CH 12: Zombie Escalator
It was Day 12 of the apocalypse.
The living room had officially become a crime scene—if the crime was committed by glitter, duct tape, and paranoia.
A massive hand-drawn map of the city stretched across the living room wall, held in place by pushpins, jelly stains, and at least one mystery sock.
Every building was labeled either LOOTED, ZOMBIES INSIDE, ON FIRE or ???. There were arrows pointing to locations like "Secret Pizza Stash", "Possible Ferret Den", and "Haunted Walgreens – DO NOT ENTER (again)".
Carl stood in the middle of this artistic disaster, squinting. "Is that toast… nailed to the wall?"
"That's not just toast," said Toby, who was now wearing a foil hat and aviator goggles like some kind of post-apocalyptic gremlin general. "That's THE toast. The last piece Nana made before the fridge exploded. It speaks."
Carl glanced at Ellie, who was calmly braiding her zombie plushie's hair with dental floss. She offered no help. Nana, meanwhile, was sawing a baguette in half with a serrated hunting knife.
"I'm just gonna say it," Carl muttered. "We might be going a little stir-crazy."
"We're planning," Nana replied brightly, slamming the sliced bread on the counter like it was a battle plan. "Every good expedition starts with carbs and confusion."
Carl looked again at the chaos on the wall. "And we're doing this… because?"
"Because," Nana said, lifting a mason jar triumphantly, "I am out. Of. Garlic. Bread."
She said this like she was announcing a war.
"I'm sorry… you want to risk life and limb for… breadsticks?" Carl blinked.
"Not just breadsticks. Proper garlic bread. The kind that makes your soul weep and your breath a bio-weapon," Nana said proudly. "And I know where to find some: the Meadowbrook Outlet Mall."
"That place was already a nightmare before the zombies," Carl groaned.
"Exactly," Nana grinned. "No one would expect us to go there."
Ellie looked up. "Can I build a sword-bear?"
Carl blinked. "A what?"
"A bear. But with swords. Like. For arms."
Nana gave her a thoughtful nod. "The Build-A-Bear station might still be operational. If we make it there, you can build anything your tiny heart desires. With blades."
Ellie grinned like a tiny warlord.
Toby, now fastening Pringles cans to his arms "for defense," pointed at the map. "We'll need to avoid the sewer trolls, avoid the mime gang, and probably take the Scenic Cow Route."
Carl stared. "The what?"
"It's a real thing," Toby insisted. "There's a cow. You turn left. GPS said so."
Carl sighed. "We don't have GPS."
"We used to. Before it got replaced by that voice that only yells 'TURN BACK'."
Nana clapped her hands together. "Alright, troops. Pack the wagon!"
Yes, the red Radio Flyer wagon again—the one they'd previously used to haul a cherry pie uphill and accidentally trigger a minor food-based explosion.
Since then, it had been upgraded with scavenged scooter wheels, a tiny makeshift roof, and a pair of bicycle horns that only honked in minor chords.
Carl loaded it with the essentials: a change of socks, bottled water, a half-used can of whipped cream, three hand-painted zombie warning signs, and a roll of bubble wrap Ellie refused to part with.
Ellie loaded in Mister Chuckles—the painted zombie skull she adopted last week—and her plushie that now had paperclip claws.
Toby brought marshmallows, three flashlights with no batteries, and a broken Game Boy cartridge labeled "Definitely Not Haunted".
Nana herself emerged from the garage with her walker, now enhanced with spinning fan blades on the wheels, a retractable umbrella, and a radio antenna duct-taped to the side. She was ready for war. Or a picnic.
"I still think we could just eat spaghetti without garlic bread," Carl muttered.
"And I think you should sleep outside tonight," Nana replied sweetly.
---
Fifteen minutes later.
The group stood at the end of the driveway, looking like a children's cartoon reboot of Mad Max.
"Okay," Carl said. "No funny business. We stick to the plan."
"What is the plan?" Toby asked.
Carl opened his mouth… and paused. "...We'll figure it out on the way."
Toby nodded seriously. "Classic Carl."
The wagon creaked. The group started marching. Nana led, Carl pushed the wagon, Ellie rode inside like a princess in a tiny apocalypse chariot, and Toby kept watch with a pair of toilet paper binoculars.
The neighborhood was oddly peaceful. Birds chirped. Zombies groaned faintly in the distance. Someone's Alexa was still playing jazz in a nearby yard.
Suddenly, Ellie shouted, "PONY!"
Everyone turned sharply.
It wasn't a pony.
It was an emu. Wearing what looked like a tutu, a party hat, and a glint in its eye that said, I've seen things.
"Oh no," Carl whispered. "Not again."
The emu squawked.
Toby screamed. "IT'S BACK FOR REVENGE!"
"I thought we left it locked in the Old Navy fitting room!" Carl panicked.
"It ESCAPED," Ellie said, delighted.
"Abort mission!" Nana shouted, flipping a lever on her walker and releasing a puff of glitter into the air.
The wagon tipped. The marshmallows rolled. Carl fell. Ellie leapt from the wagon like a gymnast and threw a breadstick at the emu, which caught it mid-air and stared, confused but intrigued.
Toby dropped a smoke bomb made from flour and paprika. Visibility dropped to zero. Someone yelled "FIRE IN THE HOLE" even though there was no fire. Probably Toby.
---
Three chaotic minutes later.
They were all in a drainage ditch filled with plastic flamingos, panting.
"Well," Carl said, face-down in grass, "that went well."
The emu stood nearby, now wearing Carl's hoodie and munching peacefully on a granola bar Ellie had handed it.
"You gave it a snack?" Carl asked.
"He was hungry. And polite," Ellie said. "His name is Roger now."
Roger blinked at Carl. Carl blinked back, slowly accepting his new reality.
"We haven't even made it halfway to the mall," Carl muttered.
"And yet we've made a new friend," Nana said cheerfully. "Apocalypse is all about perspective."
Toby pointed to the horizon, where the collapsed sign of Meadowbrook Outlet Mall jutted like a fallen god's tombstone.
"Onward," Toby declared, "for garlic bread and weirdly specific Build-A-Bears!"
And so they marched again—less of a march, more of a chaotic shuffle—but onward all the same.
Roger followed. Of course he did.
---
The Meadowbrook Outlet Mall loomed ahead like a monument to America's past priorities: shopping, food courts, and air conditioning strong enough to give you frostbite in July.
Time had not been kind to the mall.
One side was half-collapsed from a suspiciously flaming JCPenney. The giant LED welcome screen glitched between ads for perfume and an old PSA that read "WASH YOUR HANDS OR DIE." Appropriate.
Nana adjusted her apocalypse sunglasses and muttered, "Smells like expired coupons and regret."
Carl hesitated. "Are we sure this is worth it?"
"Garlic bread, Carl," Nana said, tapping her walker, which now had a mini umbrella and a flashlight duct-taped to the front. "We've crossed deserts of suburban nonsense to get here."
Roger the Emu squawked from behind them and pecked a nearby mannequin that had dared to look at him the wrong way. He was still wearing Carl's hoodie. He had claimed leadership of the group now. No one argued.
"Okay, entry plan?" Carl asked, trying to sound like the adult in the room, despite being outvoted three-to-one by a grandma, a ten-year-old, and an emu.
"Front door is probably a trap," said Toby, adjusting his tinfoil hat, now version 4.0 with satellite reception. "All malls are sentient. I read it online."
"You also said squirrels run the post office."
"They do! That's why our mail smells like acorns."
Before Carl could argue, Ellie ran ahead, shouting, "I SEE THE FOOD COURT!"
The automatic glass doors screeched open with a grinding sound that could have summoned demons from the floor below. A gust of stale air, cinnamon, and old cologne blew out.
And then... silence.
Unnaturally still silence.
The kind of silence that says, yes, there are definitely zombies in here pretending to be mannequins again.
They stepped inside slowly, wagon wheels squeaking.
The mall interior was straight out of a fever dream.
Plastic ivy still hung from the ceilings. A dried-up fountain now housed a colony of pigeons who'd taken up synchronized swimming in the algae.
A sign hung overhead:
> WELCOME TO MEADOWBROOK MALL
TODAY'S DEALS: SURVIVAL, SOFT PRETZELS, AND SCREAMING
Ellie immediately took Roger the Emu's wing and pointed toward Build-A-Bear.
"I want a ninja bear with roller skates and a fire extinguisher backpack."
Roger squawked in support.
Carl frowned. "Let's just grab the garlic bread and go before something eats us."
"Oh come on," Nana said, "we're already here. Let's explore. Maybe get matching apocalypse sandals."
Toby gasped. "They might have Crocs of the Dead!"
They wandered deeper. It was weirdly clean.
Too clean.
Until they turned the corner… and found the escalators.
---
The Escalator Cult
"I told you," Toby whispered, hiding behind a kiosk full of cursed clearance sunglasses. "They worship the escalators."
Carl peeked around the corner. Sure enough, five zombies were going up and down the escalator. Endlessly. They groaned softly every time they reached the top and just… turned around to go back down.
One of them wore a pretzel hat. Another had a balloon animal tied to its wrist.
"Are they… trapped?" Carl asked.
"No," Nana whispered. "They're vibing."
Ellie tilted her head. "They look kinda happy."
Roger let out a low chirp of agreement.
Toby pulled out a sketchpad. "These must be the fabled Loopers. Zombies that forget what they're doing and just follow the mall flow forever."
"You made that up," Carl hissed.
"Probably. But look how majestic they are."
Carl pointed to a sign. "Food court's on the second floor. We'll take the side stairs and avoid the undead escalator society."
They snuck past a Claire's full of shadowy shapes and a "50% Off Forever" sign that felt way too prophetic.
Carl stepped around a mannequin with too many teeth and muttered, "Why does that mannequin have abs?"
"Mall security dummy," Nana said. "They don't skip leg day."
---
The Food Court Incident
The food court was… alive.
Not with zombies, but with activity.
A group of survivors had built a small village out of Taco Bell trays and Cinnabon signage. They wore matching paper hats and wielded spatulas as weapons.
"Who dares enter the Sacred Court of Snackaria?" yelled a tall man wearing a Pizza Hut bib like a cape.
"Uh. Hi," Carl said. "We're just here for garlic bread."
"Then you seek… The Oven."
Everyone turned dramatically toward the closed Sbarro.
"We haven't dared enter in days," whispered a woman dressed like a Subway sandwich. "They say the bread still bakes… even with no power."
Toby gasped. "A cursed oven?"
"A blessed one," said the pizza man. "But it demands sacrifice."
Carl looked at Roger. "We're not giving up the emu."
Roger hissed and flexed his neck muscles.
"Ellie," Nana said calmly, "do you still have that can of whipped cream?"
Ellie nodded.
"Good. Offer it as tribute."
They approached the Sbarro. The door creaked open. Inside: chaos.
Ovens glowing. Counters shimmering with heat mirage. The scent of garlic was real. A single breadstick floated slowly through the air like it was chosen by the gods.
Nana stepped forward. "I got this."
She chucked the whipped cream can into the air, kicked open the counter flap, caught the floating breadstick, and dove backward in one motion.
Everyone gasped.
Nana stood tall, holding it above her head like a trophy.
"It is done."
The survivors erupted in applause. The man in the pizza bib wept. "You are… the Saucebringer."
---
Back Outside the Mall
Thirty minutes later, the team rolled their wagon out of the mall with new shoes, new memories, and Roger wearing a Build-A-Bear tuxedo.
Carl bit into the garlic bread.
It was glorious.
"We nearly died for this," he said between chews.
"And I'd do it again," Nana replied.
Roger sneezed.
Behind them, the mall doors creaked shut.
And from deep inside… the soft whisper of pretzel-shaped chanting echoed faintly in the air.
---
End of Chapter 12 - Zombie Escalator
> The adventure for garlic bread is over… for now. But something even weirder might be waiting just around the corner.
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