Degeneration by Mark Campbell

group let out a terrified scream as the infected spread amongst them.
                  A man wearing a bile-splattered paramedic uniform broke away from the besieged group, toppled a cubical wall, and ran towards one of the skyscraper windows.
                  He picked up an office chair and hurled it at the hurricane-rated glass–
                  The chair bounced off of the impact-resistant glass.
                  Undeterred, he picked the chair up and hurled it at the thick glass again, as hard as he could, grunting, stumbling forward–
                  The chair bounced off of the unscathed glass once again.
                  The man picked up the chair a third time and–
                  A single hole formed in the middle of the glass and the back of the man’s head erupted in a geyser of blood.
                  The man dropped the chair and crumpled to the ground as a pool of blood formed around him.
                  Howell looked around the corner and saw a helicopter hovering outside, between the skyscrapers. The side doors of helicopter were open and revealed a row of snipers peering up and down the building through their scopes.
                  The pregnant woman slowly stood and stared down the hallway at Howell. Her stomach was eviscerated and a puddle of dark blood had formed at her feet. In the middle of the puddle lay what remained of a fetus. She fastened her lips into a feral snarl and sprinted towards Howell, dragging the fetus with her across the carpet.
                  “Fucking bitch!” Howell snarled as he ran to the nearest door. He turned the knob, swung the door open, and ran inside.
                  It was a nicely appointed office, one that looked like it belonged to a manager. It had a mahogany desk in the middle and a plush black leather chair. Two bookcases filled with legal books dominated the side of the office and the back of the office consisted of a large floor-to-ceiling window offering a panoramic view of the plastic-draped skyscraper directly across the street.
                  Howell slammed the door shut behind him and locked it. He hesitantly backed away, clutching his duffle tightly against his chest, coughing.
                  Within the seconds, the pregnant woman was bashing against the outside of the door, trying to claw her way in. Howell knew that the door wouldn’t be able to take much more of–
                  “ Sherry? Sherry!? ” a man’s voice asked. “What the fuck… Jesus!”
                  The pounding against the door stopped as the woman sprinted towards fresh prey.
                  The man’s screams turned into gurgles as he choked on his own blood.
                  Howell picked up the office phone off of the desk and cradled the receiver against his ear–
                  The line was dead.
    Howell dropped the phone and sat his duffle on the desk, coughing. He walked towards the window, closed his fists, and pounded against the glass as he cursed to himself. As he drew a fist back, he looked down and saw a red dot centered on his chest–
                  Howell ducked away from the window and sat underneath the desk.
                  Outside, plastic draped down over the window, shrouding out the sunlight.
                  Howell rung his fingers through his oily hair and started to rock back-and-forth, trying to drown out the screams coming from the other side of the door. He couldn’t care less about the bomb on the desk anymore. He knew that he would never make it to New York.
                  He knew that he would never make it out of the building.
    He was terrified.
    He dropped his head down between his knees and wept underneath the desk in the dark office, alone,