At least a dozen of them crawled into a bathroom, cramming into a single stall. They cried and whispered prayers. Gunfire replaced music. Glass shattered. The acrid smell of gunpowder filled the air.
A figure loomed outside the stall door. A man collapsed in a pool of his own blood. His killer laughed.
For three harrowing hours, as the gunman took hostages, people crouched in a dressing room or in air conditioning vents. One woman survived by covering herself with bodies.