One Year Later
The dog sniffed at the dirt before trotting towards the open door. It peered inside, sniffing deeply before turning to its master, tail wagging and tongue hanging lazily. The master took a few steps off of the street and onto the sidewalk, gripping the wooden sword tightly. The fencing helmet offered protection enough from the claws and teeth of the dead but stifled the wearer's vision. The dog whined, waiting for the go-ahead to enter the house. The master nodded and the dog ventured inside, darting from room to room as it made its way inevitably towards the kitchen. The master slowly approached the doorway and waited. The dog reappeared at the end of the hallway, tail still wagging. The master turned and closed the door.
Clearly, the house hadn't been occupied for months. The stench of stale food permeated the first floor. The second floor was quite habitable if you ignored the insects. The master removed the fencing helmet and placed it on the kitchen table, along with the wooden sword. The dog patiently waited, expecting food. The master patted it on the head before reaching towards the refrigerator. Right before grasping the door, they suddenly stopped, shaking their head slightly, and instead opening a cupboard next to it.
After rummaging through each cupboard, the master examined their haul of edible food: a pack of chocolates, half a tub of old peanut butter, three cans of assorted soups, and a box of stale crackers, graciously free of mold. The peanut butter would fuel the dog, at least. The rest would give the master a few days' worth of sustenance. With everything thrown into their backpack, the master retreated back to the second floor.
The master bedroom was mostly clean. The sheets were disheveled and smelled of mildew. A quick forage through the closet resulted in fresher sheets, as well as fresher pillows and an unused blanket, still in its protective sleeve. The master thanked their gods silently as they prepared their new sleeping arrangements. The discarded sheets on the floor quickly found themselves smothered by the dog, its peanut butter-coated mouth panting with happiness. The master smiled and fumbled around in the quickly darkening room for the hand-held radio in their bag before the sun fully retreated below the horizon.
After turning the crank on it for a few minutes, counting each second in their head, they clicked the power button and began cycling through frequencies slowly, hoping and praying for any sort of communication. It had been over a month since their last contact with any other human over the radio and over three months since they'd spoken to someone face to face. The voice over the radio had been a gruff "prepper" type, holed up in the foothills outside Mount Eerie. He offered only stern warnings to keep away, as he was well-armed and unafraid to protect himself and his spec of land. The person they'd spoken to face to face was a little girl, dying from starvation and lack of medicine. The parents had died only days' prior. The world, once full of people, had become a lonely and dangerous place. As the master clicked through each frequency, the hope of finding another survivor dwindled. With no broadcasts active, the master sighed and collapsed onto the pillow, fighting tears.
The master woke before the sun rose. The night sky shone brilliantly with starlight, absent the moon. A pale, blue hue slowly grew on the horizon, indicating the imminent sunrise. The dog slept peacefully, even as the master rose and stretched. Out of habit, they reached for the light on the nightstand, only to stop and snicker to themselves. The dog stirred at the sound and glanced up. The master bent down from the bed and offered the dog a few pats on the head, stroking its ears before staring out of the window and preparing their next steps. The first thing to do was to secure the rest of the homes on the cul-de-sac. Once they'd confirmed that there were no dead things lurking inside, they would loot whatever useful necessities they could find – with an emphasis on edible food and medical supplies.
The sun cracked the horizon, filling the room with a piercing golden light. The master zipped up the heavy motorcycle jacket and clicked the metal clasps together. The dog was roaming around the house, sniffing and stretching. Grabbling the sword and fencing helmet, the master carefully moved their heavy backpack into the closet of the room, covering it with old laundry, just in case. They slid a smaller backpack on their back instead. Slowly opening the door, the master checked cautiously before allowing the dog to go first.
After hours of cautious searching and only little luck, the master took a seat on a lawn chair behind one of the numerous vacant homes. They removed their helmet and lamented that their hair had grown excessively long in the past year. They yearned for a proper shower, a visit to the salon and a million other creature comforts long forgotten. The dog plopped down at their feet, exhausted from the chores. The master leaned down and gave it a few comforting pats before leaning back in the chair and exhaling. With the sun now high in the sky, the master reached into the bag to investigate lunch. The dog immediately perked up as well.
As they ate their meager meal, the master kept on high alert. Despite having not seen a single walking corpse in days, the threat nevertheless persisted. They reached into the bag and retrieved the small radio, deciding that the risk was worth the potential reward. As the dog chewed down on the second of two small tins of sardines liberated from a supermarket days before, the master cranked the small radio and smiled at their companion. As the dog polished off the second can and gently whined for more, the master clicked the radio on and began to cycle through the available frequencies. The dog glanced between the master and the bag as the different flavors of static faintly echoed through the small speaker. The master lamented being unable to provide more but having found so little in the last few days meant rationing wisely.
"...water and shelter..." the radio crackled. The master flinched in shock and panic and lunged forward, frightening the dog to its feet. The master quickly clicked back to the previous frequency and pulled the radio close to their ear, the dog warily watching for the next move. "... gathering near the shore. We will keep transport moving as long as this broadcast remains active. Monitor this frequency for updates. Message repeats," the commanding voice on the radio trailed off. A few moments of silence followed. The master rose to their feet slowly, so as to not frighten the poor animal again and began pacing about the backyard of the abandoned house waiting for the broadcast to continue.
"Message begins: Security Code Zero-Six-Two-Alpha-One," the message began. "For all in range of this transmission, we are located on Dragonstone Isle. We can offer you protection, food, fresh water and shelter," it continued. "We have command of the dock outside of Weymouth Bay. We can bring you to Dragonstone when you arrive. Be aware that the army of the dead is gathering near the shore. We will keep transport moving as long as this broadcast remains active. Monitor this frequency for updates. Message repeats," the broadcast completed.
"Weymouth Bay," the master muttered, clicking off the radio and throwing it into the bag. The dog stared intently at their master, tail wagging. They unzipped one of the front pockets of the bag and removed a pair of maps. They frantically pulled one open and placed it on the table, searching for their current location. "Okay," they confirmed, placing their index finger on a small road. "Where is...?" they trailed off, their other finger searching along the coast. "Here!" they hissed, jabbing at the map. "Okay, now, how to get there..." The dog cocked its head.
The master examined the map thoroughly, making it a point to avoid places where they would most likely encounter the dead: highways, cities, and the like. The easiest way seemed to be a straight shot, only two or three days away at most. They nodded to themselves in approval and turned to the dog.
"Do you wanna go to Dragonstone?" they cooed. The dog opened its mouth and panted, wagging its tail. It enjoyed being spoken to. "Yeah?" they asked again. The dog shuffled its feet in excitement but didn't bark. The master smiled and folded the map, placing it back in the pocket. "Okay, boy," they began. "Let's go get our stuff and get out of here." With that, they marched back to the house they'd spent the night in and retrieved the heavy bag containing the bulk of their supplies. Thanks to their new situation, they wouldn't need to forage anymore, which would help keep their travel time low. Noting the sun's position in the sky, the master nodded to themselves in approval and set off, the dog happily trailing behind.