The sun will rise higher, radiating hot white forks, cooking the land beneath it. Then the stench of dog shit and body odor starts to mingle with the nauseatingly cocktail of urine, canine and human. This is when the flies join us, feasting on this tantalizing waste. The dogs lie calm or chase one another from one fence to the other, doggy grins stretched happily across their muzzles.

...Then it all stops.

First the flies go, their rasping hum suddenly silenced. Then one dog, usually a hound mix stops and lifts their head toward the forest. Another’s hackles will rise, hair standing straight along the ridge of their spine, and in an explosion of speed it rushes to the fence, fore-leg raised and cocked, tail pined straight behind their body. Pointing. In a feral response our own hairs prickle and snap to attention, goose bumps covering our skin as one or the other of us slowly creep back from the fence, our eyes never leaving the shattered view of the tree line afforded by our rag-tag fortification system. I carefully ease the large hunting rifle from my shoulder and kneel, checking quickly to see if there’s anything I need to adjust or load. Just in case. Usually the tense period will pass without a sight. Usually the dogs lay down their guard, the flies return and we go back to our job. But sometimes... sometimes?

It’s less nerve wracking than it used to be. It’s become habit, reflex. Which is a fact that’s started to make me a little unsettled. If you get too comfortable doing something you might get sloppy, not question what you’re doing so much. Make mistakes. And when it comes to the security of Haven, I certainly don’t want to be the one who fucks up bad enough to let Them all in.

These are our two saviors, insects and dogs. Undead flesh kills anything that it comes in contact with, though it only seems to reanimate humans. Consequently animals give it wide berth. Even flies seem to know that the crawling hordes aren’t edible and when their flickering wings suddenly cease their rhythmic buzz you know They’re close. We’ve all grown sensitive to this fail-safe warning. Haven’s the first place I’ve lived where flies are welcome guests at a dinner party.

Then there’s the dogs. Dogs don’t avoid Them. It’s as if our best friends know that their evolutionary meal ticket is in peril. They’ve formed the one species apart from our own to take an offensive stance against the Roamers. We’ve started bringing dogs everywhere with us, whole packs. Bred specifically to keep us alive. You don’t go anywhere outside the inner gates without a group of them, they’re more important than people. At least dogs don’t jerk back to life and turn on you.

Not everyone would be able to handle our new lives. Many haven’t. Many aren’t. Every day is a test and more and more of us are failing to pass. You can’t really let it get to you, not if you intend to keep yourself out of the statistics. You’ve got to focus. That’s exactly why we have so many jobs. We all know we shouldn’t be working ourselves to the brink of exhaustion but it’s just so damned hard when faced with the stark reality awaiting us outside this fortress. Stumbling, hunting, for us.

Not that death really would be the final curtain call. Not unless we decide to go back to the ceremonial funeral pyres that used to litter the night about once a week. Someone put it in our heads that going into the second ring with so much fire isn’t worth it, the bright lights and ungainly flames too much of a gamble for the foundation of our already shaky existence.

No one asked about just putting a bullet through a poor sod’s brain before we dump them over the outer fence with nothing more than a guilt ridden and hastily mumbled eulogy. Too much of a risk for disease, we all think, despite the fact that we have never once ventured outside to pull the fallen Roamers away from our perimeters. Which probably is why the epidemic hit us so hard last winter.

I know I’ve said this all before but, it’s never far from my thoughts these days. Especially as the tense instances in the pit have increased again. I’ll explain more details, the chores, the private social battles and the teeth gritting reality of every day life as it’s lived now. With the Roamers. Not now. Not after today. Too tired...

The Beginning
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Final Chapter