But what if…? Miranda gets to her feet and starts looking through the top drawer of the desk. There! The ruler she remembered seeing earlier. And a roll of tape. Holding her phone against one end of the eighteen-inch-long ruler, she starts wrapping tape around both.

“What are you doing?” Cole asks.

“Sticking a phone out that door is a lot safer than sticking out your head. I can put it in video mode and then check out the back corridor.”

Amina looks up, thinking. “To the right, it just ends. I’m pretty sure at Eternity Day Spa.”

Miranda pictures it in her head. “And that’s off the hall where they’re holding the hostages.”

“Right.” Amina points in the other direction. “The other way goes about fifty feet, but then it branches.”

“Where do the branches go?” Grace asks.

“One goes to the mall. The other goes to tenant storage.” Amina traces an imaginary path in the air. “But I’m pretty sure that one also goes to an emergency exit. But we won’t be able to see it from here.”

“If we can leave, do you think you can walk?” Miranda asks Javier.

Instead of answering, he slowly pushes himself to his feet. He takes one step, then another.

“I can do it,” he whispers. “Thanks to you guys. Let’s go. Let’s get out of here.”

As they move to the door, Grace looks at Amina. “Maybe you should take off your scarf thing.”

“What?” Amina narrows her eyes. “Why?”

“Because it makes you stand out. And maybe these people don’t like Muslims.”

“I won’t deny my faith. Besides, I don’t think it matters. I’m pretty sure they want to kill all of us.”

As they leave the storeroom, Grace spots a broom in the corner. She spins off the head and gives the handle a few experimental swings before hefting it over one shoulder. Cole has the scissors. Javier holds his BB gun. Amina has the three-hole punch. Miranda carries her phone taped to the ruler.

They don’t have to move the bookcase nearly as far as before, but somehow it’s harder. Miranda thinks it must be because they’re starting to face the truth of what they’re about to do.

As they leave, Miranda looks back at the empty storeroom: the strewn clothes, the floor splashed with drying splotches of Javier’s blood. It looks surreal. Like a camera crew might step out and reveal it’s all a crazy new reality show.

If only.

Miranda walks to the emergency exit and puts her ear against it. Nothing. She closes her eyes to concentrate.