Daryl's Angel (10th Anniversary Edition)

Chapter 59: First Day, First Night

The Beagle dutifully follows me. At one point, I pass a few walkers that take special interest, and I stop the bike for just long enough to toss the German Shepherd onto the road. With fresh meat right in front of them, it gives me and my new friend time to get away. It's okay. I don't think I'd have the stomach to actually eat that dog. I'll make do with something else.

I reach another cul-de-sac, where one house catches my eye purely because the garage door is open. If I can't get into the house, at least I'll have shelter.

The Beagle stops at the end of the driveway as I pull the bike up to the garage. I peer inside and there's nothing there, but I'm not ready to relax yet. I leave the bike and trailer inside, then creep up to the door, readying my knife.

I test the knob. It jiggles, then the door opens a smidge. I hold my breath.

I swing the door the rest of the way open and stick my head inside, listening.

"HEY!" I shout. "HEYYYY!"

I scurry back into the garage and wait. Nothing.

"COME AND GET IT!"

Still nothing. Maybe not the smartest, but I can't risk sneaking all quietly through the house and getting jumped. I don't hear any thumps, any groans, and I breathe a sigh of relief. We're clear, for now.

I step up into the house and do a quick manual sweep. Living room, kitchen, dining room, bathroom, bedroom. Upstairs, two more bedrooms and another bathroom. A linen closet. No corpses.

I breathe a sigh of relief and come back downstairs, going back into the garage only to stop. The Beagle has come up the driveway and started sniffing around inside the garage, not paying me any attention. I creep down the steps, careful not to agitate him, and move to the garage door.

I reach up and pull it shut. The Beagle turns and watches me, but doesn't make a move to run.

I go back into the house, glad that my little friend and my bike are safe behind a closed door.

First stop, the kitchen. I check all the cabinets and, unsurprisingly, most of them are empty, but I do the most thorough sweep I can. I grab a kitchen chair and check the cabinets right at the top of the ceiling, sweeping my rifle back to see if I can find anything that no normal person could reach.

In the end, it pays off. I find a can of beans, uncooked rice, beef jerky, a stale nearly-empty bag of corn flakes, and three tins of cat food plus a lighter from the junk drawer. Into my backpack they go. I keep one of the cat food tins out.

I go out to the garage to find the Beagle pacing along the garage door. I crack open the can and, immediately, his ears perk. A fishy smell assaults my nose.

"Hungry, old boy?" I ask. He watches me curiously. "It's for cats, but I think beggars can't be choosers."

He keeps watching me. I put the can down on the floor and, channelling my Canadian blood, I push it across the floor with a quick swipe of my foot. Curling? Hockey? Take your pick. The can slides a good distance from me, stopping at the halfway point between me and the dog.

For a second, he stares, then he slowly gets up and hobbles over to the can. He devours the meat inside in seconds, licking his lips, then he settles down to lick every morsel from the inside.

"I feel you. Being hungry sucks."

The Beagle ignores me, too focused on keeping the can tight between his paws.

I go back into the house to prepare for the night. First things first, I shove the loveseat over to the front door, blocking it. Then, I check the back door and make sure that's locked too. There's a stone fireplace in the living room, very fancy, and I figure if I gather some fuel before it gets too dark, I could probably make myself pretty cozy. Maybe heat up those beans.