Teeth rattling, legs burning. No time to look back. No place to go but forward. Forehead bullets falling, catching creases on a map only interested in leaving.

Feet going faster. Almost to the turn. Hands on knees, breathing, gasping. Horns honking, people stopping, lights turning, and then, silence.

And a voice… louder… close by, perhaps even inside.

‘Your time is up. Better run!’