5:50 P.M.
“So what are you proposing that we do?” Cole says. “It’s not like we can go back down to that corridor where he took Amina. If things go south, there’s no place to hide.”
“We go the other way.” Grace points. “Amina said it goes out to the mall.”
“Then they’ll see us.” Cole folds his arms across his chest.
“It doesn’t end right in the main hall,” Javier says. “It opens into one of the side halls, between Claire’s and Pottery Barn. And at the intersection of that hall with the main hall there are two kiosks. We could maybe use them for cover.”
Miranda scrolls back through her texts with Parker. “My friend Parker told me there’s at least two guys outside that metal fence or gate or whatever it is,” Miranda says. “And only one inside.”
“If we created a distraction, maybe we could get one of them to come around the corner to investigate.” Grace holds out one fist and then grabs it with the other hand. “Then we could ambush him, hold Javier’s gun to his head, and use him as a bargaining chip to force them to let Amina go.”
“Hold Javier’s gun to his head long enough to get his real gun,” Miranda adds. She thinks of Parker and his little sister. “And we’ll make them let everyone go.”
“We aren’t even sure if he put Amina with the rest of the hostages,” Cole says. “And what’s to stop the guy from detonating his vest and killing us all?”
“Would you stop nitpicking everything!” Grace whisper-shouts. “What’s the point in worrying about what could go wrong? Everything already has. And the reality is that we’re probably going to die anyway. The cops aren’t going to want to come in, not after that bomb. Who knows how many places are booby-trapped?”
Miranda takes a deep breath. “I say if we’re going to die, we might as well go down swinging.”
“You’re right,” Javier says.
Cole looks at Grace. After she nods, he does too.
Miranda says, “As for the suicide vest, we grab the guy’s hands first thing. We don’t even let him have a chance to push a button or pull a cord or whatever it is you do.” She points. “We can use some of those scarves to tie him up and gag him.”
“Then we need to practice.” Cole takes the broom handle from Grace and holds it like a gun. Even though it’s just a round length of wood, in his hands it somehow transforms into an automatic rifle. “Everyone has to know what to do. If we have to take time to think about it, that’s too late.” He puts the “rifle” in Miranda’s hands.
“Okay, this is what I’m going to do.” He catches Miranda’s eye and says, “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.” When she nods, he says, “Point it at me.”
She swings the end of the handle in his direction, the wood slick under her trembling palms.
Cole put his hands up chest high, miming fear and surrender. His hands aren’t completely flat—the fingers curl over. With his left hand, he suddenly pushes down the barrel of the “rifle” so that it points at the floor. With his right, he mimes quickly punching Miranda twice in the face. His hand is a blur, so fast that she doesn’t even have time to flinch as it stops a millimeter from her nose. Then his right hand grabs the end of the broom handle, the part that corresponds with the stock. With both hands, he twists and yanks the “rifle” back and turns it on Miranda.
She raises her hands over her head, not even really playacting anymore. Her heart is beating so hard that she can feel it in her throat.
Cole shakes his head. “Not so high. Remember to keep your hands in front of your face so you’re ready to use them. Now you do it. Take the gun away from me.”
“Why do I need to?” She steps back, hands still raised. “I thought you were going to be the one to take the rifle away.”
“Because we have to plan for all eventualities. Maybe he won’t shoot me, but he could definitely use that gun like a club. So all of us need to know how to get it away from him.”
They all take turns getting the broomstick rifle away from each other. And then they add ganging up on the person playing attacker, as well as threatening them with Javier’s BB gun and tying them up with scarves. These parts they mostly mime, worried about accidentally hurting each other—especially Javier—or making too much noise.
“But when the time comes,” Cole says, “we’re gonna make lots of noise. We’re gonna overload his senses.”
5:50 p.m.
DISPATCH: Police, fire, or medical?
DANA TORRES: Um, police.
DISPATCH: What’s the nature of your emergency?
TORRES: I just passed mile-marker ninety-four, and something strange is going on. There’s a white tractor-trailer next to I-84. Its back doors are open and there’s orange cones out. And there were three guys in the middle of the road. They looked like they were tied up.
DISPATCH: Lying in the road? Are they injured?
TORRES: No. They’re standing up and moving around, but their arms look like they’re handcuffed or something behind their backs. I don’t think they’re hurt. They were yelling at me to stop, but I didn’t know what was going on, so I didn’t. I was afraid to. One of them tried to run after my car.
DISPATCH: How long ago was this?
TORRES: About two minutes. I waited until I was sure they couldn’t catch up to me before I called. I don’t know what was going on, and it didn’t seem like a good idea for a lady all by herself to stop out in the middle of nowhere.