Good Boys

The barn was quiet, but not safe either.

I've swept the perimeter about twice now. Nothing moved beyond the edge, and the last groan from the woods carried off with the wind. Still, I didn’t rest. My body had grown rigid over the years, my hips ached in the cold, old wounds surfaced when the rain was near, but that didn’t stop me. Weakness is an invitation. And the dead don’t need much of one. This barn, if it could even be called a barn anymore, was better than the railyard we stayed in last week. It had height, decent fencing, and three exits. Enough for defense, and not enough for comfort. That was human luxury, and I stopped chasing that since my owner died.

Behind me, the pup snored again.

Bosco had made a nest in the corner with a metal sheet and some hay. He never stopped moving in his sleep with his legs kicking and the occasional bark when he was dreaming. It was how I know he’d never been in battle. Not the kind that stays with you when you have been in it. When I sleep, it’s quiet. Shallow. Instinct never shuts down. He, on the other hand, would sleep like the world hasn’t ended. And maybe in some ways, that made him luckier.

“Bosco,” I said, nudging him.

His ears perked, his head lifted, and blinked as if someone had just turned the lights back on.

“Huh? Yeah, Major?”

I gave him a look. The kind I gave to other dogs who fought with me when they asked dumb questions. The kind my owner gave me when I hesitated before moving into enemy territory. Bosco didn’t jump, only yawned with a dramatic stretch.

“Stay alert. You’re on first watch.”

“Come on,” he groaned, flopping on his side again. “Can’t we sleep through one night without you marching around like a drill sergeant?”

I ignored him. The marching kept me alive for this long and it still has.

I returned to my spot by the corner, where a long panel of wood had been removed. The hole in the wall provided a clear view of the road leading into the woods. A good line of sight, but it also meant that we were exposed if anything came out of it. I didn’t like the odds of it if a herd came. Yet, we stayed. The ground was dry, and while the roof was caving in, it didn’t leak. The shelter meant one more night without blood.

Bosco scratched his ear, then rolled onto his stomach.

“Were you always like this? Before we met?”

“Yes.”

He grinned. “You must have been popular.”

Not exactly. The other dogs respected me, but I wouldn’t say it was out of affection for me; it was more a matter of them having to.

The barn roof creaked, old beams shifting in the wind. Out there, past the treeline, I heard the familiar sound of shuffling dragging across the ground. One of them was getting too close. Maybe two. It was urgent, but it was enough to keep the fur on my shoulders standing tall. Bosco, of course, didn’t notice. He was too focused on sniffing everything left behind in the barn and hiking his leg up to piss on it.

“Did I tell you about the time I chewed my way through a fence for a rotisserie chicken?”

“No.”

His tail wagged. “It was amazing. I still dream about it.”

I didn’t respond. His story didn’t compete with the fact that I disarmed a trip wire alone in Kabul.

After the war, they retired me. My joints were giving, and my bite wasn’t as strong as it used to be. Jake, my owner, signed the paper and took me home instead of being taken to a shelter. For the first time, I had a backyard. A bed. A tennis ball that I would bring to him every time I wanted to play. He fed me steak on my birthday and scratched behind my ears when thunderstorms sounded like bombs. I wore his army patch on my collar on the day he died, and the outbreak came. I still do.

For Bosco, he came a few months before the world ended. Jake found him in a cardboard box, all ribs and fleas, and decided there was room for one more. I strongly disagreed. He was loud, messy, and had no spatial awareness. He stole my food. My favorite spot on the couch. Barked at the television. But Jake was patient. He never got angry at either of us. After a while, the pup stopped being a nuisance and became familiar. I stopped growling at him, mostly. But we managed to share the same spot on the couch when the thunder rolled. That was tolerable.

“Will you ever sleep, old man?”

“I’ll sleep when it’s clear.”

“You know, you’re not so bad,” he said after a pause. “For a grump.”

I rolled my eyes.

Bosco stretched again. “Want me to take second watch?”

I nodded. He trotted forward, sat down by the biggest hole in the siding, and tried his best to look tough. It wasn’t great, but it was something.

“Hey, Major?”

“What.”

“You think some people might still be out there?”

I paused, watching outside. The two dead had now started making their way up the road.

“If there is,” I murmured, “they’re not sleeping either.”

The night didn’t get quieter, but it held. No breaches. No blood. Just the sound of Bosco’s steady breathing beside the barn, and me? I was awake, listening to the outdoors. I didn’t believe in signs. But before dawn, the wind howled, and something caught between the chainlink fence outside.

When the sun came up, Bosco and I went out to see what it was, and he found it. A stuffed rabbit, soaked and torn, but clinging to scent.

He sniffed it, eyes wide. “Major…this isn’t old.”

The scent was faint, but undoubtedly human.

“If someone is out there,” I said, “they’ll need protection.”

So we started to move.

The path was broken and slow. Overgrown asphalt cracked with weeds, abandoned cars crusted with rust, billboards peeling away. The fog clung to our fur. I went left, Bosco went right, the stuffed rabbit tucked gently in his mouth. He needed something to believe in. Now and then, he’d look at me to check if we were still going the right way. We weren’t, but I kept going. Sometimes the trail didn’t matter. The going did.

We got to the city once the sun was high. The buildings swallowed us before we could even see the skyline. The scent pulled us through it all. Through silence and soot and strange echoes that made my tail rise. We were exposed and vulnerable, but not alone. I can feel it in the way the wind pushes around buildings, the way tin cans roll on the ground without anyone kicking them. Bosco’s excitement faded as the city’s silence pressed down. His tail dipped low, his steps slowing.

“Do you hear that?” he asked quietly.

I did. Snarling. The signs of trouble.

From behind a boarded up pawn shop came a low growl, then another, then more. Deep, guttural, hungry. Figures emerged one by one, twisted and broken, their skin peeling away from their bones beneath. They moved with jerky, twitching motions, eyes yellowed and blank. People once, maybe. Now they’re something else. Scarred, infected, twitching like they itched under their own skin. A herd of them. Ten, maybe twelve.

They didn’t seem to have noticed us, only shambled around, waiting for our presence to be known. I stepped in front of Bosco, muscles tensed, lips curled in a low, warning growl.

“Don’t move,” I warned.

Bosco didn’t.

One limped forward, jaw slacked, drooling. But it was fast when it lunged forward.

I jumped, sinking my teeth into its neck. It thrashed, but I held firm.

Another went for Bosco, who barely dodged and scrambled under a bench, barking sharply and panicked.

“Bosco, stay down!” I barked.

“I got it!” he yelped, surprising me.

He latched onto one’s leg with more bite and strength than I expected. It snarled and stumbled. Good. He’s learning.

I finished mine, dragging the body away. The herd backed off eventually, giving us time to escape. We weren’t easy prey.

“Run,” I said.

And we ran.

We didn’t stop until the edge of the market district. Bosco’s side was bleeding where one of the dead had scratched him. It was small but stung. I checked twice, then again, my eyes sharp for any bites. He flopped down behind a toppled kiosk, panting hard.

“You okay?” I asked.

He nodded, grinning.

“Kicked its ass.”

I shook my head. “You bit its ankle.

“Same thing,” he sighed heavily.

I didn’t argue. He at least pushed it back and wasn’t entirely being a coward.

We moved faster after that. The city seemed to listen differently when blood drops on the ground. We crept through alleyways and crumbled buildings until the trail took us to a rooftop garden turned safehouse. Drawings in crayons adorned the walls, wood barring the windows, tarp covered in empty food cans and bloodied bandages. It smelled recent, and not like the dead.

Bosco’s eyes grew wide as he stepped inside the tiny refuge.

“Look at this…” he breathed.

The walls were covered in kids’ drawings. Suns with smiling faces, stick figures of families holding hands, and dogs. Two. One big and serious one. One smaller, happier.

“Looks like us,” Bosco said softly, his tail twitching in wonder.

I nodded. This all felt impossible, but it felt like a message. A sign that a kid had been here. Maybe they had dogs like us before everything.

We found toys and comics scattered on the floor. Bosco brought the stuffed rabbit and carefully placed it on the blanket, hoping that they would come back for it. Someone lived here, survived here, and must have left in a hurry.

Then a crackle broke the silence. A small recording device hidden beneath a pile of clothes sparked to life.

“If you find this, we’re gone. Thank you for trying,” came a faint voice. Motherly, scared, but grateful.

Bosco’s ears droop. A low whine coming from his mouth.

“They’re gone,” he whispered.

Not yet, they’re not. The scent was still there, fresher than before, leading up the stairwell to the roof.

“We follow,” I said.

The stairwell reeked of dust, sweat, and mildew. My joints ached, every step heavier than the last, but adrenaline pushed me upward. Bosco was restless beside me, tense, eyes darting between shadows. The trail pushed us higher, but the air thickened with the scent of decay, the unmistakable stench of rot mixed with sweat. I knew what waited for us. It was brutal to think about, but we had to keep going.

Bosco stopped abruptly, frustration breaking through his fear. “Major, why do we need to keep doing this? Moving? Having hope we find something? We’re not unbreakable you and I. What if we don’t find them or worse?”

“You don’t think I know that?” I snarled, stepping towards him. “I’m not asking for blind courage. You need to do your part. We don’t do ‘maybe’. We survive or die.”

He shook his head. “Easy for you to say. You had an owner, military training. I’m a rescue. What if I mess up and we both get killed?”

I took a slow breath, voice firm. “You’re learning. That’s the difference. You want to stay alive? You listen to me. And you’ll trust me when it counts.”

“Trust?” Bosco scoffed. “You don’t even trust me to listen when I say this might not work in our favor!”

“Because you’re scared. And scared gets you killed. “

“Maybe being scared is smarter than running into the fire.”

“If you want to live, you need to fight,” I snapped. “No more doubts.”

“Fine,” Bosco growled. “But I’m not your soldier, Sergeant.”

Before I could answer, the heavy thud of feet on the concrete echoed below us, growing louder, faster. The barricaded door cracked and splintered as something slammed into it, a crashing roar filling the stairwell. Twisted shapes spilled in like a flood, snarling and hissing.

“Stay close!” I barked.

Bosco’s eyes went wide, panic flashing for a moment, but he didn’t run.

The dead lunged at us, swiping and snarling, eyes glaring in the dim light. One of them crashed into Bosco, knocking him sideways as I grabbed another by the leg. The fight was sudden, brutal, and the moment felt like a lifetime. The argument before didn’t matter, it was survival that did.

I barked commands, muscles coiled and ready to snap. Every second stretched thin, sharp as the edge of a blade. Bosco was close beside me, but the herd was fast, more frantic than before. The dead lunged from the shadows, grabbing at us. One of them ran towards Bosco with reckless fury. He dodged awkwardly, teeth barred and bit its leg. The dead staggered and fell over the rail as the others started to close in. My heart pounded, the adrenaline flooding every nerve, exhaustion dragging me down.

Something snagged my collar, teeth biting mere inches from my neck. The clang echoed, rattling my bones even though no flesh was broken. The dead circled, growling and twisting the cramped stairwell, their movements desperate and relentless. There was nowhere to run, no room to breathe. Bosco panted beside me, but didn’t stop fighting. I could see it in his eyes, the courage beneath the fear. Every muscle screamed to keep pushing, but I knew our limits were close.

Nothing was stopping them. One leapt at my side, teeth grazing fur. I turned sharply, snapping my teeth, narrowly missing a bite. Bosco cried out as another nearly tore into his side, but he rolled, biting back. The stairwell was a hellish cage, barks and snarling echoing off the wall. Seconds dragged into an eternity as we struggled against the fight. I barked again, trying to rally Bosco to keep our attackers away. The sound of our snarls and the clang of metal was the only barrier between death and survival.

Slowly, the dead’s aggression began to wane. One by one, they backed away as we proved to be more powerful. Bosco’s panting grew steadier, and I felt a sliver of hope break through the chaos. When the group finally backed off into uneasy silence, we pushed on, limbs bruised and breaths ragged. The scent trail beckoned us forward, leading across the shattered rooftops and crumbling buildings.

Bosco looked up at me, eyes heavy but steady.

“We’re almost there, Major.”

I nodded.

“Closer than ever.

Since Jake, something flickered inside me. Not just duty, but hope.

We climbed up the last crumbling fire escape and onto the rooftop. The city below us sprawled out like a forgotten dream. The remaining rooftops stretched out ahead, sharp edges cutting into the sky. Between two buildings hung an old rope bridge, fraying and swaying with the wind. Bosco froze at the edge, tail tucked between his legs. Heights had always scared him the most. I could feel his fear, stiff and trembling, but I kept my voice steady and firm, patient.

“You're braver than I thought, pup,” I told him.

Something changed in him then. His trembling eased, shoulders relaxing just enough to take the first cautious step. Slowly, step by step, he crossed. I stayed behind him, muscles ready if he slipped.

On the far side, we made it to another rooftop. This one was from a mall with old solar panels catching in the faint light. Then, a blinking beacon, another radio still alive after all this time. Bosco’s tail wagged as the same voice of the woman from earlier came through the static.

“If anyone hears this, we’re on the move. Heading north. There’s enough food and space. Please, if you’re out there…”

Bosco’s ears perked. “We gotta find them!”

I paused. My joints still ached. I was too tired to keep moving. But I saw the hope in Bosco’s eyes, the same spark that once lit my own.

“Alright, let’s move out,” I said. “North.”

Together, we walked down the fire escape and into the sunlight. Two good boys chasing the last bit of humanity.