No Dawn Without Darkness

  “Okay,” I mutter.

  We find a corner and sit shoulder to shoulder. We place our glow sticks in front of us on the floor. I stare at them as if they are the dying embers of a fire. I think of marshmallows. Maddie is somehow able to fall asleep. I feel her breathing gently on my shoulder. I watch the glow sticks fade, knowing that even if I shake them brighter, they will only grow dim again.

  • • •

  Maddie’s coughing jostles me awake. She is folded over her bent knees, hacking and wheezing. Each inhale is a quick suck of air, like she’s drowning, and each exhale a slow whine.

  I snap on my flashlight and begin pawing through her bag. Every tube I pull out is a glow stick—where’s the goddamned inhaler?

  I dump the bag. Stuff rolls everywhere. I pounce on the inhaler and pass it to Maddie.

  She takes a single pull.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t have slept in a dusty stockroom,” she manages between gasps of air.

  The air is thick and still, and the corpse smell has increased by, like, a billion. Even through my mask, these things are obvious.

  “We should get out of here,” I say.

  “Moving makes it worse,” she whispers. “Just give me a minute.”

  “Shouldn’t you hit the inhaler again?”

  “It’s nearly empty.”

  Meaning she isn’t sure this will be the last attack, or the worst. She’s saving her breaths.

  “I’m going to look for drugs,” I say.

  “I’m not sure now is the time to experiment with getting high, dearest.” Maddie takes a sip of water, closes her eyes.

  “Inhalers,” I say, trying to gather the contents of her bag from the shadows. “They have to have medication in here for regular diseases, right? I mean, they took down people’s illnesses that first night. It must have been for a reason.”

  Maddie shrugs. “I just can’t believe I wasted puffs those nights we tried to get into the parties.” She holds up the measly little life-saving cylinder. “I never even got to dance.”

  “Choking to death and you’re still thinking about parties,” I say.

  “Focus on the good stuff, right?”

  • • •

  Harry’s has two floors. If it were up to me, I’d keep the drugs in the second-floor stockroom, which is the place farthest from the only accessible entrance. I leave my bag and Grim Reaper cloak with Maddie and head out, picking my way across the first floor to the escalators.

  There are no curtains on the second floor, so my flashlight illuminates the whole place. It’s just bodies on cots. Row after row after row. Dead bodies. Like a cemetery without the dirt. Then one coughs. I have to keep going.

  One foot in front of the other, I shuffle between the cots, flashlight beam scanning the faces to see if any are alive enough to attack me. After the first few, I shine my beam elsewhere. I knock into a cot and a bloated arm flops against my leg. I keep walking. Groans in the dark. Screams from the mall outside. I keep walking.

  The stockroom door is open. Blocked by a body. Another gunshot victim. Why would anyone go on a shooting spree in this place? Like there wasn’t enough dying going on in here? What is wrong with people? And for a moment, I forget why I came here and am simply overwhelmed by the need to run. Run anywhere. Go anywhere else.

  But there is nowhere else to go. I pinch my skin until I can control my breathing. I wipe away my tears with a sleeve. I have to focus.

  Around the body, on the floor, are plastic bags and tubing, as if someone were tossing supplies like confetti.

  Supplies.

  My flashlight catches a stack of plastic boxes—one has a snarl of tubing sticking out. The first is full of catheter bags. Gross. The next has masks, the one after, gloves. And then, buried under all this useless stuff is a box marked TAMIFLU.

  I have heard of Tamiflu. There was something on the news, back when I had news, about the terrifying shortages of Tamiflu should there be a pandemic.

  What the hell is flu medicine doing hidden under all this other crap?

  The doctors were saving it. For what? Themselves? Fat lot of good that did them. Well, they can certainly spare some. I grab two doses—there’s only me and Maddie.

  Sweeping my light, I find a table covered in papers and doctor stuff, some pills, but no inhaler pumps. Then beds—not many. Maybe these were the special patients?

  Special how?

  I see two little girls—and Marco’s girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend? Who cares? I haven’t seen her since things were normal . . . I mean, more normal than this—but whatever, she hugged Marco. Lexi was so jealous, Maddie and I tried to comfort her by telling her about that complete jerk Kevin Reamer.

  God, Kevin Reamer. How awesome would it be if the only thing I had to worry about was whether Kevin still liked me?

  Focus! Okay, so Marco’s ex-girlfriend, two little girls—these three are alive-ish. I see them breathing, but they aren’t moving, and the ex-girlfriend doesn’t wake up even when I pinch her (through the sheet, of course).

  There are other beds, but I’m done exploring. Sick people in beds have nothing to do with Maddie and our immediate problem. Back to the table: useless paper, useless pills. I check the shelves behind it: nothing, nothing.

  I scan the rest of the wall. There. A cabinet. It’s been ransacked, of course. Knocked-over bottles, pill packets scattered like cards, a puddle of sticky, cough-syrupy-smelling goo. I rummage through the mess. Toward the back of the bottom shelf, mixed in with some tampons, I strike gold. One inhaler pump. Hallelujah!

  I grab the purse hanging on the side of the ex-girlfriend’s bed and jam in the inhaler pump, a big bottle of Tylenol, some antibiotics, and the tampons. The Tamiflu I leave in the pocket of my jeans. I slip the strap over my chest and head back out into the field of death.

  • • •

  “Look what I found!” I say, waving the pump over my head as I return to our stockroom on the first floor.

  Maddie shines her flashlight at me. “Just the one?”

  “At least we have one,” I say, forcing a smile. “That should last you—”

  “Is it full?” she interrupts. Her voice is part wheeze. “Doesn’t matter.” She takes several long pulls from her inhaler. “If we have a spare, then I’m living large while I can.”

  “Don’t waste that one.” There was only the one tube, Maddie!

  “This isn’t wasting, it’s using.” She takes a final pull. “With the air as crappy as it is, I’m going to suck them both dry in a day.”

  “Even with the mask?” I say. “Even if you wore two masks?”

  Maddie shrugs.

  This line of questioning is making me depressed. New subject. “So where should we start looking for Lexi?” I ask, pulling my cassock over my head.

  “Somewhere outside this morgue.” Maddie picks up her bag.

  It hits me. “The senator,” I say.

  “ . . . is a bitch?” Maddie finishes.

  “No,” I say. “I mean, yes, but she evacuated everyone who wasn’t sick, right? So the only drugs left in here are flu drugs, meaning maybe all the regular drugs are—”

  “In the HomeMart?” Maddie adds, her eyes widening.

  “Yes!” I squeal.

  “Holy crap,” Maddie says. “So we just have to break open the sealed security gates, knock out all of what remains of the stun-gun-wielding security brigade, and ask nicely if we might have some life-saving medicine from the woman who locked us out here to die.”

  “Har, har,” I say. “No, we find Lexi and then knock on the door and get the senator to let us in like she promised. Just because that idiot security guard didn’t know about her deal with us doesn’t mean that she wouldn’t honor it if we showed up with Lexi.”

  Maddie sighed. “So we just have to pray we find Lexi in this giant mall in the dark while avoiding being killed or worse by our fellow mallmates before I choke to death.”

  “Marco!” I say, finally feeling in control. “Like you said be
fore, he knows something about Lexi. And I just saw his girlfriend up in the stockroom. We trade that info for info on Lex.”

  Maddie considers my plan, then shrugs. “I have to admire your confidence.”

  “Let’s admire while we walk.”

  The plan will work. My plans always work.

  R

  Y

  A

  N

  INSIDE THE JCPENNEY

  When we finally reach the JCPenney, all we find is a maze of discarded racks and piles of clothing. Then we run across the first group of kids. They’re lying in the dark, some on cots, others on the floor, hugging. When they see Kris’s light, they cower.

  “We’ve got nothing! No food!” one says, throwing up his hands.

  “The Reign of Goldman?” Kris asks as we walk away.

  I nod. “His plan was to hustle kids for food.”

  We head out into the main part of the store. Dim light from the first-floor courtyard gives the place a spooky glow. As we search under cots and in piles of bedding, Kris and I whisper Shay’s and Preeti’s names, hoping they might come to us.

  The main areas are abandoned. I guess they’re too exposed. But there are more stockrooms to search. In them, we find other terrified kids, but no Shay. After the second one, I tell Kris to go in alone. He can search faster without me hanging off his arm.

  I keep thinking I hear something.

  “Goldman?” I recognize the voice as one of the security guys. “Hank, you in here?”

  I flatten myself against the wall.

  The security guy comes in through the main entrance, waves his flashlight around, and catches Goldman not twenty yards from me.

  “Christ, Marshall!” he yells.

  I drop to the floor and army-crawl away from the wall.

  “I saw you, Ryan Murphy!” he shouts.

  There’s a deep shadow in front of me. Must be some kind of hallway.

  “Tina was a good woman!” he shouts. He kicks garbage, scrapes a cot along the floor tiles to make it clear he doesn’t give a crap if I know where he is. “Not that an animal like you cares.”

  I drag my body slowly across the floor, trying not to disturb even the dust bunnies.

  “What I want to know is how you did it,” he continues. “I’m guessing you got her stun stick from her? Zapped her with that, then knocked her dead?”

  My hand hits wall. I pull myself up it, then shuffle deeper into the black.

  Fingers slap across my mouth.

  I bite at the flesh. I’m not going down easy.

  “It’s me!” Kris whispers into my ear. “I heard him and figured you’d make for this shadow.”

  Goldman doesn’t have Kris’s instincts. He’s heading in the opposite direction.

  “He only wants me,” I say. “You go, find Shay.”

  “Don’t be such a drama queen.” He shoves me. “Keep walking. The bathrooms are down here. We’ll hide in there.”

  I shuffle silently into the dark until my fingers find a door frame. I push open the door and we end up in what Kris’s light reveals to be a lounge.

  “Ladies’ room,” he says.

  We keep going, into the regular bathroom.

  “Help.” Someone’s in one of the stalls.

  Kris’s light swivels around. “Stall two,” he says.

  I stand to the side, then silently sweep the door open. I know this girl.

  “Preeti,” Kris says, and falls to his knees in front of her.

  It’s obvious she has the flu. She’s lying on the floor of a toilet stall, her forehead is hot, and she’s coughing blood.

  I check the other stalls. There’s no one else. But Shay came here looking for Preeti. She would have found her in the bathroom. Unless—

  “Did Shay find you?” I ask.

  Preeti doesn’t answer.

  Shay can’t be dead.

  “We have to get her out of here,” Kris says, mopping Preeti’s brow with a strip torn from his shirt.

  If Preeti’s alone in here, Shay must be dead.

  The door into the lounge squeals open. Kris shuts off his light.

  “Got you now, Murphy.”

  It doesn’t seem to matter if Goldman takes me or not. I go to stand, but Kris pushes Preeti into my chest.

  “Save her,” Kris whispers, “for Shay.”

  The door into the bathroom squeals open. Before I can say anything, Kris turns on his book light and flashes the mirrors. Blinding light bounces everywhere.

  Goldman yelps, throws an arm up to cover his face. Kris shoves him in the chest, pushing him through the doorway, and runs out of the bathroom. After that bright light, the dark is full of washed-out trails, like burn-in on a TV. I hold my hand over Preeti’s mouth.

  “You little asshole!” Goldman shouts. Doors open and close. Footsteps slap the tiles in the hall.

  He’ll kill Kris. Even once Goldman sees he’s not me, he’ll still do it. I have to get out there, stop him.

  Preeti groans.

  If I do that, I waste what Kris gave me: A chance. I can’t piss on a gift like that. But Preeti and I have to leave this bathroom. The second Goldman catches Kris and realizes his mistake, he’ll be back for me.

  There’s no way I can carry Preeti and walk. But I could drag her. I crawl through the dark to the door, then find the couch I remember seeing in the lounge. There was a torchiere lamp next to it. I grab the lamp and a seat cushion and haul both back to the bathroom.

  I feel my way across the tiles to Preeti, then snap the top and the base off the lamp, and rip the cord from the tube. I wrap Preeti’s chest to the cushion with it, then tie the ends and sling the loop across my chest. Using the lamp’s tube as a crutch, I drag both Preeti and myself out of the bathroom, through the lounge, and out into the store.

  Kris’s light bounces across the courtyard, toward the med center. I lean one arm against the wall of the entrance, shift the cord to pinch a different rib, and drag her toward the bottom of the nearest escalator. Just as I am about to step onto it, a light flashes on at its top. I sink into the deep shadow on the outside of the handrail.

  “Halt, security asshole!” It’s Marco.

  All around the second-floor railing, headlamps shine down. They focus on Kris and Goldman. Kris’s light goes out.

  “What is this?” Goldman says, hand shielding his eyes. He’s standing near a potted tree. The headlamps move like laser sights over his body.

  “Oh my god, it’s you!” Marco shouts. “Hey guys, it’s Hank Goldman, head of security!”

  Voices whoop and cheer.

  “Marshall! Kearns!” Goldman calls.

  “It’s even better that it’s you,” Marco continues. “Not only do we get retribution for the attack in the pet store, but I personally get to thank you for that lovely time you electrocuted my balls.”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  An arrow appears in Goldman’s chest. He cries for the other two guys again and falls to his knees.

  “Señors Kearns and Marshall, come on out!” Marco sounds like he’s running a goddamned game show.

  The headlamps flash around, searching the first floor. Other voices repeat Marco’s call, twisting the words into a chant.

  I hold Preeti tight. We are under the lip of the second-floor hallway, hidden by the bulk of the escalator. No way their lights can find us.

  The headlamps move on. Their voices echo from the opposite end of the mall. I lug Preeti across the courtyard, making for the dim shadow of the potted tree I saw next to Goldman.

  I find Kris searching his pockets. Goldman’s dead.

  “This guy is a gold mine,” Kris says, then laughs. “Gold-man, gold-mine. That’s humor.”

  “You seem happy for a guy who just almost got killed.”

  “The key word there is almost.” Kris pulls the Taser from Goldman’s belt. “I’m not dead yet!” he says in this weird accent. “Monty Python?”

  I shrug.

  “Kids these days,” he says. “U
ndo that cord before you’re cut in half.”

  We both fight with the knot I made using the plug.

  “You’re getting in the way,” he says, slapping my hand. He gets a nail in the loop and loosens the wire.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “Costuming elementary school musicals,” Kris says, “you get good at untying knots.”

  “For saving my life, you ass.”

  “It wasn’t only your life I was saving,” he says.

  The plug snaps and Kris catches Preeti and her cushion. Her breathing seems worse for having been dragged around.

  “She needs water, medicine,” Kris says.

  “The med center?”

  Kris hefts her into his arms, and we make for the old Harry’s.

  THE

  S

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  O

  R

  AUDIO LOG

  Day sixteen. This is my second daily audio report. Again, delivered to a machine. I assume this was your intention from the start, perhaps on the advice of counsel?

  The temperature in the HomeMart has risen to a stifling eighty degrees. Please investigate if there is some way to run the ventilation system from outside the mall. I am concerned that this stale air will only lead to a more rapid spread of the contagion. Not to be alarmist, but I also think I smell smoke.

  The rationing completed by security has resulted in our having food for at least three days. That was yesterday. Please call me back to let me know if you have a plan in place concerning bringing in additional food.

  A young boy was found ill last night. Security removed him from the facility to the great distress of his mother. When offered the choice of remaining in the HomeMart or leaving with her child, she left.

  My child and husband are out there in the mall. I have to assume at this point that Arthur is dead. His prognosis was not good before the power failed. Lying alone in the dark for days cannot have improved anything.

  But Lexi, my daughter. She could still be out there. And I am in here. I do not like what it says about me that I am more scared of going out there and finding her dead than staying in here and waiting for you to kill us all.

  As previously requested, please do call me back if you’re going ahead with that plan. It’s common courtesy to inform people before you blow them up. We dropped leaflets on Japan before the bomb.