Gooseflesh prickled across Shay’s skin. Marco kissed her? No, that was against the rules. If she had kissed him on the cheek, that was only to be friendly. He was taking things out of context. He was reading into her actions. Not that she could really blame him. She had been, in essence, leading him on. But what choice did she have? She had a sister to protect. She needed an ally. And to keep him, she would do whatever she had to.
But she would say something to him the next time she saw him. There would be no kissing, especially while she was passed out. Or if he really needed a kiss, then only on the cheek. God, this Marco nonsense was the last thing she wanted to deal with. Why were boys so freaking needy?
Jazmine laughed. “You look like you’re deep in thought, so I’ll let you think.” She stood.
“No,” Shay said, not wanting to be left alone now that she was awake. “I was just thinking about the boy. Do you have a boyfriend?”
Jazmine settled back on the gurney. “I’ll tell if you eat something.” She nodded at the plate.
Shay lifted the sagging paper dish. “What is it?”
“Chicken something,” Jazmine said, eyeing the plate. “I had some. It’s edible.”
“Are the white lumps chicken?”
“A safe bet,” Jazmine said. “I say just close your eyes and shovel it in. You need to eat.”
Shay held up her wrist. “I have my trusty IV.”
Jazmine frowned. “You planning to spend the rest of your life with that in your arm?”
“Who knows how long that even is?” Shay wasn’t sure why she said that. She didn’t want to be negative. But it felt true, once said. She could die tomorrow. And wouldn’t that be better than facing another nightmare day in this place?
Jazmine’s face softened, but still looked disappointed. “You have to stay strong,” she said. “You have a sister to watch out for.” She squeezed Shay’s hand. “Things are going to get better from now on. This senator lady has got people working together.”
For how long? Shay had never been a bitter person, but now it felt like all that was inside her was bitterness. She pushed it down, conjured some happiness.
“That’s great.”
Jazmine smiled. “That’s my girl.”
Shay shoveled a spoonful of chicken slop into her mouth and forced herself to swallow it down. “It’s actually good,” she managed, stifling a retch.
“Now I know you’re lying,” Jazmine said, chuckling. “Here.” She pulled a small leather notebook from the pocket of her cardigan. “I found this in the PaperClips and thought you might like it. You look like a journal girl.”
Shay laid the spoon aside and took the notebook. It was a business thing, the kind of little book her dad used to take to conferences before he got an iPad. Opening it, Shay saw that the pen was one of those special ones that had a built-in light in the pen tip and a highlighter on the other end. She ran her fingers over the paper, which was smooth and blank.
“Maybe you can write something about your grandma and show it to me?”
Shay glanced up from the beautiful blankness of the paper, tears turning the world to water. “Yes,” she said, her voice catching on the word.
Jazmine smiled and patted her leg through the thin blanket. “Then you finish your food. I’ll be back in a half hour to check you out.” She took Shay’s wrist and gently removed the IV.
Panic gripped Shay. “Don’t I need that?” Why was Jazmine taking away her medicine?
“It’s just saline,” Jazmine said. “And you’re conscious now, so you can feed and hydrate yourself. We have to conserve what resources we have, now that we’re on our own.”
“But what if I pass out again?”
“Honey, that was the effect of a sedative I gave you. One of the security guards said you looked panicked, so I gave you something to help you relax. But you’re all better.”
Gave me a sedative? Like Shay wasn’t already feeling totally out of it, this woman thought it was a good idea to drug her? And “all better” seemed a long way off if sedatives were on the table as treatment. Unless this was all some ploy . . .
“Are you kicking me out?”
“We need the bed for people who are in recovery.”
“But what about Preeti?”
“She’ll stay for another twenty-four hours for observation, but then she can join you at the JCPenney.”
Shay’s mind raced. She would not be turned out into that madhouse. She would not be left alone to be crushed by the masses. Where was Marco? She began to cry. It was all she had left.
“Don’t make me leave.”
Jazmine squeezed her shoulder. “You’re a strong girl,” she said. “Things are safe out there now. I wouldn’t send you into harm’s way.”
Shay did not trust this woman. Who was she, really, but a stranger who’d pretended to care, just like everyone else? Shay was just another body to be moved around. She had to find Marco. He would help her get Preeti out of here. He would help them find somewhere to hide.
Jazmine continued spouting her plans for Shay’s release. “A guard will take you to the JCPenney if you want.”
“No,” Shay blurted. “I can do it.” She would not get trapped by one of those lunatics with a Taser. She’d seen them blast people if any of their orders were contradicted.
Jazmine brushed off her pants. “If that’s what you want.” She walked to Preeti’s bed and checked her over—pulse, temperature, blood pressure, lung sounds. “Your sister is doing just fine. You can come back and see her in the morning.”
Shay was barely paying attention. She needed a plan. She was still wearing the T-shirt and jeans she’d stolen from H&M. Maybe her bag was under the bed?
Jazmine, as if reading her mind, handed her her bag. “What did I say this morning?”
Shay snatched the strap.
Jazmine grasped her shoulder. “I told you that you have to trust someone.”
Shay nodded because that was what Jazmine wanted, but the woman was wrong. Shay would not trust anyone but herself. Who else could she really count on?
“Can I finish my food?” She needed some more time to come up with a strategy.
Jazmine sighed. “Take your time,” she said. “I’ll be back in an hour to check you out.”
Good. An hour to plan her actions. She scooped the rest of the chicken mush into her mouth. She wasn’t sure what food existed outside the med center; who knew when her next meal would be? She dumped out her bag and sorted the items: wallet, iPod, headphones, dead cell phone, contact solution and case, children’s Tylenol . . .
The bottle stopped her brain cold. She’d last held it to Nani’s lips in an attempt to drive back her fever. How deeply she’d failed Nani. What an idiot she’d been to think she could save her. What good were her plans, really? She’d screwed up everything, killed her grandmother, nearly killed her sister. Better to just lie back and let the mall take her.
Preeti stirred. “Shaila?”
Shay froze, caught between the sadness inside, sucking her against the bed, weighing her body down, and the need to show her sister everything was okay.
“Shay?” Preeti’s voice trembled. “Are you here?”
Jazmine was right about one thing: Shay had to be strong for Preeti. She sealed up the sadness like a sandwich bag. Poof! The emptiness felt like joy.
Shay sat up. “I’m here.”
Preeti, who hadn’t even really been awake, rolled over. “Tell Mom I’m not going to school.”
“Okay,” Shay chirped. She stuffed all the crap back into her bag. Her hand stroked the smooth surface of the notebook, nestled amid the sheets. Did she even need it? She felt so clean inside. Take it, whispered the sadness. Shay slipped it into her bag.
• • •
Ryan tapped the p
ill bottle against his legs as he padded through the service halls back toward the Grill’n’Shake. At least he thought he was heading back to the Grill’n’Shake. Ryan tried to stick to the path Marco had taken, but all the halls looked alike and, without Marco’s card, most doors were closed to him. He was beginning to consider the possibility that he was lost.
There were store names printed in block letters on some of the doors, but that information was of little use to Ryan. It’s not like knowing he was outside the Candy Hut gave him a clue about where he was relative to the Grease’n’Suck. He wasn’t a big mall person, not like other people. Funny, to go to the mall maybe five times in a year and end up getting quarantined on one of those visits. Typical Murphy Luck.
Ryan’s older brother, Thad, had a theory about Murphy Luck. Murphy Luck was always to blame for an interception. Murphy Luck explained why Thad could drink a twelve-pack of light beer and not even get buzzed. Murphy Luck was why Dad was such a dick. The man couldn’t even keep a one-day construction job without pissing someone off. Crap like getting lost in the service halls of a mall qualified as undeniable Murphy Luck.
Voices echoed from around the corner. Not wanting to find out if they belonged to security, Ryan pushed open the nearest exit door. It opened into the second-floor hallway next to the Sports Authority. Feeling like perhaps Murphy Luck had taken a time-out, and that he should not be in the hall, Ryan decided to upgrade from his crusty climbing clothes.
The store was empty—no salespeople, no shoppers, and most importantly, no insane looters with guns. Things seemed normal, like there had never been a riot. Were people really following the mall leader’s orders?
Not that it mattered to Ryan. Mike had made the call that they were staying under the radar. Ryan was not going to rock the very small boat of protection he’d found in this hellhole, even if it meant also staying under the thumb of Marco. Mike had watched his back from minute one of this nightmare. Ryan owed it to him to stick with his plans. They were teammates, and a team was a powerful thing. He would find some way around the Marco-Shay situation.
He grabbed a pair of basketball shorts and a T-shirt, then decided, why stop there? They were obviously taking up residence in the place and might want a change of clothes. He grabbed a duffel and packed it with some T-shirts in his size, then a bunch larger for Mike and Drew, shorts, socks, and boxers. He went into the back to look for some sneakers.
As he rounded the corner of one floor-to-ceiling shelf, he discovered a person who’d not been as lucky with the flu. It was a man. Old. His dad’s age. His face was bluish and blood had dried in thin trails from his nostrils. Puddles Ryan did not want to know the origins of pooled around his legs. He smelled terrible.
Ryan scrambled back to the other side of the shelf. His second dead body in as many days. Why was this happening to him? To any of them?
Forget about it. There was nothing he could do to help that guy or Mike or himself, any of them. Best to just forget about it. Move on. Find the sneakers and get the hell out of there.
He found a pair of sneakers in his size. The things cost two hundred dollars. In the real world, he couldn’t have ever hoped to buy them. Screw the Shops at Stonecliff. The place owed him some freaking nice sneakers for all the crap he’d been through.
The coast was clear outside the store. Ryan heard voices down below, but just regular talking. He checked over the railing and saw people sitting on the floor with paper plates. There were dead bodies lying around and these people were at a goddamn block party. It was like bizarre-o-world.
The ground seemed to pull away, and Ryan felt a wave of nausea course through him. He found a bench and parked his ass on it.
He was not fully recovered from the flu. He pretended he was fine, but there was a constant ache in his muscles and his brain went fuzzy if he moved too fast. He should get back to the Grease’n’Suck. He waited for the nausea to subside, then shouldered the bag and tried to look as inconspicuous as possible.
There was no one on the third floor, so Ryan walked faster, nearly running into the Grill’n’Shake. The dining area was empty now. Ryan headed straight into the kitchens.
Mike and Drew were sitting beside a small pile of boxes overflowing with bags of defrosting chicken strips, crackers, and what appeared to be a handle of vodka.
“Looks like you’ve got all the food groups,” he said, dropping the duffel.
Mike looked up. “What the hell took you so long?” He stood and grabbed the back of Ryan’s head, pulling him into a hug. “You okay?”
Ryan shrugged him off. “Fine.” Mike’s caring was a little intense. “I’m not at death’s door.”
“You were at death’s door, idiot.” Mike shoved Ryan’s head.
“I’m fine, really,” he said, trying to ignore the throbbing Mike’s jostling had ignited in his skull. “I got us some clothes.”
Drew rifled through the duffel. “Packers!” He pulled out a jersey.
“What kind of crap are they selling in this mall?” Mike said, grabbing the bag.
It was the one point of dissention between Mike and Drew. Mike was a Giants guy and Drew had been raised a cheesehead like his dad. The only fight Ryan had seen between the two started when Mike in a drunken haze pissed on Drew’s cheese-wedge hat. Drew had tackled him, busting a hole in his basement wall. The fight ended when Mike promised to not only buy a new hat, but to wear a Packers jersey for a week.
“Don’t get your jocks in a twist,” Ryan said, rubbing his temples. “There’s something for everyone.”
Mike dug out a Giants jersey and pulled it over his head. “Now we’re in business.”
“Jumbo Shrimp comes through in the clutch.” Drew tugged on some new socks.
Ryan ducked into the bathroom to change and splash water on his face. He slurped some from his cupped hand, then examined himself in the mirror. He didn’t look good. Pale. Bags under the eyes. He’d bench himself. But this was no game. There was no bench to rest on.
When he came back, Marco had rejoined their crew and was skulking in the corner. He was smiling, but still looked pissed off. The guy was weird.
“Now that the whole gang’s back together, let’s mosey to our new quarters.” Marco clapped his hands like this was some class trip.
Ryan was not ready to follow Marco blindly. “What did the senator want to see you about?”
• • •
Marco gritted his teeth. He had not wanted to share that particular tidbit with Mike, but it figured the douche wouldn’t allow even that small lapse in information. Perhaps he’d twisted the knife too hard on the whole Shay issue.
“She asked me if I had a stolen card key. She’d seen me in a back hall during the riots. I was trying to save my friend’s life.” Marco looked purposefully at Ryan, who looked a bit peaked. “The senator was suspicious, so I gave her my old one from the Grill’n’Shake.” It was a decent lie. The douche did not question him further and slogged over to a duffel bag.
Mike nodded. “Nice thinking.”
“I thought so.” Marco was impressed with himself. Everything was coming up Carvajal today. If you discounted the whole trapped-in-a-mall-with-a-deadly-virus thing.
The mall speakers squealed and announced the end of dinner in fifteen. “Please return to your Home Store for distribution of new clothes and toiletries.”
Marco checked his watch. It was six forty-five, a little early for curfew, if you asked him, but nobody was asking, so he’d better get this show on the road. “I have to get back before anyone cares that I’m gone.”
“Calm down, Taco,” Drew muttered, pushing himself to standing.
“Marco.” Marco would not let that nickname back into their vocabulary.
“Mar-co.”
The nickname had sounded kinder.
The Three Douches hefted their boxes
of nutritionally dubious food and followed Marco into the service halls. Marco decided to risk the elevator—he was now a sanctioned mall employee of sorts; who was going to stop him? He led them down to the parking garage, then wove through the rows of cars to the far wall where he knew of a storage closet for cones and other parking-related crap.
The door to the room wasn’t even locked, so Marco swung it open and was greeted with a cloud of stale air. He flipped on the light. The space was the size of a minivan and was empty save for a stack of cones and some sandwich board signs used for indicating that the lot was full.
“There’s no window,” Ryan said, poking his head through the doorway. “How are we supposed to breathe?”
Mike pushed past him into the space. “It’s perfect. No one will bother us here.”
“Glad I packed the vodka,” Drew said, pulling the bottle from the box.
“I’ll come back in the morning to check in,” Marco said, dusting off his hands. He didn’t want any residue from that hole following him up into the mall.
“What are we supposed to do for a bathroom?” Ryan’s voice sounded squeaky, like he was about to cry. Marco would have liked to see that. He would have liked to record it for Shay. Here’s your big strong boyfriend . . .
“The parking garage is your oyster,” Marco said, waving a hand.
Mike grabbed Ryan by the shoulders. “We’ll manage.”
Mike held a hand out for Marco to shake.
Marco took it. “See you in the morning,” he said, then shut the door on them for the night.
E
I
G
H
T
P.M.
Lexi had finished typing in the last entry when a guard approached with a late arrival, fresh from the med center.
“She’s a riot intake, not flu,” the guard said. This diagnosis seemed hasty to Lexi. The girl did not look well.
“Shaila Dixit,” she mumbled, eyes bloodshot and scanning the inside of the JCPenney as if ready to run at the least provocation.