The spasms had ended now, but she felt drained and sweaty, her shirt sticking to her chest. Her head had hit the floor, so she reached behind gingerly, and then winced when her hand came into contact with damp hair. She knew that the stickiness on her fingers was blood. The attacker had gone now, or at least it seemed that way. The sirens were getting louder. He must have made his escape before the cars arrived. She rubbed her chest. She knew what she had been hit with. It hadn’t been a gun, or at least not one with bullets. It had been a Taser, a stun gun, two electrically charged wires with a fine needle on the end of each one. It had dug into her chest and paralysed her muscles, sent her into spasms on the floor. He had stood over her to take the needles out and then he had gone. She creaked to her knees, panting hard, her hair hanging down in sweaty trails, sticking to her forehead. Then she crawled over to the form on the floor.
