Rose jams her shoulder and leg into the narrowing slot. Programmed not to mash human beings, the doors do not pinch her in two. Neither do they retreat politely to let her through. Muttering curses she hasn’t used since Mel was a toddler, Rose shoves her body between the black rubber seals. She is grateful for the scrubs: no buttons, no belt, no buckles.

Her body is out. Before she can snatch her arm free, the doors close, trapping it at the wrist. Jerking, Rose abrades her skin. Blood makes the passage slippery. She takes a deep breath and pulls the last of her personage from the doors’ hard rubbery lips.

Free, she runs toward the familiar dark welcome of the greenway. People will come after her. People with flashlights, then people with guns and badges. Or, worse, a nine-fingered man with a brand-new knife. Though this has been a night of encores, Rose doubts she will get away with hiding in the bushes until morning a second time.

Pain cuts into her side, forcing her to slow.

Feet pound on the sod behind her.

They’ve wasted no time.

CHAPTER 19

Digging deep for nonexistent reserves, Rose manages a painful burst of speed. Before the adventures in the MCU, she’d jogged five miles several times a week. But, then, it was jogging. On a treadmill. Twenty years, at least, have gone by since she’s sprinted full out. Muscles in her thighs stretch and scream. There is the awful feeling of running in a nightmare, forcing legs through thick mud, lungs burning in short hot flares, sharp as razors in her throat.

Yelling, unidentifiable due to the breath rasping in her ears, drifts in her wake. Hounds baying in pursuit, no doubt.

Whirring and crashing; then a hand touches her back. Only a touch, but it might as well be the hammer of a wrecking ball. Already on the ragged edge, Rose goes down. Elbows and forearms slam into the grass, saving her from a broken nose and missing front teeth.

At least she’ll look good for the mug shot.

A wheel spins beside her head; that, or her brain is spinning, catching bits of moonlight on the spokes and hurling them into the night.

“Gigi? Are you okay? You’re fast for an old lady.”

Rose tilts her chin up. “Grasshopper?” Then she vomits into the dry grass.

“Oh yuck. There was this hill when I tried out for track. Puke’s Peak. Must run in the family.” Mel helps Rose to her feet. Unsteadily, Rose watches as Mel picks up her bicycle.

“You look like an extra from The Walking Dead,” Mel says sympathetically. “You should sit down and rest.”

Rose shakes her head. “They saw me,” she gasps, then coughs until she’s sure her lungs will turn inside out like sticky pink balloons. “An alarm went off,” she croaks.