The town looked dead as Shira and Ranz drove through. The street was covered in melting snow, the traffic signal was stuck on yellow. It looked like the town had just died, no cars, no people.
“What happened here?” Ranz whispered to Shira and continued driving.
They passed the market, the windows were boarded up. Ranz stopped the car in front of the entry door and peered inside.
Suddenly a hand, gray and diseased, slammed a note forcefully against the window. Ranz jerked back. There, written in a shaky hand and some sort of dark ink, was one word. “RUN!”
word count 100
For Friday Fictioneers, photo credit Jean L. Hays
Til next time ~Peace ~JPP