Jack’s eyes grow so wide they dry themselves. His face stinging, he throws himself in silence about the room, clamoring for any route away from the giant panda dragging a facsimile of himself behind it.
The thing hasn’t quite seen him yet… but that Beamos head is swiveling nearer… where? WHERE?
There! He sees it… dusty, in the right upper corner of the room, partially concealed.
He bolts for it.
His feet crunch sick against the wood slats that comprise the floor.
The panda’s head flies about like a madling at the dinner bell; its fangs drip dark blood.
As it raises one great sharp-clawed paw to strike, Jack dodges the swing, falling, in his favor, closer to the neglected door and crashes against it, his fingers curling and twisting on the door catch.
It is then that he forgets to breathe.