Apocalypsis 01 - Kahayatle

idiot.   And hurry up.   This guy is heavy.”
    Guy?   I wished like hell I had a peephole.   Instead, I got my gun ready, flicking the safety off and bringing it level with the edge of the opening.   I unlocked the door and flung it open, holding the gun out in front of me with stiff arms.
    “Don’t shoot,” said Peter in a tired voice, standing on the front stoop holding a dirty, gray-brown mass of tangled cotton that looked like a badly used mop head.
    The mop head moved.
    It squirmed a little.
    And then it barked.  
    ***
    “Oh, hell no, you are not bringing that thing in here,” I said, as Peter brushed past me to move into the front hall.
    “Be quiet and shut the door.   You’ll wake up the raiders.”
    I shut the door as I yelled at him in a low tone.   “What the hell were you thinking, Peter?   We can’t take this dog with us!   He’ll bark his head off!”
    “Exactly,” said Peter, pulling the backpack off his shoulders.   It wasn’t totally empty, and had at least one can in it.   I could hear it hit the floor as he lost his grip on the strap and let the bag go, reaching down to calm a shivering poodle.   “His collar says his name is Buster.”
    “Yeah, I know his name.”   I’d heard his crazy owner calling to him many times.   I glanced down at the mutt and he looked up at me with his big brown eyes, barely visible behind matted, raggedy hair clumps.   I felt my heart start to soften, so I looked away.   We couldn’t afford to get all mushy over a stupid dog that was only going to get us killed.
    “I couldn’t just leave him there.   He would have died.”
    “Well, he’s managed to survive for months on his own.   I hate to think about how he’s done that.”   Visions of my old neighbor being eaten by his poodle made me feel like laughing and barfing at the same time.   It was funny in a very, very sick way.
    “He wasn’t eating his master, if that’s what you mean.   The old man who lived there had spread about twenty huge bags of dog food out all over the place.”   Peter rubbed the dog under the chin.   “The little guy had managed to dig holes into them and eat the food little by little until most of it was gone.”   Peter started baby-talking then.   “He did all his poo-poo and pee-pee in a back bedroom … didn’t you, Buster?   Didn’t you big boy?”
    “Was there any left?   Dog food, I mean?”   I wasn’t opposed to eating dog food, even though I knew it was made of pieces parts and probably a healthy dose of horse meat too.
    “Not much.   I have it in the bag.”
    I grabbed the backpack, looking inside.   There were several canned goods, a plastic bag of what felt like dog food, and a small book.   I pulled the book out and turned it over in my hands.   It was more a journal than anything, and it had a piece of paper sticking out of it.
    “What’s this?”
    “Open it and see,” said Peter, softly.   He gently pushed clumps of hair out of Buster’s eyes, which went right back to where they had been, despite his efforts.
    I walked over to the kitchen, pulling the paper out as I went.   I reached into a drawer absently, taking the scissors from inside and walking back to hand them to Peter.   “Cut his stupid hair.”
    The paper was actually an envelope.   I turned it over and saw that it had my name on it.
    “What the hell?” I said to no one.   Why did that old guy have an envelope with my name on it in his house?   I looked at Peter, suspiciously.   “Did you do this?   Is this some kind of joke, so I’ll agree to keep the dog?”
    Peter shook his head, still not meeting my eyes.   “No.   I found it on his kitchen counter, near the phone.   He had a stack of papers there, but this is the only thing that had your name on it.”
    I turned it over, noticing that it wasn’t sealed.   The paper inside was crisp and white, the writing done with blue ink, in old-fashioned script, the careful and precise penmanship making it seem almost like a work of art.   His note took up the entire page.
    Dear Bryn,   I wish I could open this letter by saying ‘I hope you are well,’ but it seems almost foolish to assume that this could be the case.   If you are reading this, it is most likely because I have met my end and you are alone in this world without your father to care for you.   I don’t know why God has seen fit to bring this disaster down upon the heads of our youth, but it is what it is and I can do