The Canary
·120 words·1 min
Flash Fiction
Deadlines For Writers
“He’s in room five.”
“Name?”
“Jimmy Valentine.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“Awesome.”
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!”