The doberman wandered between buildings. Ever since the world had gone quite literally to shit. Anubis is careful of getting close to the humans that smell of sickness, rot, and decay. They mostly went after ones who didn’t smell like that, and were attracted by noise. They usually left Anubis alone. No wonder his old trainer had taught him about using his “inside voice”. Food is scarce, even kibble is hard to find now. The dog is cautiously walking out in the open when he hears someone that doesn’t smell like the dead ones. Picking up a scent trail and docked tail beginning to wiggle. The doberman had learned just because a human is not one of the dead ones, it doesn’t mean they’ll be nice to him either. He follows the scent to what he assumes is not a dead man. Softly whining and using his “inside” voice. A barely audible bark.
Silence was an unique brand of survival Markus had to learn. The undead were drawn not only by scent, but by noise, and were thicker in numbers as the days began to cool. He traveled light and walked quickly, learning and memorizing the places were doors creaked and floorboards swayed. Out in the open it was a matter of blending with the natural hush of a world suddenly and violently devoid of most technological and industrial noise. The skies were clearer. The blues of the atmosphere deeper by day, and more open to the stars at night. A heavy price, numbered in billions of lives, had been paid for ecological relief.
The sun had just passed three and he was turning for shelter, face to the warmth, when he heard the sound. Movement, quick, low. Alive. The blur of black from the corner of his vision barked, quiet, and he froze. It was a dog. Large, black, long-legged. A Doberman, if he remembered his cursory knowledge of breeds.
Markus had met animals, wild, injured and starving, not undead but traumatized and untrusting. He didn’t blame them. He’d avoided them, left them be, wishing he could offer them food, or do something more. The walking dead hunted them as well as humans.
This dog, however, did not growl, or bare its teeth, as others had. It only stood, far beyond arms reach, whining and tentatively wagging its tail.
Markus slowly moved down to a crouch, slipping his bag free from his shoulder. He undid the zipper and reached for granola bar. It was all he had with him. All he had foraged that would be safe for a dog-….
“Hey there, buddy.” He said, nearly in a whisper. “Hungry?” He pulled away the wrapper and offered it out, hoping, if the dog was still able to trust humans, they might smell it. After a moment there, with the food outstretched, Markus stood and took a few steps forward, to set the oat-and-honey wafer between them. He then moved back again, to give the dog space.
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