I look down at the table, where there is nothing but an old rag, and then side to side, assessing my surroundings. There’s one workstation nearby that has some metal tools on it and a slightly better angle for throwing, but it’s definitely not close enough to jump to. And there are a few benches nearby, but they’re too low—the dogs would get ahold of me in a second. I frown at the dogs. Defending myself from terrible people is one thing, but defending myself from dogs is a completely different story.

Logan takes a swing at Ash. Ash manages to block the strike, but I can see the strain on his face as he tries to compensate for his inadequate weapon. My heartbeat throbs in my temples and for a moment I just stand there, frozen, trapped, and no solution in sight. Another dog jumps for me, snapping its jaws viciously and slinging a thin streak of saliva onto my boot.

Think, November, think. I look again at the nearby workstation. If I could get to the tools, I might be able to make use of them alongside my knife. Although the way Ash and Logan are positioned, and given their distance from me, I’m not confident it’s the right choice. I look up at the ceiling, but there’s nothing but bare crossbeams.

My dad’s advice about how to surprise someone with my boot dagger rings in my thoughts. Just because there isn’t a clear shot doesn’t mean you can’t win. There is always a work-around and a way to surprise your opponent. It just takes creativity and a lack of self-imposed boundaries.

Logan takes another swing, and even though Ash parries, Logan’s stronger blade comes only inches from slicing Ash’s ribs. I survey my surroundings again—table with metal tools that’s too far to jump to, exposed crossbeams above my head, low benches that will leave me in the dogs’ reach. My thoughts are fragmented, the pressure of the situation making me indecisive.

Logan swings, forcing Ash backward a step toward the burning-hot furnace. A few more swings like that and Ash will get pushed into the blazing coals. Blazing coals…And suddenly, an idea dawns on me. I snatch up the old rag near my feet and shove it in my jeans pocket.

I crouch down and jump straight up as hard as I can, reaching for one of the timbers. My right hand gets a grip on the crossbeam, but my left hand doesn’t and I drop back down to the table, nearly losing my footing. I glance at the barking dogs, which have surrounded the table, ready for me to misstep so they can rip me to shreds. I take a deep breath, relax my knees, and jump again. Gotcha.