A LITTLE RAIN
"You will die now, Doctor."
Perched at cliff's edge, pelting rain muddying the promontory, sentient machines closing in on me, I could smell their lubricant fumes and feel the breeze from their spinning tines. If I ran from one, I'd be impaled on another, assuming the mud beneath my feet didn't send me spinning over the brink.
Mud! I flung myself at the feet of the nearest machine and hurled mud up at its oculus. As it faltered I pushed it over into the sludge and turned to blind and topple another.
Into every cliffhanger a little rain must fall.