The six of us hid quietly behind the dumpster as the zombie horde instinctively stomped out the flames of the overheated van engine, many of them catching on fire during the fray. The fire eventually went out, with only a few zombie punters remaining unburnt. With a nod of agreement between me and Rachel, we bounded out from our garbage hiding spot and clobbered them, heads and betting slips flying all over the place as we crushed them.

  “Alright, with those guys dealt with, let’s find ourselves a new car and try to get out of here,” Rachel said. “The city is too dangerous for us right now.”

  “Okay, what is the best way to find keys?” I asked Rachel, hoping with her knowledge of the game she would have a better idea than I did.”

  “Well, really, the most-likely way to find some is in the pockets of the zombies,” she replied with a mild look of disgust.

  “God, they really do put details in this game, don’t they!” I remarked as I rolled up my sleeves and prepared for the hunt.

  I started with the recently headless; looking at the face of a double-dead monster wasn’t exactly my strong suit. Rachel, ever-stoic and somewhat more accustomed to the game’s conditions, started looking through the hideously disfigured and charred zombies that had perished in the fire.

  First body: nothing. Same with the second and third.

  “I’ve found some!” I squealed, the team all lifting their heads to see the prize. I looked down at the keyfob and saw the Ford logo embossed on it. The key was a remote, so not unlike someone who forgot where they parked in a big shopping centre carpark – I started aiming the remote at the cars in the lot, arms straight out like I was water-divining. After a while of aiming and clicking, I managed to hear a faint beep, and learned that the keys opened a blue Falcon station wagon.

  “Sweet!” I said, walking quickly over to the driver’s door. I opened it up and hopped in, placing the key in the ignition and hoping for the best.

  “VROOM!” The six cylinders roared into action. I looked down and saw that the car only had about a third of a tank of fuel, so I decided to fill it up, ready to go when we needed it. I backed out of the parking spot and drove around to the front of the building, right by the exit, where Rachel was still filtering through corpses’ pockets.

  “Check it out!” I said to Rachel, pleased with my new acquisition. I turned off the ignition and hopped out of the car, the dogs trotting back over to me from the carpark. Looking under the front seat, I found the fuel-tank lever and popped it open, filling the car with one of the full jerry cans we had kept earlier. I put the now half-full tank in the rear of the wagon and moved the other cans and any bags we had managed to save into the same place.

  “This should be big enough for us all to fit!” I said.

  Rachel looked up at the car and nodded. “As long as you don’t find any more animals!” she joked, somewhat snarkily.

  Rachel stood up straight and walked over to the car. She grabbed a small cardboard box from the dumpster and placed it on the back seat, weaving the belt through a flap and folding it open. She then undid her kitty carrier and tenderly placed Artemis in the box, wrapping him once again with the blanket.

  “Safe and sound there, Arty,” she said as she stroked the cat’s face. He meowed back, pleased to no longer be rifling through a corpse pile.

  “All aboard!” I called to the dogs, opening the other back door. Jagger started trotting over happily, with Cooper still riding on his back. Rat, on the other hand, stood still, his eyes fixed on a small shed in the distance at the rear of the racetrack.

  “Come on Rat, I know you heard me,” I said, walking over and trying to coax him into the car. He would not budge, his sharp Malinois ears standing erect.

  In the distance, a very faint wail could be heard – not quite like a howl, more like a cry. It would seem that this was a call to action for Rat.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “Woof woof woof woof woof!” Rat barked angrily, prompting Jagger to leap out of the car and join him, Cooper clawing onto his back for dear life before deciding it was safer to fly. Soon both dogs had taken off, bolting towards the sound. I threw the car keys to Rachel.

  “You guys may as well stay here – I’ve got to go get the bloody dogs!” I called as I started running after them.

  We ran past the grandstands, under two fences, through the outer surrounds and onto the straight of the dog track, heading towards what looked to be a small shed at the rear. The dogs were remarkably fast, looking almost as if they had been entered into a race, but thankfully that was not the case. We soon reached the shed and Rat had already burst in, barking with a terrifying tone I had not heard to date. Jagger, Cooper and I followed in, concerned about what had upset Rat. Crowbar in hand, I stepped over the threshold of the shed and looked across to see Rat barking ferociously and snapping at two thin male zombies who were standing in front of two small metal cages.

  “Rrrrrufff, rruuufff!” Rat said, his growl barks vitriolic in their tone. Inside the cages were two large greyhounds draped in racing livery and curled up as far back as possible. The cages were filthy, and two tiny bowls that were attached to the front of each cage were bone-dry.

  These guys were trainers. I thought to myself, thinking back to my childhood when I was dragged to my father’s races, his poor dogs used simply as a means of acquiring money and never cared for, let alone loved. I tried to calm myself, but an unstoppable wave of hatred filled my mind and guided my hands.

  “Attack!” I called to the dogs. I grabbed the sharp end of my crowbar and crammed it right into the eye socket of the trainer on the left, yanking it out and plunging it into his chest. Rat latched onto the arm of the other zombie, locking his jaw around his forearm; Jagger and Cooper took turns biting and pecking the zombie’s face respectively as he bent down to try to remove his arm from Rat’s jaws.

  I pushed down the first zombie and he fell to the concrete floor. Looking down into the undead man’s eyes, I frowned savagely, holding his gaze as I plunged my cowboy boot into his head. Blood and brains splattered over the wall behind him, thankfully missing the cages.

  I looked over to the animals, who had done a fine job of subduing the other trainer. Rat had managed to rip off one arm and was working on the second one, tugging at it like a rope toy. Jagger’s and Cooper’s efforts had also not gone unnoticed – the zombie had conspicuous chunks ripped from his face and chest and both eyes pecked out.

  “Back, guys!” I said to the animals as I raised my crowbar, swinging it at the other zombie’s head.

  As the second man collapsed, my thoughts turned immediately to the greyhounds. I stomped over the bodies to the cages and threw open both doors. In the cage on the left was a beautiful fawn boy, and on the right was a smaller brindle girl. Obviously petrified, neither dog left their spot.

  I quickly opened my bumbag and closed out of the menu. I put away my crowbar and fished out a small packet of dog biscuits I’d stashed for emergencies.

  I approached the first cage and softly spoke as I waved a biscuit in front of me; “It’s okay, little one, you’re safe now.”

  The fawn boy lifted his head and sniffed at the biscuit. He looked at me, still terrified, but starving. He took the biscuit and munched on it ravenously. It was ever apparent that these dogs hadn’t eaten in some time. After the first bite, I threw a biscuit just outside of the cage. The boy stood up shakily and walked over to the biscuit. He picked it up and ate it, looking over to Jagger, Rat and Cooper. Jagger, outgoing and friendly as always, approached the boy; a small wag came from his tail.

  I turned my attention to the second cage. Bending down, I tried the same tactics that had just worked.

  “Out you come, it’s okay now,” I spoke tenderly to the girl. I waved a biscuit by her nose but did not elicit a response.

  “Little one, it’s time to come out now – we’re here to save you,” I said.

  I stroked the girl’s back and, feeling her cold fur, I started to cry. I slid my hand over to her chest and my fears were confirmed; she was not breathing. I flopped down onto the ground, tears streaming down my face.

  “You absolute pieces of shit!” I garbled at the corpses, torn between grief and outrage.

  Rat walked over to me and gave me a small lick on the hand. He then looked up at me and motioned with his eyes over to the boy.

  “You’re right,” I said to Rat. There was no time to wallow if I wanted to save this boy – nay, our whole family – from this place. I reached down and removed the red racing bib she was wearing: ‘Smoking Etouffee – 31’, it read.

  “I’ll make sure you won’t be forgotten, little girl,” I said, standing up and wiping tears from my eyes.

  “Let’s get out of here everyone,” I said to the animals. Rat walked over to the door and Jagger, with Cooper, started to follow. The boy stood behind them, still unsure of what to do. I walked over to him, not making eye contact, and kneeled down. He gingerly walked over to me and sniffed at my hand. I reached up slowly to his chest and stroked him gently. Looking down, I was met with two sad brown eyes that had the most beautiful shading, like he was wearing eyeliner. At that moment, we both knew he was with us. I zipped and unzipped my bumbag, gaining access to the menu. Down in the team members section, the pop-up box was active.

  Add Red Hot Beignet to team? Yes or No.

  I grabbed at ‘yes’ and closed out of the menu. I looked over to the pups and smiled through tears: “I think I will call you Benny.”