HOME | DD

Description
Chapter 7- In Need of Repair

I spent the rest of that day curled up in the long row of seats that lines the back of the bus, staring out at the passing buildings. When we stopped for bathroom breaks I sat there. If anybody tried to talk to me I'd have nothing interesting or relevant to reply with. I didn't even accept food- plagued by the constant gurgling of my stomach contents in my lower throat. The nauseous feelings combined with shaking that would measure a 10 on the Richter scale made me an anxious wreck. I felt dreadful in the day time- and just thinking about nighttime made me want to cry all over again.

At one point Dan came over to talk to me, taking a seat in the chair that lined up perfectly with the aisle. I was two seats away from him pressed against the window and I knew that he was a friend, and yet I still felt threatened enough to tense up.

"Look, I only took Sports Med in school..." Dan started, putting his arms on his knees and examining his fingers timidly, "I don't know anything about psychology. I mean, all I can do is tape up a wrist or name the muscles in your body. But people here seem to think I'm a real doctor or something and they keep bugging me to check up on you. Heh heh." He tried a little laugh, but it came out as more of an exhausted huff and his smirk faded away, "...I want to apologise for letting go."

This shocked me. I stared at him for a second, his modest eyes only able to focus on me for a second at a time. When he wasn't looking at me he was staring down at his hand, and I noticed the bright red cuts that my nails had left on his joints. I felt even sicker than before- not from the blood, but from the guilt.

"Don't be sorry." I said in a miniscule voice. This was the most I had spoken since I had been outside the bus, and Dan looked at me for a second from underneath his black bangs. He let his hands drop and he leaned back.

"I should be." He insisted, "If I had pulled you onto the bus... you wouldn't be in this mess."

I shifted in my seat, turning my body more towards him. My concerned gaze yearned to meet his, but he kept his blue eyes averted.

"But I am, and that's the way it is." I said, "Don't linger on the past when it's the future you should be concerned about." This seemed to stir something in him, for he looked at me with a look of inward disappointment. Only for a second though before his gaze changed.

"Can I see your ankle?" he asked with a voice that portrayed neither sorrow nor happiness. I studied his expression thoroughly, trying to find any signs of danger I guess. I knew I could trust him, and I should because he tried to save my life, but the last thing I wanted to do was let someone lay their hands on me. I was conflicted, for I craved the security and safe feeling of an embrace yet couldn't stand the feeling of someone touching me. I turned from Dan and looked out the window.
"I'm sorry..."

He stayed there for a moment longer before he got up and left.

We didn't drive all day long of course. In fact, we didn't get very much closer to down town than we were before. Instead, we focused more on finding a safe place to sleep that day, bouncing from an old furniture store to the back alley of a restaurant before we finally settled on the parking lot of a hotel. This was a familiar place to me, since before the apocalypse I actually stayed here with my mom and brother once. It was an L shaped building, with the parking lot nestled in the crook. A small building sat in front of the parking lot too, which made it nice and secluded. Just what I like too, but it was hard to see the positives aspects in things when your brain is dead set on believing everything that could possibly exist is a threat.

I tested out my legs for the first time since I had crash landed in the bus. I could barely walk from the lack of energy, but with my faulty ankle springing back to life with fits of pain, I decided mobility wasn't really all that important at the moment. No, I'll just sit here like a vegetable and let my group worry about me and not bother to explain what was going through my head. Truth is, I couldn't explain what was going on in my head, and as much as I hate letting my group worry, there was no way for me to ease their suffering. It hurt more than a flame to my skin when someone offered me food and I refused it. It hurt to see people watching me from the other seats on the bus with worried gazes. It hurt to sit still... but my body would not numb.

At about four o'clock I snapped out of one of my long lasting day dreams to see a large group of people were gathering together, obviously getting ready for an outing. Just as I was about to open my mouth to ask what was going on Matt suddenly strode up to me. The way he loomed over me made me recoil. Perhaps it was my paranoid mind, but I never realized how intimidating he was. Thankfully, he took a seat in the same spot Dan had, saving me from having a panic attack.

"A couple of us are going to go out looking for some bedding for the bus." He spoke softly, the ever present rumble in his voice vanishing. It was almost as if he was using someone else's voice to talk.

"Sure." I muttered, "That's a good idea."

"I just want you to know that Craig, Tyler and I are going to stay here..." he didn't finish, as he trailed off when he saw me shaking my head in alarm.

"No." I begged, "Not Craig. Please, not him." I wasn't sure why I got so worked up when it came to Craig- probably because he was so untrustworthy- but the idea of my wall of friends leaving me with him made me more nervous than anything.

"You'll be fine." Matt hushed, "I swear to God if he tries to do anything to you I will have him off this bus in an instant."

Tears pooled in my eyes, and heavy sobs forced me to gulp down air, making me feel sick to my stomach. This stress and anxiety was irrational, and I constantly told myself to stop crying, which of course, made me cry even more. I was just so tired of myself acting so distant, but to forget how I was nearly killed and simply face the people who were partially responsible was a leap I don't think I'd be able to make.

"I'm sorry." I managed to mumble through my weeping, which had subsided a bit, "I shouldn't be such a baby." I wiped the tears from my face, the wetness exposing my skin from under a thin layer of dirt on the back of my hand. I never realized I filthy I was until I saw how pale my skin was supposed to be.

"Why do you do that?" Matt inquired, eyeing me with an expression I couldn't read, "You always apologize for things you don't need to apologize for."

I shook my head and shrugged helplessly, unable to answer the very same question I've been asking myself my whole life. Matt stirred in his seat and reclined a bit, staring up at the bus's ceiling.

"You shouldn't feel ashamed of crying." He muttered, "It's healthy. It keeps you sane really."

"It's not good to pent it all up." I sniffled, completely understanding where he was coming from.

"I haven't cried once since this all began." Matt said sadly, "Not for a long time actually- even before the school was evacuated I can't remember the last time I cried. There are so many things going on right now that I can't cope with. I wish I could cry."
I looked at him, trying to register what I had just heard.

"... That time Karen called 9-1-1 in the shop room and no one answered," he continued, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his knees, "I completely lost it- blew my top. Punched the school's wall until my knuckles bled. You and Markie almost getting yourselves killed when those zombies busted into the shop room during your first lockdown...The night after the mall: I lay there all night playing those crazy voices over in my head. And when I was talking to that family on the radio..." he paused for a second before he turned to look me in the eye. He spoke through clenched teeth. "Not once did I cry. And I would do anything to feel that weight lifted off me."

I sat there, watching him with parted lips. His gaze fell, and he turned his head straight ahead of him. He rubbed his hands together as if he were trying to warm them up, his tongue running over his lips every so often. His leg jolted up and down rhythmically, in sync with his backwards and forwards rocking. Nostrils flaring, eyes darting... I realize now that these were the only ways he could relieve stress. It was like watching an ill, caged animal.

I pulled my hand away from my chest and laid it on the seat beside me, watching Matt with an empathetic gaze. My foot moved down from the edge of the seat and onto the floor. I shuffled over with quick, jerking movements, hesitantly making my way closer and closer to my friend. At last I reached his shaking shoulder and rested my head on it, the soft fabric of his sweater and the muscle beneath it making me melt into a tired trance. I tucked my feet up beside me and shut my eyes. When he rested his ear in my hair and sighed we both leaned back, the two of us pretty much falling asleep instantly.
We slept for I don't know how long, but when we woke it was dusk, and we probably would have slept through the whole night if Craig hadn't bothered us.

"Alright lovebirds... Time to get up. I gotta show Gazpacho something." he grumbled, snapping me instantly from sleep. Shame, for I was having the most pleasant dream I've had in a long time, and what do I wake up to? Craig's ratty face looming over us. Had I been as stressed and anxious as I was before I probably would have tried to run away like a cowering dog.

"What would that be exactly?" Matt groaned. I stretched my neck carefully as I rubbed my eyes. It may have been nice to lean on Matt's shoulder, but sleeping on it for quite some time was not the best idea. Perhaps we should consider a different sleeping position next time... if there even was going to be a next time. Maybe it was just the fact that it was coming from Craig's mouth, but being called lovebirds was something I didn't want to happen more than once. I could only imagine how the rest of the group would tease us if they saw us sleeping the way Craig had...

"Engine's gone funky." Craig explained, "Napoleon Dynamite is out there getting a look at
it."

"You mean Tyler." Matt corrected, getting up on his feet and stretching tall. I heard his back crackle like popping popcorn kernels, and I could imagine he too was regretting falling asleep leaning against someone.

"Dynamite sounds better." Craig muttered with a passive wave of his hand, and he and Matt started walking. I sprang to my feet to join up with them when Craig suddenly stopped in his tracks and gazed at me with a slight cringe. I turned my palms up and thrust my head forward, beckoning to know what was wrong.

"You gonna come with us Bright Eyes?" Craig questioned, one of his grey eye brows arched upwards on his creased forehead. I looked at Craig with a sort of puzzled disbelief, not quite sure why he was so baffled.

"Yeah..." I said with a slow nod, feeling like I was, for some reason, treading on broken glass. "

"Checking an engine's man's work." Craig spoke as if he were teaching a lesson to a class he didn't exactly favour, turning on his heel and walking towards the front of the bus. We tailed him, and he went on, me listening to what he was saying with keen ears. "Girls like you don't know crap about engines. You might as well just stay here and go back to sulking."

My nerves seared. Walking behind Craig, I considered for a split second grabbing a chunk of his thin, gray hair and ripping a good handful out of his greasy scalp, but thankfully Matt acted before I did.

"Watch your tongue!" He snarled, cuffing Craig upside the head and halting our travel to the front of the bus. Craig threw his arm up in defense and ducked away, cowering for only a moment before he reverted back to his rude self.

"I'm just saying what's true." He spat, pushing his nose up high in the air like some sort of cocky king. With a condescending glance at me he continued walking and stepped off the bus, leaving Matt and me alone. I looked to him, my body cooking itself in my own anger, but he simply looked back at me with defeat.

"Just be good and keep watch." He sighed, grabbing Sydney from a nearby seat and pushing him to my chest. I must've grown ten shades redder ever since Craig had opened his mouth, and I could feel the heat on my face, but I eventually took a relaxing (if not, exasperated) breath, grabbed Sydney's handle and we went outside.

Upon arriving at the engine, Tyler had nearly his whole arm shoved up into its metallic guts, his face contorted with deep thought. Craig stood by, hunched over like a haggard old witch, peering into the engine and Matt leaned against the bus, his arms folded. Oddly enough, the engine was in the rear of the bus, probably right underneath the row of back seats Matt and I were sleeping on mere moments before. In retrospect, it made sense for the engine to be placed there, but in the moment, I was surprised and I tried to supress it, not wanting to further build up Craig's sexist stereotypes.

"Found anything?" Craig asked, poking Tyler on the shoulder. Like he was extracting a gem from a pile of rock, Tyler slowly and carefully pulled his arm out, the entire length of it covered in black goo and dust.

"Well, I'll be honest with you guys." He spoke as if he were delivering bad news, standing akimbo and sizing up the engine, "I don't know what the hell I'm doing."

"Well, you have a look at it Gazpacho." Craig said, summoning Matt with a wave

"You think I know anything about engines?" Matt scoffed, smirking a pleasant little 'are you serious' smile that probably enraged Craig, "I can tell you more about the moon than that hunk of metal."

"Then why the hell did you come outside!?" Craig spat, throwing his hands up.

"To prove a point." Matt answered honestly, pushing himself off the side of the bus. He slapped a hand on top of the open engine door and slammed it shut, "How do you even know there's something wrong with it if you haven't had it on for the last half hour?"

"I could feel it when I was driving..." Craig explained and the three of them headed off towards the door, Craig going on about some technicalities of the bus. I was just about to turn and join them when movement caught my eye and my heart leaped into my throat, a short yelp of shock slipping from my lips.

Expecting to see a zombie, I was quite surprised when I found myself looking at a dog. He just stood there, standing before the tall wooden fence that bordered the far end of the parking lot, staring back at me with equal shock, as if we both didn't expect to see each other. His hair was short and black, dusted with a healthy layer of dirt that lay upon his back. Wide, curved ears stood erect upon his head, the tip of his left one wilting like a dehydrated celery stock.

There was a thin line of gray fur that trickled down his forehead to his nose, which looked like a black island surrounded by a sea of white on his muzzle. The tip of his tail was capped with a white blotch, and a burst of white stood out on his chest like a blossoming flower. His feet were also white, but a thick coating of dirt and grime made it appear to be more of an unattractive brown. Above all though, his most striking feature was his pair of dark brown eyes, glimmering with fear and worry. Looking into them, I felt like an arrow had just ripped through my chest. The two of us watched each other as Tyler, Matt and Craig ran to my side, bringing a palpable aura of alarm with them. It quickly dissipated as they set their eyes upon the scene.

"That's it?" Craig puffed, "A dog? Jeeze, I thought one of them rotten folks got you!" Hearing words of concern coming from Craig's mouth was enough to tear me away from those puppy-dog eyes, and my brow sank atop my eyes as I looked at him. Craig? Worried? About me? Weird...

"He looks kind of skinny." Tyler remarked, standing akimbo.

"Must be eating garbage. It's probably hard to find a live prey." Matt pondered aloud. I saw in him an inquisitive eye, one that was far more quizzical than any of ours at the moment. I tried to figure out what he was thinking as he watched the dog, rubbing his stubble lined chin thoughtfully.

"It's a wonder he hasn't been eaten by zombies." Craig said with a slight chuckle, probably entertained by the notion.

"Zombies don't eat things." Tyler corrected, "They just bite humans to spread the virus and strengthen their jaws on whatever they can find. Really, they only eat sugary things."

"And what makes you the zombie expert?" Craig nagged. Tyler shrugged.

"Oh I'm not the expert." He said matter-of-factly, "Terra is."
I couldn't help but smile a bit. I remember the first day Kaitlin and I had in the shop room- where Matt was giving us the tour. My first impression of Terra was her crouching next to the very zombie that had attacked me days before, feeding it candies as if it were a hungry chick. When I learned the darn thing was called Maxwell, I concluded then and there that everyone in the shop room was insane. Looking back at it though, having a blind, maimed zombie for a pet was actually a really good idea.

"You think he'll come over here?" I asked, glancing over at the three guys that stood next to me.

"It's probably best if he doesn't." Matt finally spoke, folding his arms, "Just because he's a dog doesn't mean he isn't carrying the Virus on him. He may even have the strain that affects dogs in his blood. I can't imagine what that would do to you if he bit one of us."

At first I was confused, but a glance at Tyler's sombre face made me remember. He, Markie, Austin and I found an unpleasant surprise one day while outside of the shop room, and I had nearly forgotten about it despite its significance. What we had seen was a zombie dog, the most disgusting atrocity you could call a living thing. The virus had started out in cats in the beginning of it all, then it mutated to target humans, and then we discovered dogs were also being victimized. I could only begin to wonder when this biological catastrophe will have zombie birds flying around our heads.

"You guys gonna share what's going on in your noggins or am I gonna have to guess." Craig said flatly, folding his arms.

"You heard what I said," Matt grumbled, eyeing Craig, "Zombie dogs. They're real."

"Well does the darn thing look like a zombie?" Craig pointed out, the dog flinching as he gestured to it. This struck a chord in me.

"Poor thing." I cooed, "He's all alone and probably scared to death."

"No, we can't keep it." Tyler groaned.

"Of course not." I sighed, realizing that what Matt had said about the virus was right. Even if it did have the dog strain, we still don't know how it would affect us if it got in our system. Besides, if that was the case, the thing was just a ticking time bomb before he turned, so it was pointless in caring for it. For all we know, a dog is a man's best friend until it turns into a walking corpse.

I know it's bad to let emotions get in the way of things when it comes to survival, but standing there looking once again into the worried face of the dog made me melt into a pool of love. I love dogs so much, and even back before the virus it was rare for me to interact with one. I know that loneliness is the worst thing for a dog, and I just wanted to let him tag along with us so he'd have some company. I swear I would have tried to lure him over to me to say hello, because I knew deep down that Tyler and Matt were probably thinking the same thing. Craig however thought otherwise.

"Get out of here you diseased mutt!" he shouted, staring at the dog. Spooked by probably the shout alone, the dog's tail shot under its legs and he booked it for a gap between the fence and the hotel. Before I knew it he was gone, nothing but a few muddy paw prints as a sign he was there. I held back my anger at Craig, knowing that shooing the dog off was the best thing to do- even if he did it in a rather harsh way- and I watched as he lumbered off stiffly towards the bus's door. Tyler followed him, and Matt and I exchanged looks before he too followed. I took one last look at where the dog had vanished, sighing heavily. Godspeed, pup. Godspeed.

Description
Chapter 7- In Need of Repair

I spent the rest of that day curled up in the long row of seats that lines the back of the bus, staring out at the passing buildings. When we stopped for bathroom breaks I sat there. If anybody tried to talk to me I'd have nothing interesting or relevant to reply with. I didn't even accept food- plagued by the constant gurgling of my stomach contents in my lower throat. The nauseous feelings combined with shaking that would measure a 10 on the Richter scale made me an anxious wreck. I felt dreadful in the day time- and just thinking about nighttime made me want to cry all over again.

At one point Dan came over to talk to me, taking a seat in the chair that lined up perfectly with the aisle. I was two seats away from him pressed against the window and I knew that he was a friend, and yet I still felt threatened enough to tense up.

"Look, I only took Sports Med in school..." Dan started, putting his arms on his knees and examining his fingers timidly, "I don't know anything about psychology. I mean, all I can do is tape up a wrist or name the muscles in your body. But people here seem to think I'm a real doctor or something and they keep bugging me to check up on you. Heh heh." He tried a little laugh, but it came out as more of an exhausted huff and his smirk faded away, "...I want to apologise for letting go."

This shocked me. I stared at him for a second, his modest eyes only able to focus on me for a second at a time. When he wasn't looking at me he was staring down at his hand, and I noticed the bright red cuts that my nails had left on his joints. I felt even sicker than before- not from the blood, but from the guilt.

"Don't be sorry." I said in a miniscule voice. This was the most I had spoken since I had been outside the bus, and Dan looked at me for a second from underneath his black bangs. He let his hands drop and he leaned back.

"I should be." He insisted, "If I had pulled you onto the bus... you wouldn't be in this mess."

I shifted in my seat, turning my body more towards him. My concerned gaze yearned to meet his, but he kept his blue eyes averted.

"But I am, and that's the way it is." I said, "Don't linger on the past when it's the future you should be concerned about." This seemed to stir something in him, for he looked at me with a look of inward disappointment. Only for a second though before his gaze changed.

"Can I see your ankle?" he asked with a voice that portrayed neither sorrow nor happiness. I studied his expression thoroughly, trying to find any signs of danger I guess. I knew I could trust him, and I should because he tried to save my life, but the last thing I wanted to do was let someone lay their hands on me. I was conflicted, for I craved the security and safe feeling of an embrace yet couldn't stand the feeling of someone touching me. I turned from Dan and looked out the window.
"I'm sorry..."

He stayed there for a moment longer before he got up and left.

We didn't drive all day long of course. In fact, we didn't get very much closer to down town than we were before. Instead, we focused more on finding a safe place to sleep that day, bouncing from an old furniture store to the back alley of a restaurant before we finally settled on the parking lot of a hotel. This was a familiar place to me, since before the apocalypse I actually stayed here with my mom and brother once. It was an L shaped building, with the parking lot nestled in the crook. A small building sat in front of the parking lot too, which made it nice and secluded. Just what I like too, but it was hard to see the positives aspects in things when your brain is dead set on believing everything that could possibly exist is a threat.

I tested out my legs for the first time since I had crash landed in the bus. I could barely walk from the lack of energy, but with my faulty ankle springing back to life with fits of pain, I decided mobility wasn't really all that important at the moment. No, I'll just sit here like a vegetable and let my group worry about me and not bother to explain what was going through my head. Truth is, I couldn't explain what was going on in my head, and as much as I hate letting my group worry, there was no way for me to ease their suffering. It hurt more than a flame to my skin when someone offered me food and I refused it. It hurt to see people watching me from the other seats on the bus with worried gazes. It hurt to sit still... but my body would not numb.

At about four o'clock I snapped out of one of my long lasting day dreams to see a large group of people were gathering together, obviously getting ready for an outing. Just as I was about to open my mouth to ask what was going on Matt suddenly strode up to me. The way he loomed over me made me recoil. Perhaps it was my paranoid mind, but I never realized how intimidating he was. Thankfully, he took a seat in the same spot Dan had, saving me from having a panic attack.

"A couple of us are going to go out looking for some bedding for the bus." He spoke softly, the ever present rumble in his voice vanishing. It was almost as if he was using someone else's voice to talk.

"Sure." I muttered, "That's a good idea."

"I just want you to know that Craig, Tyler and I are going to stay here..." he didn't finish, as he trailed off when he saw me shaking my head in alarm.

"No." I begged, "Not Craig. Please, not him." I wasn't sure why I got so worked up when it came to Craig- probably because he was so untrustworthy- but the idea of my wall of friends leaving me with him made me more nervous than anything.

"You'll be fine." Matt hushed, "I swear to God if he tries to do anything to you I will have him off this bus in an instant."

Tears pooled in my eyes, and heavy sobs forced me to gulp down air, making me feel sick to my stomach. This stress and anxiety was irrational, and I constantly told myself to stop crying, which of course, made me cry even more. I was just so tired of myself acting so distant, but to forget how I was nearly killed and simply face the people who were partially responsible was a leap I don't think I'd be able to make.

"I'm sorry." I managed to mumble through my weeping, which had subsided a bit, "I shouldn't be such a baby." I wiped the tears from my face, the wetness exposing my skin from under a thin layer of dirt on the back of my hand. I never realized I filthy I was until I saw how pale my skin was supposed to be.

"Why do you do that?" Matt inquired, eyeing me with an expression I couldn't read, "You always apologize for things you don't need to apologize for."

I shook my head and shrugged helplessly, unable to answer the very same question I've been asking myself my whole life. Matt stirred in his seat and reclined a bit, staring up at the bus's ceiling.

"You shouldn't feel ashamed of crying." He muttered, "It's healthy. It keeps you sane really."

"It's not good to pent it all up." I sniffled, completely understanding where he was coming from.

"I haven't cried once since this all began." Matt said sadly, "Not for a long time actually- even before the school was evacuated I can't remember the last time I cried. There are so many things going on right now that I can't cope with. I wish I could cry."
I looked at him, trying to register what I had just heard.

"... That time Karen called 9-1-1 in the shop room and no one answered," he continued, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his knees, "I completely lost it- blew my top. Punched the school's wall until my knuckles bled. You and Markie almost getting yourselves killed when those zombies busted into the shop room during your first lockdown...The night after the mall: I lay there all night playing those crazy voices over in my head. And when I was talking to that family on the radio..." he paused for a second before he turned to look me in the eye. He spoke through clenched teeth. "Not once did I cry. And I would do anything to feel that weight lifted off me."

I sat there, watching him with parted lips. His gaze fell, and he turned his head straight ahead of him. He rubbed his hands together as if he were trying to warm them up, his tongue running over his lips every so often. His leg jolted up and down rhythmically, in sync with his backwards and forwards rocking. Nostrils flaring, eyes darting... I realize now that these were the only ways he could relieve stress. It was like watching an ill, caged animal.

I pulled my hand away from my chest and laid it on the seat beside me, watching Matt with an empathetic gaze. My foot moved down from the edge of the seat and onto the floor. I shuffled over with quick, jerking movements, hesitantly making my way closer and closer to my friend. At last I reached his shaking shoulder and rested my head on it, the soft fabric of his sweater and the muscle beneath it making me melt into a tired trance. I tucked my feet up beside me and shut my eyes. When he rested his ear in my hair and sighed we both leaned back, the two of us pretty much falling asleep instantly.
We slept for I don't know how long, but when we woke it was dusk, and we probably would have slept through the whole night if Craig hadn't bothered us.

"Alright lovebirds... Time to get up. I gotta show Gazpacho something." he grumbled, snapping me instantly from sleep. Shame, for I was having the most pleasant dream I've had in a long time, and what do I wake up to? Craig's ratty face looming over us. Had I been as stressed and anxious as I was before I probably would have tried to run away like a cowering dog.

"What would that be exactly?" Matt groaned. I stretched my neck carefully as I rubbed my eyes. It may have been nice to lean on Matt's shoulder, but sleeping on it for quite some time was not the best idea. Perhaps we should consider a different sleeping position next time... if there even was going to be a next time. Maybe it was just the fact that it was coming from Craig's mouth, but being called lovebirds was something I didn't want to happen more than once. I could only imagine how the rest of the group would tease us if they saw us sleeping the way Craig had...

"Engine's gone funky." Craig explained, "Napoleon Dynamite is out there getting a look at
it."

"You mean Tyler." Matt corrected, getting up on his feet and stretching tall. I heard his back crackle like popping popcorn kernels, and I could imagine he too was regretting falling asleep leaning against someone.

"Dynamite sounds better." Craig muttered with a passive wave of his hand, and he and Matt started walking. I sprang to my feet to join up with them when Craig suddenly stopped in his tracks and gazed at me with a slight cringe. I turned my palms up and thrust my head forward, beckoning to know what was wrong.

"You gonna come with us Bright Eyes?" Craig questioned, one of his grey eye brows arched upwards on his creased forehead. I looked at Craig with a sort of puzzled disbelief, not quite sure why he was so baffled.

"Yeah..." I said with a slow nod, feeling like I was, for some reason, treading on broken glass. "

"Checking an engine's man's work." Craig spoke as if he were teaching a lesson to a class he didn't exactly favour, turning on his heel and walking towards the front of the bus. We tailed him, and he went on, me listening to what he was saying with keen ears. "Girls like you don't know crap about engines. You might as well just stay here and go back to sulking."

My nerves seared. Walking behind Craig, I considered for a split second grabbing a chunk of his thin, gray hair and ripping a good handful out of his greasy scalp, but thankfully Matt acted before I did.

"Watch your tongue!" He snarled, cuffing Craig upside the head and halting our travel to the front of the bus. Craig threw his arm up in defense and ducked away, cowering for only a moment before he reverted back to his rude self.

"I'm just saying what's true." He spat, pushing his nose up high in the air like some sort of cocky king. With a condescending glance at me he continued walking and stepped off the bus, leaving Matt and me alone. I looked to him, my body cooking itself in my own anger, but he simply looked back at me with defeat.

"Just be good and keep watch." He sighed, grabbing Sydney from a nearby seat and pushing him to my chest. I must've grown ten shades redder ever since Craig had opened his mouth, and I could feel the heat on my face, but I eventually took a relaxing (if not, exasperated) breath, grabbed Sydney's handle and we went outside.

Upon arriving at the engine, Tyler had nearly his whole arm shoved up into its metallic guts, his face contorted with deep thought. Craig stood by, hunched over like a haggard old witch, peering into the engine and Matt leaned against the bus, his arms folded. Oddly enough, the engine was in the rear of the bus, probably right underneath the row of back seats Matt and I were sleeping on mere moments before. In retrospect, it made sense for the engine to be placed there, but in the moment, I was surprised and I tried to supress it, not wanting to further build up Craig's sexist stereotypes.

"Found anything?" Craig asked, poking Tyler on the shoulder. Like he was extracting a gem from a pile of rock, Tyler slowly and carefully pulled his arm out, the entire length of it covered in black goo and dust.

"Well, I'll be honest with you guys." He spoke as if he were delivering bad news, standing akimbo and sizing up the engine, "I don't know what the hell I'm doing."

"Well, you have a look at it Gazpacho." Craig said, summoning Matt with a wave

"You think I know anything about engines?" Matt scoffed, smirking a pleasant little 'are you serious' smile that probably enraged Craig, "I can tell you more about the moon than that hunk of metal."

"Then why the hell did you come outside!?" Craig spat, throwing his hands up.

"To prove a point." Matt answered honestly, pushing himself off the side of the bus. He slapped a hand on top of the open engine door and slammed it shut, "How do you even know there's something wrong with it if you haven't had it on for the last half hour?"

"I could feel it when I was driving..." Craig explained and the three of them headed off towards the door, Craig going on about some technicalities of the bus. I was just about to turn and join them when movement caught my eye and my heart leaped into my throat, a short yelp of shock slipping from my lips.

Expecting to see a zombie, I was quite surprised when I found myself looking at a dog. He just stood there, standing before the tall wooden fence that bordered the far end of the parking lot, staring back at me with equal shock, as if we both didn't expect to see each other. His hair was short and black, dusted with a healthy layer of dirt that lay upon his back. Wide, curved ears stood erect upon his head, the tip of his left one wilting like a dehydrated celery stock.

There was a thin line of gray fur that trickled down his forehead to his nose, which looked like a black island surrounded by a sea of white on his muzzle. The tip of his tail was capped with a white blotch, and a burst of white stood out on his chest like a blossoming flower. His feet were also white, but a thick coating of dirt and grime made it appear to be more of an unattractive brown. Above all though, his most striking feature was his pair of dark brown eyes, glimmering with fear and worry. Looking into them, I felt like an arrow had just ripped through my chest. The two of us watched each other as Tyler, Matt and Craig ran to my side, bringing a palpable aura of alarm with them. It quickly dissipated as they set their eyes upon the scene.

"That's it?" Craig puffed, "A dog? Jeeze, I thought one of them rotten folks got you!" Hearing words of concern coming from Craig's mouth was enough to tear me away from those puppy-dog eyes, and my brow sank atop my eyes as I looked at him. Craig? Worried? About me? Weird...

"He looks kind of skinny." Tyler remarked, standing akimbo.

"Must be eating garbage. It's probably hard to find a live prey." Matt pondered aloud. I saw in him an inquisitive eye, one that was far more quizzical than any of ours at the moment. I tried to figure out what he was thinking as he watched the dog, rubbing his stubble lined chin thoughtfully.

"It's a wonder he hasn't been eaten by zombies." Craig said with a slight chuckle, probably entertained by the notion.

"Zombies don't eat things." Tyler corrected, "They just bite humans to spread the virus and strengthen their jaws on whatever they can find. Really, they only eat sugary things."

"And what makes you the zombie expert?" Craig nagged. Tyler shrugged.

"Oh I'm not the expert." He said matter-of-factly, "Terra is."
I couldn't help but smile a bit. I remember the first day Kaitlin and I had in the shop room- where Matt was giving us the tour. My first impression of Terra was her crouching next to the very zombie that had attacked me days before, feeding it candies as if it were a hungry chick. When I learned the darn thing was called Maxwell, I concluded then and there that everyone in the shop room was insane. Looking back at it though, having a blind, maimed zombie for a pet was actually a really good idea.

"You think he'll come over here?" I asked, glancing over at the three guys that stood next to me.

"It's probably best if he doesn't." Matt finally spoke, folding his arms, "Just because he's a dog doesn't mean he isn't carrying the Virus on him. He may even have the strain that affects dogs in his blood. I can't imagine what that would do to you if he bit one of us."

At first I was confused, but a glance at Tyler's sombre face made me remember. He, Markie, Austin and I found an unpleasant surprise one day while outside of the shop room, and I had nearly forgotten about it despite its significance. What we had seen was a zombie dog, the most disgusting atrocity you could call a living thing. The virus had started out in cats in the beginning of it all, then it mutated to target humans, and then we discovered dogs were also being victimized. I could only begin to wonder when this biological catastrophe will have zombie birds flying around our heads.

"You guys gonna share what's going on in your noggins or am I gonna have to guess." Craig said flatly, folding his arms.

"You heard what I said," Matt grumbled, eyeing Craig, "Zombie dogs. They're real."

"Well does the darn thing look like a zombie?" Craig pointed out, the dog flinching as he gestured to it. This struck a chord in me.

"Poor thing." I cooed, "He's all alone and probably scared to death."

"No, we can't keep it." Tyler groaned.

"Of course not." I sighed, realizing that what Matt had said about the virus was right. Even if it did have the dog strain, we still don't know how it would affect us if it got in our system. Besides, if that was the case, the thing was just a ticking time bomb before he turned, so it was pointless in caring for it. For all we know, a dog is a man's best friend until it turns into a walking corpse.

I know it's bad to let emotions get in the way of things when it comes to survival, but standing there looking once again into the worried face of the dog made me melt into a pool of love. I love dogs so much, and even back before the virus it was rare for me to interact with one. I know that loneliness is the worst thing for a dog, and I just wanted to let him tag along with us so he'd have some company. I swear I would have tried to lure him over to me to say hello, because I knew deep down that Tyler and Matt were probably thinking the same thing. Craig however thought otherwise.

"Get out of here you diseased mutt!" he shouted, staring at the dog. Spooked by probably the shout alone, the dog's tail shot under its legs and he booked it for a gap between the fence and the hotel. Before I knew it he was gone, nothing but a few muddy paw prints as a sign he was there. I held back my anger at Craig, knowing that shooing the dog off was the best thing to do- even if he did it in a rather harsh way- and I watched as he lumbered off stiffly towards the bus's door. Tyler followed him, and Matt and I exchanged looks before he too followed. I took one last look at where the dog had vanished, sighing heavily. Godspeed, pup. Godspeed.