Zombies On Fire & Other Short Stories

Box of Arms

Hadad stirred in his bed. He opened his eyes briefly before rolling back over in his bed. It was still dark. Too early to wake up. He sighed in irritation at whoever had been making the noise that woke him up.

He couldn't remember what it was exactly. A muffled banging in the distance? A faint scream? Whatever it was had woken him up with a pounding heart. He couldn't remember what it had been exactly, but it seemed too real to have been a dream.

The dark-haired, 17-year-old lad rolled over again. Trying to still his racing heart and get comfortable enough to will himself back to sleep.

He breathed deeply and focused on the thumping of his heart beating rhythmically in his chest. It had slowed considerably and he felt a wave of sleep wash over him.

Suddenly, he heard it again. This time louder. This time closer. And he was wide awake. He knew for sure that it wasn't a dream.

Hadad sat bolt upright in his bed. Unsure of what to do. Should he look out the window and risk getting hurt? But maybe he could help whoever was out there.

Someone needed help. That much was clear. But...

Hadad lived on the outskirts of the city in his family's warehouse. It's where his relatives stored their grain after the harvest. It was still early in the year, and most of the crops had yet to be harvested.

But this year, he had been chosen to sleep in the dark, dank building to keep an eye on things. The closest house was a hundred yards down the road. Too far for someone to come save him. Too far for anyone to hear his screams for help if he needed it.

Hadad threw himself back under the covers and pulled them tightly around his head. Hoping that whatever was out there would soon go away.

It was only his third night sleeping here. At first, Hadad felt that it had been an honor to be chosen for the task. Or so he had thought.

He had just turned 17 and felt respected by his family for choosing him. But now, it didn't seem like such a big deal. It had simply been a chore that no one else wanted to deal with, so they had tossed him into it.

The thought occurred to him that he would be an easy target if someone came in and saw him lying on the bed. He wouldn't be able to see them or run.

The spry lad leaped out of bed and arranged the pillows and covers to make it seem like someone was still sleeping there.

Then he scrambled under the bed as far as he could into the corner where he curled up into a ball.

The smell of smoke and ash wafted into the room. Hadad sniffed and tried to fight back a sneeze. But it was no use even though he covered his nose and mouth with both hands to try and smother it.

There was a pounding from somewhere in the warehouse.

"Hadad. Hadad." someone seemed to be saying.

He crawled quickly out from under his hiding place and moved stealthily toward the front door. Not wanting to make any noise, he crept forward and tried to peek through the cracks.

There was nothing there. Hadad moved around to the other side to look out the cracks in the middle and then along the far side. Nothing. It was pitch black still.

Hadad unlocked the door and opened it as slowly and quietly as he could. Not a soul in sight. He grabbed a pitchfork and stepped outside into the cool night air. Then walked to the edge of the building to peek around the corner.

The only sound Hadad heard were the cicadas buzzing and the wind blowing through the trees.

He tiptoed softly to the other end of the building past the door to the other side of the building to peek around that corner.