The Night Children

by Kit Reed

  Running along the service corridor with James, he weighed it: his people’s safety. The girl. His Crazies have been together for so long that they know the drill. The bigs will take care of the littles, using the maps Tick copied for them and handed out before they started this. They are, after all, Tick’s people. He can count on them to follow the plan. He knows they’ll find their way to the new place without being seen. They will filter into the music gallery and enter the new hideout, no problem. By the time Tick gets back they’ll be settled in, with bedrolls laid out and supplies safely stashed. He’ll find them sitting around over their last meal before the mall lights come up on the new business day and they have to go to bed.

  OK then.

  He turned back so fast just now that James ran up his heels. “What?”

  “I have to go back.”

  “That’s crazy!”

  “Find Willie, get the kids settled. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  He is back in the deserted gallery, looking for the girl. It shouldn’t be his problem, really, but Tick is worried about her. Alone, she won’t last five minutes in the Mega-Mall. Either Security will bring her down or she’ll run into something worse.

  Unlike his night children, this fiery girl with the fly-away hair is new to the life. She doesn’t know how to live in this place. Who’s going to warn her to crouch and freeze when a surveill camera swings around, or tell her where they are placed? There are hundreds of hidden cameras. They feed multiple screens in Security booths in every sector, Tick knows. What if they spot her and a squad comes crashing out? Will she know where to hide? There are too many unknown corridors in the MegaMall, too many blind passages with no exits and too many false trails; she could run for days and still get caught.

  There are worse things to watch out for—the nightly disinfectant spray, or the whirling brushes and powerful vacuum hoses of the cleaning machines that roll through the corridors at odd hours. Walking free is a problem even for old-timers like Tick. She needs somebody to show her how.

  This is what Tick Stiles does best. He takes good care of people, which is why his little tribe moves like a sweet machine.

  Alone in the gallery, he stands, listening. It should be simple work to find her but the glistening corridor is completely still. “It’s OK, you can come out now.” His whisper echoes. No one answers.

  Cautiously, he advances on the overturned trash barrel, left behind by heedless Security troops. “Are you there?”

  Nothing.

  He takes a long look down the glistening expanse of marble. Nobody around but Tick. Impatient, he stalks the corridor, scoping the balconies above. Nothing moves. There is nothing stirring in the sunken rest areas with their potted plants and curved stone benches and there is nobody skulking in the shadow of the long balcony. There’s just Tick, standing in the middle of the empty corridor looking this way, then that.

  First he saw her. Now he doesn’t.

  In the deserted gallery with every storefront shuttered there aren’t many places to hide, so where is she?

  Gone.

  In that tone he uses when he wants to be heard without alerting Security, Tick calls. “Girl?”

  He thinks he sees something moving but it’s only a forgotten Easter display in a toy store window, a giant inflated bunny wagging back and forth behind the metal grille.

  He tries, “Don’t be scared.”

  No answer. Poor kid, alone in the night. She needs his help, but how can he help if he can’t find her?

  He doesn’t know. “It’s OK, really. I’m here.”

  Tick catches a slight movement out of the corner of his eye. It’s a bank of artificial ferns rattling in a blast of central air.

  “Girl?”

  The silence is intense.

  In the next second the floor shivers. All the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. What?

  Beneath his feet, the vibration grows until the floor shudders. It’s like standing on the back of a sleeping beast. What! In seconds it subsides. Oh. He relaxes. Something in the underground service tunnels that mirror the corridors of the giant honeycomb. Night tram.

  Tick says softly, “I’m not going to hurt you, OK?”

  Depending on what this girl wants, he’ll either help her phone home or keep her safe until morning when her folks come looking for her. If she wants, he can lead her to the nearest transport bay so the morning cleanup crews will find her when they come in. It’d probably be safer to keep her in the new hideout until 10 a.m. when the shoppers come flooding in, but first he has to convince her to come.

  After tangling with the Dingos, would you go with the first kid who asked?

  “Look,” he says patiently. “I’m going to sit down on the floor and count to ten or something. OK, I won’t count, I’ll just close my eyes and if you want to come out or anything, you can come out. OK?”

  Dangerous as it is in this place where you never know who’s watching or what’s coming, Tick Stiles folds up, tailor fashion, and sits on the floor with his hands resting on his knees. He turns up his palms to make clear to this girl, if she is watching, that even if she shows herself he isn’t about to pounce. He’s just going to sit here with his hands open and if she wants to come out and come close enough to talk to him, she can do it. She can see from the way he is sitting right now that he isn’t about to get up and chase her. He won’t do anything to frighten her, he’ll just sit, waiting for as long as it takes.

  He is so still that it’s almost like not breathing. Everything about Tick advertises the fact that he’s no threat. He could sit forever if he had to if this was an ordinary mall but it isn’t; in the MegaMall, you’re always in danger of getting caught. He can at least sit here long enough for the girl to get over her fear and show herself.

  As it turns out, he can’t.

  He hears a sound: feet drumming.

  It’s Security, coming back.

  “OK,” he says. “If you’re coming out, you should do it fast.”

  He hears them pounding down the far corridor into the Grecian courtyard. Soon they will be here.

  “I can’t wait much longer.”

  He should go, but he lingers. Quiet as a hermit squatting in the desert, Tick waits. He hears the squad thud-thudding around the fountain and out of the courtyard into the gallery where he is sitting, but he waits. Tick has lived here long enough to know how to vanish before they reach him. The guards are coming closer. Still he waits.

  Then somebody shouts, “Mall rat!”

  The guards break formation and charge.

  “Girl,” Tick says in a whisper that carries farther than any shout, “if you want me to help you, it’s gotta be now.”

  The guards’ boot heels clatter like rocks on a tin roof. In another minute they’ll be on top of him—and still no sign of the girl.

  “Girl,” he says desperately. “Please!”

  Tick waits until he’s waited too long.

  “Girl?”

  Another minute and they’ll have him.

  “Hey,” Tick hisses, darting into the shadows, “if you aren’t coming, hide!”

  TWELVE

  “WHO ARE YOU?” TERRIFIED, Jule is gasping. She can’t catch her breath. Her plunge into the darkness was that swift.

  Minutes ago she was sprawled on the marble. Roaring down on her in their black helmets, MegaMall Security looked like a platoon of tremendous bugs.

  Now she is here.

  Wherever this is.

  Underground.

  She and the tall stranger who pulled her down the hatch into the tunnel are rushing along in the dark. The light tram she is riding in speeds along a track lit at ground level by orange bulbs not much brighter than fireflies. The halogen headlight bores a small hole in the darkness ahead but she can barely see the boy sitting in front of her. They zoom past the gaping mouths of other tunnels, past loading zones and past red exit lights, with no sign of stopping. They are in the belly of the MegaMall.

  Jule Deve
reaux and her unknown rescuer sit in the little cockpit like passengers on a bullet train. All she can see of him is the back of his head.

  “Where are we going?”

  All she gets back is the lonely whir of the wheels.

  “So, um. You can’t talk, or don’t want to?”

  He shrugs.

  “A word would be nice.”

  If only he’d turn and look at her.

  “You don’t have to talk, OK? Just nod your head.”

  They ride along in silence.

  At least she’s escaped Security. Anything’s better than being snared in those weighted nets and dragged to headquarters. Grownups tell you the Zozzco guards are there to protect you, but nobody knows for sure. What they do remains secret, specific to the MegaMall.

  In fact, everything is specific to the MegaMall. Nobody from Castertown works here after the last shop closes and the last cleanup crew gets on the shuttle to the parking lot. From 11 p.m. to 8 a.m. the mall belongs to Security. Everybody wonders, but nobody knows. Kids tell tales: If the guards catch you, first they shave your head. Then they paint you with Magic Marker and throw you out with the trash. No, they lock you up and keep you until you’re too old to walk. Or they stick you in the stockroom and make you stack crates and unpack cartons for the rest of your life.

  Unless you end up in the State Home.

  So when the mysterious hand popped out of the floor just minutes ago, she dropped into the hole, like that! The steel grate closed over their heads with the finality of a lid. She had no choice! He led her down a steep ladder. Whoever he is. Now she is riding along behind a strange, big guy who won’t talk to her. She should be frightened, but for the moment, she’s relieved.

  There’s something steady about him. Even the silence is reassuring. He doesn’t have to tell her this is a rescue: the grate, the hidden entrance, the waiting car. It was all quick and smooth—as though he’s done this or something like it a dozen times before.

  “So, OK,” she says briskly. “Where to?”

  He won’t answer her—she already knows. He hasn’t spoken since he reached out and pulled her in, but Jule is impatient. Feisty. She’s not the kind of person who gives up.

  “So, are you going to talk to me or what?”

  He pushes a lever and the little car veers into a side passage, hugging the track.

  Frustrated, Jule taps him on the shoulder to get his attention. He shakes her off. “Well, if you aren’t going to talk, the least you can do is look at me!”

  He shrugs as if to acknowledge that he’s heard her, but does not turn.

  “Or growl. Or something,” she says crossly. “Come on!”

  He doesn’t even snort. So much for conversation, Jule thinks. The silence is getting on her nerves.

  With a screech the car whips around a curve and rolls on, into a new sector. She has no idea where they’re going. All she knows is that they’re on a track somewhere underneath the giant mall.

  After a time she tries again. “If you won’t look at me, you can at least tell me where we are.”

  Her rescuer, if that’s what he is, goes on as if she hasn’t even spoken. He keeps his eyes on the track, intent on whatever is ahead.

  She tries to keep her voice steady but it comes out on an scending note. “So, is this a service tunnel or what? Answer!”

  As if.

  Escaping the guards is a good thing, she supposes, but who is this big guy in the camouflage jacket, and why won’t he talk to her? They round a curve so sharp that their necks snap. Yet another sector, she supposes, but he won’t talk to her and there’s no way of knowing until he does.

  “This is stupid,” she says finally. “Come on. Explain!”

  He speaks so abruptly that she jumps. “Shut up. We’re almost there.”

  They aren’t, as it turns out, at least she thinks they aren’t. The car rolls on without slowing. She says, “So, thanks for saving me . . .”

  To her surprise he says, without turning, “No big.”

  Metal grinds on metal as the little car slows down. “. . . I guess.”

  The boy’s big shoulders shift as he digs into a pocket. He comes up with a silver tube and hands it over his shoulder.

  “What’s this?”

  “Just take it.”

  It is a PowerBar. With her mouth watering, Jule tears off the Mylar with her teeth. “Thanks! I didn’t know I was so . . .”

  “Shh.”

  “Hungry.”

  “Shh!”

  Strange, big guy, won’t talk, won’t look at her. Nice, she thinks—the PowerBar—but she can’t be sure. If only it was a little lighter down here. If only she could get a good look at him.

  This is taking too long.

  They are rolling along an unbroken stretch of track now—no curves, no tunnel mouths yawning on either side, no loading docks or exits in sight. The darkness and silence are getting to her.

  “I’m Jule Devereaux, in case you want to know.” Jule starts off sounding strong and tough. After too long she adds, “From Castertown?”

  The silence is awful.

  “Are you going to tell me your name or anything?”

  “No.”

  “At least turn around and look at me.”

  He has a deep voice. “Too dark.”

  Jule doesn’t mean to quaver, but this is all too much. She says in an anxious little squeak, “Do it anyway?”

  “Don’t,” he says. “Don’t go all weird on me.”

  “Then act like I’m really here,” she snaps.

  He shrugs. “Whatever.” As if he’s doing her a huge favor, the strange boy turns in his seat.

  In spite of herself, Jule shrieks. Who wouldn’t? His face is covered by a black ski mask.

  “Shhh!”

  “The mask!”

  “Don’t scream like that.”

  “Why not?”

  His voice drops to a pebbly whisper. “You’ll wake them up!”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind.”

  Jule says, louder, “I asked you, who?”

  “Shut up,” he hisses, “you’ll bring them down on us.”

  “Then take off the mask!”

  “Mask? Oh, right.” He pulls it off. In the darkness she can’t make out his face, not really; he looks almost grown, but the bushy white hair stands up like a little boy’s. He says bashfully, “I forgot.”

  “That’s better,” Jule says. “Now, what’s your name?”

  “It’s not important.” He hits a button and the car jerks to a stop. He slaps her door open and points. “This is where you get out.”

  “Wait!”

  “Go.” Leaning over the back of his seat, he puts a hand on her shoulder and pushes her out.

  She is standing on a little platform. “Wait a minute!”

  He slams the car door behind her.

  “Aren’t you coming?”

  “No. Just look for the ladder. You’ll come up in a music store.”

  “But who . . .”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll be all right.”

  “Wait a minute . . .”

  “Just ask for Tick.” Then Lance the Loner hits the lever and the car whirs off, leaving her in the dark.

  Wait.

  THIRTEEN

  JUST WHEN HE THINKS they are safe, just when Tick thinks nobody will ever find them here in the Music Sector, there is a disturbance in the back of the abandoned store. “What!” he shouts, whirling. “What!”

  The girl he saved and spent half the night looking for blunders out of the back room, blinking. “Where am I?”

  All that time lost looking, and now, just when he has his Crazies settled and least needs another distraction, here she is. He’s so mad at himself for being glad to see her that he smacks her on the shoulder, hard. “How did you get in?”

  They are both at the end of a long, tough night. Crossly, she shrugs him off. “What’s it to you?”

  “Where were you?”

  “W
ho are you, anyway?”

  “Where were you all this time?”

  Turning, she takes in the scene in the abandoned music store. “What is this place?”

  “Never mind.” It’s dawn and Tick needs to get the hideout sealed before the morning cleaning crews roll into the music gallery. His Crazies have taped the cracks in the false front so their lights won’t show. They nailed rugs over the wooden door to the outside so people can talk and move around in here without being heard. Now, just as Tick thinks their hideout is secured; just when he thinks he has it sealed so tight that nobody can find them, this new girl simply wanders in with her hair flying and that fierce, wild glare. She’s standing there as if she owns the place. He can’t say, I was so worried. Instead, he attacks. “How did you get in?”

  Distracted, the Crazies drop what they are doing and stare.

  “What are you looking at? Get back to work!”

  There is a stir as the Castertown Crazies turn and pretend to keep on doing what they were doing.

  “Girl, I asked you a question! How did you get in?”

  “I just did.” She isn’t giving an inch. “What’s your problem?”

  “If you can get in, anybody can get in! Were you followed?”

  They are close to having a fight. “How am I supposed to know?”

  The long night is getting to Tick and he can’t control the anger in his tone. “Where were you when I was looking for you?”

  “To, what, hand me back to that gang?”

  “I was trying to help you.”

  “Fine.” She wheels. “I have to go.”

  He grabs her wrist. “Wait! It isn’t safe.”

  “Don’t!”

  “You can’t go out there. Not now.” This is going very badly. Tick tightens his grip.

  “Why not?” Angry, she tries to pry off his fingers.

  “Stop that. Look. If you want to get along here, you have to be careful and be quiet.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. You can’t rush out, it isn’t safe. You have to wait. Think. You have to be cool.”

  The girl stands there, considering. “OK,” she says at last. “OK.”