There! A porch. Not enclosed, but a lattice rises up the side along with a drain pipe. If I time it just right, I can jump from the edge of the porch, up the lattice to the adjoining six-foot fence, and from there to the roof. I’ll need both hands.

Mid-stride, I transfer the pepper spray to my mouth and clutch the cylinder with my teeth. Almost there. The footsteps behind clang loudly—the dog has launched itself over the fender of a parked car to cut me off.

I place one foot on the edge of the porch and launch off it, grasping for the lattice. Please hold, please hold. I bang hard against the side of the house, but the lattice sticks firm. I climb it like a ladder. My arms shake with the effort.

I’m swinging my right leg onto the fence when teeth close around my left heel. Pain explodes through my leg. I can’t hold myself up. The dog is going to pull me down and rip me apart. I’m sobbing from fear and desperation, but my body won’t give up. I cling one handed to the lattice, reaching for the pepper spray with the other.

The dog shakes my leg back and forth, and I try to kick it, but it hangs on.

I fumble the pepper spray; it flies into the air. I catch it by its dangling key chain, maneuver it around until I can finger the latch.

I barely remember to take a deep breath and close my eyes before letting loose.

It empties in a whoosh. The dog squeals, dropping to the ground. It rolls once in agony, then dashes off, banging into cars as it threads its way haphazardly up the street.

Too soon, I take a breath of relief, and suddenly I’m choking and coughing so hard I can barely breathe. I tumble to the ground, landing hard on my shoulder, sending daggers into my neck.

I roll onto my stomach and try to get my knees underneath me. Tears stream from my eyes and snot pours from my nose as I cough and hack my way to my feet. I take a few experimental steps. My bitten heel hurts like hell, but I don’t think anything is broken.

I limp toward home, my eyes and nose on fire, my pepper spray held at the ready, feeling lucky to be alive.

Then, from far away—north, maybe?—comes the eerie not-sound: whoomph. Its aftermath shivers in my chest as I break into a staggering run.