( Second Floor )
Arla was losing precious oxygen and her throat felt crushed. There would be bruises, surely, and she was lucky that all of the delicate passages in her throat didn't collapse. He was scaring the shit out of her. No witticisms, no words... just the desire to kill, like some kind of psychotic robot. He didn't even seem to recognize any of the pain she was trying to give him. She struggled underneath him, her legs kicking, her screams hollow and unable to carry more than a few feet.
Fuck this. She wasn't dying. Not here, not now, not after everything she'd been through. With a burst of adrenaline, she tore the harpoon out of the man's side and tugged it upward. The angle was awkward to get any leverage but it was a last hope. She screamed, slamming the harpoon upward, right into the delicate place underneath his jaw, where the skin was soft----through his tongue and the roof of his mouth and up into his skull.