Page 147 of Not Quite Dead Yet

She ran.

Through some trees.

Through a tight alley between two buildings, across the street.

Climbed up onto a parked car to jump over a fence into someone’s backyard.

The alarm went off, drawing the cops to her.

Fuck.

She got over, landed on her feet this time. Kept going.

They could not catch her.

Out the house’s open garage door, a man yelling ‘Hey!’ after her.

Around the corner, through another parking lot.

Another alley, behind the pharmacy. So close to Central Street. So close to home, to Billy.

The alley grew tighter and tighter, catching her, bricks chewing her up.

Couldn’t see much anymore, the world spinning, her legs weakening.

Ribs closing in around her heart, piercing it with their sharp ends.

Jet stopped behind a dumpster to catch her breath, and her heart and her eyes, catch them before she lost them entirely.

Just two seconds, then she’d run again.

Jack Finney appeared at the other side of the alley, a silhouette with a strange-shaped head against the sun and the passing cars.

Jet turned, ready to run back the way she’d come, but the chief was behind her, boxing her in.

‘Stop running, Jet!’ Jack called.

‘No.’ The word barely came out, no breath to spare.

‘Get her!’ screamed the chief.

There was a fire escape up the side of the building.

Jet tore over to it, racing both of them.

Grabbed the ladder with her left hand, up with one foot.

If she could climb up, she could break a window, get inside, and –

A fist grabbed her jacket, some of her hair.

Pulled.

Jet crashed back down to the ground, but she didn’t fall. She was pushed up against the wall, her mouth and cheek grating on the brick, a hand on the back of her head, where it was broken.

The chief pressed himself against her, wheezing down her neck as he forced her arms together.

The angry hiss of the handcuffs, tightening around her wrists, catching her, too late.

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