Where is he?
The sun shone, deflected brilliance through the narrow slats, stretching the shadows cast by her flashlight.
She could feel their heavy, stumbling breath – a low moan, a shrill scream.
She could sense them around her, waking into daylight, against their nature.
It’s too late.
Too late to save him.
She turned, and ran.
The zombies ate.
As best she could.
Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers’ prompt, as well as for the BeKindRewrite prompt – flashlight. It felt weird writing ‘flashlight’ – we just call them ‘torches’ over here, although I thought that would conjure up the flickering of flames, when potentially faulty electronics could be suggested…and the story’s probably too short to build any actual tension. Still, felt good to write again this morning. Tell me what you think about the story!