by North, Geoff
“I don’t think he’s going anywhere for awhile.” Michael went to the refrigerator and took a half loaf of white bread out. He paused while shutting the door and decided the dry bread would need some margarine to soften it up some. “I’m going to have a piece of bread. You want one?”
“I’m not hungry. I want you to call Dad.”
“Phone’s don’t work.”
“Can’t you get that computer to work? Can’t we email him?”
Michael glanced over at the big black box on the desk. The fifteen-inch monitor sitting next to it was just as black, the screen coated over with a fine layer of dust. “There isn’t any power in the building, it won’t turn on.” He doubted the office computer would work even if the power hadn’t been cut. By the looks of it, nobody had used the thing for months.
“There’s power,” Amanda argued. “That music hasn’t stopped playing for days.”
She was right. The music was still playing—that one terrifying instrumental piece without any singing was starting over again for about the thousandth time. They didn’t know what it was called; ten-year olds knew practically nothing about classical violin. If their father was there, he might be able to tell them it was Canon in D. But he wasn’t with them, and he never would be again.
“He’s using something with batteries, wired it into the main speaker system. That’s probably running on batteries, too. There’s no electricity anywhere.”
Amanda placed the big teddy-bear and stuffed lion on the floor. She took the candle her brother had used and poked it inside the dark fridge. There was a tub of sealed yogurt, warm to the touch, and swollen almost to the point of bursting. She should’ve opened it on day one; it might not have made her sick then. She pushed it off to the side and rummaged through the rest of the food—as they had both done dozens of times in the last forty-eight hours—looking for something sweet. There wasn’t much to choose from; the bloated yogurt container, a milk carton one-quarter filled with chunky stuff, the dry bread and margarine Michael was now using, a cardboard box containing four doughnuts as hard as rocks, and a jar of raspberry jam with maybe a teaspoon’s worth of goo stuck up along the inside of the glass. She settled for the jam, scraping out what she could with her finger.
“You should put that on some of this bread,” Michael said, offering the plastic bag out to her. “It’ll taste better.”
She scowled and sucked the jam dry from her finger. “I want chocolate.”
“You can’t have chocolate.”
“Yes I can. There’s a coffee store right around the corner from here. I saw tons of chocolates in there. You could tip-toe all the way there and all the way back. He’ll never hear you.”
Michael shook his head. “We agreed. We can’t leave. You saw what he did to all them people... what he did to Mom.”
Amanda picked the lion back up and squeezed it against her chest. The teddy-bear was for comfort, the lion protected her. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about that anymore.”
Michael swallowed down the last of his crust and margarine. “Then don’t go thinking stupid things. He’ll shoot us dead, too, if we leave this place.”
She leaned up against the wall, her shoulder rubbing against the side of the refrigerator. Amanda slid down until she was sitting on the cold floor. That horrible morning came back to her. It hadn’t started horribly—it began like most other Saturday mornings. Their mom wanted to go to the mall. Dad wanted to stay home. The three went without him. Amanda and Michael fought, but it wasn’t about anything serious, it never was.
Things didn’t get serious until they heard Roy speak for the first time.
His voice had interrupted the soft music playing throughout the shopping center, warning all patrons to take cover. A war has started, he’d stated. All shoppers please remain calm, and stay out of confined areas. Helen Fulger had laughed it off—she told her kids that some jackass had found an intercom station and was shooting his dumb mouth off. When the floor started shaking and people started screaming, Amanda’s mother didn’t find it funny. When the big glass windows at the front of the Hudson’s Bay store they were shopping in blew inside all over the display mannequins, everybody started screaming and running. And over all that yelling and rumbling, Amanda heard Roy talking through the speakers—directing people to safety, telling them how to behave, trying to calm them.
“I’m sorry,” Michael said. He sat next to her against the wall and offered her his hand. Amanda took it, and squeezed her lion tighter in the other arm. “Maybe he’s already gone. Maybe he took what he wanted and left the mall.”
“He’s still here,” Amanda whispered. “That song’s still playing.”
Most of the shoppers had disregarded Roy’s soft pleading. They had fled through the broken windows, and climbed over the collapsed sliding door frames, desperate to leave the stores behind, and to discover what was left outside. Helen hadn’t been one of them. She kept her children close and sided with Roy.
Listen to the man on the speakers, guys. Stay calm, and do as he says.
Michael and Amanda had heard the distant popping sounds before their mother. People were still screaming even though the worst of it was over. The popping got louder, and their mom said there was a reasonable explanation. Probably just the power trying to turn back on.
Michael had tugged at his mother’s arm. I think we should get out of here.
People were running from the mall plaza and heading fast for the Bay exits. A big woman knocked Amanda down in her rush to escape. Amanda had seen the woman stop in her tracks twenty feet ahead; a red spot appeared in the center of her fat back. It spread out over the white fabric of her sweater, like a rose blossoming in fast motion. She fell to floor, and her face made a cracking noise as it bounced off the tiles.
Helen pulled her daughter back up. Your brother’s right, we have to get out... now.
Amanda had been certain she was going to say more; she had seen her lips opening. That’s when the loudest pop of them all went off. That’s when something warm splattered across Amanda’s forehead and cheek. The top third of her mother’s head had disappeared. Amanda wiped bits of brain and skull from her face as Helen Fulger dropped to her knees. The hand holding Amanda’s arm loosened, then fell away. The rest of the dead woman flopped over the girl’s running shoes.
“Well we can’t stay here forever,” her brother was saying. “Sooner or later we’ll have to go somewhere else.”
“Where can we go, Michael? Maybe it’s even worse outside the mall.”
“I doubt that.”
They sat in silence, and watched as the small flame in the candle glass started to flicker and sputter. Michael leaned forward and poured the melted wax onto the floor. He righted the glass carefully, not wanting to drown the remaining bit of light left.
Amanda squeezed his hand. “Maybe they got some candles in that coffee store, too.”
“We can’t go... You said it yourself. That dumb song is still playing.”
“Well maybe he’s got a cell phone hooked up to the speakers and maybe he’s got it set on repeat. Maybe he left a long time ago... just like you said.”
Michael was shaking his head. That music has been playing for days. Any old cell phone battery would’ve died by now. No, that fat fucker is still here.”
“Don’t swear.”
“Sorry.”
The song played through and started up again. The candle burned itself out, and the twins were left cowering in complete blackness.
They’d started running after their mother was killed. Or Michael was running—Amanda was being pulled along. They hid behind a big square bin of men’s socks, and listened to the gunfire. Pop. Pop. Pop. There had been clicking sounds between the shots; reloading. Pop. Pop. Pop. Michael and Amanda lifted their heads slowly up over the bin and saw him. It was a security guard. He was wearing a blue short-sleeved shirt and black tie. His thick forearms were covered with hair as black as his tie, and his head was shiny bald.<
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He hadn’t said a word since entering the big store. He just kept shooting people—all kinds of people. He shot store employees and shoppers alike. An old man stuck in his overturned wheelchair begged for mercy. The fat guard shot him in the temple. A teenager was running up the steps of a stilled escalator—he shot her in the back, butt, and both legs. Both big fists were gripping revolvers. The fat mass of single jowl under his chin shook with the ferocity of each shot. Massive dark circles had stained the underarms of his shirt. The sweat glistened off his scalp and leaked into his bushy eyebrows. He was breathing in and out hard, huffing like a big animal. Amanda thought he was running out of steam—that he might drop dead from a heart attack—but then she realized it was adrenaline pushing him on. He was grinning sadistically. He was enjoying it.
And then he’d turned quickly and spotted them.
In that brief moment, Amanda had seen two things. Number one: she saw the guns being pointed directly at them. Number two: The plastic identification badge clipped to his damp chest had been covered over with a wide piece of masking tape. The name ROY was scrawled there in big, red felt-marker letters.
Pop. Pop.
Michael had pulled her back down as an explosion of wood chips and socks rained over their backs. They scurried on their hands and knees into racks of men’s trousers and work pants, and didn’t stop moving until they were in the women’s’ department.
Roy’s attention had been diverted. He was busy shooting other people.
Why aren’t they screaming anymore? Why are they dying so quietly?
“What?”
“When he was shooting them... why didn’t they scream?” She asked in a whisper. They had spoken softly in the backroom office up until then. Now with the candle out, and sitting in darkness, they whispered softly to one another. It’s what people did in pitch blackness.
“I dunno. Maybe they were too busy just trying to get away.”
“I guess not everyone died quietly. I can still hear the babies crying. Roy didn’t shoot the babies. He just let them cry until they stopped all on their own.”
Michael swatted at his sister’s knee. “What did Dad always tell you? You dwell on stuff too much. You have to stop thinking about it... about what we saw and heard. Besides, it was only one baby crying, and we don’t know if it died. Maybe it just went to sleep or something.”
“It didn’t fall asleep, dummy. It starved to death, and there was more than just the one where we were. I heard others crying... down in the other end of the mall, maybe in the food court.”
“Quit dwelling, Amanda... it’s why you’re having those nightmares.”
“I can see them now, in the dark like this... Please, Michael, will you go to the coffee store and see if they got any candles?”
He chewed on the knuckles of his hand. Perhaps there would be something better than candles. Maybe he could find a flashlight or two. Maybe they would be shot dead. “I don’t know... he doesn’t know we’re here.”
“Please.”
“Alright, but we go together or we don’t go at all.” Her silence was answer enough for him. They stood up and crept forward into the dark. Michael’s leg struck the desk, causing it to shift noisily a few inches on the floor. Amanda’s fingers tightened around his hand. Quiet! They found the deadbolt latch beneath the door handle. Michael pushed the door up into the frame with all of his strength so the metal bolt wouldn’t scrape, and turned it slowly. He pulled the door in a crack, and dull yellow light from the single emergency bulb somewhere overhead flooded in. They moved from the private office into the toy store’s storage room. Amanda hung back, half through the doorway. Michael saw that his sister was still clutching her lion. “Leave that thing sitting in the door so it doesn’t lock behind us.”
“But I need him.”
“You’re almost eleven, you don’t need toys anymore.”
She placed the lion gently into the frame and let the door rest up against it. Michael pulled her after him, past the grey metal shelving filled with boxes. The enormous pink doll house was still sitting up against the swinging door leading into the main part of the store. Amanda was now using the box it had been packaged in as a house of her own. Leaving the plastic structure in front of the door had been her idea; if Roy had entered the storeroom, they would’ve heard it scraping along the floor. They picked it up and moved it away from the door.
Canon in D ended. They waited a few seconds until it started all over again, and then crept into the back of the store. They moved slowly and held their breath all the way to the front. Michael poked his head out and looked both ways along the wide corridor. There was light coming in over a hundred feet away from the broken windows in the sportswear store. Michael squinted against the distant brightness, and thought he saw someone moving outside—a woman? He blinked, and the movement was gone. She wasn’t there... Nobody’s out there. The bookstore directly across from them was dark and shadow-filled. Surely they could find some kind of light in there; one of those clip-on LEDs for night reading. Maybe later, he decided. I’ll explore the bookstore once Amanda’s safely back in that office with all of her chocolates. He looked down the right side of the plaza way again—the way they had to go. It wasn’t as well lit, lined with dozens of empty, dark stores. Michael paused. “I’ll go back and get the butter knife... just in case.”
“What’re you going to do with a butter knife? He’s got guns—lots of them.”
“Okay, no knife. But we have to move fast. No more holding hands. We get to that store and take what we need. I’ll look for candles and flashlights, you grab the chocolate. See if you can find something to drink, too. I’m sick of drinking from the back of the toilet.”
She nodded quickly. “I’m ready.”
He mouthed the word go and they sprinted forward on the toes of their shoes. They skirted around the bench and potted plant sitting in the middle of the corridor, and headed deeper into the mall, their small bodies casting monstrously long shadows ahead.
Amanda bumped into her brother’s back at the corridor’s spacious intersection. They could see the entrance to the Bay store down to their left. There were dead people in there, she thought, lying in a pool of blood. Helen Fulger was one of them. Michael looked back at his sister and motioned her to follow. She had the collar of her stained tee-shirt pulled up over her mouth and nose to block out the stench. They pressed their backs up to the glass window of an electronics store and slid their way along. The coffee store was beside it, they were almost there.
The static warble of violins playing through the speakers stopped. He knew they were there. Roy had found them. Michael tried moving back the way they’d come, but Amanda pushed him forward. “Fast! Fast! Fast! Grab stuff and run!” She was still whispering, but it sounded like the loudest of screams in the sudden silence.
Everything after that was a slow-motion blur in Michael’s eyes. He was snatching boxes of truffles from displays, and shoving individually wrapped mints into his pockets. Candles and flashlights. Find candles and flashlights! He found the candles sitting on the two small tables where customers once sat to enjoy specialty coffee. Michael ended up behind the cash register a few seconds later, pulling out the drawers set into the employee cabinets below. Tape. Wrapping paper. Loose change. Pens and pencil nubs. More tape. No flashlights.
The candles would have to do. He looked up over the counter and saw the front of Amanda’s tee-shirt now filled with an impossible amount of chocolates. The red cloth had stretched out so far, Michael could see the gold and silver glitter of wrap through the threads. It looked like Santa’s toy sack strapped to her belly.
She met his stunned gaze for a moment, and then bolted. Michael stopped at the drink cooler on his way out; he shoved two bottles of water under the arm not already crammed with truffles, and exited the coffee store after his sister.
They made it back from the toy store without being shot. Michael lit one of the candles and set it on the desk in front of the dead com
puter. “That was stupid. That was the stupidest, dumbest thing we’ve ever done.”
Amanda was chewing one of her stolen chocolates. “We made it, that’s all that matters. And now we got stuff to eat, too.” She offered him one of the truffles he’d taken.
Michael ate the chocolate-coated ball, wishing he’d grabbed something without burnt almonds mixed in. “I hate almonds.”
His sister pointed to the pile of loot she’d carried in her shirt, now spread out over the floor. “There’s caramel center ones in there, a whole bunch of them.”
He found them and devoured six straight away. Amanda kept up with him—treat for treat—tossing the wrappers down into what remained. She drank from one of the waters and burped into her arm. It left a lip-smeared impression made of chocolate on the skin. “Slow down,” he said, “try and save some for later.”
“Look who’s talking.”
“Seriously, we might get sick. You want him to hear us puking our guts out?”
Amanda slowed down. “I think the music stopped playing because he left. I think maybe he went to another mall to kill more people.”
Michael didn’t like the idea of that, but he hoped it might be true. He sipped his water and prayed the monster had moved on.
“Did you hear that?” The candle light danced in her terror-filled eyes.
Michael wiped chocolate from his mouth with his shirt. He shook his head.
Amanda crawled on her hands and knees towards the office door. She pressed one ear up against the cool metal and whispered. “Thought I heard someone coughing.”
Michael was beside her seconds later, straining to hear beyond the suffocating silence of their hiding place. “I can’t hea—”
A woman’s voice called out. The children jumped back from the door as if it had suddenly become electrified.
“What... what did she say?” Amanda asked.
Michael shook his head. “I didn’t hear it all... something about God and pulling the freaking trigger.” Amanda’s brown lips started to quiver. Michael rubbed her arm, tried calming her. “We can’t just sit here. We gotta take her by surprise—if she has a gun, we have to stop her before she even sees us.”