He knew he’d have to turn himself in at some point. There was no way he could make it for long as a fugitive. But in order for him to surrender, he needed to be sure that whoever arrested him wasn’t going to tear him to shreds. To be sure of that, he had to know why people were attacking him. Was it some kind of conspiracy? Was it some weird psychological thing? Had he become such a loser that people were turning on him like a wolf pack on a wounded dog?
Worry about where to go next, he reminded himself. Nothing came to mind, so he tried to break down what he needed.
It had to be devoid of people.
He had to be able to hide the car.
He had to have an exit.
Finding an out-of-the-way motel was useless if he couldn’t check in without the clerk murdering him. He also knew he couldn’t barge into someone’s house and hold them hostage. Besides the moral problems of that, he couldn’t imagine how he would restrain said person if every moment they were focused on killing him.
What about an abandoned house? South Florida was filled with empty houses that were either for sale or foreclosed by the bank. He’d have to break in. From there he could open the garage door and park the car.
That reminded him of something. He thought for a moment. Of course! When Rachel had kicked him out, one of the station interns had told him his grandparents were looking for someone to rent their house. Mitchell had even gone out to look at it before deciding it was too far. He still knew the code for the door.
It was forty minutes from where he was and not too far off from two main highways. It was also two cities over and in the next county. He didn’t know how much that would help him evade the police, but it had to at least buy him some time.
It was a quiet neighborhood where most of the houses were owned by people who lived out of state. Mitchell remembered that almost half the houses had ‘For Sale’ signs. That meant he was less likely to be confronted by neighbors.
He knew staying there wasn’t the best idea. But for the moment, it was the only idea. Mitchell tried to remember how to get there.
Even if just for the night he could hide out, he would have some time to at least plan what to do next and hopefully figure out what the hell was wrong with him.
Mitchell saw the sign that said “Sunny Acres” and pulled into the community. It was a planned development from the 1970s where all the streets were laid out in a grid. Palm trees and flat lawns in uniform rectangles lined the streets. There was a community center and a pool toward the middle. The single-story houses were built from three basic designs and painted from a limited color palate.
They all looked the same to Mitchell. Only the random rust stains from the sprinklers differentiated them. He couldn’t remember which one was the right one. The last thing he wanted to do was barge in on an occupied house. He drove down one road and then up another.
There were cars parked sporadically in different driveways. It seemed like there were even more ‘For Sale’ signs than last time. One house looked vaguely familiar. He pulled into the driveway and tried to figure out what to do next.
If he knocked on the door and somebody answered, that could be messy. His best bet was to knock and then run back into the car and wait to see if someone answered. It was a coward’s plan, and he knew it. It was all he had.
Mitchell turned off the car and walked up the walkway to the house. It looked very familiar. He got to the door and looked at the keypad. He decided to just try the code and open the door and look. He knew he could run back to the car if he heard anyone.
Fortunately, his mind didn’t blank like it did with his ATM card. He keyed in the code. The door unlocked. From behind, he heard a car pass. Mitchell almost pissed himself.
The car kept driving. Mitchell relaxed and looked inside the house. It was completely empty. He’d expected that but wanted to be certain. He shouted, “Hello!” His voice echoed through the house.
He looked back at the car in the driveway. The sooner he hid it, the better. He stepped into the house and walked through the barren kitchen and into the garage. He fumbled for the switch and opened the door. Mitchell remembered the intern, Mike, telling him that his grandparents had kept power to the house so the air conditioning would keep the moisture low. Apparently other people didn’t do that with their empty property and that caused mold and other damage. Mitchell was just glad he didn’t have to figure out how to open the door by hand.
He pulled the car inside the garage and lowered the door. He was reasonably certain that no one had seen him. He felt safe for the moment. But for how long? If they cast a wide enough net, would they find him there?
His name wasn’t attached to the house, not directly at least. Mitchell walked back into the house and peered through the front blinds and looked down the street. What next?
16
The entire mall was essentially a crime scene. A narrow path had to be cordoned off with yellow tape to show people where they could and couldn’t walk. To Rios, it felt like the line through a haunted house. Only this one was filled with real bodies and stretched the length of the shopping mall.
They followed the path to the front of the food court. Tables and chairs were flipped over. Spilled drink cups covered the floor, mixing with food and puddles of blood. Rios could spot two places where firefighters had to put out grease fires on unattended grills.
Brooks motioned for them to follow him. He pointed to the other entrance to the food court. “That’s where it looks like everyone came through.”
Bloody footprints led away from the narrow corridor between the coffee shop and the cookie store. Overturned chairs and tables were shoved to the sides. Some, from the looks of it, pushed aside by first responders trying to make a path. Others, from the trails of blood, by the mob of people rushing through there.
Rios could make out three outlines of bodies on the ground. Blood was so thick someone had to lay down floor mats so paramedics and firefighters didn’t track it into the mall and leave their own layer of bloody footprints.
“We think this is where it started. There was some kind of disruption and everyone came out of the food court and into the atrium.”
“A disruption?” asked Simmons. “Do we have any idea what kind of disruption could cause this kind of panic?” She looked at one of the restaurants that had scorch marks where the firefighters had put out a small fire. “Was it over that?”
Brooks shook his head. “I don’t think so. We think the small fires happened after the fact. We won’t know until we get a look at the security cameras.” He pointed down the mall. “After they left the atrium, they went down that way.”
“Shit.” To Rios it looked like something out of National Geographic. The bloody footprints marked a path straight down the mall, tracing out a path of destruction. There were more overturned kiosks, scattered shoes and clothes. Planters were knocked over, leaving piles of dirt and palm trees in the middle of the floor. Pieces of broken window glass were scattered around. And then there were bodies under sheets. Lots of bodies.
The bodies seemed to be clustered near choke points at places where people had run into obstructions or had been too slow and just got overrun by the crowd.
Rios tried to imagine what could cause that kind of panic. He looked over at Simmons. She just shook her head.
They followed the path down the mall. Since most of the destruction was on the right side, the path stayed mainly on the left side of that wing. Forensic techs were scattered around taking photographs. Others were putting down numbered markers and gathering blood samples.