Flash Fiction: Living.

I wake in the dark. Why? Listen. Glass smashes downstairs. Groans of victory. Stomps and the sound of something dragging. A leg, probably. They’re in.


‘Run!’ I grabbed her hand and dragged her behind me. ‘Come on. Faster.’


Hide or run? If they come up here I’ll be cornered. Could fight. Depends how many. Bullets? Only three.


She slowed. Her breathing was so loud. Sounded so painful. ‘Come on,’ I yelled.


Get up. Quiet. Don’t make a sound. The window? How many outside? There’s one on the stairs.


She stumbled, almost fell. I glanced back. They were almost on us. Clawing.


If it’s just the one inside, I might be able to deal with it. Kill it quick then board up the window. No. There must have been a smash to wake me, before the one I heard. And there were groans. More than one.


Sweat greased our hands. She stumbled again, out of my grasp. I turned to help her. To get her up.


I’ll have to get out. Make a run for it. Like last time. With her.


A zombie grabbed her. I hit it with the bat, got it off her. Dragged her to her feet. But there were more. So many more.


Maybe it’s my time. Maybe I deserve to die.


She stumbled again. We weren’t going to make it. Not both of us. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I love you.’


How could I live with myself? With them? Without her?


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