DEAD HORIZON — Chapter 16: STAFF CORRIDOR

The door slammed. 

Metal on metal. The sound cut the screams off like a knife. 

For one second, there was nothing. 

No carousel music. No running. No blood on tile. 

Just breathing. 

Arthur’s. Ragged. High in his chest. 

Sophia’s. Sharp. Shallow. In through her nose, out through her teeth. 

The emergency exit sign above the door buzzed. Flickered once. Green light stuttering. 

Sophia’s hands were on her knees. Her left foot didn’t touch the ground. Her ankle was already the size of a baseball, skin pulled tight, purple blooming under her white sock. A red sneaker print from the kid in Nikes was stamped across it. 

Arthur didn’t look at her. He looked at the door. 

He tried the handle. Locked. No. It didn’t lock from this side. Spring hinge. Self-closing. Anyone could push it from the food court. 

He put his shoulder against it anyway. Listened. 

Muffled. The hurricane was still there, but it was behind glass now. Distant. Screams. Running. A crash — tables maybe. Something heavy falling. 

Then a new sound. Closer. 

Thud. Thud. Thud. 

Something hitting the door from the other side. 

Not a fist. Not knocking. 

Something falling against it. Then sliding down. 

Arthur stepped back. 

Sophia still hadn’t said anything. She was staring at the door too. Her boba was gone. Her binder was gone. Her friends were gone. 

“Phone,” Arthur said. 

It wasn’t a question. 

He pulled his out. No bars. LTE circle with a line through it. He opened texts. 

To: Maggie 

Are you— 

Sending… 

The little wheel spun. Then stopped. 

Message failed to send. 

Sophia pulled her phone from her back pocket. The screen was cracked from the fall. She tapped Priya’s name. 

The call screen came up. One ring. 

Then Call Failed. 

She tried Lisa. Same thing. 

Her thumb hovered over MOM. She didn’t press it. 

On the wall, an emergency alert panel crackled to life. Red light blinking. 

“ATTENTION OAKRIDGE SHOPPERS. THIS IS AN EMERGENCY BROADCAST. PLEASE REMAIN CALM AND—” 

BZzzZT. 

The speaker died mid-word. The red light stayed on. Solid. Not blinking. 

Outside, somewhere far away, sirens started. 

Not a lot. Two. Maybe three. Thin. Like they were on the other side of the city. Like they weren’t coming here. 

Sophia exhaled. It shook. 

“Okay,” she said. Her voice tried to be General Evans. Clipboard voice. Binder voice. “Okay. Security will stabilize this. We just need to— to stay here until they—”

She stopped. 

Because Davis had been security. 

And his face was in an old man’s neck five minutes ago. 

Her mouth closed. 

Arthur didn’t say anything. He just watched her. Not judging. Just… cataloging. 

Sophia put weight on her left foot. Test. 

Pain shot up her leg. White hot. Bone-grinding. Her vision went spotty. She hissed and grabbed the wall. Her knuckles went white. 

She didn’t fall. 

She refused to fall. 

“Hallway,” Arthur said. 

He moved first. Not waiting. Not asking. 

The staff corridor was narrow. Gray walls. Concrete floor. Pipes on the ceiling. It smelled like mop water and fried oil. Doors on both sides — BREAK ROOM, MANAGER, ELECTRICAL, KITCHEN ACCESS. All closed. 

Fluorescent lights hummed. One of them was dead, making the far end of the hall darker. 

They made it twenty feet before they heard voices. 

“—telling you, it’s a riot!” 

“Then why was that little girl—” 

“Drugs! It’s gotta be drugs! Bath salts or—” 

Around the corner. BREAK ROOM. Door cracked open. 

Arthur stopped. He put a hand out. Not touching Sophia. Just stopping her. 

He peeked. 

Three people. 

One was a kid in a Bubble Tea King apron. Maybe eighteen. He was shaking, back against the vending machine. Boba tea still in his hand, untouched. Condensation running down to his wrist. 

Second was a freshman. LHHS letterman jacket. Too big for him. He was crying, but trying to hide it. Wiping his face every two seconds with his sleeve. 

Third was a man. Janitor uniform. Forties. Bald. He wasn’t talking. He was sitting on the break table, legs swinging, watching the door. His eyes didn’t blink much. 

They all looked up when Arthur and Sophia limped in. 

“You’re kids,” the employee said. Relief and disappointment at the same time. “Thank God. I mean— not God. Shit. Are you okay? Are you bit?”

“We’re not bit,” Arthur said. 

Sophia didn’t correct him. She leaned against the doorframe. Putting weight on her good foot. 

“What happened out there?” the freshman said. His voice cracked. “My sister— she was by Hot Topic and then people started— and then that man— his face—”

“Nobody knows,” the employee said fast. Too fast. “It’s a riot. Or terrorists. Or a gas leak making people crazy. Security’s handling it. Cops are coming. We just gotta stay here. Rules say shelter in place for—”

The janitor finally spoke. “Ain’t no rules for this.” 

His voice was quiet. Rough. Like gravel. 

Everyone looked at him. 

He shrugged. “Worked the night shift here twenty years. Seen fights. Seen fires. Seen a dude OD in the bathroom on Black Friday.” He scratched his chin. “Never seen people chew on each other though. That’s new.”

He said it like he was talking about a busted pipe. 

“Don’t say that!” the employee snapped. 

The break room had a TV. Old. CRT. Mounted in the corner. It was on, but the screen was snow. 

Then it flickered. 

“...multiple incidents reported across Riverside County... residents are advised to remain in—” 

The image was gone before it finished. A man in a suit. Behind him, a city street. Smoke. Lots of smoke. 

Then BZzzZT. 

The screen went back to snow. Then to blue. 

NO SIGNAL. 

Then to a weather loop from this morning. Sunny. 82 degrees. 

 The employee made a sound. Like a dog whining. 

Sophia didn’t look at the TV. She looked at Arthur. 

He was already moving. 

Not to the door. To the T-junction at the end of the hall. He peeked around the corner. Left was dark. Storage. Boxes. Dead end. 

Right was stairs. Metal door. Small window with wire mesh. He could see the first landing. Empty. 

He came back. 

“Up,” he said. 

It wasn’t a suggestion. 

“Up?” The freshman wiped his nose. “Why up? We should go down. To the parking garage. To cars.”

“Parking garage is open,” Arthur said. “Too many entrances.”

“How do you know?” the employee said. 

Arthur didn’t answer. He just looked at the hall again. Six feet wide. One person at a time. Blind corner at the T. 

BANG BANG BANG. 

Everyone jumped. 

It came from the way Arthur and Sophia had come. The staff door to the food court. 

Muffled screams behind it. 

“OPEN IT!” a voice yelled from the other side. Male. Panicked. “PLEASE! OPEN THE—” 

The voice cut off into a wet gurgle. 

Then more banging. Not fists. Something heavier. Something falling against it over and over. 

The employee backed away from the break room door like the sound could come through. “They’re coming in here.”

Nobody asked who they were. 

Arthur didn’t look at the door. He looked at the side door: KITCHEN ACCESS. Locked. Needed a keycard. 

The freshman bolted for it. He slammed his hands against it. “Come on! Come on!” He hit it again. Then again. 

“Stop,” Sophia said. Her voice was small. 

He didn’t stop. He reared back and kicked the handle. His foot bounced off. He did it again. 

“Stop it!” the employee yelled. “You’ll bring them here!”

“It’s probably security!” the freshman shouted back. Tears running down his face. “Maybe they’re— maybe they’re clearing the mall! Maybe if we just—” 

He pulled out his phone. Hands shaking. He dialed. 

911. 

He put it to his ear. 

One ring. 

Two rings. 

BANG. 

Louder this time. 

The staff door to the food court dented inward. Metal flexing. 

The freshman dropped his phone. It clattered. 

“All circuits are busy. Please try your call again later.” 

The automated voice was calm. Too calm. 

He stared at the phone on the floor. 

Sophia didn’t say anything. She was looking at the exits. At the crowd. At the bodies. At Davis — who had been security. 

Security doesn’t fix this. 

The thought hit her wrong. Like a step that wasn’t there. 

Security is this. 

She put a hand on the wall. Just to stay up. 

BANG. 

Another dent. Bigger. 

The door was solid. But the frame was cheap. The screws were cheap. 

BANG. 

One of the screws popped. Fell to the floor. Rolled under the vending machine. 

The employee screamed. Short. Choked. 

The janitor didn’t move. He just watched the door. His legs stopped swinging. 

Arthur looked at Sophia. 

She was still on her good foot. But she wasn’t looking at the exits anymore. 

She was looking at the floor. At nothing. 

The rules still apply part of her brain was quiet. 

The lock bent. Another screw turned, metal shrieking. 

A shadow moved under the door. One inch gap between door and floor. 

Something was on the other side. 

Not standing. 

Crawling. 

You could see the fingers. Human fingers. But the skin was wrong. Gray. 

They scraped against the concrete. 

Shhk. Shhk. Shhk. 

Slow. Rhythm. Like it had time. 

Then the breathing started. 

Wet. Rattling. Like a person trying to breathe through a mouth full of water. 

Arthur stepped between the door and Sophia. 

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t pose. Didn’t pull out a weapon. 

He just moved. 

So if the door gave, it would have to go through him first. 

The second screw started to turn.