Abby pushed against the panic that rose within her. She’d had at least some confidence as long as she was in front of her adversary. Now she was cornered. She’d been in this situation several times before in the river. Most of the villagers had. But crocodile behavior was predictable. Here she faced an unknown foe in an unknown environment.

She scanned her surroundings. She was in a museum. Bones and artifacts were scattered across large rooms to her sides, but they were laid on the floor as if ready for scientific examination, not public viewing. She looked down the long hall in front of her. Labels for six rooms on either side extended above her along the hallway. A dozen exhibit rooms. They might have places to hide.

At the end of the hall, where it turned left, Abby spotted a lighted red sign that said Exit. Everything within her wanted to sprint to the outside. But she resisted. He might be waiting there, around the corner.

Abby glanced down at her feet. Slowly she removed her right shoe, then her left. She padded eight steps down the hall and slipped inside an exhibit room. It was filled with human jawbones. Samson, the Bible said, had slain Philistines with a jawbone. That didn’t seem a suitable weapon for her.

The room had no rear exit. She eyed a door that opened into the hall, twenty or so feet past where she had entered. Using the exhibit rooms’ two sets of doors, she could weave her way from room to room while spending minimal time in the open hall. She’d still have to navigate the corner to get to the exit, but she’d deal with that when she got there.

Abby opened the far door and eyed the corridor, then slipped out and into the next exhibit room. In the back of the room were stacked boxes more than six feet high, draped with large sheets. Between her and the boxes, stretched across the room, lay what appeared to be artifacts of native peoples, not unlike those of her village.

Her observations were cut short by a noise. Abby caught her breath. It came from down the corridor. She let her breath out, inhaled deeply, then held her breath again, listening. Nothing. She crept to the door she had entered and listened again. Footsteps. Moving slowly, then stopping. She placed her head near the door and slowly pressed against it. It opened a crack without making a sound.

Abby peered through the crevice. Near the far end of the hall, the man was holding open a door and scanning the interior of an exhibit room. Her eyes locked on to the free hand that dangled at his side. It held a gun.

She fought the instinct to burst out of the room and flee up the ramp. That could be suicide. She eased away from the door.