Free Razor Girl by Marianne Mancusi Page A

years back, and so far we’ve managed to keep a low profile. We’ve killed those who’ve come around so…well, we think they assume the place is abandoned.”
    He gave a cursory glance around the parking lot, Molly assumed checking for zombies, then went to a door cut out of the metal plates. He opened its lock with a key that hung on a silver chain around his neck. Beyond was a smashed-in glass door.
    “Careful,” he said as he motioned for Molly to step inside. “Don’t cut yourself. A single scratch could be lethal these days.”
    She hadn’t thought of that. With no physicians, an untreated infection could be as dangerous as a zombie. Stepping through, she took care to avoid any sharp metal edges or glass shards.
    Chase entered, locking the metal door behind them. “Here we are,” he said, ushering her forward. “Home sweet home.”
    The normally bright overhead fluorescent lights were, of course, no longer functioning in this superstore, and the darkness was shocking compared to the sun outside. Otherwise, in what light there was, coming from a skylight to the northwest, the place seemed much as she remembered it. The shelves nearby were stacked with discounted electronics, yellow bouncy ball signs declared which products were currently—or in 2030, in this case—on special. A long row of checkouts, manned by silent cashier sentinels, stretched into the distance. In short, it was a barren wasteland of dust-caked commercialism, a vivid reminder of how the world once was.
    Molly sneezed.
    “Maid’s day off,” Chase quipped, beckoning her to follow. “Come on. I think the gang’s in Toys.”
    “Toys?”
    He laughed. “You’ll see.”
    He reached into his bag and pulled out a flashlight, flicking it on. A weak beam did its best to pierce the darkness, but as they walked briskly through the aisles and farther from the skylight, she wondered how Chase could even see. Her own implants compensated, switching to night vision. Thanks, Dad.
    At the back of the store a much brighter light appeared, if localized. As Chase promised, they were nearing the Toys section, and a minute later Molly caught high-pitched giggles accompanied by a loud whirring. They turned the corner and came upon a small circle of children all sprawled out on the floor. The light, she realized, came from a couple of lamps powered by a generator that was producing the whirring noise she’d heard.
    Molly took a closer look. Toys she remembered from her childhood were scattered everywhere: beautiful Barbies with long, flowing hair, dashing Ken dolls with their anatomically correct parts. (She and Erin were scandalized to learn they hadn’t always been manufactured that way, though in some ways Molly thought she’d prefer the old way.) These kids had every toy except the electronic ones, and sim decks, which were likely too expensive to run with limited battery power. Molly had to restrain herself not to scramble down onto the floor and play with the group.
    She did a quick count. Eight children, ranging in apparent ages from six to fourteen. The oldest two, a girl and boy, were arguing in a corner, while the younger ones contented themselves with play. There were boy triplets with shocks of carrot-colored hair and matching pug noses, but what seemed strangest of all was their outfits. In fact, all of the kids were outfitted the same way: a total mish-mash of colors and patterns, not a single one of which matched. Even stranger, the kids all wore makeup—even the boys. Or was it war paint? she wondered, because the swirling cheek and forehead designs appeared almost tribal. The whole thing reminded her of a book her dad had once made her read. The Lord of the Flies . Of course, Wal-Mart was no jungle, and these kids had no hope of a rescue plane swooping down anytime soon.
    “So they’re all orphans?” she asked Chase, keeping her voice low. “And you brought them all here?”
    A laugh sounded behind Molly, making her jump. “Chase?