Silent Interruption (Book 2): Braving The Risk Page 5

  Ricardo, on the other hand, seemed unfazed by it all, or maybe he already had dealt with the carnage of this place and was happy to be alive. The boy walked briskly past the ravaged areas until he slowed down upon reaching the store’s rear wall. “Here,” he said with a smile. He approached a set of elevators.

  Preston frowned. “Wait, this elevator?” Ricardo had stopped in front of the left-hand elevator. “Why here? You know elevators don’t work anymore, right?”

  Ricardo then jabbed a bar between the elevator doors. There was already a slight gap between the doors, so it was easy. With a groan, Ricardo pushed, separating the elevator doors even more.

  “I know,” the boy said. “That’s why it’s perfect! Nobody suspects us here.” He pushed the doors open wider, about halfway apart from each other. Ricardo then stepped inside. “Here we are!”

  Ricardo patted a metal ladder that extended all the way up through the elevator car’s ceiling. One of the ceiling panels had been knocked out, permitting the ladder up into the elevator shaft. “See?” The boy pointed up the ladder. “Just climb up. Everyone else is up there.”

  Shyanne raced to the bottom of the ladder. “This looks like fun!”

  “Hold it.” Preston quickly stepped into the car. “I go before you.” He stared up the elevator car opening, but it was so narrow that it was hard to see. He didn’t exactly relish this idea, as he already had had his troubles with heights. He cringed while recalling his freak out on the tall highway overpass. But that was different. This was an enclosed building, without the high open air that petrified him, plus this elevator shaft was not nearly as high as the Earhart highway bridge. He should be able to handle this.

  Even so, he wanted a little more assurance from Ricardo. “Where does this go?” Preston asked.

  “The second floor. It’s been under construction for a while, so it was closed off,” Ricardo replied.

  Preston nodded. “Second floor.” He should be okay with that.

  “I will go first,” Ricardo said, taking hold of the ladder. “Better for me to tell everyone that company’s coming so they don’t get scared. Don’t want them to think you’re thieves!” Then he scampered up the ladder. “C’mon!” he cried once he was past the ceiling.

  Preston instructed Shyanne to stay behind him and to climb back down if Preston spotted trouble. Then he climbed onto the ladder and followed Ricardo into the elevator shaft.

  Upon entering the elevator shaft Preston cringed. It may not be as bad as the overpass, but the shaft still played hell with his nerves. The second floor was about six steps higher than the elevator car, which was probably five more steps than Preston had wanted to climb.

  “C’mon, Preston. You are a logical, reasonable human being. You are not going to fall.” Then he looked behind him. The top of the elevator car formed a floor next to him. The view actually helped. Now Preston realized there was solid ground close by. He could not fall very far if he should slip.

  He took another step, then another. By now Ricardo had reached the second floor. The elevator doors were fully open up there, and the ladder was propped up against the floor of the second story. Ricardo easily climbed off the ladder while climbing onto the floor above.

  “Hey!” Ricardo called to the people on the second floor, “I have found more survivors! They’re coming!”

  Preston reached the floor of the second story. A tall man approached and reached for him. “Here. Let me help.”

  Preston took his hand. “Thanks.” The stranger helped him up. Shyanne quickly emerged a few seconds later, climbing onto the floor as if it was nothing. Then she sprang up with a smile.

  “Well, hello,” the stranger said. “Nice to meet you.” Then he turned back to Preston. “My name’s Chad Bosworth.”

  “Preston Wilson.” Preston offered his hand. Chad shook it. “This is Shyanne. She and I have been traveling together with a couple of friends. It’s been a rough day. We’ve had a band of crazies on our tail.”

  “We’ve heard some commotion in the mall. Some of our friends went down to check it out. Ricardo’s the last one,” Chad replied, before raising his head to look over Preston’s shoulder. “Ricardo, go back down and shut the elevator doors.”

  Ricardo nodded cheerfully. “You got it!” He turned back to the open doors to fulfill his task.

  Preston wiped fresh sweat from his face. Now that he and Shyanne were up here, he was free to look around. As Ricardo had said, this story of the building was under construction, and judging from its appearance, completion still was weeks away. Except for the area by the elevators, the floor was bare, with no tiles or carpeting. The floor was also mostly open, with a few exceptions. Drywall panels walled off a square section in the middle of the floor, likely covering construction of an escalator meant to access this floor from below. Additional drywall was erected across the far-right side of the wall, while wooden support beams were lined up the left side, likely in preparation for future drywall installation.

  But it was the people here who truly caught Preston’s attention. Most of them were clustered on the left or right sides of the floor, some huddled up in the wooden frame on the left, while others were grouped behind the drywall on the right.

  “Welcome to our little refuge,” Chad said, with a bit of pride. “We’ve got about thirty people up here. Almost everyone was caught up in the madness when it hit.” Then he started walking. Preston and Shyanne followed. “A store manager and security guard who worked here started shepherding people up here when the looting started. The other guards took out most of the looters. The rest, they ran off. We didn’t get it bad. We later took in a few more people who said other malls in the city got it far worse.”

  Chad escorted Preston and Shyanne to the survivors behind the wooden frame. The smell of human sweat and body odor increased as Preston approached. Shyanne even pinched her nose. Sadly, no large openings to vent the air were visible. This floor was completely walled on all sides, without any other exits evident. The floor likely had been sealed off for construction, leaving only the air conditioning and heating system to ventilate the air. But the EMP had taken those out, leaving all these people in mostly stagnant air.

  Chad took hold of the nearest wooden support to brace himself. “Looks like we have visitors!” he said with a smile to the people inside. Then he quickly introduced Preston and Shyanne, who returned the gesture with hellos.

  Preston was struck by how normal these people looked. He counted three couples, likely in their late twenties or early thirties, with middle school-aged children seated with them. Another couple sported wrinkles and graying hair. And at the end were three teenagers nestled in the very back, one boy and two girls. Even Chad, with his thick brown hair, blue polo shirt and jeans, looked very normal.

  I’m so used to running into monsters that it’s shocking to see regular people, Preston thought.

  “Hey!” The teenage male pointed at Preston. “You’re Preston Wilson! I subscribe to your Facebook page, man! I love your speeches.”

  “Really?” Preston chuckled. Ordinarily, he would beam at the recognition, but he was too tired and wrung out from everything he had gone through. “Thanks. Funny thing, I just had finished one before all this happened.” He almost said he finished his “last one.” The thought was chilling, that he would never again speak before a Rally for Rights or participate in the kinds of political activities he relished.

  “It’s crazy, man,” the teen said. “I mean, what happened? Did we get nuked? Did we set off World War III?”

  The last newscast that Preston had watched flashed before his eyes. Preston had been in a coffee shop close by the Rally for Rights. The female newscaster on screen reported a strange explosion over the West Coast of the United States. She looked increasingly worried with each passing minute. But before she confirm the cause, the electricity cut out. Whatever happened up in the sky could remain a mystery to Preston and millions of people forever.

  Ordinarily, Preston w
ould argue that this whole catastrophe was America’s chickens coming home to roost. Iran, North Korea, or perhaps a rogue actor they were not familiar with finally decided to take out the United States’ power grid in response to decades of American imperial intervention. But as he gazed at the survivors, the desire to launch into another political tirade died in his throat. He simply wanted to rest and hope he had discovered a respite from this nightmare.

  Chapter Seven

  Shyanne, seated on the floor near a line of drywall, munched happily on the slice of wheat bread. Preston licked the inside of his mouth to cleanse his palette, having eaten some himself. Nearby, Chad nodded as he watched Shyanne eat.

  “Every time I see a child safe and sound, it makes me feel a little better.” He looked at Preston, his eyes narrowing, his voice quieting. “I’ve heard more than a few horror stories about the past twenty-four hours. I won’t share them, but God help anyone who gets caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  Preston wiped the crumbs from his lips. “I know. I’ve been caught in a few wrong places myself.”

  Chad nodded to Shyanne. She was occupied eating her bread. “I take it she’s seen better days.”

  Preston nodded and answered quietly. “My friends and I are taking care of her. She lost her father yesterday. It was outside of a drug store. Her mother’s been dead for years.”

  “Dear God.” Chad sighed.

  Preston glanced at the row of ice chests. None of them contained actual ice, as it would have melted into water eventually. Instead, they contained whatever food could be scavenged from throughout the mall. The survivors had stocked them full of provisions from the food court and vending machines, plus cookies from a cookie kiosk. But most importantly, they contained sizable quantities of water bottles. Chad had recounted that two of their fellow refugees went right for the small drink refrigerators near store cash registers and took all the water they could find.

  “That alone is keeping us afloat,” Chad had said.

  Preston scratched the back of his neck. “This is a pretty cool hiding spot. I give props to the guys who thought this up.” Then he turned to Chad. “But even so, you can’t think you’re going to sit around here forever. I mean, sooner or later your food’s going to run out.”

  “I know.” Chad sighed. “We’re just taking this one step at a time. We were thinking of clearing out when we spotted those men coming inside. Believe me, I’d be willing to take them on if it meant everyone else could escape, but we have some seniors, families, and children here. I don’t want to take that chance.”

  Preston glanced at the gun on his belt. “I’ve only got two bullets left.”

  “That’s more than we have. Jake and Palermo, they worked in the mall as guards, but they’re out of ammo from taking out the first wave of looters. A few batons, tasers, that’s all we got.”

  “Yeah, well, I got a former Marine sergeant with me who probably could take them all out with what you got,” Preston said with a laugh.

  “Oh yeah, that Carl Mathers you told me about,” Chad said, with a smile. “Sounds like somebody we’d all love to meet.”

  Preston balled up a fist. “And he’s still out there with Tara. He’s not going to know where we are. If he took out those goons by the food court, by now he’ll head to the east exit, but he won’t find us. He may be searching for us right now.”

  “Look, we could use his help, believe me,” Chad said. “If you can find out if the mall’s clear of those men, maybe we can think of getting out of here.”

  “But I’m going back down there. I’m going to need something more to fight with. Once I waste these bullets, I got nothing. Then I can’t fight worth a damn.”

  “We can lend you a baton, maybe a taser,” Chad said.

  “That would leave you without anything to fight with.” Preston clasped the sides of his head. “No, I’ve got to think of something. Maybe this store has something I can use.” He shook his head. “Forget it. It was pretty smashed up when I got here.”

  Ricardo approached him. “There’s a fitness store next door. It wasn’t looted. Maybe you can find something there.”

  “Fitness, huh?” Preston smiled. “Well, it’s better than nothing. Maybe I can fling a barbell at those guys.”

  “Actually, I think they have self-defense supplies in there, too,” piped up a woman seated nearby. “I have a friend who shopped there for her martial arts class.”

  Preston suddenly smiled. “Well, how about we check it out?”

  “Damn!” Carl muttered. He had been so wrapped up in getting ready to pursue Cyrus that he had failed to check his rear flank. Now he and Tara would pay dearly for it, unless he gained the upper hand, and quickly.

  “Where did you assholes come from?” Carl asked. Tara had mentioned five intruders approaching. Carl had accounted for all of them in the food court. She must not have spotted these two.

  Drake pointed his thumb in the other direction. “We took an exit down there.” He chuckled. “Dumbass. This place has got tons of ways in and out.”

  Carl winced when he realized Drake was pointing in the same direction he had sent Preston and Shyanne. He hoped he would be the only one to pay for his miscalculations. He never would forgive himself if his instructions resulted in the little girl’s death.

  “Carl!” Tara shouted as she jumped up. She smashed her rifle right into the face of the older man. It didn’t knock him down, but it did make him brace his face with his hands to stifle the pain.

  “Tara! Run!” Carl tried to gather his bearings to fight, but he was too winded. Instead, he tackled Drake before he could take a swing at Tara. Tara then turned her gun toward Ron and pulled the trigger.

  Nothing happened.

  “Dammit, I’m out!” she cried.

  “Never mind, just go!” Carl shouted. He was in trouble. His legs were shaking and his grip slipping. He hadn’t positioned himself well when he first had grabbed Drake. Even this young punk was starting to break free.

  Tara hesitated. For a moment, it seemed she would defy Carl’s orders. “Tara,” he said, intending to shout, but his heavy panting made speaking almost impossible.

  Finally, she turned and fled. That actually gave Carl the added inspiration to grip the man harder.

  “Hey! Knock it off you turd!” Drake screamed.

  Suddenly, Ron seized Carl and flung him to the floor. Carl cried out in pain. This was not his day for getting thrown to the ground. His wrestling coach would be disappointed in him if he had seen him today.

  Drake rubbed his neck. “Damn. This guy’s a frigging walking mountain. Look at those muscles. Is he a pro wrestler or something?”

  “Whoever he is, let’s have a little fun with him before Cyrus shows up.” Ron then reached down and seized Carl by his shirt, hoisting him up on his feet. Carl may have been well trained as a soldier, but even he could not sustain this many physical blows and remain at his peak.

  “Yeah!” Drake balled up a fist. “Let me get in one hit. I want to belt this guy for what he did to me.”

  Carl then smiled. Ron wasn’t going to get his chance, though, thanks to the bat in Tara’s hands. The wooden Louisville Slugger smacked the man who held Carl hard in the back. Ron let out a cry as he released Carl, who quickly steadied himself.

  Drake only could exclaim, “Oh shit!” before Carl punched him good in the face. He went down easily, tumbling and rolling next to his partner.

  Carl then turned to Tara. “You don’t take orders very well,” he said.

  Tara tossed him the bat. “Guess I’d suck as a soldier after all.”

  He didn’t have time to retort as rapid footsteps approached. Cyrus saw that the shooting was over and must have figured he had a good chance to take out Carl. “C’mon, let’s get out of here!” Carl cried.

  Tara followed after him. “No need to tell me twice!”

  Cyrus jogged back down the corridor from the food court. “The rats are fleeing.” He bit his lip so hard he
cut into it, releasing a trickle of blood. “Damn them! Damn them both! I’ll make them pay for shooting at me!”

  He suddenly stopped as a bout of whimpering caught his ear. John had crawled up to a bench, where he was clutching his leg. Blood coated his pant leg. “Scott…they killed him…they killed him!”

  Cyrus glanced at Scott’s still body. He snorted. “So he is.” Then he turned and walked away, starting to pass by John.

  “Cyrus, I’m bleeding here!” John said, tears trickling down his cheeks.

  “Then wrap it up and get your ass in gear. You want revenge? Go get it. That’s the way this world works now,” Cyrus said.

  “You sound just like Jason,” Whitney said as she rejoined him from the direction of the food court. Ilario followed close beside her.

  “He’s going to be pissed,” John said. “He’s going to be royally, royally pissed if we don’t ice those maggots.”

  A tremor ran through Cyrus’s body. The mention of Jason Malatesta was the one thing that could cow Cyrus Walker. He would not waste any more time talking. He had prey to stalk, and quickly, or he might find himself on the wrong end of Jason Malatesta’s hunt.

  He looked down at Ron and Drake lying on the ground. The pair moaned and grumbled, with Drake rubbing his face while Ron was rolling onto his side, trying to prop himself up.

  “Get up! Now!” Cyrus glared in the direction where Carl and Tara had fled. “We’ve got to show Jason some meat, or it could be our asses.”

  Carl dared to glance behind them for only a second. So far their pursuers were well behind, but that might not last. He and Tara would run out of mall space soon. They would hit the back end of the mall, where they probably would run into a department store or perhaps the rear exits. But that was also the direction he told Preston and Shyanne to flee. He might risk leading those men toward Preston and Shyanne if they kept fleeing this way.