by Josh Lanyon
We barely breathed.
His existence at Parkway Mall made a sick sort of sense to me now. He’d have every square inch of the massive structure, inside out and backward, memorized. He probably still had a working set of keys.
Since Parkway had been closed for a decade—my mind went from dead stop to leap-frogging all over the place—had he been here the whole time? Hiding? Living in a store? Dressed in his old uniform? Eating SpaghettiOs? Using those toilets? Snatching wayward boys from the 76 and playing unspeakable games with them?
Impossible. No way. Someone would have noticed. Someone would have searched for a missing child. Teenagers don’t just disappear—
Who was I kidding? Yes. They do. Unwanted teenagers disappear every single day, and often from places exactly like a truck stop, or a dead mall.
Who would look for a Ricky? Or a Carl, although I suspected Carl had family who cared, and a sister he cared about. Maybe I’d turned soft. Maybe I decided I liked him.
Liking him didn’t matter. Every kid deserved to be cared about. To have someone to look for them. Someone to save them when they were in danger. Someone responsible for their welfare.
As I took a serious, assessing look at Herbert the Pervert, he continued his painful descent in those hard-soled shoes. Walking in the wide open as if he was bulletproof, which I supposed he was since none of us had a gun.
Kidnapper. Killer. Asshole.
“Carl”—a voice as pleasant as a coffin full of worms—“I see you brought some new friends to play with. I have a present for you. My way of saying thanks.”
He hefted the sack, weighty and damp, and I didn’t want to know, not ever, what was inside that bag. No.
What an excellent moment for an explosion, Jonah. Chop-flipping-chop.
We waited. Piper behind me. Carl panting faintly beside me. His expression telegraphed exactly what I was thinking.
Where are they?
Jonah should have finished his Rube Goldberg Saves The Day Cremora in a Jar Machine. What would that take? Five minutes? And Dougie would be…doing something else.
Herb crept along, at last reaching the first floor, and fog parted as he headed toward the Red Zone. The elevator blocked our view to the hallway beyond, but something clearly caught his attention.
Piper touched my arm, signaling toward the roof. Let’s go. Now. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.
We crawled with care toward the center pole. Words that don’t begin to do justice to the reality of traversing a four-inch-wide bendy, slippery, metal slat.
Hand over hand, we climbed hunched over, dead quiet, and in slow motion. My thighs screamed. My back screamed. My sneakers slid. White-knuckling metal until I thought my fingers would bleed, but we were focused, and God bless us, unseen.
I arrived first. Carl probably wanted me to lead in case Herb took note and aimed for the largest target. Understandable. Piper wanted me ahead because I was the base of our human pyramid. And I chose to be first because I wanted to get the job over with.
A wide hub held the spokes on what had to be a giant turn shaft. Above which, a solid banner was bolted to the center pole. Written in Papyrus: Parkway Mall. Roughly a couple of feet tall and maybe six feet long. I straddled that banner and braced my legs.
Good thing none of us was afraid of heights, because we were fairly high in the air. And we weren’t exactly hidden. I held my breath as Herbert idled in the neutral zone, his lower legs lost in a puff of mist. A single glance in our direction and the jig would be up.
My heart galloped as I consulted the stars, and then I checked across to the elevator, where shadows seemed fixed and sleepy. Gray below, and maybe a flicker of something blue—
The atrium rang with the sound of metal striking metal. The suddenness almost knocked me from my perch. I didn’t take my eyes off Herb, who armed himself and proceeded at the same knuckle-dragging pace toward the elevator.
Was this the thing I was supposed to know when I saw it? Because I didn’t see a goddamn thing.
Piper hauled me into the present. She tapped her chest, right where she’d stowed Jonah’s car keys. “Now,” she mouthed.
I lifted her. Damn, she weighed nothing, and I squatted as she settled her feet on my thighs. She faced outward—the prow of our very own ship—and as I straightened and tossed her into the air, she launched off my legs. Her arms flung forward, adding momentum, and she super-girl’d herself to the ledge. Holy hell, that Piper. She snagged the lip of the skylight, sure and true, and hopefully, not sliced to ribbons.
I almost toppled backward as I kept my eye on her, but Carl grabbed me, shouldering my weight, his face set. No hesitation, the spindly kid shored me up until I regained my balance.
Piper strong-armed herself to the edge of the window—Sarah Connor had nothing on her—and I watched for any sign or sound of pain or weakness. Hardly. Once her hips were parallel with the roof, she swung through the skylight.
A shot sounded, and I almost lost my perch again.
Herb wasn’t shooting at us. He aimed at the elevator, then charged the tower. “Don’t you go anywhere.”
Luckily, he faced the opposite direction from us, and Carl prodded, “Mr. Cline. I’m good to go now.”
Piper’s face appeared in the skylight, her braids dangling. “Like, right now.”
So I tossed that scrappy survivor like a bale of summer hay, and Piper latched on to his bruised, angry wrists. She unceremoniously hauled Carl to the roof. A quick salute from Piper and poof, they vanished.
Fly like the wind.
Another hail of gunshot, and I finally lost my balance for real and fell ass-first into the darkness.
Exit
You know at the end of an action film when the actors are surrounded by emergency vehicles, and a helicopter arrives, and there’s a cacophony of crazy energy, but invariably, the lead is sitting half inside the police cruiser, wearing a space blanket and drinking black coffee from a Styrofoam cup and being chatted up by the smoking-hot action hero?
That’s the moment I longed for as I hit a few uncomfortable items on my journey into a pit of darkness.
A pipe…some cable…a slat maybe? I felt them all. Something clanked. The aforementioned calliope? Before I could be impaled by an embarrassingly pedestrian piece of bullshit, I landed without ceremony in a heap on the floor.
I groaned, loudly. Fuck keeping silent. That hurt.
The inner workings of a carousel aren’t soft, FYI, and I’d been lashed to hell. The immediacy of my throbbing ankle was an alarming new development, but I was alive and breathing, I hadn’t blacked out, not so far as I could tell, and I was free of skewers despite falling through the center housing—basically a well of sharp, pointy mechanical things that could have killed me.
A miracle.
I retrieved my mini light, and one glance at the blood splattering my hands had me cutting the light. Okay, then. I put my assessment on pause. Nothing to see here, folks. Just Tommy, hemmed in by a ton of debris and lying alone in the dark. Bleeding. A little.
As I’d done my part to set the kid free and send Piper for help, I shut my eyes for a sec or two. Maybe three. Rebooting.
A womanly wail cut short my siesta.
Definitely Herbert. Maybe we’d reached the critical moment when I would know/ hear/see Jonah’s inspired diversion. I didn’t have a clue. Technically, I’d been the one creating a diversion for them instead of the other way around. You’re welcome. And yeah, my fall lacked subtlety, but I definitely distracted the hell out of Herbert and everyone else.
The scream subsided into a wail. “Help me. Help me.”
Was he fucking kidding me? For the first time all evening, my blood boiled. Did he actually think— No. I would not help him. I couldn’t help myself, and I was one of the good guys.
Whatever was happening out there, it wasn’t my turn to take charge. I trusted Jonah and Dougie to be on top of the situation, because to think differently would land me in an even darker
place. They were fine. They had things under control. So. Chin up. Trust your friends.
I no sooner thought those words when a small explosion rocked the mall and nipped Herbert’s pleading dead short. Something massive crashed to the floor, and the sound stretched for multiple heartbeats as the ground shuddered under my butt. Earthquake? Not likely.
The carousel squealed, and another handful of sharp things rained down. I covered my head, which would help nothing if the giant gear engaged and mangled me.
Long seconds later, the noise ended. A few bangs and clatters and thuds followed, and then the earth settled. The carousel stood. And I was done.
Seriously. GAME OVER.
I flicked my light. A flurry of dust sifted from above like carcinogenic snow.
Something major had occurred in the neutral zone. Something large had collapsed or fallen. The roof?
No way. I refused to believe the combined weight of Piper and Carl had brought the building down. Impossible.
Maybe something had exploded, something more impressive than Jonah’s box of ping-pong balls. Or, maybe the elevator had followed through on Dougie’s earlier prediction and imploded. Did elevators implode? The lift itself could have fallen. It seemed destined to do so. Plus, the guys hadn’t had a whole lot to work with to set up a diversion of such magnitude, and what Jonah did have seemed laughably inadequate.
Thoughts scattered. Anyone could have been inside the elevator. In or above on the roof.
I should investigate. Find my way free of the mess and open a door. Things sounded safer and less horror-movie soundtrack outside my cozy metal nest, but silence had proved to be misleading all evening, so I pocketed my light and waited. Eyes closed, breathing through the pain in my leg, until a Nitecore tooted super close to me. More notes followed from farther away.
And then, from a long distance, Piper’s whistle. So thready, I could have imagined it.
Before I could join their call—I was probably the only one of us who hadn’t blown their whistle—a panel opened in the wall and a light beamed in my face. I was too tired to shade my eyes, so I blinked weakly and offered a peace sign. “Hey, yo, what up.”
“Hey yourself. You okay?” The first thing I saw other than blinding white light was the blue sweatshirt.
Jonah.
No. I was not okay. Not at all. The mere thought of standing upright made me want to lie down, meaning perhaps I’d snapped my ankle after bruising every other part of myself.
Naturally, I nodded. “Yeah. I’m good.”
“You don’t look good, you liar.”
“I could use a beer.”
A white nimbus outlined Jonah as Dougie materialized with a LED in his hand, illuminating the deathtrap where I lounged.
Dougie frowned. “Tommy. You didn’t blow your whistle.”
“I didn’t capture your flag, Chief.”
Detritus choked the space. Poles, wire, metal sprockets, broken mirrors. Jonah picked a path, coming the few scant feet to assist me. His face and hair were gray with dust. I’m sure I looked the same, or worse. At least he wasn’t bloody. “I think I broke the carousel for good.”
Dougie winced, and flakes of cement fell from his hair. “I think you broke yourself too. That wasn’t part of the plan.”
“Plans are overrated.” Took me a sec, but I palmed a bald spot on the wall and attempted to haul myself to my fee…foot. Whoa. My right ankle was a firm no. Also, standing felt akin to work, and work on a Friday night was something to be avoided. “Are we good? Did you— What’d you do?”
Jonah slung an arm around me. He felt warm and smelled good as he wedged his shoulder under my arm. “I’m not proud of this, but I didn’t do much. The elevator collapsed on top of him. Herbert must have shot something free near the roof, right before Dougie and I trapped him inside. We planned to wait for help, until he saw me and went bananas.”
“I’m sure you let him see you.”
Jonah shrugged. “Maybe.”
Dougie kicked something free from the doorway. “Where else are you hurt?”
“Is everywhere an option?”
“Looks that way.”
They helped me through a garishly painted door. “Hard to believe Herb hadn’t stuffed anyone inside here.”
“Thank God for small favors,” Jonah said and half carried me down the first step.
Man. Everything hurt, and not the workout-related hurt where you know you’re going to be ripped and mean. No. This was the I-require-medical-assistance kind of pain. “So what’s next?”
Dougie said, “Next? You sit here for a hot minute while I retrieve Vinnie and Chris. Then we’ll wait together for the police.” He squinted across the neutral zone. “So. You guys okay here?”
I wasn’t sure if he was asking if we were physically able to wait, or mentally equipped. I’d only fallen two stories. Chris had been shot. We could do nothing about the rest. “I thought the plan was to meet them.”
“Chris can walk; you can’t. Simple math. So. Sit tight.”
Good to know Chris could walk. Galling to admit I couldn’t. “Hey, Chief. Those lights were A+. Really awesome. Let’s not do this one again.”
Dougie smiled, and chalk-white lines feathered around his eyes. “At least not until you can walk without aid. There’s a farm upstate I’m looking into for a paintball weekend.” Dougie balanced the LED on top of a pony’s saddle, and shadows galloped across the carousel. “Could be fun. Think it over.”
He strode from the decking, things jangled and shook, and he headed into Blue Territory to find our friends, dust and cement falling from his clothing like dandruff. I parked my ass on a step as he faded into the mist.
“You need to elevate your foot.” Jonah settled next to me, and when I turned to accommodate him, he hooked my right leg over his lap. Nice. Except the throbbing in my foot intensified.
We were tall guys, and a tight fit for a children’s ride, so I leaned against the ornate railing. Jonah took my hands gently, turning them over. He used Carl’s sweatshirt to swipe at tiny lacerations. My blood stained the fabric, joining Carl’s and Ricky’s. “You’re a fucking mess, Cline.”
“Yeah. I feel pretty good, all things considered.”
“You usually do.” He ran a palm over my shin and not in a sexy way. He inched casually toward my distressed appendage as if he hoped I wouldn’t notice.
No thanks. “Would you mind if we take a rain check on exploring that? Wait for a doctor? And a sedative?”
“Yes. I mind. Tough it out.”
“Fuck. Fine. Tell me what happened.” My shoe became ten sizes too small as Jonah touched my ankle cautiously. I hissed, shut my eyes, and counted. One. Two. Three—
“Herb’s dead, obviously. Crushed under the elevator.”
Gross. But good riddance, and he deserved worse. “You saw him?”
“Affirmative. His feet stuck out like the Witch of the East.” Jonah picked free the laces of my sneaker and gradually, professionally, slid my foot free. Instant relief. I actually sighed until he tried to place the shoe in my hand. “You’ll want to hang on to this.”
“Will I?” I still had my eyes closed. “Between the asbestos, the mold, the blood, the shit, and the smell, my current plan is to chuck everything I’m wearing. Or set it on fire. Too soon to tell. You still have the ping-pong balls?”
“I do. Excellent call.” His hand tenderly explored my ankle. He distracted me by adding, “I’m just relieved the elevator didn’t collapse when I scaled it earlier.”
“Oh my God. I totally forgot that. For the record, yours was a stupid plan.”
“So you’ve told me.”
A siren sounded, far off, the noise wafting from the hole in the sky. I finally looked at Jonah, wondering if he’d noticed help was on the way. He stared in distressed silence at the rubble. His face set and serious. I followed his gaze, and out there, hard to tell where the dust ended and the fog began. The entire area was shrouded in gossamer gray.
&nb
sp; He kept quiet, and still, except for his thumb absently stroking my shin.
“Did you see anything else, Jonah?”
A short nod. “Yeah. Carl called it. Herb lived here. There’s a porta potty and a camp stove—and there were other things. We searched for more weapons, but he must have stored them somewhere else, or he only had the one. All we found were clothes, photos, wallets, a few broken cell phones, some jewelry. A couple of toys.”
Oh, man. “Like…what? Souvenirs?”
“Or trophies. They were arranged that way. He used a fitting room in the back as a holding cell, Dougie told me. I didn’t venture as far inside. Carl’s damn lucky.”
“That poor kid.”
I thought about Carl suffering two days with Herbert. The kid was okay. Strong. A fighter. If we could only do something about his neck tat…
“I saw you throw him through the window.” Jonah grinned at me. “I wondered if you were helping him or yourself.”
“Pain in my ass, but he’s actually all right.”
The low wail of a siren floated closer, louder now, and a light rain began to fall.
“You did good.” Jonah took a deep breath. “I don’t want you to think less of me, but I can’t be present when the cops come inside here. When they find what they’ll find. It’s not in my wheelhouse. I know we can’t avoid the facts—we’re part of this thing now—but just not tonight. I can’t—”
“Think less of you? Are you nuts? How in hell could I ever?” I gripped Jonah’s hand and stared him square in the eyes. “You were a fucking rock star. A leader. Okay, the plan was not your usual thing, but you never hesitated, and I respect you for that. You make things happen, and because you do, we’re safe. You saved my life. You saved that kid’s life. So yeah, man, I got you. I have you. Whatever you want. We’ll talk to the police, briefly, and then you will be my date to the hospital. No problem. You’re fucking awesome.”
“Back at you.” He choked for the barest second and squeezed my hand. “You were unbelievable. Until you fell. That was terrifying. You were on top of the world, like a superhero tossing people to safety, and then I blinked and you just vanished.” He brushed my knee, which actually made my foot throb harder; still, his intentions were nice.