The Hunt Chronicles (Volume 1): Awakening by J.D. Demers Page B

like a blender.  She finally stopped and slumped over, motionless.
                  I took a deep breath.  That was harder and a lot more taxing than I had anticipated.  I retrieved my knife and wiped it on the sleeve of her shirt.  Blackish red blood oozed out of her mouth.  I also noticed her throat had been ripped open by the dog in the kitchen.  The canine knew to go for the throat.  The poor dog just didn’t know that it wouldn’t make a difference with a zombie.
                  I heard movement again over near the desk.  I readied my knife, just in case.  Moving slowly, I approached and dipped low so I could see underneath.  Four furry legs were pacing back and forth. 
                    “Are you kidding me?” I said aloud. 
                  The head of a German Shepherd poked out from around the desk.  He wasn’t fully grown, but still pretty big at around seventy or so pounds.  I wondered if it had been Sage’s puppy.  My family had dogs growing up, but they were always little rat dogs that annoyed the hell out of me.  My mother said they gave our family character.  They upgraded in their retirement and adopted a Golden Retriever that my dad would take hunting with him.
                  I had a problem.  Dogs barked.  Dogs made noise.  I couldn’t take him with me.  Well, he probably wouldn’t come with me to begin with.  From what I’d heard, shepherds were only loyal to one person, and he already had a master, though the master was probably dead. 
    Things made sense to me now.  Sage was the mother of this dog and had died protecting her puppy.  I knew German Shepherds, let alone a police trained canine, could be vicious. The shepherd really did a number on her former owner. But when you can’t cause pain to the walking dead, it’s just a matter of time before the zombie will win.
                  As much as I didn’t want to get bitten by this dog, or take it with me, my conscience told me I couldn’t leave him here to die of starvation either.  He already looked weak.  Probably hadn’t had water in a few days.  I could at least leave the back door and gate open outside.  Then he would have a fighting chance. 
                  “Alright pup, come on.  Let’s get you out of here.”  He seemed to respond by tilting his head.  He wasn’t aggressive, which made me happy.  I decided if it started to bark I would leave it behind. 
    I backed up out of the room and he slowly followed me.  He hesitated at the body of the zombie on the floor, gave a sniff, and then continued toward me.  I decided that if he was going to come, good, but if not, screw him.  I turned around and walked to the kitchen to check out the pantry. 
                  I hit pay dirt.  There were two bags of beef jerky, along with a loaf of bread that hadn’t started to mold yet.  There were also fourteen cans of random food and a case of water bottles.  I think they had just gone shopping before the world went to hell, because the bread was still soft.  I loaded it all up, along with a jar of peanut butter, and moved to the fridge.  I only opened it for a second and the smell hit me.  With no power, things went bad a lot quicker.  I shut the fridge door, and decided it wasn’t worth it.  I couldn’t carry much more anyway.
                  The puppy had followed me and was sniffing around his dead mother’s carcass.  A soft whine was coming from him.  I didn’t think of it when I was at John’s house, but dogs didn’t change into zombies.  Neither of his dogs nor this one was moving, and both had been dead over a day.  That was good news.  The idea of crazy zombie dogs was not that appealing.
    On the side of one of the cabinets was a picture of the dead shepherd with a litter of puppies around it.  The date read just under a year ago.  They must have given up all the pups but