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Dogs Remain

by J. Ross Victory

I felt the moist snout of a zombie dog surveying my neck as I laid motionless, facing the the ground, pretending to be dead with the other ravaged human bodies; somehow, I had survived the war.

As the zombie dog growled in anticipation of savoring on my jugular vein, I could no longer hold my breath and figured I could out run it.

I shot up and gasped for air—I kicked the dog, which whimpered like a bitch, and began to run down the atrium of stairs before a sea of thousands, maybe millions of red, beady zombie-dog-eyes paced toward me in slow motion.


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