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Ever since the turning of the tide- a wave that left the dead more alive than not and sent the human world as they’d known it into a self-destructive spiral until all that was left were the adaptive or the lucky- you felt like you were being followed almost every passing day- zombies, other survivors, even crows and foxes if you had a companion that would soon face the great unknown. Although, it wasn’t often that the following felt so close at your heels, slipping into shadow when you turned to catch it chasing your coattails. They’d been on the move for days straight now, the only pauses spanning five minutes in length for drinks and perhaps a conservative nibble on their supplies. There was four in their group now- Collins had still not returned, and so they considered him about as useful as George and Farrier, which was pretty useless considering they were either part of the undead army chasing them or following a different leader. Philippe grew weary with the knowledge that their once slightly impressive gang had whittled down to what it was, and the paranoia of being so closely followed made him grow only tenser.
They were headed for a prison- ironic as it was, it was defensible, and the measures once used to keep unfortunates in would be useful to now keep undesirables out. They might’ve gotten there already if they’d still had the car, but it had been unreliable before the apocalypse, the fact that it lasted the weeks it did after was a surprise to them all. They were on foot, and Philippe had drawn a map before the phones had died, they were almost two thirds of the way there.
Whether or not it would be occupied was up to the gods, as was the matter of whether the possible occupants would accept the four remaining men into their ranks. Philippe told himself if they were turned away after all this time walking, after losing their companions, he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Couldn’t allow it.
“We need to stop”
The call from behind him makes Philippe’s train of thought break with a jolt, and he spins to face the source of the request- Peter. He’s leaning into Alex, mouth parted in an open grimace, sucking air in great heaves and his cheeks pink. Tommy was breathing heavily too, and despite saying nothing, Philippe could tell he shared Peter’s sentiments.
“We can’t stop, there’s…” he trailed off, eyes drifting to the streets behind them, the empty streets, where he knew something or someone was hiding, watching them. “Something is following us- or someone,” he explained, adjusting the straps of his bag on his shoulders, he could feel the glares of Alex and Peter burning into him, but when nobody spoke up, he turned to keep moving.
“Is there now? You’ve dragged our arses halfway across the bloody country in three days because you think something’s following us- here’s a clue; it’s a zombie fucking apocalypse, everything is following us!” Alex’s voice cuts through the silence like a blade, and Philippe turns to face him with a start like the man was about to pounce on him, but when he faces the brunet, he hasn’t moved, holding up the blond, his hands soft against Peter but his voice venomous and sharp to Philippe.
“Stop being an idiot- there’s only four of us, we can’t take risks because his feet hurt” Philippe spat and the second it left his mouth he felt guilty, and Tommy’s shocked gape made the sensation only worse.
Alex moved then, Peter swaying as his human brace moved out of reach. Alex was backing away, rather than approaching, as Philippe had assumed, he would. It only takes moments for Philippe to wish Alex had instead tried to kick his teeth in.
The brunet throws his arms out, spinning so his back is to the three men, and when he tosses his head back, he starts shouting, “whoever the fuck is following us, have a bloody go, why don’t you? I’m sick of this fucking place, come and get me!”
Alex is still screaming and shouting when Philippe drops his bag from his shoulders and starts at a jog towards the other man. Alex only stops carrying on when their bodies collide, and Philippe tackles him to the ground. There they scramble, fingers clawing and legs kicking and teeth gnashing as they roll around against the concrete, Alex is talking in such a harsh voice that his accent gnarls and moulds his words into something unrecognisable, something animalistic and feral. Philippe isn’t trying to hurt him, that is, until a palm smashes into the side of his head and he’s flung against the concrete, ears ringing and eyes spinning in their sockets until Alex has crawled on top of him and all Philippe can see is his face.
If Alex weren’t warm and thrumming with the ferocity of his own heart, Philippe might’ve mistaken him for one of the undead; clawing and growling and writhing like he was. He’d had Philippe’s face pressed into the rough bitumen before Peter and Tommy decided enough was enough and descended upon the wrestling pair to separate them. Alex went easily enough, stumbling back off of Philippe and leaning back against Peter’s shins, the blond’s hands still around his biceps, hesitant to let go.
“Fine- we stop for one night, you can be on fucking lookout” Philippe grumbles, staring at Alex as he glares back, but nods quickly enough.
They continue up the road until they find a small shed- it was sat in a fenced yard next to a large power pole, and after checking the shack was empty, they settled down. Even Philippe had to admit being able to lay out and take weight off of his feet and legs was a relief.
The door’s handle was smashed off, leaving a hole where a handle had once sat- a hole big enough for Alex to squint through. “Must’ve been an electrical maintenance place once, eh?” he mumbles, mostly to himself, but Peter hums and agrees anyway, curled up in a corner, exhaustion weighing too heavily for him to even consider eating before sleep claimed him.
Tommy lay pressed against Philippe, watching their leader pick through their backpacks- taking stock of medicine, food, bullets, the essentials. With each blink the movement took longer, his eyelids giving up more and more of a fight each time they opened again until his eyes closed completely, and Alex and Philippe were left in silence.
Neither men spoke, taking quiet solace in the soft, deep breathing of their respective partners. Alex shuffled and looked out through the door hole at every noise- he’d had one too many close calls to not be paranoid during watch duty. He could hear Tommy’s voice inside his brain calling him cruel for declaring Alex sit on watch all night when they didn’t know when they’d next stop. Philippe knew mental Tommy needn’t worry; his anger at Alex couldn’t even convince him to take such a risk.
They’d need food soon, as always. Philippe hoped as they became more rural there’d be livestock or estate houses to scavenge, lonely folk trying to live off their land that wouldn’t put up much of a fight if push came to shove. Tommy would beg against it, say they could find food somewhere else even though they couldn’t. Peter’s soft face and bright blue eyes would be stricken with hunger that made even the youngest of their trio ready to shoot the prime minister for a can of beans.
Philippe settles back, and even the paranoia of being followed isn’t enough to scare the sleep away from claiming him.
He’s not sure how long he’s asleep for before he’s woken by chattering from the other side of the shed, a quiet clicking and whistling that makes him flail and groan in alarm- those are the kind of sounds that one doesn’t associate with an ally immediately when under the influence of sleep.
He’s jostled Tommy and almost woken the brunet by the time he realises it’s Alex- kneeling to look through the keyhole and apparently beckoning something on the other side of the door. Philippe watches- not even Alex is stupid enough to attract something harmful, so what the fuck was he doing?
Alex puckers his lips through the hole in the door, a soft kissing noise followed by more clicking and Philippe is well and truly confused. “What are you doing?” he hisses across the space at Alex, a flare of anger rising up in him when Alex doesn’t turn, making more noises before and after he says, ‘found our follower, didn’t I?’
Philippe crawls to where Alex is kneeled, shoving him over and looking through the door hole- it’s a dog.
The dog was stood with one front paw raised, it’s head bowed and it’s tail unmoving, it was frozen save for the wind rustling it’s dark sable fur. In the dim glow of a longstanding streetlight, Philippe could make out a collar that still clung to the dog’s neck, along with round dark eyes, watching Philippe with unflinching apprehension. It was a handsome dog, he supposed, sable with golden patches on it’s face, tail and lower legs which faded to white down to the paws and up the canine’s chest and nose- which was black save for the space between the nostrils which was a pale pink. It’s floppy ears became erect when Alex made another click from beside Philippe, the movement making the dog’s brow become thick, head tilting slightly as curiosity overcame nerves. A scrappy, hungry dog follows the men with packs full of food much to the surprise of no one- the hopeful part of him hoped it was this dog that had been gnawing on his nerves this past week and a bit.
Philippe sighed, slowly crawling back to where he had been- he’d deal with this in the morning. “Don’t get distracted, and don’t let the thing in” he commanded, letting his optimistic side finally overpower the paranoia. When he slept, he slept deeply.
The sun was up by the time Philippe stirred- the last to wake up, he opened his eyes to see Alex still sat by the door, Peter and Tommy sharing a tin of mixed veggies and a tin of spam- nice pickings these days.
“Dogs still out here, boss” Alex informed him, staring out the hole as he spoke. The man’s words made Philippe sigh as he pulled his water from his pack, taking a few long sips to appease the thirst that had formed overnight.
“Anything else out there?”
“Nope, for some reason, healthy young men can move faster than rotting living corpses- who would’ve thought, eh?”
“Shut up, Alex” Philippe was shocked to hear the words leave Peter’s mouth, the blond shaking his head as he took another mouthful of his breakfast. Alex didn’t challenge Philippe any further.
“What are we going to do about the dog?” Tommy asked, shifting the tins towards Philippe, who noticed a half empty tin next to Alex, it seemed he was the last for everything today.
“Ignore it- get rid of it if it’s a problem” Philippe suggested with a shrug, before looking up at Alex, “you fed it?” he asked, before claiming the remainders in the tins offered to him.
Alex shook his head, still staring out the door hole, “no, but I reckon he can smell it, sitting right at the door staring at me, he is- someone’s pet by the looks too, harmless fella” Philippe can already tell the brunet is going to be a hassle on the subject of their follower.
“You can’t kill it- it’s someone’s pet” Peter argued, brow furrowed and mouth hanging open in shock at the implication of harming the animal.
“Doesn’t mean it won’t tear us apart for food” Philippe stated, looking at the door briefly.
“Maybe- but maybe it’ll be like another set of eyes, might make us all a little less miserable, someone to sit with during watch, I’m sure he can catch his own food if he’s survived this long, c’mon Philippe” it was Tommy this time, staring at Philippe with better puppy dog eyes than the actual dog sitting outside. Even their toughened, risk aware leader couldn’t say no.
They left the shed after they’d all eaten, Alex going first. Upon the door opening the dog scrambled away, running a metre or two from them before stopping and turning to watch them, a familiar look of apprehension on the dog’s face, but when Alex called to it, whistling and cooing the name he must’ve spied on the collar the dog came trotting over. “Saved some of my brekkie for you, howzat?” he told the dog in a high pitched voice, before reaching a hand into his tin and holding the scraps out on a flat hand, the dog gratefully licking it up, tail wagging.
It had been an easy decision to allow the dog to tag along in the end. Alex would take care of it, ensure it’s fed enough that it doesn’t think to take a bite out of the rest of them, and in turn the dog would act as another lookout, as well as a moral support dog- their original moral support had been Collins, but he’d gone missing in action- perhaps the dog would be better at his job?
They kept on the move for the rest of the day, the dog- Arlo- kept by Alex’s side the entire time, and it seemed glad to have a pack to move with, Philippe knew he felt safer with a dog- which self-respecting human being didn’t? This mutt clearly had to be a survivor if he was in as good of nick as he was.
The sun was on its way down as they made their way up the road, and that’s when the barking started, Arlo setting off at a gallop off the road and down what might’ve once been a path- though it was long overgrown by now. After calling after the dog and receiving no response, the men followed, stepping carefully through the grass. If there was a path, there might be a house, might be supplies in said house.
Philippe’s suspicions had been correct, and a while after continuing up the road, they found Arlo scratching at the front door of a seemingly abandoned house. Upon breaking in they found the inside perfectly untouched, covered in dust but clean like it had never experienced the horrors of today’s world.
Arlo padded down a hall into a room, and Philippe noticed Alex following as the three other men got started raiding the kitchen- whoever had been here obviously had been somewhat prepared, the medical kit in the cupboard under the sink and the ammo boxes littered around somewhat randomly suggested as such. There was plenty of food too; non-perishable goods sitting between those that had gone stale or rotted long ago.
Alex appeared in the kitchen suddenly, a stricken look on his face that seemed much paler than usual, when he spoke his voice shook “dead bloke in the bedroom- owner I reckon… old… wouldn’t’ve… gone in his sleep by the looks.”
Alex sat down at one of the chairs at the dining table, and the three men standing up exchanged a look, and when they returned to gathering supplies, they did it that bit quicker.
“Yep- owner alright” Philippe turned to see Peter nudging a bowl with his foot- a red metal one with the name ‘Arlo’ scratched into it. Philippe felt uneasy, and recommended they keep moving with no objections. The dog followed still, whining until they stepped back onto the main road. Philippe had come to know that feeling all too well for a man of barely 26.
When they take refuge in the barren kiosk of an old campground, Philippe takes watch that night with their new companion, and he can’t help but notice the empty, peaceful feeling of a paranoia having been lifted.
