5:43 P.M.
Miranda races around the bend in the corridor. Leaving Amina behind. Hot tears run down her face. Will the security guard—who must also be one of the killers—shoot Amina now?
With every step, the coin-filled sock thumps against her lower leg, hard enough to bruise. Her heart is beating so loudly in her ears that it takes her a second to realize the only footsteps she hears are in front of her, not behind.
Ahead of her, Javier is desperately hobbling forward. He can walk, but he can’t run. He’s only able to take short strides on his bad leg. Grace and Cole have disappeared. They must be around the second bend, maybe already back in Culpeppers.
It’s everyone for himself, like her dad said. Or is it? She catches up to Javier, lifts his arm, and puts it over her shoulder. He turns his head, and one corner of his mouth lifts. With her bearing some of his weight, he’s able to go faster.
Finally they round the corner and reach Linda’s body. Miranda tries to go one way around it, Javier the other. She loses her balance, and her foot lands in Linda’s blood. They keep going, but her shoe slaps wetly. Miranda looks down. She’s leaving a trail of footprints. Her stomach twists. Even if they make it back to Culpeppers, the security guard will know exactly where she is. Where all of them are.
“Wait!” she whispers to Javier. She toes off her shoes, making sure not to get blood on her socks.
Each door is marked with a stenciled store name. Still, Miranda is so panicked that she almost misses the door marked CULPEPPERS.
She wrenches on the handle. But the door refuses to open.
No! Grace or Cole must have pulled out the wad of paper keeping the lock from catching.
Javier taps on the door lightly with the knuckle of his index finger. Will they even hear? And if they do, why should they risk opening the door?
Then it moves a couple of inches, revealing one of Cole’s gray eyes. The door swings wider. He leans out, grabs Javier, and drags him inside. Miranda darts in after them. Grace quickly closes the door.
Once she’s in the store, Miranda drops her coin-filled sock and puts her hands over her wet face. Her shoulders heave as she cries silently. She can’t stop thinking about how the killer took Amina. How Amina clawed at his arm. How her eyes met Miranda’s. And how Miranda turned and ran away. How all of them ran away.
Finally her tears slow. She wipes her nose on her sleeve.
Javier is leaning against the wall, shaking his head, his mouth tight and turned down at the corners. He’s still clutching his useless gun. Grace is trembling so hard, she looks like she might fly apart. Cole paces between two of the shelving units, up and back, up and back.
Parker’s probably dead. Amina’s been taken. Now there are only four of them. Is this how it will end? Each of them picked off one by one? Which is worse? Miranda wonders. To die first or to be forced to face death by yourself?
She breaks the silence. “You guys left us out there. You left us all alone.”
Cole passes a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. All I could think of was to run.”
“And we all left Amina.” Grace’s voice breaks.
“He’s gonna kill her,” Javier whispers. “Maybe he already has.”
Miranda can’t take this. Every change is for the worse.
“But we haven’t heard any shots. I think they must have pretended they were shooting hostages so they could lure those cops into an ambush. I don’t think he’s going to kill Amina,” Cole says authoritatively. “I’m betting he put her with the rest of the hostages.”
Miranda is still trying to figure things out. “That guy who took her—he’s a real security guard. For the mall, not one of the stores.” She’s walked past him a dozen times, always acutely aware of whatever shoplifted items she had hidden on her person. And all those other times, he’s seen her, too, although he’s never looked at her with suspicion. But today, when his gaze met hers over the top of Amina’s head, his eyes were … dead.
Javier nods. “I know him too. His name’s Skinner. Ron Skinner. He doesn’t like me too much. He doesn’t like anyone with brown skin.”
They absorb this—and what it might mean for dark-skinned Amina—in silence.
“He must be one of them,” Grace finally whispers. “One of the killers. He probably knows this place better than anyone. He probably has keys to all the doors.” They all look at the door and then back at each other.
Cole closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose before opening them again. “So what now? Should we go out into the mall and try to find another exit? Or should we stay put?”
“But what about Amina?” Miranda protests. She keeps replaying the moment in her head when Amina looked at her and she turned and ran.
“You’re right.” Cole points at her, nodding in agreement. “That guy knew her. They’ll figure out where we are. We have to leave.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Miranda can’t change how she just turned tail, but maybe it’s not too late to do something. “Amina saved all our lives by letting us into her store. She even fed us. We can’t just leave her with them.”
“Miranda’s right.” Grace straightens her hunched shoulders. “We have to help her.”
Javier nods. “I agree.”
“And just how are we supposed to do that?” Cole gestures toward the front of the store. “Maybe you don’t remember, but a bunch of cops just got blown up trying to get in here. And they had guns and everything. We’ve got nothing but a pair of scissors and a sock filled with quarters.”
“But it’s like you said about Amina.” Grace stabs a finger at him. A few minutes ago, she was sobbing in his arms. Now she looks like she wants to punch him. “The killers can’t risk shooting at us, or the cops will force their way in.”
“You really want to risk all our lives on my guess?” Cole shakes his head.
“But unlike the cops, we don’t need to get inside the mall,” Miranda points out. “We’re already here. And since we ran from that guy who took Amina, they probably think we’ll just keep on running. But coming back to get her? It’d be the last thing they’d expect.”
“Only a crazy person would go back,” Cole says.
“Exactly.” Javier smiles and hefts his gun. “They don’t need to know my gun’s fake.”
“That won’t matter once they shoot you and you can’t shoot back,” Cole says. “Besides, what can we do that the cops can’t?”
“Right now, they aren’t doing anything,” Miranda says. “So that means it’s up to us.” All this talk of cops makes her pull her phone from her pocket.
“What are you doing?” Cole asks as she starts typing.
“Telling my dad about the security guard. If the cops do try to come back in here, they need to know at least one of them is involved.”
Cole looks from one face to another. “I still don’t think it’s a good idea to try to go up against them.”
Grace’s laugh is bitter. “Do you really think we’re going to make it out of here alive? All the exits are locked and they know where we are.”
Miranda’s skin itches with the need to move, and it’s not just because of missing Oxy. “I don’t know about you guys, but I can’t hide anymore, waiting for it to end. We have to try. Try to get Amina and then try to get out of here.”
“I’m not leaving anyone behind,” Javier says. “Five of us were here in this room, and five of us are getting out of here.”
And at that even Cole nods.
5:43 p.m.
BRUCE MCGILL, INTELLIGENCE OFFICER, PORTLAND POLICE DEPARTMENT’S CRISIS NEGOTIATION TEAM: Have you watched their so-called manifesto?
CASEY HIXON, HOSTAGE NEGOTIATOR, CRISIS NEGOTIATION TEAM: I just did. A lot of echoes there of other far-right groups. Posse Comitatus. The sovereign citizens movement. Timothy McVeigh. The only thing they trust the government to do is lie to them.
MCGILL: And they think they’ll inspire a revolt against the government with that ridiculous piece of garbage.
HIXON: See if you can talk one of the local TV stations into broadcasting it. I’d like to use that as a bargaining chip.
MCGILL: What? We can’t do that. We don’t do that.
HIXON: There’s kids in there. And that means I would read Mein Kampf from cover to cover on live TV if they’ll just send out one child—one child.
MCGILL: Okay, okay. I’ll see what I can do. And I’ve just learned that if our RP really is Ron Skinner, last year he was investigated by the FBI for ties to an alt-right domestic terrorist group.
HIXON: Then why in the hell is he still working as a security guard?
MCGILL: He was investigated but not charged. And we’re talking about an unarmed position, in a mall, that pays a dollar above minimum wage. They can’t afford to be too picky. They probably liked that he’s a vet. He was honorably discharged four years ago. Plus, it’s not like Skinner’s got an arrest record. Just one DUI that’s thirteen years old. He’s single and lives in an apartment about three miles from the mall. We’re getting a search warrant.
HIXON: Given that history, Skinner has to be more than just a security guard. He’s gotta be part of this. He knew exactly what he was doing. He created the exigency by claiming hostages were being killed. And he’s the one who told Portland PD to go in through Nordstrom. He led them straight into a trap.
MCGILL: The question is—were any of the hostages really being killed? None of the officers on scene have reported hearing gunshots since they arrived.
HIXON: Skinner knows too much about how we work. This is going to be tricky. And we don’t even know how many gunmen there are.
MCGILL: The sniper reports that he’s in position but he can’t see anything past the hostages they’ve got lined up against the glass doors. And we’re still waiting on the blueprints.
HIXON: Our best bet is still to contain and negotiate. If we try another tactical incursion, we could lose more of our people to bombs. Plus, I don’t want to force these guys’ hands. They’ve already adjusted to thinking of themselves as killers. If we panic them, more civilians could die.
MCGILL: Roger that.