by Andrew Mayne
Mitchell hung up and then powered off his phone so they couldn’t track it. Maybe he had more time. They still didn’t know what happened at the mall. He practically tried to confess and she didn’t understand.
A car honked behind him. Mitchell jumped. He’d been standing still for so long he was holding up traffic. He sped up and moved away from the mall as fast as he could without causing an accident or getting stopped by the police. In his stolen car.
14
When Rios pulled into the mall parking lot, the first thing that came to his mind was a circus. The fire trucks and police cars with flashing lights were all laid out in a ring around the mall. On the inside, he could spot ladders where firemen were helping people off the roof.
He looked for smoke. He couldn’t see any. A riot? At that mall? Was it some kind of Justin Bieber autograph thing that went out of control? He looked at all of the people standing on the roof waiting to be helped down. Why would people be up there from a riot? Unless there was a fire, it didn’t make any sense to him. Between two fire engines, past a row of cars, he could see a sheet on top of a body. It looked like it fell from the roof. Fell? Jumped? Pushed?
He put his radio on an open channel. He heard first responder teams go back and forth with clipped chatter.
“Found twelve more in the upper corridor.”
“Have three in the food court.”
“Six in the stairwell.”
“Three on escalator one.”
What were the numbers? Injured? Dead? Alive?
He spotted Simmons’s SUV and parked next to it. She was already jogging toward the mall. She had her first aid kit under her arm.
Rios grabbed his and chased after her.
He caught up with her as she passed the first row of fire engines.
“What the fuck?” he asked.
“I have no idea. I thought we were here to get statements, but,” she gestured to a row of forty people sitting on the sidewalk. They looked banged up but not as bad as the people in the stretchers they saw scattered around near different ambulances.
A van came to a stop in front of them. A dozen doctors and nurses came piling out with first aid kits of their own. A female doctor pointed to the line of people, and half the group went toward there to help them. She led the rest into the mall through the front of the department store.
Rios looked over at Simmons. “It’s like one of those terrorism drills we used to have.”
“I know. But these people aren’t actors and community college volunteers paid to wear red-colored Karo syrup for a few hours.”
They found another detective who’d been called on to the scene early on. He was talking to a mall cop on a stretcher. The left half of his face was covered in bandages and his right arm was wrapped up.
Simmons called out to him, “Brooks!”
Brooks walked over to them. Tall and thin, just over fifty, he looked seventy that day. His thinning red hair was in total disarray. His white shirt and tie were covered in blood.
“Where can we help?” asked Simmons.
Brooks rubbed a hand on his forehead. “The paramedics will pull us in if they need to patch someone up. Right now the firefighters are pulling through the bodies and trying to find who needs what kind of attention.”
“What happened out here?” asked Rios.
Brooks turned around and looked at the front of the department store and then back at Rios and Simmons.
“Here? This is nothing.” He waved his arm from one end of the mall to the other. “We’ve got people falling off the roof here.” He pointed toward the center. “People trampled in the food court.” He pointed to the far end of the mall. “And people crushed in escalators and crammed inside a corridor and storage room. We can’t even get up there yet there are so many people stuck inside.”
“Fire?” asked Simmons.
“No fire. No smoke. It just looks like all-out panic.” He nodded to the mall cop in the stretcher. “As soon as one of them is up to it or mall management gets here, we’re going to look at the security tapes.”
Simmons looked at the row of people lined up on the sidewalk being tended to by paramedics. “What are they saying?”
Brooks shook his head. “Nothing that makes sense. Most of them have no idea why they panicked. A couple said they were being attacked. A few other said to ‘get him.’”
Rios looked around. “To get who?”
“They haven’t a goddamn idea who, Rios. Not a clue.”
Simmons looked toward the entrance. The doors were being held open. Inside she could see more people being treated. “Can we get in there?”
“Yeah. We should start investigating now. Keep your first aid kits if any of the medical personnel need help.”
Inside the mall entrance the paramedics had set up a triage area. EMTs treated the people who came down from the roof, or those who fell and survived the fall. Their first goal was to get the seriously wounded to the hospital and treat the rest on site.
Rios saw over two dozen people leaning against walls or lying on the floor. Most of them were dressed in casual work attire and looked like they had come to the mall from nearby businesses to get lunch. Their shirts and blouses were ripped. Many of the women were missing one or both of their shoes. Few were talking. They all looked shell shocked.
Simmons noticed some and pointed it out to Rios and Brooks. “I see a lot of scratch marks and ripped clothing.” She gestured to a team of paramedics applying antiseptic onto the backs of several people who were leaning forward with their skin exposed.
Brooks nodded. “There’s a lot of that. People in back were trying to pull their way through.”
Simmons thought it over for a moment. “Yes, but whenever I’ve seen people panic to leave a place like a club or a movie theater after a shooting, they might have bruises, but never this much ... clawing.”
They passed by a woman in her late thirties with chestnut hair and freckles whose neck was wrapped in white gauze. A bright red blood stain was soaking through. She leaned against the wall, cradling herself.
“You take their cell phones away?” asked Rios. So far he hadn’t seen anyone talking into one.
Brooks turned around. “Huh? No. Why?”
Simmons looked around the entrance. She couldn’t see anyone with a cell phone out, either. That was kind of odd. Usually the first thing people did in a crisis was pull their phone out. She lost track of the number of times she had to ask people to put down their phone so she could ask them questions.
“People mostly dropped everything. The women let go of their bags.” He pointed toward the slacks of a young Hispanic man. They were ripped along the sides. “A lot of pockets got pulled open as people tried to claw through.”
As they left the first triage area, Simmons took one last look. In some ways it looked like a brawl had taken place but with a few differences. There were lots of bruised and broken noses from flying elbows, but there weren’t that many facial scratches. Necks and shoulders, to be sure, but it looked like people were violently trying to inflict damage only as they moved through the crowd. There weren’t a lot of injuries that looked like retribution for not letting someone pass by.
Past the entrance on the interior of the mall, there was a small field unit where a cluster of doctors and nurses were working on the more seriously wounded. Through huddled shoulders they could see a woman with both legs completely fractured. On another stretcher was a man with his face was caved in.
They heard the sound of a helicopter fly overhead and land somewhere on the roof. Brooks pointed toward the other end of the mall where they were headed. “They’re medevacing people out via helicopter on the far end.” He pointed to the small medical unit. “This isn’t the worst of it.”
They walked further down the mall toward the center atrium. Most of the shops had lowered their gates. Simmons assumed that the clerks were being sequestered elsewhere. That part of the mall looked relatively normal besides the shuttered doors
in the middle of the day. There was a group of people toward the back in a cordoned-off department store watching them. They looked unharmed.
“This end of the mall, the part under the roof, didn’t know what was going on. They just heard the commotion and then saw the people falling,” said Brooks.
Simmons walked over to a young sales clerk in front of a women’s clothing store. She had tears streaming down her face as she watched the people being taken inside and treated. Mascara ran across her delicate cheekbones.
“Excuse me, miss,” said Simmons. “Are all of your salespeople here?”
The young girl shook her head. “Phil and Steve are still gone.”
“Who are Phil and Steve?” asked Simmons. “Did they work here, too?”
The girl nodded. “They heard the screaming from the food court and ran down there to see what was going on. Nobody can tell me if they’re OK.”
Simmons clasped the girl on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll find out.” She turned to Brooks. “When are we releasing people?”
“As soon as we get a head count and contact information.” He looked over at the girl. “We’ll have someone come get you to go home soon.”
The girl nodded.
Brooks continued to lead Rios and Simmons toward the food court. When they rounded a bend, the atrium came into view. Overturned kiosks, shopping bags, food trays and drinks were thrown all around. Simmons could see three bodies under sheets. It looked like a plane crash minus the plane.
“Holy crap,” she exclaimed.
“We haven’t even got to the bad part,” said Brooks.
The Naked Man in the Forest had been feeling uneasy. He let the Otherself do what he was supposed to do, but he was having second thoughts. He stole away from where he was supposed to be and came to the forest place.
A light rain had made it damp. Mosquitoes swarmed and kept biting him, but he ignored them. He had to speak to the Earth Mother.
He sat there, staring at the oak tree, as large red welts began to cover his naked flesh. He ignored the urge to scratch and waited. He had another Ziploc bag in his pants. His Otherself pants, he corrected. If she didn’t show herself, then he’d take a blotter to let him see what his mind was denying him.
He looked over at the khaki pants folded on a nearby rock. Should he?
From the corner of his eye he saw something move on the oak. He sat upright and put the thought out of his mind.
Vines and leaves began to form the familiar face. Oh, how he wanted to touch it, to kiss it, to be part of it.
What is wrong, my child?
He tried to find the words. “The Otherself. He ... he may have made a mistake.” Yes, the Otherself did it.
What has he done? My eggs?
“Your eggs are fine for now. They’re safe. It’s just that I fear the ones who trust the Otherself may grow suspicious. They may know that he plots.”
The Otherself is so important to us right now. You must make sure that he doesn’t lose their trust.
“I know, Earth Mother. It’s just that the Otherself made choices. Some of them hasty ones. He has powerful friends. If they find out what he’s done ....”
My eggs, child. My eggs are all that matter. When the Otherself is no longer useful to us, then bring them here.
“Yes, Earth Mother.”
15
Mitchell avoided the freeway and drove along U.S. 1 for a few miles. Although it was much slower with the traffic lights, he had more potential exits if he thought he was being followed.
He’d seen how the police set up roadblocks on exits and parked police cars with spotters on overpasses when they wanted to stop someone on I-95. Once they spotted you there, they could close down whatever they needed to pin you down. Game over. At least on U.S. 1, he had a sliver of a chance of losing a police car if they decided to follow him. Or at least he hoped so.
When he began to get nervous about staying on the same road for too long, he decided to drive a few miles to the west to catch up with State Road 7. Waiting to make the turn, he saw a helicopter flying by low overhead. His knuckles clenched the wheel until he saw it was a medivac chopper. He relaxed. When he saw it head toward the mall, he felt anxious again.
He hadn’t seen as many ambulances racing toward the mall, which he took as a good sign, until he realized that they might have run out of them. In the distance he could see another helicopter. It belonged to the local news station. The scale of what had just happened was starting to build.
Mitchell looked at the radio in the car but was too terrified to turn it on to his station. He’d have to find out what was going on in the rest of the world but not at that moment. Especially when he was out in the open in a stolen car, already panicked.
He had no idea where to go. He couldn’t drive forever. He needed a safe place. There wasn’t a chance in hell he’d try calling one of his friends. From reading the police bulletins on the fax, he knew the two fastest ways to get caught were to get reported to the police when you scared someone or to have a scared friend report you when you went to them for help. Besides, he realized, he really didn’t have any friends that he trusted enough to count on.
He knew calling his family was out of the question. The last thing he needed was to send his mother or sister into a panic. They both lived in California and wouldn’t be of much help anyway. He hadn’t talked to them in weeks. He could deal with them later.
Going back to his apartment was out. That’d be the first place the police would come looking. But what if he barricaded himself in there? He shook his head. The SWAT team or whoever they sent after him could be in there in seconds and then .... He didn’t want to think about that part.
He knew he’d have to turn himself in at some point. There was no way he could make it for long as a fugitive. But in order for him to surrender, he needed to be sure that whoever arrested him wasn’t going to tear him to shreds. To be sure of that, he had to know why people were attacking him. Was it some kind of conspiracy? Was it some weird psychological thing? Had he become such a loser that people were turning on him like a wolf pack on a wounded dog?
Worry about where to go next, he reminded himself. Nothing came to mind, so he tried to break down what he needed.
It had to be devoid of people.
He had to be able to hide the car.
He had to have an exit.
Finding an out-of-the-way motel was useless if he couldn’t check in without the clerk murdering him. He also knew he couldn’t barge into someone’s house and hold them hostage. Besides the moral problems of that, he couldn’t imagine how he would restrain said person if every moment they were focused on killing him.
What about an abandoned house? South Florida was filled with empty houses that were either for sale or foreclosed by the bank. He’d have to break in. From there he could open the garage door and park the car.
That reminded him of something. He thought for a moment. Of course! When Rachel had kicked him out, one of the station interns had told him his grandparents were looking for someone to rent their house. Mitchell had even gone out to look at it before deciding it was too far. He still knew the code for the door.
It was forty minutes from where he was and not too far off from two main highways. It was also two cities over and in the next county. He didn’t know how much that would help him evade the police, but it had to at least buy him some time.
It was a quiet neighborhood where most of the houses were owned by people who lived out of state. Mitchell remembered that almost half the houses had ‘For Sale’ signs. That meant he was less likely to be confronted by neighbors.
He knew staying there wasn’t the best idea. But for the moment, it was the only idea. Mitchell tried to remember how to get there.
Even if just for the night he could hide out, he would have some time to at least plan what to do next and hopefully figure out what the hell was wrong with him.
Mitchell saw the sign that said “Sunny Acres” and pulled
into the community. It was a planned development from the 1970s where all the streets were laid out in a grid. Palm trees and flat lawns in uniform rectangles lined the streets. There was a community center and a pool toward the middle. The single-story houses were built from three basic designs and painted from a limited color palate.
They all looked the same to Mitchell. Only the random rust stains from the sprinklers differentiated them. He couldn’t remember which one was the right one. The last thing he wanted to do was barge in on an occupied house. He drove down one road and then up another.
There were cars parked sporadically in different driveways. It seemed like there were even more ‘For Sale’ signs than last time. One house looked vaguely familiar. He pulled into the driveway and tried to figure out what to do next.
If he knocked on the door and somebody answered, that could be messy. His best bet was to knock and then run back into the car and wait to see if someone answered. It was a coward’s plan, and he knew it. It was all he had.
Mitchell turned off the car and walked up the walkway to the house. It looked very familiar. He got to the door and looked at the keypad. He decided to just try the code and open the door and look. He knew he could run back to the car if he heard anyone.
Fortunately, his mind didn’t blank like it did with his ATM card. He keyed in the code. The door unlocked. From behind, he heard a car pass. Mitchell almost pissed himself.
The car kept driving. Mitchell relaxed and looked inside the house. It was completely empty. He’d expected that but wanted to be certain. He shouted, “Hello!” His voice echoed through the house.
He looked back at the car in the driveway. The sooner he hid it, the better. He stepped into the house and walked through the barren kitchen and into the garage. He fumbled for the switch and opened the door. Mitchell remembered the intern, Mike, telling him that his grandparents had kept power to the house so the air conditioning would keep the moisture low. Apparently other people didn’t do that with their empty property and that caused mold and other damage. Mitchell was just glad he didn’t have to figure out how to open the door by hand.