The Unturned by Nicole Little

Holing up in this ramshackle cabin was our first mistake, but we’d run out of options.

Now we’re surrounded.

They pound on the door seeking entrance. And though they mumble amongst themselves, no words are discernible to us through the splintered wood. The children—our poor children; they cower, clutching at their mothers ragged shirttails. The stench of fear in the room is tangible.

We know this is the end.

With a thunderous crash the door gives and the mob breaks inside.

“Aim for their heads boys!” I hear them shout as they open fire.

The humans. The unturned.