The stairs are never ending. Her thighs burn. She can’t stop.
Another flight, her heart hammers in her chest. The five-pound pack on her back feels like it weighs twenty.
Flight twelve. She attaches the device to the handrail and flips the switch. Bright red numbers flash in the dull stairwell. Ten minutes.
Every breath wheezes through her parched throat. Whatever moisture she might have had dried up a few flights below, but she has to go on.
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