Flash Fiction: 35 Minute Freewrite Challenge

Beads of sweat form a slippery layer between my index finger and the familiar clutch of my .22 caliber rifle trigger. I stood with my feet planted firmly in the rickety doorway, the now-cocked rifle in my hands pointing directly at the six-year-old’s forehead.

Speckles of dust sift through the rays of sunlight, the powerful summer heat suffocating any hopes I had previously held for rain. Even the hardy weeds surrounding our fenced-off property seemed to succumb to the sweltering weather, leaves furled in like tiny clutched fists in the wake of the sun. I coughed through my gas mask. 

Despite the shimmering curtain of dust clouding my view, I never once ripped my gaze from the toddler before me. How this cheeky little fucker managed to slip past our entire defense system beats me entirely.

My eyes briefly dart around the back of the yard, scanning for any other potential unwelcome visitors. I shift my weight ever so slightly onto my left foot to attempt to peer beyond the toddler; beyond the 3-foot thick layer of vicious barbed wire and deteriorating fence. Beyond the concrete blocks of our storage containers. Much further beyond into the twisted thicket of forest on the horizon. No movement. 

My throat catches once more, and my abrupt cough seems to startle the toddler, as it blinks suddenly and twitches. Despite the fact that grimey shrimplet stood just below my hip and weighed a lot less, we seemed equally jumpy around each other. 

”Don’t you fuckin’ move,” I hiss through gritted teeth, pausing to hack out another cough. “I’ll blow your head clean off, boy. Don’t test me.” 

Damnit, I wish it would rain. Clear away some of the dust.

A thud resounded from behind me as a short girl stood in the deteriorating hallway, a knife in each of her hands. The second she caught sight of the six-year-old, she sighed. I didn’t bother turning around fully to double-check her presence–I could recognize Jane’s exact footsteps anywhere.

"Well, this looks like a bit of an issue."

The toddler lifted its hand to scratch the top of its head. Every muscle in my body screamed to attention, adrenaline surging through my veins. Within seconds my finger was halfway pressed upon the trigger, one ounce of pressure away from treading the line between a bloody porch or an enraged Infected horde. 

"Jesus, calm down! He's just a kid!"

Jane’s hand slammed down on my shoulder, tipping the eyepiece of my gun directly into my socket. I grimaced in pain, resisting the urge to lower the barrel and press my cold hands to my throbbing eyelid. I refused to take my eyes off the kid, instead pointing my anger directly towards it, glaring furiously. 

"Yeah, it’s a kid who could be infected."

I could practically hear Jane’s eyeroll pierce through the back of my skull. Something hard pressed into my spine. Not a knife, but something less sharp and narrow. 

”Grab the crossbow if you have to, the gunshots could attract a horde. Plus, I don’t want to scrub brains off the boards…We’re not wasting ammunition on a little schlep like him.”

Silence seemed to blanket all of us as we stood in a stalemate. The increasingly warm metal of the gun seemed heavy in my hands, as the sun continued to power down on all of us. The toddler shuffled again, and I felt one of my fingers press down on the trigger even more. One tiny click and its existence would be wiped from the piercing sunlight overhead. 

“Stop it! What is your fucking issue dude--”

“You of all people should know that we have no exceptions to our rules, Jane. Anyone who comes in either gets out or gets shot. And this fuck-ass kid clearly don’t wanna leave.”

Jane pushed her way past me, her bronze skin lighting up as the sunshine kissed her dark hair. I remember when she used to wear her hair down in the hallways of our high school. I remember when things used to be normal, when we didn't have to hide in a fort to avoid the infected, or even worse, the survivors of the pandemic. As I inhaled, dust flooded the inside of my mask, and I coughed again. Jesus, I wish it would rain.

"Stay back, Jane, I’m serious. It could be infected!" I nudged the barrel of my gun pointedly in the kid’s direction, only to be met with a scornful look. Jane stood between the both of us, arms out in some sort of stupid spread-eagle defense.

I bit into her amber gaze tersely. For a second, the tension was almost unbearable. We seemed to connect by a thread of understanding, and I felt my lip curl in a snarl. The gun weighed down my hands and I glanced at the toddler again. 

The child seemed fine, no sign of red rimmed eyes or pulsating sores. An unkempt mop of blonde hair almost entirely covered his brown eyes and long lashes hid a saddened gaze. Twigs and what looked like dried blood coated the kid, like a strange candy wrapper. The gun dropped to my side involuntarily, and I felt a tremendous sigh rack my body.

There is a kid on our front door.

"How the fuck did he even get through the barbed wire?" I muttered, aching to kill the awkward air surrounding us. Jane shifted in front of me, neck turning to peer around our small front yard. The barbed wire and vicious shards of glass glinted menacingly in the afternoon sun. 

I shifted the rifle closer to me, eyeing the kid. He was so tiny and pale. How the hell has he even survived this long?

"Good god, look at his feet!" Jane almost gasped, her eyes widening in horror. My gaze flitted downwards and I let out an involuntary exhale. Deep gashes and flaps adorned the toddler’s feet, and a blossoming pool of crimson gathered beneath his toes. 

Sparkles of glass glittered, embedded deep within his skin like a twisted collection of stars. His eyelids fluttered and the child seemed to gravitate to the floor, exhaustion finally taking over his frail body. Before I had a chance to think, I caught him. Slowly, my gaze met my sister’s, as Jane exhaled sharply.

"You touched him." Jane's voice quivered so softly I wasn't sure she had spoken at all.

"Well, shit."