Is it over? *CHAPTER 1*

Routine


Cold, left over fries in the morning is my version of hash browns. Food has been scarce since January 2012. I was sixteen when the world “ended”. No one expected this. They expected it to end, not nearly survive. The present year is 2014.
“What do you want for breakfast, Jet?” I said aloud to the dog, posted by my side. Looking up at me with those chocolate brown eyes of his was my loyal black lab companion Jet. I had had him when I was ten, gave him up for adoption, he went into the police force for years. When a tornado ate Walnut Cove, a small North Carolina city, alive; I found him under a crushed van –eating a dead raccoon.
He barked twice, shaking me from the image of the horrid tornado burial grounds. “Tuna it is.” I smiled, reaching in the cabinet. Opening the Food Lion Brand tuna, Heather stumbled into the kitchen; sleepy eyed with dogs laced around her feet. Gunner and Honey, standing tall on each side of her legs, were the “big dog” mutts. Pebbles was a cranky Pekingese, Cooper a nervous wreak Shih-Tzu, and Tim-Tim a proud Springer Spaniel.
“That tuna smells disgusting.”
“He likes tuna.”
“He’s weird.” Radar, a white wired haired terrier/mutt, pranced in; fashionably late. As you can see, we are dog people. Heather, the dogs, and me—against the world.
We usually kept the house clean. We both had underline OCD. Floors polished, windows Windexed, books/DVDs/CDs organized, everything. Everyone was gone, we took advantage of it. We took over the house of our dreams. 274 Ever-valley Lane, a stone mansion with tennis court, basketball court, swimming pool, and acres of land. It had five stories, a guest house, and a roof deck.
Sitting down at the long oak dining table, the family had breakfast of cold home-made pizza. The dog portion was sitting in chairs, eating. Just as if human. “We need to go to the ammo store today. Need more bullets for my twelve-gage and your forty-four.” Heather said, placing a bite of pizza coded in olives and pepperoni in her mouth.
My eyes raced up to meet hers, “You were messing with my gun?”
“Maybe…”
“Wow, no respect of personal space kick in again?”
“Yeah so anyway, get ready to go into town.”
“You got it.”
No one was in town; we kept it the way it was though.
I ran upstairs to a bedroom. I dressed in a green tank top, blue jeans, and boots. Just about ready to leave, and I stuffed a gun in each boot. Racing down the grand stair case, I met up with the dogs and Heather. Heather, leaning in the large front door frame, held a shot gun; she cocked it and said, “Let’s roll.” As if on a movie set.
I nodded and we walked out outside. The sky was still darkened with thick layers of debris, from 2012. Glancing once at the dogs, I noticed Grizzly had joined us. He was identical to Jet but had curlier hair (opposed from Jet’s straight hair) and light brown eyes. I swear, that’s all the dogs. I petted Jet’s head and walked down the weathered stone path. The leaves of several colors and hues of brown rustled through the path and glided over stone. Everything was discolored, brushed with brown and gray. Sort of… depressing. A breeze shook the trees and made the leaves dance. We had reached the Iron Gate, pulling down a panel I dialed in the code. The gate screeched open, “As if we need that. No one is here.” Heather mumbled, more than likely hoping I hadn’t heard her.
“It’s just incase there are some hobos or whatever lurking and waiting for us to leave.” I replied strongly. The wall stood about fifteen feet high and the Iron Gate was the door I suppose.
“Ever heard of a key?”
I snorted, “Like we could keep up with a key.”
“Touché.”
We laughed and walked down the lonely lane, the abandoned highway (filled of empty, parked cars), and across the cold boulevard. The ammo store seemed… different. “Wasn’t there a riffle in the window, and the sign say “Open”?” the sign now turned to closed.
“Yeah and yes.”
“Odd.” We walked in. The metal shelves had knocked over cardboard boxes of bullets spilled over the place. Heather hadn’t seemed to notice. She trucked on, her narrow mind not allowing her to look around. When ever we had ever gone shopping—that’s how she was. Went in for what she wanted and that was it. I was the same way, but I paid close attention to detail. Heather returned from the back with about four tins of bullets. Suddenly, Grizzly and Jet were growling and barking like a mad dog.
“What is it dogs?” Heather asked, now all of them had joined in. Jet, Grizzly, Gunner, and Honey had chased something into the shadows. With a glance at each other, Heather and I chased them. Running out into the street, the sky had suddenly turned black. The small dogs trotted behind us. It was pitch black, the blackest I have ever seen it. I couldn’t see my hand in front of my own face. I knew Heather couldn’t either, even with her good eye sight. Something wacked me in the back, air escaped from my lungs in a painful hiss. Heather let out a scream, “Get it off, get it off me!”
Something, or someone, pinned my arms behind my back. I struggled fiercely, trying to sock it somewhere—anywhere.