Daryl's Angel (10th Anniversary Edition)

Chapter 65: Claimed

I wake to the sound of a sharp bark and plenty of snarling.

Immediately, I'm wide awake, hand around my knife, and I hear a heavy thud and enraged, throaty snarls. Old Dan growls, his jaws locked around a walker's ankle. The creature flails, stirring up leaves, still trying to reach him even as Old Dan evades its hands, yanking on the walker's leg.

I scramble from the tent, dropping to my knees as I stab the walker between the eyes. Old Dan doesn't let go until the body's stopped moving. He drops the walker's leg, shaking his coat out, and I look back at him. At a glance, it doesn't look like he got bit, thank God.

I look down at the walker, then at the forest. The light is so pale, it must be barely morning. My fire has long gone out, burned to ash, and Old Dan sits down, looking a little winded from the effort of fighting the walker, tongue lolling. I squat at his side as I look him over. The last thing I want is for a bite to go unnoticed.

But, he's a small dog, so there aren't a lot of places for a bite to hide, and he clearly isn't in pain. He's fine, and he's one tough little dude to boot. I force myself back to my feet, pressing one hand to my chest as I try to calm my heart. How close was I to waking up with a walker already at my throat? How close was I to never waking up at all?

I scratch Old Dan's ears. "Good boy."

I slurp down a cold can of soup and split the second rabbit between Old Dan and I, refilling his tin of water as well. With breakfast done, I take down my camp, rolling up the canvas, the quilts, and the pillow into a bundle and packing it away. I'm glad the rabbits made it through the night intact. I cut off a piece of my tarp and wrap the last rabbit in it, securing it with a bungee cord before tucking it into my backpack and returning my shoelace to its proper place.

Old Dan stays right at my heels as I haul the bike back out to the road.

Time for another day of survival. I can't wait.

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I slow down as I pass a cemetery with a big white house at the head. It's not a church—there aren't any crosses—but it's big and fancy and beautiful. Like everywhere else I've seen, there are dead stumbling around, and it's not worth the risk. Still, I admire it as I go by.

Old Dan has taken to walking beside me, although he wanders off now and again to sniff around or take a potty break. I'm already thinking of when to stop and hunt and where I'm going to stay tonight. I need to find somewhere to stay for a bit, someplace where I can set up a base to return to when I go on runs. I have to have someplace I can crash if my illness gets worse, although I'm hopeful that I'm pushing through it at this point. I'm just tired.

I know what I really need is to find other people but, until then, it's just me and my dog.

I slow to a stop where the funeral home's driveway touches the road. There's something shiny, glinting in the sunlight, right next to a black lump. I park my bike, putting down the kickstand and climbing off. Old Dan returns to my side.

It's a bag, and a pretty nice one too. There's a stack of money, jewellery, and some fancy chocolates spilling from it, strewn across the dirt. I don't know who thought that this was important, but I pick it up nonetheless.

There's a jar inside and, when I pull it out and read the label, I realize that it's pig feet. My stomach churns at the sight and I swallow hard. I've never had them and, until now, I was pretty sure that I'd eat any part of a pig, but...

"Old Dan," I call. He comes to me and I crack the jar open, pulling one foot out and tossing it to him. "It's your lucky day."

He snaps it from the air, chewing ravenously, and I smile as I close up the jar. I'll hold onto it, just in case. If I get hungry enough, I'll eat just about anything.