All of this happened within the span of a second, giving nobody a chance to react beyond simply freezing in place. The silenced bullets simply struck their unintended targets, and caused damage that appeared to be an equipment malfunction. Nobody's attention was drawn to the life and death struggle a few aisles away. What happened next would draw half of the store to his location.
Momentum carried Cummings’ useless body forward into a large display of stacked cans, and the tall, square column of twenty-six ounce tomato cans cascaded down over his body, spreading hundreds of cans into the open aisles around them. Several cans rolled through the thick, spreading pool of blood around Sanchez's body, leaving blood trails past his head down the aisle. He fought the instinct to search their bodies, because he needed to get out of the store fast. He could already hear some commotion, and he didn't have long before several employees arrived on the scene.
Petrovich picked up the second pistol and removed his blood splattered, reversible jacket. He used it to conceal the identical semi-automatic pistols, wrapping the jacket in a way to keep one of the pistols secure, while keeping the other free for use under the material. He buried his right hand inside the folded jacket, gripping the pistol, satisfied that he could use it quickly if need be. He took off the fake glasses and threw them onto Cumming's partially buried corpse.
Glancing around, he carefully stepped over the cans, almost slipping, and moved over one more aisle, before turning toward the front of the store. He didn't see anyone headed in his direction yet, which meant he should have enough time to get out of the store before mayhem descended on the Whole Foods staff. He moved briskly, passing an Indian woman wearing a head scarf and a dark haired, olive-skinned man on his way out of the aisle. The woman stared at him strangely, and Daniel realized that he must have a considerable amount of the first man's blood on the side of his neck.
He ignored the woman's gasp and pressed forward to the check-out area. He carefully scanned everything around him, looking for the rest of the team. Now that intentions were clear, he would engage the team immediately. He didn't see anyone that looked out of place, but he was painfully aware that anyone glancing at him for too long would be alarmed. He couldn't afford any attention at this point, not with the rest of the Suburban's occupants in the parking lot. The last thing he needed to confront was an off duty cop who had seen too many movies.
Only four of the dozen cashier lanes were open, all toward the entrance, which might make things easier for him. In total, he quickly counted about thirty people, including employees, crowded around the bustling area. It was a large group to pass without attracting attention, but everyone looked extremely busy as he continued toward one of the empty lanes a few registers away from the commotion. He kept scanning the group for any signs of alarm, painfully aware that the back of his neck and shirt were stained red.
Instinctively, he focused on a woman closing her purse near the closest open lane, and decided to use her to get out of the store undetected. She had short, cropped dark hair and was dressed like a professional, in a matching grey suit. He walked through one of the empty lanes and turned toward the exit, which fortunately kept his blood splattered right side partially hidden from view. He kept his gaze forward, hoping that the cashiers and baggers would stay focused on their jobs, and that nobody in line would pay much attention to him.
He passed the group unnoticed, and concentrated on his target. The woman put her purse in the shopping basket’s empty child's seat, and started to push the loaded metal cage toward the entrance. Daniel counted at least five brown paper bags stacked in the cart. He timed his pace, arriving behind her in an area devoid of windows and shopper traffic, just before the exit. She had stopped to look at the community posting board, which made it easy for him to nestle behind her.
The sliding glass door opened in front of them, and a young woman wearing a yoga outfit walked through, glancing briefly in their direction. The woman waited for her to cross into the produce section, and tried to push the cart forward, which didn't budge. Daniel held the cart in place with his left hand, and pushed the barrel of the pistol into the small of her back. He whispered closely into her left ear.
"I'm holding a silenced pistol at the base of your spine right now. If you make a sound, you'll never walk again. I need your cart. You can keep your purse. Can you give me your cart?"
He pressed the pistol into her back again, and she nodded.
"Let's get moving. When we get into the vestibule, you'll let go of the cart and go left, out of the door. Keep walking until you find a coffee shop. Relax with an iced drink, and don't worry about your groceries. The parking lot is not safe for you right now," he said, as the cart moved forward through the sliding doors and into the vestibule.
"Take your purse and go," he said, removing the gun from her back.
She carefully lifted her purse out of the cart, and walked through the door, never looking back at him. Daniel was impressed by her ability to remain calm. He had given her a fifty percent chance of screaming as soon as he pushed the gun into her back, and had resigned himself to hitting her over the head with the pistol. Just as she passed a small potted plant display along the outside wall of the store, he heard a muffled scream from the inside store. Knowing he had little time left before a call went out to the police, he unwrapped his jacket, and placed both pistols into the shopping cart seat, hidden by the groceries. He slipped the jacket on; flannel side out, very aware that the collar was soaked with cold, thickening blood.
Douglass Porter, former Army Special Operations staff sergeant, sat impatiently behind the wheel of the running Suburban. The team had been in the store long enough for him to start feeling nervous, and he kept his eyes glued to the store's entrance vestibule. The vestibule didn't empty directly into the parking lot; instead, it contained a front wall, with doors on both sides, which had disgorged nearly two dozen shoppers since Cummings and Sanchez had disappeared from sight. Because of the front wall, he had no warning when someone was about to walk out, except on the left side, because the truck was parked at an angle that allowed him to see the automatic doors slide open.
A woman in a business suit had just walked out of the right side, and kept walking toward the far end of the building. He caught some motion and returned his eyes to see a full shopping cart emerge from the right side doors. A grungy looking guy in a baseball cap followed the cart, and pushed it down his parking lot aisle. Doug made a quick assessment of the guy, and returned his attention to Whole Foods. The man with the cart drifted over to the other side of the aisle, and in the flash of brain synapse, Doug Porter sensed that something was wrong. His next set of synapses told him to think about the MP-9 submachine gun that Cummings had left on the passenger seat, but his hands remained on the wheel, scanning the doors. When the police scanner nestled into one of the Suburban's center console drink holders crackled to life, he quickly turned his head toward the man with the cart. He didn't have much time to process his mistake.