Parker darts into the corridor where he just saw the flash of red. Even though he’s lost sight of her, Moxie has to be here, because there’s no way out. Ahead of him, the exit doors are chained shut. Behind him is the food court, where the only people left are dead or dying, and at least one of the killers is on the hunt. Moxie must be among the couple of dozen people frantically milling around, or maybe in one of the small stores that lie on either side. With a wrestler’s agility, Parker cuts through the crowd, squeezing between a woman wearing a white visor and apron and a middle-aged guy dressed head to toe in Blazers gear. Parker zigzags between a kid he vaguely recognizes from school and a girl who looks like a teenager but has a baby in a stroller. Past an old guy in high-waisted jeans and white puffy tennis shoes, a young woman in impossibly high heels, three college girls clutching shopping bags and one another. Santa is here too, or at least the guy who was posing for photos a few minutes ago. Now he sits on a bench, his face red and sweaty. Parker dodges and weaves and slips, his gaze bouncing from one person to another: from an older black lady to a forty-ish businessman to a guy with a bushy beard and gauges. To a man with a shaved head hiding behind a pillar, a gun in his hand. To a middle-aged guy holding his arm like a tourniquet, blood welling between his fingers.

But no Moxie.

She must be in one of the stores. On one side is a Shoe Mill, and an AT&T phone store. On the other is a Coach store, a Van Duyn, and something called Eternity Day Spa. They are all small enough that the only way in or out is through each store’s main entrance. Moxie must be hiding in one of them, either in fear or blissful ignorance. Waiting desperately—or maybe just with an impatient giggle—for Parker to find her. He hopes it’s the second one. Hopes that she has no idea what’s going on. Hopes that he can snatch her up, keep her from seeing the dead, and find a way out.

The fire alarm suddenly stops. For a second, the silence is as loud as the piercing shrill had been. Then it’s filled by the sounds of people crying and freaking out and yelling into their cell phones and asking each other what to do.