The supply closet in maintenance at the North Valley Mall was a young scientist’s playground. If Elliott had this at his disposal when he was younger he would probably have fewer limbs still attached.
He grabbed an empty spray bottle and poured bleach and rubbing alcohol into it, capping it quickly. He took a clean towel off the rack, and headed back out. He was sure that after this his chances of dating Shavian would pretty much go the way of the dodo, but they would have anyway if she wound up a slavering mutant, so it all came out in the wash really. She’d totally thank him when she wasn’t one of the undead.
Trying not to look like he was about to commit at least one felony, which he was, he walked back to the Hovel.
“Oy, Ell!” Elliott jumped guiltily, and turned to find Roger wending his way back through the mall shoppers. He spread his hands as he approached, a befuddled smile on his face. “What happened to you two, my boy? How am I supposed to save the beer without the brains of the op, eh?” He smacked Elliott on the shoulder playfully, and Elliott had to brace himself to keep from falling over.
“Sorry, I lost Junie at first and… well, it’s a long story, but come with me. We’re all at the Hovel.”
Roger followed along, and when he saw the supplies in Elliott’s hand, he furrowed his brow. “What’s all that for?”
“Long story.” When they got to the Hovel, Elliott knocked on the door.
“Ell?”
“Yeah, Rog?” he replied, watching Shavian approach the door to unlock it; she was frowning in confusion still. He sprayed some of the bleach and alcohol mixture into the rag surreptitiously.
“Why is that old lady with a cane glaring at you?” Roger said.
Elliott turned, and looked away quickly when he saw the old lady staring at him. “Long story.”
“You have a lot of those today,” Roger said.
Shavian pushed the door open and Elliott held it for Roger. Both men entered the coffee shop, and Elliott closed and locked the door behind them.
Shavian smiled at Roger, holding out her hand. “I’ve seen you around. You work at Deeks, ri-”
She was cut off and gave a little squeal when Elliott pressed the chemical soaked towel against her mouth. She was tiny, and the jury-rigged chloroform took effect quickly; she sagged as her amber eyes rolled into the back of her head. Roger lurched forward and caught her.
“Elliott, what the hell are you doing?” he bellowed.
Junie just looked on quizzically, then asked, “What if she’d had her coffee in her hand? She might have spilled. Elliott, that was just careless.”
“She was refusing to come along, I had to do something!” he exclaimed.
“And drugging her came right to mind?” Roger demanded, throwing her over his shoulder nonetheless, Shavian’s arms flopping out limply.
Elliott peeked out the door to see if there was anyone watching. The Hovel was down a side hall with only one other store that the economic downturn hadn’t closed, and they wouldn’t even have to pass it to get to the exit. Even the old lady was gone: there were no witnesses.
Elliott beckoned his cohorts out the door of the Hovel, Junie with her refilled tactical mug and Roger with an unconscious Shavian over his shoulder. They slipped down the hall and pushed through the glass front doors into the cloud gray day beyond the mall. They were in a parking lot that was used mostly by mall employees, so was almost empty.
Here Roger took the lead, directing them to his car, Shavian’s curly red hair bouncing. They went around the mall building and turned a corner to another lot. Roger stopped suddenly, and Elliott almost bumped into his back. Elliott and Junie both yelped as she walked into him, the scope on the tactical mug poking him violently between the shoulder blades while the cup itself banged into Junie’s teeth. “Ow!” she exclaimed.
“Rog, what is it?” Elliott asked, moving up beside his friend to see around the corner. Coming towards them across the lot was one of the most terrifying sights Elliott had ever seen. There was a mob of shambling, groaning people coming towards them, slowly and ponderously, but with anger in their eyes. There were dozens of them. The old lady from the Hovel, her cane and jowls quivering indignantly, was at the lead. “Oh, god,” Elliott said, backing away. “This is not good.”
“My car is on the other side of that mob,” Roger said. “We’ll have to go around them. We can’t go back into the mall with this.” He gestured to Shavian’s limp form, glaring at Elliott accusingly.
“We need to make a run for it,” Elliott said, and with that he grabbed Junie’s hand, and they broke into a run. As they went past the mob, several of the moaning, gray assailants reached out clawed hands for them. Elliott pulled her along faster, but Roger was outdistancing them both.
Junie gasped, “I thought it was just in California? How’d they get here so fast?”
“Those aren’t zombies, they’re just old people,” Elliott gasped.
“Mall walkers,” Roger explained, Shavian bouncing against his back.
Just then a burst of movement caught their attention from the middle of the mob, something moving much faster than the venerable crowd.
“Shit, mall security!” Elliott cried, his voice filled with fear.
Roger looked back at him in exasperation. “What are you so afraid of? It’s a rent-a-cop on a Segue.” As if to prove his point, Roger turned back and put himself almost directly in the path of the mall cop bearing down on him.
“Put down the girl!” the guard shouted at him.
Roger shook his head, rolled his eyes, and stuck out a foot, swinging to the side as the Segue passed by. It rolled over his foot, appearing to cause no harm to Roger at all, but sending the machine pitching forward. The mall cop shrieked and ate pavement.
Elliott and Junie looked at him in amazement. He lifted his foot and waggled his eyebrows.
“Steel toed,” he announced proudly, then took off running again.
They outdistanced the mob easily, though they could still hear the groans of the mall walkers pursuing them. Roger reached into his pocket, jostling Shavian, and pulled out his car key fob; Elliott saw the parking lights flash on an enormous white van.
“Dude, is that seriously your car?” Elliott asked.
“Yes, it is,” Roger said testily.
“Do you give out free candy from the back?”
“Don’t perpetuate the stereotype,” he shouted back. “Besides, I’m not the one who can roofie a girl from the materials in a supply closet.”
“It’s not a roofie, it’s improvised chloroform,” he mumbled.
“Oh, thanks for clearing that up, Dr. Frankenstein, that’s so much less creepy.”
They reached the van, and Elliott and Junie clambered in. Roger lay Shavian down gently in one of the bench seats in the back, then hopped into the driver’s seat. Elliott tugged the seatbelt over the still girl and got his own on just as Roger slammed his foot down on the accelerator and they lurched out of the parking lot.
As they passed the mob of mall walkers, Junie leaned out the open window. The wind blew her long blonde hair around her face, and her eyes were lit up with exhilaration or caffeine; maybe both.
“You’ll never take us alive!” she bellowed at them, shaking her fist and giggling. Elliott grimaced at her phrasing, but she took no notice at all.