That was the cue for everyone else to risk going inside. Amy found herself paired off with Anthony, who smiled at her encouragingly, almost like he could hear the frantic pounding of her heart, and led the way into the lobby.
It was cool and dark inside. The air smelled of old bleach and softly settling dust. It was the smell of dead places. Amy had grown all too familiar with it since they had started being forced to make the difficult decision to let parts of Disneyland close down. They needed the power. They couldn’t keep everything alive. And this building . . . this building wasn’t alive. She took a breath, gripped the strap of her tote bag a little harder, and walked on into the dead zone.
Footsteps echoed more loudly than they should have, like the quality of the air had changed in the absence of people. It was like walking the service corridors at Space Mountain. Amy tried to focus on the comparison. This hospital was just another ride that needed maintenance, allowed to wind down and sit fallow until the people could return. Anthony walked beside her without saying a word, and the soft crackle of voices from his walkie-talkie accompanied them down, down, down into the depths of the hospital.
“We found a maintenance room, but it’s empty — just some tools and a broken boiler.”
“No signs of human habitation in the cafeteria. We got some spices.”
The reports came in one after the other, along with Clover’s calm, impassive recitation of the medical supplies they’d managed to obtain from a locked storeroom — including a substantial supply of Lactaid, which they’d been needing at the Park for quite some time. Amy and Anthony continued to travel downward through the halls, accompanied by their own echoing footsteps.
Finally, Anthony stopped in front of a plain wooden door. It looked just like all the others to Amy, but something about it clearly meant more to him. “Here,” he said, and turned the knob. The door swung open easily, revealing the generator inside.
Amy clasped her hands together, eyes shining. They could save the Park. They could save everyone.
“Clover, we’re on the second basement level; get your team down here. We have visual.” Anthony smiled as he clipped his walkie-talkie back to his belt. “Well, Madame Mayor? Let’s get our hands dirty.”
It took almost half an hour to free the generator parts they needed, along with a few more that Anthony and Clover insisted on taking “just in case.” Everyone was relaxed and happily burdened down with what they had scavenged as they walked out of the hospital.
Perhaps that was why the ambush was so effective.
Gunmen appeared from behind the cars on either side of the parking lot and opened fire on the startled citizens of Disneyland when they were halfway to their vehicles. In the screaming and chaos that followed, Amy saw four people go down, one with half his face blown away, one with four bleeding bullet holes in her stomach. Anthony grabbed her arm. She put her head down and kept running, forcing her feet to move as terror tried to root them to the spot.
Clover was already at the car. She wrenched the doors open, and the others piled inside, accompanied by a hail of bullets.
“Is anyone hit? Is everyone all right?” demanded Amy, as Anthony shoved the keys into the ignition and the SUV roared to life. She twisted in her seat. Three more vehicles were following, leaving six people dead or dying on the ground. Oh, God. Please don’t let this have been for nothing. Please . . .
“Clover?” said Anthony.
“We’ve got all the parts we need,” said Clover.
“Oh, thank God.” Amy closed her eyes. Now that she wasn’t running for her life, she could feel the dull pain of the gunshot wound in her side. She clasped her hand over it, trying to stop the blood. The SUV roared through the silent streets, chewing up the miles between them and Disneyland. “What do you suppose they wanted, if they weren’t living in the hospital?”
“Some people may be afraid to go into medical facilities,” said Clover. “Letting us go in, and then taking whatever we found, would have been the logical compromise.”
“I hate logic.”
“Sometimes I hate logic, too.”
They drove on.
The raiders didn’t pursue them to Disneyland, perhaps content to pick over the bodies of the fallen. Anthony drove straight through Downtown Disney to the central plaza. “Security can stop me if they want to,” he said, and laughed — a wild, bitter laugh that was the only real sign of how much the encounter had disturbed him.
Amy opened her eyes when the SUV stopped. Tiffany and Skylar were running toward them across the plaza, the gates of Disneyland standing open. She smiled and opened the door, almost falling out before she caught herself on the frame. Tiffany and Skylar stopped, eyes wide and horrified. Amy looked down at herself.
“Ah,” she said. “I suppose that’s rather a lot of blood.”
“What?” said Anthony, turning to her. He paled. “Oh, God, Amy . . .”
“There wasn’t time. Done is done.” She undid her seatbelt, climbing down from the SUV before her legs buckled and sent her sprawling on the bricks. Tiffany and Skylar moved to help her up. She clung to their arms, distantly sorry about the bloody handprints she was leaving. “We got the parts,” she informed them. “We can fix the generator.”
“Amy . . .” whispered Tiffany.
“Get me inside,” said Amy.
With Tiffany on one side of her and Anthony on the other, the Mayor of Main Street allowed herself to be half-led, half-carried back into the Park that had become her home.
Anthony was the one who loaded her into a wheelchair from Guest Relations and pushed her through Adventureland to New Orleans Square. People peered out at them from shops and seating areas, but no one approached. Amy chuckled. Even living through the end of days hadn’t made most people any less squeamish about a little blood.
“You don’t have to do this,” Anthony said. “We just scavenged . . .”
“I’ve lost too much blood. I’m not letting you waste the resources.” The world was going pleasantly fuzzy around the edges. “Just get me to the Mansion.”
“Amy . . .”
“I’m still Mayor, aren’t I?” She smiled. “Do as you’re told.”
“You’re an imperious bitch sometimes, you know that?”
“I do.” There was a small bump as Anthony turned the wheelchair and began pushing it up a gentle slope. Amy didn’t need to open her eyes to see the artfully crumbling mansion in front of them, or the overgrown yard.
“Do you need me to carry you inside?”
“All riders must transfer past this point.” Amy grabbed the armrests and pushed, struggling to get to her feet. When she finally opened her eyes, everything was gray . . . but she had a little more in her. “Thank you, Anthony. Keep the lights on.”
“Anything for you, Madame Mayor,” he said. He was crying. She wanted to stop and comfort him, but there wasn’t time; she needed what little strength she had left if she wanted to make her way into the ride.
With a final smile, and a jaunty wave, Amy climbed the two low brick steps and walked into the Haunted Mansion, where the doors to the elevator — the famous “stretching room” — were standing ready. She stepped inside. There was a click behind her as Anthony pressed the hidden button, and then the voice of the Ghost Host was welcoming her to find a way out.