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The Canary

·120 words·1 min
Flash Fiction Deadlines For Writers

“He’s in room five.”


“Jimmy Valentine.”

“You’re kidding.”



Henry peered through the glass window. The boy couldn’t be more than a hundred pounds soaking wet, and was nervous as a cat behind a rocking chair. His cuffed hand rattled against the metal table as his knees bounced.

Henry scanned over the report. Arching an eyebrow, he said, “Seriously? He was stealing a baseball bat?”

The other officer nodded. “He said it was because of the zombies.”

“Oh, for shits sake! Let’s get this over with.”

Opening the door, there was a loud crash behind him. Turning, he saw dozens of shambling bodies pushing into the room, gnashing shattered teeth. Screams erupted alongside gunfire as Jimmy shrieked, “Zombies!”