We all rush to obey.
Someone behind me is crying, and there are muttering pleas nearby.I press my rabid heart to the floor, twisting my head to find Sterling a few feet away, already watching me.
His steadiness is my lifeline.I grab hold with both hands and borrow from its strength.
I start memorizing as much as I can.
The assailants all wear matching ski masks, covering their faces.
They’re all adults, roughly the same height, all a similar build.
Each of them has the same black backpack strapped on their front.
All but one.
He stands out, wearing a motorcycle helmet in place of the mask, and moves deliberately while the rest are a flurry of activity, shouting and laughing as they terrorize us.
This is the leader.
“Hands on your head.”
We obey.
The leader stands over the fresco, keeping watch.His hands are covered with gloves, and his sleeves are strapped tight around his wrists.There’s no visible skin, bar a sliver between his coveralls and helmet.No visible marks.No tattoos.He won’t be identifiable after the fact.
The rest either didn’t get the memo or they want to be remembered.Rings, tattoos, scars.They’re trussed up like holiday poultry, ready for a sketch artist to make them famous.Strange.It’s the kind of obvious that makes you wonder if it’s a red herring.No one can be that obtuse, right?
Right?
“Start tying them up,” the leader commands.
No one argues with him.
He takes two of his friends and stalks toward the corridor on the west wall, the same door Tegan and I were meant to go through.
Screams follow.
Then silence.
Five of his team remain in the hall, making their way through the crowd, pulling an endless amount of zip ties from their backpacks, binding people’s hands as they go.
One of them is wearing a loose silver wristwatch.It jingles as he bounces around the room.His glee sends ice down my spine.
When fear makes people happy, the worst things you can imagine won’t touch the depths of their depravity.
The leader returns with his hand twisted in a woman’s hair.Her feet drag along the tiles as they walk, one heel already gone.She’s crying.
He throws her to the feet of one of his crew.“That’s the manager.She’ll have the vault codes.”
His friend nods and holds her at gunpoint while the leader starts giving orders.
It’s simple; we’re all going to be restrained and moved.If we’re calm, no one gets hurt.They get what they want, and we get to walk away.
The manager’s hands are shaking.
They’d better be right about no one getting hurt.I hate the thought of leaving her with these men.
The leader stops in front of the one who dragged in the guard.“Get everyone in the back.Use the offices to the left.”His friend nods, but the leader slaps his chest before he can walk away.“Be quick about it.”
