Walls of Flesh

Walls of Flesh
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 691
“How can you stand it?” Jake asked.
“It doesn’t get any easier, nor do you ever get used to it?” Patricia said.
Jake fiddled with the shotgun shell absent-mindedly, looking at the boarded up window. Only a small ray of light broke through the double layered four by two boards to give any indication of what time of day it was.
“Careful with that, boy,” Patricia said. “You don’t want to blow your nuts off.”
Jake quickly put the shell down. He didn’t know if she was serious or not about it, but didn’t fancy taking the chance anyway. He was only twelve and had never held a firearm before he met Patricia. Patricia couldn’t believe he’d survived for two months by himself and never used a gun. Luckily, Jake was quite small for his age and very agile. He was able to get into just about any small nook or cranny he found to hide from “them.” He’s scared the living crap out of Patricia when he’s crawled out of the air-conditioning duct above her when she’d settled in for the night.
“How did you manage to get in here?” she said. “I thought I’d sealed every possible entrance to this place.”
“Under the floorboards,” Jake said. “There’s a crawl space under your house. Don’t worry; I don’t think any of “them” could get in there.”
“How’d you get into the AC from under the floor?”
Jake shrugged, “Up the wall, into the roof, then found an opening in the air-conditioner. Looks like some repairman or someone never put it back together properly.”
“Do you think I’d fit in there?”
Jake looked her up and down and shook his head. She was not broad, but she was quite tall and Jake didn’t think she’d be able to make it around some of the tight corners in the ducts.
“Bugger it.”
The beam of light disappeared momentarily, then shone back in the small room.
“Someone’s out there,” Jakes said.
Patricia pumped a shell into the chamber and moved to the window. Outside, she could just see a figure moving around the pile of corpses. They were chest high and reeked horribly. Flies and maggots moved about the bodies, rippling and pulsating in an almost hypnotic rhythm. The corpses were six deep, making an effective barrier around the small office. To get to the windows now required anyone to climb over the rotting wall of flesh, which was almost an impossibility for both the living and dead.
“What is it?” Jake said.
“Looks like someone from the army or something?”
“Are they...one of them?”
Patricia looked out the gap again. She saw the figure pouring some liquid over the rotting corpses; it smelt like petrol.
“Crap!” Patricia yelled. “We’ve got to get out; they’re going to torch the place.
Patricia rushed past Jake, scrambling to the back door of the office. It opened inwards, so they should be able to get over it to get out. She pulled on the door handle, but it wouldn’t budge.
“I can smell smoke!” Jake yelled.
Patricia pulled on the handle again, pushing against the wall with her foot. Smoke poured into the office rapidly from the front walls, glass shattered from the heat behind the boards.
“There’s people in here!” Patricia yelled. “Don’t burn the bodies. You’ll kill us.”
Jake coughed harshly. He climbed back into the air-conditioning vent and hurried back along the ducts blindly. Smoke already filled the small vents, making it impossible to see more than a foot in front of him.
Patricia pumped a shell into the door, hoping it would loosen whatever blocked it outside. Blood and grey fluid oozed through the hole. She yanked on the handle again, this time it gave a little.
“Help!” she yelled.
Smoke filled Patricia’s lungs, asphyxiating her quickly. She felt dizzy and fell to her knees, pulling the door open a foot. The last thing she saw before passing out was a large, rotting hand securely fastened to the doorknob.
THE END