Chris Pourteau - Tails of the Apocalypse

“No, Gray, course not. But it seems cruel to pull their teeth out—”

“I know, I know it does. But we got to keep our clients safe. If the Infected can’t bite or scratch, then if they get loose, they won’t hurt anybody, right? We’re just taking precautions.”

“Maybe we should just go ask about the Cure. I could do it. I could find out without anyone knowing about the herd—”

“Look, Joe, we don’t know anything about those people. Maybe they’re mad men. Maybe they rob and kill anyone that gets close. Maybe they have some kind of zombie army. I’ve kept us going this long. We both know I’m the leader and you’re the labor. Let’s just stick with what’s working. We just have to deliver the herd and we’re going to be set for life. Trust me. Now let’s find those tools and let the others know we’re ready to start the processing.”

Joe nodded hesitantly and placed the flashlight on the counter. The men began looking around and pushing empty shelving units to the sides of the store. Surly Shirley wasn’t going to stand for her home being invaded. She decided that was her chance. She slammed against the unlatched cage door, launching herself into the air.

“Paws, Claws, Paws, Claws,” she screeched to the others, exultant in her flight. She was a gray, sleek bullet aimed above Joe’s shoulder, a parrot superhero, leading the charge.

Except the others didn’t follow. The puppies barked frantically and Princess just grunted, sniffing at Walt’s pockets hoping for a treat.

Joe squinted and held up his arms, not certain what was going on. Surly crashed into his chest, then pushed up with her claws and flapped away. She flew around the store, trying to get another angle. She swooped low over his head, raking his hair as she passed, then landed back in her cage, which swung with the impact of her anger. She watched the men from her rocking perch, expecting them to leave in the wake of her furious territorial claim.

“What was that?” asked Walt, pushing Princess away.

“Bird,” said Gray. “Maybe we can have a chicken dinner tonight.”

“Or bacon,” said Walt brightly.

Joe shook his head. “Thought we were just looking for tools.”

“C’mon, Joe,” said Walt, “we haven’t had a decent meal in days. It’s been slim pickings since we started meeting other people. You going to turn up your nose at the nice fat piece of pork right here?”

“But it’s—that’s someone’s pet,” he protested.

“Not anymore,” said Gray, “it’s just a pig. Probably wasn’t anyone’s pet anyway. Wouldn’t be here in the pet shop otherwise. These were probably all the rejects.” He nudged one of the dogs away with his foot. “They were destined for the pound Before, and we all know what would have happened to them there. At least this way, they’ll serve some purpose.”

Joe picked up one of the smaller puppies as it tried again to appeal to the other men. “You can’t mean the dogs too—”

“Why not? They’re no different from the pig. Bit gamier maybe.”

“But it’s—it’s a dog.”

Gray shook his head in disgust at Joe. “It’s better than starving. We need meat. Unless—you want to do what the Infected are doing?”

“I’d rather be Infected,” scowled Joe. “At least I know some people that’d deserve to be dinner.”

Walt shrugged. “So don’t eat ’em. Plenty of cans of cat food left over for you.”

Gray picked up the flashlight and swept its beam over the store. “Go on, Walt, check in the back. There’s probably some cleaning stuff back there. If we’re doing the dental work here, we gotta clean it up so our stock don’t get an infection.” He turned to Joe who was snuggling the puppy in the crook of his arm. “Never known you to turn down a pork chop,” he said, poking him in the stomach. “C’mon, Joe, it’s just a pig. Just like every other pig. It’s going to die in here anyway or get eaten by the Infected on the street. Right?”

Surly Shirley stared at Joe from her perch. His head drooped as he stroked the puppy’s fur. At last he nodded. “Yeah, Gray,” he said, “you’re right.”

Gray pulled the puppy from Joe’s arms and placed it gently on the floor. “So that’s how we’re going to look at them all. They’re livestock, Joe, for as long as we’re here. We’ll keep them fed and watered, we’ll give them a good, solid existence, and in return, they’ll keep us alive. No naming them. No playing with them. They’re just like cows and chickens. You wouldn’t snuggle a cow or sleep curled up with a chicken, would you?”

Joe shook his head. Gray smiled, satisfied. “Good, I’m glad we don’t have to fight about that. You know I don’t like fighting with you. These animals will probably go right back to their cages if we lure ’em with a little food. You got those fancy candles from that artsy-fartsy card shop down the way?”

Joe nodded and pulled his pack from his shoulder.

“Good. Set ’em up around, this place smells like death. I’ll get the tools. I want to get started. We got dozens to get through.”

Surly watched Joe set down the candles and struggle to ignite them with his dying lighter. He was harmless. She whipped her head to the side to look at Walt. Maybe he was a little more interested in eating than the other, but he was also careless and clumsy. Surly could easily dodge him if it came to that. He’d wear out before he caught her.

It was the other one that made her claws curl into her wooden perch. He was bad news. She watched Gray toss a single dog treat to the half-dozen starving puppies. He laughed as they began snarling and biting each other, desperate to reach the small bite of food. He’d never let them go, Surly knew. The best she could hope for was that he grew bored with the pet shop and abandoned them for richer pickings.

The men pushed the shelving units against the walls, making an empty square of the small store. Much of the broken window was blocked by the shelving units, but Surly thought she could still fit. She just had to wait for the right time. Her cage hung above them, but the cockatoo cage had been wedged in next to the fish tanks. Joe found more stock in the back room and emptied a large bag of dog food into the center. There was enough food that the puppies were all eating, their tails wagging furiously. Joe also put down a large bowl of water and was feeding the kittens when Walt started scolding him.

“Why you wasting food on them? We’re going to need that. We can use it for the herd.” He snatched the bag of food from Joe’s hands. The kittens transferred their meows from Joe to Walt.

“Can’t let them starve—” started Joe.

“But it’s okay if we do? Every bite of food you give them is one less for us and for the Infected. Hasn’t exactly been a bounty out there lately.”

Gray had been staring out the front window. He turned toward the other two. “Let him feed them. Feeding ’em fattens ’em up for us, right? We’ll just eat ’em, when it comes to it. Besides, we only have to make do for a couple of days. The labor market’s due to open next week.”

“Are there more—uh, more vendors?” asked Walt, handing Joe the bag of cat food.

“Nah,” said Gray, turning back to the window. “Not for Infected anyway. Everyone else is too chicken to round ’em up like we do.”

Joe dumped a little pile of food at his feet. The kittens rubbed against his legs and purred before attacking the dusty pellets. “Maybe that just means they treat the Infected like humans. Labor market, Gray? Why not just call it a slave auction and be honest about it?”

Gray turned around. “How many times do I have to explain this, Joe? If we leave ’em on the street, they die. We don’t have the means to keep feeding ’em for doing nothing. They got to pull their own weight. Have a purpose. Just like these dogs. You think they’re better off dead?” He paused for a moment and pulled out a knife. “If that’s what you think, go ahead. Go take care of the herd. Be done with it.”