Day’s End

The wastrels were dragging something along the beach. Mindy and I hid in the tall grass. It seemed we were always hiding.

She hunkered down. “Maybe we could walk to the next town. It’s only seven or eight miles.”

“No, it’s not safe. They are out in force, now.”

“Bobby, I can’t take this anymore. I live in constant fear. There’s no place to hide.”

I didn’t answer. Because there was no answer. If we stayed, the wastrels would find us. They were vicious survivalists, bearing knives and hand-made nunchucks. The most frightening weapon looked like a cat-o-nine tails — capable of maiming one of us in a single blow. But how could we get away?

It was nearly sunset. Mindy looked to the road. “No one has come along in days.”

“I know. I fear they have taken over the surrounding towns.” I touched the dead cell phone in my pocket — the last vestige of the society we once knew.

On the beach, some of the shabbily-clad children were chanting around a fire. Others were laughing, stomping, shaking weapons. When the fire reduced to embers, they heaped the thing upon it. I heard it sizzle and burn.

Mindy grabbed her nose, trying not to sneeze. Then she did, quietly, her dirty fingers squeezing tightly.

One child looked toward us, sniffing the air.

I grabbed the pack. “Come on.” We crouched and crossed the road. Ahead of us was a canopy of forest, and the mountains beyond. Somehow, we would survive.

Thank you for reading my 250-word micro-fiction story. Your comments are welcome!

I wrote this story when I ran a weekly micro-fiction writing contest, and I would also often contribute my own piece, just for fun. This story was my piece for the prompt, “sunset.”