Laden with bags, shoppers are coming out of the stores. Most of them don’t seem to be in any hurry. They’re acting like it’s a drill, like it won’t make any difference if they ignore it. Then a man in a tan sweater barrels into the hall. His face is pale, his mouth and eyes wide. His fingers are clamped around his biceps, where the fabric is soaked with blood.

People look in the direction he came from, toward the food court. Miranda risks a glance over her shoulder. It’s rapidly emptying out. In the middle of all the tables and chairs, a woman wearing a red scarf jumps out from behind the janitor’s cart, where she had been hiding. Screaming, she runs toward the corridor where Miranda and the others are.

She doesn’t make it.

The shoppers around Miranda begin to panic. They scream, swear, drop their packages, call out each other’s names and to God.

And as Miranda pushes past them, they surge toward the exit doors.

None of Them

NONE OF THEM

3:57 P.M.

Eight minutes ago, Parker Gray agreed to let his little sister, Moxie, buy a pretzel by herself. He’d given her a five-dollar bill, pointed her in the direction of Auntie Anne’s. She liked talking to people, and people liked talking to her. Seven years old, curly blond hair, and big blue eyes. Cute as a bug, everyone said.

Cute to everyone but Parker. She was more a weight around his neck. Today was teacher in-service training, which meant a day off from school. He should have been having fun. Instead he was a free babysitter, since his parents were both at work. But it wasn’t like he was going to sit at home watching episodes of Dora the Explorer. He could at least hang out with his friends while Moxie alternately played with his phone or stuffed her round little cheeks with treats.

Now his friends have already sprinted away. Everyone who can still run is running. Parker stands in the middle of the food court, spinning. Screaming over the shrill of the fire alarm. “Moxie! Moxie! Moxie!” Not seeing her anywhere. Auntie Anne’s is deserted. His mind plays a panicked loop. Is she hurt? Is his sister dead?

A bullet zips past his ear and buries itself into a pillar. The space has emptied out. Chairs overturned. Drinks puddled on the floor. Blood puddled on the floor. And people slumped in such awkward sprawls that he knows they must be dead.

But none of them is a little girl in a red coat.

Trapped

TRAPPED

3:58 P.M.

Miranda pushes through the crowd toward the exit doors.