Mark Tufo - The End ....

He could not, for the life of him, remember why he had stopped at that little shit-hole, that was of course until the blinding yellow light warning of eminent fuel depletion started to blink. His leg hurt so bad he could barely think, he feared pulling his pants up to look at it, thinking that his calf muscle might only be secured to his leg by a severely chewed through tendon. Droplets of blood began to merge on the rubber floor mat, an ant might not yet be able to drown in the burgeoning puddle but it sure could go for a nice swim. Brendon's head began to swoon. The previous bright sparks of pain began to darken and become blotched and that was making vision increasingly difficult.

He drove until the tank gave out, which was fortuitous considering he passed out at roughly the same time. The truck came to an unaided gliding stop on a snow covered embankment. There he would have stayed until time eternal if not for a long range military patrol on a search and rescue mission.

"Is he dead?" Murphy asked his sergeant. As he looked through the windshield, his M-16 pointed directly at the occupant’s skull.

"Why don't you get your stethoscope and see if he has a heartbeat." The sergeant said as he lit a cigar up.

"Shit he just moved!" Murphy yelled.

"Shoot him so we can get out of here." The gunner on the second vehicle shouted. "It's as cold as my first wife's tits out here." The gunner thought about his statement for a second. "And probably my second too."

"How many times you been married?" The gunner on the tracked vehicle asked.

"Guys, this thing is moving." Murphy shouted above them all.

The sergeant came up to the side window. "Looks pretty pale and there's blood on the floor. He's a gomer, hurry up and shoot it, Dickens is right, it is as cold as his second wife's titties."

That got a good round of laughter from everyone, even Dickens.

Brendon's eyes fluttered open. His throat was closed and as arid as the Sahara in high summer. He somehow croaked out. "Help me."

Murphy immediately went into medic mode, shouldering his rifle and opening the door to the truck. He handed Brendon a half full canteen.

Brendon drank greedily, half convinced that he already had early onset rabies. He snorted some of the water back up after trying to gulp it down too quickly.

“Take it easy bud.” Murphy said. “What happened to you?”

“Bit.” Brendon said as quickly as he could so he could get back to the canteen.

Murphy jumped back, and raised his gun half way up.

“Dog.” Brendon clarified bringing the canteen down quickly.

“You sure?” Murphy asked not wanting to get too close.

Brendon gingerly pulled up the bottom of his pants, wincing as the denim fabric snagged on a jagged piece of rended flesh.

“Yup definitely dog. Let me get my med bag.”

Brendon nodded going full tilt back on the canteen.

“What are you doing out here alone?” Murphy asked, trying to distract Brendon from the unpleasant sensation he was about to administer to his leg.

Brendon braced against the slapping sting sensation the disinfectant had on his wound. “I messed up.” Brendon said between clenched lips.

“How so?” Murphy asked rubbing the wound out with what felt like steel wool but was actually a sterile pad of cotton.

“How bad is my leg?” Brendon asked afraid to look down and only see bone.

“Eh ten, twelve stitches max, you won’t be dancing anytime soon. But you’ll live.” Murphy said as he reached into his bag for a suture needle. “So you were saying?”

“I got into a fight with my fiancée's dad and we parted ways.”

"Before or after the end of the world?"

"After." Brendon said resignedly.

“Must have been a hell of a fight, that you’d leave your fiancée and travel companions in this shit.” Murphy said as he snugged tight the second stitch. “Is that how all this happened?”

Brendon couldn’t blame him for his supposition. His leg was shredded from a dog bite. He was covered in blood and dish detergent and his face was all puffy from pain, tears and lack of sleep. “No I walked away from them in perfectly fine condition, the rest of this I blame on myself.”

“Seems like you should have made nice and stayed with them.”

“You think?” Brendon said sarcastically.

Murphy made sure to pull the fourth stitch a little extra tight, happy when Brendon jumped in response. “Did anyone die because of the fight you had?”

Brendon shook his head in the negative.

“Can’t you go back?”

“They’re on the road.”

Murphy stopped his suturing to look at Brendon squarely. “These aren’t the best of times to be out and about.”

“We had no choice, our home was overrun.”

Murphy nodded. He had seen many a home, town and even cities completely wiped out.

“Where were you going?” Murphy said tying up the last of his sutures.

“North Dakota first to get my girl’s grandmother and then ultimately back east to see if her dad’s family was still alive.”

Murphy kept quiet. The odds that either of those destinations were going to be fruitful ones were dismally low.

“I thought the same thing.” Brendon said picking up on Murphy’s lack of comment.

“Is that what you were fighting about?” Murphy asked as he began to bandage up the wound.

“Yeah something like that.” Brendon had not even the slightest desire to go into the true reasons, and Murphy didn’t look like the type that would believe anyway.

“How many were in your group?”

The word ‘were’ hurt Brendon more than the dog bite. He sincerely hoped that wasn’t the case. “Nine including Henry, he’s a bulldog.”

“English?” When Brendon nodded, Murphy added. “No shit! I love those dogs, couldn’t really afford one on military pay but I was saving up. But by the time this crap is over I don’t think there will be any left.”

Brendon nodded. Dogs like the Husky and hardy breeds like German Shepherds will have significant die off from not having human intervention, but they will eventually adapt to their new surroundings and most likely eventually survive. Specialty breeds like Henry or those stupid rat dogs won’t make it. They are entirely too dependent on their human masters.

“What are you going to do now?” Murphy asked after taping the bandage off and standing back up.

“Probably try and find them.”

“You can come with us, we’ve got another week or so on patrol and then we head back to what some might construe as civilization.”

“There’s some place to go to?” Brendon asked hopefully.

“Sure as shit, mankind's last stand, Camp Custer.” Murphy said laughing.

Brendon could not even begin to pick up on the humor, but he saw hope if he could find the Talbots again he could bring them back to this camp. “Could I get a map of where this place is?”

“I think I know where you’re going with this and I can probably do you one better. Hey Sarge!” Murphy shouted to the man behind the first vehicle who looked somewhere between asleep and smoking a cigar.

“Yeah?” The sergeant said through clenched teeth, tilting his cover back up.

“This guy was with eight civvies and an English Bulldog.”

“No shit?” The sergeant yelled back.

Brendon was completely convinced the sergeant’s interest was piqued way more by Henry than any of the ‘civvies’.

“This guy.” Murphy started.

“Brendon.”

“Brendon.” Murphy began again. “Says he knows where they are going.”

“How much time they have on us son?” The sergeant asked Brendon.

Brendon knew his answer was critical but he knew the sergeant would pick up on a lie. “About a day and a half.”