No Easy Way Out (2 page)

“No one here cares what you look like,” Marco said.

Ryan remembered Marco from their failed escape attempt through the parking level hatch. Something had changed in the guy over the last four days. He had a nasty edge to his voice. Ryan hated people with attitude. “I’m not worried about turning you on. This crap is burning my skin.”

Mike pulled his T-shirt off, spat onto it, then came at Ryan. “Lemme get that,” he said in a faux mommy voice.

Ryan smacked him away. “I’d rather let my face burn.”

Mike snorted. “Your choice, Jumbo Shrimp.” He threw the shirt at Ryan’s head.

“Dude, this reeks,” Ryan said, trying not to barf. All motion made him sick in the gut—like he needed shirt stink on top of that.

“Real men sweat,” Mike said.

“While I appreciate the clever banter,” Marco inter-rupted, “it’s not helping us avoid the troop of security guards on our asses.”

Mike stroked the gun in his waistband. “I could come up with a more permanent solution than running.”

“We are not
killing
people,” Ryan stated, like he had any control over Mike’s use of his new toy, lifted from the police officer Ryan had tackled. He’d been as effective as a ninety-pound linebacker in stopping Mike from killing the dude in Shep’s Sporting Goods. Of course, that guy had shot an arrow at them first.

“Unless you have some endless supply of ammo for that thing,” Marco said, “that is not the answer to our problems.”

“So what
is
the answer?” Drew snorted. “And it better involve food, because I’m starving.”

Why were Mike and Drew listening to this guy? A week ago, they’d been trying to, no-joke, kill him. The change was freaky.

Marco closed his eyes like this was all such a waste of time. “Let’s head to the third floor.”

“Lead the way, Kemosabe,” Mike said, sweeping his arm.

The guy had gotten a nickname? He wasn’t even on the football team and he was getting a nickname? Ryan had only been out of the loop for like twenty minutes, but he was apparently years behind on information.

• • •

Despite what he’d just said, Marco Carvajal wasn’t actually that concerned about security. They had woven through two stockrooms, shifting between service hallway systems, and moved up a floor already. Between that and the senator’s new orders for reorganizing the mall, he doubted many guards were still in pursuit. Nevertheless, he liked to dangle that danger over The Three Douches’ heads. Liked to remind them that without his help, they’d all be up a fraking creek.

He would have to have a word with them about “Kemosabe.” Kemosabe was worse than “Taco.”

They crept down the hallways toward the Grill’n’Shake, Marco’s old place of employ. Things he did not miss: wiping tables and scraping food scraps as busboy to the ungrateful mall-walkers. Things he did miss: free fries and unlimited soda.

At the back door, he swiped his actual card key for old times’ sake; he didn’t want to wear out the mag strip on his shiny, new, stolen all-access pass. For a brief moment, he thought of Shay—how they’d taken the card key together, how their escape plan had fallen apart, but how their relationship had grown stronger—and he wanted to abandon these douches and check to make sure she was still okay in the med center. But he reminded himself that the whole reason he was with Mike, Drew, and Ryan was to ensure the safety of Shay and her sister, Preeti. Not to mention his own.

“Bathroom’s in the back, food’s this way,” Marco said, holding open the service door.

“I think I know my way around the Grease’n’Suck,” Ryan said, tromping toward the bathroom. Just as he was about to open the swinging door to the dining room, he froze. “There are people out there,” he whispered.

Marco crept to the door and peered through the window. Regular people sat at the tables, some swilling stolen sodas, some with fistfuls of ice pressed to various appendages.

“There’s a staff bathroom in the back.” Marco said. He led the three into the kitchen.

People had raided what remained of the salad station.

“Where’s the grub?” Drew asked, poking at the empty tubs.

“Relax,” Marco said, approaching the monolithic metal door of the walk-in refrigerator. Everything worth eating was kept in the fridge, which, lucky for them, was still locked.

Marco pulled out the keys he’d inadvertently stolen from the manager on his last shift—two days ago. It wasn’t like the man would miss them, given that he was dead. He wondered where his coworkers were now, Josh especially. Josh was a good guy. Marco hoped Josh was still alive.

It took several tries, but Marco finally identified the key to the fridge. The door swung open slowly, exhaling a cold mist.

“Hit the lights,” Drew said, chops already wet with saliva.

Marco flicked the switch. The fluorescent lights blinked, revealing a wealth of comestibles. Another door inside separated the freezer section, which contained more food, most of it unfortunately frozen solid.

The two douches thrust themselves inside and began pawing the merchandise.

“Dude, crackers,” Mike said, throwing a gigantic bag of saltines at Drew, who grunted happily. The manager must have thrown all the food—from saltines to salt—in the fridge for safekeeping. The two douches didn’t even bother to pull the things from the wrappers; they slit the bags open and poured the broken contents down their gullets.

Marco had certainly surrounded himself with some charming company. But beggars could not be choosers, and these two were the best this mall had to offer in terms of personal security services. He had traded his freedom and chosen to act as mall tour guide in exchange for Mike and Drew’s formidable protection—an excellent deal, even if it meant having to watch Drew spit crumbs like a camel.

He needed to figure out how this whole security thing would work with Shay. Should they all hide out somewhere? Would Shay agree to living like this—stealing food from the Grill’n’Shake’s fridge, sleeping in stockrooms? What if she was sick or really hurt? No, she needed something better than this. So he would have to run a dual operation—one to keep Shay safe, one to keep these idiots safe so they could keep him and Shay safe.

The fridge door swung away from his shoulder, startling Marco.

“Relax,” Ryan said snidely, slipping past Marco into the fridge. He no longer had a fine layer of white all over him, though his face was splotchy—not splotchy like Marco’s face always was, but the handsome splotchy that guys like Ryan were blessed with. Even on a bad day, the douche was a billion times better looking than Marco.

“What’s for breakfast?” Ryan said.

Mike chucked a bag of frozen chicken fingers at his head. “Gnaw on these.”

Ryan caught it like he had bags of chicken launched at his head on a daily basis—which Marco guessed was essentially the definition of being a football player.

He definitely could not bring Shay here. Not with a handsome, coordinated jerk like Ryan around to mess up everything Marco had going with her.

The voices from the restaurant got louder; Marco thought he heard the kitchen door squeal. Not wanting to get involved in a firefight over frozen chicken, he checked that the inside release button for the handle was still working and closed them into the fridge. As he dug open a giant bag of baby carrots, Marco said a silent prayer that no one would test the lock.

• • •

Shaila Dixit was shaken awake by her bed, which was rattling its way out of the PaperClips. Her first instinct was to start patting the sides of the gurney looking for the brakes, but she quickly realized that, since there was no hill in the PaperClips, the gurney could not be rolling of its own volition.

“Just lie back and enjoy the ride,” a voice behind her said.

“Where are you taking me?” The panic began to choke Shay. “Where’s my sister?”

The gurney stopped and a round face with a mask over its smiling mouth appeared at her side. “Dr. Chen said you had quite a scare,” the face said. “I’m Jazmine, and I’m a nurse. I’m taking you to the new medical center.”

“My sister?”

“Right behind you. You can relax, sweetheart.”

Shay’s head throbbed, so she sank back onto her pillow. If she hadn’t felt like she’d hurl if she stood, she would have run. She did not trust this woman. She did not trust any of them. They had let her grandmother die. They said her sister, Preeti, was okay, but who knew if that was true. This place was horrible. Where was Marco?

Jazmine rolled her out into the hallway and then turned onto the main artery of the mall. Shay noticed half of the windows in the central skylight were covered over.

“What happened to the skylight?” Shay asked. Had the riot reached the ceiling?

“Some crazy people tried to bust out onto the roof,” Jazmine said, her tone implying the inanity of the action.

Shay did not think this was stupid. In fact, she wished she’d thought of it. Ryan had taught her how to climb, after all. She wondered if it was he who’d made the attempt. That would mean he hadn’t escaped through the garage. But had he made it out onto the roof?

“Did they escape?” Shay wanted the answer to be both yes and no.

“You think those government nut jobs in their plastic suits would let anyone out of here?”

That meant Ryan might still be in the mall. Shay closed her eyes and hoped it to be true. Didn’t the universe owe her something good?

The gurney soon rolled to a stop under a fancy chandelier and a banner advertising a perfume. The room smelled sickly sweet. “The new med center is a department store?”

Jazmine fiddled with something on the underside of the gurney, then stood and brushed her palms on her jeans. “Harry’s has been converted into this glamorous new hospital. Too many people showed up with riot injuries to try to keep making due in the PaperClips.”

Shay lifted herself to her elbows and looked around. The makeup counters and racks of clothes still stood in their regular places.

“It’s a work in progress,” Jazmine said, following her gaze. “We moved you first, as you’re non-critical.”

“And my sister?” Shay asked.

“Flu cases will be moved last. We’re trying to keep them separate.”

“Can I see her?”

Jazmine, sensing perhaps from Shay’s strident tone that the panic had returned, lifted her face mask and sat on the gurney beside Shay’s hips. “I know you’ve been through a lot, honey,” she said. “But you have got to trust somebody and it might as well be me.”

“Why?” Shay asked, feeling peevish.

“You see anyone else around here?” Jazmine raised an eyebrow.

Shay allowed herself a smile.

“Your grandma was a special lady?” Jazmine cocked her head.

The question drove the smile away. “Don’t you have to move the other people?”

“They won’t miss me for another minute or so.”

She stared at Shay like she was waiting for an answer, like Shay was really going to talk about Nani to some complete stranger who probably was part of the team that let her die. No, that wasn’t fair. That team, the ones in the hazmat suits, had fled, leaving only the contaminated, the damned.

Shay rubbed the edge of her sheet. “She was my best friend.”

“That’s a good grandma.” Jazmine smiled as if waiting for more.

“She let me steal her henna.”

“So that’s what the mark on your cheek is.” Jazmine stroked Shay’s skin gently.

Shay flinched, surprised by the touch. The last time someone touched her, it was a zombie hand reaching out from the rubble of the old med center.

Jazmine, unfazed, smiled and held open her arms. “Can I at least give you a hug before I go?”

Tears pricked out along Shay’s eyelids at the word. When was the last time someone offered her a simple hug, nothing else implied or wanted? Just a hug, just for her?
So long
.

Shay nodded her head and felt Jazmine’s thick arms wrap around her, enveloping her in warmth. The tears dropped down her cheeks, darkening the fabric of Jazmine’s shirt.

“No touching,” a voice commanded. “And put on your mask.”

“Say what?” Jazmine barked. “If I want to hug a person, I’m hugging her.”

“New rules.” The voice came closer. Shay turned her head and saw a security guard, stun baton gripped in both hands across his chest like a shield.

Jazmine gave Shay a look like she would kill this man before she’d stop hugging people, but then she let go of Shay, replaced her mask, and shuffled off the gurney. “I’ll check on you later,” she said, squeezing Shay’s shoulder, then walked away.

Shay nearly screamed for Jazmine to come back, but the security guard with his black stick shut her up. He looked both nervous and cocky, and Shay did not like that combination. Would he attack her? No, he was here to protect her.
Right?
Cold sweat broke out over her body. She was alone with this guy who looked ready to beat the crap out of anyone and everyone.

He turned and walked out of the store. Another gurney was rolled in by some woman, not Jazmine.

Shay did not trust these strangers. She did not feel safe. But she couldn’t move off this gurney, not yet, so she fell back and stared at the chandelier until her eyes watered and the world became a bright blur.