Scratching

The two brothers ran as fast as their legs would take them. They quickly made their way across the bus station terminal, stomping on luggage and stumbling over benches. They were heading for a door on the side of the ticket booth. The raspy breath of the chasing hoard echoed around the station. The boys feared that they had not made it back to the station in time.

The door was still propped open by a brick and the broom they had leaned against the door was still in place. No one was inside.

The younger brother pulled the door open and kicked the brick aside. The older one grabbed it. Turning as he crossed the doorway, he threw the brick into the crowd with all his strength. He slammed the heavy metal door shut.

They looked at each other and laughed as they held the stitches in their sides and gasped for air. They sat on the floor below the bulletproof glass of the ticket window and dumped the contents of their backpacks  in a pile between them.  It was dinner time, the most anticipated part of the day. They eagerly tore into the plastic packaging of their convenience store loot.  Dinner was nothing but fat, salt and sugar now.  The exact things they wanted to eat but were never allowed to have for dinner before.

They slipped off to sleep on the floor where they had eaten, too tired to move from their spots. They were immune to the sounds of the hoard outside. As the boys slept the station was filled with the sounds of the hungry.  Filled with the sounds of their teeth biting at the metal door like fingernails scratching down a chalkboard.