5:23 P.M.
The explosion was so powerful that it rattled the cage of Miranda’s ribs.
Grace cried out, and Cole pulled her to him. “That wasn’t any flash bang,” he whispered to them over her shoulder. “That was a bomb.” His mouth twisted. “I can’t believe they did that.”
“One of them exploded his vest?” Javier asked.
Cole shook his head. “I think they set a booby trap for the cops.”
A scream came from the other side of one of their walls. “Parker!” It was a little girl. Panicked. And very close. “Parker! Parker!”
Miranda braced herself for the sound of shots. But all she heard was the faint murmur of two men’s voices.
Now Miranda’s phone vibrates. She pulls it out with a shaking hand. It’s a text from her dad.
The cops think a bomb took out the cops who were coming in. Pulling back & reevaluating.
How long until they come? she texts back.
It takes him so long to respond that Miranda already knows the answer before she reads it.
May be long time. Are you sure no way out?
She texts back, We’ll try to think of something. She can’t stay penned up here any longer, shaking from withdrawal, the seconds crawling by.
Be careful. I love you.
Love you too. Tears burn her eyes. Saying good-bye to people is already horrible, but having to say it over and over is worse.
Everyone but Grace—who is still sniffling into Cole’s shoulder—is watching her. “My dad says that explosion was a bomb. It took out the cops who were trying to save us.”
Amina looks at the computer. “The reporter is also saying it was a bomb.”
Miranda’s whisper is light as air. “He said that it might be a long time before the cops can come for us.”
Grace lifts her head, her eyes shining with tears. “I can’t take this. Waiting to die.”
“The longer we stay here,” Javier says, “the better the chance they’ll find us.”
Miranda tries to imagine spending hours and hours here. Days.
“What if we tried that back corridor again?” She points. “We haven’t heard any shots for a long time.”
“I don’t know.” Grace finds an edge of her blouse that isn’t bloodstained and wipes her eyes. “What if it’s not safe?”
“And this is?” Amina says flatly.
“Too bad that back door don’t have a peephole,” Javier says.
A peephole would only show something directly in front of the door. They need to know if there’s still someone in the corridor. But if one of them pokes their head out to discover the answer, they could die.
But what if…? Miranda gets to her feet and starts looking through the top drawer of the desk. There! The ruler she remembered seeing earlier. And a roll of tape. Holding her phone against one end of the eighteen-inch-long ruler, she starts wrapping tape around both.
“What are you doing?” Cole asks.
“Sticking a phone out that door is a lot safer than sticking out your head. I can put it in video mode and then check out the back corridor.”
Amina looks up, thinking. “To the right, it just ends. I’m pretty sure at Eternity Day Spa.”
Miranda pictures it in her head. “And that’s off the hall where they’re holding the hostages.”
“Right.” Amina points in the other direction. “The other way goes about fifty feet, but then it branches.”
“Where do the branches go?” Grace asks.
“One goes to the mall. The other goes to tenant storage.” Amina traces an imaginary path in the air. “But I’m pretty sure that one also goes to an emergency exit. But we won’t be able to see it from here.”
“If we can leave, do you think you can walk?” Miranda asks Javier.
Instead of answering, he slowly pushes himself to his feet. He takes one step, then another.
“I can do it,” he whispers. “Thanks to you guys. Let’s go. Let’s get out of here.”
As they move to the door, Grace looks at Amina. “Maybe you should take off your scarf thing.”
“What?” Amina narrows her eyes. “Why?”
“Because it makes you stand out. And maybe these people don’t like Muslims.”
“I won’t deny my faith. Besides, I don’t think it matters. I’m pretty sure they want to kill all of us.”
As they leave the storeroom, Grace spots a broom in the corner. She spins off the head and gives the handle a few experimental swings before hefting it over one shoulder. Cole has the scissors. Javier holds his BB gun. Amina has the three-hole punch. Miranda carries her phone taped to the ruler.
They don’t have to move the bookcase nearly as far as before, but somehow it’s harder. Miranda thinks it must be because they’re starting to face the truth of what they’re about to do.
As they leave, Miranda looks back at the empty storeroom: the strewn clothes, the floor splashed with drying splotches of Javier’s blood. It looks surreal. Like a camera crew might step out and reveal it’s all a crazy new reality show.
If only.
Miranda walks to the emergency exit and puts her ear against it. Nothing. She closes her eyes to concentrate.
The sound of a tiny bell makes her jump, even though it’s behind her. Amina has opened the cash register. Setting down the three-hole punch, she grabs a pair of long socks from a nearby display, pulls one free, and begins filling it with fistfuls of coins. Miranda doesn’t understand, but then Amina raises the filled sock and swings it through the air at head level. Miranda imagines how satisfying it would feel to hit one of the killers, to break his jaw, smash his nose, crush his cheek.
“Can you make me one?” she whispers to Amina before turning back to the door. She puts her phone in video mode, then holds her breath and eases the door open just far enough to slide out the phone taped to the ruler. She tries to move it in different angles as well as up and down, and then she slips it back in, flips it so that it’s facing the other side, and sticks it out again. Even though she hears nothing, it’s a relief to bring the phone inside and close the door.
Everyone crowds around as she plays back the silent video. It’s oddly comforting to be surrounded by the warmth and smells of the others.
The body Amina saw is still there, but there’s no sign of anyone else. It’s just an empty corridor with scuffed ivory-colored walls, interspersed with plain brown doors. As Amina said, it dead-ends to their right. On their left, it stretches on farther than the phone can see.
“It looks safe,” Grace finally says.
“What if we realize it’s a mistake and need to get back in?” Miranda starts to undo the tape. “That door will lock behind us.”
“I’ve got a key.” Amina pats her pocket.
“But what if we get split up?” Javier says.
“We could put something inside to keep the lock from clicking in,” Miranda says. “Like gum.”
“That’s too squishy.” Cole has been toying with a cap from near the register and now tries it on. “Maybe paper.”
“But if we do that,” Amina points out, “anyone could come in.”
Grace shrugs one shoulder. “Who’s going to try? Anyone back there must know how these doors work. They won’t expect to find one unlocked.”
Finally, Cole pulls the door open an inch, just far enough so that he can stuff the hole where the lock would normally click into place. He uses the folded-up tag from the hat. Then, one by one, they slip outside, with Cole in the lead and Javier in the rear. They keep in a tight line, each with their weapon.
The weight of her coin-filled sock feels good in Miranda’s hand. She thinks of the SWAT team. She’s seen photos of men in camouflage lined up like they are now. What if there’s a booby trap out here, too?
But the only thing in sight is the woman’s lifeless body. She lies on her belly, one knee raised and one arm outstretched, as if she’s still trying to crawl forward. Without discussion, they come to a stop.
“That is Linda,” Amina whispers. “Oh my God. Linda. We walked in together today.”
Linda has red hair with gray roots. Her head is turned to one side. Her blue eyes are open, fixed and still. Her skin looks like wax. Under her hips is a puddle of blood.
As they pick their way around her, Miranda swallows back bile.
Just before the corridor branches to the right, Cole stops. Nervously, he tugs the brim of his new hat with his free hand.
Then slowly, slowly, he peeks around the corner, scissors at the ready. After a long moment, he nods that it’s okay. Miranda lets out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding. The rest of them join him.
“If we keep going straight, it just leads to the mall,” Amina whispers. She points down the new corridor. “I’m pretty sure there’s an outside exit. But this place is like a maze. It’s been added on to a million times over the years. Things don’t fit together in any logical way. The security guards are the only people who really know the layout.”
There’s no need to discuss which way to go. They creep down the new corridor, carefully turn another corner. And in the middle of the new corridor are solid metal double doors with a red EXIT sign overhead. They are only thirty feet from freedom.
And then Miranda sees it. Another bike lock stretches across the doors, chaining them together.
There’s no way out.