A few yards away, Sue-Ann Bradley was stuffing the syncoped form of the
guard into her small washroom.
It was time to take a stand. No more cowering, she told herself
desperately. No more waiting. She closed the door on the guard, still
unconscious, and stood grimly before it. Him, at least, she would save
if she could. They could get him, but only over her dead body.
Or anyway, she thought with a sudden throbbing in her throat, over her
body.