Mall of America

Patrick saw Rebecca just as he heard the first shouts from down below, “Police, put up your hands.” She looked crumpled against the railing that separated the open expanse of the atrium and what used to be the food court. Tables and chairs were tossed and broken, splintered into pieces like a tornado had blown through. She was conscious though hugging her left arm to her body. And there was a man standing over her. Someone trying to help.

But why had he chosen Rebecca?

He remembered trying to help the mother get her baby out of the stroller and wanted to kick himself for being paranoid. Of course, people helped each other.

As Patrick got closer he could see the white type on the man’s baseball cap. Paramedic? Strange, he didn’t think there was a rescue squad here yet. He looked down over the railing. Two uniformed police officers scrimmaged the mall entrance two floors down. They were the first responders that Patrick had heard or seen though he guessed it was certainly possible for more to be here without him noticing.

Blue jeans, hiking boots, a duffel bag.

Patrick still wasn’t satisfied. And there was something in the guy’s hand that looked like…damn, it looked like a needle and syringe. None of the volunteer rescue and fire units Patrick had ever worked with would approach an injured person with a syringe.

“Hey,” Patrick shouted, but his voice was drowned out in the whirl of noises.

“Rebecca,” he yelled and saw her body jerk up. But it wasn’t in response to his call.

In one swift move she jumped to her feet, kicking at a table leg and sending it into the man’s path before sprinting off in the other direction. The man stumbled but only for a second. He pocketed the syringe and bolted after Rebecca, shoving a pair of teenaged girls out of his way. In the chaos no one else noticed.

Patrick took off after both of them.

What the hell was going on?