Two shapes move behind the beam of a single flashlight: a man and a boy. The man sets the light on a counter and begins to search the cabinets. He moves slowly, opening each door and peering inside. The boy’s head tilts to the boarded windows. His eyes flash back and forth in the yellow light.
“I can still hear them.”
The man nods. He finds a box of wafers and a glass jug with a few swallows of wine remaining.
“Do they…know…” The boy’s voice shakes and fades.
“We’re okay for now.” The man pulls a pistol from his waist band and lays it next to the flashlight.
“We need some rest.”
Both eat in silence, chewing the stale wafers slowly, savoring each bite even though it tastes like glue. They share the wine from the bottle, not bothering with the gold chalices under the counter. After their meal, the boy’s eyes grow heavy.
“Go ahead. Try to get some sleep,” the man whispers.
The man leans against the counter and guides the boy’s head to his lap. Outside, distant moans echo. The boy shifts a few times and settles. His eyes lost to memories, the man strokes the boy’s hair. The flashlight magnifies the shadow of a cross on the opposite wall.
“Some of the others…back where we were…said God was dead,” the boy says. He is almost asleep, exhausted.
Glass breaks somewhere down the street.
“Nonsense,” the man whispers. “If God were dead, we wouldn’t be here together.” The man’s voice wavers, but does not break.
They sit in silence for a few, long minutes. The noises outside grow faint. The man thinks of the grey things shambling in the street. He closes his eyes and sees their black mouths, smells the reek of rot and decay, the stench of urine and blood. He imagines their relentless, blind stares. They will not rest.
When he is sure the boy is asleep, he reaches back onto the counter and collects the pistol. He snaps open the chamber and counts two cartridges.
“If God were dead, little one, there wouldn’t be a bullet left for both of us.”
©2009 Aaron Polson
When Aaron Polson isn’t arguing about the definition of irony with his English students, he can be found chipping away at a twisted tale in his basement dungeon. He currently lives in Lawrence, Kansas with his wife, two sons, and a tattooed rabbit, enjoying every mood swing in the Midwest weather. His stories have appeared in Necrotic Tissue, Northern Haunts (Shroud), Monstrous (Permuted Press), and other publications. You can visit him on the web at www.aaronpolson.com.
August 8th, 2009 at 1:00 am
Masterfully written and chilling. A cross (excuse the pun) between ‘Salem’s Lot’ and ‘Dawn of the Dead’. Nice one!
August 8th, 2009 at 12:56 pm
Eerie!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
August 8th, 2009 at 2:12 pm
Utterly chilling. The larger scenario hinted at is frightening on a grand scale.
August 8th, 2009 at 3:03 pm
Excellent. The ending was perfection.
August 9th, 2009 at 11:42 am
Well timed and executed, as ever. Perfectly tight. Love it.
August 9th, 2009 at 11:43 am
Sad, unnerving, and a little bit uplifting because the man’s faith hasn’t wavered. Lovely little piece, Aaron.
August 9th, 2009 at 2:33 pm
Nice story Aaron. The characterisation is excellent and the hints at the wider horror facing the world are very effective.
August 9th, 2009 at 6:20 pm
Aaron, the story telling was top-notch, as usual. The inevitable ending was chilling.
August 9th, 2009 at 6:45 pm
Amazing how suspenseful it feels straight out the gate. Great piece of flash.
August 9th, 2009 at 8:53 pm
Wonderful story!
August 10th, 2009 at 4:05 pm
Amazing story, and one of the best endings I’ve ever read!
September 30th, 2009 at 2:12 pm
Loved this story, Aaron! It kinda reminded me of THE ROAD by Cormac McCarthy. Wow. Now I see what Cate Gardner was talking about.