God, I am so screwed.

Cold air burns in my throat as I come to a stop in front of a hallway of doors. The sounds of the thing chasing me are getting way too close for comfort for me to be too picky about my hiding place, so I slip into the nearest door and hope I've made the right choice. Something rubs against my back as I pull the door shut, and my heart stumbles over itself as I reflexively flinch and yelp.

I can't help the sigh that escapes me when I realize the arms I've walked into are the sleeves of hanging shirts, though my heart takes a bit longer than my brain to get the memo.

A snarl hits the ear I have pressed against the door and I turn the lock, my eyes never leaving the sliver of light at the bottom of the door as I push as far back into the closet as I can.

There's something strangely comforting about being brushed by the hanging clothes as they fall back into place around me, about pressing my back so hard against a corner that my arms have to slump forward to fit. I almost feel camouflaged amongst the musty, moth-eaten shroud, like a kid playing hide-and-seek.

But the shadows and noises from beyond the door remind me that it's not Dad on the other side.

Wet and guttural growls send a shiver down my spine and goosebumps crawl up my arms as four sets of claws click against the wooden flooring. My throat is beginning to cramp with my efforts to steady my breathing and my sweaty, trembling hands are making it hard to keep a grip on my pistols.

The door shakes sporadically as the Hunter scratches and slides against it, the movement rattling the doorknob. Its shadow grows larger as it lowers itself to the ground and begins to scrabble along the bottom of the door. It seems to press its face as close to the crack as it physically can as it sniffs and huffs, and if I didn't know any better, I honestly would probably think it was a dog.

A big, hungry, intelligent dog that has a taste for human flesh.

My attempts to calm myself are almost completely undone when the Hunter unleashes a scream that echoes around the tiny room, piercing my ears and resonating in my chest. It snarls as it begins to tear into the door with teeth and claws and fists and whatever else it has that can tear me limb from limb.

The thick wood is no match for a Hunter with prey on the other side, quaking with each powerful thud. Splinters fly outwards from clawed holes, and what began as tiny specks of light soon grows into jagged gashes promptly filled with a blindly-swiping, bloodstained hand. Its claws catch on some of the shirts in its desperation to find me, and there's a change in the Hunter's demeanor. Hungrily, eagerly, it digs its claws into the fabric and pulls it back through the hole in tattered shreds, clearly thinking that they must belong to me.

I shudder at the mental image that flashes across my mind of my own skin taking the place of the cloth.

I raise my pistols as best as I can in the cramped space, but there's no way to get a clean shot at the Hunter's head as he thrashes against the door. I try to squeeze even further into the corner, chips of wood now beginning to land on me as the Hunter rips entire pieces out of the door. Its arm can now fit up to its shoulder, the space between us only getting smaller as I wait for a reasonable shot.

Suddenly, it throws itself against the door and its upper body forces the hole to widen, and I finally get a good look at my pursuer. Jagged teeth are bared in a bloodcurdling shriek. Empty eye sockets somehow still seem to track my every move and chill me to my core. Drool runs from its mouth in thick streams, adding even more mess to its scraggly beard. Hatred and hunger are the only emotions I can peg to the scarred and crazed face staring back at me.

It swipes at me and I shout as I feel one of my pistols sling from my grasp.

And then, there is nothing but ringing in my ears, only blackness surrounding me as I clench my eyes shut. My arms and legs burn and quiver though they seem frozen in place, and static fills my brain as someone hits the center of my chest, pounding it frantically.

I finally realize that I need to breathe.

Cold air rushes into my lungs and everything seems to work again as I open my eyes, the room around me slowly coming back into focus. My hand presses against my chest and I remember what a heartbeat is, and I let myself slide down to the ground along the wall to relieve my legs. The floor is bumpy, with each lump having a different level of give. I feel around and discover that I'm sitting on an assortment of shoes.

Right, I hid in a closet.

With my vision almost fully-cleared I look up at the only source of light in the room, the holes smattering the closed door. My brain takes a moment to notice that the largest hole is occupied by the head and arm of a disheveled figure with black pits taking the place of its eyes.

I reel back at the sight of the Hunter just a foot away from me, my chest painfully protesting as my heart speeds up once again, but soon spot the blood running from a wound beneath its left eye. It's a gunshot wound, my best guess being from something of a smaller caliber.

I look at the pistol still in my right hand and sigh as the pieces fall into place.

With a grunt, I stand and holster it. I reach around the Hunter and unlock the door, pushing it open without bothering to remove the corpse. Light now filling the tiny room, I find my dropped pistol on the ground. Upon reaching to grab it, I finally notice the blood dripping from my left hand. It's only just now starting to sting, but I know I'll really start to feel it soon.

I step out into the hallway with the reassuring weight of a pistol on both hips, glancing back to the Hunter for only a brief moment before moving towards the stairs.

I just hope that the others didn't go too far without me.

I'm pretty rusty with my writing, so I encourage everyone to leave any constructive criticism they might have! I want to know if people would enjoy reading a larger fic of this style, if I'm any good at it, if this sounds like it's actually from Zoey's POV, etc.