Good Boy

A Story by Jenn Peters

What is that smell? What is that sound? Follow along with Cinder in as he watches his family's life change forever. A short apocalyptic thriller.

It started with Cole. He came home with a reddened face, the whites of his eyes looked like bloody spiderwebs.

I curled into him to try to bring comfort. His tiny body was warmer than the oven after Mom's baking. I knew to never touch the oven, no matter how good it smelled. The tip of my tongue had been burned once when trying to steal a bite.

Cole shifted on the couch. My tail pounded the blanket in response.

My boy.

Dad came into the living room. My eyes followed him but my body remained still, spare for the slight thump of my tail. He turned on the tv, voices raised loud. Scared people shouting. Then he stepped over to the couch to touch Cole's forehead and pat my back. His was face jumbled up and wet. Then he peered out the window.

Is someone coming?

I raise my head intrigued at the idea of a visitor. Who would it be? Grandpa with his treats? Becky to walk me? Or maybe someone else.

Dad stepped away from the window, but not before checking its locks. Then into the kitchen to whisper something to Mom. I rested my head back on Cole's lap.

He twitched. A bit of whiteness dripped from his mouth.

Is that food?

I licked his face to check.

No. Not food. A whine escaped my closed mouth.

Uh oh.

Mom rushed in and pushed me away to fuss over my boy's face.

I looked to the tv as it switched to a tonal sound. No more faces and screaming. The tone hurt my ears and a whined again.

"Stop it, Cinder." Dad scolded me. I curled into my own bed watched them tend to my boy.

I woke up awhile later. The house was dark. I made my rounds through the rooms and hallway looking for my family or for scraps of food. Happy to find either.

I found Dad sitting against the door of Cole's room. Head held up with one hand. I pushed my head into the free hand on his knee.

He sucked in air hard. "Good boy."

I sniffed at the crack beneath the door. There was a scuffle of two bodies, a sound like a cat and then pound. The door bounced Dad forward.

He cried.

I cried too.

"Stop it! No, Cinder!" Dad scolded me in a voice just above a whisper.

I sat, looking from him back to the door.

Something was in there. I could smell it. It smelled like death.

I wanted to roll in the stench.

But instead, I sat.

With Dad.

And I waited.