4:07 P.M.
Miranda leans down and grabs Javier’s hand to help him to his feet. After a pause, Cole does the same on the other side. Once Javier is up, he loops his arms around their shoulders. He grunts when he puts weight on his right foot, his fingers clamping onto Miranda’s upper arm. He smells of acrid sweat and coppery blood and a tiny bit like sweet shampoo.
Together they lurch past the cash register and the dressing rooms. In their wake is a trail of red drops. If the bad guys do get past the shutter, they will know exactly where they are.
They stagger into the storeroom. About fifteen by twenty feet, it’s filled with tall black metal shelving units stacked with neatly sorted clothing. In the back, a small desk sits next to two rows of short lockers. In the corner, an open door reveals a small bathroom with a toilet and sink.
Amina closes the storeroom door behind them. Her mouth is twisted as she stares at her phone.
Miranda, Cole, and Javier make for the chair in front of the desk. Miranda picks out her own unsmiling face on a bulletin board, then looks away, hoping no one else notices.
She starts to lower Javier into the chair. But Cole’s not doing the same. Instead, he uses his free arm to sweep two stacks of plaid sweaters off the nearest shelf and onto the floor.
“He needs to get his feet higher than his head or he’ll go into shock.” Cole’s words are brusque, almost impatient. He kicks the sweaters to spread them out, then he and Miranda lower Javier as carefully as they can. Still, when Javier’s back touches the floor, he grimaces and half rolls onto his side.
Miranda helps him lift his feet onto the chair. All the moving around has loosened the makeshift bandage. “I’m going to tighten this,” she says, taking the ends of the sleeves. He nods and then clenches his teeth. It’s like squeezing a bloody sponge. Should she try to make a tourniquet? She sees a shard of a memory: Matthew with a belt around his biceps. Miranda shakes her head, forcing herself to focus on this room, this guy whose lifeblood is hot under her palms.
“Thank you,” Javier says. “Again.”
She just nods and wipes her hands on her jeans, remembering too late that there’s a bathroom. How long can they take cover back here until they are hiding not with a bleeding boy but with a dead body?
Taking out her phone, she sends the same text to both of her parents, knowing it will produce very different results. Her dad will spring into action. Her mom will probably fall apart.
Shooting at Fairgate Mall. Hiding in Culpeppers. Plz tell cops. Someone shot in leg.
As Miranda finishes, Amina looks up from her phone. “I have been trying and trying, but no one’s answering 9-1-1. How is that even possible?”
“It’s possible because everyone here who can still dial is calling 9-1-1,” Cole says. “They’re overwhelmed. We’re on our own.” His tone is no-nonsense, but his hand trembles when he pushes the hair out of his eyes.
Grace is sitting with her back against the side of the desk. She shakes her head. “No, no, no.” Her voice rises, breaks. “Someone is coming to rescue us.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Cole says bluntly. “Didn’t you hear what the shooters said about taking hostages?” Miranda tries to remember what she heard on the other side of the metal shutter. “And if there’s hostages, the police will hang back and negotiate. They won’t want to come barging in, not if that risks everyone getting shot. So this could take a long time.” He opens the desk’s top drawer and starts rifling through it.
Grace’s only answer is a whimper. She starts to rock back and forth.
“This can’t be real,” Amina says. “It’s like a movie. Or the worst nightmare ever.” She closes her eyes. “I just want to wake up.”
“None of us can afford to check out, not if we want to live.” Cole opens another drawer. “Look around and see what you can use as a weapon.”
But all the room holds is clothes. What are they supposed to do, blind the killers with a glitter-encrusted sweater?
After rooting around in the desk, Cole comes up with a three-hole punch and a pair of scissors. “We need to be ready to attack if they get inside the store.”
Miranda doesn’t want to pin her life on someone wielding a three-hole punch. “Can’t we lock that door?” she asks Amina.
But the other girl just shakes her head.
Miranda gives the nearest shelving unit a tentative push. It doesn’t budge. She leans on it with all her weight. It shifts the tiniest amount, maybe a quarter of an inch. Still, it’s something.
“If we can use one of these shelves to barricade the door, they won’t be able to open it. Then maybe it won’t matter that we don’t have weapons.”
“That’s a good idea,” Cole says, and Miranda feels a surge of pride.
She moves to the unit nearest the door. “Help me empty the shelves so it won’t be as heavy.” Amina and Cole move toward her, but Grace stays put. Miranda stands in front of her and holds out her hands. “Come on, Grace. Get up and help.”
After a few seconds, Grace, still whimpering, grabs Miranda’s hand and stands up.
“Maybe I can help too.” Javier pushes himself up on his elbows.
“No, you can’t, buddy,” Cole says matter-of-factly. “Moving around is just going to make that wound bleed more.”
Together Miranda, Grace, and Cole start dumping stacks of flannel shirts and boxes of chunky boots on the floor. Amina tries to neatly pile things. The shelves are made of lighter, flimsier metal than the framework of the shelving unit, so they leave them in place.
Miranda mouths the words “One, two, three,” and then the four of them push at the same time. The shelving unit slides only a couple of inches. Without saying anything, they gradually figure out how to work together and the best places to push, skidding it a little farther with each shove. Once, it makes a loud metallic squeal and they all freeze. But when there’s no answering noise from the far side of the door, they resume pushing.
And finally, they manage to slide it across the door.
“Good job!” Javier whispers. Amina mimes clapping. Grace tries on a trembling smile. Miranda can’t help grinning.
Then Cole whispers a curse.
“What’s the matter?” Miranda looks more closely at the door. No hinges, which means they must be on the other side. And that means … She swears too.
Amina’s eyes fill with tears. Grace still looks confused until Miranda explains, “The door. It opens out.”