Safe Haven

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: The Imaginarium


A short story inspired by the 25th Picture Prompt from the Imaginarium House.

Submitted: September 19, 2017

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Submitted: September 19, 2017

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Safe Haven

The daylight is fading so quickly today. Fred and I have had to hurry; we need to reach Sanctuary by dusk or the doors will stay closed.

If we were making our way back through the town, by now they would start stirring. Not out hunting yet – they won’t do that until the sun has completely gone – but they would be moving around, groaning and gasping.

Not far to go now. We’ll make it! They should let us in.

I’d not really thought about it before, but they are out here too, starting to wake for the hours of darkness. The bushes rustle; an arm or leg makes an appearance from the undergrowth, beginning to stretch in preparation.

Come on, Fred, we need to go.” I climb up on to the bike and pedal; Fred runs alongside me, easily able to keep pace. We’d not be able to out-race them though; once they’ve woken, they are surprisingly fast.

And there it is, just coming in to view – Sanctuary.

It doesn’t look much from outside, just another large, nondescript building. But inside we have barricades to put on the doors, heavy reinforced shuttering for the windows, every possible entrance is covered.

We have weapons too. Not guns – they are next to useless against these hunters. We have bats, clubs, pokers, anything that can be used to inflict physical damage. The best way to attack is to target the limbs; to knock off an arm, break a leg off at the knee. Of course, best of all is to knock a head clean from it’s neck, but that is a very rare occurrence.

And of course each time we are engaged in fighting we are risking infection. We do not attack, just defend.

I jump from the bike and knock sharply on the door. For a moment it stays shut; are we really too late? Just as I am about to knock again, the door opens.

Fred trots in, his tail wagging in greeting. He likes his walks but he’s always pleased when we get back. I push my bike through the door, lean it against the wall and help with the barricading.

Sorry,” I say. “The dusk crept up so suddenly.”

We’ve just got the door secure when the first thump sounds against it. We hit the stairs, two at a time; Fred is already two flights up and home and dry.

Well, don’t do it again,” warns Garth, “or you’ll be out on your own with the zombie hordes.”


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