"Fuck yeah," he breathed, "Whatever it takes!" He was breathing heavily, but getting the door down, getting themselves hiding from the crazy that was going on even just a few feet away, where stray rounds pocked the concrete outside with a sickening sound of impact, gave him all the motivation he needed.

He didn't know the difference between the sounds of various weapons, but he did know that there were some barking sounds coming from one direction and a deeper, slower series of pops coming from another, and yeah, the idea of bringing down the security door was a good idea. No one was going to miss some shitty gift shop or the trinkets, including a bunch of knock-off t-shirts with the tattoo designs that seemed so popular among the douchebag set -- that shit was all over the island. Oh, and hemp 'bro' jewelry. 

Anyway, a few rounds smacked into the place and shattered shelves and trinkets even as Brian reached for the gate's handle and yanked it down hard; he'd worked in a mall once, and he knew how these stupid things worked. You had to pull -- hard -- and make sure it locked into the little slot at the bottom. 

When that was done, he slumped, though he did it behind the counter, for the extra barrier between him and the street. When he caught his breath, aided by sucking down bottled water from the store's fridge, he asked, "What the fuck is going on?" as if the other guy in the room had any more clue than he did.