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“Where did you find it?” says Brigitte.
“Back here. There are a lot more.”
We follow Traven back along the bread-crumb trail of plastic balls. It leads to the pile of debris in back. Vidocq goes down and he and Traven pull pieces of concrete and cinder blocks from the wall. Hundreds of colored plastic balls cascade out. Red. Blue. White. Green. Then the balls stop. There are so many of them that they’ve plugged up the hole they were pouring through.
“What are they?” says Candy.
“A way out?” says Traven.
I say, “Let me try something.”
They clear away from the hole. I get down right next to it and stick my Kissi arm into the wall of plastic. Nothing is going to bite the arm off, and if anyone is hiding on the other side, my bug arm will scare them off. But I don’t feel anything except more plastic balls. I pull my arm back.
“The hole is big enough to get through. I’m going in.”
“Like hell you are,” says Candy. “You’re hurt, you can’t do magic, and you’re probably out of bullets by now.”
“Someone has to go through and see what’s on the other side of this wall. And it’s not going to be Vasco de Asshole over there,” I say, looking at Delon.
“I’ll go,” says Brigitte. “My gun has some shots left.”
“Please don’t,” says Traven.
“It’s fine. There’s probably nothing there and I’ll be back in two seconds.”
Traven lets go of her arm. Brigitte gets out her pistol, kneels by the opening, and worms her way inside. More balls pour into the room. When she’s up to her waist, she’s still burrowing. Then only her feet are showing and she disappears.
A whoop comes through from the other side of the wall. Balls begin to fall again. In a few seconds Brigitte has dug back far enough to stick her head back into the room.
“Come through,” she says. “It’s incredible.”
Before I can say anything, Candy dives in after her. I shove Delon through next. I follow him and Traven and Vidocq follow me.
It’s not much of a climb. Only a few feet. I’m suspended in plastic balls for a second when I hear Candy say, “Put your feet down, dummy.”
I shift around until I clear enough balls under me to move my feet down and touch a floor. When I straighten up I find myself waist-deep in the plastic balls. The others pop up behind me.
The room is dark and smells of mold and something sweet. Like old soft-drink syrup spilled and left to go bad in wet carpets. Brigitte has her flashlight on. I can make out shapes under the collapsed ceiling. Booths. Pool tables. Pinball and motorcycle-racing machines against the walls.
“What the hell is this place?” I say.
“It’s one of those family joints,” says Candy. “You know. The family fills up on pizza and the kids get to run around and play games, including climbing around in ball pits.”
She bounces some of the plastic balls off my chest.
“We’re saved by America’s shitty eating habits,” she says.
Brigitte leads the way out of the pit and we follow her through the restaurant. The aluminum doors have long since been knocked down. We step over them and a small sea of broken glass and then we’re back in the main floor of the mall.
I say, “Hallelujah. Back where we started.”
“Not quite,” says Delon.
He’s standing by one of the upright mall maps.
“According to this, we’re one floor above the baths.”
“Lead the way,” I say.
