by Kit Reed
The music rises and Amos raises his voice to match it, shouting, “BECAUSE I CAN MAKE YOU DO WHATEVER I WANT!”
At another wave of his hand, the music stops. There is a hush in the great room. The old man’s wet whisper is louder than his shout. “With money comes power. And with power,” he whispers, gloating, “comes control.”
Spitefully, the old man sings, “Spring and summer, winter, fall. Cool kids shop at the MegaMall.” The Zozzco jingle. Amos finishes with an ugly laugh. “Shop on, you stupid, greedy fools.”
Would he be quiet if he knew everyone in the Mega-Mall could hear? Probably not. Driven by hatred, Amos is beyond it now.
“You’re like rats, gnawing at goods in my wonderful MegaMall because I tell you to. Well, soon you rats will be flying to MegaMalls all over the world! And you will pay. You will pay plenty for the privilege, and,” he adds with a sinister laugh, “As a special added attraction, I’ll have children running like rats in all my MegaTrails, and then you’ll see how powerful I am. Go ahead, spend yourselves into the poor house because you love shopping and you don’t know how to stop.” The laughter is getting wilder. “And I love to watch you beg and borrow and sell everything you have so you can shop some more because now I own you and I control you, you greedy, despicable rats.”
Thanks to the complex connections and Bluetooth relays Lance put in place today before sunrise, the contempt of Amos Zozz reverberates in every nook, cranny, food court and gallery of the overbearing, pretentious structure he willed into being here.
“But first . . .”
Elsewhere in the MegaMall, the air changes. Something large is in motion. Lance the Loner has done his work indeed. He has done it well.
Amos points to Doakie: “Bring that child!”
Eager to get rid of Doakie, who kicks and bites, the uniformed woman yanks him along by the ear.
“Ow. Ow!”
At the sound of Doakie’s yelp, Puppy squirms in Mag’s arms, going, hrr hrr hrr. “Puppy, shh!” Mag closes her hand around the baby Scottie’s muzzle to hush him up.
“Come on up here, little boy,” Amos croons as Doakie stumbles forward. “Come on, miserable child. You can sit on my lap and watch them put the very first rats in my MegaTrail!” Amos tries to make it sound festive but he can’t help himself; under his breath he adds, “Before I’m done, I’ll trap every little rat in the world! Soon I’ll have all my MegaTrails filled with you, and then . . .”
Thanks to Lance, the whisper inside the platinum helmet is magnified. Near and far, everyone in the MegaMall hears. Zozzpeople start their uneasy buddabuddabudda-ing.
Amos is so crazed that he is thinking out loud. His angry, frantic whisper rattles around and around inside the mask: “Then we drop in the hornets.”
Jule and Tick exchange horrified looks.
Shivering, Doakie backs away.
Now Amos crooks his finger like the witch trying to lure Hansel and Gretel into his cottage so she can cook and eat them. “I won’t hurt you, sonny,” he says falsely. “Come on.”
Doakie shakes his head.
“Come on, child, come sit with me,” Amos says in the sticky voice that only stupid adults use with little kids. “Or else.”
“No!”
But Amos Zozz, billionaire builder and global entrepreneur isn’t used to waiting. “Coooome on . . . Come on, you little . . . OK then!” Irritated, he shouts, “Guards, grab him!”
Doakie breaks and runs, but two burly Security guards pull him down in mid-flight.
With a little cry, Jule lunges to save him.
Tick grabs her arm. “What are you doing?”
“Let go!”
The glassy MegaTrail is so huge, the captive night children are so young and the suspense is so awful that the Zozzpeople standing nearby don’t see or hear the two arguing in tones so low that they might be listening to each other think.
“We have to help!”
“We can’t get caught.”
“We can’t let this happen!”
“We won’t.” Grimly, Tick says, “We have to get out and tell the world.”
Jule doesn’t argue. She is learning. She doesn’t stop to ask questions. She does as she is told.
Now Security is passing Doakie over the heads of the crowd like a little log. Now they are handing him up to the dais where the stark chair stands. Now the black-robed billionaire in the tall boots and the cruelly handsome platinum mask sits on his throne and takes Doakie on his bony lap.
Now that he has Doakie, Amos croons in a voice so bland that it is positively creepy. “What a lovely little boy.” Then his voice turns hard and loud.
“I had a little boy once.” Amos is talking to Doakie, but he is looking at Isabella.
The tall, vain and ambitious daughter of Amos Zozz rocks as though he just slapped her face. He is really talking to her.
“Rather, my daughter Isabella had a little boy, but he was an UNGRATEFUL LITTLE BRUTE.”
Nailed by a spotlight, Isabella flinches.
Outside the Great Room, beyond the six entrances to the Dark Hall, something is changing, although Amos doesn’t know it yet.
On the old man’s lap, Doakie is bawling. Puppy hears him crying and like greased sunshine, squirms out of Mag’s arms and with a leap, escapes from the crowd, skibbling over the onyx with his little claws tapping as he runs to rescue Doakie Jinks.
The old man’s voice shakes the room. “WE HAD OUR OWN LITTLE BOY, BUT HE DIDN’T LIKE WHAT WE ARE DOING HERE.” Such a big voice, here in the Dark Hall.
Elsewhere in the MegaMall, out of sight and out of hearing, there is an ominous stir.
“MY SPIT AND IMAGE, BUT HE WAS ORNERY.”
Jule locks hands with Tick. Yes. Tell the world.
On the old man’s lap, Doakie sobs and sobs. Poor Doak, he can’t help blubbering, he’s that scared.
“SO WE SENT HIM AWAY.”
Such a big voice, going out through amplifiers all over the Castertown MegaMall.
“Too bad, now that I have just the place for him he’s vanished. But you’ll do nicely.” Amos pats Doakie on the head. “My little rat. Now, for years I have run this place with one thing in mind, and you bring your stupid mommies and daddies out here by the carload and you eat what I tell you and buy what I say. You gawk at the things I build to deceive you, and then you eat some more and drink what I provide, so you’ll go running out to buy more, and what do you think you are?”
It’s impossible for the old man’s bitter rant to get any louder, but it does. “You are all my rats. Buy. Take. Get, get, get, greedy, mindless scum of the earth.” Gripping Doakie by the collar, he swivels, pointing to his squadrons of Security and quivering Zozzpeople. “Any questions?”
Nobody speaks. They’re all too scared.
“Well,” he shouts to all assembled, “WHETHER OR NOT YOU ASK QUESTIONS, I HAVE ANSWERS.”
Caught up in the moment, the old man trumpets to the skies: “IT’S ANSWER TIME.”
Bent on revenge as he is, Amos barely feels it when Doakie sinks sharp teeth into the web of his bony right hand. Absently, he bats the boy’s cheek. “Stop that.”
Like that! Puppy comes bounding up on the platform.
Doakie cries, “Puppy!”
“Hush!” Amos pulls back his hand to hit Doakie again.
Growling, brave little Puppy sinks his teeth into the old man’s bare white shin just above the shiny gold boot.
“Ow!” Amos kicks the baby dog so hard that he flies off the dais.
Puppy goes flying into the crowd crying, “Yip-yip-yip.”
“You made me rich . . .”
Amos goes on talking as though his leg doesn’t hurt and there is no blood dripping down inside his beautiful boot. “But you might as well know . . .”
A gob of spit rattles in the old man’s throat. He hocks it up and out on the platform and talks on, so wrapped up in what he’s saying that he barely notices when he loses his grip on his little prisoner and Doakie
slips away.
“I despise you all!
“I despise your mindless greed and I’m sick of watching you shop in my MegaMall, I’m tired of watching you get naked in the dressing rooms, preening in front of my hidden cameras and I hate seeing all the sordid, secret things you do in obscure corners in my magnificent Mega-Mall, and you want to know why?”
No one dares answer.
“Well, do you?”
In the thunderous silence that follows, everybody in the Great Room and thousands of shoppers, store clerks, security and support personnel in every far-flung sector of the MegaMall look up in horror.
“Do you want to know why I despise you?”
Where ads had been playing on giant plasma screens in every sector when all this began, the screens throughout the MegaMall show only one picture now. The image of Amos Zozz is magnified a hundredfold on every screen. The platinum mask glistens like a diamond-studded skull.
“Well, I’ll tell you why.”
Howling with fury, Amos rips off the glittering mask. “LOOK WHAT YOU DID TO ME!”
How could they not? The ghastly image fills every screen.
The image on a thousand giant screens is much, much more terrible because without the mask, the naked head of Amos Zozz isn’t really naked.
It only looks undressed because he has removed the mask. Yes, it’s red and raw and completely hairless. There are no eyebrows on this evil face, no eyelashes. Indeed, there’s not a single hair. Pale white skin covers the top of his skull, but the head of Amos Zozz is by no means naked.
There are dozens upon dozens of oversized, disfiguring lumps all over Amos Zozz’s face and scalp, hideous lumps that stand out on his neck and his ears and even bigger lumps that rise like anthills on that great big, revoltingly hairless head. Amos seems not to care. He flashes square yellow teeth in a smile of pure hatred.
By this time the people of the MegaMall are on the move. Outraged, they rush past the video screens, funneling into the galleries and corridors to join the mob. The mob flows as swiftly as the underground river, but this is different. These are living people with real feelings, and what they feel right now, in spite of the tranquilizers Amos has piped into their water over the years, is rage.
They are heading for the Dark Hall.
Hypnotized by his own rhetoric, Amos has no idea.
Fixed on the little show on the dais, nobody in the Great Room knows what is coming. The people of the Mega-Mall are marching on the enemy, and they are coming in such great numbers that there will be no stopping them.
And Amos rages on. “I took your money and you thanked me. I made you dance to my tune, and now . . . ,” he says triumphantly, “you will all do my bidding, and YOU CHILDREN WILL SUFFER FOR WHAT YOU DID TO ME!” Powerful Amos Zozz is blazing mad. “NOW, WHERE IS THAT BOY?”
As he whirls in his black cape, preparing to issue the next order, everything changes. Everybody but Amos is too frightened and distracted to know.
“Catch that child!” Amos shouts at top volume. “Throw him in the MegaTrail! Soon all you children will be running in my MegaTrail, and you, my despicable shoppers, will pay extra just to watch me . . .” Bloated with fury, Amos looms.
“JUST TO WATCH ME POUR IN THE HORNETS AND LISTEN TO ME LAUGH!”
My people. A shudder runs through Tick like a bad wind. Smart and cautious as he is, he can’t let this happen. I have to take care of them!
Amos shouts, “Security! Put the captives in the Mega-Trail!”
“No.” Gallant, foolhardy Tick Stiles jumps up on a bench and raises his fist, shouting over the din, “No!”
Jule jumps up to stand there beside Tick. “We can stop him!” she shouts to the crowd. “He’s only one person.”
“Not so fast!” Like a great dictator, Amos stamps on a raised brass button in the floor. Elsewhere, an alarm will sound. In the world according to Amos, this should bring out the Dark Hall emergency squad, but nothing changes. Meanwhile, the vibration in the floor has turned into a drum-drumming, but the people in the Great Room are too distressed to notice. For a second, everyone is still.
Now that he has their attention, Tick shouts, “Please. Help us.”
“Come on, everybody,” Jule cries. “We need you all.” And independent, opinionated Jule Devereaux, who thought she could handle everything by herself, Jule is pleading with the people in the Dark Hall, “We can’t do this without you!”
Amos shouts, “Grab those children!”
Meanwhile the Zozzpeople look at each other, questioning. Join them? Turn on Amos? Stay with Amos? They don’t know. Looking at them, the night children have no idea which way it will go.
“Get them!”
TWENTY-SEVEN
THE DRUMMING OF MARCHING feet grows as people march on the Dark Hall by the thousands. Nobody in the Great Room hears what is coming. The Zozzpeople don’t notice the vibration; Security doesn’t. They are all fixed on the crisis. What are they going to do?
Should they do as Amos orders?
Should they help Tick and Jule? Will they? What will happen to the night children if they don’t?
What will happen to them if they do?
“Shall we?” “Would we?” “Should we?” The Zozzpeople can’t seem to agree.
Then they do.
First it’s no more than one person muttering, “But we’ll lose our promotions!” The corporate buddabuddabudda turns hostile. “We want our promotions.” A shout rises. “We can’t lose the money.” “What about our raises?” “We want our raises.” The protest grows. “We want the stripes!”
“Survival,” someone yells.
There is a loud group cry. “Yeeeaaah.”
“Survival of the fittest!”
Everyone yells louder, “Yaaaaay.”
Just when things seem to be going the old man’s way, some brave person says, “But they’re only children. We can’t just . . .”
Isabella’s shout cuts through this like a knife. “Stop!”
All heads turn.
“Think about it.” Coldly, she asks, “What’s this really about?”
Massed Zozzpeople whisper as one: “We’re afraid of him.”
“Exactly. And with good reason.” Isabella says in that icy voice, “Now, do as my father says.”
“All right then.” The old man points that terrible, long finger. “Get them!”
The tension breaks. Everybody lunges at once. Hands close on Jule and Tick. “Gotcha!”
“At last.” Amos Zozz raises his fist. “All hail the corporation.”
His obedient creatures recite in unison, “All hail the corporation.”
“Glory to Zozzco.”
“Glory to Zozzco!”
Like a grotesque cheerleader, the tycoon trumpets, “On to Phase Two.”
Nervously, the Zozzpeople parrot, “On to Phase Two.”
Amos pushes a button in the side of the tall chair. Elsewhere, multiple engines start up, but the crowd is too distracted to know.
“Now bring me those two! You, treacherous girl!” Raging, Amos points at Jule. He turns his glare on Tick. “And you, pernicious boy. You are my rats.” He thunders, “PUT THEM IN MY MEGATRAIL.”
Impatient because his Zozzpeople aren’t moving fast enough, the old man comes down off the platform and makes a grab first for Jule, then for Tick.
At that exact moment, everything—the air, the stone underfoot—seems to shift.
Somewhere far from the Great Room, doors crash wide. The Dark Hall is no longer sealed.
Something big is approaching. Everybody knows it now. The vibration in the onyx floor becomes a little earthquake as whatever is coming—and it sounds like legions upon legions tramping—approaches.
As it turns out, the first wave is closer than you think.
Unlike the angry mall employees and the legions of outraged shoppers, the first to arrive are the real citizens of the MegaMall. They reach the Great Room through a secret entrance only the Zozz family knows abou
t.
Led by a familiar figure in camo and a ski mask, the night children come pouring in.
The lost tribes march in front—people Tick has never seen in all his years of living here, people that his Crazies and the Dingos would never encounter in ordinary times, people Jule Devereaux never knew about, and she has come here almost every day of her life. On they come, hundreds of boys and girls from unknown tribes in dozens of shopping sectors where only Lance has traveled.
The little army includes children so timid that they never go out and children who are afraid of adults and ones who are so shy that they seldom speak, but all of them are here today because Lance the Loner sent out the call and before anything, the night children are loyal.
The Loner’s prerecorded sound bite alerted all the tribes of children well before the MegaMall opened for business. The summons was heard in every sector exactly as Lance intended. He set the timer when he programmed the system back in the Communications Center well before dawn.
His announcement named the many routes to the secret Zozz family corridor. It set the time.
As soon as they heard the call, the tribes dropped whatever they were doing and hit the ground running. They hopped on trams or commandeered bicycles from sporting goods stores or grabbed the mall’s motorized wheelchairs, anything to be here, where they are needed.
When they are alone, most children aren’t particularly frightening.
Marching together like this, for a good cause, they are magnificent. Excited. Powerful. Ready to serve. There are so many that even Lance the Loner doesn’t know them all. There are more of them in the corridor and more children flooding into the Great Room, marching shoulder to shoulder, than anyone could imagine.
Meanwhile, the adults march on, toward the master of the Dark Hall. Alerted by the voice of Amos, blasting into corridors live and in full cry by the time the MegaMall opened for business, shoppers and staff in great numbers come streaming through the galleries of the Dark Hall, heading for the Great Room.
Everything is changing.
Amos knows it now.
Now, Amos Zozz, the vengeful spirit of the Dark Hall and creator of the MegaMall, may be barking mad, but he is by no means stupid. Standing like a statue about to be toppled, he taps a device hanging from his belt. Far from the scene, hidden forces register the command. Engines roar as his steel birds take the air.