New Sneak Peek of Post-Apocalyptic Writing Project

 CW: danger, zombies, blood, animals in danger, guns

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At around the middle hour, when the world outside was sleepy and far quieter now than either dog ever remembered, sudden clap-bangs echoed from just a few streets away. Benji’s and Indigo’s heads snapped up from their rest, hackles electrified.

For several moments, the night fell silent once again. Benji nodded his tired head towards the back door, and together they exited slowly through the dog door into the brisk air outside.

“Why are we out here?” Indigo asked, her thought-voice trailing into Benji’s head as the older dog aimed his age-greyed sniffer to the sky.

“Let’s just… stay out here for now, by the trees.”

His tail was unmoving, floppy ears perked to any movement and scampering sound around them. Indigo furrowed her tan brows, but nodded, following the elder.

But after only a few moments of laying under the lemon tree, the dogs heard a soft, tapping, scurrying-like noise coming up from somewhere around the front of the house. The scurrying sounded strained, as if someone was climbing. Soon, one of the upstairs windows gave a familiar groan and pop before presumably opening, and it took every ounce of praying to the Dogstar for Indigo not to sprint into the home. As much as she wanted it to be Ben, Indigo could feel in the warm barrel of her chest and from the heavy prickling in the air that this was not a happy reunion.

Suddenly,  two or three humans began shouting down the street from the direction of the crack-bangs. The dogs couldn’t make out every word, but Indigo could swear she heard ‘nowhere,’ ‘hide,’ ‘find,’ and ‘back.’  Then another crack-bang reverberated throughout the once calm night.

“Benji…” Indigo couldn’t help but whimper, her throat-voice bathed in the same fearful emotions of her thought-voice.

Benji looked at her, furrowing his beige brows, but shook his head once to signal her to be still and quiet.

As voices approached just a few houses down the street, Indigo could almost smell their sweat beneath that iron-tang on the wind. Their voices were unfamiliar, yet the tone was harsh, like when Sergio would sometimes shout and growl at the moving picture-box.

When a third crack-bang thundered throughout the street, loud and furious enough to make the dogs’ ears vibrate with discomfort, Otis, quiet until now, began to bark.

Indigo’s eyes widened, her paws trembling as they prepared to carry her to the fence to warn the bulldog. But before her back could fully rise, Benji placed a paw on hers. Indigo, despite the desperate, frustrated churning in her gut, stayed.

The pair were too far away from Otis to hear his thought-voice, to warn him, but his throat-voice was startled, angry, and sad all at once. He probably wanted his family back as much as Indigo and Benji did, and he had as much to go on as they did.

As human voices spoke again, altogether now, Indigo could make out a few more of their words: ‘dog’ and ‘quiet’ repeated over and over again. But one word was said with a lower, angrier tone than the rest:

“Her.”

The voices grew closer until they were right where the back gate to their yard butted up against Otis’s yard.

Then the latch to one of the gates burst open.
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