It’s funny, the things noticed at the end of the world.
The sand on the floor beneath your jeans, pictures of people you never met adorning the house you’re holed up in, and reflections in a well oiled double barrel.
The last working light on the street flickered to life as the day failed. Darla checked her bag again for shells and peered through the crack in the curtains.
They would come soon, but the light would hold them off.
Low gutteral growls signaled the beginning. Darla stilled her racing heart, and peered through the window.
The light winked out.