They passed by a woman in her late thirties with chestnut hair and freckles whose neck was wrapped in white gauze. A bright red blood stain was soaking through. She leaned against the wall, cradling herself.
“You take their cell phones away?” asked Rios. So far he hadn’t seen anyone talking into one.
Brooks turned around. “Huh? No. Why?”
Simmons looked around the entrance. She couldn’t see anyone with a cell phone out, either. That was kind of odd. Usually the first thing people did in a crisis was pull their phone out. She lost track of the number of times she had to ask people to put down their phone so she could ask them questions.
“People mostly dropped everything. The women let go of their bags.” He pointed toward the slacks of a young Hispanic man. They were ripped along the sides. “A lot of pockets got pulled open as people tried to claw through.”
As they left the first triage area, Simmons took one last look. In some ways it looked like a brawl had taken place but with a few differences. There were lots of bruised and broken noses from flying elbows, but there weren’t that many facial scratches. Necks and shoulders, to be sure, but it looked like people were violently trying to inflict damage only as they moved through the crowd. There weren’t a lot of injuries that looked like retribution for not letting someone pass by.
Past the entrance on the interior of the mall, there was a small field unit where a cluster of doctors and nurses were working on the more seriously wounded. Through huddled shoulders they could see a woman with both legs completely fractured. On another stretcher was a man with his face was caved in.
They heard the sound of a helicopter fly overhead and land somewhere on the roof. Brooks pointed toward the other end of the mall where they were headed. “They’re medevacing people out via helicopter on the far end.” He pointed to the small medical unit. “This isn’t the worst of it.”
They walked further down the mall toward the center atrium. Most of the shops had lowered their gates. Simmons assumed that the clerks were being sequestered elsewhere. That part of the mall looked relatively normal besides the shuttered doors in the middle of the day. There was a group of people toward the back in a cordoned-off department store watching them. They looked unharmed.
“This end of the mall, the part under the roof, didn’t know what was going on. They just heard the commotion and then saw the people falling,” said Brooks.
Simmons walked over to a young sales clerk in front of a women’s clothing store. She had tears streaming down her face as she watched the people being taken inside and treated. Mascara ran across her delicate cheekbones.
“Excuse me, miss,” said Simmons. “Are all of your salespeople here?”
The young girl shook her head. “Phil and Steve are still gone.”
“Who are Phil and Steve?” asked Simmons. “Did they work here, too?”
The girl nodded. “They heard the screaming from the food court and ran down there to see what was going on. Nobody can tell me if they’re OK.”
Simmons clasped the girl on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll find out.” She turned to Brooks. “When are we releasing people?”
“As soon as we get a head count and contact information.” He looked over at the girl. “We’ll have someone come get you to go home soon.”
The girl nodded.
Brooks continued to lead Rios and Simmons toward the food court. When they rounded a bend, the atrium came into view. Overturned kiosks, shopping bags, food trays and drinks were thrown all around. Simmons could see three bodies under sheets. It looked like a plane crash minus the plane.
“Holy crap,” she exclaimed.
“We haven’t even got to the bad part,” said Brooks.
The Naked Man in the Forest had been feeling uneasy. He let the Otherself do what he was supposed to do, but he was having second thoughts. He stole away from where he was supposed to be and came to the forest place.
A light rain had made it damp. Mosquitoes swarmed and kept biting him, but he ignored them. He had to speak to the Earth Mother.
He sat there, staring at the oak tree, as large red welts began to cover his naked flesh. He ignored the urge to scratch and waited. He had another Ziploc bag in his pants. His Otherself pants, he corrected. If she didn’t show herself, then he’d take a blotter to let him see what his mind was denying him.
He looked over at the khaki pants folded on a nearby rock. Should he?
From the corner of his eye he saw something move on the oak. He sat upright and put the thought out of his mind.
Vines and leaves began to form the familiar face. Oh, how he wanted to touch it, to kiss it, to be part of it.
What is wrong, my child?
He tried to find the words. “The Otherself. He … he may have made a mistake.” Yes, the Otherself did it.
What has he done? My eggs?
“Your eggs are fine for now. They’re safe. It’s just that I fear the ones who trust the Otherself may grow suspicious. They may know that he plots.”
The Otherself is so important to us right now. You must make sure that he doesn’t lose their trust.
“I know, Earth Mother. It’s just that the Otherself made choices. Some of them hasty ones. He has powerful friends. If they find out what he’s done…”
My eggs, child. My eggs are all that matter. When the Otherself is no longer useful to us, then bring them here.
“Yes, Earth Mother.”
15
Mitchell avoided the freeway and drove along U.S. 1 for a few miles. Although it was much slower with the traffic lights, he had more potential exits if he thought he was being followed.
He’d seen how the police set up roadblocks on exits and parked police cars with spotters on overpasses when they wanted to stop someone on I-95. Once they spotted you there, they could close down whatever they needed to pin you down. Game over. At least on U.S. 1, he had a sliver of a chance of losing a police car if they decided to follow him. Or at least he hoped so.
When he began to get nervous about staying on the same road for too long, he decided to drive a few miles to the west to catch up with State Road 7. Waiting to make the turn, he saw a helicopter flying by low overhead. His knuckles clenched the wheel until he saw it was a medivac chopper. He relaxed. When he saw it head toward the mall, he felt anxious again.
He hadn’t seen as many ambulances racing toward the mall, which he took as a good sign, until he realized that they might have run out of them. In the distance he could see another helicopter. It belonged to the local news station. The scale of what had just happened was starting to build.
Mitchell looked at the radio in the car but was too terrified to turn it on to his station. He’d have to find out what was going on in the rest of the world but not at that moment. Especially when he was out in the open in a stolen car, already panicked.
He had no idea where to go. He couldn’t drive forever. He needed a safe place. There wasn’t a chance in hell he’d try calling one of his friends. From reading the police bulletins on the fax, he knew the two fastest ways to get caught were to get reported to the police when you scared someone or to have a scared friend report you when you went to them for help. Besides, he realized, he really didn’t have any friends that he trusted enough to count on.
He knew calling his family was out of the question. The last thing he needed was to send his mother or sister into a panic. They both lived in California and wouldn’t be of much help anyway. He hadn’t talked to them in weeks. He could deal with them later.
Going back to his apartment was out. That’d be the first place the police would come looking. But what if he barricaded himself in there? He shook his head. The SWAT team or whoever they sent after him could be in there in seconds and then… He didn’t want to think about that part.