Chapter 37: TANKER REMATCH — A NEW SLAVE FOR JOHNQUIS?
They slipped through the maintenance stairwell, Dancer prowling ahead on silent claws. Johnquis felt the hum in his bones before he heard it, that damn "Seaside Savings" jingle drifting up through the cracks like a lullaby from hell.
"♫ Where every day’s a sunny day... come down to Seaside Savings! ♫"
His feet hit the next landing. One more flight down. The air tasted... sweet? Like fake cotton candy on stale air-conditioning. The moment they pushed through the stairwell door, it slammed into him: a whole shopping floor, untouched. Or pretending to be.
He froze in the doorway, chain slack in his fist. Dancer eased up beside him, hackles bristling.
The entire concourse lay ahead. Bright, almost too bright. Neon banners flickered above rows of open stores: an ice cream shop, shoe stores, toy shops. In the atrium’s heart, a carousel turned in slow circles, its painted horses bobbing up and down with hollow smiles. Clean tiled floors glowed under perfect fluorescent strips. Mannequins in beach hats lined up behind glass. If you didn’t smell the blood, you’d think this place was ready for a summer sale.
"♫ Savings never end... sunshine and smiles for everyone... ♫"
The music cooed on loop, echoing down the polished corridors. Johnquis’ teeth ground together, that syrupy cheer gnawed at the back of his brain worse than any Eater snarls.
Dancer growled low, pacing ahead of him. She paused by a perfume kiosk, nose twitching. The mix of blood and cheap perfume made her snarl, irritation flaring in her eyes. Then she froze.
There. Half-slumped in front of a glass storefront: Archer. Or what was left of him. His body sprawled beneath the flickering sign for WAVE-RIDERS SWIMWEAR. His throat was a yawning hole, edges ripped ragged. His stomach... split wide open, guts piled on the pristine tile like some butcher’s display. Flies buzzed around his vacant eyes, while the shop behind him stayed spotless — bikinis on sale racks, mannequins frozen in plastic summer smiles.
Johnquis swallowed, dragging the back of his wrist across his mouth. Bile and rage tasted the same.
"That wound... reminds me of something," he muttered. He met Dancer’s eyes.