Drown it with Ale

Short look into a survivor's guilt within a dangerous, post apocalyptic world.

The world had long gone to heck, the state of it affecting every single person and animal around the globe. Pandemics and savagery, along with an inability to control the outbreaks, left society in a state of decay. Buildings and lands alike were overgrown and falling apart, supplies long since looted, while the reanimated corpses wandered in every part of them. The beauty of nature was returning, at least, but it was not an easy or enjoyable existence for most. At the moment, there was safety within the overgrown forests outside of an overgrowth invested town, where leaves as large as cars drooped down and provided a shelter for those intelligent enough to seek them out.

A lone figure sat within, their a*s planted firmly on the ground while pressing their back against a moss covered concrete wall. They were covered in rags and bandages, torn and filthy, with small packs tied to their middle, waist, shoulders, arms, and legs, all holding priceless survival supplies. Next to them was a long barreled gun while at the hip sat a dirty looking pistol, matching the entire 'filthy survivor' look they had going for them. In their hand, however, was a moderately sized bottle, filled with deep caramel liquid, which sloshed around each time they brought it to their lips. Taking generous gulps of the bourbon, they heaved a long sigh before pulling it away and allowing their arm to rest lazily while holding the capless container upright.

There was a suddenly scratching and without warning, the black nose of a doglike creature pushed it's way between the massive leaves. The drunk whipped up their pistol, aiming it at the creature with deadly hip-fire accuracy, but the creature only hesitated before giving a soft chirp. It had large, flared ears and a thick, foxlike tail, but otherwise looked like a normal creature. Around their neck was a thick, leather collar and atop their head was a cyan circle, a marking made with some sort of paint. The person grunted before lowering the gun. "Daiquiri," they greeted the foxdog in a voice gruff from abuse and lack of exercise. Daiquiri gave a soft chirp again in response before trotting to the side of them, the opposite spot where their larger gun was.

"It seems useless, boy," they muttered, eyes glossy with intoxication. "Rat's gone just like her." The black canine whined quietly, pacing in a line with worry for the person. "'I'll be fine, Hadley,' he said. 'The pass is just three days away, and i'll be back." Remarkably, Hadely's voice did not slur in the slightest, but their tone was quiet and subdued with obvious hurt. "I thought I could protect the kid, Dai," they admitted out loud, not for the first or last time. Making long speeches to their companion was not uncommon during times of no danger. "I couldn't save her-- but the *kid*, I thought I could." They paused to take another swig. "I told 'em a rabbit is no partner to keep out here. Only a hunter, like you, can actually help with survival." Hadley's eyes were too bright as they continued in a pained voice. "The fact that the kid had to go off after 'em is proof enough that I was right."

Their eyes threatened to overflow, but it was as if their body refused to betray their stoic front.
"I never wanna be right, Daiquiri."

Author's Note

Admittedly a bit short, but I was physically unwell all day and this was a good, short idea I thought I could pump out and still feel good about. Hadley, Daiquiri, and Rat are all beloved OCs of mine. Will continue if encouraged.