He received such a warning now, as he felt the dog stiffen beside him. Dean silently backed up further into the barbershop.
Sure enough, half a minute later a shape passed in front of the busted-out window. Dean guessed it was trying to locate the noise.
Dean waited a few minutes. Nuggets gave no more indications of danger nearby, so he decided to finish what he had set out to do in the first place. He softly opened the door to the back room. Not the best lit place, with only one small window, but it would have to do.
Dean took his loot and set up the mirror he had dragged in from the shop. Over the next fifteen minutes, Dean carefully shaved the two-weeks’ worth of hair growth off his face. He regarded his clean-shaven face afterwards.
Just one small nick blemished the result.
Sophie would have approved.
She had hated facial hair. He wasn’t sure if she would approve of his overall look, though.
He admired himself in the mirror.
What was it? A fifteenth-century knight? A twentieth-century soldier? Or just a guy who forgot to put his stuff away after the latest LARP session?
Dean grinned. All of the above.
The museum had been mostly a dud. The only real thing of value that he found was the flanged mace. After half a dozen uses, he started calling it the One-Hit-Kill.
Most of the armor he found was too small for his large frame, or just in crappy condition. But he was on the right track. He found a phone book in the gift shop of the museum and discovered that the local Live Action Role-Playing Group had a clubhouse just a few blocks away.
He thought he had hit the jackpot when he saw all the suits of armor lying around in that place. Dean gleefully jogged over to the bench and picked up the first piece. It was so much lighter than he’d anticipated that he almost smacked himself in the face with it.
“What the fuck?” he exclaimed as he examined the armor closely. Turned out that the thing was mostly made from foam.
The LARP clubhouse was not a total dud, however. He found some great leather armor that actually fit him, and kick-ass hardened elbow and knee pads. But the real find was in the book of contacts he had found while rifling through the tiny office.
A real blacksmith. Literally around the corner.
It was a goldmine. Dean was now the proud owner of several swords and daggers, and a surprisingly lightweight chainmail shirt. He also found some great boots that, miracle of miracles, fit! The combination of leather and metal offered protection, and on top of that, they were comfortable.
It was on his way back to Dumfrey’s Apothecary (and Nuggets) that he came across the helmet. It was a soldier’s helmet, lying on the sidewalk. No body nearby. Just the helmet. Dean decided to try it on and found it fit well. He wasn’t sure if he really needed the helmet but kept it anyway.
He visited a motorbike shop and found some nice leather gloves with hardened knuckles. An awesome Indian Motorcycle leather jacket completed his ensemble.
Another explosion far off in the distance brought him back to the present. The explosion was followed by the sounds of a large caliber rifle. Dean could almost imagine a sniper picking off targets from an approaching horde.
These weren’t the first signs of life he had witnessed. He had seen several people in houses, watching him with fear in their eyes as he traveled along the abandoned streets. He got the message loud and clear. Do not approach.
But this was different. These guys were making a stand. Also, Dean was terribly lonely and curious.
He felt a presence at his side and looked down at his companion.
OK. Not terribly lonely.
He smiled at the dog. Sure, Nuggets was a great early warning signal and knew when to stay quiet. But more importantly, his four-legged friend had been an invaluable companion.
Losing Sophie almost broke me. Would have broken me, if it wasn’t for the dog.
At first it was the responsibility of gathering food for Nuggets and making sure he was all right. It filled the gap left behind by Sophie. He’d always felt responsible for his girlfriend, and admittedly hadn’t known what to do with himself after she died. Taking care of the dog helped him feel like he was still needed.
Then he’d found out first-hand that the dog had more to offer. The dog listened to him when he had poured his heart out. The dog comforted him when he couldn’t control his emotions any longer. More importantly, the dog was smart and wanted to protect him.
Dean remembered their first encounter with a zombie. It had crept up to the gate, unbeknownst to him. He listened at the gate and figured that the coast was clear, but Nuggets physically placed himself between Dean and the gate. It looked up at him, then squared off towards the portal, its hackles raised. Nuggets never made a noise during the whole event. Dean crept down the yard and did a quick pull-up to look over the fence. Sure enough, there was a zombie standing just beside the gate. Almost as if it were waiting in ambush.
Dean remembered thinking how odd and out of character that was. But now, several days later, he knew better than to be underestimate the abilities of the undead.
They are learning. Getting smarter. Dean shuddered, and Nuggets leaned into him in response.
He looked down at the dog, and it gave him the same look that it had always given him. One of pure love and devotion. Nuggets had not replaced Sophie. Nothing could. But that dog had pulled him back from the precipice.
A long stream of gunshots rang far in the distance. Dean frowned as he stared off.
It sounded somewhere to the west. Dean figured it
