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hard she saw white flashes and her knees buckled. The urge to cry was overwhelming but she refused.
    “Let’s get a move on. I still have work to do,” he said. He wheeled the dolly out of the control room and into a dark corr idor, then opened the door to a supply closet and looked around. He grabbed Jana’s arm and shoved her inside, then closed the door.
    Jana heard the dolly rumbling down the hallway outside. As soon as the sound faded she pulled on the door handle. It moved, but only slightly. There was no lock on the door handle but he had obviously tied the door shut. She braced her feet on the wall, got a good grip on the handle, and yanked hard. She’d need another plan. After a bit of fumbling she found the light switch and flipped it on. The door opened in and to the right. To the left was a tall industrial shelf filled with an assortment of janitorial supplies. She settled for a broom and an industrial sized aerosol can of tub-and-tile cleaner, put them on the tallest shelf she could reach, and started climbing the shelves. They were metal, and clanked and clattered as she made her way up, but not knowing how long she had, speed trumped quiet.
    The top shelf was covered in a thick layer of dust that clogged her nose and burned her eyes, but it was empty. She lay on her stomach, reached down to the shelf underneath, and retrieved the two items she had placed there. The broom handle was just long enough to reach the light switch and turn it off. She pulled the broom back, unscrewed the handle, and laid the head aside. Then she waited, crouched in the dark, the broom handle in her left hand like a spear and the aerosol can in the right, listening for the sound of the dolly coming back down the hallway.
    After a few minutes her thighs started cramping and her eyes poured tears from the dust. It took every ounce of conce ntration she could summon not to sneeze. Should she try anything at all, or was it suicide? Her fighting spirit had been high earlier, but the darkness and dust and cramps were sapping it more by the minute. And the minutes crept by like days.
    She flinched when she heard something outside the door. Had her attention lapsed and caused her not to hear the dolly approaching? Maybe it was a janitor mopping the floor outside, someone who could help. Or get killed like poor Mr. Stevens. The urge to scream for help at the top of her lungs was ove rpowering but she resisted. Then the door opened and her heart sank. It was him.
    He was backlit by the dim light outside and she had a good target as he stepped into the closet. Now or never. She pushed to spring herself off the shelf and found out that her right foot had gone to sleep. The uneven pressure caused her to come off the shelf at an angle and instead of a clean dive into him with her broom handle spear, she fell on top of him in a tangle of arms and legs. He fell to the ground under her weight and she with him. She fought to get up without letting go of either weapon but it was impossible. He had the other end of the broom handle in one hand and her right foot in the other as she struggled to free herself.
    “You little bitch!”
    She let go of the broom handle and dove for the doorway but he still had a solid hold on her foot. On her stomach now, she grabbed the edge of the door frame with her left hand and pulled hard but his grip was too strong. She pushed herself up onto her left hand, then aimed the aerosol can blindly behind her with her right and pushed the button. He screamed and let go of her foot, and she scrambled on her hands and knees through the doorway and into the hall. She looked back just long enough to see him wiping the caustic white foam out of his eyes, then jumped to her feet and ran.
    As she stepped into the control room she heard his footsteps pounding the floor, coming fast. She made her way through the room and was six feet from the front door when she heard the sound of a pistol being chambered.
    “Take another step and