Survivor Dogs Novels & Stories

“Reality. That’s what changed. I’ve seen what happens to girls who don’t have a choice. The ones with collars, the ones who disappear. I may hate what this is, but at least here I’m alive. Fed. Safe.” Salve’s eyes narrowed, studying me like he was measuring every word. “So this is survival.” “It’s more than that.” I met his gaze. “This is control. My control. You bought me to play a role, and now I’m choosing how to play it.” Dimitri let out a quiet,humourlesss laugh. “You’re full of surprises, little rabbit.” I ignored the nickname this time. I wasn’t a frightened rabbit anymore. “But,” I said, the word slicing through their silence, “I have a condition.”

A van stood nearby, its back doors wide open as survivors scrambled inside, tripping over themselves in desperation. Then— "Bark! Bark!" Ivy's gaze shifted. A dog. Its fur was golden, though slightly dulled with age. Still, there was strength in its build, experience in the way it moved. Without hesitation, it lunged at a monster, clamping its jaws around the creature's arm and dragging it down with surprising force. The soldiers handled the rest, bullets finishing what the dog had started. For a moment, there was coordination. Efficiency. Teamwork. Soon enough, the area—City A—was cleared of monsters.

A dog bark gets my attention, I face to the direction of the bark. A small black gaunt dog standing few blocks away, trying to scare the zombies away with its weak trailing bark, but they keep coming closer to it, all they see is food. The dog hurries away probably tired of barking, but it eventually runs out of luck, as another hoard of zombie in front got hold of it, I look away to avoid the horrible sight of a poor dog devoured into pieces. “Not even animals are spared" Mel says, I turned to see her holding two small plastic plate dishes.

Sarah sounds on the verge of tears. “We… lost one. Might lose another.” The voice on the other end is broken. “There are bites and scratches, especially on Keppy and the colts, but they should heal.” “And the… dogs?” Sarah glances over at me sidelong. She’s trying to tell me something, but I can’t work out what. “Several got away. The rest went… wherever the Marsh takes them. Buried twenty feet under, probably.” Sarah sniffs and clears her throat. “I should come up.”

, He added. “Almost? It means there are a few dogs which survived in that attack, didn’t they?”, He gulped nervously and nodded his head. “It means today or tomorrow they will attack us, again.”, I concluded. “So, tell me the name and details of the person who survived in that attack. I will ask an artist to visit you and you will help him to draw the pictures of everyone.”, I ordered him. “There were not many. Just the Alpha’ family and a few pups.”, I shook my head in disappointment when I heard him. Leaving anyone alive after the attack meant leaving enemies alive. I had to find them and kill them personally before they attack my family again.

Then mutated golden retrievers, German shepherds, and Rottweilers. They poured onto the rooftop from every direction like a black tide. None of them came for me. They rushed right past me and lunged straight at the zombies. Tearing. Ripping. Slaughtering. Under the fangs of those mutated dogs, the zombies didn’t stand a chance. Rotting flesh flew everywhere. In just a few minutes, the rooftop was completely cleared. The dogs parted, opening a path down the middle. Duke stood there, right in the center, then turned back to look at me.

Then he raised his voice, letting it carry over the crowd, through the minds and ears of every broken wolf still standing: “Anyone who is able to move—check on your neighbor. If you were hit with wolfsbane, move toward this side, here by the oak line. If you can walk, you can help. Go now.” Movement rippled through the battered survivors. Slow, unsteady, but determined. Simon turned back to Doc. “Do what you can. Loria will be here soon.” “I’ll keep them alive,” she promised. He nodded once and stepped back, eyes scanning the horizon. Our Luna was coming. And with her—hope. Or vengeance. Maybe both.

Mom could never show her face there again. I blocked her number but continued having someone deliver a book of scratch cards to her mailbox every month. I was not worried about her winning big. Scratch cards followed patterns. The ones I sent were carefully selected from batches where the grand prizes had already been claimed. Ironically, Mom really did get sick, just like she had claimed when she tricked me into coming home. She had a stroke. She survived but could no longer take care of herself. She would spend the rest of her life in bed.

FIRE!",shouted one of the guards and they all started shooting at the infected dog. All the ten men, shooting from their big guns. As the first bullets from each gun hit the dog, ten bullets, the dog fell on the ground and started whimpering. "That's not possible!",shouted Smith,"That dog just survived ten bullets! And one is enough to kill them, and he is still alive!" The dog growled and tried to get up. All of them shot again,at the same time , and the dog fell on the ground and , his breathing heavy and ragged.