A YEAR UNDERFOOT – entry #55

A Year Underfoot

September 15th, 2033

I ran into a pack of dogs today, feral as they come and as hungry as the rest of us.

It happened outside of Ventura. It was getting late in the afternoon and my scrounge run downtown had been a bust. I was heading toward State 126 when I caught some movement out of the corner of my right eye. Something was following alongside me.

I cut behind what was left of a tire shop and drew out my .357. I ducked behind a pile of broken concrete and waited for whomever, or whatever was stalking me.

It turns out it was a dog.

I dropped my guard, and the mutt, a Roteweiler mix of some sort, showed me his teeth. This wasn’t Lassie, not by a long shot. I raised the gun back up and reached over for a suitable chunk of concrete to scare it off. I threw the rock and it skipped past within a foot of the Rotty, but the canine didn’t move a muscle. That’s when I realized, it wasn’t just facing “a” dog, I was up against a pack of dogs. I counted nine, all large, all hungry, and all surrounding me.

At this point, I wasn’t overly concerned. I had a .357, after all.

The baying started and that was enough for me. Time to show man’s former best friend who was boss. The Threak may have claimed the top of the food chain for the moment, but last time I checked, canine still ranked below human.

I fired a shot in the air, but it had no effect.

The largest of the dogs, the Roteweiler mix, lunged at me from the left and I was forced to drop him on the spot. He fell at my feet and bled out quickly. The rest of the pack edged back slightly, realizing something in their plan had gone terribly awry.

I fired another shot in the air. This time it had the desired effect and the pack fled.




About paul nevins

Fiction writer, reader and baseball fan.
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