It was a beautiful mall, at one time. It stands three stories tall, at least at the major department stores, if the map in the parking lot is any judge, with trees growing wild at strategically-placed green places. Rambling flower bushes put a sweet scent into the air. The once-proud fountains have turned into little ecosystems, full of frogs and some kind of goldfish I’ve never seen before.

  Standing in front of it, I realize I know where we are. This mall is built on the site of the old one, the one I spent many lazy afternoons browsing the storefronts. I guess business had done well at some point.

  The gas mask creature beckons me on, scaling the stone steps and to the main entrance, which is locked up like a safe. Metal grating covers the doors and plywood covers the glass, a chain looped between the handles. Stiff, brittle pieces of tape cover the buttons that trigger the automatic doors, leaving faded tattoos of biohazard signs and a half-remembered notice that the facility was closed until further notice.

  I study the entrance, trying to figure a way in, when the metal starts squealing. The gas mask creature has taken off his backpack and squeezed past the grate, a good three feet at least from the doors, and pulled the bag in after. I follow, my knees and ankles punishing me for the effort, feeling how loose the grate is and noticing the rust spots at its anchor points.

  He pries up a bit of the plywood, motioning me in. I shake my flashlight, casting it on the sparkle of glass in front of the door, causing him to nod appreciatively as I squeeze inside, trying not to let anything but the soles of me shoes touch the ground until I’m out of the glass.

  “You’ve done this before,” I point out, figuring someone had to have broken then glass.

  Inside the atrium, I cast the beam around, startling something winged and myself in the process. It’s a lot like being in an ancient tomb, or a time capsule. The plastic casing movie theaters use to display posters line both sides of the walls, showing off movies I’ve never heard of, or upcoming sales, and at least two on either side asking for modded individuals to report for registration. Banners hang from the ceiling, red with white lettering, naming stores having sales. A big one, spread between both walls on three cables, one corner collapsing, show an ad for a gaming console bundle, an ultra-sleek model I can’t place even by company.

  “Daveney could tell me,” I mumble as the gas mask creature comes through the door.

  I shine the beam at the gas mask creature. He covers his eyes with his arms, gasping painfully. I jerk the beam away, apologizing, but it’s a second or two before he uncovers his face, shaking his head a little the way people do when they’re trying to blink something out of their eyes, before putting his bag back on.

  When his eyes adjust, I suppose, he motions me into the open space that used to be the food court. Skylights let in a little light, some through glass and some through holes where they’ve started to crumble. Chairs are neatly folded on top of tables, drink stations are still covered, and menus are still set out. I scan the restaurants, wishing someone would show up and start cooking some lo mein, noticing that one or two have signs saying they’re undergoing a voluntary shut-down for the health and safety of their employees, although one is taped off in yellow with a sign on the counter, reading, “Closed due to Contamination” in bright letters with that eye/biohazard logo.

  Seeing an opportunity, I point the symbol out to the gas mask creature, who surveys it before hopping the counter. I try to call him back, crying out in the dark, but he waves his hands and keeps moving to the back of the restaurant, disappearing behind the staff door and leaving me, nervous and jumpy, with nothing but a flashlight and box cutter.

  I cast the light around, suddenly regretting every scary moving I’ve ever seen again, quietly murmuring to myself, “Biohazards are hazardous” as he fiddles around in the kitchen. The otherwise stillness weighs on my ears, which should be filled with the chatter of people and the roar of the fountains. I keep scanning dark corners, imagining things crawling in the shadows, which, I’ve lately found out, is an actual possibility now.

  After a few minutes, I jump at the sight of the gas mask creature coming through the employee door, shrugging, and hopping the counter again. He shakes his head once his feet are firmly on the floor.

  “Oooh…kay,” I reply, passing the light around again.

  The storefronts are mostly locked up like it’s just after hours, with the grates pulled down and the doors closed. Others have posters like the one on the counter behind us, probably protected by the building being closed off in advance of…whatever. There’s still inventory in the windows, sales posters tacked up in places. I keep expecting someone to step out of a back room and turn something on, or someone to lean out of a restaurant and offer a sample.

  The gas mask creature beckons me toward a staircase, part of it cast in light by the skylight overhead, and down the stairs, which seem stable. A banner hangs off the side, showing a going-out-of-business sale for a clothing outlet, with a timeline on the steps showing a history of interesting artifacts found on-site, the most recent of which should be way, way in the future.

  I stop in place and stare at it. It was…or will be…or something, a cell phone, dug up when they clear the site of building the new mall. It looks like Daveney’s. It’s his model, his color. I imagine him walking through the mall, buying something, maybe a coffee or a bite to eat at the food court, and putting it down on the counter to fish out his wallet. He forgets it on the counter, leaves it behind. Maybe it’s time for an upgrade, anyway, or maybe it falls behind the lost and found and no one knows it’s there, dug up an unimaginable time later from a collapsing ruin.

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  I sit down on the step next to it, reading the date and flavor text, running my hand across the image. The gas mask creature stops, almost to the next landing, and looks back, calmly waiting and in no hurry.

  I...don't know what I thought. I guess I'd hoped I'd run into someone with answers, find a...refugee camp where Daveney would be, with my parents. I thought sooner or later...I don't know, maybe we'd have to find a new place, but given enough time...we'd all be fine.

  I look up into the glassy eyes of the gas mask creature, standing a few steps down, close enough to be almost eye-to-eye. He puts a gloved hand against my cheek, the rough leather taking away the tear and leaving a smudge of dirt. He holds put his hand and pulls me to my feet, holding my hand for a long time, tight, like an anchor, tapping the hilt of his dagger with the other hand and nodding a little.

  I swallow back my tears, burying them deep, and remembering the first time my father took me deer hunting. I’m getting thirsty again, which isn’t good, and makes tears an even worse waste of water.

  Trying to compose myself, I follow the gas mask creature down to the bottom floor. It’s even darker down here, and a thick layer of dust coats everything it can. Most of the shops look like they just went home for the evening, no visible signs of looting or vandalism. One of the storefronts still has going-out-of-business stuff strung up and what looks like a clearance table still full of merchandise near the entrance. From somewhere off in the distance, I can hear running water.

  The gas mask creature coughs softly and points to a beauty parlor tucked into a corner, the grate wedged open and the doors ajar. The ground and first looks tacky green, clashing with the soft pink walls, but it’s moss growing from a little pool, fed by a stream of water dripping from a broken skylight. Salon chairs line the walls opposite nail stations, a receptionist desk at the entrance. The pool looks like it might have once been a koi pond or something, with little bamboo spouts that quit pouring water into the little mill long ago.

  He pulls back the rusty grate and slips inside, pulling out the wineskin and filling it from the little waterfall. A horrible feeling that this might be the water I’ve been drinking, running from a parking lot or down the moldy walls of a dusty shop. I swallow back a gag as he passes the wineskin through the grate, offering it to me, and sniff it.

  It smells okay…ish, leathery, but no chemical or sour smell. He watches me intently and makes a waves his hands at me, urging me on. I wince. You can die of dehydration a whole lot quicker than starving. I take a quick sip, tasting bottled water, or something close to it. I drink my fill, figuring there are worse places to get intestinal parasites, and hand it back.

  While he refills, I look around a little more, shining the light into windows. Most of these shops are pretty upscale, not the kind of places I’m going to find clothes for crawling around in ruins. You’d think there’d be some blue jeans or something, but if there are, I don’t see any in the windows, not in these stores, anyway.

  I scratch an itch behind my hair. It feels terrible, itchy and so greasy it's almost slimy. I look back at the salon and the almost untouched racks of shampoos and hair-care stuff, and then up at the spring that seems to have formed in the ceiling. I don’t think anyone is going to complain if I grab a bottle or two, so I do, sliding in the way I watched the gas mask creature do.

  He adjusts his mask as I start browsing the wares, watching me steadily from behind the lenses. I wonder if he knows what’s in these bottles, if he’s ever bothered to or needed to look. Most of these have exotic flowers or fruits on the bottle, so I picture him smelling them and tasting them, and then never checking again.

  I don’t have a backpack to carry, and even if I did I would need to ration space and weight. I have to decide which one I want and what’s more important to me. I select a bottle of blueberry-scented shampoo and matching conditioner, clinging them to my chest, juggling my flashlight and the box cutter, also.

  The gas mask creature takes the bottles from me, studying them, and looking at me as if he can’t figure out why I’d want such a useless item. He tries to set them down on the counter, but I pick them up again. We do this dance something like three more times, until he growls under the mask, but puts the backpack on the ground and packs them away instead.

  We head back into the mall, where I start examining the shops for useful clothing. I test the grates and the doors, when I can, but I have no idea how I’m going to get in if I find anything I want.

  A security cam catches my attention. I stare at it for way too long, almost expecting security to come running in. The gas mask creature stares at me, blankly, and at the camera, but does nothing else. I can’t seem to move away from this spot, just standing here and wishing that the camera would move or someone would come down from the security office and round us up to mall jail.

  I guess he gets bored, sitting down and coughing slightly, breaking the spell. When he sees me moving again, he climbs to his feet and makes a move to glance inside the stores, same as me. Spotting a nearby directory, I search it for this level’s blue jean stores.

  The greatest thing ever is written here: the ground-floor entrance of a multi-story sporting goods store. My knees actually give way just a little bit, drawing the attention of the gas mask creature, looking at me as though I might collapse at many minute.

  “Here,” I say, pointing at the word, and then at the location on the map. “There’ll be lots of stuff here, camping gear, hunting supplies…it’s a gold mine if it’s as untouched as the rest.”

  The gas mask creature studies the map and then acts like it’s burst into flames. He pulls me away from it, shaking his head over and over again, and violently hissing syllables I don’t understand. I put an arm against the sign, sighing deeply and rolling my eyes.

  “You’ll walk right past a biohazard sign, but won’t even let me look at a sporting goods shop?” I huff. “Can you at least let me look with my own two eyes?”

  He stops shaking his head, but doesn’t answer. I’m not sure that he knows how. I point in the direction of the shop and start walking that way, a little annoyed. If it’s as untouched as the rest of the mall, there could be all kinds of things I need.

  I wrinkle my nose. It’ll all be camo print.

  In the darkness of the atrium, with the urgent clunk of the gas mask creature’s shoes close behind, I start to lag. More than once, I jump at my own reflection. He’s spooked about something, what if there’s a nest of those giant spiders, or more of those tailed gas mask things? I suppose if it loos sketchy I could always back up, and as it is we’re in an enclosed space with no other noise that echoes…if there’s something wrong here, it’s already a problem.

  The sporting goods store looms into view, looking no different than any other store front. It’s gated off, locked, with two mannequins in hunting gear standing watch. I cast the light around, and don’t see anything out of place, nothing different than the rest of the store. The gas mask creature, however, has hidden behind one of the triple-sided directories, dropped to one knee with his daggers drawn.

  I bend down and lift up on the grate, feeling it give. It must be hydraulically locked or some such, and there’s nothing holding it shut any more, not for a long time. It rattles loudly, causing the gas mask creature to make a noise, but no ghosties or ghoulies or long-legged beasties jump out to nab me, which doesn’t do a whole lot to stop my hands from shaking a little.

  The door is a little harder, locked. I don’t want to bust the glass in case someone does come running down here, making a fuss. The handles are screwed in, though, and with a little prying and a near miss, I manage to coax them out of the plating and onto the floor, wedging the handle off the door and the lock out of place enough to open the door.

  The plating on the other side hits the ground with a terrifyingly loud clatter. The gas mask creature darts out of his hiding space, armed and ready, while I freeze in place, shaking. When the echo fades, nothing else happens and the mall is still again.