I don’t think.
I run.
ChapterForty Six
Elsa
My hand scrabbles blindly along the counter and closes around something slick and cold.
Ultrasound gel.
He’s almost on me.
I squeeze hard, spraying it straight into his eyes.
He bellows and stumbles back, one hand flying to his face.
A second.
Maybe less.
I slam both feet into the base of the ultrasound machine.
The cart rockets forward on its wheels and smashes into him hard enough to drive him sideways into the wall.
I’m already moving.
I vault the exam table, nearly falling, catch myself, and run.
I yank the exam room door open so hard it slamsoff the wall.
The main office stretches out ahead of me—reception desk, chairs, shadows, too much open space.
Behind me, I hear him coming.
How has he recovered already?
I sprint for the receptionist’s desk instead of the exit.
The exit is too far.
I won’t make it.
I slam into the desk, pain shooting through my hip, and reach wildly.
Phone. Keyboard. Pens. Mug.
Scissors.
I grab them just as he rounds the desk.
I fling the mug at him. It explodes against the wall behind him.
I slash with the scissors when he gets close enough. The blades catch his forearm.
He snarls.
Good.
