Spoiler Alert

7 - Marina, Marina

"Marina, Marina, Marina!" I yelled with each step. I felt the heel of one of my boots give way, and my ankle almost rolled.

I glanced back, the dog was at my calves, nipping. Luckily, my long legs outpaced him. But he had two extra ones to make up for it and it wouldn't be long before I was meat tacos.

"Marina!" I yelled. God! Where is she?

I burst through the door of the WalMart, slamming my hip on the ledge. I had been moving too fast for the automatic opener. 

The chow chow sailed through, barking.

I nearly toppled over a cart filled with snot-nosed toddlers and their feed bags, but bounced deftly off. The mother started dumbly at me.

"Marina!" I yelled again, passing the WalMart greeter, a nice old geezer who tried to grab the chow and got a bloody hand in return. 

I'd have to give that guy a tip or something later. For now, it bought me time. I dashed into the produce aisle and hid behind the bananas.

To my horror, I glimpsed the car-wreck couple strolling through the door, complete with open-carry pistols tucked in their leisure-wear.

I ducked.

But it was too late, the high-pitched clacky clack of the chow chow was approaching. I jumped up and pushed over the banana display. The chow chow leaped over it like it was nothing. I rounded the corner and ran through the meat section, pulling things off the rack and throwing it at the dog. To hell with the onlookers, this was my future death we were talking about this time.

The dog was gaining on me, and with these slippery heels I had no chance. Only one choice!

I vaulted up the top cereal aisle shelf, tore off my boots and threw them at the chow chow. He must have been trained to recognize my scent because he went after them, which gave me the opportunity to leap from the Frosted Flakes to the Charmin in the next aisle, then to the Doritos, then the Diet Coke's, then to the Freezers.

I could see the back door. I was so close.

But . . . at that moment I thought of my brother. 

Turning like a ninja, I plucked a 24-pack of Hot Pockets from the freezer and dashed to the employees-only door. 

I saw a blur of lockers, a cardboard compactor, industrial shelving. Behind me, I swear the whole universe was chasing me. The dog, along with the car-wreck-couple and several WalMart employees were shouting after my butt. I think they all wanted a different piece of it.

Up ahead, a single delivery entrance garage door beckoned me with open arms. I would hop over the back fence and into the neighborhoods beyond. From there? Crap, I don't know! 

At that moment, the squeal of tires screamed through the air. My heart almost stopped. Were there more?

Then I saw a gray, 1984 Plymouth Horizon screech to a halt, blocking the entrance. The passenger door opened.

Marina had finally arrived.