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The curtain covering the back window is closed. The drop to the ground is less than four feet, but the window opens onto an alley surrounded by concrete walls.

One way in.

One way out.

I should have chosen a better room.

The lock rattles again.

A thin piece of metal slides between the door and the frame.

I grab my laptop, shove it into my bag, and move toward the back window.

The door jerks inward.

The security latch catches.

“Open it,” a second man orders.

“I’m trying.”

The first man throws his shoulder against the door.

The frame cracks.

I shove the window open and toss my bag into the alley. It hits the pavement with a sickening thud.

The men strike the door again.

The latch tears halfway out of the wall.

I climb through the window, lowering myself as far as I can before dropping. Pain shoots through my ankle when I land, but I stay upright.

A gunshot explodes inside the room.

Glass shatters above my head.

I run.

My lungs burn as I race toward the mouth of the alley. Another shot strikes the concrete wall beside me.

A man steps out from behind the dumpster.

He reaches for me.

I drive my elbow into his throat.

He staggers, and I slam the heel of my hand into his nose. Blood pours over his mouth.

I don’t wait to see if he falls.

I run past him and turn onto the road behind the motel. Neon lights glow in the distance, but most of the businesses are closed.

There is nowhere to hide.

An engine roars behind me.

I glance back.