The Book of Riley: PT 1
My Name is Riley
Mark Tufo
This book is a work of fiction. Names, Characters, places and events are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual names, characters and places are entirely coincidental. The reproduction of this work in full or part is forbidden without written consent from the author.
Copyright 2012 Mark Tufo
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Cover Art:
Cover Art by Shaed Studios, shaedstudios.com
License Notes
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.
Dedications: To my wife, who somehow is miraculously able to put up with me. I never figured myself as high maintenance, who knew? Thank you for all your hard work on being able to get this book out on time. I love you and I hit the lottery the day you said yes.
As always to the men and women of the armed services, thank you for all you do!
To my readers, who make all this possible, without your continued support I would be that weird guy washing windshields at that really long traffic light that you just want to turn green QUICKLY. I feel like I should say more than Thank You, but please know that I mean it from the bottom of my heart!
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
PROLOGUE
Hello Dear Reader you hold in your hands part one of four of The Book of Riley. This first installment of the novella serialization is entitled My Name is Riley. Here is the how this book came about, a couple of years ago when I was brand new to the independent author arena, a fellow author by the name of Armand Rosamilia contacted me and asked if I wanted the chance to have a short story published in his upcoming anthology. I was extremely excited at the prospect and then he sort of put the fear of God into me when he mentioned some of the other authors that would be included, Joe McKinney, Ian Woodhead, Scott Nicholson and Armand himself, those are some pretty huge names in my genre. I wanted something unique, that is the reason I went with a zombie apocalypse through the eyes of an American Bulldog, if you know me at all you are sitting back and scratching your head, ‘Why didn’t he use an English Bulldog like Henry?’ Oh I thought long and hard about it, but being around English Bullies for as long as I have been I know that a great many of them, my Henry included would sleep through the vast majority of action sequences and I wanted the story to be as believable as possible given the circumstances.
So there I was, Armand had imposed a harsh word limit, by my standards, of 5000 words, before I knew it I had hit that number and was ready to keep going. I had a satisfactory ending at that point but not a conclusive one. And who am I kidding, I was enjoying the characters and their interplay immensely, within a few months during off time I rounded out the first installment to around 26 or 27 thousand words. My goal is to do another three installments roughly all the same length. Again if you know me this will probably end up being 15 or 16 installments, but first things first, I really hope you enjoy this story!
CHAPTER ONE
My name is Riley and this is my story. The fact I am a ninety pound female and a mere three summer seasons old should in no way dissuade you from how tough I am. I can run faster than any person I know, and I have a bite that might not be enough to snap a cow’s leg but is certainly enough to cause a human - even a dead one - some serious problems. I am what the two-legged animals call an American Bulldog, although I have the heart of my wolf ancestors. Unlike what some misinformed scientists have claimed, I am self-aware. I love my pack of humans. There’s the Alpha male named Charles, the Alpha female Heather, the oldest female cub Jessie (my favorite), the younger male cub Daniel (who needs a lesson in manners, if he pulls my ears one more time I will relieve myself on his pillow) and the infant cub who is my second favorite, Zachary (he always has so many unique smells going on). I tolerate the little pain in the ass Yorkshire Terrier known as Ben-Ben, that thing yips when the wind blows. Haven’t a had decent night’s rest since they brought him back from the animal dumping facility, or to you humans, the pound. And last and definitely least is the cat; one of these days I’m going to catch that little fleabag and… well let’s just say it won’t be pretty. I don’t know what kind of spell she has over the humans because they absolutely adore the purring pestilence known as Patches.
The night the world changed I had hopped the dog gate to get away from Ben-Ben. I was sleeping on Heather’s couch in the living room. Ben-Ben wouldn’t shut up.
“Definitely something out there, Riley,” he kept saying over and over. I couldn’t bury my head deep enough in the cushions to drown him out. “Don’t you hear it Riley?” he asked, getting louder and louder.
“I can’t hear anything over you!” I shouted at him. Damn, I had to be quiet. If I barked any louder one or both of the Alphas would wake up and come downstairs. I could get back over the gate before either got here but oh, the bother of it all. The couch was so comfortable. Ben-Ben was in the other room and if that little bitch cat snuck down here at any time like she does, I might have gotten a shot at curtailing her worthless life.
“Rileeeeyy, you should get in here!” Ben-Ben whined.
“Shut up Ben-Ben!” came from the pack leader’s bedroom.
Dammit, Ben-Ben, I thought. Now I’m going to have to come back into the dog room. I hated his whimpering, not much of a Wolf’s heart beat in his thin chest. I got off the couch, not even caring I had knocked off two of the pillows, and yes I can count. So let’s get all these misconceptions out of the way before I go any further. I can and do watch television but I can’t stand most of the stuff they have on unless it involves cats falling off of things. I can count, I admit not much higher than seven though. I do understand the passage of time. I know what the humans are saying to me when they use their strange language, I just choose which parts I want to listen to, especially if the word ‘cookie’ is thrown in there somewhere. I absolutely loathe begging but I am not above it. Never once have I thought my meat flavored kibble bits tasted better than a cheeseburger or French fries, or French toast or even plain toast with some jelly or butter, I’ll even eat just the butter if I can get a hold of it. They’ve learned since the last time I jumped up on the counter to always make sure it is put away back in the cold box. But the Daniel cub usually forgets and I can get a few good licks in on the stick before someone realizes his mistake.
I hopped back over the gate nearly landing on Ben-Ben’s head; he was crouched up next to it. “I smell fear urine,” I nipped at him. I hated that smell; he had done it for the first week after they had brought him here. I had told him I would eat him if he kept doing that and if he didn’t quit all of his barking. One year later and I still haven’t persuaded him to be quiet, though the urination has stopped.
“Riley, there are people in the backyard,” Ben-Ben said as he tried to retreat farther into the shadows of the room.
I perked up now. Nobody came into my yard unless the humans said it was okay and even then the visitors still had to get my approval. I strode quickly (because running was undignified if the situation didn’t necessitate it) to the backdoor and moved the curtain so I could see outside. W
hat met my eyes was an abomination. Warm urine ran down my leg.
“Oh, this is bad, bad, bad!” Ben-Ben whimpered.
I was inclined to agree with him. There were many more than seven human things in the backyard. I really wished now I had paid more attention when the Daniel cub was doing his math homework but I’d never been able to steal more than seven cookies before I was found out and never saw a reason to go past that number. What was in the backyard was human once but no more. They smelled dead, not long, but dead all the same. Yes, I know the concept of death too, I mourn like almost every other animal on the planet, except for cats. When I was brought to my new pack I had the honor of knowing and loving the dog that was here before me. King George was an English Bulldog who took very little guff from anybody, especially a wet nosed puppy. He taught me all about the people who lived here, who was the easiest to beg food from, who gave the best walks and tummy rubs, who dropped the most food, and who was absolutely the best to snuggle with. Zachary had not yet been born, though Heather was heavy with him. When my best friend died, I did not sleep or eat right for almost a complete cycle of the moon. King George will always be the noblest dog I have ever known.
“Ben-Ben, bark louder!” I shouted, doing my best to match him in volume. I never could figure out how such a little dog packed such a loud punch. The only thing I had going for me was that I barked so infrequently that when I did it generally signified something important, and the two-leggers would usually come quickly. This time was no different; the Alpha Charles was muttering something as he switched on the kitchen light. He started swearing after his toes slammed into the dog gate.
When he finally moved the gate out of the way his cursing grew even louder and more colorful as one of his sock covered feet splashed in Ben-Ben’s fear urine. “Oh, for the love of all that is mighty and good, Ben-Ben, what the hell are you barking at?” Ben-Ben was damn near invisible as he hid behind the kitchen table. The human noticed me standing at the door, back ramrod straight and I hated to admit it but my hind legs were quivering. “What’s a matter, girl?” he cooed. “Something out there?” I could hear the fear in his voice as his words lost most of their volume. He cursed softly as his one still dry foot found its way into my fear urine. “What the hell is going on, girl? This isn’t like you,” he said as he stroked my back. I was thankful for the contact but still scared out of my wits.
Ben-Ben was still whining. “Rileeeeey, are they any closer?”
“Shut up!” both me and Alpha Charles said.
“What the fuck?” Alpha said as he peered through the glass on the doors. “Damn punks.” I could sense he wanted to open the door and yell at them, but even humans with their horrible sense of instinct can still tell when something is so stupendously wrong. That and I know he could count way past seven and one against way past seven was not great odds, unless the enemy were cats and then all bets were off.
“You with me on this?” Alpha asked me. This was one of those times I wanted to pretend I didn’t know the meaning of his communication. Cookie or not, I would stand with the pack leader. I looked up at with him with my best pleading eyes, imploring him to not open that door. I barked once in warning negation but I think he took that as a sign of my acquiescence. He opened the door slowly. The smell coming from the yard was worse than Zachary’s diapers, which actually isn’t a fair comparison because I find his offal to be somewhat sweet even if the rest of the members of my pack felt otherwise. Alpha was having a difficult time breathing in the stink I was experiencing many more times than seven.
He was hunched over preparing to evacuate the salami sandwich he had shared with me earlier. My stomach was roiling too but that meat had been entirely too tasty to let it hit the ground; I could have done without the mustard but the cheese was an added bonus. The things in the yard all started to come toward the porch steps. Alpha looked almost as bad as them, and still he hadn’t thrown up or looked up. I bit him a little harder on the leg than I had meant to.
“Fug, Riley!” he yelled, choking back vomit. “What are you doing?”
I turned away from him and moved to the bottom step, which was exactly two steps away. I know two is less than seven but not by how many. Didn’t matter, though; the approaching thing was a lot closer to us than we needed to be to it. Alpha had followed my line of sight. He reached over and roughly grabbed my collar and pulled me back in the house. I don’t know why he felt the need to do that; I wasn’t going to attack that thing. No sooner had he closed and locked the door when he tossed his dinner and after dinner snack all over the floor. Even Ben-Ben, the dog equivalent of a waste bucket, wouldn’t come out from his hiding spot to eat the floor buffet and I’d seen that little pecker eat his own turds. I always laughed (yes, dogs have a sense of humor—haven’t you noticed how we always walk right in front of you and stop abruptly? We find that to be just about the funniest thing ever when you do everything in your power to not run into us) when Daniel would let Ben-Ben lick all over his face. I would have stopped it but that cub always takes my toys—fair is fair.
“Heather!” Alpha screamed as he stood up, swaths of brown-tinged spittle hanging from his face. Before she could respond, the closest thing slammed into the door. Alpha and myself both took an involuntary step backward. I stood there transfixed by the image on the other side of the glass. Alpha slipped once as he hit Ben-Ben’s piss and then he was down the hallway yelling for his wife to ‘get the kids up and get the guns’. I hated the noise the fire sticks made but I saw the wisdom in them at the moment.
“Riley, is it safe to come out?” Ben-Ben asked.
The thing I was to learn was a zombie stared at me with one good eye. The other was streaked in blood; someone had scratched runnels from the top of the zombie’s forehead through its eye and halfway down his cheek. It did not seem to care that it would never see from that side again. That one good eye, though, would not stop following me as I backed out of the room. I couldn’t really stand the little dog, but no one deserves to go out that way. “Let’s go, Ben-Ben,” I said with more force than I felt.
He never looked at the backdoor as he scurried past me and into the living room, a fresh stream of piss following him. “Why don’t you just leave a trail of bread crumbs?” I barked at Ben-Ben. (Yes, I like faery tales, Alpha female always reads them to her youngest cub; I find them completely entertaining to go to sleep with, especially the one about the big bad wolf!)
The glass backdoor breaking got me moving. I almost ran straight into Ben-Ben who was shaking so uncontrollably his bowels had loosed. I was thinking if not for the zombies, Alpha female would send him back to dog prison. I hurdled over the much smaller dog and waited at the landing to the top floor. I could hear the kids asking what was going on. She Alpha was trying to use her talking device. “Charles, there’s no answer at the police station!” she shrieked.
“No time!” He was yelling from the room where he kept the fire sticks, I could hear him loading the lead bees. He needed to hurry; my incessant barking should get him moving.
The zombie had broken through the door and was walking down the hallway. Ben-Ben was still shitting; it was like he had been holding his stool for four days. Liquidy brown refuse pooled on the floor behind him, yet the stink of it could not mask the creature walking toward him.
“Ben-Ben!” I barked.
He spared a look over his shoulder. “I can’t stop, Rileeeeey!” he cried.
“Do it while you run, Ben-Ben!” I growled and barked with my most ferocious, menacing face, trying to ward off the zombie with my potential attack. It didn’t even notice me; it was fixated on the Yorkie. Finally, the dog’s mud flap closed and he sprinted past me and up the stairs, leaving poop laced paw prints halfway up; the She Alpha was not going to be happy. The thing, which had been a normal two-legger once, slipped and fell in Ben-Ben’s excrement. Whoa! So he is good for something! I thought. The zombie flopped around in the hallway, getting Ben-Ben’s waste over most of his body. Shit intermi
ngled with the blood running from his face, chunks of it lodged in his multiple wounds that looked like they had been inflicted by the leaden bees. Brown dripped from various places as the zombie regained his balance and stood. I had once seen He Alpha stop everything he was doing when he had accidentally mowed over one of my refuse piles with the grass cutter and some had gotten on his pants. You would have thought he was on fire the way he peeled his clothes off and went into the water pourer. This monster before me took no notice of the crap or my growling as I bounded up the stairs.
Boy cub Daniel was still half asleep as he came to the head of the stairs. He looked like he wanted to go down, so I jumped up the remaining three stairs and knocked him over. His crying only added to the cacophony.
“Dad!” the cub screamed. “Riley is trying to eat me!”
He Alpha came out of the room where he kept his fire sticks. He took one look at me and then down the stairs. “Riley just saved your life,” he Alpha said grimly as he placed the stick to his shoulder. “Stop or I will shoot!” he told the thing ascending the stairs.
She Alpha screamed as she came to the head of the stairs next to her husband. She cub Jessie was behind them both. The cub Daniel was able to peek past my body to see what everyone was staring at. His eyes seemed to grow large with fear, his bladder let loose much like mine and Ben-Ben’s had only moments earlier.
“Dad, it’s a zombie! Shoot it in the head!” the boy cub screamed.
I got off the boy’s chest. This is when I learned the name for the beasts, but I still didn’t know what it meant. It was halfway up to us before the Alpha shot; the noise from the blast was incredibly loud, but the ensuing quiet was among some of the most peaceful I would ever have left. At least until Zachary awoke crying from the shock of the noise, add Ben-Ben’s mewling and the damn cat’s yowling and it was beginning to get very loud.