5:43 P.M.
The kick jerks Parker’s head back on the white tile floor, now smeared with his blood. Tears of pain fill his eyes.
“Parker!” Moxie screams. Stanford has her arms wrapped around his sister’s shoulders. It’s all she can do to keep Moxie from breaking free.
With both hands, Heels shoves Businessman, the guy who just kicked Parker’s chin, in the chest. He staggers back, while she easily keeps her balance, despite her sky-high shoes. Her black bangs are cut in a perfect straight line right above her eyes.
“Stop it!” she hisses, looking from face to face in the circle around Parker. “We can’t just keep going along with them. We’re not sheep.” Her eyes are the color of gas flames. “You know what happens to sheep? They all get slaughtered.”
“Parker!” Moxie shrieks again. Her face is wet and red.
The dozen people clustered around him look from his sister to Heels and then back down at Parker again.
Their faces aren’t particularly friendly.
Have things gone so far that they can’t be stopped? Parker doesn’t know. He just knows he doesn’t want to die on this floor, curled up like a shrimp. He rolls to his knees and starts to push himself up. He flinches when one of Velcro’s hands moves toward him. But instead of hitting him, the older man grabs one of his wrists and helps him to his feet.
Hocking a mouthful of blood onto the floor, Parker fists his hands and takes a fighting stance. At least his wrists aren’t bound like the others’. If he can just manage to stay on his feet, he might survive.
But now no one’s even looking at him. He follows their gazes.
A security guard steps out of the entrance to Eternity Day Spa. Parker blinks.
A mall security guard. Is he coming to save them?
Only he’s carrying an automatic rifle in his right hand. And his left grips the shoulder of a girl about Parker’s age. Her turquoise headscarf marks her as Muslim. A trickle of blood runs from one of her nostrils. Her face is expressionless, but her huge dark eyes betray her terror.
So this security guard is no one’s savior.
Parker tries to put the pieces together. Has the Muslim girl been hiding inside the spa the whole time? And what about the guard? If he’s a bad guy, does that mean all the security guards are part of this?
“Ron,” Wolf yells from the other side of the gate, “where’d you get that one?”
Ron tows the girl to the gate, with Lips following close behind. “I found some kids in the service corridor. They were trying to get out through the emergency exit. When I grabbed this one, the other four ran off.”
The other four? Could one of them be Miranda? Hadn’t she told Parker she was hiding with four other people?
“This is America,” Lips shouts, and yanks the scarf off the girl’s head.
Her hands clap on either side of her head, fingers spread wide, trying to cover her hair the way someone just out of the shower would cover their body if their towel was snatched away.
Heels whispers to the group around Parker, “You guys, we need to make a plan while they’re distracted. We have to turn the tables.” Her back is to the security gate. Parker is standing across from her, meaning he can see both her and the killers.
“Plan what?” Van Duyn whispers, drawing out the word as if she’s not quite agreeing.
“If we work together, we have a chance.” Heels’s whisper is urgent. “They can’t shoot all of us.”
“Yes they can.” Businessman shakes his head. “Those are semiautomatics. They could kill all of us in twenty seconds.”
* * *
At the gate, Lips balls up the scarf and tosses it to Ron. The security guard lets it drop to the floor and then kicks it. The scarf doesn’t go very far, but it’s on the other side of the gate, out of reach.
Rather than crying or begging for it back, the girl drops her hands and lifts her chin. Still, tears shine silver on her dark skin.
Wolf focuses on Ron. “Did you find November?”
“No sign of him.” He shrugs. “I’m starting to think he turned tail.”
Mole says, “No way, dude. He was right there with us. He even took the first shot.”
Ron shakes his head. “So what? The rest of us have seen combat. Like most civilians, he can talk a good game. But when the rubber meets the road, they’re all candy asses.”
“Watch your mouth.” Wolf’s tone is a whip. “Our brother’s no coward.”
* * *
Our brother? Parker looks from Lips to Mole to Wolf. Lips is short and scrawny. But he can see a resemblance between Mole and Wolf even with their features obscured by ski masks. Both of them with pale eyes and tall, rangy builds. So the missing man—November—must be their brother.
Moxie is still crying and flailing. Stanford finally lets her go, and she runs to Parker. She presses her hot, wet face against his belly. He just hopes he’s strong enough to push her away if the hostages attack him again.
“Do you seriously think they’re going to let us go?” Heels whispers to their group. “If anyone else tries to save us, they’ll just kill them, like those poor cops. But there’s only four of them and a couple dozen of us.”
“With our hands zip tied,” the guy in the Blazers gear points out. Blazers adds, “And there could be more that we don’t know about. Like that security guard who just popped out of nowhere.”
* * *
At the gate, Lips says, “The last time I saw November was upstairs.”
“Maybe somebody up there jumped him,” Mole says. “We need to go look for him.”
“I already checked the cams, and I didn’t see him on any of them,” Ron says. “Not upstairs. Not down. And he’s not in the service corridors. I think he took off.” When a snippet of music begins to play, he pulls his phone from his pocket with his free hand. He looks down. “From the caller ID, it looks like they might have figured out who I really am.”
“Take it,” Wolf says. “You know what to say.”
Ron pushes a button and lifts the phone to his ear. “Yeah?” Keeping his voice low, he moves farther away.
* * *
As he rubs Moxie’s shoulders, Parker toggles his attention back and forth between Heels and the killers.
Heels hisses, “Having your hands zip tied didn’t stop anyone from beating up this kid. We need to get one of them by himself.” She takes a deep breath. “And then we need to get his gun.”
Gauges is the first to nod. “She’s right.” Most of the others follow, but it’s clear that a few, like Dreads, are still reserving judgment.
Heels looks around the ring of faces. “Does anyone have a lighter?”
Parker’s lips barely move. “I do.”
5:48 p.m.
HIXON: This is Sergeant Hixon of the Portland Police Department’s Crisis Unit. Is this Ron Skinner? What would you like me to call you?
SKINNER: Nothing. Because I’m not talking to you.
HIXON: Mr. Skinner, I just want to touch base with you. I’m here to listen to you and to try to make sure everybody stays safe.
SKINNER: We’ve got bombs hidden all over. You want more cops to die? Then send them on in. We’ve got so many places booby-trapped.
HIXON: They were only trying to prevent the loss of life. They weren’t trying to attack you. You told the dispatcher that the people you’re holding were being killed.
SKINNER: Sun Tzu said that all war is based on the art of deception. And make no mistake, this is war. America has turned against its own citizens. That’s why we have to take our country back. Do you think this mall is just some random target? In the Middle East they blow up mosques. This is America’s church. It’s where Americans go to worship. And now the whole world is watching.
HIXON: I’m very interested in hearing what you have to say. And I want to thank you guys for keeping the rest of those people in the mall safe while we talk this out. That’s going to count for a lot if we can end this now without anyone else getting hurt. Let’s see if we can keep things peaceful for now so we can all come out of this safe, okay?
SKINNER: Don’t you understand? Nothing about this world is safe anymore.
HIXON: Are you okay? Are you injured? Does anyone need medical attention?
SKINNER: It’s the people we’re holding that you should be worried about. You need to meet our demands or more of them are going to die.
HIXON: I appreciate you letting me know where you stand. And I just want you to know that, even though some people were shot at the beginning of this thing, we understand that all kinds of unexpected things can happen in a panic situation. Split-second decisions made in the heat of the moment, right? But you’ve done a good job of keeping things cool since then, and it seems like no one else has been hurt. Is that right?
SKINNER: More or less.
HIXON: Mr. Skinner, how can we resolve this? I mean, how can we save these children and women and—
SKINNER: You have our manifesto. You know what we want.
HIXON: I’m sure someone is working on all that for you. I’m not directly involved in the details. I’m here for just one reason, and that’s to reach a peaceful resolution. But I’m not going to lie to you: getting that plane might be a little tricky. I mean, we should be able to get it, but it might take a little while.
SKINNER: We want that bus here within an hour or someone’s going to die. Probably a whole lot of someones.
HIXON: I’ll work on getting you that bus, but I need you to do something for me, okay? To show that we’re both acting in good faith. You’ve probably got some kids there who are crying or some people who are injured. It’s going to be a hassle to move them from a bus and then to a plane. Why not give us the ones that are hard to manage?
SKINNER: How do you know about them? Do you have eyes on us? You do, don’t you? Well then, I’ll just shoot one of them and you’ll be able to see them die!
HIXON: No, no! That was just an educated guess. We’re not spying on you.
SKINNER: You tell everyone they have to leave us alone, unless they want more people to die. If we see any sign that you are spying on us, then their blood will be on your hands!