The hot dog army wasn’t going anywhere.
I sank to the metal grating and let my head hang, the aftershocks of adrenaline pricking my skin.
My new plan for the day: breathe, survive, and never shop in Mystic Hollow without backup again.
TEN
Emma
Deva leaned forward, scanning for obstacles below. She squinted at the ground. “Still crawling with mutant hot dogs. And the purple stuff is expanding.”
Carol, instead of observing the parking lot, stared intently at the patch of sky overhead. She shaded her eyes with her palm, then cracked a smile. “At least the air’s clear up here. Pretty view, if you ignore the biohazards.”
A crash from the lower rungs drew our attention. The hot-dog-dogs, unthwarted by our ladder escape, had discovered how to pile on top of each other. The stack was three links high and growing, with one plucky bratwurst almost making the bottom step.
“Is it just me, or are they learning?” I said.
“They’re scavengers,” Deva replied. “I bet if one tastes blood, we’ll never get out.”
Carol rummaged in her cardigan. “We need a distraction,” she muttered, pulling out a tangle of rubber bands, a miniaturepaintbrush, and a single dollar bill. She set them on her lap like a bird preparing to nest.
The dogs began to whine, a sound pitched somewhere between a squeaky toy and the dentist’s drill. The topmost one leapt and landed on the metal step two feet below us. It gnawed at the grated edge, tongue wriggling, and for a terrifying second, I imagined it would eat through the ladder and us with it.
“Any ideas?” I asked, trying to keep the panic in my voice to an attractive minimum.
“I say we wait it out,” Deva said, then paused. “Unless someone wants to be the meat shield.”
“Meat shield, ha!” Beth squawked. “Don’t be such wimps. Check your pockets. Always check your pockets.”
Carol looked up. “Already on it,” she said.
Deva snorted, then leaned in and whispered, “You got anything in yours, Emma? Or are we doomed to death by sausage?”
I dug through my jeans and came up with a mini bottle of hand sanitizer, two bobby pins, and a half-eaten granola bar. Not promising.
Carol, meanwhile, squinted at a small item Deva had extracted from her pile. “Aha!” She waved it for us to see. “Ketchup.” The packet glinted like a ruby in the morning sun. I wasn’t sure why Deva had a ketchup packet in her pocket, but owning a restaurant had to be cause for odd items tucked away.
Deva shrugged. “What are you going to do with it?”
I failed to see how a condiment could help, unless we intended to season ourselves for the impending feast, but Carol seemedconfident. She whispered under her breath, tore open the ketchup, and dabbed the red goop onto her finger. “The scent will be amplified,” she said as she waved her finger around.
The dogs below caught the scent instantly. The one nearest began to shudder, then reversed direction and slithered back down, yipping. The chain effect was immediate. Every hot dog in the pile recoiled, and those on the perimeter began to howl in terror.
Carol pursed her lips. “Time to amp it up.” She pressed the remaining ketchup between her palms, said another rhyme, and clapped her hands.
The ketchup packet bulged, doubling, then quadrupling in size, inflating until it resembled a small water balloon. She chucked it down at the pack. When it burst on the tarmac, an impossible flood of ketchup sprayed outward, painting the dogs, the steps, and a good portion of the wall in a lumpy red glaze.
The transformation was biblical. The hot dog dogs writhed, screamed, and bolted back into the supermarket, shoving each other through the broken glass doors in their haste to escape. One or two slid helplessly on ketchup slick, but they were gone in moments.
“There. Problem solved,” Carol announced, brushing the remaining glitter from her hands.
I turned toward the ladder. “Let’s get after Susan before she hides her tracks.”
The coast clear, we navigated down the fire escape, careful to avoid the bloodbath of tomato and processed meat. Deva led the way, her boots sticking with every step, and I trailed, one handon the rail for dear life. Carol took her time, humming as she went, like a woman on a lazy escalator.
We cut around the far side of the building, out of sight from the crowd gathered in the lot. Susan was there, hunched over, phone pressed to her ear. She didn’t see us approach.
“Yes, I’m sure!” she was saying, pacing in tight circles. “You have to send someone. It’s gone absolutely bonkers in there. No, I don’t know what happened. Just hurry.” She paused, then added, “No, I haven’t seen her since.”
