Stephen's knee thudded painfully against the side of the duct. His breath caught. He closed his eyes to listen more carefully behind him, worrying that something heard him. Despite of the sound of the creatures growing closer, he heard distant screams. That doesn't help my breathing problems, Stephen sardonically thought.
His mind flashed back to the average day at work. Endless calls permeating the air, papers suffocating his desk, his nose only filled with the smell of ink and coffee. His heart panged at the loss of his life. He realized now how much he loved it.
So many friends he lost! Nearly all of them worked here, so there was barely a chance of them surviving. Two of them lived on the edge of the city. They're pretty aware of the news. Hopefully they saw this epidemic and went to a safe area, Stephen thought sadly. His head shook violently, trying to clear his mind of those thoughts. Thinking of them would do him no good.
A hand grabbed his leg and started to tug him back. Stephen's eyes opened as fresh adrenaline surged through him. Fight or flight, his brain was screaming. "Flight!" he cried and jerked his leg back. Now, nearly running on all fours, he raced away through the duct. The creature behind him snarled as it gave chase.
His boots and palms gave off incredibly loud noises and they pounded the duct. A horrible clicking noise pursued him. Stephen now remembered his gun, surprised that it hadn't shot off. Guessing that he had a few feet's distance between him and the thing, he twisted his body and landed on his back. He grabbed his gun, lifted his thigh, and placed it against his leg and let off a few shots.
His eyes stared at the creature, unblinking. A bullet somehow shot off the head, leaving a bloody stump as a neck. Another one landed in the shoulder, but there was no blood leaking from the hole. He shuddered, nearly vomiting. If there's one thing that'll get me through this, it'll be my iron stomach, he thought sarcastically. Who knows how far they could smell vomit. You never realize how hot a gun's barrel gets from the movies. He blew on his gun, knowing it was too hot to return to his belt. A thought struck him. If one could reach the vent, others could too. The smell of the dead thing could attract more. He flipped back onto his hands and knees and continued to crawl down the vent. He crawled with the gun sideways in his hand.
Stephen passed through endless turns before he passed a grate. He stopped and gazed into the room, expecting to only see red. He was surprised to find an empty, untouched office with a view. He grinned when he saw the fire exit through the window.
He pressed his back to vent opposite of the grate and lifted his leg. He kicked the vent as hard as he could but only dented it. The everpresent noise from the creatures paused to his sides, then came back in increased outbursts. Knowing he only had seconds, he reared his leg back and kicked it again, rather surprised when it gave way. His hands braced the sides and he pushed himself through into the office. He looked wildly around the office and found a long, thin box. He jumped on the desk and pushed the box into the vent. His fingers pulled the box back slightly.
He stood there, frozen. Once again, he realized the situation. Extra fear for his coworkers crossed his mind. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. Realizing the gun had cooled, he slipped it back into his belt.
Movement crossed the corner of his eye and his head jerked to the door. He leapt to the door and saw to his relief it was locked. He grabbed the string and closed the blinds. He tried not to think too hard on what moved behind the glass.
He finally turned to look at the fire escape behind the window. Walking up to it, he realized there were no ways to open it. It can't be too thick, he wondered. Glancing back at the desk, he reached for and grabbed a lamp. He hoisted it behind his shoulder and couldn't help but yell a little as he swung it forward.
"AAAAAGH," he screamed as the lamp shattered through the glass.