Fight for Power (18 page)

“I want you to be on the six,” Herb was saying to Brett.

“Understood.”

Herb started walking, while Brett remained behind. He would bring up the rear, protecting the back of the line. Being “on the six” meant being the last in line. I fell in beside Herb. The smashed glass, all in little cubes on the ground, crunched noisily under our feet. It was a strange sensation, almost like walking through snow that was crusted over.

Herb stopped at the directory listing the stores in the mall. He studied it, running his finger along the lines and then finding the corresponding store. Typical Herb—nothing done without a plan.

The mall was deserted and destroyed. Storefronts, windows, and doors no longer existed. Metal grilles had been torn down and were either lying on the ground or had been pried up or twisted into grotesque statues. There were no lights, of course, and the farther we got into the interior, the dimmer it became. It wasn't dark, just dim. There was enough light coming in through the skylights—which hadn't been smashed—to allow us to see and move. Could we find anything of use in here? Hadn't hundreds and hundreds of people already been through here?

The men up ahead were fanning out on both sides, staying close to the stores themselves, looking into each as we passed. Herb stayed right in the middle, as did I. Brett was still in the back, walking carefully, fanning his rifle from side to side and then spinning around to see behind him.

We all had to be careful as we walked because the floor was littered with debris. Some of the merchandise from the stores had only made it this far. There were some clothes, broken racks, empty suitcases, bent golf clubs, deflated soccer balls, and gutted TVs and electronics everywhere. It was almost as if the looters had blamed the electronics for what was happening and had taken their anger out on them. Completely illogical, but somehow, on some level, I understood. It felt like technology had betrayed us and that the only way to react to the betrayal was to rage against it.

A big fountain lay ahead, silent, its pool of water bad smelling and algae stained. The little gardens had all been ripped out, and the trees—some of which had soared up almost to the skylights—had been torn down. What was the point in any of that? I understood the electronics, but why take it out on innocent vegetation?

I looked into each store as we passed. I should have been looking for people, but instead I was absorbed by what I saw—or didn't see—inside. The stores were destroyed, their contents looted. What remained was in piles on the floor, racks knocked over, nothing much standing.

We came up to the electronics store, the place where the TVs had come from. The metal grates had been taken down and were in a pile in the middle of the mall. Inside, though, it was different. It was stripped clean, the entire store emptied out down to the fixtures. There was nothing left.

How stupid. At a time without electricity, without the Internet, without anything that would allow them to work, those items had still been targeted as being valuable. Right now they were nothing more than deadweight. Forget TVs and computers; go for food or water or chlorine tablets.

Herb had known right from the beginning what would be valuable and had traded money—which was now useless—for things we'd need. He figured he had enough chlorine to last him for decades. Now I hoped he had enough to take care of sixteen hundred people for as long as this all lasted.

I heard voices echoing up through the empty mall and turned my head to try to pick them up. I caught sight of two or three men coming our way. They skidded to a stop when they saw us, turned, and ran away, disappearing around the corner. I could still hear them running long after I couldn't see them anymore.

“That's good that they're gone,” I said.

“Unless they've gone to get reinforcements,” Herb said.

That wasn't reassuring.

“We'll keep an eye out,” he said. “There's nothing here that we can't handle.”

“Are you saying that to make me feel better or because it's the truth?” I asked.

“It is the truth and it should make you feel better.”

Up ahead Howie and three of the men disappeared into one of the stores. Two others fanned out, taking spots against the base of another fountain, protected from anything coming. We came up to the store where our men had vanished inside. It was the discount pet food store. Like the other stores, it had obviously been looted—windows and doors shattered, metal grates pushed up and broken, the cash register lying open on the floor, racks knocked over, and bags of dog food ripped open. Food pellets that were scattered across the floor crunched noisily beneath their feet as they came out. Howie and each of the men had big bags of dry dog food on their shoulders.

“There are still a few in the back,” Howie said. “I guess looters don't care much about dog food.”

“That works for us,” Herb said. “Get as much of it as there is. I want you to send back for more help to carry things.”

“There's not that much,” Howie said.

“Other things. I want the soil taken out of all the mall gardens. It's excellent soil, treated, highly fertilized.”

“That will take some manpower,” Howie said.

“I also want people up on the roof. Those skylights are still intact, and we can build a greenhouse or two just from them.”

“I'll get Mr. Nicholas and some members of the engineering team out here to work on that. Anything else?” Howie asked.

“That's still to be determined, but from what I've seen I should have had us here sooner. Adam and I are going to go exploring a little further … if that's okay with you.”

“You're the boss,” Howie said.

“Adam, I guess I should have asked—do you want to come along or stay here and lug dog food?”

“I'll come along. I've got your back,” I said.

“Actually, I'm going to ask Brett to cover both of us. He's coming, too.”

“Oh … okay.” I should have been glad to have him along—safety in numbers—but still, didn't Herb think I could cover him? I guess I couldn't blame him. I'd rather have Brett—the living, breathing action hero—on my six instead of me.

We walked out of the store. Herb motioned for Brett to follow and then for one of the others to take up the position Brett had been guarding.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“The sporting goods store,” Herb replied.

I wanted to ask him if he planned on picking up some soccer balls, but I knew that if Herb wanted to go there, then there was a good reason—sort of like with how he'd gotten the chlorine tablets at the pool store the very first day this had all started.

Herb took his pistol out of the holster, holding it hanging down by his leg. I quickly did the same thing. Brett was behind us, his rifle out, swinging it from side to side. With each pass it was briefly aimed at us. That was unnerving.
Everything
was unnerving.

I looked in each store as we passed—the jewelry store, Everything for a Dollar with its sign smashed, a florist, a hair salon. It didn't matter what type of store it was before, because now they were all gone. Same broken glass, twisted grates, piles of debris. What did Herb hope to find at the sporting goods store that would be any better?

I heard more voices coming from ahead, and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I looked over at Herb. He nodded. He'd noticed as well. At least the voices sounded like they were far away, and the store was just up ahead, wasn't it? I was feeling disoriented. I'd been in this mall dozens—no, hundreds—of times, but it was all so different now. I was walking through a nightmare instead of a shopping center.

The sporting goods store came up on our right. The front window was gone, but the metal grating was still in place, although some of the bars had been forced apart far enough to allow people to go inside—and come back out with merchandise. There didn't appear to be much left on the shelves, which had been pushed over and formed a jumbled pile in the middle of the store. Herb squeezed through one of the openings in the grate and went in. I didn't need an invitation. I followed right behind, instantly feeling safer in the smaller space. Brett came up to the grate but didn't come inside. He and I made eye contact—he gave me a smile, a nod, and a thumbs-up.

“Adam, come on back here!” Herb called out.

I scaled the junk layering the floor. Overturned racks, random clothing, soccer shin pads, and empty display cases. If we were here for soccer balls I couldn't see any. I came to Herb's side.

“Didn't this store sell archery equipment?” he asked.

“Yeah, this is where we bought our equipment.”

“Where did they keep all the bows and arrows?”

“They had equipment right over there,” I said, pointing to where a display case and rack holding bows used to be. It was gone, along with any hint of bows or arrows.

“And did they have a storage area?

“No room, but they did keep a lot of equipment locked in the bottom of a display case.”

I looked around and spotted the case. The whole glass top had disappeared, and the bows and hunting knives were all gone. The big wooden case was now sitting on its side. I knelt down beside it. The bottom section was still intact. I went to pull open the drawer, but it wouldn't budge.

“It's locked,” I said.

“I think I just might have the key right here,” Herb said. “Hold this.”

He handed me his gun and then reached into his pocket and pulled out a little piece of metal. “It's called a pick,” he said. He pulled his glasses out of his other pocket and then knelt down in front of the case and inserted the little metal pick into the lock.

“That's a pretty interesting thing to know how to do,” I said.

“You live long enough and you learn a thing or two.”

“My grandmother was eighty-three when she died, and I'm pretty sure she didn't know how to pick a lock,” I said.

“You never know what people know or don't know. Before all this, did you ever think I could pick a lock?”

“I'm starting to think you have a whole collection of skills you don't talk about,” I said.

There was a click, and Herb pulled out the drawer. It was filled with hunting knives, some bows, a couple of crossbows, and more arrows than I could count.

“I think these might be helpful,” Herb said. He removed one of the crossbows and handed it to me. “Beautiful, isn't it?”

I nodded.

“Have you ever fired a crossbow before?”

“Just bows and arrows—the ones you've seen in my garage.”

“The crossbow superseded the bow. It was a major development in warfare that was as significant as the first firearms,” Herb said. “At short range the crossbow is as accurate and deadly as a small-caliber firearm, and it has a very distinct advantage.” He reached into the drawer and pulled out a crossbow bolt. “It has reusable ammunition. Let's get all of these into the vehicles and back to the neighborhood.”

*   *   *

I felt a sense of relief as the guards closed the gate to our neighborhood, sealing us safely inside. The backseat of my car was filled with archery equipment. The truck and the wagon were still back at the mall and were practically overflowing with scavenged items. Aside from the dog food, the soil, and the skylights, there were hundreds of bags of fertilizer our men had found at the garden center; some camping equipment; and some hand tools, shovels, nails, and screws from the hardware store.

The things in my car—the crossbows and bolts—were going to be stored in Herb's basement. All the extra weapons and ammunition that weren't being carried by the guards were secured, under lock and key, with an armed guard watching them if Herb wasn't home. I wasn't sure crossbows and bolts were in the same category as the firearms, but I guess it was best to have them in one location and I was glad that location was with Herb. This was a good day of scavenging. I just wished we'd found some food that wasn't meant for dogs.

 

16

I listened in on the conversation between Danny and Rachel as they ate lunch—stale crackers with peanut butter that had come from the seemingly endless supply in Herb's stash. I didn't have an appetite today, or maybe I just was sick of eating the same food all the time. I sipped a glass of water that had a faint chemical taste from the chlorine tabs. The twins continued to haul water up from the river and put it into a big drum that sat in our kitchen. Chlorine was added according to a specific ratio, and the treated water was drawn from the drum as needed for drinking. On days when it rained it was just collected in a rain barrel as it fell. It didn't need to be chlorinated and tasted so sweet, so natural. Rainwater was the best-tasting thing in the world.

The twins were both upset, along with almost all the young kids, that school had been extended into the summer instead of ending when it normally did.

“It isn't fair,” Danny complained. “It's getting too hot to sit inside a classroom.”

“My legs keep sticking to the chair,” Rachel chimed in. “Why can't we just have a summer vacation like we always used to?”

They knew as well as anybody else that normal wasn't normal anymore. They were just grumpy.

There was a simple way for me to end their complaining, but it wasn't up to me to tell them. For now, school might have been extended into the summer, but in the fall it was going to start much later than usual. In September and October even the kids would be busy working all day in the fields with the harvest. It had been agreed by the committee to keep this plan from everyone right now for the sake of morale. People didn't need reminding that nobody knew when our nightmare was going to be over.

According to Herb, people needed to know just enough to keep them moving forward but not enough to paralyze them with fear or dismay. There wasn't going to be a magic solution to save us all, but we still needed to hope, to believe in miracles. I knew the only answers were going to come from the people inside these walls. My hope was in them—in us. It would probably be easier if I believed in miracles, too.