No Exit by Taylor Adams 2

But she knew the pistol was just for intimidation. If Lars
really wanted to shoot her, he would’ve done it already. That
would alert Ed and Sandi, so Ashley had probably ordered his
brother to run her down, to kill her discreetly, via suffocation
or a snapped neck—
His brother.
His fucking brother.
Darby passed the bare flagpole and looked back. Lars was
a pursuing shadow. He’d lost his Deadpool beanie. She saw
weedy blonde hair, milky in the dim light, a receding hairline.
The furious fog of his breathing. He’d stopped shouting at her;
he was too winded now. The deep snow was too exhausting. It
was a slow-motion nightmare.
He’s going to catch me, Darby knew.
She was already tiring. Muscles throbbing. Joints mushy.
He’s going to run me down out here, and wrap his hands
around my neck, and choke me until I die—
He was right behind her now. She could smell his salty
sweat. She’d lost her lead and given up both of her weapons
— the rock-in-a-sock to Ashley, the pocket knife to Jay — and
now all she had left was a bullet in her pocket and a size-eight
shoe in her hand. She considered throwing it at Lars, but that’d
just be a nuisance. He’d swat it away without breaking stride.
There was nowhere to run anyway. Ashley was smartly
guarding the building’s front door. She didn’t have her keys,
so locking herself inside Blue wasn’t an option. Running
wasn’t, either — there were only miles of jagged Colorado
taiga in all directions, frigid and unsympathetic. Just crunchy
alpine trees, sparse ground cover, and fatal drops concealed by
snow. How long would she last before succumbing to the
creeping death of hypothermia?
I can’t keep running.
She considered stopping, standing her shaky ground, and
fighting Lars. Bad odds.