(My response to Glipho Ex-pats latest writing challenge on Facebook)
I found a typewriter in the fourth room I came to. I dragged myself inside then checked the hallway behind me. No blood on the floor. Good. My leg had stopped bleeding, mostly, but some blood may have gotten through the shirt I had used for a bandage. I closed the door and locked it.
The police station was silent now so my labored breathing and boots scraping on the floor sounded louder than it should. I won't complain. At least the screaming had stopped. The monsters had run out of food, live food anyway. Except me. And I know they were still looking. I had to do this quick. Only I knew how to stop them but there was no way I was getting out alive. Mankind's only hope was for me to leave a message.
I reached up and tapped a key. The ink was red. Blood red.