. We’ve even setup a separate radio to scan the local stations. We did hear the emergency recording, but then it stopped a little while ago—after the earthquake… or explosion.”
Mr. Halcomb searched the group for a response or suggestion, stopping when he reached Mrs. Newl, who’d been Emily’s science teacher in grade school, and if not for the fallen clouds, she would have been Justin’s teacher in the coming year.
“What about the antennas?” Mrs. Newl began to stay, taking Mr. Halcomb’s eye contact as a cue to ask something. The woman cleared her throat and then reached into her stiff brown hair to pick at her scalp. Emily recognized the motion and braced herself for the stiff sound. Having sat in the front row of her class, the scratchy picking bugged her like fingernails running against a chalkboard. “Antennas the right type… how about size or direction?”
“I mean, the radios are inside, and the antennas are inside, but maybe we need bigger—something with more reach?” Jerry continued.
And like the winter blackbirds, the flock turned to face Jerry. The young man stepped back as though the sudden stare burned him.
“I thought the same, but in the store we found antenna lines and hooked them up.”
“Antenna lines?” Mr. Halcomb asked.
Jerry pointed upward. “From the roof. They have antennas on the roof. They also have a satellite dish up there too, but we’re not getting a signal through the fog.”
“Fog will kill the line of sight on any satellite, but radio will still work,” Mrs. Newl added, continuing to finger her scalp.
“Okay, keep scanning. I’d think we’d still be hearing an emergency signal though. Curious why we’re not,” Mr. Halcomb answered. “How about power?”
Jerry shook his head, adding a thin smile. “There’s certainly no shortage of batteries. The store is full of them,” he answered. “Could use some of that generator power though, get some real current to plug into and try a better radio.” Mr. Halcomb nodded, turning to face a middle-aged couple standing near the front.
“Guess that’s me,” the woman began. She wiped her hands on the front of her pants before continuing. “Power situation is that we’re still near full on the propane tanks.” A small sigh lifted from the group. “We ran two days, cooking with the gas, and using the generator for emergency power—our burn-rate is just over a few gallons. We can turn on more and then recheck the rate.”
“Can we get Jerry some plug-in power? Have him try out the bigger radios?”
“How about the Internet?” a voice shouted out.
“Yeah… can we turn the Internet back on?”
“People outside might be trying to communicate with email or even Facebook.”
A cackle of suggestions and questions chattered until Mr. Halcomb signaled with his hands, trying to quiet them.
“One thing at a time,” he said, raising his voice. “We’ve got a hundred things that we have to do, and we have to get started somewhere. Jerry—how about it?” Jerry stood up again, looking confused.
“How about what?”
“If we get you more power, can you turn on the Internet?”
Jerry bobbed his head, letting a small laugh slip. The faces remained empty, and his smile thinned as he pushed up on the black rim of his eyeglasses. Emergency lights sprang to life from the lenses, hiding his eyes. “Well, it doesn’t exactly work like that. I mean, the Internet doesn’t have a switch like a bathroom light.”
“Okay then, so how does it work?” Mr. Halcomb asked, crossing his arms in irritation. “You know more about this stuff than anyone here, so enlighten us.” Although Emily couldn’t see past the hard light in Jerry’s glasses, she could tell from his posture that he sensed the annoyance.
“Well… I mean, I can try to turn on the mall’s Wi-Fi, but I don’t know if there is any connection outside. But we can try.” Jerry gulped
hard and looked across the crowd for some approval.
Mr. Halcomb rocked back on his heels, opening his arms, “If we can try, then that is all we can ask. We should be trying everything, anyway. So how are we on food and water?”
A smaller woman stood up, her face pinched and mousy. She answered, “Water is still running, and still clean.”
“No contamination?”
“Well, there’s no way to know for sure, so everyone is drinking the bottled water instead.”
“And food?” Mr. Halcomb asked, his attention already working its way down the yellow tablet in his hands. “Food?”
Mousy turned to the food court and then back. Reluctant. “We only have a few days worth. It’s a food court. It’s a mall,” she answered. “Only had a limited supply to begin with.” When she finished, Mousy dropped back down and disappeared into the curves of her chair. Mr. Halcomb ticked his chin with the end of a pencil and stared ahead absently.
“Anyone know if this building connects to the Food-Mart next door?” he asked. He continued tapping his chin, waiting for an answer. “Somehow?”
Emily tensed. They’re going to send someone outside.
“What about the service tunnels?” someone asked from the back.
“Isn’t the mall sitting on a slab?”
“There are slabs and service tunnels,” another voice countered.
“A service tunnel?” Mr. Halcomb repeated. “Like under the college campus?”
“The same,” they answered. “The tunnels carry the piping and electrical. The smaller runs are connected by a service duct.”
“Could be that a tunnel connects the Food-Mart,” another voice spoke up. “There has to be something running the power and plumbing from the streets.”
Emily heard the keys jingle from Peter’s side, alarming her. The sound raised the hairs on her arms. And by the time she could say anything, he held them above his head, shaking them like a party toy.
The body, Emily thought. No burns. A service tunnel?
“Maybe there’s a service map in the security office,” Peter began to say. Mr. Halcomb penciled some words onto his yellow tablet, nodding his head as he wrote. “If we can find access, then Emily and I can try to bring back food.” Emily’s heart tightened again. Just the thought of leaving the mall terrified her.
“But it isn’t safe —” she started.
“Scuba gear!” Peter interrupted. He placed his hand on the small of her back again, pressing gently, talking more to her than to the group. “The scuba wetsuits will keep us safe.”
“And you know of some scuba suits?” A mix of anxiety and excitement made her fingers tingle. She suddenly felt torn between the responsibilities she had to Justin and to helping. But a passing glance around the room, and seeing the defeat and long faces, was enough persuasion.
“And medicine,” Ms. Parks called out from the back. “We’ve got sick and injured and have nothing but a few of the mall’s med kits to work from.”
“What kind of medicine?” Peter asked, but then raised his hand. “If you write a list, we’ll get what we can.”
Reading back what he’d written down, “You’ll look for a service map and service tunnel,” Mr. Halcomb said. Sweat collected on his collar and blotted around his belly. The air felt heavier—thicker since they’d started the meeting. Emily wiped the sweat from her neck. Wet and sticky, her skin was even a little itchy. She raised her arms just enough to help cool off. “How about we leave the wetsuit idea as a contingency. I’m not quite sold on it.” Peter leaned forward, preparing to answer, but held back when Emily touched his arm.
“Wetsuits… scuba gear,” she said. From Peter’s expression, she could see that he’d heard the annoyance in her voice. He’d volunteered her, but shouldn’t have. “What makes you think I’d ever risk going outside?”
“I don’t know,” he answered, his eyes drifted, embarrassed. “Just… just thought you would, is all. Plus, there’s only a few suits, and I think one of them will fit you.”
She hated that he was probably right. That, if it meant helping—fear or no fear—she’d probably do it, anyway. “And why would there be scuba gear at the mall, anyway?”
Peter raised his brow, his face beaming. “Now see! That actually makes sense to me—sporting goods, living near the ocean. Get it?”
“The service tunnel,” she said. The idea of finding a service tunnel held a far greater appeal to her. “The service tunnel has got to be a better idea; better than going outside.”
“Probably right. The burning wasn’t the danger though. Never was.” He spoke in a frank manner. “It’s the blindness. With the fog, I have no idea how we’d find the Food-Mart.”
“One hundred steps,” she said aloud. Peter fixed her with a curious look. “I mean, when Justin and I hit the curb at the entrance, I knew there were one hundred steps to the door.”
“And you know this how?” he asked. “Never mind that. I’m guessing that you probably walked a straight line. We only know that the Food-Mart is over there somewhere.” He motioned in the direction of the Food-Mart, but it was too general. His idea of the scuba gear was quickly fading.
“Service tunnels then,” she exclaimed. “Let’s see if one exists, and then we’ll know what to do next. At least we’ll know the direction to walk.”
10
In death, any sense of urgency is quickly forgotten. That was the case of the supplies and the medicine that Ms. Parks had asked for. Within hours of falling, Fen had died from her injuries, and Jin’s cries were heard across the mall. A deep hollow set in Emily’s gut. Peter shook his head briefly, dipping it before turning back to the work they were doing. And as Emily continued to help him, she noticed the blank faces darting quick glances toward the direction of the young girl, only to turn away a moment later. Nobody ran. Nobody questioned. Everyone heard the mourning cries but then went about their business. This is what it means to live with tragedy every day.
Later that evening, she helped carry Fen’s body to the back room, growing their make-shift morgue by one more. Jin walked along side of them, crying softly and carrying a rose that she had plucked from one of the abandoned stores. After laying Fen’s body down, they watched as Jin placed the rose atop her dead sister and then knelt to speak. Her words were silent, but Emily felt the deep sorrow in her whispers. And while the rose petals had faded and become wilted, Emily thought it was one of the most beautiful moments that she had ever experienced.
In the days that followed, she worked with Peter, helping Ms. Parks with new arrivals, getting them settled in and nursing their injuries. And with each new group, she noticed that there always seemed to include one or two that died soon after arriving. Emily thought of Mr. Rainer and how he had died when he crossed the finish line too.
The number of sick and injured climbed, and their make-shift morgue filled. They were running out of places to put the bodies. At some point, Emily no longer recognized what it meant to carry a dead body. She was just doing a job, helping out, just like everyone else. The nonchalance struck her as they carried a young boy: his skin gray and his eyes like coal. She felt torn, wanting to feel sad, imagining that it was Justin that they were carrying, but at the same time, she was a little bit relieved to not feel anything at all.
And Emily saw something else during the days that followed. She saw Peter, and he saw her. More than once, she had caught him staring, only to see him bashfully turn away. Can I feel this way? she wondered, and considered everything that had happened. Is it right to feel something?
That place where shadows live is often the most overlooked. Dangerous things lurk in the dark, hidden from sight, an arm’s reach from being seen. But sometimes there are miracles waiting in the shadows, and it only takes a moment of bravery to reveal them. When the urgency to find medicine and food came again, chancing a step into the darkness revealed the door leading to the service tunnel.
By now, Emily had traveled a few times beyond the thick Mall Personne
l flap doors and into the land of twisting pipes and cinder blocks, and had always shied away from the dark corners. They were haunted, after all, and she wanted nothing to do with them. And though Peter had scoured through every part of the security office, he’d never found a service map—or any map for that matter.
But when someone mentioned pipes and conduit and that they would have had to enter the building from below, Peter’s first thoughts were of the service area. Flashing a beam of light, they’d found pipes of all sizes sprouting out of the concrete, crawling up the walls and across the ceilings, carrying the mall’s lifeline through metal arteries and veins.
“I can’t tell what is what!” Emily confessed, confused by the snaking pipes. “I mean, how do we know what is safe and what isn’t?” Peter landed a beam of light onto the different symbols and markings, trying to make sense of them. He shrugged his shoulders, just as confused.
“I think the larger ones are the blood and the smaller ones are the nervous system,” he answered, attempting to be coy. Even in the dark, she could see him grin, proud of his analogy. “Those are for water, and those must be for the electrical or telephone or maybe computers.” As Peter spoke, Mr. Halcomb ran his hands along one of the larger pipes, pinching his fingers against some condensation.
“Not sure how big the service tunnel is, but safest bet is to keep your hands off the pipes altogether,” he added. “No telling which are electrical, but my guess is that if there is moisture then the pipe is carrying water. How are we doing on the hatch?”
Peter knelt down, studying the hatch door. From the looks of the square plate, the door could have been a hundred years old; left alone, and never touched. She pressed her hand on the surface, running her palm over the raised bumps. The metal felt cool, and the small diamonds worn smooth by time.
Fallen: Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller - Book 1 (Caustic) Page 8