The Negotiator

Her hand finally hits something solid. She’s made it to the side of the room. Tia stands and leans against the plaster, making herself as flat as she can. She’s safe here, and now she has some sense of direction: the windows out onto the road are to her right, and the doors to the rest of the museum to her left. That’s where the specialist officers are coming from. Through the smoke in front of her, human shapes start to take form. There are bodies on the carpet. Alive? She cannot just wait here for it to be over and help to collect the dead. Back on all fours, Tia leaves the wall and crawls to the nearest hostage. Broken glass crunches underneath her knees. The noise of the police boots, the guns, the shields, everything, is so intense, her teeth gnaw into her cheeks.

Tia reaches someone – there’s a pulse. They’re shaking but they’re okay. She sees more human shadows. There is no real furniture in here and nowhere to shelter. When the police burst in, everyone dropped in place, and the unlucky were stood near the doors, or in the centre of the room, exposed. The white haze meant to disorient the gunman is stopping Tia from working out who is who. But it’s those hostages in the middle of the room who are most in need. Tia rises to her feet. Keeping as low as possible, she moves quickly. She sees two bodies lying in the path of the entering police. She’ll go to them.

Are they hurt? She won’t drag them out of the danger zone in case it makes their injuries worse. The pop, pops continue. The two hostages are about ten yards apart. She can’t get to them both. Suddenly it’s obvious who they are, and she must choose. Pick one hostage, shield them. The only thing she can give now is herself.