The citywide power failure plunged the resort community of Panama City into blackness as night fell. A single light from a battery-powered clock offered the only illumination in the small living room. Not nearly enough to push back the horrors of the violent storm outside.

Kellee O'Neal didn't need light. Touch was enough. Carpet fibers burned her bare elbows as she belly crawled until she pulled free from the man heaped on top of her. She strained against the dead weight. Each breath beset with the bitter, coppery smell of blood. The moment her legs cleared the leather-clad arm, she scrambled to her feet. As deadly as the raging storm was outside these four walls, it was suicide to stay inside. She had to get out of the apartment. Now.

A groan drew her attention back to the floor. The figure, barely discernible lying on shattered coffee table glass, didn't move. She wasn't about to wait around to see if he would. She wasn't giving him another chance to attack, and maybe this time, succeed in killing her.

Arms extended, Kellee stumbled toward the side of the room. Outside, an otherworldly shriek pierced the night. It was the wind, she told herself. Only the wind. Fearful of the night, the storm, and the stench of death that filled the room, no reassurance could quell her racing heart.

Choices were nil. Stay in her second story apartment with a killer or chance surviving the storm. Fumbling against the wall, she searched until her fingers touched the cool door handle. Escape lay on the other side. With a desperate twist of the handle, she opened the door, and ran into the entryway. Pebbled concrete grabbed the soles of her tennis shoes, averting a fall on the drenched landing where she might have slipped between the wrought iron railings. Gale force winds funneled through the narrow breezeway between her apartment building and the next one over. The resulting high pitched shrill sounded like an out-of-control locomotive. A gust stole the breath from her lungs. Panicking won't help, she thought. Head bent, and body leaning into the tempest, she snatched a lungful of air before heading down the steps.

Gusting tentacles clawed at her blouse, tugged it loose from the band of her shorts, and lifted it away from her body. Regardless of the covering between the buildings, the steps were slippery from the rain whipping in sideways. She negotiated each one carefully. At the last step, she glanced back at her apartment. The door had slammed shut. The man hadn't followed.

Relief was short lived. By now, all the apartments were evacuated and there was no one to turn to for help. Safety came with distance, which meant facing the unforgiving hurricane. Alone. Kellee put her trust in Mother Nature and her own determination to survive the night.

Five miles inland lay the rescue shelter. The team of aid-workers expected her. She was already late checking in for her shift. Every employee of Collin's Services Agency would be needed at their posts. Without her, they were a person short. And with this storm stronger than anyone had predicted, it was doubtful anyone could be spared to look for her.

The truth was she was on her own. The back way through alleys would cut the distance she had to travel to the shelter in half. She ran twice that everyday. A couple of miles were easy. Right?

Wrong. Immediately after turning the corner, the full force of the wind drove her back into the relative protection between the buildings. Already drenched to the skin and shivering, she wanted to curl in a ball and wait out the raging nightmare. She hoped the man in her apartment was too injured to chase after her, but she didn't dare take that chance.

She couldn't go back.