Sprite fought sleep. She couldn’t look, but her side felt wet. Warm. Sticky.

She watched Scotty, sad at his escape, unable to do anything about it.

The watch read 59 seconds and now tenths of seconds were displayed, the numbers flying downward. What would happen in 58 seconds? 57? 56?

Then gunshots in the distance. Still on her side, Sprite looked out and saw a big dog tackle Scotty. The little man fell hard to the pavement. The dog quickly righted and stood growling over him.

Twenty feet further, a red-headed woman appeared, training her gun on the little man.