No Easy Way Out (10 page)

• • •

Marco scarfed his lunch so he would have a few extra minutes to sneak down and make his pitch to the douches in the basement before being hauled back into his indentured servitude. He’d been assigned to construction. A kid who’d never hammered more than a birdfeeder together was being asked to build wood frames for showers. More importantly, the showers were going to be built in the goddamned parking garage. Apparently, it was the only place with proper drainage.

This presented Marco with an ideal argument for why Mike should move with Marco to a more central location. After last night’s terror in the hallways, he knew he would not survive without having Mike nearby at all times.

The problem was that there was little chance that the showers would be built anywhere near the closet where he’d stashed Mike and the others. Marco could only hope that the construction would be noisy enough to scare them into moving. Perhaps Marco should suggest that security might start taking an interest in the parking garage in general, given its usefulness in the shower department. That might convince Mike.

Of course, this left the problem of what the hell to do with them aboveground. But Marco would think of that later. First things first: Convince douches to leave basement.

Marco emerged from the service stairwell into the black of the garage near the closet. From the complete blackness of the wall, he guessed that the lights were not on in the closet.
Could the douches still be asleep?
He felt around until he found the handle, then knocked. No answer. He knocked again. Nothing. “Guys, it’s Marco,” he said, then again, louder. Still nothing.

He quickly prayed that Mike would not shoot him in the head and opened the door. He heard a fart, then a snort. Marco flipped on the light.

Both Mike and Drew were passed out. An empty handle of vodka rested next to its half-empty twin between their prone bodies.

“Mike?” he said. “Hello, Mike?” He kicked Mike’s sneaker.

“Wha?” Mike winked an eye. “Turn the freaking lights off, dickhead.”

“It’s noon,” Marco said.

“Who gives a rat’s ass?” Drew rolled over, pulled his shirt over his head.

“You need to move out of here.” Marco was going with the direct approach.

“Like hell,” Mike said. He shuffled up on his elbows and squinted at Marco from under the visor of his hand. “You said this was the safest place to hole up.”

“That was before they decided to build showers down here.”

Mike dropped his head back and uttered a string of barely comprehensible profanity. Then, as if seeing the room for the first time, asked, “Where’s Ryan?”

“Bathroom?” Marco suggested.

“Go check,” Mike said.

“I’m not your errand boy,” Marco said.

“Actually, that’s exactly what you are,” Mike said, pushing himself to standing. “That’s our deal—you help us hide and survive, we help you not get killed.” He walked to the door, only wavering slightly, and scanned the darkness outside. “Shrimp!” he barked. No reply echoed back across the garage. Mike punched the door frame. “I’ve got to find him,” he said. He knelt by the food box, dug around, then emerged with a bottle of Sportade and started sucking the red liquid down.

This was not good. Mike was sure to get himself into some altercation with the guards. This would not only get Marco into trouble with the senator, it would jeopardize his only means of protection in the mall.

“I’ll look for him,” Marco said.

Mike finished the bottle and wiped his mouth with his forearm. “I thought you weren’t my errand boy.”

“I can’t afford to let you get caught.”

Mike nodded. “What about this shower situation?”

“They’re going to start putting stuff together this afternoon. Just lay low and I’ll find you somewhere new to hide out.”

“With more booze,” droned Drew from the floor, “and girls.”

Mike glanced at Drew and shook his head. “Just find somewhere out of the way,” he said.

• • •

Kris trotted to where Shay was sitting under a potted tree, bubble wand hanging by his side. “I cannot keep up with these kids,” he said, flopping beside her. “You have to take a turn.” He held out the wand.

“You’ve only been at it for an entire hour,” Shay said. “I think you’re selling yourself short.”

“Well, I do love me some bubbles.” He stood up. “But you have to stop moping or I’m telling them that you sing Raffi songs if tickled.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Shay said, slapping at his calf.

“Oh, try me,” he said, holding his hands up. “I give you five seconds and then you will be a target.”

Shay felt a smile pinch her cheeks. Weird, how you could smile but still feel wretched. And then she saw him: Ryan was behind the counter of the Magic Wok. And then he wasn’t. Where had he gone? He couldn’t disappear again. She jumped to her feet and bolted toward him.

“You didn’t have to run!” Kris yelled after her.

“Ryan?” Shay said, slamming into the counter.

He stood slowly, emerging from behind the wall of glass. He looked ragged and tired and his chin bore the scraggly beginnings of a beard, but god, he was beautiful. The most beautiful thing she’d seen in days.

“You’re okay,” he said.

Shay hitched herself up onto the counter and slid over into his waiting arms. “I’ve missed you,” she whispered, tears stinging her eyes.

“You’re okay,” he said again.

In his arms, everything felt lighter, the sadness, the guilt. She felt weightless. She hugged him tighter.

“I saw you in the med center,” he said. “Marco told me you got hurt in the riots.”

Marco told him? Marco knew Ryan was here and hadn’t told her?

“I’m fine,” she said, not wanting to remember. They pulled apart, though Ryan held on to her arm. “And you? Where have you been?”

He hesitated—she could see him disappear for a moment, felt his grip on her loosen. “Hiding out,” he said, finally, “with Mike and Drew.”

“And Marco?” Something was off. Why would Marco be involved with the guys who’d tortured him?

“He’s helping us.”

Shay wondered just how many people Marco thought he could help. He’d promised to find somewhere for her and Preeti to hide, but she hadn’t seen him all day. “He said he would help me find somewhere to hide.”

“Maybe we can hide together?” Ryan perked up, squeezed her arm.

Shay caught sight of Kris in a cyclone of bubbles. At Lights On, no question, she would have said yes, but now, she wasn’t so sure. But she didn’t want to disappoint Ryan, so she said, “Of course.”

Ryan let go of her arm and leaned on the counter. “I should tell you that I’m currently hiding out in a windowless room in the garage with two guys who are completely hammered out of their minds.”

“Sounds charming,” Shay said, nudging him with her elbow, just wanting to touch him.

“Actually, I should get back down there,” he said, standing, pulling away from her. “I kind of left without saying anything.”

“Oh.”

“And that guy over there keeps giving me dirty looks.”

Shay looked where Ryan nodded and saw Kris staring at them. “He’s my co-teacher,” she said. “He’s harmless.”

“Still”—Ryan glanced around like Kris was the least of his worries—“I’m kind of in trouble with security.”

Shay wondered if he’d been in the halls last night. She’d heard that some people had gotten caught by security. And just like that, at the mere thought of that dark hallway, the ghost image of Nani’s dead face flashed in her mind. Her knees buckled.

“Are you okay?” Ryan said, pulling her back to standing. “What just happened? Do you need to go back to the med center?”

“No!” Shay said, too forcefully. She would not go back there. “No,” she said, more calmly. “Just lightheaded. I had a mild concussion.”

“I’ve had one or two of those,” Ryan said. He stroked her head.

Shay melted against his body, let him stand for her. “Stay with me.”

Ryan pulled away again. “I’ll come back here,” he said. “Tomorrow. This same time?”

Tomorrow. Would there even be a tomorrow? What if he died before then? “Fine,” she said.

He held her hand, looked at her like he wanted to do something more. Shay wasn’t sure what was holding him back. He then gave her a weird little wave and ducked out the back of the kitchen.

Shay slid over the counter and wandered back toward Kris.

“Who was
that
hottie?” he asked, whipping the wand in front of her, showering the air with soap. “Does Shaila have a boyfriend?”

Shay shrugged with a noncommittal smile, like she was keeping a secret, but the truth was she wasn’t sure if she did. When they’d last been together, Ryan had kissed her. Now she got a wave. What had changed? Suddenly, she couldn’t remain standing and slumped to the floor.

“Hey kids,” Kris said in a singsong tone, “I think Miss Dixit will sing—”

“I’m up!” Shay yelled, jumping to her feet. “Give me the bubble wand, you traitor.”

Kris smirked and passed her the plastic. And strangely enough, as she ran with the bubbles, between the sunshine and the soap film, she was almost normal.

M
arco had to haul ass to make it to the senator’s office on time. He’d been hauling ass all afternoon—running shower materials from the HomeMart to the garage, sneaking off whenever possible to scout stockrooms as potential hiding places—and he was feeling ragged around the edges. With having to fit in this little meeting, he’d have to skip dinner entirely to move Mike and the others to the back of the bowling alley before evening check-in at six.

It was a kind of brilliant idea. The bowling alley wasn’t currently in use, so Marco had been able to explore it without interruption. There was a storage room for mechanical stuff and extra chairs in the very back that connected via a door to a narrow walkway behind the pin-setting machines. Mike and the others could hide in the storage room, and if anyone came knocking, could sneak onto the walkway until the coast was clear. Even better, there was a food storage room next to the room where Marco planned to shove Mike, and the food people hadn’t cleared it out yet, meaning Marco didn’t have to worry about dinner for the douches. Finally, the storage room was opposite the door to the fire stairwell, meaning should Marco ever have a problem, the douches were easily reached.

The only string left dangling was Ryan. He was nowhere Marco had figured him to be: not the climbing place in Shep’s, not hiding out in the men’s dorm, not in the med center looking around for Shay (Ryan didn’t know she’d been transferred). So in addition to moving the douches, he had to sniff out the one who’d gotten away or risk Mike taking on the task and getting locked up by security.

“Marco Carvajal to see the senator,” he told the guard behind the glass.

The guy nodded and buzzed him in.

The offices were more crowded than they had been yesterday. Regular people in sweats and T-shirts sat filing paperwork into binders. In the computer room, four people sat at terminals typing. There were only two security guards in the place: the guy manning the front desk and the guy in the camera feed room.

The senator was chatting on what appeared to be a giant cell phone. “I’m glad the house arrest program has isolated any potentially infected people, but that really doesn’t do me any good in here. I need information. Have the antivirals had any effect?”

Marco held off on knocking.

The senator dropped her head into her hands. Her shoulders heaved, then she lifted her face, which was again all business. “Let me know if anything changes.” She laid the phone on her desk.

Marco lurked in the doorway. What did it mean that antivirals had no effect? Who was being held on house arrest? Had they found the person who planted the bomb?

“Should I come back?” he offered.

The senator didn’t even glance up. “I know you heard me,” she said, “so let me explain. The government, on my husband’s suggestion, scanned all the security footage of the parking lots and exits to identify anyone who may have been exposed to the virus, but got out of the mall before the quarantine. The government has put them on house arrest. Second, the CDC has been testing antivirals to see if anything can be done to help us, and have so far come up with zip. Now you.” She leaned toward him and pointed at her chair. “Was it your friends who led the little hallway romp my security team corralled last night? I saw your name on the list of those captured.”

“I have no friends, so no,” Marco said. “I can, however, guarantee for you that the individuals you asked me to monitor were not involved in the ‘hallway romp.’ They spent the night in the parking garage closet I left them in.” Marco recalled their state of inebriation from earlier this morning—they were barely capable of speech, let alone romping.

“Aren’t we serious?” The senator smiled creepily. She reached into her drawer and pulled out something. She slid it across the desk. It was a granola bar. “Do you like these? They hurt my teeth.”

Marco snatched the bar and nearly ate the wrapper, he was so hungry. It took him a few seconds to recover from the animal ferocity of his hunger to realize he should thank the woman. “Thunk oo,” he managed.

“I’m not your enemy, Marco,” she said. “I am trying to save lives here.” She leaned back in her chair. “I am interested to hear your suggestions for how to manage this nighttime restlessness among certain mall residents.”

“Why are you asking me?” Marco wiped the crumbs from his mouth on the back of his hand to appear slightly more professional.

“Because you were out in the halls last night. Why were you running around? Checking on the individuals I asked you to monitor?”

Marco wondered if telling her about Shay would be a good idea. Would she help him hide her? No, of course not. The senator thought her Home Store plan was the safest thing going. Of course, she hadn’t had to sleep in one of them.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said. “I checked in with them. Then I got busted by security.”

“So the report that you were in the back of the JCPenney with my daughter is a lie?”

CRAPcrapcrapcrap . . .
“I was exploring.”
Lamest lie ever—check.

“My daughter?”

CRAPCRAPCRAP!
“The mall. The hallways. I ran into her by accident. I didn’t do anything!”

The senator smirked. “Let’s assume for the moment that I believe you. Most of the people caught by security were caught in compromising states of undress with members of the opposite sex. Or simply running around in the dark like idiots. I sense that these individuals are not thrilled with my curfew or my notions of how to prevent the spread of contagion. As a result, I’m thinking of opening the bowling alley to these kids until midnight and having the place supervised to prevent as much contact as possible. What do you think?”

This was a terrible idea. Not only did this obliterate his entire plan for where to store Mike & Co., but from the looks of the assholes in the PaperClips this morning, a chaperoned event in a bowling alley was not their idea of a good time.

“That idea sucks,” he blurted, then reconsidered his approach. “I mean, it’s not going to work. The people in the hallways last night didn’t seem like the types that go to school dances.”

“You have another idea?”

“They just want to fool around and get loaded. Give them a dark room and a keg and let them go at it.”

“And the flu?”

Marco shrugged. “You can’t save everyone.”

The senator rubbed her temples. “I can’t believe I’m even considering this.”

Marco could not believe it either.

“Okay,” she said, dropping her hands on the table. “I will give you your keg and until midnight to have your party. You spread the word that you’re running this thing—I can’t be involved. But you tell me where it’s going to be. I’m going to have security raid the party at midnight and shut it down.”

Marco’s brain seized up at the mention of “your party.” Marco had never thrown a party before. Ever. He, in fact, had never consumed alcohol. The last party he’d attended was a fifth-grade pool party and he’d gotten almost drowned on purpose by a bunch of assholes. Why would the senator think it a good idea to put him in charge of this?

No, the person to host a party was Mike Richter. He threw all the good parties at West Nyack. But Mike wanted to stay hidden. He would never agree to host a party in this place. And even if Marco sold him on the idea, how could Marco cover up the fact that he was doing this on behalf of the senator?

But then he recalled Drew’s request—more booze and girls. What if he had the senator put this keg in the storage room and just casually mentioned to the Douche Squad that he’d heard there was going to be a party there? Drew at least might want to check it out and then Marco would have half of his team of bodyguards with him in case things went south.

“Leave a keg in the bowling alley,” he said, finally. “Tell security to invade the mechanical storage room.”

The senator nodded as she said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She waved him out.

Marco stood. He was sweating all over. So he’d have to find a new hiding place for Mike. He could do that. Also, he’d have to talk to his peers to invite them to this party, wouldn’t he? A potentially awful interaction, but he could survive it. And running a kind of double bluff where Mike didn’t know the party was rigged or that Marco was its host? No problem. Or, manageable problem.
I hope.

• • •

Lexi had about reached her limit on helpful daughter stuff. She’d spent all morning logging degenerates, and all afternoon setting up a CB call center in the old Silver Screen store so that people on the inside could communicate with family on the outside. Now, instead of being able to catch up with Maddie and Ginger before dinner, she was being called in by her mother
again
to handle something that some other person surely could manage. She didn’t even need to know what her mother wanted done. Whatever it was, someone else could do it. This was total child abuse. Were there any other authority besides her mother, Lexi would have totally ratted her out to them.

She stepped off the escalator nearest the offices and nearly ran into Marco.
Of all the escalators in this mall, he’s at the top of mine . . .

“It’s you again,” he said, flustered.

“Me again,” Lexi said, not sure if he was happy. Not sure about the exact implication of
again
. She didn’t want him to go. “Sorry about last night,” she sputtered. “And this morning.”

“Not your fault I got busted,” he said.

“It’s a little my fault.”

He looked at his iPod. “I should go.”

“Wait,” she said. “I need your help.”

He raised an eyebrow. “The daughter of the leader of this mall needs
my
help?”

Lexi was all nerves—yes, she wanted to tell him about the bodies, but her mother would kill her if she found out; then again, her mother was being kind of a jerk about the whole bodies thing anyway (weren’t there not going to be any more secrets between them?)—and so she just blurted it out: “I think my mother’s hiding dead bodies.”

Marco stepped closer. “How am I supposed to help you with that?”

“I thought maybe, you know, tonight, we could, maybe, meet, and, you know, look for them?”

“Why would I want to find dead bodies?”

He had her on that one. “It’s a mystery?” Lexi said, trying out the concept. “There were some bodies in a freezer in the Pancake Palace, and now they’re gone. I want to know what happened to them.”

He glanced over his shoulder, then walked to a corner. Lexi followed.

Marco leaned in toward her. “Do you think the government’s taking them out? Like there’s some exit still open?” His breath tickled her hair. Her skin sizzled.

“No,” she said, but he pulled away at the word, so she corrected herself. “I mean, maybe. We could find out together.” She put on her charming smile, or the smile she thought looked most charming. She was so not good at this.

Marco was looking past her, so she turned her head to see what he was staring at. It was the ice-skating rink. Which was closed. There was a little printed sign on the door:
COOLANT FAILURE. CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE
.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Marco said, glancing at her.

“It would be the perfect place to hide them.” Lexi couldn’t help noticing how close they were. She could feel the pull of his body like gravity.

He held out his hand. “I’ll meet you in your office after Lights Out.”

Lexi slid her hand into his. “See you then.” His hand felt kind of sweaty as he gave hers a shake. It wasn’t sexy, but at least they were touching. She liked the touching.

He dropped her hand and trotted away, leaving Lexi in a state of minor meltdown. She had a date. To find dead bodies, fine, but whatever. She was meeting him again. It took her a full minute to remember why she’d even come to the third floor. Refitting the armor of snark she always favored when meeting her mother, Lexi tromped up to the office door and asked to be let in.

Three plastic trays of frozen dinner—not reconstituted freeze-dried slop, but Lean Cuisine—steamed on the Senator’s desk. Her mother was smiling in her chair. “I thought we could have dinner,” she said, “as a family.”

Dad was seated in the other chair opposite the desk. “We have stir-fried chicken!”

Lexi sat down in front of her tray. The smell was beyond delicious. Her mouth hurt from how much she wanted to just wolf the food. “Is everyone getting stir-fry tonight?” Maddie would freak out over this.

“It’s just a special treat for our hardworking girl,” Dad said.

“I really appreciate your pitching in while your father’s recovering,” Dotty said.

Lexi smiled, said it was nothing, and she even actually appreciated her mother doing something nice for her after asking her to do all that extra crap, but it still felt wrong to have this amazing feast. Not wrong enough not to eat it in two bites, but wrong nonetheless.

“I think things are finally turning around,” Mom said. She seemed honestly happy. “People are really getting on board with the whole Home Store concept and the work crews are functioning pretty smoothly. We’ve only had a couple of complaints, and those people came around eventually.”

“I told you people would see the light,” Dad said.

“I’m told by this evening, there should even be showers in the parking garage.” Her mother crossed her arms over her chest, gloating like she’d invented the concept.

Lexi felt like both her parents were waiting for a response. “What about the missing bodies?” she asked.

Her mother’s face deflated. “I told you,” she said, all business. “Don’t worry about the bodies. I have everything under control.”

Lexi felt like a bitch for killing the moment. “I think people will be psyched about the showers.”

Her father smiled. “I know I’ll be happy to use them.”

Dotty raised her water bottle. “Here’s to a good day.”

“A good day,” her father said, lifting his own.

“A good day,” Lexi repeated, and tapped her bottle against theirs.

They finished their meals accompanied by Dad’s anecdotes about training some mall inmates to use the computer system. Oh, how the uninitiated were foiled by things like a macro! It was Dad’s usual method of peace-making between Lexi and her mother. He always had some non-confrontational filler conversation at the ready. Both Mom and Lexi laughed at appropriate times, knowing that’s what they were supposed to do. It was hard now, though, what with their being kind of in the middle of an apocalypse, to just pretend things were cool between them. Lexi wanted to know what was really going on with the mall—were people really getting on board? All those degenerates she’d logged this morning in the PaperClips seemed a rather stark argument to the contrary. And why was her mother being so coy about the bodies?
I guess I’ll find out soon enough . . .