Thanks again to Laura at Office Mango for another photo prompt for this piece of flash fiction:
The Ground Below
Who were we kidding?
Just ourselves, I guess. Thinking that just earth or even the concrete we’d started to pour around the bunker would keep them there, hold them in their underground prison.
They wanted out and out was what they were getting, and fast.
Charlie had been the first to be taken – poor bugger didn’t stand a chance to even begin to run. Soon as they were out of the ground they were on him – I hope it was quick, for his sake.
The roof seemed the best idea – the only idea, really – just a way of getting some distance – no more of a plan than that.
So we’d grabbed the ladders, every one we could find, and had thrown them against the back wall, all of us scrambling up like a low budget movie scene of a castle assault.
We didn’t want to look back, not look down, knowing we’d see them, recognise their faces, pity them and yet be terrified of them.
But the rooftop didn’t help us.
We saw that as soon as our heads peered over the parapet.
We all saw the first one. Bony fingers on the opposite ledge as it pulled itself up onto the roof, it dropped to its feet, snarled and then began to run towards us, dozens more of them following in its wake, all teeth and clawing hands. Hands we’d once shaken in friendship, hands that had once held us in embrace.
We could only stare in horror at the scene before us, whilst hearing the screams from behind and below us, and feeling the shaking of our ladders as they were grabbed from the ground below.