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The Apartment #132


It was hardly more than ten yards to the entrance door now, but every one of them felt like a lifetime.
Rick’s movement had become almost nonexistant. The only way Tracey could get him to move was to pull at his shoulders so that he toppled forward. Only then did unconscious reflex force his legs to come to life and he staggered forward, somehow maintaining his balance.
Breathing heavily, Tracey neared the door. Sweat stung her eyes, the whole of her upper body, every single muscle, screamed and twisted in pain. But despite that she’d get them all out. Somehow.

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