Kicked Out in the Apocalypse, But My Dog Was My Secret Weapon
On a stormy night during the apocalypse, my own mother threw me out of the house while I was burning with fever, along with my husky, so my little brother would have a better chance of surviving.
She shouted through the crack in the door, “Take that useless mutt and go die somewhere. Stop wasting your brother’s food!”
I huddled in a pile of trash with my dog in my arms, convinced I was going to die.
Then my husky suddenly spoke.
“Host’s vital signs critically low. Infinite Supply Search System activated.”
“Supermarket warehouse one hundred meters ahead. Three thousand freeze-dried meals detected.”
“Pharmacy five hundred meters to the left. Five hundred boxes of antibiotics detected.”
Three days later, I’d built a fortress with packs of dogs and mountains of supplies.
I sat inside eating steak and watching the show.
Outside the barbed wire, my mother and brother were on their knees, fighting each other over half a piece of moldy bread.
I smiled.
“Mom, even dogs wouldn’t eat that. Better savor it.”