“That’s quite the story,” said Monique, “What about the gun?”
“We got it off a dead policeman,” said Zach.
“Really?” said Monique.
“We also have a shotgun it’s in the police car we drove home,” said Blender proudly.
“Wow, did you do the siren?” asked Ayesha
“Oh, yeah,” said Zach, “and the lights.”
“Sounds like quite the adventure,” said Monique.
“You know if we had found the gun first,” said Zach, “we could have had braised pork for dinner.”
Chapter 23
Rutger’s Mall was not the largest mall in Chateaugay, Quebec. It was an older mall with two levels and over 100 stores. It had a movie theatre at one end, a large department store at the other and a food court in the middle. Kevin, Joe, Tank and Ben drove into the parking lot and parked near the doors. There were a few other cars in the large lot. Snow was starting to fall.
“Where is everybody?” asked Ben from the back. “Is it even open?”
“What day is it, Kevin?” asked Joe.
“I think its Sunday.”
“Are malls open on Sundays?” asked Ben.
“I see lights on.” said Tank.
“Let’s find out,” said Joe.
They walked up to a set of glass doors for the department store.
“I don’t have a lot of money,” said Joe, “and I’m assuming none of you have any money, so let’s try to go easy on my credit card.”
“It looks like it’s open.” Joe could see lights on inside. There was a large sign on the door that read: Protocoles de Virus and what he assumed were instructions below. “Does anybody know French?”
Nobody answered. Then Ben spoke up. “I knew a French guy. His name was Bob Riteaux. Bob isn’t much of a French name, but he was French. I haven’t seen him for years, not since…”
Joe pushed open the door and realized that the lock had been broken. Once inside, they stamped their feet to get the snow off their shoes and went through the second set of doors. The store looked like a tornado had swept through it. Racks and shelves were knocked over, clothes were strewn everywhere, and a cash register lay open and empty on the floor. The overhead fluorescent lights flickered but were still on.
“I guess we don’t need your credit card,” said Ben, “because it’s Anarchy Day at the mall!”
“Look at all these footprints.” Tank pointed at the floor. It was wet with many footprints. Tank knelt to get a better look. “These look like army boot prints.”
“Hello!” called Kevin. “Anybody here?”
Nobody answered.
“I’m going to find some weapons,” said Tank.
“Well, I’m going to find some food,” said Ben.
“This doesn’t seem right,” said Kevin. “Maybe we should leave.”
“It’ll be fine,” said Joe, “We need supplies, and the snow is starting to get worse out there.”
“Okay, but let’s keep track of what we take, so we can pay them back later.”
“Let’s meet right here in a half-hour,” said Joe. They all left in separate directions.
Joe wandered down to the men’s section where he changed into some jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, sweater and some insulated hiking boots. He found a backpack and walked around the store filling it with what he thought he might need. He found thick socks, a hat, mitts, a jackknife and some chocolate bars. Although much of the store looked like it had been ransacked, many items still had not been taken. Joe made his way out of the store and into the mall. The wide walkway between the stores was mostly empty except for a knocked over recycling receptacle.
None of the signs were in English, but he could translate ‘cafétéria’. He started walking in the direction the arrow pointed. Most of the stores were caged shut with metal curtains, but a couple looked like they had been pried open. There were no other people. As he passed by a clothing store, he heard the clacking sound of someone rifling through clothes racks. It came from Couture Noir, which had its metal curtain pried open at one end. In the display window, female mannequins sported dark clothing and leather boots. This did not seem like the type of store any of his friends would patronize.
Maybe Ben is a cross-dresser.
“Hello?” he called into the store, but no one answered.
I’m sure I heard something in there.
He had to remove his backpack to fit through the gap in the metal curtain. One of the lights in the back was on. The rest of the store was only lit from the light coming through the curtain from the hallway. He had taken two steps when he felt something cold and metal pressed against the back of his head.
“Ne bougez pas!” It was a stern female voice. He froze.
“Hey, don’t shoot, I’m not armed.” He threw his hands in the air.
“Que fais-tu ici?” the cold metal still pressed against his skull.
“I don’t speak French.”
The woman switched to English. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m just looking for some warm clothing.”
“What are you a cross-dresser? There are no men’s clothing in this store.”
“I know, I thought I heard something and…”
“Where did you come from? The army just cleared this place.”
“We just got here.” He was still facing forward with his hands in the air and couldn’t see his ambusher.
“We? Who’s we? Where did you come from?”
“Just a few friends and I. We just got out of jail.” As soon he said it, he realized it might be the wrong thing to say.
“You don’t look like a criminal.”
“Look, we just needed a couple of things before we drive back to Ontario. We don’t want any trouble.”
“You’re driving west?”
“Yes. Just let me leave the way I came in and you won’t see me again. May I please put my hands down? My arms are getting tired.”
The pressure from the metal on the back of his head eased.
“Okay, but no sudden moves. Do you have a car?”
“A jeep, yes.” He slowly put his arms down.
“Can I ride with you? I would like to find my brother, Pascal. He’s in Commerce City.”
Joe slowly turned around to face her. She was not a woman. She was a teenage girl with long inky black hair. The girl had bulky army boots with silver buckles, baggy dark camouflage pants and an oversized black coat with MCR on it. She had a lot of dark make-up on her face, and held a large blue crowbar in her hand.
Joe held out his hand. “I’m Joe.”
“I’m Camille.” She moved the crowbar to her left, so she could shake his hand. The shake was firm and her rings pressed painfully into his hand.
“Are you into goth or something?”
“It’s emo. No one does goth anymore.”
“Sorry, what did you say about the army?” Joe asked as he climbed back through the gap in the curtain.
She followed him out. “You really have been in jail, haven’t you?”
“Yes, I’m a little out of the loop. Where is everybody?
“The army is enforcing the state of emergency by kicking the looters from the stores and malls. They’re sending everybody home.”
“Why?”
“They say they’re trying to maintain law and order, but I think there might be something else going on.”
Joe grabbed his backpack, and they started walking down the mall walkway towards the food court.
Camille continued talking. “I watched the army come in, send everyone home and then leave. As soon as they left, I came in to do some shopping.”
“You mean to do some stealing.”
“I suppose you plan on paying for everything you took. Besides, my bank card stopped working a long time ago.”
Just as they were about to pass the hallway for the washroom, Ben appeared in front of them. Reflexively, Camille punched him in the nose. Ben keeled over, holding his nose.
>
“Whoa, hey easy there, Xena, he’s with me,” said Joe.
She stood watching Ben try to stop the bleeding. “Who’s Xena?”
“The Warrior Princess,” he said.
She looked blankly at him.
“From a 90s television show.”
“Whatever. Before my time.”
Ben straightened up as the flow of blood slowed.
“You okay there, big guy?” Ben asked.
“I’ll live. Who’s the punk rocker who just assaulted me?”
“It’s not punk, its Emo.”
“Camille, this is Ben. Ben, this Camille the warrior princess. She would like to drive west with us.”
“Can’t she drive herself?”
“I’m only fifteen.”
Ben touched his nose and then looked at his hand to check for blood. “Where are your parents?”
“Dead.”
“Oh, sorry. I had a niece about your age. She was into skateboarding. I think she went to Europe to find herself. She found that she liked drugs. I think the Dutch police sent her back home. You don’t do drugs, do you? By the way you punch, I assume steroids. You know steroids do crazy stuff to your body.”
As they entered the empty food court, the sound of clinking dishes was heard from inside the Wendy’s.
“Wait,” said Camille, putting her hand out to stop them, “There’s somebody here.”
Joe tried to interject, “It could just be…”
Before he could finish, she had jumped on the Wendy’s counter, slid across it, and then landed on the other side. She held the crowbar over her head as she crept towards the cooking area in the back.
Tank appeared around the corner, and Camille swung the crowbar towards him. Just before the weapon was about to collide with the side of his head, Tank’s hand caught her by the wrist. He twisted her arm slightly, and she cried out, the crowbar clanging to the floor.
“Tank, it’s okay, she’s with us!” Joe called out.
He inspected her wrist and pushed the sleeve of her coat higher up her arm exposing scars on her wrist and forearm.
“You a cutter?”
She was still wincing. “What’s it to you, Thor.”
He shrugged and let go of her wrist. “I’m Tank.”
“I’m Camille,” she mumbled.
“Are you supposed to be goth or punk?”
“It’s Emo, espèce de con!”
She bent over and grabbed her crowbar.
“Like Emo Williams the comedian?” he asked, disappearing into the kitchen. She followed him in.
“What’s that smell?” Kevin came walking towards them from across the food court.
Joe realized that there was a smell in the air, and it was coming from Wendy’s. “I think Tank’s cooking lunch.”
“Oh good, because I’m hungry,” said Kevin. “Ben, what happened to you, did you walk into a wall? You got blood all over you, face.”
“He was attacked by a little girl,” said Joe, smiling.
Tank had cooked up some hamburgers on the Wendy’s grill, and they all sat down at one of the tables eating.
“So, Camille,” said Kevin, “Are you like one of those emo kids?”
“Finally, someone living in the 21st century,” she shook her head. “And you are what, a hipster?”
Tank leaned over to Ben. “What’s a hipster?”
“I don’t know,” he replied, “I think it’s like a hippie?”
“No, Camille, I’m not a hipster,” said Kevin.
She looked up at him and swallowed another bite of her burger. “Oh really? What’s with the neatly trimmed beard, skinny jeans and checked shirt? I bet you smoke a pipe and go to Starbucks too.”
“No, I don’t smoke…”
He was suddenly interrupted by a voice over the intercom. “Attention shoppers, would Joe, Ben, and the big idiota who broke my nose, please report to security immediately.” It was Rafael.
“What is he doing here?” asked Ben.
“He must have followed us,” said Kevin.
“I should have hit him harder,” said Tank.
“Friend of yours?” asked Camille.
“We need to go,” said Joe. They all stood up.
A deafening shot echoed across the food court, and Camille’s arm flew backwards. Blood spurted out of her upper arm as she cried out. “Tabarnak!”
Tank grabbed her and pulled her down to the floor. “Everyone, into Wendy’s, now!” More shots rang out as Tank hauled Camille behind the counter with everyone else.
“Great,” said Ben, “Now they’re armed.”
Tank ignored him. “Everyone okay?”
“No!” Camille was holding her left arm as blood leaked out between her fingers.
“You’ll be fine, just hold that as tight as you can. I’ll carry you.”
He flung her over his shoulder and carried her fireman style. He did a crouching run to the back of the kitchen. “Follow me, guys.”
They obeyed, running along behind him. He opened the door at the back of the kitchen and took a quick peek around the hallway, looking both ways. Tank then ran full tilt down the hallway with the others close behind. They could hear yelling and more gunshots back in the food court.
The narrow hallway had many doors, all with French labels. “Camille, find the janitor’s room,” yelled Tank.
“You just passed it!”
Behind him, Joe tried to open the door, but it was locked.
With Camille, still draped over his shoulders, Tank kicked the door in. The knob assembly clattered to the floor.
Inside, Tank put Camille on the floor, turned on the light and barked out orders. “Everyone inside. Joe, fix that knob so they can’t tell that we’re in here and find a long clean rag. Kevin, find some alcohol, peroxide, or a bottle of water. Ben, find some super glue, a screwdriver, or a pen. Camille, keep holding your arm up, and try not to drip blood on the floor.”
They all did as they were told as Tank stood on the desk in the corner and lifted one of the ceiling panels.
Moments later, they were all assembled at the desk that Tank was standing on.
“All I could find was water and a pencil,” said Ben.
“That’s fine, just put it in your pocket for now. Kevin, do you have a phone?”
“Yes, but the cell networks don’t work much anymore.”
“That’s fine. We just need the flashlight app on it. Joe, go turn off the light.”
They could hear voices in the hallway, and they all stood silently.
Tank gestured for Joe to get up into the ceiling first. Tank helped him up, then lifted Camille to Joe, who helped her up as well. It was difficult to walk on the top of the walls without stepping or falling on to the fragile ceiling tiles.
Tank helped Kevin and, with some effort, Ben. Tank hoisted himself up and slid the panel back into place. Kevin turned off his phone light just as one of Raphael’s men opened the door to the room. The light below turned on, and slices of light pierced through the joints of the ceiling panels as they perched silently above and held their breath. The man mumbled something, tromped around the room, then turned out the light and left.
They let out a collective sigh of relief but stayed silent.
From somewhere in the mall, they could here Raphael yelling. “I know you pendejos are here somewhere. When you come out, we will be waiting.”
When they could no longer hear anyone below, Tank got Kevin to turn his light back on. Camille was sobbing quietly.
“Okay, Camille, this is going to hurt.” Tank tied the rag Joe had found tightly around her arm just above the wound. He fed the pencil through the rag and used it to twist the tourniquet tight. Ben handed him the water bottle, which he used to clean her wound, trying not to spill too much water onto the tiles below.
Tank used the super glue to seal wound. The bleeding stopped, and he removed the tourniquet. He looked her in the eye. “Camille, you’re going to be fine, okay? The bullet just grazed your
arm.”
“Thanks,” she said quietly. She had stopped crying. Her dark eye makeup was now black tears streaked down her cheeks.
“What now?” asked Ben, “And is Tank our fearless leader?”
“I’m fine with Joe making the big decisions,” said Tank.
“I’m fine with Tank keeping us alive when we are being shot at.” Joe looked over at Tank, who nodded.
Ben coughed. “You okay?” asked Joe.
“I’m fine, I’m a little out of shape, and the dust up here is affecting my allergies.”
“Well, let’s move. Maybe we can make our way to the department store where we came in and sneak out without being seen.” He looked over at Tank.
“Sounds like a plan Joe,” he said.
They balanced on the walls and climbed over wires and duct work. It was awkward and slow, but they eventually hit a wall.
“Where do you think we are?” said Kevin.
“I don’t know, I guess we’re about to find out,” said Tank as he gently moved one of the ceiling panels below. “I’ve haven’t heard Rafael’s men for a while now. Maybe they left.”
He looked down through hole but all he could see was a carpeted floor and a bench. “Okay, I’m going down to check it out.”
“Be careful,” said Camille.
Tank lowered himself down. A few moments later, he announced that it was all clear. He helped Camille down and sat her down on the bench. Ben was coughing again and almost broke his leg when he jumped down. Joe and Kevin joined the others in what appeared to be the changeroom for the department store. The light wasn’t on, but light streamed in from an open doorway to the store.
Ben held a fist up to his mouth and coughed again.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” asked Joe.
“I’m fine, what’s the plan?”
Joe thought he could see blood on Ben’s hand, but before he could say anything, the lights went out, plunging the store into darkness. Multiple emergency lights came on immediately, casting ominous spotlights into the store.
In the distance, they heard shouting.
Black Flag | Book 1 | Surviving The Scourge Page 14