She ran all out. Dogs ran after her. She leapt to climb a wall; it crumbled, and she rolled. Back on her feet. Lead dogs snapped at her; she turned, snapped off one shot, two. Two dogs dead, the rest scared. For now.

Others would hear. She had little time. Climb a tree? Die treed by dogs. Keep running? Die exhausted. Stand and fight? Die torn to shreds and shot. She stopped on the bridge over the gorge. Jump to the river below? Die wet and broken.

Looking ahead, lights and sirens at the compound gate. Looking behind, fire and smoke of her distraction. In her pocket, a microchip that could end the world—or so she’s told. So, the mission: to return it to the authorities. At least they wouldn’t end the world.

Barking and motors from all sides. She looked over the edge of the bridge again. One chance….

Hours later, after the furor had died, the scent tracked to the middle of the bridge, the river searched, her broken gun found, her broken body not, she climbed out from the lattice beneath the bridge. Time to get the rest of the way out.

All in a day’s work.