Humbug, page 16
fucking stoner
know your way around this place, yeah? Have you seen a security office somewhere?"
Linc shook his head. "No, no I haven't."
"Come on, man." Steve stepped forward and the kid flinched. He was starting to lose patience with him now. "It's around here somewhere, isn't it? It's on this floor, right?"
Linc continued shaking his head, faster and faster. He wasn't just responding to Steve's questions anymore. He was slipping into shock.
"It's up here, isn't it?" Steve pointed behind him. "Linc."
The kid shook his head harder, almost overbalancing on his crutches.
"Hey," Steve said. "Hey!" His patience finally snapped and he grabbed Linc by the shirt. "Listen to me! We're going to go find a gun so we can defend ourselves, ok? So we can shoot these motherfuckers if they come at us with axes or knives or hammers. Alright?"
Linc slowly stopped shaking his head.
"You want to get outta here, right?"
The kid nodded, gradually at first, then vigorously.
"Good. Me too." Steve pointed across the mall again. "Can you help me find the security room? Or would you rather stay here by yourself?"
"I… I'll help you," said Linc, still nodding.
"Damn right you will." Steve released Linc's shirt and patted him on the shoulder, just once. "Let's go. You're leading the way."
Linc ducked his head and swiveled away from The Coffee Place entrance and Spencer's body; his blood, still running along the tiles, had almost reached the edge of the balcony. Soon, Steve thought, it would begin to drip down to the floor below.
He cast a glance back across the expanse of the mall, then followed Lincoln.
When Taryn was five, she attended her first major event: the wedding of her Aunt Jane up in Peoria. Second wedding, actually. Jane had been married before to Taryn's then-uncle Travis, the kind of guy who enjoyed playing the drums real loud in his garage and smoking pot with his friends on the weekend; as it turned out, ol' Trav also let Samantha from the local 7-Eleven puff his magic dragon on occasion, whether he was high or not, and when Jane found out about it, that was the end of marriage number one. Jane met Barry less than a year later, and because Barry had no penchant for pot or full-lipped checkout girls, and for a variety of other reasons, she gladly accepted his proposal when it arrived.
Jane and Barry's wedding ceremony took place on a warm day in June and Taryn hated every second of it. She hated her dress, she hated her shoes, and most of all, she hated her hair, which her mother had spent half an hour braiding that morning, followed by another half an hour after Taryn purposefully unraveled it. She'd never been to a wedding before and had never made it all the way through a church service at Easter or Christmas (the two annual occasions when her parents flirted with religion), so after almost an hour of just sitting while her Aunt Jane, soon-to-be-Uncle Barry, and a man in a white dress did a bunch of talking at the front of the church, she was ready to go.
Her mother, six months pregnant at the time with her eventual little brother, did her best to keep her quiet, but it was no use. Little Taryn Meyer, normally shy and contemplative at five years old, wedged between her parents in a stuffy Methodist church on a warm summer's day, couldn't be contained.
Just as the words "Do you, Jane, take Barry…" left the minister's mouth, Taryn stood up right in the middle of the congregation and, with all the gusto she could muster, yelled "I do!"; her mother, aghast, wrenched her back down to the pew as a ripple of good-natured laughter spread around the church. Even Jane and Barry chuckled. It was one of those times when you just couldn't help it, no matter how reserved you were.
Taryn's mother went beetroot-red and didn't look at her daughter again until the ceremony was over (though she did grip her little hand so hard it started to hurt after a while). Her father also avoided eye contact, but for a very different reason: each time he glanced down at Taryn and caught her looking back, his diaphragm would start bouncing and his breath would escape in little whistles through each nostril, and she would see it on his face and grin in her mischievous way that got him every time, and he knew he would simply dissolve into laughter right there and then if he didn't keep his eyes fixed on the front of the church.
Taryn hadn't understood why her parents were so tense that afternoon in the over-warm Methodist church, or why her mother had stormed straight to the car once the ceremony was over. As far as she was concerned, she'd made people laugh, and laughter was a good thing. But now, as she pressed her sweaty palm against little Emma Price's mouth and leaned back between two machines in the mall arcade, she understood the fear. She understood it, and she felt it.
She had to keep Em quiet.
The Star-Cade sat directly below the second-floor food court and filled an area about the same size. Like most arcades, it was packed with noisy, flashing machines, some relatively new, and some very old, survivors of a by-gone, pre-console era; a thin, space-themed carpet depicting stars and planets covered the entire floor, and the low ceiling was lit with fluorescent purple rings, creating an almost claustrophobic atmosphere that was worlds away from the bright, spacious mall concourse. The arcade was big, and there were plenty of places to hide.
Taryn whispered in Em's ear: "Don't make a sound, ok?" She felt the little girl nod and slowly took her hand away. Em rubbed her mouth with her free hand; in the other, she still held the toy cat.
They'd lost the Mrs Claus fairly quickly once they were inside. Taryn knew the arcade well and it wasn't the first time she'd played hide and seek in the place - she and Ash once spent a solid thirty minutes eluding Jeremy in the mall, giggling while he searched fruitlessly and complained via text that it "wasn't funny anymore" and told them they were "being royal douchebags". The more annoyed he became, the funnier they found it. Eventually, just when he was about to leave, they jumped out from behind an antique Pac-Man machine and scared him half to death.
Poor Jeremy, Taryn thought, remembering that afternoon. Then, the gravity of their current situation hit her afresh and she started trembling where she was, crouched between two machines in a shadowy corner of the mall arcade.
poor Jeremy poor Jeremy poor Jeremy
Em twisted round to look at her. Taryn met her gaze and the surge of panic subsided, at least temporarily.
We have to get out of here, she thought. We have to get back to the others.
But what others? Who was left? Jeremy had been dragged screaming into Santa's Grotto by someone dressed as an elf (what was wrong with its eyes?) and Ash was somewhere above them, chased by a big man in a Santa costume wielding an ax. And Spencer was… was…
Maybe they were the only ones left. Maybe Lincoln and that other guy were gone, too.
We have to get out of this building.
Taryn swallowed hard and pressed a finger to her lips; again, Em copied the gesture, indicating she understood. Dropping her arm from around Em's torso but keeping one hand on the girl's shoulder, Taryn stood and peered around the side of the machine on her left. Beyond it, a row of similar machines blinked and jingled, and the fluorescents hummed on the ceiling above. There was no sign of the Mrs Claus.
"Come on," Taryn whispered.
She took Em's hand and slipped out from between the machines, keeping her head ducked as they moved along the row. Most of the units were tall enough to shield her from view, but some were below head-height and there were often gaps between them. If the thing in the Mrs Claus outfit happened to look their way at just the right time…
Em reached for the steering wheel of a racing game and Taryn pulled her away. They were almost at the end of the row. She imagined she could smell popcorn and chili dogs.
When we get out, Taryn thought, we'll go straight to the other end and up the escalator. Even if it's just to the coffee place. Lincoln should be around there somewhere, and he's technically an adult. And there's that other guy. Maybe we'll be able to see the police from the windows. They've gotta be here by now. And then we'll get Jeremy and Ash, assuming they're not…
She couldn't finish the final thought. Wouldn't finish it. They were her best friends and she knew they were still alive. They had to be. She'd make sure Em was safe, and then she'd get them back, even if she had to do it herself.
They reached the end of the row, where an enormous Jurassic Park-themed machine shunted them to the right. Here, next to an older unit displaying the words "Insert coins to continue" on its screen, Taryn paused, keeping her hand tight on Em's shoulder. It was so small beneath her purple puffer coat.
Holding her breath, she looked round the edge of the unit. The way was clear. At the far end was a crane machine in the style of a red British telephone box; inside, colorful plush toys stared at her helplessly with their plastic goggle eyes. Still no sign of the Mrs Claus.
Taryn looked down at Em and nodded. They started out from behind the machine.
Almost simultaneously, Mrs Claus crossed the end of the aisle. The hammer swung casually in her hand and her boots thumped on the carpet. She glanced through the glass of the phone box crane machine and didn't see them. Then she was gone.
Taryn had stopped dead at the sight of her and her heart had locked, just for a second. When it beat again, it felt like someone was playing a snare drum in her chest cavity.
Holy shit, that was close.
Swallowing against a desert-dry throat, she began moving forward again, ushering Em along by her side. Each step felt painfully slow, like her sneakers were filled with concrete. A cacophony of slightly diluted electronic sounds filled the air, as though someone had eased the arcade's volume dial down a notch. Every few seconds, an enthusiastic virtual character would exclaim something like "Great job!" or "You're dead!" from somewhere in the room as the games continued their endless, pre-recorded loop, unaware that no living patrons were there to play them.
Taryn strained to hear footsteps over the arcade's jarring chorus but it was impossible, even without the usual babbling of gamers hopped up on sugary energy drinks underpinning it all. The person in the Mrs Claus costume, whoever she was, prowled the room with the predatory stealth of a jungle cat. For all they knew…
Taryn whipped around, but she wasn't there. At the end of the aisle, a pixelated T-rex bore down on the back seat of a red-striped Wrangler, its frothing jaws lunging towards the screen.
Who was she anyway, that enormous woman in the festive outfit wielding the blood-stained hammer? Why was her skin gray and peeling off the flesh beneath? Why were those beady eyes behind the crescent-shaped spectacles bright red with pulsing, ready-to-burst veins?
What in the hell's going on in this place? Taryn internalized shrilly. Some part of her realized then that, like Jeremy, she was barreling towards a panic attack.
She couldn't surrender to it, though. Not with Em here. She had to stay calm, for her.
They came to the end of the aisle. Em immediately veered towards the crane machine and Taryn, anticipating it, pinned her to her side. By some miracle, the little girl remained quiet.
Taking a breath, Taryn leaned around the last machine in the row and looked.
The Star-cade entrance was right there, just beyond a huge, four-sided coin-pusher machine. Tinny music blasted from the machine's speakers as the coin trays, filled with dimes and nickels and pennies, slid relentlessly back and forth.
We can make it if we run, Taryn thought.
She was about to go when Em squeezed her hand and pointed.
Em Price liked the tall girl with the brown hair. She was nice. She'd given her the cat toy, which she also liked, and that made her like the girl even more. Maybe she was a friend of Mommy or Daddy, or maybe she was another cousin who Em didn't remember meeting. Either way, she'd given her a toy, and that was nice.
She didn't like the boy with the glasses as much. He'd yelled at her back in the toy store, and that wasn't nice. But he was gone now. He'd gone with the Elf into Santa's house, down to the secret place where everyone else went. Gone to see the Humbug. He'd probably stay there for a while, like the other people.
Mrs Claus was still here, though. Em wasn't sure how much she liked her. Her face was scary and there was something wrong with her eyes. But she looked like Mrs Claus and she was married to Santa, so she must be nice, too.
Em could see her now, standing on the other side of the big glass machine. She was mostly hidden, but her arm and shoulder and part of her gray face were visible. She was standing perfectly still.
Was she playing the game? Em wanted to play it too. She liked games, especially the kind with lights and music and moving parts. It made her think of Daddy and his work. He'd taken her there to show her what he did - she hadn't understood, but she'd liked being there with Daddy. She missed him now. And Mommy, too.
She knew the tall girl (she'd given her name but Em hadn't been paying much attention at the time) hadn't seen Mrs Claus and she thought she should know. Em suspected the tall girl was trying to find her. Maybe Mrs Claus would give each of them a new toy. She knew Santa, after all, and she obviously made toys herself. That's what the hammer was for.
Em grabbed the tall girl's hand and pointed towards the coin-pusher. The tall girl looked, frowning. Then her eyes went wide. She gripped Em's hand and edged back behind the nearest machine again.
The tall girl pressed her finger to her lips, and once again, Em mirrored the gesture. She liked this game, and the tall girl always seemed pleased when she copied her. It was an easy game, the kind Em liked best.
Then they were moving again, away from the arcade entrance. As they went, Em looked back and saw Mrs Claus slip out from behind the coin-pusher machine. She saw her coming in their direction, and then the tall girl led her round a corner and Mrs Claus disappeared.
They went deeper into the arcade, weaving quickly through a maze of machines with flashing screens and loud music. Em tried her best to see what was on each screen, but the tall girl kept them moving and she rarely got more than a glimpse. Sometimes they'd stop briefly and the tall girl would check back the way they'd come, and then turn in a circle, her head whipping left and right like a meerkat; in those moments, Em would gravitate towards the nearest machine (unless it had guns - she didn't like guns) and often get within touching distance of the console or joystick before the tall girl snatched her away again.
Em started to tire of the game - her short legs weren't made for such relentless, stop-start movement - but the tall girl didn't. She kept playing and playing, hiding behind machines or pillars or ATMs or air hockey tables, sometimes pausing to look, sometimes doubling back the way they'd come, but always, always moving. Once, the girl lobbed a half-empty soda can across the room and Em heard footsteps thumping off in its direction, but still the game continued. And the longer they kept going, the more they ducked and dodged and looped back towards the entrance before veering away again when Mrs Claus appeared, the faster the tall girl's breathing became, and the sweatier her hand got as it gripped Em's.
Finally, Em had enough. She didn't want to play anymore.
They started moving again and she planted her light-up sneakers on the carpet. The tall girl turned back and hissed "Come one!", and Em shook her head.
The tall girl crouched down and took her by the shoulders, but Em knew what was coming and shook her head. "No," she said, not lowering her voice now. "No more."
She saw the tall girl's eyes widen with alarm and felt her fingers dig into her shoulders. Next to them, a spiky-haired anime character hurled a fireball across the screen and yelled "Yaahh!".
"Please," the tall girl whispered urgently. "Please, Em - "
"No," Em replied. Then, louder: "No more running. I don't like this game anymore."
"Em - "
"No. I want to go! Let's gooooo!"
The tall girl's hand went for Em's mouth but it was already too late. Mrs Claus thumped around the corner just two machines away, the sprig of holly on her hat catching purple light from the fluorescents above. Her eyes, now full-red, locked onto Em's and she rushed at them.
The hammer went up; the tall girl cried out.
Em saw the hammer arc through the air towards the tall girl's head, and for a fraction of a second she saw the Humbug, felt its eyes roving over them, felt it reaching for them. It took her away from the moment and she was floating, indistinct, not really there anymore; she was above herself, looking down in wonder at the top of her own head and the tall girl's scalp as Mrs Claus's hammer skimmed just above it, breezing through her tawny brown hair; had she been older, she might have called it an out-of-body experience, a dissociative episode, but little Emma Price didn't know those words yet, and when the hammer smashed through the glass screen of the spiky-haired anime character's arcade machine and blue-white sparks exploded over them, she was snapped back into her body and tumbled to the floor.
The cat toy spilled from her hand, and for the time being, everything stopped.
Part III: Underground
Thirteen
He was in a dream.
He knew it was a dream because his parents were in it, too, and he was sure they'd been nowhere near the mall when the elf took him. Reasonably sure, anyway.
There was his dad, Christopher Lewis, shaking his head in wordless disapproval. Wordless, but still Jeremy heard the words, loud and clear: How could you let that thing just take you like that, boy? That would never have happened if you got outdoors every once in a while, you know.
His mom was there too, but as usual, she said nothing.
Christopher Lewis continued shaking his head, but he was already pulling away, fading into the black. Jeremy had the impression he was reaching out to his father, stretching his arms towards him like a toddler might reach for reassurance. He reached, straining, suddenly desperate for their help, because as he reached he gradually became aware his arms were behind him rather than in front, and something was pinning them down, something hard and cold digging into his skinny wrists.
