Run, Hide, Fight Back

by April Henry

  All of them had spent the night on the same ward. Grace had a concussion. Javier underwent surgery to clean up his wounds and stitch them closed. Parker’s nose and finger and two of his ribs had been broken when the other hostages were forced to beat him, and he had cracked his tailbone when he slipped and fell. Even Amina had been hospitalized as a precaution.

  Although Miranda had been sure that she was either blind or dying—or both—it turned out that Gabriel Bond’s bullet had only grazed her scalp. An inch lower, and the bullet would have directly hit her brain, which was what she thought had happened. Blood had filled her eyes, leaving her temporarily blinded.

  In the ambulance, she kept asking the crew if she was going to die. They said no, but it seemed liked the kind of faux reassurance you would offer someone who was dying.

  But it turned out to be the truth. After she was cleaned up, Miranda could see again. Before stitching the wound closed, the doctor had shaved a spot on the top of her head bare, leaving what looked like a two-inch-wide part. Five months later, it’s filled in with short hair.

  Now Miranda shakes her head, trying to clear away the thoughts. She turns to Grace. “I like your new ’do.”

  Grace’s hair is a bright-blue bob. It’s so obviously a wig that it looks like a happy choice. And maybe it is.

  “I figure why hide it?” She smiles. “And I’ve always wanted blue hair.” Grace looks healthier than when they were all trapped in the storeroom together. Her face is fuller and there’s color in her cheeks. “They say that, after chemo, your hair can come back completely different, like another color, or supercurly if it used to be straight or vice versa. I figure that after blue hair, it won’t feel as big a change if something happens.” She takes a deep breath. “Can you guys excuse me for a second?”

  Picking up the two roses, she pushes back her chair. The others watch in silence as she walks toward the hall where the hostages were penned up. Bending down, she lays one rose on the floor, at the spot where Cole took a bullet for her. A few people watch her curiously, but most don’t even notice her amid the bustle. Then she walks back to the food court, to the place where her mom’s body had lain. This time Grace goes down on one knee and closes her eyes for a long moment.

  When she returns, Javier says, “I’m sorry to say this, Grace, but someone’s just gonna pick those up and throw them away. Probably the guy they hired to replace me. Management doesn’t like there to be any reminders of what happened here.”

  Before they reopened the food court and the hall, the mall’s owners held an interfaith ceremony featuring everything from a Catholic priest to a local shaman. Prayers were offered, sage burned. And then the shopping resumed.

  Right after the shooting, the mall had fired Javier, claiming that they had had no idea that he was undocumented. After an outcry on social media—started by Parker—he had been rehired, in an even better position.

  Grace makes a face. “They can pretend it never happened, but I can’t. None of us can. What happened that day is always going to be a part of us.” Her eyes grow wet. “At least I’m still alive to remember. At first I wondered why my mom had to die when I was the one who was already sick. I’m still seeing a counselor to deal with both of those things, and she’s helped me mostly get past that guilt. And of course I’ve got my dad and my sister and my friends to talk to. But they don’t understand what it was like the way you guys do. Cole killed my mom—and then he saved me. I’m still trying to figure out how the same person could have done both.”

  “He would have hated being locked up in prison,” Miranda says. “Maybe he saw dying as the better choice.”

  “Do you think Cole really knew that was going to happen?” Parker looks doubtful.

  Amina reaches out and takes Grace’s hand. “I saw his face when he did it. He was trying to save you. I don’t know if he knew he would die because of it, but that doesn’t change what he did.”

  “He’s still the kind of guy who thought it was okay to kill people,” Parker says.

  It’s easy for Parker to see Cole in black and white, Miranda thinks. He was never in the room with the five of them. He never heard Cole talk about the events that shaped his life and attitudes. Was Cole just a product of his circumstances? But that would negate both the bad things and good things he had done.

  “Cole was racist,” Javier says. “And he saved me from bleeding to death. Both things are true.”

  The five of them sit in silence with this for a minute.

  Finally Miranda leans toward Javier. “How’s the new job going?”

  He runs his fingers through his black hair. “They call what I do maintenance engineer, but it’s really running the heating and cooling systems. But now I’m thinking about going to college to be a real engineer. Amina’s dad”—Amina and Javier exchange a smile—“helped me find an immigration lawyer. She’s working pro bono. That means for no money. She says I can get a special visa when I testify about the killers, one that’ll make me legal.”

  Amina asks, “How about your sister, Parker? How’s Moxie doing?”

  Parker digs his phone out of his pocket and passes it around so they can see Moxie’s picture. In it, she’s grinning and pointing at a missing front tooth.

  A shadow crosses Grace’s face as she says, “She’s adorable.” Miranda wonders if Grace is thinking that her treatment might leave her sterile. “Does she ever talk about what happened?”

  Parker shrugs. “My parents made both of us go to therapy, but for Moxie it seems like most of it just rolled off.” Miranda knows the same has not been true for him. “My dad wants me to tell my story for my college essays.” He blows air through pursed lips as he looks down at his hands, which are clenched into fists. “But that just seems wrong.”

  “Everyone always asks about it anyway,” Amina says. “Might as well put it to some use.” She touches her headscarf. “People are always staring at me, and not just in Culpeppers. Half of them ask if I’m the one they read about. The other half still call me a terrorist or tell me to go back to my country. Like you can’t be both Muslim and American.”

  “They forget that the guys who did this were born here.” Javier’s mouth twists.

  Miranda finds herself saying what she’s been thinking for a few months. “Sometimes I think that they weren’t really completely wrong about everything.” She waves her hand at the throngs of shoppers. “It can’t all be about buying stuff. Our priorities are sort of wrong.”

  “Their priorities weren’t any better. Conspiracy theories.” Grace shifts uncomfortably, as if remembering how she agreed with Cole about some things. “Killing people to make their point. Or that McKinley guy, pretending that he had a cause, when really all he wanted was millions in gold.”

  Karl McKinley, the one the others called Kilo, is still at large. Miranda figures with that much gold you could buy the best fake ID in the world. Buy yourself plastic surgery to make your face match your new papers.

  “What do you think our priorities should be, then?” Javier asks.

  “Maybe this sounds corny,” Miranda says slowly, “but I think it all comes down to love. Loving people. Doing what you love.” Miranda started a Narcotics Anonymous group at school and is thinking about being a counselor when she’s older. Maybe she can help people figure out how to fill the hole inside them without stuffing it with pills or food or alcohol.

  A woman in a pink turtleneck stands up from a table of other middle-aged women and ventures over to their table. “You’re those kids, aren’t you? The ones who took this place back from the killers.” Her gaze is avid. Miranda feels her stomach curdle.

  With each passing day, the public story gets simpler. Cole was never their friend. And the other hostages, even the one Parker nicknamed Heels, never fought back. Leaving only a band of plucky teens to save the day.

  It’s Miranda who finally nods. She’s relieved when the other woman just says solemnly, “Thank you,” before leaving. Then she tries to ignore how the ot
her four women at the table openly stare, nudge each other, whisper, and snap pictures with their phones.

  “So what about you, Miranda?” Grace asks. “How are you doing?”

  She thinks a bit before answering. She sees her dad more often than she did before. Her mom has a tendency to hug her too tight and to want to talk about things, which Miranda has sort of grown to like. Her grades have gotten better. And she hasn’t seen or talked to Matthew since the night it all happened.

  “Still off Oxy, if you’re wondering about that. It hasn’t been easy.” She had admitted her addiction to them when she was in the hospital, when she refused to let the doctors give her anything, not even Advil. “But I went through the worst of the withdrawal here in the mall, when we were together.”

  “We wouldn’t have made it, if it weren’t for each other.” Grace puts her cool hand on top of Miranda’s. “We were meant to be together that day.”

  And then Javier, Amina, and Parker add their hands, until it’s a stack of hands five high.

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  Run, Hide, Fight Back is about something people fear a lot: a shooter in a public space and/or a terrorist attack (in this case, it’s both). Who hasn’t imagined what they would do if they were confronted by such a situation? There actually are things that we could do if we ever found ourselves in such a situation. In fact, the title was inspired by a Texas Homeland Security video called Run, Hide, Fight that gives practical tips on how to react.

  Thirty-five years ago, my father, who was a county commissioner in Oregon, received death threats from a far-right group called Posse Comitatus. That sparked my interest in anti-government domestic terrorists like The Order, Timothy McVeigh, and the fictional villains in this book. Some federal and local law enforcement groups view the threat from these homegrown groups as at least equal to the threat from ISIS and other foreign Islamic terror groups.

  Bill Krieg, a patrol lieutenant at the Appleton Police Department in Wisconsin and a defensive tactics instructor at Fox Valley Technical College, helped me when I was brainstorming the initial idea for this book—and even showed me how to use a Halligan tool. We met at the Writers Police Academy, run by veteran police investigator Lee Lofland. Multnomah County Sheriff’s Office Search and Rescue volunteer Jake Keller was, as always, a great source of information. Robin Burcell, a former cop and an author in her own right, answered many “what if” questions. And Joe Collins, a paramedic and firefighter who has trained for various scenarios, including an attack on a shopping mall, gave me several devious ideas. Joe also answered my questions about guns and gave me ideas on how to treat a gunshot wound without a first aid kit. And I took a fascinating class on dealing with an active shooter from Mike Morton, a security specialist and former SWAT team member.

  Elizabeth Bunga, a plans examiner for the City of Lake Oswego, helped me understand the rules for the required number of exits for stores in a shopping mall. Mark Berger, the president and chief product officer of Securitech Group, Inc., helped me figure out how to unlock doors that should be locked and lock doors that shouldn’t be. Krys Jeffrey, executive team leader for assets protection at Portland’s Galleria Target, explained the secret world of shoplifters. Coach Chris Bauer, a brown belt in Brazilian jiujitsu who has made my own game so much better, helped me come up with the wrestling moves used in the climactic scene.

  Even I find it hard to believe, but this is my twenty-second book with my agent, Wendy Schmalz.

  My editor, Christy Ottaviano, pushed to make this book the best it could be. Jessica Anderson knows where all the bodies are buried. April Ward designs my amazing covers. Amanda Mustafic not only has the coolest bangs but can coordinate events across a half-dozen states. Other wonderful folks at Henry Holt include Lucy Del Priore, Melissa Croce, Katie Halata, Lara Stelmaszyk, Jennifer Healey, Molly Ellis, Lauren Festa, Morgan Rath, Allison Verost, and Mark Von Bargen.

  OTHER MYSTERIES BY APRIL HENRY

  Girl, Stolen

  The Night She Disappeared

  The Girl Who Was Supposed to Die

  The Girl I Used to Be

  Count All Her Bones

  THE POINT LAST SEEN SERIES

  The Body in the Woods

  Blood Will Tell

  HONORS FOR APRIL HENRY

  Edgar Award Finalist

  Anthony Award Winner

  ALA Best Books for Young Adults

  ALA Quick Picks for Young Adults

  Barnes & Noble Top Teen Pick

  Maryland Black-Eyed Susan Book Award Winner

  Missouri Truman Readers Award Winner

  Texas Library Association Tayshas Selection

  New York Charlotte Award Winner

  Oregon Spirit Book Award Winner

  One Book for Nebraska Teens

  Golden Sower Honor Book

  South Dakota YA Reading Program Winner

  Oregon Book Award Winner

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  April Henry is the New York Times–bestselling author of many acclaimed mysteries for adults and young adults, including the YA novels Girl, Stolen; Count All Her Bones; The Night She Disappeared; The Girl Who Was Supposed to Die; The Girl I Used to Be, which was nominated for an Edgar Award; and The Body in the Woods and Blood Will Tell, the first two books in the Point Last Seen series. She lives in Oregon with her family.

  Visit her online at aprilhenry.com, or sign up for email updates here.

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  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Map

  Newspaper Extract

  Survive

  One Hundred Miles

  So Many and So Fast

  Start to Die

  Fish in a Barrel

  Because of the Blood

  Can’t be Real

  Waiting to Die

  Panic

  None of Them

  Trapped

  Video Game

  Like Her Life Depends on It

  Before He Sees Us

  It’s Your Lucky Day

  Just a Shell

  The World’s Best Reality Show

  How Long

  No Matter What Happens

  The One Who Decides

  What You Need to Do

  One Last Time

  The Biggest Secret Ever

  What They Want Me to Believe

  Who He Really Is

  People Like You

  I Believe She Is Saying

  Wake Up

  We Told You What Would Happen

  Slowly, Slowly

  Everything Is Under Control

  Come with Me

  The Last Thing They’d Expect

  They Can’t Shoot All of Us

  Go Down Swinging

  Not Running Away

  If You’re Going to Lie

  Every Rattle and Click

  Infinitesimal

  No Safe Place

  I Didn’t Know

  Straight to the Source

  Nothing but the Breathing

  Anything Other Than Killing

  You Honestly Believed

  Three Inches Away

  Not Anymore

  Refusing to Crack

  On the Trigger

  Over

  All Too Much

  Together, We Can Make a Difference

  A Note From the Author

  Other Mysteries by April Henry

  Honors for April Henry

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2018 by April Henry

  Henry Holt and Company, Publishers since 1866

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  eISBN 9781627795906

  First hardcover edition 2019

  eBook edition August 2019