Logan could not stop looking back over his shoulder. He had ventured out for a supply run even though the canned food and bottled water at home were enough for another week. He decided it was best to get new supplies while the coast was clear – or as clear as it could be when the air was thick with the heavy, cloying scent of broken promises and expensive cologne.
Benjamin followed closely, ready to pounce at anything that moved. All 19kg of his lean body under the shiny black fur was filled with the determination of keeping Logan safe. In this apocalypse, a dog that barks at every hint of movement was a liability, yet Logan would not leave him behind. He wouldn’t even leave him at home; who knew when a corrupt official or two might try to break into the house to “requisition” his last bottle of clean water?
They made their way home safely. After Logan blocked the front door with a heavy dresser, he sank onto the couch. Benjamin joined him immediately, resting a heavy head on Logan’s knee.
Outside, the corrupted and hypocritical politicians still roamed the streets in their tattered suits. The social climate had become so toxic, the people had simply decided to stay indoors, boarding up their lives to escape the noise. It stank to high heaven out there – a mix of stagnant greed and decaying integrity. But the “walkers” in the capital didn’t seem to notice. They were rotting away in plain sight, yet they genuinely believed they would rule forever.
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