It was as if something had bitten a chunk out of the building, something that hungered for wood but not plaster or steel. “Momma?”
“Water damage. Rain comes in the hole in the roof, rots the wood, eventually it collapses under its own weight.” They’d have to watch their step, and she’d have to block off areas where there was danger of further collapse. I was an engineer, once.
“Is it safe?”
Mother smiled, nodded reassurance. “Safe. No stairs anymore means no zombies up this high. We can sleep.” She tousled the boy’s hair; her hand lingered. “Safe as houses.”
I love how you used the prompt and turned it into a place of safety.ReplyDelete
Thank you :-)Delete