by Chris Bannor
For three days my brother and I ran. We screamed, pushed and pulled, and fought until we were free. We were both drained, and the house had seemed safe enough. Distant enough.
They crept in while we slept.
My brother opened his eyes moments after me and I could see the fear. He heard them too. There was no escape this time.
“The gun has two bullets,” he whispered. I’d lied. There was one.
He was too soft-hearted to pull the trigger anyway, so he never knew. I was the only one left alive when the zombies began to feast.
Chris Bannor is a speculative fiction writer who lives in Southern California. Chris learned her love of genre stories from her mother at an early age and has never veered far from that path. You can follow Chris on Facebook @chrisbannorauthor