I should have guessed Alex would want to do something. How am I supposed to diffuse this situation? I can’t act with everyone here, watching.
Derek looked to the man again.
One assailant. Colt 1911, double-action, semi-automatic, magazine-fed, served as the standard-issue sidearm for the United States Armed Forces from 1911 to 1985. Very short recoil, designed for accuracy.
He was robbing the bank. Alone?
Derek gritted his teeth. Sirens were blasting from outside.
“This is the BPD,” a gravelly, deep voice sounded from outside, enhanced by a megaphone, “we know you have hostages in there with you, we would like to negotiate parameters so this could work out the best for everyone.”
The gunman started moving to one of the tall curtained windows¸ probably wants to see how m-
“Okay- let’s do this!” Alex crept swiftly to the nearest table. It was still 3 or 4 yards away. Still plenty of a window to be noticed.
Derek’s heart jumped into his throat. Leathers was still moving away from them. Move! He slinked after Alex, several students gasped behind them. Alex was captain of the school soccer team, tall, but lean. He was crouched beside the table in seconds, about to peek above it. Derek gripped his shoulder, pulling him back down, “What the hell are you doing?!” he whispered angrily.
Alex bared his teeth, “I’m going to jump him, stop getting in my way! You’re gonna get someone killed, Derek!”
Derek tightened his grip, about to reply but Alex smacked the arm off his shoulder and shoved Derek back to the wall were the other hostages were watching them like frightened rabbits.
Frustrated, but not wasting time to see if the gunman was coming back, Derek used the rest of his momentum to get back to the wall with the others. Alex was moving under his table, the cloth barely long enough to help hide him.