I sprinted across the flat with adrenaline pumping through my veins. There were four of us, fleeing from an unimaginable terror that hunted us. The four of us were well past the city limits and were heading towards a two-story, rustic farmhouse. I reached the farmhouse and looked for a place to hide. My perception drifted momentarily and then landed on a cellar door.
I fired my pistol, breaking the lock and pulled the entrance to the cellar open. “Come on!” I said, urgently pointing at the cellar. We climbed down into the musty cellar and I pulled the doors closed. Light crept through the holes in the rotting floorboards. I looked at the people in front of me. We were all friends in one way or another before this nightmare started, but now these people felt like a part of me. If they died a part of me would die.
Directly across from me sat my cousin, Cori. She was at least six feet tall, had the same color hair as me and was about three months older than me. To my left was my close friend Dawson and to my right Sam. An impact made the rotting floorboards shutter. I aimed at the cellar door and Dawson took aim at the cracked, concrete stairs. Suddenly the cellar door caved in sending dust billowing upwards, blinding us all.
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