Finding Home || Skephalo

Chapter 10 - Finding Home

Orlando was just as deserted as Darryl had thought. The streets were empty, as well as every building. It was all in desolation. But, as he'd come to see, everything was like this now. He didn't know if he missed when the streets were bustling with people.

Walking down the neighborhood street, Darryl spotted his house in the distance. It looked as same as it had when he'd left.

He stepped up onto the porch and reached for the doorknob. Unsurprisingly, it was locked. Of course, he locked the door when he left for his trip. However, he might've left the back door unlocked.

Darryl hopped off the porch and walked around to the back. He hopped over the fence that bordered the backyard. His backyard was as he'd left it. A few dog toys were lying around in the yard. Wait, dog toys? That could only mean one thing.

Darryl froze, recognition dawning on his face. He'd left his dog, Lucy, here, all alone to fend for herself. But maybe there was a chance that she was still alive. Even if she was, even just barely, he could save her.

His attention was brought to the busted window. Glass shards stuck out at odd angles, still hanging onto the walls. He trudged up to the window. It led straight into the kitchen.

He kicked off the shards of glass, shoving his rifle into his backpack before vaulting through the window, landing on the other side on crunching glass shards. Next to him was a ripped open bag of dog food. So, her chances of being alive were far greater.

"Lucy?" Darryl called for the small dog, his voice barely above a whisper. He received no answer.

He pulled his rifle back out. Just in case. Who could've busted that window in the first place? He thought. His eyebrows furrowed as he began to walk, wincing when the glass underneath his boots crunched.

"Lucy!" He called once more, louder this time. A whine echoed as a response.

Darryl picked up the pace, tightening his purchase on the gun. He headed for the small, pleading noise, where it'd come from.
In his bedroom, he saw a disheveled Lucy laying on his bed. She didn't look up, but she rapidly wagged her tail once Darryl called her name once more. Her ribs were showing, her skin sinking in-between each bone.

"Lucy," he quavered, voice cracking. He discarded his backpack and lightly sat on the bed next to his beloved dog. He gently scooped her head into his caring arms, laying it on his lap.

"I'll be okay, Lucy. It'll be okay." He reassured the small dog, who could only understand him by his tone. Her white fur was matted and grimy. Her eyelids were half-way open, wanting to see her owner who was looking at her with a solemn expression. Darryl couldn't admit that she was dying. But, deep down, he knew that she was, and he wasn't going to let her.

He unzipped his bag, taking out a packet of beef jerky and his water bottle. She began to sniff once he opened the packet of jerky. He gently put it up to her mouth and she took it without hesitation, gobbling it up like she hadn't eaten in weeks. Well, it may have been at least close to that.

After she was finished, Darryl offered another. Then after that, another, and another. The water from his water bottle helped her weak self get the dry food down. She wouldn't be on her feet for at least a day, but that was alright. He'd protect his dog with all that he had. He didn't want to lose another friend.

"Lucy, I'm sorry that I wasn't here for you," Darryl whispered as he held the fragile dog close to him.

"I promise I won't leave you again."

The next morning, Lucy was barely back up on her feet. Darryl was glad to see that she was doing better than before. He could swear that she was gaining more meat on her, or he was just imagining that. It would take a while for her to look like her normal self.