“Where I live, a lot of Mexican guys my age are in a gang. You can get killed for being in the wrong gang. Three months ago, my friend got shot just because he was an Eighteenth Streeter and he ran into some Paso Robles Boyz. And this is what happened last time I said I didn’t belong to no gang.” Javier uses his hands to part his thick black hair, revealing a two-inch-long scar. “So if things go bad again”—he takes the gun back from Cole and returns it to his waistband—“this could help change their mind.”

“Or it might just make them shoot you with their own, real gun,” Cole says.

“Why don’t you go to the police?” Miranda asks.

“The police?” Javier seems genuinely puzzled. “What are they gonna do?”

“Protect you?”

“The police are there for other people. People like you. White people. People who were born here.” Amina looks up from the computer and the two of them exchange glances. “People like me? Beaners who aren’t legal? About all they want to do to people like me is deport us.”

“Look—we’re on TV.” Amina points at the computer’s screen. “At least, the mall is.”

Miranda moves closer, eager for a window into the outside world.

I Believe She Is Saying

I BELIEVE SHE IS SAYING

5:19 P.M.

Everyone crowds around the monitor. The computer shows a live feed from KGW with the sound turned off. On the screen, a blond reporter’s mouth moves as she gestures with her free hand. Occasionally the picture freezes or pixelates. Miranda squints to read the closed captioning that runs across the bottom of the screen.

“… hostages pressed up against the windows, presumably to serve as human shields. This is heartbreaking. One girl of about twelve is mouthing, I believe she is saying, ‘Help me.’”

The image changes to the exit doors of the mall, the ones Miranda discovered were locked. At least a dozen people are pressed up against the glass doors, with their hands bound in front of them. Many of them are moving their mouths, desperately trying to communicate. If they don’t survive, will anyone know what they were trying to say?

“The hostage dressed in a Santa costume is just a sad reminder that this tragedy is taking place at Christmastime, a season that is supposed to be about peace on earth and goodwill toward men.”

The camera cuts back to the reporter, who is now standing with a high school–aged girl. Her long dark hair is shaved on one side.

“I’m with Jackie, who was in the food court at Fairgate Mall when the shooting broke out.”