Footsteps in the Dark

by Josh Lanyon

  He spat, “Fuck your friends. They’re probably gone already.”

  “No. They’re here. I didn’t imagine the whistle.”

  Jonah had had enough. “We heard what you have to offer. Now shut up, Carl.”

  Bam. A+. From under the sink, Jonah had uncovered a rusted steel pad, a broken plastic bowl, and a can of WD-40, the last of which he tossed to me. “Give this to the big baby when we see him.”

  “Will do.” The WD-40 went inside the bag, clank-clank. “Now may we go?”

  He wiped his hands on the seat of his pants, smiling. “Yes. Now we may go.”

  “You guys are fucked up. Don’t hurry or anything.” Carl had rubbed his nose raw, and it bled a tiny trickle. “FYI. That guy is going to kill us.”

  “Not if I have anything to say about it.” Jonah relieved me of the bag, shoved the box he’d found earlier inside, and tied the drawstring. Commandeering the supplies indicated he had a plan.

  We placed Carl between us. Unwatched, pretty clear he’d bolt. Either crawl into the drop ceiling, or turn and run blindly, or barricade himself into a closet.

  At the end of the corridor, where the first glimmer of LEDs eased the darkness, Jonah pocketed his light.

  We crept forward, caution the watchword, moving as a unit, until we were flanked by the restrooms Dougie had warned us of earlier. He’d failed to describe the raw immediacy of the odor emanating from those simple, tiled portals.

  In a perfect world, we would have halted at the mouth of that corridor, considered our options, planned a route to cross unseen and unheard, and then proceeded with due caution because danger lurked around every corner.

  Reality inside Parkway Mall once again proved anything but accommodating and, no exaggeration, stink overpowered reason.

  I grabbed Carl by his collar and sprinted for fresh air, gagging compulsively, dodging zigzaggedly at full speed, his sneakers squeaking madly, and we headed for the black husk of the empty arcade.

  I dragged that dumb kid behind me, faster than any seventeen-year-old on the run, worried we would encounter a roll-down, garage-styled gate shuttering the entrance—that’s just how they did back in the day—but no. We lucked out. The arcade was fully accessible.

  A bit too accessible.

  Point of fact, the enclosure was a glorified fishbowl, saturated in graffiti and empty of furnishings, a hip-high barrier the only thing left standing of the original entry. No glass, no drywall, no brick, no front wall to speak of, but no boards or bars or locks either. Just a heap of rubble in front. Booyah.

  They must have swept the interior clean of games and goods before the mall shut down, leaving a shallow, wide, blackened room, reminding me of a laser-tag zone, devoid of obstacles, with the exception of a lone mop bucket.

  I jumped the wall in a single bound and jerked the kid over and down beside me, heart in my throat. We gulped the clean, cool air.

  Jonah sailed in silently and squatted low on the dry-ish ground, clutching the supplies to his chest. We were shoulder-to-shoulder, hip-to-hip, ducked low, my ears once again tuned for anything other than our labored breathing and the drip-drip-dripping of water from the atrium.

  The spot offered limited cover at best.

  If I could have acquired some real superpowers, I’d have gone with invisibility and ultrasonic hearing because the entire evening had turned into an exercise in both hide-and-seek and auditory processing.

  The carrion smell hadn’t followed us, and we were together—okay, the Jonah thing was turning out to be a sure bet—but you know what? For the first time all evening, I blanked on more positive thinking, and my skin prickled.

  I didn’t want to think about what might be inside those restrooms. Some unspeakable thing. Earlier, I’d imagined bodies falling from the ceiling and the zombie apocalypse. Had that been the blow to the head, or a heretofore unknown prescient ability?

  Since I didn’t believe in that Jenny of Oldstones crap, not in real life anyway, and because freaking out about what lived—or died—inside the mall solved nothing, I shoved fear aside. We had shit to do.

  We held for long minutes. With no immediate threat outside the arcade, I pulled my hoodie up and ventured a peek over the ledge.

  My head cleared the wall, making me easy pickings. At nine o’clock, the skeletal outline of the double-decked carousel rose toward heaven, or in this case, a narrow, sagging skylight. A LED illuminated the remaining, neglected, prancing animals fused to the platform. Wide gaps indicated missing pieces. That made sense given the general state of everything. Looked like all the light bulbs were busted. A few seats and the short staircase to the second level were intact. Ironically, the Parkway Mall sign perched solidly at the tip-top.

  Jonah tugged my arm and pointed toward a purple shape—the hulking fountain where Carl had clobbered me a lifetime ago.

  “What?” I mouthed, having no idea what he wanted me to see.

  He pointed stiff, vee’d fingers at his eyes, and then back to the fountain. Look, he motioned vehemently. Look.

  I looked, for crap’s sake, and I didn’t see anything.

  Understanding dawned. I didn’t see anything because the fountain lay shrouded in darkness. As I took in the big picture of the neutral zone, there were fewer LEDs all around, and beyond the mall center, the darkness deepened, the shadows thickened. The enchanting, twinkly forest we’d happily traipsed through earlier had become an opaque, unwelcome black.

  Well, hell. A ton of lights were dead.

  I didn’t know why, maybe smashed or turned off, or maybe Dougie had programmed them to extinguish intermittently to increase our difficulty, but that was highly doubtful. His were simple, cheap, straightforward-timed LEDs from the hardware store. Multifunctional, fancy upgrades weren’t available at our price point. Conclusion? The shooter extinguished the lights because he didn’t want us to leave. Or he was making it damn hard to do so.

  Or worse, he intended to corner us there.

  Okay.

  Jonah and I should have hunkered down, seeking shelter behind the wall. We didn’t. We were in a pit of shadow, and unless a direct light found us, we were fairly invisible for now.

  Turns out, my actual superpowers were vigilance, practicality, positivity, and of course, my stunning good looks.

  His hand brushed against me. Honestly. Right there in front of people, his warm fingers interlocked with mine, and I didn’t hesitate. He’d initiated three times, normalizing the intimacy, and it sounded lame, but my heart eased as we gazed on the nearly impossible course laid before us. We had hard work yet to do, with Carl, but shoulder-to-shoulder with Jonah, protecting a kid, we brought our best selves to the crucible—as a team.

  It felt more right than anything I could remember. Ever.

  Maybe a mild concussion made one delusional.

  Jonah squeezed and leaned close, whispering, “Every adventure story ever written puts us in the role of protagonists. Hold that thought.”

  I held.

  A shape detached from the murky edge of the neutral zone. Small, agile, moving rodent-like and swift, and heading straight for us. I squeezed Jonah’s hand, leaned close, vocal cords constricted. “Holy crap. It’s Piper.”

  “I see her.”

  A flurry of muted pops exploded from the floor above, and I dropped behind the wall, yanking Jonah with me as Carl pancaked to the ground.

  “Try again, you sick motherfucker!” The atrium rang loud, defiant, and one hundred percent Dougie. A door slammed, and something clanged and rattled.

  Piper summersaulted over the ledge, kicking me smack in my already bruised head with her miniature-sized Vans. She landed square between Jonah and me, crouching deep. Orange and pink braids had slipped from her cap. “I could see you two a mile away. You guys stink at hiding.”

  The urge to hug her overwhelmed me, so I went with my gut.

  “Stop mauling me, Tommy. I don’t like you that way.” She hugged me back, her strong arms tight, her voice a hush, her cloth
es damp and musty.

  All good. “Glad to see you too. I’ll maul you if I want.” I let her go. “Where’d you come from? Where is everyone?”

  “TGI Friday’s.”

  “The hell?”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s safe enough. We tried to get into Belks, but no go. I saw you guys run in here. Dougie trapped the shooter in a stairwell, otherwise you’d be toast right now. Maybe. He can’t shoot for shit, but I still worried he’d already gotten you guys. We’ve been waiting a while. Don’t do that again. You should have blown the whistle.”

  She hugged Jonah too, even as he shushed her and said, “We couldn’t.”

  “It’s okay,” she assured him. “Dougie and I fixed all the doors, so the shooter is stuck inside a service stairwell for a minute. Dougie used the crowbar on the upstairs door, and I found some wire for the one down here. We should have just bashed that guy’s brains in and tied him up.” A grim dimple creased her cheek, and her eyes glittered. “Once he climbs those stairs a few times, he’ll probably have a heart attack.”

  We should be so lucky.

  Jonah said, “He’ll try to shoot his way out.”

  She nodded. “Yeah. He’s trying. Seriously, he’d have more luck blindfolded and firing from behind his back on horseback in a blizzard. I keep hoping he’ll shoot himself.”

  “Eventually he’ll run out of bullets.” I lived in hope.

  She didn’t miss a beat. “He’s like a fucking Pez dispenser. I don’t know where he keeps his ammo—although he hasn’t actually shot much. Just enough.” She glanced around the arcade. “We need to get out of here.”

  “Best we could do. We passed the restrooms and—”

  “Roger that. I puked. Left a puddle on the ground.” She toed a silent Carl with her sneaker. “You okay, kid?” She smiled. “You’ve got something on your chin.”

  Carl hadn’t budged. I thought maybe he’d suffered a fear-induced stroke when Piper jockeyed over the wall, carnival braids flying. He blinked a few times and his hand snaked up to cover his beard. He looked tired as he nodded.

  She squinted. “He’s looking for Carl. That’s you?”

  Carl grimaced. “Yeah.”

  “I don’t know what the story is, but we need to hide you. I’ve heard things about this mall forever. About people living inside and the usual boogeyman folklore. I never believed it.”

  Carl’s fat-lipped pout returned. “I told them. Nobody listens to me.”

  “I’m sorry, really I am, and I get it. But if Mr. Cline and Mr. Theroux tell you to jump, you ask how high. They have their reasons.”

  He nodded glumly. “Yeah, I know. Badass teachers. Can we leave now?”

  Piper shook her head. “Wish it was that easy. I was scouting when the shooting started. I went all the way back to the door we used to get in, and it’s blocked from the outside now.” Impossible. Before I could formulate the word, Piper held up a hand. “I know. I have no clue how he managed it. Obviously he has some secret passage. Our door is a no.”

  Of course it was. “He wanted to corner us.”

  “Yeah. Pretty much. Hang on.” She dug into her pocket and retrieved her own Nitecore NWS10. “Cover your ears.” We did as instructed while she blew one quick note into the air.

  She pocketed the whistle.

  Jonah had been deep in thought, his attention fixed on the mop bucket. “What about the carousel?”

  “What about it? Fine for a meeting point when we weren’t in mortal danger, but we have a more secure spot now.”

  He clarified, “I meant, can the carousel be climbed?”

  “Anything can be climbed,” I said, and yes, I can be cocky.

  The three adults jackrabbited up to assess the former rendezvous point, and popped directly back down. Carl didn’t budge.

  The carousel preceded the food court, right where the roof slanted toward a set of exit doors. Structurally, the ride appeared rickety as fuck, but stars glimmered buoyantly through the missing skylight. Best guess, roughly the height of a full-grown adult separated the top of the carousel’s canopy from the roof.

  Jonah gave me a crafty once-over. “Could it hold you?”

  “Are you suggesting I’m too heavy?”

  “Hardly. I’m just thinking if you can climb to the top, we only need one person to go through to the roof, retrieve a phone, and call for help. One very fast, very small, very light, very confident person you could toss through an opening and would stick a landing. A gymnast, let’s say…”

  Our gymnastics coach said, “Subtle. I’ll do it. We just have to—”

  Another whistle blast pierced the air, short, sharp, and far away.

  Piper forgot whatever she’d been about to say. “We should head out.” She spoke to Carl directly. “Stay close, keep low, and stick to the shadows. Don’t muck around.”

  He sat up and nodded. Pale and sickly looking, the kid had proved he could still run. “It’s not like I have a choice.”

  “Nope.”

  Jonah checked over the wall. No changes. His pep talk to Carl? “Do not fuck around.”

  “I said okay. God.”

  He’d come this far, so I trusted he’d stay the course. I asked Piper, “Was that Dougie?”

  “Vinnie—he’s behind the escalator where we split earlier. But guys, before we go, I need to tell you something.” She hesitated and took a breath. “First, he’s okay. Totally fine. Just so you know. Chris got hit.”

  “Hit? With what? You mean with a bullet?” At her nod, guilt swamped me. “How? That guy can’t hit anything.”

  “Except with a hammer,” Carl added.

  “Hey,” Piper said. “You rain enough shit down on people, and someone eventually gets wet. Right in the shoulder. In a soft spot. He was lucky. Vinnie’s taking care of him.”

  Gunshot wounds were something Vinnie had experience with. Shoulders were tricky, and again, I had virtually zero experience re: medical stuff, but Chris would need medical care. Stat. That was a given.

  Tension eased from Jonah. He must have been mix-and-matching worst-case-scenario bullet wounds with his own knowledge of human anatomy. “He’s alert?”

  “Yeah. And saying I told you so, which isn’t annoying at all. He’s not bleeding. And he can sort of make a fist. I think Vinnie gave him a massive dose of CBD.”

  Jonah actually snorted. “Sounds like Vinnie. How long ago?”

  “Second round of shots. That guy was firing in every direction. Just sort of walked into the zone and started spinning around in a circle, blasting his handgun.”

  He’d almost hit me and Carl. I went back to thinking our shooter had fired willy-nilly to elicit a specific response from us. As if he knew exactly what he was doing.

  The whistle blew again. One short, sharp toot, and Piper gripped the edge of the wall, her gaze on the fountain. “Jesus Christ, we sound like pied pipers.”

  Jonah asked her, “Is that Vinnie or Dougie?”

  “Hell if I know.”

  Carl rolled to his feet, still supple, though he winced. His sweatshirt, I realized, was the exact shade of blue as his eyes. Lose the goat beard and the neck tat, and he really did look twelve.

  “You okay?” I already knew the answer. No. Not okay.

  A curt nod. “Yeah. Stiff. Hungry. Sick. I’m ready.”

  I squeezed his shoulder gently. “I trust you’ll do the right thing.”

  “Yeah, Mr. Cline. I’m here, right? But doesn’t anyone have a cell phone?”

  Piper beamed at him. “Yes, of course we do. We’re just fucking with you.”

  The unlikely tinkle of shattering glass came from above. I was shocked any glass remained inside the mall to break. “So what’s the plan?”

  Piper shrugged. “Don’t look at me. I’m just the messenger.”

  Jonah surprised me by grabbing the front of my sweatshirt and yanking me tight to his chest. “The plan is not to get hurt,” he said against my ear. He squeezed tight, and I slanted to kiss him. I wasn’t sure
if that’s what he meant to do, but it’s what I meant to do.

  Piper sighed. She either approved of this development, or thought we should speed things along.

  Whatever. If things went south—and despite the whole protagonist pep talk, things probably would—this was the moment to express something. I sure as hell wasn’t going to talk. Not with an audience. And words were overrated anyway.

  Our kiss was swift and sweet, scented of pepper, tasting of mint, scraped by five o’clock shadow, and for a handful of seconds, spoke exactly what I needed to say.

  Don’t get hurt. I care about you. Why did we wait so long? Let’s pick this up later.

  He stepped away first.

  Terror might rattle in the stairwell above, but I felt pretty confident about hooking up later tonight; i.e., something to live for.

  Of course, Jonah morphed back into his robot self and scoped the carousel with a critical eye. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  I had a feeling whatever he was thinking involved me personally doing something stupidly risky and unnecessarily dramatic. “Probably not. But I’m in.”

  Fight

  Jonah spoiled everything. “Let’s split up.”

  “Wh-what?” I blinked at him.

  We were poised to leave, right? Together. Committed to the moment, stoked for our fool’s mission to… Okay, we had no true plan other than getting Piper outside. Still. “Say again?”

  Jonah gestured toward that wreck of a children’s ride. “You, Piper, and the kid get to the carousel.” For someone who’d been rather laissez-faire about what to do with our team earlier in the evening, he’d become astonishingly decisive. “I was at the top of the elevator shaft when Carl fell on you. It’s not much of a technical climb, just a slippery one, so I’ll join Dougie upstairs, and we’ll go—”

  “Nope.”

  His jaw snapped shut, and his eyes narrowed.

  “That’s not what I was thinking at all.” My gaze bounced between point a, b, and c—round deathtrap, towering deathtrap, and sacrificial lamb. “We should stick together, get her out, and—”

  “I want to go too,” Carl said.