Land of the Dogs (Book 1) Read online

  Land of the Dogs Copyright © 2017 by S. L. Rowland

  All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Art by Natasha Snow ( http://www.natashasnowdesigns.com/ )

  Editing & Formatting by Mia Darien ( http://www.miadarien.com )

  For all those who have followed their dreams and those who have supported them along the way.

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  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  It looked almost human when it wasn’t moving, but with each step, Simon was reminded that it was not human anymore.

  “Just shoot him!” Simon could hear his brother yelling, but he tuned Dan out and focused on the objective: survival.

  He fired his weapon but missed wide to the left. He had never been a very good shot under pressure, and now he was at the end of a tunnel funneling zombies at him. There was no escape but to move forward. Simon’s brow was furrowed in concentration, a small bead of sweat threatening to run down his face as the zombie approached.

  “Simon, come on, kill him!” Dan was anxious.

  Simon’s hands shook slightly as the undead monster moved toward him, slouched and decomposing, but with a quickness Simon was not prepared for. The monster lunged and Simon rolled to the right, narrowly escaping. The monster was slow to react and Simon was able to come up behind it. At point blank range, he pulled the trigger. Zombie brains splattered across the wall and the headless body crumpled to the floor. Silence engulfed the room as more monsters approached. Simon could hear his brother’s heavy breathing over his shoulder as more zombies funneled towards him. They were locked on to his location, sensing his fear, or perhaps his humanity.

  “You got this.”

  Simon reloaded the shotgun as he backed away. The shotgun could take them out, but it was slow to reload and couldn’t aim from a distance. Simon switched to his pistol and started shooting. Three zombies stumbled towards him. His first shot missed, wide to the left again. His second hit the body, doing little more than annoying it. The key was the head. Aim better, destroy the head, he thought. He shot again and the lone female zombie dropped to the floor. The others stumbled across her body, buying Simon a few seconds to switch back to the shotgun. He waited. When they were close enough, he pulled the trigger and a head exploded in a red mist before him. The second zombie lunged and Simon was too slow; it had his arm.

  “Boys! Come down for breakfast,” a woman’s voice shouted up the stairs.

  “Knife him! Knife him,” urged Dan.

  Simon tossed the controller to the floor.

  “Simon, we were so close this time, why did you give up” asked Dan. They had been trying to beat that level for three days.

  “I was already dead. We can give it another shot later. Let’s go grab some food.”

  Simon’s dad, Harry, sat at the kitchen table with his head buried in a newspaper while his mother, Julia, moved bacon from the frying pan onto a plate.

  “Where is your sister at?” she asked no one in particular. “Claire! Breakfast is ready!”

  “She’s probably looking at crazy cat videos like she always does,” said Dan. There was movement on the stairs and then Claire appeared, a blue tank top over a red bikini, her long blond hair pulled up in a messy bun.

  “I heard that, you little twerp.” She ruffled his hair with her hand on her way to the table.

  “Mom!” Dan pleaded for vengeance upon his sister.

  Simon was already sitting at the table, his eyes fixated on his father, who was oblivious to the world.

  “Anything exciting, Dad?” Simon asked.

  “Harry,” Julia said, pulling him out of a trance.

  “Come again?” He was suddenly aware of how lost he had been in the paper. Looking at his wife, he could see the simultaneous annoyed yet patient look only she could give. “Sorry, it’s just these damn Koreans. Every day, it’s something new. Threatening to change our lives as we know it. I don’t know if we should be worried or not. You know how the politicians get. I mean, the Koreans have always made bold statements, but never like this. Never so frequently. Neve—”

  She cut him off before he could finish. “Harry, you’re on vacation. You’re not at the office. You won’t have to chat with anyone about politics or current events for at least a week. Can you please put the paper away and enjoy yourself? Simon leaves for college in one week. Would it kill us to be a family?”

  “I didn’t get a special week devoted to me when I went to college,” scoffed Claire.

  “It was different; you were only thirty minutes away. Simon will be on the other side of the country,” said Julia.

  “All bow down to Simon, king of the siblings. Star baseball player, great student, greater child.” Claire and Dan moved to each side of him and bowed down repeatedly.

  “Will you two stop it?” Simon glared. He was feeling the pressure of moving across the country and leaving everyone he knew and loved. Everyone was so excited he had gotten a baseball scholarship that they never took a second to ask him if he actually wanted it. He stood up from the table and walked out the door. “I’m going down to the lake.”

  His mother protested, Claire and Dan apologized, but Simon had had enough. The screen door slammed behind him with a crack.

  Simon sat down by the lake with his feet in the water. The water always calmed him.

  This was their lake house, but on a particularly bad day at school or practice, Simon would make the drive from town to here and swim laps across the lake. Lake Brownstone, they called it, and it was deep. No one ever really knew exactly how deep. At least once every decade, there would be a drowning and they would never find the body. The authorities assumed it was lost somewhere in the murky depths. Theories of giant sinkholes had emerged but were never proven. Simon only knew that he never hit the bottom after jumping off the pier, even when he dove straight down, held his breath, and swam down with all his might. About ten feet from shore, the bottom just dropped off. Even with goggles, Simon couldn’t see what was in the darkness beneath. And it was cold, too. On the hottest days, the lake water could still chill him to the bone. Most people only wanted to take a short dip and then sit in the sun, but not Simon; he loved the icy water on his skin, the way it made him feel the blood pumping through his veins; he loved the way it made him feel alive.

  It was several minutes before the family joined Simon on the dock. His mind was calm again, the rippling water and birds soaring overhead having that effect.

  Claire and Dan took a seat on each side of him.

  “Sorry we were turds,” said Dan. Dan was fifteen, two years younger than Simon, but acted like a child.

  �
��Yeah, we know you’re stressed out about moving,” said Claire. “It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna move away, find some hot chicks, and you’ll forget about this place until Christmas.” Simon laughed at that. For all of his accolades, he had trouble talking to girls.

  Julia and Harry pulled out two old beach chairs and sat near the edge of the water.

  “Sorry I stormed out, Mom,” said Simon. He was sorry. He hated losing his temper.

  “Just don’t let it happen again.”

  “Hey, Simon, you want to have diving contest?” asked Dan. Simon could see the excitement in his eyes. It might be a while before he saw him this excited again.

  “Sure, let’s do it. You in, Claire?”

  “I guess. It might be the last time I get to humiliate you for a while. You can go first, pretty boy.”

  “Fine, but you’re gonna be sorry.” He turned towards his family and flexed his muscles. Simon was not typically a show-off, but in instances of competition, he never held back. “Nothing can top this. Everyone stand back.” Dan and Claire backed away to clear a path for Simon to run. Simon walked to where the dock met the shore. He turned around, looked at the water, and took off. The wood creaked slightly as each foot thudded against the aged timber. Splinters narrowly missed each step as Simon roared down the dock. At the end of the dock, with not an inch to spare, Simon planted his right foot and lifted high into the air, spreading his arms and legs and forming a perfect X. For a moment, he seemed suspended in time. His family gazed at him, knowing he was right. Then the Earth resumed spinning and his body descended back towards the lake. Towards gravity. He entered the lake with a slight splash and dove deep into the abyss. Simon swam deeper and deeper until his lungs burned and he knew that if he didn’t turn around, he would die. He turned and swam towards the surface.

  Simon breached the surface and gasped for air. He floated there with his eyes closed as the minutes passed and he let the moment wash over him.

  “You should give up now; I told you I couldn’t be beat.” No response. He looked over to the dock, but no one was there. “Guys, where did you go?”

  Simon swam to the dock. His family was no longer sitting on the shore, and their chairs were missing too. That was when he noticed something was different. Everything around him looked older.

  “Guys! Is this some kind of joke? It’s not very funny.” He climbed out of the water and onto the timeworn dock. The rest of the world sent chills down his spine. The green grass and flowers surrounding the lake house were gone. The trees were no longer full of summer leaves, but now a grayish green, on the verge of death. The sky was no longer light blue with billowing white clouds, but a dull gray, with a faint orange glow where the sun was masked behind darker, more ominous, clouds. The house was dilapidated; windows were broken, shutters barely hung on, the front door creaked in the wind and occasionally slammed against the wall. Many trees were barren, a skeletal remain of the glorious summer. The wind howled in the distance and smoked billowed on the horizon.

  What the hell is happening? Simon asked himself, unable to believe what he saw. Where is everyone?

  “Mom! Dad!” he screamed, but no one answered. Simon was alone. At the house, a thick layer of dust covered the porch. I must be dreaming. He pinched himself on the arm. It hurt, but nothing happened. So he pinched himself again, harder, breaking the skin. Blood began to trickle down his arm. I guess I’m not dreaming, but this doesn’t make any sense. The door to the house was unlocked. Inside, the house was so similar to what he remembered, yet it felt completely different. Everything looked old, like no one had been inside for a long time. The furniture was ripped in places. The cabinets were empty. The air smelled musty. Simon knew no one was there. He didn’t even bother yelling. He couldn’t explain what was happening, but he knew he had to walk back towards town. If there was any way he could find answers to what was going on, he had to start there.

  The desolation weighed heavily on Simon as he marched towards town. It pressed down from the dark midday sky and closed in on him from the trees that lined the empty highway. In the distance, smoke still rose from the direction of town, quietly calling him. Silence abounded except for the distant whistle of the wind. And the clop-clop of each step. Simon still wore his swimming trunks and flip flops. By the time he made it to town, his feet would be blistered and he would be shivering from the night air.

  The roads were empty but for the occasional abandoned car. The fact that there were so many surprised him. He wondered what it could all mean. The third one he came upon, a brown station wagon with wood paneling, still had the keys in the ignition. He gave it a turn. Silence. Not even the chugga-chugga that meant it wanted to start. The battery was deader than dead. Simon slammed the door, sending an echo into the distance.

  Simon’s stomach growled as he trekked onward. He had eaten only a few hours before, but it felt like much longer as hunger pangs consumed him. If he didn’t eat soon, he would grow weak. Simon remembered a convenience store halfway between the lake and town. His mom had insisted they stop for fresh strawberries on the way to the lake house a week before. Maybe I can get some food and answers.

  When he arrived at the store, the door was boarded shut. It looked like more than a week had passed since he’d last visited. The windows were covered with plywood and a ‘closed’ sign flapped in the wind. Shingles hung lopsided on the roof. The dead leaves that piled against the door offered proof that no one had been there in a while. A single car sat in the parking lot with deflated tires and smashed windows.

  Simon gave a pull on one of the boards covering the door. It was poorly fastened and came off with a tug. After removing the others, he found the door locked. He gave the door a hard kick, sending a wave of pain through his feet and up his leg, but after a few tries, the latch gave way. Simon limped into the store.

  Inside, it was hard to see. The light switch didn’t work. The air was stale and musty. Empty soda cans and potato chip bags littered the floor. Simon scoured the shelves for sustenance, but they were barren. The glass doors from the coolers had been shattered and tiny shards covered the floor, cracking with each step. When Simon had almost given up hope, he spotted a shiny silver object under the bottom shelf and his heart leapt.

  “Hot damn!” he exclaimed, picking up the small metal can. “Vienna fucking sausages! I’ve never been so happy to eat processed feet and testicles.” Simon ripped back the foil and plunged his fingers into the processed meat. He devoured the sausages, stuffing his face with as many as he could at a time. When it was empty, he turned up the can and drank until the juices ran down his chin and neck. It wasn’t much, but it would keep him going.

  Simon continued searching the building, looking for any clue to tell him what was going on. Behind the counter, the register was still open. Cash spilled out and onto the floor. Simon had no use for cash, but the shotgun sitting on the shelf below caught his eye. It only had two shells, but it would do. He looked for more shells, but there were none. It had been a while since Simon last shot a gun. His dad had told him it was a rite of passage in the South. That going on a hunting trip would signal his journey into manhood. Simon remembered sitting in the deer-stand and seeing the most beautiful doe walking down by the creek. She took a sip of the water, unaware that they were hovering above her some hundred yards away. Simon was lost in her beauty when the rifle blast rang out next to him. The doe gave a small jerk before falling to the ground. Simon had cried the whole way home.

  Next to the gun was a Louisville Slugger baseball bat. Simon had named every bat he had ever owned. He hit his first home-run with Big Ben. He had cracked Ramona in half on the game winning RBI at the state finals his freshmen year. It gave Simon comfort to know his bats had a name and a history and maybe even a little soul to them.

  Simon picked up the bat, feeling its weight in his hands. I’ll call you Slugger.

  A loud thud echoed from the back. Simon gripped the bat in a swinging position, immediately on alert.


  “Who’s there?” called Simon.

  Another thud.

  “Hey, I’m sorry. I’m just trying to find out what’s going on.” There was another thud and a can fell against the hard floor, sending out a ringing echo.

  The door-handle to the back room began to jiggle and Simon could hear a low moan on the other side.

  “I’m leaving. I don’t want any trouble.” A glass shattered and the handle shook violently. Simon grabbed the shotgun and slowly backed away towards the entrance. He kept his eyes on the door handle as he made his way. What kind of sicko locks himself away in a convenience store to terrorize people? The moan grew louder and more guttural along with the terror inside Simon. Simon felt the bat slip in his sweaty palm. Whatever was going on back there, Simon needed to leave, and fast. When the handle began to twist, Simon turned and ran, refusing to look back. The wind slammed the door shut in his wake.

  Simon ran as fast as he could until his lungs burned and his chest ached. When he thought he could go no farther, he collapsed to the ground, placing his face in his hands. Is this some kind of screwed up dream I can’t wake up from? Where is everyone? He laid there until his breath returned. He wanted to cry; he wanted to scream. He wanted answers.

  Simon knew he was over halfway to town. That’s where I’ll find the answers.

  It was nearly dark, the sun all but blotted out on the horizon, but Simon could still see the faintest traces of the billowing smoke in the distance.

  Simon’s feet were beginning to blister by the time he reached the town limits. Darkness enveloped the small town, threatening to swallow it whole. The moon cast a faint glow behind the clouds.

  A sign announcing the town of Graystone welcomed Simon. White letters on a green background displayed ‘City of Prosperity’ and underneath ‘Population: 10,639.’ Someone had spray painted a black X through the numbers and replaced it with ‘zero.’ If there is no one here, who marked the sign? Simon shivered from the cool night air. It had been sweltering by day, and now Simon could see the fog of each breath he took. The temperature changes were more similar to a desert ecosystem than the mild summers of Tennessee. Just another mystery to solve. Still wearing only his swimming trunks and flip-flops, and with the shotgun in one hand and Slugger in the other, Simon entered Graystone.