No Exit by Taylor Adams 2

But it was fine. No worries. Ashley Garver would just
make a move, too.
Restroom?
Restroom.
He nodded to his brother.
* * *
Darby knew she only had a few seconds.
She closed the men’s restroom door behind her without
breaking stride, passing the stained sinks, her doppelganger
following her in the mirrors. Scar visible, like a white sickle.
Haunted eyes in the glass.
Yes, the Wanapani rest area was a pressure cooker. She’d
almost gotten Ed and Sandi killed. She needed to get out. She
needed to reframe this battle, to relocate it somewhere else.
Somewhere without the risk of collateral damage.
I’ll run, she decided. I’ll run up the highway. As fast, and
as hard, as I possibly can. I won’t stop until I find signal and
call 9-1-1.
Or I’ve frozen to death.
She checked her iPhone again. The screen must have
broken when she fell on the toilet, spreading a spider web of
deep cracks. The battery was now two percent.
She looked up at the empty window — a triangular little
slice of night sky and treetops. It was almost eight feet off the
floor. Getting inside had been easy, thanks to the stacked
picnic tables outside. Getting outside would be much harder.
Even on her tiptoes, she couldn’t reach the window frame.
She’d need one hell of a flying leap to catch it with her
fingertips. She’d need a running start, and every inch of it.
She backed up, past the green stalls, past PEYTON
MANNING TAKES IT IN THE ASS, all the way back to the
door, her back touching the wall, and the rectangular restroom
stretched out before her like a twenty-foot runway. Smooth