Rosie 3: United

‘Don’t give me any trouble, and I won’t give you any trouble.’

The man held up the long, flat piece of metal at Rosie. Dim sunlight through the doors glared off the steel that wasn’t covered in dark, dried red. Crouching, he watched her wagging tail, not noticing—or caring—when she whined.

When he finally stood, Rosie followed him through the store, searching the shelves and aisles. He spun around to her claws tapping the tiles, eyes wide and urgent, and pointed the metal at her again.

‘Did you hear me?’ he said, louder. ‘You think I won’t use this thing on you? What do you think all this blood’s from, huh?’ He pointed at the metal with his free hand. ‘Leave me alone if you don’t want your head split open.’

Rosie sat, panting, tail wagging, unsure of his words but understanding the hostility enough to keep her distance as he continued browsing. Still, she hadn’t seen one like him since Julie and the others; there was no way she was going to ignore this opportunity.

She followed the man through the aisles at a distance. He glared back at her periodically with heavy, angry breaths but said nothing more. He muttered under his breath constantly, unsatisfied, but Rosie couldn’t imagine why; if she could reach the top shelves like him, she’d be spoiled for choice.

Before he reached the aisle Rosie and Male had fought the others, before he could see the blood trail from Grey or the room of death Rosie didn’t want to return to, the man finally stopped. He crouched to pick up a large, soft bag that rustled with movement.

‘Perfect,’ he said. ‘Fucking pet store. Of course.’

He removed the pack from his back and put the bag inside. Rosie inched closer, curious what he’d found. It didn’t smell like food; more like outside, trees and grass and dirt, scents reminding her of Julie taking Rosie to the big, open green places, some of her favourite places in the world.

‘Hey!’ He zipped up his pack, threw it over his shoulder, stood to jab the metal stick in her direction. ‘What did I say!? Back up, buddy!’ His desperate eyes stayed glued to Rosie while the metal trembled in his grip, breath quickening. Rosie panted, tail wagging, unfazed by his threats. He eventually dropped the metal to his waist and sighed. ‘Look, I’m leaving, okay? I got what I came for. The rest is all yours.’

He headed for the entrance, circling back through another aisle to avoid crossing Rosie. She followed him until he pulled a front door open and left the building. Looking back at the stocks of food, more than she could ever eat, she remembered Male’s warning; others like her nearby would think the same, and would fight her over the territory as Grey and Brown had—a fight Rosie would have easily lost, if not for Male.

There was almost no decision to make. She squeezed through the cracked open door into the late afternoon greyness and trotted after the man.

Rosie ran to catch up with him shrinking in the distance. When she was close he spun around, halting his quiet muttering and raising the metal, almost falling over at her sudden approach.

‘What… You? What are you doing? Leave me alone!’ he shouted, waving the metal around aimlessly while Rosie tilted her head to the side. He relaxed, though his eyes—the rest of his face covered by cloth—were still full of fear, wariness, confusion.

He shook his head and lowered the metal to his side again. ‘Stop following me. I mean it. I’ll kill you, cook you up and eat you. Don’t think I won’t, I’ve done it before.’ His unintelligible words came erratic, shaky and unsure, like his movements.

He turned back around and continued through the empty streets, Rosie following along further behind. It was strange to see one like him, like Julie, walking through this place again, the wide, twisting roads lined with incredible towers and buildings that had once held an incomprehensible number of them. Seeing just one, single man traversing the empty environment made Rosie anxious, but not as much as the idea of never seeing him again—the first like him she’d seen in so, so long.

As the sun fell behind the buildings the sky faded from white to dark grey. Rosie followed the man through the streets, weaving between the empty big, moving boxes, alleys and walkways, even through some building interiors. He stopped every few minutes to turn and shout, scream, threaten her with big, imposing gestures, sometimes taking a few determined steps towards her to push her back, but never successfully sending her away.

When he finally stopped at the entrance of another tall building, the same as all the others, Rosie sat, waiting for him to turn and scare her again. Instead he spoke softly without looking at her.

‘End of the line, okay? I mean it.’ He looked at the entrance before him, back at the ground. ‘You’re not coming in here. I’m not going to… what, help you, or whatever it is you’re following me around for, okay? I can’t help you. I mean, you can take care of yourself, right? You’ve survived out here this long.’ He finally looked at her, properly for the first time since they’d met, her patches of missing fur, the scratches and blood in her coat, especially around her neck. ‘Christ, maybe you can’t. Anyway, you aren’t my problem. So beat it.’

He went through the door and that heavily closed behind him, footsteps fading inside. She sat and waited, reminded of the countless times she’d waited at her own door for Julie, and how long it had been since she left.

Instead, Rosie crossed the street to a small shelter—three walls and a roof, a single long, cold bench along the back wall. She curled up into herself beneath the bench. There were likely more comfortable and enclosed places to sleep nearby, but none close enough to keep the door within view. She watched it across the road, exhausted, eyes heavy, her body still demanding more rest after her injuries, and drifted to sleep.

A sharp sound cut through the rain tapping on the glass above Rosie, waking her. The door was closed, but the man’s quiet muttering made her glance down the street where he walked.

She stretched, her rest less than desirable, and chased after him, not getting too close before slowing her pace to match his.

He heard her approach and turned. ‘You’re still here!? What are you, my… my… I don’t know, guardian angel, or something? Just leave me alone!’ Neither moved, rain dotting them both, anger in his rapidly blinking eyes before softening to confusion. ‘You… you are real, aren’t you?’

Rosie sat, tail wagging, tongue hanging from her panting mouth. She didn’t understand the question, but she liked his change of tone.

‘Jesus Christ,’ he muttered. ‘I can’t deal with this right now. I’m busy. Do us both a favour and please, just… fuck off.’

He continued walking. Rosie continued following.

She stayed a number of steps behind, sometimes lagging farther when he turned to have an outburst, sometimes closer; he was either warming up to her presence or had given up trying to get rid of her. She saw more of this huge, vertical, grey place than she ever would have on her own, following him through all sorts of buildings and structures, sometimes for only a few minutes, sometimes longer as he scoured through the many rooms and floors.

He always held the metal stick ready when they entered a new interior, and the next building was no different. Rosie followed him up the stairs into darkness, darker than any other place they’d gone that day, illuminated only by another metal stick the man held, shorter, without edges, shooting a beam of light wherever he pointed it. He put out the light anytime they neared a window, the sun piercing through the thick clouds outside casting its dim light inside, but as Rosie followed, he seemed intent only on journeying deeper and deeper into the structure.

Rosie had no experience with the environment; the closest thing she could recall was a room Julie had spent time in back home. She’d sit and stare at a square of light, flashing and changing faster than Rosie could comprehend. While Julie watched the square she’d tap her fingers on a row of smaller squares below, producing a pleasing rhythm of clicks similar to the rain Rosie has woken to that morning.

Rosie recognised the squares of light and rows of smaller squares beneath, but here there were hundreds lined up on small desks walled off from one another, hundreds of empty chairs tucked beneath. No light came from the squares for people to stare at, no fingers tapping on the smaller rows.

The dark, eerie emptiness didn’t deter the man. He combed through row after row of desks, throwing drawers open and emptying the contents in frustration, even tossing a light square across the room here and there, shouting through heaving breaths.

At least his fury was no longer directed at her; Rosie kept her distance as his rage built, not wanting that to change.

Instead, she caught a nearby scent, cutting through the overwhelming dust and plastic. He was busy rifling through endless desks, and she’d easily be able to find him again; even if he stopped making so much noise, she now knew his scent.

The smell led her to a door she pushed open to a small kitchen, like where Julie and the others had made food, stored food in the big, white, cold box, like where Rosie and Sanders had left the house to scavenge. Much like their home, none of the furniture of appliances made noise or glowed with use now. The room was silent, dead, like everything else.

Still, there was the entrancing smell that had lured Rosie here. She nudged open a few cupboards, searching for the source.

It wasn’t difficult to find.

One cupboard was filled with food, a handful of different scents mingling together to produce something incredible. She stuck her face in and clasped her teeth on the one that smelled best; a long, thin, red stick, spicy and tangy. Everything in the stash was housed in a layer of inedible clear film; nothing Rosie couldn’t easily get through.

She chewed through a few of the sticks before realising the man had grown quiet, distant. With a mouthful of the sticks and other treats, Rosie trotted back through the rows of desks and light squares to find the man sitting, leaning on a wall with his face in his hands, shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths. It was the most still and silent she’d ever seen him.

Rosie softly whined until she was close enough for him to hear her. His face shot up as his hand darted to the metal stick, relaxing slightly when he saw her.

‘What are you still fucking doing here?’ His anger had faded, defeated.

She sat just beyond his reach, dropping the wealth of treats from her mouth. The man didn’t immediately notice, but when he did he narrowed his eyes at the small pile, at her.

‘What’s all this?’ he said. ‘Bringing me gifts now, is that it?’

He reached over, eyes always on her, and grabbed one of the snacks, a small foil bag. He turned it over in his fingers and settled back against the wall, eventually splitting the bag open and sniffing.

‘Peanuts last a while, right?’ he asked, not really speaking to Rosie. ‘Past the expiration date. As if that means anything.’

He pulled a piece out, peering at it closely, finally throwing it in his mouth. He chewed for longer than Rosie thought necessary, given the small size of the treat.

After swallowing with a heavy sigh he turned to Rosie, sucking his teeth while she panted, tail wagging. When he finally moved—fast enough for Rosie to step back, worried he was attacking her—he scooped the pile of treats towards himself and shoved them into the many pockets of his thin, raggedy coat.

He leaned his head back to pour the rest of the first bag he’d opened into his mouth. He pointed at Rosie, chewing, the empty bag scrunched beneath his fingers, and said, ‘This doesn’t mean anything. I could’ve found all this shit myself, if I was actually looking.’ She tilted her head before resting it between her arms on the ground, looking up at him. He muttered under his breath, eyes darting between the wall in front of him, his pockets, her. Rosie lifted her head again when he pulled another snack out, unwrapped the cover, and threw it at her.

The small disc bounced off her noise, startling her, but she sniffed the brown snack and scooped it up with her tongue, the dry, crumbling texture satisfying and tasty.

I mean it,’ the man said, throwing another disc at her when she’d finished the first. ‘This doesn’t mean shit. Got it?’ He threw another disc, Rosie catching it this time, the man blinking with shock, perhaps a little impressed.

He returned to rifling through desks and drawers, less angrily now as he had something to slowly snack on. He didn’t even seem to mind Rosie following right behind him, though he never acknowledged her beyond a few quick, annoyed glances.

When they left the building, having scoured through a number of floors, the sun had disappeared behind the towering structures to darken their grey, empty world. Rosie followed him back through the streets until they returned to his door and the shelter Rosie had slept the previous night.

He finally looked at her expectantly, holding the door handle while she waited.

‘What? What do you want?’ He turned and pointed at the shelter across the street. ‘That’s where you slept last night, right? Go, leave me alone.’ Rosie followed his gesture and looked at the shelter, back at him, panting. He sighed and dug through his pockets. ‘Here, you want this? There.’ He scattered the small, dry, crumbling discs on the pavement between them. Rosie sniffed at them but didn’t eat, despite her hunger. He still watched at her, waiting for something, and if she started to eat he’d take the distraction as an opportunity to disappear behind the door.

‘Don’t you fucking get it!?’ He shook his fists over her. ‘I’m not your fucking friend! Leave me alone, okay!? I’m not going to fucking look after you, you stupid bitch!’

Rosie shrunk beneath his anger, though didn’t step away. The man heaved, wild eyes boring into her, until he finally sighed and straightened, shaking his head. Without another word, he opened the door and stepped into the building, closing it behind him.

Unlike the previous day, Rosie heard no footsteps fading with distance behind the door. She rested her head between her arms and waited. The rain had stopped at some point during their scavenging, but now returned with a small drizzle Rosie blinked through every few moments.

She never heard his receding footsteps. Instead, the door clicked and creaked open again and the man stepped back into the mist, looking down at her annoyed, as if hoping she wouldn’t still be there.

‘Fuck. Fine. You can come in.’ Rosie stood, tail wagging excitedly. ‘But if you do even one little thing that I don’t like, I’m cooking you up and eating you for dinner. Got it?’ His stern tone and pointed finger did nothing to dampen Rosie’s mood.

He stepped aside for her to enter first. Closing the door behind them, he led the way through a large open room, long, large furniture scattered about and a number of doors on each wall. He walked to one and opened it to a staircase they both climbed for a long time, so long that Rosie was panting and tired by the time they reached the very top.

He opened a pair of doors into a huge open room. A giant bed at one end, a sharp, monochromatic kitchen at the other. Half the walls were windows from the floor to the ceiling, displaying a view of the surrounding towers at their incredible varying heights, the sky blanketing it all in a dark grey as the sun had all but set.

‘Welcome to my home,’ the man said, still annoyed. ‘Don’t fucking touch anything, alright?’

Rosie watched him remove his bag, shoes, face cloth, and coat, showing more of his thin figure than she’d seen. He moved to the kitchen area and emptied his pockets of the snacks Rosie had found into a cupboard. She took his nonchalance as a sign to explore.

She walked around the room to sniff everything she could. It had been a long time since she’d had so many new smells in such a confined space, everything covered by a layer of the man’s own scent. It reminded her of home, of her own people, of Julie.

A wall in the centre of the room was lined with shelves stacked with books like Julie used to read, some small and thick, others larger and thinner with more pictures than words. Many were scattered about the whole room, folded or opened face down.

As with the books, strange wooden and metal objects with thin strings stretched across them lay around, ready to be picked up at any moment. They varied in size and shape, though most were at least as large as Rosie.

The glass wall opened to a smaller area outside, lined with wooden floorboards surrounded by a smaller glass fence, the open sky beyond. Between pieces of wicker furniture, one end of the area was a low walled-in section of dirt with a number of different sprouting plants in organised sections. The large bag the man had taken from the place where he and Rosie first met sat beside it, torn open and spilling its dark, crumbling contents. At the other end of the balcony sat a huge tub, full of water and still collecting more small drops hitting its surface.

The man watched Rosie survey her new surroundings. ‘Hey,’ he finally said. She looked up from the pages of an open, face-down book. ‘Don’t get that wet, alright? It’s important.’ He rolled his eyes and stomped over to pick up the book. ‘I need to know which page I’m up to; if you move it around I’ll lose my place.’ He put it on a shelf out of her reach.

She continued exploring, moving to one of the wooden metal objects; a wide, heavy part at the bottom with a long, thin part sticking out the top, strings stretched across the whole thing. Wood, steel, and dust filled her nose.

‘Don’t, fucking,’ he said, stomping over again. ‘Strings don’t last forever! Don’t break them.’ He picked up the instrument by the thin part. He froze and looked at it longingly. ‘As if it matters. I haven’t played it for fucking…’ Rosie watched him, appreciating the gentler tone. He met her eyes and scoffed. ‘What? It’s not my fault! I was never any good. I used to just play because I was bored. A… a while ago. But, hey, what’s the point, right? Who am I going to fucking play guitar for?’ She tilted her head, listening. ‘What, you?’ He laughed. ‘Sure. Why don’t you take a seat, the show’s about to start. Please, no flash photography or crowd surfing.’ He snorted and shook his head, eyes drifting into memory. ‘You know, I… I used to pretend like I was actually performing for people. I’d stand out there on the balcony, get fucking wasted and scream my heart out, jamming whatever shit I could.’ He slowly put the instrument back in its place, neater this time. ‘That got old pretty quick. Everything does, right?’

The sadness in his eyes prompted her to whine.

‘Don’t fucking pity me. I’m still here, right? That’s more than you can say for, fucking… anyone.’

He disappeared into memory, not realising Rosie stood to find the next curiosity. A wire stretched wall to wall high across the entire room, with an assortment of rags and clothes hanging from it. One in particular caught Rosie’s eye, a shirt with bright stripes of different colours along it, in better condition than the other monotone garments. Out of her reach, she let out a small yelp to catch the man’s attention.

He snapped out of his trance to revert back to frustration. ‘Hey, keep quiet!’ He stomped over. ‘Don’t start annoying me with your shit, alright? I meant what I said; it’s been a while since I’ve had fresh meat.’

She lowered her head until he calmed and looked at the colourful garment, drifting off again. He reached for it but stopped and looked down at her, eyes narrowed. ‘Are you just going to walk around here and expect me to explain every little thing you find to you? Huh? Because, guess what, I have better things to do.’ His eyes darted around the room. ‘Even if it doesn’t seem like it, I do.’ She kept watching him, silent, curious. ‘Oh, like what?’ he began, frustrated. ‘Well, I’ve survived this long, haven’t I? I need to eat, drink, keep clean… That doesn’t all just happen, you know. You see the garden out there?’ He pointed outside. ‘Did all that myself. Read a bunch of books to do it right, and now look at it. And the tub, out there? I pulled that fucking thing out of the bathroom. I wasn’t getting use out of it in there. I haven’t had running water for… for…’

He trailed off, his expression changing rapidly, until he forgot Rosie was there and returned to the kitchen. He searched through a cupboard to pull out a bag he opened and began munching on the contents. He met her eyes across the room, as if he’d forgotten she was there. ‘What? I’ll eat whatever I want for dinner, alright? I keep fit enough climbing those stairs every day.’

Rosie watched him eat a handful from the bag, licking her lips. Her stomach grumbled, having barely eaten all day.

Recognition flashed over his face and he rolled his eyes, crouching to look through the cupboard again, muttering. Eventually he stood and unwrapped an assortment of the food Rosie had found earlier. He went to another cupboard to retrieve two bowls, putting the snacks in one and pouring water from a huge, full bottle into the other. He came around and put both on the floor in the kitchen.

Rosie’s entire rear wagged as she walked over. It had been a long time since she hadn’t needed to feed herself, but she’d never realised how much she’d missed the ritual until it was happening. She thought of Julie, of Sanders and the others, her old life so distant, but with the loss came a sense of hope that maybe at least a part of that void could be filled.

When she’d finished eating, the man had buried himself in the bed, still chomping the bag of food hidden beneath the blankets. Rosie came to the side of the bed, but even his face was hidden. She sat and waited until his hand shot out from the mound of sheets, pointing away. ‘You smell like shit, okay? You aren’t stinking up my bed. Sleep somewhere else.’

Not understanding his words but the tone, Rosie obeyed and walked to the wall across from the bed, resting on the cold floor. She watched him—at least, the blanket mound—for a while, but he never surfaced from his cocoon, even when he finished loudly chewing, breathing heavier with sleep.

In the morning, Rosie watched the man silently perform his routine—eating something from the garden outside, drinking water from a large bottle, removing and putting on different garments he pulled from the hanging line. She wagged her tail gratefully when he refilled her bowls with food and water. When he was ready to leave, he stopped at the half-opened door and turned, thinking. He walked back through the room to a rummage through a drawer near the bookshelf, removing a piece of paper. Finally, they left down the long flight of stairs they’d come up yesterday.

They followed a similar path as the previous day, as far as Rosie knew. Content with her eagerly trotting along behind him, he never turned and shouted at her to stop or leave, though after some time Rosie wondered why he wasn’t saying anything, good or bad. He stayed silent, scanning their surroundings and deciding their route beyond Rosie’s understanding, only ever glancing down to look at the small paper he’d brought with him. He never acknowledged Rosie.

At the entrance to another towering building he finally met her eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, hesitating with a small laugh instead. ‘What am I doing?’ His eyes were unamused. ‘How the fuck could this possibly work? What am I thinking? Am I even thinking?’ He continued while he pushed the door open and they both walked in.

Inside was almost identical to the building the previous day, where Rosie had found the snacks; desks with drawers full of small items, light squares now dark and blank atop them, rows of buttons beneath each of them, seats tucked under them all. The man didn’t tirade through the desk’s contents today, however. Instead, he stopped at the first desk and crouched beside Rosie.

‘Fuck it. Worth a shot, right?’

He looked at the paper he’d held all morning before showing it to Rosie. A picture, like Julie used to stick to her wall or line books with. On the left was the man Rosie had been following, on the right a stranger, another man, Rosie didn’t recognise.

‘This is a friend of mine, okay?’ The man sighed. ‘Was a friend. I’m looking for…’ He laughed again, joyless. ‘This is so stupid. Okay, I’m looking for his stuff. He used to work in a place like this, you know, an office building. I just… I don’t know which one, exactly. And I’ve been…’ He shook his head with a tight smile, wet eyes betraying his humour. ‘I’ve been looking for his shit for… for a long fucking time, because he’s the closest thing I ever had to… to caring about someone, and I just want, fucking, something, anything of his to remind me of… of…’

He trailed off, holding a hand over his face. Rosie whined and moved closer, sniffing for whatever upset him, but he flinched back and faced her when she got close. In an instant he’d changed; eyes still wet but angry beneath his lowered brow, pursed lips trembling. ‘Yeah, I know, alright? I’ve heard it all before. “If you were friends, how do you not even know where he worked?” Well, guess what, maybe I wasn’t that good of a friend. Maybe I could’ve been a lot better. Maybe he tried and I never did so everything just ended up shit, and then it was all too late to fucking do anything about it. Okay? Is that what you want to hear?’

Rosie tilted her head, wishing she understood his words, could answer his desperate questions.

He shook his head again, breathing deeply to speak quieter. ‘Fuck. You know what, just… forget about it. What are you going to do, anyway? Sniff out his fucking desk from a picture? Even if I had anything of his, there’d be no fucking scent left to…’ He sighed again. ‘That is what you do though, right? Sniff stuff out? I don’t know, maybe you… maybe you could just try.’

Rosie had never seen the sad vulnerability in his eyes from him, maybe anyone. He shook the picture, held it up to her nose, and pointed out to the hundreds of desks before them. She sniffed the paper, old and dusty, unable to distinguish any scent she could follow. She looked up at him breathing heavily and wiping his eyes, desperate but drained of all hope.

She would at least try.

It felt strange leading the way. She kept her nose low to the ground, sniffing rapidly for anything of note. They weaved between the rows of desks, nothing but dust and unused plastic and carpet filling her nose. She couldn’t give up, not when the man was depending on her, finally entrusting something to her that she couldn’t understand but knew she would do as much as she could.

Rosie froze when something strange pierced the wall of regular scents. Nothing like the picture, or even like the man or others like him. It was closer to Rosie’s scent, though there was an unrecognisable tint to it, an added layer of musk she couldn’t place.

All she knew was she didn’t want to get any closer.

The man quietly questioned her halting, but Rosie stayed silent, surveying the area. There were paths between the desks they’d been following, and she waited, watching the long lane for any sign of movement.

They’d heard distant noises the last couple of days from ones like her or Sanders, but now coupled with the scent came something different. A low, deep, rhythmic grumble, moving through the desks out of sight, getting louder as it inched closer. Rosie motionlessly tracked where she thought it was.

Giving up, huh?’ the man said behind her, quiet in his resignation, but still too loud. ‘I don’t know what I fucking expected. Just… we’re here now. Might as well keep looking.’ Unable to hear or smell or sense any danger, he stepped in front of her.

After his words, the deep rumbling moved faster. It was too close now, only behind one or two rows of desks, so close Rosie’s hackles rose as she growled.

‘What are you…?’ The man looked down at her and moved his hand to the holstered metal stick.

He froze, eyes wide. He heard it too.

The noise reminded Rosie of one Sanders had made when he was feeling safe and content or playful, but this one was deep, much deeper than anything Sanders had ever been capable of.

Now she knew why. Turning back, the source of the grumbling finally revealed itself.

Though obscured behind one of the desks, only half its face visible, it was huge, like Sanders but bigger than Rosie, even bigger than Male, its back as tall as the man’s waist. One of its giant front feet had stepped into their lane, claws as large as Rosie’s own foot. The brown face lowered to the ground was bathed in shadow in the dark building, except for its glowing green eyes staring at them, its great jaw hanging open that could take half of Rosie’s head in a single bite. Rosie kept growling but the thing’s grumbling had stopped, now a silent, watching presence only a few steps away.

‘Oh fuck,’ the man whispered. He carefully removed the metal stick from his waist, his only movement. ‘I swear to fucking god, if you run, I’ll kill you before that thing can.’

Rosie, unable to understand, sensed the danger in sudden movements. Standing her ground and growling was all she could muster.

The man started to back away, never taking his eyes from the huge creature. Rosie followed with awkward backwards steps, always growling. The man whispered over and over to the thing, to Rosie, to himself, trying to keep everyone and everything calm.

When they’d put a few desks between them, the man stepped on something unexpected, stumbled only slightly before catching himself. In an instant, the thing had rounded the corner and shot almost right up to them. Rosie growled louder at its approach, alarmed by how silently it moved, how quickly and low to the ground. If Sanders had been a better hunter than Rosie, this thing was the ultimate predator.

‘Jesus Christ,’ the man said at its approach. It half-hid behind another desk, more of its huge muscular body exposed, the green unblinking eyes never leaving them. He breathed heavily for a few moments before holding his breath. ‘Fuck. I hope this fucking works.’

Rosie, shocked, stopped growling.

The man screamed, waving his arms and the metal stick around wildly, neither approaching the thing or backing away. He shouted over and over, standing tall on his toes and jumping.

The thing came out of its cover, the great brown body low to the ground, jaw open and hissing at the commotion, sounds like Sanders’ but far louder and more ferocious. He faltered at the full sight of the giant Sanders and its vicious snarling, but kept up his tirade of sound and movement. It tried to move closer every few seconds, taking a step before the man would wave his metal stick at it and it would back off again.

Neither were willing to advance or back down, locked in a competition that would likely, Rosie assumed, end in the man’s demise. Instead of running back to the entrance of the building as she desperately wanted to, she jumped in front of the man and shouted at the giant Sanders as well, as angry and intimidating as she could.

She had no intention of fighting—she’d lose in moments—but if they could scare it off with their noise, together, they could buy enough time to escape its territory. She jumped up on her back legs and slammed her front paws down, mimicking the man’s attempts to look larger than he was.

He looked down at Rosie for a second before returning to his commotion, louder and more energetic than before. The thing snarled and screeched, swiping a hesitant paw out periodically, the huge claws scarily close to Rosie’s nose, but it still refused to advance any further.

While they shouted and jumped, Rosie noticed how thing the thing was, ribs visible against its skin. Rosie would’ve helped the thing find food, but desperate hunger had likely pushed it beyond reasoning with.

A moment later, Rosie realised hunger wasn’t it’s only reason to attack them.

Beyond their locked battle, another presence moved further behind the thing. It was only half-exposed from the desks, standing in the lane without aggression. It was similar to the large Sanders but much smaller; somehow it was only a little bigger than Sanders, smaller than Rosie, yet its features were large and rounded, its demeanour nonchalant. It had the same brown fur as the larger one but was covered with darker spots, big blue eyes nestled in the small face watching the duel without any sense of danger, only curiosity.

With the recognition Rosie stopped jumping, though kept yelling.

The thing was a mother.

The man didn’t notice the child, concentrating only on the adult. Rosie wanted everyone to relax, to tell the mother they meant no harm to her young, to tell the man she was just trying to protect her family—there were likely more than one. They were both beyond listening through the snarling, yelling, shouting, and swiping.

Rosie calmed her shouts but still stood her ground between the man and the mother. Eventually the child disappeared back into the desks, and finally, the mother took one careful step backwards, the first sign of its resignation. Its snarls and growls returned to deep grumbling and, still as close to the ground as possible, it slunk back down the rows of desks and hid behind one.

When only a sliver of the watching face was visible in the darkness, the man finally stopped his shouting, replaced by heaving breaths, while Rosie resumed her quiet, constant growling.

‘Let’s get the fuck out of here,’ he said.

They kept the mother’s mostly hidden face in view the whole time they carefully backed towards the entrance to the stairwell they’d climbed, slamming the door behind them once they reached it.

They ran all the way back to the man’s home. He glanced behind, hoping the thing hadn’t found a way out of the building to follow them, but Rosie knew it wouldn’t leave its young. Still, she ran by his side, no relaxation or relief until they were inside the building and climbing the stairs to the safety of his apartment at the top.

He collapsed immediately after closing the door, puffing on his back as sweat ran down his face. Rosie lay near him, panting with exertion, suddenly hungry and tired.

‘Holy fucking shit,’ he said, voice scratchy after all the yelling. ‘A fucking cougar. A goddamn mountain lion. I didn’t even know we had those here.’ He laughed through heavy breaths. ‘I mean, I’ve seen all sorts of animals since… you know. I figured they’d all gotten out of the zoos or something. But, Jesus, never in the middle of the fucking city, in a building. What was it doing there?’

He calmed his breath before finally sitting up.

‘I…’ He looked at her, smiled and dropped his head to wipe the sweat. ‘Look, I’ve been alone for a long… long fucking time. But I’m not stupid. I know you can’t understand a fucking word I say.’ He looked at her again. ‘Still… Thanks. I thought you’d run away back there, tail between your legs. Literally. But no, you fucking stood your ground—my ground—and scared the shit out of that thing with me. I probably would’ve ripped me apart if I was alone. I mean, I could’ve scared it off, eventually, but, I guess, having you there hurried things along.’ He sighed. ‘So, thanks.’

Rosie didn’t understand his words but heard the sentimentality and earnestness; he’d never spoken to her like this.

She stood and slowly walked to him, panting as he watched without objection. She slowed the closer she got, only inching forward when she was beside him, but with no complaints she sat against his leg. She waited for him to shout and tell her off, but he only watched her watch him, his expression amused but cautious.

Rosie wouldn’t waste the opportunity.

She lowered her head to rest on his leg as she lay on the ground, her body nestled against him.

His small movement made her flinch, unable to see.

A moment later, something came to her, a feeling she hadn’t experienced since Julie, something even Sanders hadn’t been able to replicate, though even that—which had been closest—she hadn’t felt for some time.

The man’s hand rested on top of her head, between her ears, still for a moment. He moved it around, rubbing slowly and lightly at first before moving faster and rougher, using his fingers to scratch behind and around her ears.

Rosie was transported back to a time before everything had changed. She closed her eyes and licked her lips affectionately as the man scratched and patted her head, her cheeks and chin as she rolled her head around on his leg. He laughed a few times, only small nasal exhales, while she rolled onto her back and he scratched her back and belly.

She was delirious; she’d been without something so simple and trivial for so long, something that had been so ingrained into her existence until Julie and the others had left, something she’d missed more than almost anything else.

‘Been a while, huh?’ the man laughed. ‘Well, don’t get too used to it. You’re fucking filthy, and you smell like shit.’ She didn’t care what he said, didn’t even look at him as long as he scratched her. ‘Maybe I should give you a bath, huh? Probably been a while since you’ve been clean, too.’

The sun hid behind the buildings and bathed the sky in deep purples and oranges between grey streaks while the man built a crackling fire in a metal pit in the middle of the outdoor area. They were bathed in a soft flickering glow when the sky darkened and he had Rosie sit at the edge near the glass fence.

He filled a large pot with water from the outside tub, ignited the flame of a small portable stove, and let the pot of water heat up. He poured it in small cupfuls over Rosie’s head and back, the water warm but not uncomfortably so. It dripped brown and black from her coat and ran over the edge of the balcony.

After a few pours and running his hands through her fur, he began working a handful of nice-smelling liquid into her coat forming bubbles and froth. His hands they came away black, to his disdain, though he didn’t take it out on Rosie.

While massaging soapy foam into her sides, he spoke. ‘I know what you think this means. What you want it to mean. But we can’t be friends, okay?’ Rosie panted, only half-listening as his hands worked through her matting and filth. ‘I know it might not seem like it, since I’m, you know, here and alive, but… I can barely take care of myself. Sometimes… there’s been many times, I guess, where I don’t even want to. But even before all this, before I was… alone. I could never take care of myself, or anyone. The people I care about… used to care about. Do you know what I’m trying to say?’

Rosie tilted her head around to look at him, sensing the question, his sadness. She whined in response.

‘Of course you do. You’re a dog. Why wouldn’t you be able to understand me?’ He scoffed and shook his head, massaging soap between Rosie’s ears. ‘If you’re going to stick around, you need to know that. You’re still on your own; you can’t rely on me for anything. And I won’t rely on you, either. We can only look out for ourselves. That can never change.’ He sighed. ‘Aside from today, with that cougar. But, stuff like that… we can’t expect it from each other. You know?’

Rosie looked back again, his eyes growing wet. She turned on her feet to step towards him, sticking her wet, soapy head into his chest. He flinched back before smiling and scratching beneath her chin, ignoring the wet bubbles on his shirt.

‘Of course you don’t give a shit. You’ve probably been alone for so long you’d take anything, anyone, over being lonely.’ He held her cheeks and looked into her eyes. ‘Real unfortunate you ended up with me.’ He smiled, eyes still sad.

He spun her back around and rinsed the layer of bubbles he’d formed in her coat before lathering on another layer of soap.

‘I mean it. It’s not like there aren’t other options.’ He looked out over the railing. ‘There are still other people out there. I’ve seen them. Even meet a few, now and then. There aren’t many, but there are some.’ Rosie whined at his tone drifting into longing sadness, and he snapped back his attention. ‘I’m just saying, not everyone’s as fucked up as me, despite living in this fucking world. I’m sure someone out there would take better care of you than I ever could.’ He rinsed more soap and foam away, still dirty as it dripped and ran beneath the railing, but cleaner than the last. ‘Maybe we’ll go look for them sometime.’