Blackout

Running. He was running.
He could hear his heavy breathing, mixed with the light pitter patter of his footsteps and the thuds of its footsteps. As much as his legs hurt, he couldnt stop breathing. It would kill him, rip him to shreds and then eat him. He couldnt let that happen. Not with so many lives on the line. Powered by raw adrenaline, he gained speed. He got faster and faster until he could barely see the Screecher behind him. Relieved, he stopped and looked back as the Screecher gave up. It lifted its head high and let out out a guttural roar, that quickly increased pitch until it was practicall earsplitting.
John William Kingsley cried out in agony and dropped to his knees. He clamped his hands over his ears and screamed in pain. When he brought his hands before his face they were covered in blood. In the distance he could see the Screecher sprinting towards him, claws outspread.
Screechers are tall, but this one in particular was enormous. It stood easily 9 feet tall. Screechers are big lanky, bipedal beasts with sharp claws on there hands and feet. The one that greatly sets them apart from apart is there skin and heads. Screechers are covered in slimey, slick, disgusting grey scales, and this one was no different, except for his face, which was particullarily grotuesque. If you took the face of a dead man, pulled back his lips into an aweful snarl, and gave him sharp, black teeth then you would have what this Screecher looked. Hanging of the back of his head like hair were six, long tentacle like things that swung in the wind.
"Oh god," John said. He sprang to his feet and took of sprinting. As he ran he struggled to grab the machine gun slung over his shoulder. At last he did, but his fingers slipped and the rifle dropped to the ground. "Fuck," he muttered.
It took all his strength to get his momentum heading back towards the rifle. He realized he was just closing the gap with the Screecher, and the Screecher saw this too. It cackled menacingly and then ducked down, increasing speed.
John dropped down as if he was sliding into home plate and picked up the machine gun. He was litterally feet from the Screecher as he raised the rifle and pulled the trigger, still sliding full force. The rip staccato of the machine gun echoed inside the long hallway. The bullets hit the Screecher right in the chest, breaking through its exoskeleton and ripping flesh apart.
John collided right into the Screechers leg, sending it tumbling. John catapulted himself to his feet and then planted one strong foot on the Screecher's back. Holding the gun with one hand and aiming it straight at the Screechers head he used his other hand to flip the Screecher over. He looked into his disgusting eyes as he stomped his foot down on the creatures stomach. He pressed the barrel of the machine gun to the Screecher's head firmly.
"Why are you here!?" he screamed. "What is there for you here?! What were you looking for?"
The creature's lips trembled as if he was about to speak, but instead he spat on John's face. The second the saliva hit his face, John pulled the trigger, letting loose a hail of bullets that instantly cracked open the Screechers skull, sending blood and tiny bits of broken skull flying everywhere. John caught the Screecher's one pathetic eyeball as it flew up into the air, then he dropped it back down on the mangled pile of brains that had once been a face.
"Have fun in hell, ya sonofubitch,"