The Night Children Page 13

  “You knew she was bringing the—”

  “I said, quiet.” Tick and Mag exchange nods. They are working together now.

  Whether or not she wants to see it, Jule knows that Tick is right. Although the Dingos and Crazies thought they were enemies, they are pulling together here. Emergencies make strange bedfellows. When the call went out on cell phones and pagers, children in both tribes dropped whatever they were doing and came. As Tick’s instructions scrolled up the screens of cells and BlackBerries, the Castertown Crazies and the Dingos forgot their differences and moved out together, collecting supplies. From the food courts, from the music and video galleries and the amusement plaza, from wherever they were roving, the Castertown Crazies and the Dingos come, carrying flare guns and baseball bats, jackknives and starter’s pistols, slingshots and sparklers, whatever they think is needed for what happens next.

  On their way to the hidden river, the tribes raided the Sporting Goods gallery and took things, something Tick’s night children have never done before. Under pressure, they broke in and they stole. The rules just changed. This is an emergency. They had no choice. Along with the items on Tick’s list they have brought fireworks and megaphones, everything they could think of and everything that came to hand. Badminton nets, bows and arrows, pellet guns, in case . . .

  In case of what?

  Nobody knows.

  They’ll know soon enough, and most of them are afraid.

  Whatever happens, the Crazies and the Dingo tribe are working together now. The night children sit together without moving, waiting for the signal.

  Jule is waiting too.

  Tick just isn’t ready to give it yet.

  He stands with that hand on the ladder. Listening.

  The suspense is worse than whatever they have to fight, Jule thinks. When you hate waiting, the worst thing anybody can do to you is make you wait. Living with the Castertown Crazies, she thought she had learned how to be a team player, but Jule is used to being her own boss. Waiting is hard for her. It always has been.

  How can they just sit here, with poor little Doakie trapped up there in the Dark Hall? She doesn’t care about Burt Arno but she does care about Doakie, and who knows how many others Zozzco has trapped? They have to hurry! Can’t he see it? Everything is at risk and yet, Tick waits. He is listening.

  The only sound in the giant echo chamber is the whistle of air in the stone chute leading up. If there was anybody tramping around up there in the Dark Hall, you’d never know it. If Mag thought she heard Burt shouting for help when she came running to Tick, he isn’t shouting now. There are no footsteps vibrating overhead and there are no voices. If she hears anything, it’s the sound of nothing happening.

  Jule wheels, studying the cross little redhead. For all she knows, Mag lied to get them all here. She mutters to Tick, “What if this is a Dingo trap?”

  “Don’t.”

  “What if Mag got us down here to get even?”

  “I said, don’t.”

  Furious, she clenches her teeth and waits. It’s killing her. As far as she can tell, the Dark Hall is empty now. If they have Doakie up there somewhere, whoever they are, if they really do have Burt in their clutches, if indeed they have prisoners—Mom? Dad?—you’d never know it. Everything is still.

  “Come on,” she murmurs. “What’s keeping you?”

  Silent, Tick looks at his watch.

  Jule is one of those people who doesn’t need a watch to know what time it is. It’s near dawn. Too near dawn, she realizes, if they’re going to do this before sunup and get back to the hideout before the morning cleaning crews come in. She jogs his arm. “It’s getting late!”

  Instead of responding, he blinks, and new to the life as she is, Jule understands that Tick has brought them here without a plan.

  “What’s the matter, Tick? Are you scared?”

  “No.”

  “Then go!” All they have to do is start up that ladder. “Let’s go up and get this over with!”

  “Not until I’m sure.”

  “Sure of what.” She is getting angry. “Sure of what?”

  “Sure that it’s safe. I can’t let anybody get hurt.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be careful.”

  Tick says in a harsh whisper, “You’re not the only person I have to think about.”

  At his side now, she grabs the ladder. “Let’s go!”

  “I have to think.”

  “Well, I don’t!”

  “That’s your whole problem,” Tick says sharply. It’s like a smack in the face.

  Instead of making her think, it makes her mad.

  Behind them in the boats, boys and girls shift impatiently, but nobody speaks. For this many people, they are amazingly silent. Even Jiggy and Nance are quiet, for now. For a bunch of oddly assorted would-be enemies, the high level of self-control is amazing. Nobody whispers. Nobody giggles. Nobody moves except Jule, whose fingers and toes are curling as though she’s already climbing; everything in her is rushing ahead.

  Most people are holding their breath.

  But Jule is new to night in the MegaMall. She hasn’t spent her life running and hiding like the others. She has been on the WhirlyFunRide more times than any person in the MegaMall, boy, girl or adult, and she’s not afraid of anything. She’s not! Before Tick can stop her, she starts to climb.

  “Girl, what are you doing?”

  “I’m going up.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  AT THE TOP OF the ladder, Jule comes out into a stupendous stillness. Nobody speaks. Nothing moves. The Dark Hall is as bleak and featureless as a black star.

  She has come up in the Great Room at its center. What little light there is comes from overhead lights marking the point where the vaulted ceiling gives way to a glistening black glass dome. The shadows are so deep that she can see almost nothing. She can’t hear anything. Trembling, she sprawls on the gleaming onyx floor and waits.

  Below her, Tick is climbing. She can hear his light footfalls on the ladder as he comes up. Whether or not the leader wanted it, they have begun. Will he pop out of the hole in the floor in a rage, and attack her for going when he told her to wait? Can she start exploring or will she end up fighting Tick just to keep him from forcing her back down the ladder? She doesn’t know.

  Now that she’s here, Jule wonders if she moved too fast.

  She doesn’t know what Tick is going to do. She has no idea what he has planned. She doesn’t know whether he intends to scope out the place before they try anything or if he wants to do what she wants to do, which is rush in and rescue Doakie and Burt Arno however. She doesn’t even know whether they’re strong enough or smart enough to rescue anybody.

  She just thinks they need to do something. Anything to end the suspense.

  Jule is worried about Burt Arno, but not really. She’s worried about Doakie, but not as much as she’s worried about the other prisoners in the Dark Hall.

  Mag says they’re going to do something awful to the prisoners. Whoever They are. Security? Zozzco? Or does the girl mean somebody else—whatever sinister, nameless power commands the Dark Hall?

  Above Jule’s head the smoked glass dome pushes against a sky that is just beginning to turn pale. Outside the sun’s coming up, but the glass is engineered so that very little light penetrates here. Life in this eerie space unfolds in shadow.

  She doesn’t know, but she suspects that like the night children, whoever or whatever force drives the Dark Hall sleeps by day and goes about its business after the Mega-Mall closes for the night. This means that the Dark Hall and all its people must be sleeping now. At least she hopes they’re sleeping.

  She and Tick have come up into the central plaza where the main events take place. Whatever they are.

  Rows of black marble benches ring the basalt walls in the circular hall. They are staged in tiers, as though crowds of people assemble here for some ritual Jule has trouble imagining. She doesn’t know whether the higher-ups at Zozzco gather h
ere to watch Aztec rituals complete with sacrifice or to see gladiators in combat or captives fighting lions the way they did in Julius Caesar’s day.

  Instead of a central fountain like courtyards in the other sectors, the center of the onyx Great Room is marked only by a circle of inlaid gold. Big things happen here at the heart of the Dark Hall, she is sure of it. Something big happens and young as they are, unarmed and unprepared, she and Tick Stiles are here to stop it.

  Whatever it is.

  The knowledge rips through her like a cold wind and leaves her shivering.

  The place is too big. This is all too much.

  This is going to be hard.

  She wants it to begin. She’s afraid to begin. They aren’t ready. Tick and his night children have no idea what they’re facing or what they’ll be called on to do. Right, Tick, she thinks, sighing. On a better day, she would stop to apologize. No wonder you were taking your time.

  Just then Tick slips out of the chute and rolls into position next to her. He isn’t angry. Grim as he looks, he manages a grin. “Looks like we made it.”

  Jule wants to apologize for rushing this but they are beyond that now. She grins right back at him. “We did.”

  Tick is trying to sound brave, but he finishes with a gulp. “Ready or not.”

  At first the Dark Hall beyond the circular Great Room seems empty, but there is a spectral uneasiness in the dimness. They hear a rustle in the air. They are not alone. They are aware of slight movement in the corridors leading away from the circular courtyard. Bizarre as it is, on closer inspection the Dark Hall turns out to be laid out like all the other sectors. There are six curved archways visible. Six corridors lead out from the circular Great Room. The nearest ones open on ground floor galleries flanked by storefronts with second-floor balconies above, housing shop after shop, protected by smoked glass ceilings that arch overhead.

  Jule whispers, “Why is it so dark in here?”

  “He doesn’t want anybody to see what’s going on,” Tick says. He puts a hand on her wrist, holding her in place. “Shhh.”

  For a moment, everything is still.

  Now that she’s used to the profound silence, Jule hears people breathing. Bodies stirring as people roll over in their sleep. Her mind rushes ahead. Are there tribes of grownups living in the MegaMall? Do they hide out here in the Dark Hall, sleeping in the stores? Are the glass-and-neon displays in the gallery nearest them really ordinary shops or do the night children have friends in the Dark Hall, kindred souls living here? She doesn’t know.

  After a moment, Tick whispers, “Let’s go.”

  Inching along on their bellies, she and Tick head for the archway. As they approach the gallery she sees that there are no shuttered storefronts in this hallway, at least not the usual kinds. There are metal grilles, all right, the kind of grillework that rolls down at night to protect every storefront in the mall, but behind the grilles . . .

  They advance, worming along—who knows what alarms will go off if they stand? Odd, Jule thinks. There are no surveillcams here.

  After what seems like hours, they reach the gallery and roll inside. Blinking into the dimness, they see . . .

  All her breath rushes out. “Oh!”

  At the same time she hears Tick rumbling from somewhere deep. “My God.”

  Each grilled front conceals—not a store, exactly, and not an apartment—just something weird. From here it looks as though the enclosures the grilles are protecting aren’t stores, they’re cells. Oh, the fittings are all there: counters, display cases, registers, signs, but there is something terribly wrong. The spaces designed to look like stores really are cells. They are laid out like rooms in a dollhouse once you take the roof off to move the family around, with . . .

  Not dolls.

  Jule’s belly clenches. She hopes against hope that those are store dummies she sees sleeping in the other cells, lying on sofas and in beds and reclining chairs. She doesn’t know. “Tick,” she whispers, “do you think . . .”

  They hear a sneeze.

  “Prisoners.” His voice is so ragged that it scares her.

  “It can’t be.”

  “We have to make sure.”

  Prisoners. Gulping, Jule follows as Tick gets up and darts toward the first storefront. She can’t help hoping that maybe the figures in the windows and the figures inside are really store dummies after all, dressed up animatronics, a quaint display like one at Disney World. She and Tick are, after all, only two kids with a few more kids waiting for them on the river down below. The night children are smart and they’re tough, but even if all the Crazies and Dingos come up the ladder together at this very moment, what could they do? They are no army. They’re just kids.

  If there are real people trapped behind all these steel gratings, and the prisoners have been put here by Zozzco or whatever power governs the Dark Hall, all the children in the universe may not be strong enough to fight and win and get them out.

  Together, Jule and Tick advance.

  The first storefront is fixed up like an old-fashioned pharmacy, with pill dispensers and products and miniature scales and a marble counter and massed bottles filled with colored liquids in gleaming display cases. A perfect old-fashioned shop. At first glance the shop looks empty but as Tick and Jule peer in, a pale, skeletal figure in a white coat totters out from behind the counter and hisses, “Go back. Hurry. Hurry,” he pleads. “You can’t stay here!”

  So it’s true. Jule whispers, “What are we going to do?”

  The face Tick turns to her now is drawn and tortured. “Save them, I guess.”

  “But how?”

  “Try.” Tick pushes the point of his knife on the lock that secures the grille.

  “No. Quiet. Don’t,” the pale pharmacist squeaks in a mad attempt to whisper and warn them at the same time. “Don’t, or you’ll bring them.”

  “We came to help you.”

  “Help yourselves,” the old man says, “You can’t.”

  “We have to try.”

  From outside the gallery comes the sound of many feet, coming from far away.

  “They’re coming, now, hide!” The captive pharmacist swells up with the effort. The warning comes out in a whoosh. “Get down!”

  In a flash Tick drops like a marine dodging a shell.

  “Hurry!”

  As Jule stands, transfixed and blinking, two things happen.

  First, a little storm of desperate whispers begins in the gallery as pale, thin people imprisoned in dozens of stores behind dozens of other grilles become aware that there are outsiders here in the gallery. The captives whisper on and on, warning the two intruders to go somewhere else, anywhere else, before they get themselves and all the prisoners in trouble.

  Unless the people trapped in these stores are begging Tick and Jule to break them out. They are so upset that it’s hard to know. What they do know is that these trapped adults in their silly costumes are Amos Zozz’s toys.

  Tick hisses at Jule, “Get down.”

  But something else is happening, something so big that it freezes Jule in her tracks. A rush of laughter and loud voices fills the courtyard, preceded by the sound of drumming feet and the hum of fat rubber tires. Under the archway leading in from the far gallery, there is a parade forming up. Transfixed, she watches Zozzpeople on massed rolling chairs with flashing headlights and flying banners roll into position.

  Meanwhile, above the golden ring that marks the center of the Dark Hall, blinding searchlights come to life, beginning a slow sweep of the giant circular room.

  Gasping, Jule whirls.

  Something big is about to begin.

  She turns to Tick. “What?”

  “I think it’s what we came here to stop.”

  The chairs part and Security streams in. Dozens of troops with their cockroach visors pulled down thud into the arena and form a little honor guard.

  Next the parade of vehicles rolls in, fanning out to make a little avenue for . . . Jule cranes
to see. Something big is coming, a barge or a parade float carrying a . . . What? She isn’t sure. She is crazy to see!

  “Down,” the ancient pharmacist whispers urgently. “Down.”

  Tick tugs at her ankle. “Get down!”

  Riveted, Jule watches as spotlights play on the onyx courtyard. The honor guard of Security troops turns to face the far gallery but the roving spotlights sweep on, toward the spot where Jule Devereaux is still standing, bright as day.

  Tick grabs her ankle. “Get down.”

  And all the unknown prisoners trapped behind the storefronts whisper as one, “Get down!”

  Unused as she is to following orders, Jule doesn’t argue. She drops like a stone onto the floor.

  The prisoners draw in a single breath. It rushes out in a warning, as though they can blow Jule and Tick out of the path of the moving spotlights: “Hide!”

  Fate provides a distraction. Trumpeters play the Zozzco jingle, a little fanfare. Everybody in the place turns to face the gallery directly opposite. For the moment, their backs are to the gallery where the night children shrink.

  Tick whispers, “Now.”

  Clinging to the onyx floor, the two wriggle out into the courtyard. Like night fighters in a secret army, they roll under one of the black marble benches that ring the Dark Hall.

  As they do so, a hush falls on the Great Room.

  Then a cheer goes up in the great black courtyard as the honor guard of Security troops falls back and the Zozzco executives’ golf carts roll into position to make a little avenue for the approaching barge or parade float that carries . . . their leader? The monster that governs the Dark Hall? What?

  Lined with flowers and trimmed with gold, magnificent with its golden double Zs and its black satin draperies, the ceremonial float rolls in, carrying a black straight chair planted like a throne on the little platform at dead center. Sitting in the straight chair is a figure that Jule can not make out, because she is blinded by the light. Whoever it is, it’s only a silhouette to her. Then the rolling mountain of black satin and gold enters the ring defined by the gold circle in the onyx floor and stops.