Each step jarred the animal in her arms. At one point its head lolled sideways, jaw slack, and for a terrifying moment she thought it had died. “Stay with me,” she panted, adjusting her grip so its nose stayed clear. Its chest moved—barely. She kept running.
Streetlights appeared. A closed diner. A souvenir shop dark behind metal grates. A single gas station still lit. Her legs burned, lungs on fire. At the corner stood a squat building with a peeling sign: “Shoreline Veterinary”.