Black Friday (4 page)

“I don’t trust you,” Robby said. “And I’d like you to keep your distance, okay?”

“That’s a rational, straightforward request. How could I possibly deny you that courtesy?" Lyle asked. He took another step forward. If he were to lean, Robby thought, he could almost grab me at this point.
 

“I’m serious,” Robby said. “I’m uncomfortable. Don’t come closer to me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Lyle said. He pulled his hands from his pockets and held them up, palms open, to Robby. But his feet didn’t stop—Lyle came another small step closer to Robby.

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Robby spun the cylinder—warmed by his hands—until his thumb found the trigger. With his other hand the felt for the nozzle to be sure he was pointing the can of pepper spray in the right direction. While his hands worked, Robby kept his eyes locked with the dark face and floating smile of Lyle. The man grinned, showing Robby all his over-white teeth in the gloom of the rest stop lobby.

Robby didn’t hold the can at arm’s length, where Lyle might bat it away, he just tilted it up and pushed his thumb down on the plunger. He’d watched the police spray protesters on TV, but Robby didn’t know if this can would shoot a stream or a cloud. He didn’t know if it would reach Lyle or if he’d just gas himself. He tilted and pressed.

The can hissed like a snake as the spray shot out and hit Lyle in the chest. Robby adjusted his aim and caught Lyle’s open mouth and eyes before the man could duck out of the way. As soon as Lyle dodged, Robby took off, jumping over the legs of the guard and passing behind the information counter.

Behind him, Lyle emitted a series of racking, convulsive coughs that ended with an explosive retching. Robby’s next breath ended with his own outburst. He doubled over as he ran. Each inhale resulted in his lungs rejecting the input. Enough of the spray had bounced back from Lyle to pollute Robby. He made it down the hall and paused at the entrance to the food court. He could hear Lyle still hacking in the lobby. Most of the dead remained still, but a couple had started to pull themselves west, towards the lobby.

Robby chose the pizza place and ran for the counter. He hopped up and slid across the narrow surface. His feet landed on a dropped tray, and he nearly went down, grabbing the side of the soda fountain to keep upright. He lifted his arm to his face and coughed a few times into the crook of his elbow while his right hand stowed the can pepper spray and searched for his flashlight. The kitchen of the pizza place was dark. Robby couldn’t see anything past the register area until he pointed his little light down the assembly line. A pair of exploded-eye corpses lay in the way, but Robby leaped over them in stride as he ran to the back of the kitchen.
 

A puddle of tomato sauce surrounded a young girl who lay on the floor. Her dead arms still clutched the giant can to her chest. Robby moved his light from her and scanned the back wall. Between two racks stood a heavy metal door marked “Cold Storage,” and to the right of that, double doors had a sign which read “Please Open Doors
Slowly
.”

Robby jogged around the tomato sauce and put his hand on the bar which opened the “
Slowly
” door. When he heard the cough from the food court, he jammed the flashlight into his armpit, hoping Lyle hadn’t seen its glow. Robby held his breath and listened.

Lyle coughed and gagged so long that Robby wondered how the man was able to breathe. Somehow, in between coughs, Lyle managed to croak two words—“Help me.”

In the dark, Robby pressed against the door and tried to open it silently. It clicked and ground, and then swung freely. Robby slipped through the gap and eased the door shut behind him. He felt colder on the other side of the door. Robby freed his flashlight and found himself in a wide hallway with cinderblock walls and a cement floor. Double doors led into the backs of the restaurants, and on the other side, metal rollup doors led to the loading bays where trucks could back in and disgorge supplies. Robby ran to the nearest door, put the flashlight in his mouth and tried to lift the door. Big green and red buttons mounted at the side would operate the doors, but Robby couldn’t budge them without power.
 

Robby looked for another way out. At the far end of the hall, a single door had a sign which lifted Robby’s spirits. It said “EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY. ALARM WILL SOUND.” Robby sprinted for that door.
 

CHAPTER 4: JUDY

T
HANKSGIVING
M
ORNING
…

J
UDY
WOKE
up on her couch.
 

She’d fallen asleep watching TV and woke up to the early morning news. Back in Connecticut, Mom would just be getting up to put the turkey in the oven. She always put the turkey in the oven early so they could have their Thanksgiving at noon. The house would smell of roasting bird all day. Two hundred miles away from her childhood home, Judy’s apartment smelled almost like an indoor swimming pool. She ran an ionizer to clean the air and the smell reminded Judy of chlorinated water.
 

Judy turned up the volume on the TV and watched a story about people lining up for Black Friday shopping. The stores wouldn’t even be open until midnight, but people were already lining up. She could join their ranks—she didn’t have anything better to do—but even if she did get to the front of the line, she didn’t have much extra money for purchases. Time was ticking away, but she’d planned to make homemade Christmas presents for her family, just so she could avoid that expense.
 

She closed her eyes and tried to drift back to sleep, but her brain had already woken up. All she could think about was her mom stuffing the bird and shoving it into the hot oven, and how, just a couple of blocks away from her parent’s house, Shane was probably peacefully asleep in his childhood bedroom.

When they’d fought, Judy would get so mad at Shane, because she could see the truth just below the surface of his yelling. She could see that just underneath his fury was a joy, because he knew that she would leave and he would be alone. A big part of him didn’t even want to be in a relationship, and relished the opportunity to destroy their bond. Regardless of how much he proclaimed to love her, it was clear that he loved himself just a little more. With Judy out of the picture, Shane would have the freedom to do anything he wanted. What really made Judy mad—and she knew this to be true—was that she felt the same way herself. She loved Shane the whole time they’d lived together, but, secretly, she couldn’t wait to leave him and get out on her own. She’d never had the opportunity to live or die on her own initiative, until right now. That didn’t stop her from wanting Shane. It didn’t stop her from imagining herself curled up next to him, in the tiny bed where he’d stayed up late to finish his homework, the tiny bed where he’d had his first wet dream.

The cameraman panned slowly down the queue of people waiting to get into the Maine Mall. They sat in lawn chairs or right on the sidewalk with sleeping bags pulled up to their necks. Judy studied each face to try to see if she recognized anyone. She only knew a few people in town, most of those from work.
 

Judy stumbled off to the kitchen to start the coffee.

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At noon, a light, sandy snow began to drop from the gray sky. Judy sat on the floor of her kitchen, next to the oven. The oven was pre-heating to three-fifty, but the bread dough hadn’t even risen yet. She felt anxious to get it in the oven so the smell of baking would permeate her apartment. Then, she thought, it would feel like Thanksgiving and she wouldn’t feel so alone.
 

When she heard shouting out on the street, she left her post.

Judy ran to the window next to the oppressive heater—it had the best view to the street. Her apartment sat a few blocks back from Congress Street, so she didn’t get too much foot traffic. Still, she found the window entertaining and looked forward to summer months with the windows thrown open to the random bits of conversation which might float up.
 

She pressed her face against the cold glass and pulled back when she saw how close the man was. Her apartment was on the second floor. He stood on the sidewalk, and his head was just a few feet below her window. He wore a fedora. From her angle, she couldn’t see his eyes. The woman yelling at him stood just out of view. Her voice sounded ragged, like she’d been crying or had just smoked three packs.
 

“You didn’t see me walking out then, did you?” the woman yelled.

“Why would you? You stop following me. I am not-fucking-kidding you,” the man screamed back.

“Who says I’m following you? You’re going in the direction of my place, aren’t you?”

“You stay back. I will not tell you again,” he said.

Judy peeked up over the lip of the window and tried to find a better angle. She wanted to see if the woman looked scared. Maybe, Judy thought, she should call the police in case the guy decided to get physical. Judy still couldn’t see the woman, but she could see a young couple across the street who had paused while walking their tiny dog to watch the yelling. The girl in the young couple held the leash of the tiny dog, and the guy held a cell phone. They would probably intervene, Judy thought.

“I’m not taking any shit from you,” the woman said. “You’re drunk and I can walk on this stupid sidewalk if I feel like it.”

“Give me
room
,” the man said.

The man moved away from the side of the building a couple of steps and Judy watched as he took off his thin gloves and shoved them in the breast pocket of his leather coat. He took off his fedora and hung it on the antenna of Judy’s car. Suddenly, Judy felt involved in the altercation, now that her car had been pulled into the fight.

“You think you’re going to…” the woman began. Judy could hear her voice getting louder as she approached, and then she heard nothing.

“Jesus,” the man said. “Babe?”

The concern in his voice startled Judy. She sat up and watched as the man took two steps up the street. Then, a black blur flashed up past her window and he was gone. Judy pressed her cheek against the glass, trying to see where he went. Across the street, the young couple stood frozen in place. They might have shown more movement if they’d been carved from stone. The woman dropped the leash and the little dog bolted for the middle of the street. Right before Judy’s eyes, the little dog reached the middle of the street, leapt up, and then vanished. Across the street, the young woman finally moved. She raised her arm towards the spot where her dog had last stood.

The little dog’s leash dropped to the middle of the street.

The young woman took a very slow, hesitant step off the curb and then a baby step into the street. She looked up towards the sky. While Judy watched her start her next tiny step, the woman raised up on the ball of her foot, like ballerina preparing to leap, and then she had disappeared as well.

Judy screamed. The sound bounced off the glass and crashed into her own ears.

The young man appeared puzzled. He looked up and, across the quiet street, locked eyes with Judy.

Judy’s scream was cut off—truncated by the cold emptiness in the young man’s eyes. Even across the street she could see those hollow orbs. The young man held Judy’s gaze as he lifted his right foot, stepping on an imaginary stair, and vanished. Judy pressed a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming again. She ducked down and crawled away from the window.
 

When she reached the door to the hall, Judy rose to her feet and fumbled the deadbolt open. Judy didn’t trust the man across the hall, and the people who normally lived up on the third floor had all gone away for the holiday. Judy clicked the door shut behind her, careful not to lock herself out of her apartment, and ran down the tired burgundy carpet for the stairs.
 

She flew down the stairs on tiptoes, leaning on the railing, trying not to make a sound. She reached the landing and made a sharp u-turn on the rubber mat to double-back to her landlord’s door. Judy rapped her knuckles softly on the edge of the door and leaned in close to whisper.

“Mr. Goodall? Mr. Goodall? Are you there? It’s Judy Densmore from 2C—are you there?”
 

Judy patted down her pockets. Her cell phone was still upstairs. She knocked on the door once more and then gave up, running back for the stairs. She stopped at the landing.

“G. Chisholm”—she knew him as the creepy guy from across the hall and only knew his name from his designation on his mailbox—was trudging down the stairs. His eyes were blank and hollow, just like the young man’s had been. Judy retreated and pressed her back against the wall as Chisholm reached the bottom of the stairs. Chisholm never looked Judy’s direction. He kept walking forward, reaching for the handle to the front door without looking down. Chisholm exited to the sidewalk and Judy ran to the door as it swung closed behind him. She watched out the window as he marched slowly to the street, looked up, and then vanished like the rest.