She ran onto the escalator, looking down behind her. It stopped at the bottom of the stairs, watching her.
Its short body, awkward arms and legs. It watched her as she rode upwards, to the street, to freedom. It sniffed the air, closing its clear white eyes. She was convinced they could smell her blood. They’d roared into a frenzy when she’d cut her leg running up the tracks.
Nearly there. She looked ahead again and ran up the last few metal steps.
“Sorry,” said the ticket attendant at the top. “They need feeding.”