Chapter 1: The Group
“Give it back before I beat the piss out of you!” Nestor Slaten shouted, forcing the words through his clenched teeth. Rising from his seat, Nestor stood a foot taller than the chubby, young man before him.
“Listen Nest-”
“Hand it over NOW!” Nestor’s shouts chimed out above the chatter of the Mall food court, drowning out Tommy’s pleas.
With a sweep of the leg, Nestor brushed aside a metal chair; the only thing standing between him and Tommy. His angry gaze locked onto Tommy’s left hand. The hand which clung tight to Nestor’s cell phone.
Swallowing hard, Tommy took a step back. “I told you to turn it off,” he said, trying his best to remain calm. A rational conversation was something that Tommy desperately wanted to have with Nestor, but he knew it was pointless. Once Nestor flipped his lid about something, there was no going back.
Sensing the rising escalation, a nearby mall employee closed her laptop and relocated to the center of the food court. Dozens of people from all walks of life busily ate their early lunches and did their best to ignore the five rowdy high schoolers seated near the bathrooms.
Curling his fingers into his palms, Nestor took a step forward.
Tommy braced for impact.
“Calm down Nes,” Darla offered, her eyes darting between her friends and a pair of uniformed officers posted at the opposite entrance of the food court. She too stood from her aluminum chair and stepped towards the boys. She had known Nestor and Tommy longer than she can remember and had seen this situation play out many times. It never ended well for Tommy.
“Don’t tell me to calm down, I want my phone back,” Nestor shouted at her, keeping his gaze locked on Tommy.
“Tommy’s just going to turn it off, like he asked you to do,” suggested Darla. “Aren’t you Tommy?” Darla glanced over at Myron and Vlatko, hoping they would help intervene. They stared and said nothing.
Tommy nodded in reassurance to Darla’s request, even though deep down he did not want to move a muscle. He knew that doing so would quickly provoke Nestor’s violent streak. It didn’t have to come to this, Tommy thought. He wished Nestor had listened to him and silenced his phone, like the others did. He also wished that the cryptic call from his Father had come at a better time or a better place, but it didn’t. The mall food court was not an ideal location to learn that the world was about to end.
Taking another step closer, Nestor spoke slowly, “Give it back.” He lunged for the shiny, black rectangle in Tommy’s hand.
“I can’t,” Tommy pleaded, twisting his body to keep Nestor’s phone away. If only he could tell them the truth, Tommy thought. Tell them that their world was about to change, forever. Tell them that there was nothing they could do about it. Maybe even tell them how he and his father came to know of this, but in the end it was no use. They wouldn’t understand. The only thing they needed to know now was that answering the phone would dash any chances they had of surviving the protocol. Sadly, asking a teenager to not use a cell phone was a lofty request.
Nestor surged forward for a second attempt and Tommy dodged. As he did, Nestor’s phone vibrated to life. Beethoven’s 5th symphony, composed entirely of farts, emanated from his hand. Tommy swallowed hard and spiked the phone to the floor.
Nestor watched in horror as his phone skipped across the tile. Coming to a rest in one piece, the thing lit up, illuminating a spider-web like design, permanently etched across the face. The already weakened dam, holding back seventeen years of hormonal rage, cracked and Nestor jumped on Tommy.
Entranced by the sights and sounds beyond, Darla shifted her attention out to the food court. Each and every phone in the building appeared to be going off at once. A rising crescendo of buzzing and ring tones called out. Feeling her own vibration, Darla instinctively reached into her back pocket and removed her phone. Tommy’s words played back in her head, “Turn it off, silence it. No matter what happens or who calls, do not answer it.” Darla stared at the words ‘emergency’, which flashed across the screen. There was no number. She refrained from sliding the green circle and answering it. Looking up, Darla watched as every person around her did the exact opposite. They all swiped to answered the call. In an instant, the buzz and chatter of the Melwood Mall food court ground to a complete halt.
Men, Women, cashiers, custodians, even the two police officers stood in eerie silence, all with devices pressed against their ears. They held trays of food and shopping bags. Some had money in hand, while others stood behind open cash registers. Not a muscle moved or a word spoken. Like statues frozen in time, they stood in whatever their last action had been, staring off into their own personal unknown.
Darla’s attention zeroed in on a woman in the center of the dining area.Frozen and bent over a stroller, she held her phone in one hand and reached to pick something of the ground with the other.
Myron and Vlatko on the other hand, remained engrossed in the ‘beat down’ that Tommy was receiving. They felt bad for Tommy and truly did want to stand up for him, however they had formed a strict, non-intervention policy years ago regarding Nestor’s outbursts. As a group, it had become an unspoken agreement to let Nestor fizzle out, then wait for an apology.
“Tommy does kind of deserve it,” Myron remarked with a grin.
“He started, yes, but why Nestor have to be ass about it?” Vlatko added, his Russian accent still heavy despite living in America for over three years.
Nestor, now straddled atop Tommy, on the cold, hard floor, began pounding the young man with an amount of force just beyond the threshold of horseplay. Deep down Nestor wanted to hold back, but he had little control. The intensity of his blows increased.
Tommy tried to beg Nestor to stop, but every attempt at bargaining earned him another jab to the stomach; sucking the words back inside.
Ignoring the muted pads of Nestor’s fists against Tommy’s midsection, Darla reached back and grabbed Vlatko’s shoulder. She motioned to the people spread out across the food court.
At first, Vlatko did not understand who or what he was supposed to be looking at. How are a bunch of weirdos standing around, more important than watching Nestor work out his frustrations on Tommy, Vlatko thought? It took a few moments before Vlatko fully realized the complete lack of activity in the food court. The only noise he heard was hum of the air conditioning which presided over the creepy stillness. Vlatko felt as if he were in a museum. Not sure what to say, he turned back to Darla with a shrug. As he did, the cries of an infant rang out. It came in spurts from the center of the dining area and quickly grew into a piercing wail that echoed off the high, flat walls. Nestor’s slaps and Tommy’s grunts were no longer audible over the unconsoled infant.
Still, not a soul moved. It made no sense to Vlatko. He stood up and cupped his hands over his mouth, ready to shout, but Darla took hold of his arm, halting his outburst.
A tray of food clanged to the floor near the gyro counter; and in that moment, Darla, Vlatko, and the rest of their friend’s lives changed forever.
A well groomed man, wearing tight fitting clothes and a military beret, sprinted towards the center of the food court. With the exception of his stylish, squeaky sneakers, he made no noise as he ran.
His silent speed, sent a quiver through Darla’s chest. Where was he going, she thought? And why is no one else moving?
The running man came to a stop next to the pastel stroller in the center of the dining area. The same pastel stroller that contained the screaming child, it’s mother still forever bent over, retrieving a lost item. Without warning, without provocation, the running man latched onto the stroller and swung it in a wide arc around his body like an Olympic athlete. Two full revolutions later, and the man let go. The stroller, with its beautiful pastel patterns and precious cargo, sailed over the statues.
The quiver in Darla’s chest spread throughout her body like an electric current. The baby’s screams burrowed deep inside her, making a home that would last the rest of her life.
The stroller smashed through a sneeze guard and tumbled back behind the restaurant counter, before falling silent.
Frozen in complete shock, Vlatko stared at the running man, who now turned turned his attention to the mother. She was still bent low where the stroller had once been. Running man lifted his leg and proceeded to stomp on the mother.
All at once, the statues in the mall food court reanimated, turning on one another like wild dogs. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from the violent film that was taking place.
“You hit like a girl,” chuckled Myron.
“I’ll hit you like a girl in a minute,” Nestor fired back.
“Get off of me.”
The familiar voices reeled Vlatko back in. It was not a movie. It was really happening, he thought. He couldn’t believe it or understand it, but it was happening; and it would happen to him if those morons didn’t keep quiet. Spinning around, Vlatko asked his friends to shut up as softly as he could. As was expected, they continued, ignoring Vlatko’s request.
“Give me my phone,” growled Nestor.
“I can’t, you idiot, I don’t have it anymore.”
“I know you can’t, and that’s why I’m not getting off,” replied Nestor from his perch atop Tommy’s chest.
Vlatko jabbed a knuckle into the backside of Myron’s ribs, expecting to get his attention quietly.
“OWWW!” Myron shouted, flopping around in his seat. His voice echoed through the hollow cavity of the mall food court as if it were a newly discovered cave system. Vlatko shook his head in frustration.
Myron hopped up and away, turning to face his attacker. Seeing that it was Vlatko, he gave a cheesy grin and rubbed the spot where he had been poked. Slowly noticing the panic written across Vlatko’s face, Myron dropped his playful act. Looking beyond he saw the frenzy that had transpired outside the confines of their ignorant teenage bubble.
A majority of the mall patrons had coalesced into a mob in the center of the dining area. Around the perimeter, restaurant workers, wearing aprons and serving gloves, crawled over counters to join the melee. They choked and clawed, punched and kicked, some even used knives and other utensils. Rather than run, the customers returned blows, with whatever was at their disposal. Chairs, cash registers, food trays, sporks, anything and everything that wasn’t bolted down was fashioned into a weapon.
“What the…?” for the first time in his life, Myron did not know what to say. It was like watching a movie with the sound turned down. No yelling, no shouting, all he heard was the faint scuffling of shoes against tile and fists pounding on flesh. He searched for a joke, something to lighten the mood, but nothing came. Myron felt truly afraid.
Vlatko could see the fear written across Myron’s face, for it was the same fear the he felt. A fear that had visited him many times before. Growing up in Russia, Vlatko witnessed horrible things. He had never shared those things with his friends and now was not the time. Now was also not the time to stand and watch as the situation worsened. Vlatko grabbed Darla and beckoned her to help pull Nestor off of Tommy.
Like a petrified rabbit staring down its stalker, Myron watched a cluster of people which had formed a few yards away. Two janitors and a soccer mom tore and yanked at a businessman on the floor. The middle aged soccer mom held the man’s head between her hands and slammed it against the tile floor between her knees while the two mall janitor’s tore at the man’s black suit. Again and again, she forced his head into the tile, her ponytail flipping about her head with each impact. All of a sudden, as if a referee whistle had sounded, the attackers stopped. The woman released her grip, letting the business man’s head fall into a large pool of crimson that had collected on the tile. The janitor’s turned on each other; one going for the throat, the other sinking his thumbs into eye sockets.
The soccer mom, refrained from combat. Her dead eyes locked on Myron. There was no expression on her face. No anger, no fury.
“Hey guys?” Myron called back over his shoulder.
The woman stood up, her blood covered, light blue tank top clung tight to her body. She was in great shape, Myron noted to himself.
Vlatko and Darla swarmed Nestor’s arms, pulling him off Tommy and onto the ground. Red hot, Nestor glared back.
“We need to go,” Darla ordered, pointing to the mayhem.
“You can be such a jerk-off, you know that,” Tommy said, finally catching his breath. He sat up and fumbled for his glasses.
“It is not safe,” Vlatko said, extending a hand to Tommy and hoisting him to his feet. Cupping both hands on Tommy’s shoulders, Vlatko spun his friend around.
Placing the bent glasses gingerly on his swollen nose, Tommy peered out at the new world. His focus closed in on the two officers at the far end who were now exchanging blows with their batons. “Wow, remember when I told you to turn off your phones,” Tommy said, with a self-righteous grin. He looked over at Nestor. “Aren’t you glad you couldn’t answer?” he asked.
As the woman in the bloody tank top stood up and moved past the fighting janitors, Myron backed up. Her right foot rolled inward, causing a heavy limp. She moved slowly, but deliberately; her eyes never leaving his. His fear mounted. It wasn’t her petite, slender frame that scared Myron, it’s what he had seen her do and how she did it that made his heart run.
“Hey guys?” Myron’s shaky voice called again.
Thick makeup drooled down the soccer mom’s expressionless face. Myron tried to move away further, tried to get out of the way, but his legs refused to comply.
He couldn’t feel anything beyond the thrum of his heart. Before Myron knew it, she was face to face with him. Her pupils had swollen into large black holes, no more white, no more color, just black. For a moment he lost himself, thinking about how pretty she looked, given the current circumstances. The beauty faded when the soccer mom shot forward with hands and nails outstretched.
An invisible force pulled Myron back and he screamed out.
Her clawed hands clamped shut, inches in front of Myron’s face as Darla shouted from behind, “RUN!”
Ankle giving way, the soccer mom fell to the ground.
Leading the way out of the main concourse, Darla weaved between brawling shoppers and vendors. She took them East to the entrance where her car was parked.
They were slipping between a cellular accessory kiosk and a group fighting on the floor, when a large man stepped out, his belly sagging out over his sweatpants. Large, empty eyes glared at Darla without remorse. Like a pitcher in slow motion, he swung his right arm around his body, bringing with it a massive fist.
Darla dropped and rolled under, leaving Nestor exposed directly behind her.
Still reeling from the loss of his phone, Nestor was prepared. He too dropped low and, with his hands out in front of him, barreled into the large man’s soft middle. Unexpectedly, Nestor’s fingers sunk into the man’s gut. Fat enveloped him up to the wrists. Just when Nestor thought he would be swallowed whole, the giant fell back and rolled out of the way.
Continuing to the exit, the five friends passed a number of bloody scenes playing out in almost every nook and cranny of the Melwood Square Mall. It was by sheer luck that the group was not noticed by any more of the crazies.
Darla came to a halt at the end of a short hallway, branching off the main concourse. At the far end a wall of large glass doors led out to the parking lot.
Obscured by the sunlight pouring through the exit, two shadowy figures stood waiting at the end of the hallway.
“Red rover, red rover, send Nestor on over. Easy enough, right?” Tommy said. He shot Nestor an optimistic look, hoping that recent events had been enough to ease the tension between he and Nestor.
“How old are you?” Nestor scoffed, rolling his eyes.
Myron attempted to add his own one-liner, but the inability to catch his breath prevented the words from coming out.
Seeing an opportunity and not wanting to waste time, Vlatko charged down the hall. The others followed his lead, one by one. As they closed the gap, the figures came into view.
An older woman in a tan pantsuit and a teenager wobbled forward. Vlatko reached the duo first, sidestepping their grasp, leaving Darla and Nestor in the cross hairs.
Darla rushed by, copying Vlatko’s technique and followed him through the glass door and out into the thick humidity outside.
As Darla struggled to catch her breath, Vlatko pressed his face to the glass, emitting a string of expletives at what he saw inside.
Nestor and Tommy had made it through, however Myron was on the ground; and both the frumpy lady and the kid sat over him, administering their silent justice. What an idiot, Vlatko cursed.
Darla reached for the door to go back in, but Vlatko grabbed her by the wrist. “No, get your car,” he ordered, his eyes assuring her that he knew what to do even though he didn’t.
She turned and ran for the parking lot as Nestor rocketed through the door, almost knocking Vlatko over. Without a word Nestor continued to run
Looking back through the glass, Vlatko watched Tommy double back to attempt Myron’s rescue. Tommy’s can’t even protect himself, let alone rescue someone else, Vlatko thought. He wanted to run, to save his own hide like Nestor had, but both Tommy and Myron needed assistance. In that moment he despised Nestor for running away as much as he despised Myron for being a victim.
“Open up, coming through!” Nestor shouted, charging back towards the mall entrance. Looking like a caddy late for his tee-time, Nestor carried a cement ashtray up against his shoulder.
Vlatko pulled the door open and followed Nestor through.
Nestor metered out each lumbering step, delicately balancing the ashtray with its rough unfinished surface digging into his neck and shoulder. Powerful legs combined with the momentum of his heavy cargo, Nestor sped by Tommy to reach Myron and his assailants. The boy with the spiked hair sat upright to eye Nestor.
Filled with the anger of unfinished business between him and Tommy, Nestor pulled short and hefted his burden. The ashtray spiraled through the air and connected with the young man’s head, forcing it to the ground with a crunch. A faint trail of red and cigarette butts marked it’s path as the cement cylinder rolled off down the hallway.
The young man lay twitching next to Myron.
Feeling the full release of his anger, Nestor wanted to be excited, to celebrate a job well done, but something about the boy’s face stuck with him. It was a familiar face, a face he had seen at school. The name escaped him, along with the grade, but Nestor knew the face. A hiccup forced fire up Nestor’s throat. He tried not to vomit, but it was out of his control.
Doubled over and holding his knees, Nestor watched Tommy rush by and yank the woman off Myron. He could see the fear, the scratches, the thin ribbons of blood, all on Myron’s face.
The woman turned on Tommy, pulling him to the ground with her. Nestor felt a tinge of satisfaction. He still wasn’t over the whole phone situation. Why can’t I let it go, he thought? Overcoming his weak knees and turbulent stomach, Nestor regained his posture. Just as he was about to step up and do the right thing, he saw something that sent a fresh batch of bile back up his throat.
A herd of mall goers were stampeding around the corner of the hallway and began sprinting for Nestor and his friends.
Nestor had no other option, but to run for the door.
