Her muscles screaming at her, she dug the buckle prong beneath his fingernail. He cried out for his friend to hurry up. She squirmed the prong deeper and he cursed at her, the pitch of his voice rising with the pain. Finally his nail lifted and she fell with his screeches, turned her body and tucked her chin to her chest. She hit the concrete with her shoulder and tried to absorb the impact through her side. She knew how to fall. She’d been taught how to fall.

But she’d never fallen from this height.

She lay on her back and tried to breathe but couldn’t. She tried to move but couldn’t. Her arms wouldn’t push her up and her legs wouldn’t bend.

She made a sound, a long involuntary groan. Her lungs were trying to inflate. Her stomach muscles were bunching up and she had to fight the urge to curl into a ball. When the first bit of control returned to her, she arched her back and groaned again.

A sliver of breath, in through her lips.

Valkyrie turned over, got up, saw the other man running for her. She stumbled away from him, still trying to breathe. He was fast and he was gaining. Her legs struggled to find a rhythm, but at least she was running again. Valkyrie jumped on to the stone seating, leaping from seat to seat, moving diagonally down to the arched tunnel that led out of the stadium. He was behind her all the way.

Her breathing was ragged, but back under her control as she dropped from the last seat. The tunnel lay ahead, opening out on the other side to a view of magnificent green countryside. She ran for it. She could lose him in the fields, or the trees, or even swim a river to get away. She could flag down a car on the road. She could pick up a rock and smash his brains in. Once she got through that tunnel, she could do a lot of things.

She was halfway through when there was a rattle and a rumble, and a gate began to lower. It was one of those old latticed gates, the kind that protected medieval castles. It was waist-height as Valkyrie neared, and she had to throw herself down and roll beneath it, springing up immediately on the other side.

Her pursuer shot his arm through the gate, but she was well out of reach.