My eyes ached and itched after I managed to get the tears to subside. I once again tugged on the zipper of my bag, entering the interface menu and fully unzipping it. Before closing the menu, I glanced at the stats and noticed that my attire section, now listing my ‘fashionable’ new outfit, had the number 468 in the circle. That’s an improvement. I wonder how high that number goes? I hovered my hand over it to see if any further text was revealed. Armour – 468 – Moderate. Moderate? Geez! Any more clothing and I’ll be like the Michelin man! Ah Michelin, I guess that’s something I’ll never get to do. I lamented to myself, knowing that my dreams of being a professional food critic and chef were highly unlikely in the zompocalypse. I closed out of the interface, stuffed the drawing, bear and crayons in my bag and zipped it up, then headed downstairs.

  I checked through all the remaining parts of the house, collecting a random assortment of items, including a hammer, a bottle of bourbon, a packet of Band-Aids and a torch. I headed into the kitchen and decided to grab the remaining hotdogs to use as a bribe for the dog next door. I picked up the jar but my hand slipped and the jar toppled to the counter, brine spilling everywhere and splashing all over my jumper. I picked up the jar again and put the hotdogs back inside, closing the lid. I then dried myself the best I could with a nearby dishcloth that was hanging from the oven door. How could I be so clumsy? Oh yeah, it’s in the handicap section of my profile! Cool.

  After a final check of the house, I prepared myself to go outside, trying not to think about the potential disastrous consequences. I equipped myself with the baseball bat in hand, looked out the window one final time and then gulped hard before opening the side door and stepping out. I can’t be seen. I crouch-sprinted across to the cottage. Initially dodging the backyard to avoid unnecessary barking, I headed to the front door, hoping – nay, praying – it had been left unlocked. I turned the knob. Locked. What do I do now? I looked around the area rather frenetically, checking to make sure I hadn’t been seen. I noticed a couple of windows on the front right side of the cottage. I picked one that looked like I would fit through and, after shoving the bat under my arm, I started clawing at the frame to get inside. I would have looked much like if Bill Cosby were in the Matrix – and, somewhat true to form, I was trying to enter a bedroom uninvited. The frame, although a little stiff, opened about an inch, after which I pushed my hands in and opened it up fully. I jumped inside and quickly shut the window behind me, crouching down as I pulled the curtains closed.

  I had indeed managed to get into a small bedroom. A single bed was pushed in the back corner of the room and a small dresser with an attached mirror sat opposite the bed. On the bed lay a pair of jeans, a belt and a checked flannel shirt, as if someone had been preparing to go out. I’d better check if they’re still here! I nervously grabbed my bat in my sweaty palms. I opened the bedroom door and found myself in a small living room and kitchen. More importantly, an empty living room and kitchen. Phew. I crouched down and waddled to the window by the door, pulling closed the Venetian blinds that covered it. Just in case, I unlocked the door, so if I needed a quick exit I wouldn’t be caught fumbling with a lock.

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  Before checking through the belongings in the house and trying to win over the dog, I looked behind the remaining two doors. One led to a small bathroom with no windows or doors to the outside, and the other led to a large linen press with a washing machine and dryer inside, among other bits and pieces. With the house now cleared, it was time to bring in the dog. I walked to the back of the kitchen and opened the back door, poking my head out to check for it and any threats. No sign of the dead and no sign of the dog.

  He’s got to be here somewhere. He’s probably in his kennel.

  “Psst,” I said, trying to get the dog’s attention. He stuck his head out of the kennel and, upon noticing me, started barking loudly.

  I opened my bag, bringing me to the menu. I retrieved the hotdogs and quickly exited the menu. “Come here, shhhh shhh!” I whispered to the dog, throwing a hotdog chunk in his direction.

  He trotted towards the chunk and scoffed it. I threw another chunk in front of him and another through the door, leading him in by means of meaty inducements.

  After two more chunks of hotdog, I managed to get him indoors and closed the door behind us.

  The dog seemed cautious but quite affable, so I crouched down and reached out to feed him another hotdog chunk. He took the piece from my hand and, after he finished, he stayed, allowing me to stroke his chest. “Good boy,” I said gently to the dog, his tail wagging slowly.

  The dog was wearing a red fabric collar with a gold tag. I reached over to read it: ‘Rat – 9678 5144’.

  Rat leaned in and sniffed my jumper, his tail wagging faster and faster. Ah yes, I smell of hotdogs.

  Rat was a beautiful looking dog, noble and dignified, but with sweet brown puppy-like eyes. I guessed he was a Malinois or small Alsatian.

  I reached up and rubbed his ears, his sweet eyes closing slightly with delight. Oxytocin rushed into my brain; I knew I had to protect him.

  “Would you like to be my friend?” I asked Rat.

  He wagged his tail enthusiastically, which I took to mean yes.

  “I guess, just in case, we should check to see if you have a family,” I said to Rat, gesturing to the phone on the wall of the living room. I picked up the receiver and dialled the number on his collar. An engaged tone was all that could be heard. I hung up.

  “Okay Rat, it looks like it’s just you and me,” I said. Rat raised his ears at the mention of his name. I zipped open the bag and the menu interface opened, but instead of the standard menu, a bright text box appeared, with the normal inventory and stats dimmed in the background.

  Add Rat the dog to Party? Yes or No.

  I smiled and reached out to yes. The text box closed and new words appeared under the Team Information section; it now listed Rat, with the numbers 2/10 following.

  I closed out of the menu and reached into my bag, retrieving the bear I had taken from little Johnny’s room next door.

  “I think he would have liked for you to have this,” I said to Rat, handing him the bear.

  He sniffed it and jumped around like a puppy, seemingly remembering his friend. I bent down and cuddled Rat, who proudly held his bear in his mouth.

  Perhaps this won’t be that bad after all.