“Do you know who they are?” she asked. Her voice was thin and somber. “I mean… I, I don’t want to know. I just want to know if someone knows.” Peter stopped what he was doing and turned to her.
“This might have been a bad idea,” he said. His eyes went to the dead bodies and then back to Emily. “Probably too much, and you’re young. I shouldn’t have asked for the help. Not with this.”
“You didn’t ask,” she blurted, feeling offended. “And I’m not as young as you think.” Peter raised his brow with a look of surprise.
“Okay, just wanted to make sure is all,” Peter said, and turned to finish what he’d started. “Ms. Parks is collecting the identifications.”
“So we already know who they are?”
“Most of them,” Peter started. He sat up and pointed to the body closest to the wall. “That guy there was the first. Came in just after the clouds fell. He came in the same entrance as you and Justin. That’s where we found him. Other than his shirt and pants, he didn’t have anything else on him.”
“Clouds fell?” Emily questioned. “You mean the mist?”
“That’s what he called this…” Peter raised his hands up, motioning to everything around them. “He said the clouds fell. And then, before dying, he said, forever.”
“Forever?”
“But I didn’t tell anyone about that part,” Peter hesitated, his voice sounded anxious, maybe even nervous. “He might have said something else—I dunno—the guy was losing it, and then he died.”
“I wonder who he is?” But Emily did have an idea. Her father had said something about the clouds, too. She wondered if this stranger worked at the machine. Maybe he even knew what caused the accident. She moved to the man and began pulling away the layer of bubble wrap. The man’s hair was fire red like hers, and his skin was still fair as though he’d only been sleeping. He didn’t look dead, and she thought that a poke to his cheek might even pink it up. His eyes were somewhat alive too, staring back at her, but not quite seeing her. They were green and hadn’t grayed over or sunken into his head like the others had. Emily readied her fingers to pinch his eyelids close, but then hesitated.
“Look at this!”
“What?” Peter gave a reluctant look, lasting only a second. “Yeah, so… he’s dead.”
“No, no—not that, what’s missing?” Peter stretched his neck, giving more time. “Do you see it?”
“Do I see what?”
“No burns!”
Peter slid back onto his haunches. He blinked, refocusing his attention on what she’d said. “We’ve all got burns.” Emily pulled her hair back, showing off the splotchy red around her neck and cheeks.
“But I’m not burned,” he told her.
“You were already in the mall. Right?” Emily gave him an encouraging nod, motioning until Peter agreed. “Did anyone else come in without burns?”
Peter shook his head. “Nope. Everyone had burns. But what if this guy was just covered better than you were?”
“Or maybe… maybe he wasn’t outside at all,” she answered. Her mind raced, and she wondered if what she proposed was even possible.
“But I found him in the entrance.”
Emily considered this, and then asked, “Did you see him come in from the outside?” Peter said nothing. Instead, he stood up, and then waited for her. “Well, did you?”
“Do his clothes smell?” he asked, motioning to the body. Emily didn’t understand the question.
“Huh?”
“His clothes,” Peter repeated. “Do they feel like Mr. Rainer’s or any of the others?”
Emily understood what he was asking. She patted the stranger’s chest and arms, half expecting the dead man to reel up, laughing as though she’d been tickling him. He stayed dead. The man’s clothes were dry and didn’t carry the same thick smell. And if none of the poison had touched him, then he hadn’t died from being outside. She shook her head.
“We have to tell someone,” Peter said. “Cover him back up, the assembly is later this morning.”
“What’s an assembly?” she asked. Before applying the bubble wrap, Emily closed the stranger’s eyes. His skin was cold like the concrete floor, dead for sure. But he just didn’t feel the same as the others. “I’m almost done.” Emily quickly rummaged through the stranger’s pockets, looking for anything that might lend a clue.
“Nothing there,” Peter said, catching what she was doing. “We already searched him. If there were anything to find, Ms. Parks would have found it.” Emily gave up her search and left the stranger alone.
“Assembly?”
“We’re gathering in the main court, where the Starbucks and escalators are.” The thought of coffee or even a frap, reminded her that she’d been hungry earlier.
VII
CUBBY
Staying Close to Peter, Emily followed him through the maze of what she’d started to call the mall’s guts. When they were back to something familiar, she couldn’t help but drink in the sights of stores lining the two levels. On the top level, she immediately recognized two girls her age. Twins from her high school, and the smartest in the class. One of the girls waved, and even called out Emily’s name. While Emily had known the twins for a few years, she still could not tell them apart.
“You know them?”
“Kinda,” she answered and waved back. “I just can’t remember who is who… Jin and Fen, or Fin and Jen?” Peter smiled, adding a wave of his own.
“Came in with their father and mother,” he started, and nudged his shoulder, motioning behind them. “But their mom… well, you just closed her eyes.” Emily stopped waving, and peered over towards the olive-green doors separating the two worlds.
“You mean—” Emily suddenly stopped talking and continued to walk. She needed to distance herself from it. She needed to distance herself from the death that was beginning to suffocate. Even if it was only for a little while.
“By the way, who changed me?” Emily asked, forcing a change of topic. “These aren’t my clothes.” Peter didn’t reply, but took a brief, hurried look, up and down and around to the other stores.
“You smelled like pee,” he said, squeezing his nose and mouth. A warm flush rose on her neck. Peter smiled and waved his hands. “Justin told us what happened, that he’d had an accident. Ms. Parks said that the urine probably helped cool your burns.”
“It did. I remember. But who changed my clothes?” Peter’s sneer stretched out, reaching his ears. Emily brought her arms up, covering herself. “No you didn’t—did you?” Peter raised his brow as though suggesting it had been him. A long moment passed, leaving her to wonder, leaving her to imagine.
“No worries,” he laughed. “Ms. Parks had me pick out an outfit.” Relief came to her, yet she couldn’t help but feel a little intrigued by the images that played in her mind.
“These aren’t bad,” she told him, running a hand along a sleeve and kicking out her leg in front of them.
“Ms. Parks told me what to get for you. I grabbed the clothes from that Abercrombie place. Smells funny in there, but better than out here.” Peter picked up a large ring of keys, jingling it from his hip.
“Thanks,” she said, grateful that her father had been right, that the mall was someplace for them to go. “I’ve got some clothes… my mom had me pack them, but I left them in the car.” Peter waved his arm out in front of them, showcasing each of the clothing outlets lined across the two floors of the mall.
“I don’t think we’ll be needing any clothes for a while.” And though he smiled as he spoke, Emily could hear in his voice the direness of their circumstance.
“It’s not like we can leave, anyway,” she added.
“Not so sure about that—once the food and water are gone, we’ll have to do something. At least we’ll be dressed for it.” She heard Peter try and laugh, but his voice had begun to shake. Emily gripped his arm, hoping it would help.
“The assembly, it’s for planning?” She asked, underst
anding the need. “Just how many people made it here?” Peter slowed and began counting, moving his lips as he did. It reminded her of her father, counting without saying anything. She pushed the warm memory away, seeing it for what it was; a distraction.
“We’ve got over two dozen now, might be closer to three,” he answered. “A man named Charlie Halcomb has been taking charge. He used to be a sheriff or something like that… knows how to organize, and folks have been listening to him. We’re all still just trying to figure out what happened.” Emily wondered what everyone knew, or thought they knew.
“Maybe it was an accident,” she offered, but having considered her father’s last words to her, she’d given up on that notion. She could hear her mother’s voice yelling about his precious machines, asking if they were responsible for this. What would happen to her and Justin if anyone found out the truth, and who they were? “Or maybe it’s a storm—no storm anyone has ever seen—from the ocean?”
“Oh it’s a storm all right. Just don’t know what kind,” he answered. “Most of us think that we’d been attacked. And that the attackers poisoned the tropical storm forecasted to come up the coast.”
“Too soon for the storm. Isn’t it?”
Peter shrugged, swinging the bundle of keys from his hip. Peter stopped and started unlocking the security gate in front of a small store. A newsstand, she thought it was, recalling the blue News & Stuff sign above the entrance. One of the mall’s smallest stores, the News & Stuff carried newspapers and magazines—nothing that she’d ever considered needing. “Hungry?”
“Yeah, but… there’s no food in there,” she exclaimed, yet had only ever given the store a passing glance. “I’m not at all sure of what is in here.” The security gate crawled up into the wall, ripping the quiet with a sudden metal clanking. Emily flinched: startled.
“Sorry,” Peter said, slowing the gate’s run. “Let’s see what we have in here… thought I’d seen some food before.”
The small store was as she’d expected it to be; a cubby tucked away between two big clothing outlets. Next to a rack of magazines and paperback books, there was a display refrigerator, and to her delight, it was full. Across from the magazines, a pale orange counter carried an old cash register, guarded by a row of round metal stools that she thought looked like mushroom caps. On the counter, she found an even greater delight: a carousel of soft pretzels. She counted five of them, hanging from thin metal posts, still golden-brown, and still waiting to be picked like ripe fruit from a tree. Next to the pretzels, plastic-wrapped muffins grew out of a shallow basket, climbing to the top, until nearly spilling over. She couldn’t help but wonder which she’d eat first.
At some point, Emily had stopped listening to Peter, brushing past him toward the shelves of candy stored beneath the cash-register. Impulse shopping, she recalled from one of her economics classes. She ripped open a snickers bar and chewed half of it down, wincing from the pain in her throat. The glass on the display refrigerator was warm, but she didn’t care. The peach tea on the second shelf was what she saw first and grabbed it. And when she twisted it, the refreshing sound of the cap popping made her laugh. A banana muffin was next. Emily perched herself onto one of the round stools, propping an elbow onto the counter, working her hands to unwrap the cellophane. She felt a sense of normalcy. And though the moment was fleeting, it was an unexpected comfort that had been lost to the fog. Peter joined her at the counter, having grabbed a soft pretzel and strawberry milk for himself.
“Can’t believe how hungry I am,” she mumbled, as muffin crumbs spilled from her mouth. She shook her head briefly, thinking she’d been rude. He smiled it away and bit into his pretzel. Emily motioned to the milk in his hand. “Do you think the milk is going to be okay?” Peter glanced at the milk as if spying an expiration date.
“After the power went out the refrigerator stayed cold for a while,” he answered. He quickly frowned, uncertain. “Only one way to find out.” Emily cringed as he shook up the bottle and opened it. He passed the milk under his nose, and then joked, offering it to her like an expensive wine before gulping it down. Emily waited.
“Is it bad?” she asked, slowly nodding her head, afraid he’d agree with her. Peter clutched his throat in a mock strangle-hold until she smiled. He did it again, trying to add some levity. “Okay, okay.” Emily let herself laugh.
“Milk won’t last though.” He raised the drink, reading off some of the chemical ingredients. “Last one… starting to get warm.”
“I never knew there was food in here.” The more Emily searched the small store, the more she found. There was something cozy about the place. And while it was one of the smallest spaces, every corner was used. She motioned to Peter’s keys. “Anyone else been in here?”
“Nah. Just me. Most probably don’t know that it’s even here. We’ve already stock-piled everything we could find from the food court. Just happened to miss this store.” Peter pushed the pretzel carousel, spinning them until they were a golden blur. “Spoiled food and dead bodies are all we’re going to have soon.” His stare stretched past the counter to the long top-loading refrigerator she hadn’t seen before. Decorating the front, a large red sign with the printed words Reddi Wip. Whatever was inside was going to melt or spoil soon.
“Really?” she asked, holding up her muffin, but the thought had already crossed her mind. The thought had been stuck there since carrying Mr. Rainer’s body.
Peter gently wiped a crumb from her cheek. The gesture caught her off guard, and she couldn’t stop a bashful smile from showing. But like the earlier feeling, this too quickly passed as thoughts of Justin came into her mind. Like a pull or tug from deep inside her soul, she had a sudden need to be near him, to check on him. She supposed it was like that in every family; an instinct to be close to one another. And maybe that is where grieving came from; an overwhelming feeling when someone is no longer there.
Peter reached up again, laying his hand to catch dust and bits of ceiling in his palm. The cozy little store was beginning to shake, and her thoughts went to her garage. But surely the mall was safe. Brick and mortar, and so very large. A rumble sounded, distant and guttural.
“What’s going on?” Peter asked. His voice cracked as he spoke, and his hands darted out as if trying to keep his balance. An odd vibration rose up into Emily’s seat, erupting into a steady shutter that rocked her up and down. The pretzel carousel shook, erratic and violent, teetering before falling over. A storm of movement erupted into a chaotic song, filling her ears with noises she’d never heard before. The vibrations grew and collapsed like a hampered breath, a rhythm that put into motion what was never meant to move. And then the small cozy store was dancing around her, swarming her view with a collage of colors, tapping its foot in tempo to the strained cry of concrete, wood and metal.
Instinctively she stretched her hands, grabbing hold of Peter. He responded, taking her arms as their world shook back and forth. The pretzel carousel rolled and disappeared from atop the counter. Glass bottles rattled and crashed, shattering. Liquids spilled, and tables and chairs screeched against the floor. And then, for just a moment, every sound was suddenly sucked out of the mall in one huge breath. And soon after, the stale salty air was gone too.
A strong jolt jarred them, throwing everything in the store. She lost her grip, losing Peter, feeling his shirt slip from between her fingers. The image in front of her went sideways as they fell to the floor. Immediately she tried to brace herself, but landed awkwardly on her side. Her injured ribs crunched against a fallen stool, immediately stealing the air from inside her. She gasped while stars streaked a path of lightning in front of her. Peter landed next to her; his pupils blown, looking like large black coins: frightened. And as he darted his head around, he blinked furiously, batting away blood from a ragged gash that lay open on his head.
Emily caught a short breath and took hold of Peter’s shirt, reassuring him with her focus. She reached over, wiping the blood so that he could see. He jer
ked forward, swinging his arm, and punched away a bundle of falling magazines. The floor beneath them shook as the store tumbled and fell around them. And then there came a cry from somewhere outside the store. The screams were distant, yet close enough for her to think it could be one of the twins.
When the shaking slowed, a low rumble filled her ears. She winced when the pressure punched the air. Peter’s lips moved furiously, screaming words she couldn’t hear. The hollow sound grew and shook them in a very different way. Her body vibrated; assaulted by the sound. A shockwave? What she thought was an earthquake must have been part of an explosion. A huge explosion.
“Earthquake?” She managed to hear Peter asked. His words were muffled and hard to make out. She shook her head. “What then?”
“I think there was an explosion,” she answered, and knew she was screaming so that he could hear her. He shook his head, giving up on hearing anything. With her hands, she motioned an explosion, and then mouthed the word. Peter nodded. He was holding her again. She could feel him shaking, the adrenaline making his muscles twitch and quiver uncontrollably. Emily felt strangely calm. She understood then; Peter hadn’t experienced the outside. He didn’t hear his neighbors die, or have his house collapse around him, or crash in a car wreck that killed his parents. But what was outside was coming inside now. Whatever exploded, she feared may have ripped its way into the mall where they were supposed to be safe.
“We can move now,” she offered, trying to stand up in the wreckage of what was the store. She braced herself on Peter’s shoulders, pushing until she was upright. Peter held her hand as they stood. He brushed the remains of dust and pieces of ceiling from his shirt and hair. “How’s your head?” The bleeding from the gash had slowed, leaving red trails between his eyes and traveling down to his chin. Emily gently pressed paper napkins atop the cut.
Going Gray Page 6