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plastic chairs around it – one green and one white – the sofa, the orange chair, and nothing more, except another door opposite from the one they all just crashed through.
    She goes to investigate and finds a little restroom with the toilet jammed in the corner next to the sink. It’s about the size of a coat closet.
    Nevertheless, it offers sanctuary for a second. She closes the door and locks it. She rests her hands on the edge of the sink and stares into a tiny mirror that’s duct taped to the wall, slightly out of plumb.
    She scarcely recognizes the face that stares back at her. Her pupils are dilated. Her hair’s sticking out from her head in weird tufts. And her face is smeared with blood.
Sophia
    What should she do next?
    Everything’s bedlam. People are hammering on the door, but if she opens it, she may let in the shooters.
    She doesn’t know who’s out there.
    The door seems to bulge with the assaults from outside. The knob doesn’t look very strong. It could give at any moment.
    Sophia needs something to barricade the door. But what? The sofa isn’t heavy enough. The only other thing is one of these vending machines.
    The pounding and screaming is growing more intense. She leaps to the first machine, inserts her fingers into the gap between it and the next one, and leans with all her might into it. It’s heavy as hell.
    She takes a new purchase in the little crack that’s opened up, slides her whole hand in and puts her shoulder to the edge of the machine. She pushes like she had her truck stuck in mud, with night coming on; pushes until her eyes feel like they’re bulging out.
    At last, with a shrieking scrape, the machine lurches sideways and almost topples over.
    Someone screams, and the fat woman in blue who’s just coming out of what must be a bathroom, sees what’s happening and dashes over to help.
    She wraps her arms around the machine, Sumo wrestler style. Sophia pushes, while Fatty stabilizes. Sophia sees that the reason they’re having so much trouble is that the weight of the machine is tearing up the linoleum, instead of sliding over it.
    They decide to walk it, instead. They rock it and then swing it forward. Inch by inch, they get it into position and at last, slam it against the doorframe. It would take a bulldozer coming through to push it aside. They stare at each other in shocked relief. And they’re not a moment too soon.
    The screaming in the hall outside intensifies. There is a thunder of banging on the door – and then gunshots, right outside.
    The glass front of the vending machine blows out.
    They’re shooting right through the door!
    “ Get down! ” Sophia screams.
    They all hit the floor.
    There’s a rattle of gunfire and the back wall erupts in little fountains of plaster.
    To her left, someone is shrieking hysterically.
    Then, the gunfire moves off down the concourse. There is no more screaming and no more banging.
    Instead, an unholy silence descends outside.
Heddi
    There’s a deadly quiet outside. It’s both a relief and a horror.
    Heddi’s afraid to look up, for fear of what she’ll see.
    She hears someone moving to her left and as they do, shattered glass crunching.
    She’s still in the chair but doubled over. She looks down at her body – is it all there? She seems to be intact but who knows, really, at a time like this?
    When she finally looks around, it’s as if everyone is frozen in space like bugs in amber. Bodies are crouched in odd positions all over the room. The giant is closest to the door, ducked down behind the vending machine she moved.
    Moving a vending machine, for God’s sake! Who is she?
    On an ugly coffee-stain-colored couch to Heddi’s left is a young black woman, covered in blood. Miraculously, between her chair and the couch, Ondine is face down on the floor. At least, it seems to be Ondine, by the long auburn hair and the slight figure. Betty is wedged into the corner to the left of the door, her eyes huge, her polyester suit