Dash to the Doorstop

I couldn't stay crouched by that sneaker forever—too confined, zero visibility. I took a breath, counted to two, and broke cover. The floorboards stretched out wide and exposed, but straight ahead, light was cutting right under the door. I stayed low, boots skittering just once on the slick polished grain before I dug in and kept moving. Halfway across, I ducked behind a heavy wedge-shaped rubber doorstop. Solid cover. I pressed my shoulder against the ridged rubber, catching my breath. There is a cool draft slipping under that door crack, and beyond it, a whole open hallway. That is my route out.