45
Roger
"Where the hell is he getting all these bullets?" I mutter to myself as Molly and I sprint down the poorly lit corridor. Isaac's footsteps echo behind us like a twisted sonata of impending doom. I can almost feel the malice in each footfall, punctuated by the occasional gunshot.
"Less talking, more running!" Molly shouts, her voice strained but determined. The sharp c***k of another gunshot rings out just as we narrowly dodge a bullet that grazes the wall beside me, sending sparks flying.
"Point taken," I rasp, my lungs burning for air, my legs feeling like they're about to give out at any moment. But there's no time to rest, not with Isaac hot on our heels. We reach a corner and make a split-second decision to duck into a supply closet, hoping it'll provide a temporary hiding
