One

          My head feels like someone poured hot water in through my ear, added a packet of cherry flavour and turned my brain into Jell-O.

            Besides the fact of the pain in my skull and the throbbing in the rest of my body, I start to notice that my face feels like I’m lying in water. I can’t remember what happened; can’t remember anything. Am I drowning? Did I fall into water?

            Only one way to find out.

            Slowly, I pry open my eyes. It takes a minute and as soon as I can see, I groan. My head pounds worse and I feel like I’m going to throw up. The light is blinding, as if I’ve been living underground my entire life.

            There’s a small sound, like a whine. Instantly, I flinch away from it and moan at the pain it causes every part of my body. My back feels like it’s pressed against something flat and when my eyes begin to adjust, I realize that I’m in a house. Before I can wonder if it’s my house or where I am, I zero in on the culprit of my wet face.

            There’s a German Shepard standing a few feet away from me. He watches me, panting, whimpering occasionally when I don’t move. He doesn’t look like a puppy, but he’s not yet full grown.

             “Yuck,” I mumble, using my hand to remove all the dog saliva. “I appreciate you waking me up and all, but maybe you could have nudged me instead?” The dog whimpers, as if to tell me he tried that. “Well, thanks then,” I mutter.

            He sits down and cocks his head to the side, waiting for me to move. Clenching my teeth, I slowly start to sit up. My whole body aches and I gnash my teeth together until I’m leaning against the rainforest-green wall. Looking around, I wait for my brain to give me a memory from this room. I don’t receive one.

            At first, I expect myself to panic considering that I have no memories of anything before waking up two minutes ago. However, I don’t freak out, not in the slightest. How you can freak out over forgetting something when you have no idea what it is?

            When I feel okay enough to get up, I wander around the house. There are no pictures on the walls, no explanations as to who I am or where I stand. The dog follows me everywhere through the house until I pause in the kitchen. On the island counter, sits a small, ripped piece of paper. The words on it are written messily, like they were written in a rush.

            Sloane,

            Went to the 7/11 to get some things for breakfast. Didn’t want to wake you. Be home by nine.

            With love,

            Mom

            Sloane? Who’s Sloane? Am I her? If so, where’s my mom? More confused than before, I automatically give into the familiar urge to check the oven clock. Looking over, the small, red numbers don’t show up. In fact, the small rectangle where the time is supposed to be is completely black.

            Behind me, the German Shepard whimpers.

            “You know, if you could talk, you would actually be useful.” He whines again. “I offended you, a dog?” I exhale loudly and grab the note off the counter. Shoving it into the pocket of the unfamiliar white dress I’m wearing, I make my way around the house again, the dog on my heels.

            The next time I stop is upstairs in a bedroom. I find a wall clock there and check the time. It’s nearly nine in the morning. I look at the note again and decide that whoever’s mom left the note is clearly not home. I’m sure if she was, by now she would have called an ambulance for the girl lying unconscious on her hardwood.

            I lightly let my fingers trail over everything in the room. The purple comforter, the wooden desk, even the paperbacks stacked on a bookshelf. When I pass the desk again, I stop and pick up a photograph. A girl stands with her mother, their arms wrapped around each other. The German Shepard is the lower part of the picture, a little girl hugging it.

            I stare at the girl with her mom for a long time. She must be who the note was left to. Her chocolate hair hangs over her shoulders in cascades of waves. The colour brings out her matching brown eyes and pales her skin.

            It takes me forty more minutes to figure out that the girl in the photograph is me.

            With more information and more questions, I make my way downstairs and peer out the front windows. I don’t see anybody outside, and from what I do see, it looks like a storm ripped through my neighbourhood.

            Papers lie scattered, blowing in the breeze. A few cars are parked randomly in the otherwise deserted street. Random items litter the ground and across the street a mailbox is stuck through a now-broken front window. Had I missed a tornado?

            The dog, or I suppose my dog, starts scratching at the front door. His claws create small ripping noises on the wood and a small jingle sounds from the collar around his neck. I check the tag and find no name, only a blank tag. Who puts a blank tag on their dog? Me, that’s who.

            “Okay, okay, I guess we’re going outside,” I mumble. Despite my memory loss, I’m more creeped out by the fact that I’m talking to a dog like he understands me.  Just as I grip the door handle, he starts running the opposite way, his paws sliding on the hardwood floors as he whips around the corner of the living room. “Where are you going?” I call and cover my face with my palm. He’s a dog, he can’t respond.

            I start to open the door again when I hear the sound of claws and turn around to find the dog running towards me. Only when he returns, he’s carrying something in his mouth. Something that a dog should not be carrying.

            “What the hell?”

            In his mouth is a shotgun. Where he found this, or how he managed to bring it to me, I’ll never know. Carefully, I take it from him and countless times try to leave it somewhere in the house. Every time I put it on the counter, just out of his reach, he parts relentlessly until I pick it up again. Sighing, I hold it carefully and head outside, hoping that I don’t get arrested for carrying a weapon.

            Down my street we go, the dog following me every step of the way. I knock on each door of the house, look in the windows, but no one is ever home. My brain tells me that if it was a tornado or some kind of disaster, people probably evacuated. Maybe my mom left while she was at the store, not allowed to come home and get me.

            Maybe.

            “I don’t know where we’re going, but I’m more than happy to follow you, dog,” I tell him as we head down the street. He seems to know where he’s going, at least a whole lot better than I do. “I should probably name you something.” I stare at the canine for a few moments and start guessing names. “Spot? Patch? Bradley?” Not once do the dog’s ears pick up, but he whines at the last guess. “Sorry, I guess that was a bad name for a dog.”

            We continue walking, my step much slower than his. We go through countless neighbourhoods but not once do I see any sign of a person. In fact, I don’t even see any animals. No birds fly overhead, no raccoon’s peak their heads out of open garbage cans and no other dogs bark in the distance.

            “Where is everyone?” I ask myself. It hasn’t been that long, but my arms start getting tired. After figuring out how to turn the safety off, I hold onto the shotgun with one hand and let the barrel drag lightly on the ground. “Okay, back to naming. Since guessing isn’t exactly working, why don’t I name you?” The Shepard gives me a small glance before moving its eyes back to the road. “How about….Shotgun?” He whimpers unhappily. “Well, you’re the one who kind of dubbed yourself that. But if you don’t like my amazing naming skills, fine. How about Bullet?” Now-named-Bullet barks and I grin. “Great. Now that is settled, let’s figure out where we go now.”

            I stop as we come to an empty intersection. As I begin to look in the three other directions, Bullet starts nudging the back of my legs. I fight back against him and he growls.

            “Sheesh, sorry. Didn’t know you are great with directions.” When I start walking he leads me to the left road, moving his nose low to the ground to pick up whatever scent he seems to be following.

            It’s not until we reach the end of the street that I see a group of people. They’re around a high school; mine, I assume. They’re scratching at one of the doors, trying to get in. They haven’t noticed me so I start walking towards them but Bullet stays put.

            “Hey!” I shout, cupping my mouth with my hands. “I need help!”

            Suddenly all four people snap towards me, turning away from the doors. They all stop what they’re doing and stand completely still. Now I know for sure that there was some kind of disaster. The woman’s clothes are torn, like she’s been wearing them for days. The taller man behind her hair looks to be like parts of it were ripped in chunks. He has red marks all over his face, like he’s been hit or scratched. The other two people don’t look much different, but another, younger girl, who can’t be much older than twenty, is only standing with one leg. When she moves, she drags the other one, her ankle broken.

            The shotgun seems too heavy in my hands. The peoples stare at it, scared. I quickly drop it like it’s on fire and wait for them to talk to me.

            “Hello?” My voice squeaks and the word get caught in my mouth. As soon as they realize that I don’t have the gun, they start moving towards me. The woman starts running, her hands out while the young girl limps. The other two men walk towards me, but something is wrong with the way they move. They hunch over and move at odd angles, like they are just learning to walk.

            Bullet starts barking wildly behind me. He starts to run to my side and continues, his sound getting louder with the quickly approaching woman. I expect them to stop. Isn’t it a natural reaction to be cautious of dogs, especially ones who are freaking out at you? But they don’t even pass Bullet a glance.

            “Get back!” I call, starting to take steps backwards. “Don’t come any closer!”

            None of them respond. Instead, they keep moving; trying to move quicker than their bodies will allow them. Bullet keeps barking until he realizes I don’t know what to do. He moves to me as fast as he can and starts nudging me towards the school until I move. Once I start jogging, he sprints in front of me and starts leading me to the doors.

            “Help!” I scream, my panic and adrenaline dulling the pain in my body. “Somebody help!”

            I throw a glance over my shoulder to see the group still chasing after me. As soon as turn back around, the school double doors are in front of me. My fingers wrap around the cold metal bars and I yank but the door doesn’t budge.

            “Open!” I yell at the doors. “Please open!”

            Again, they don’t budge and Bullet keeps barking, urging me to keep moving. Fear starts to wrap its cold arms around me and tears appear in my eyes. I pump my arms faster, running across the pavement.

            Get the shotgun. They will leave you alone once you have the gun again. Locating it across the ground, I start moving in a wide circle towards it. None of the people have picked it up yet so I try to get them as far away from me as possible so I have time to grab it.

            I don’t feel okay until my hands wrap around the gun. As soon as they do, I look up, waiting for the people to stop. They don’t. Instead, they close the distance between us quickly and I don’t have time to react. I start running blindly backwards, Bullet yelling at me from a short distance away. Before I can plan what to do next, my feet are out from underneath me and I’m sailing backwards.

            My body hits the pavement with a thud and the shotgun lands heavily in my lap. The group is already over me just as I let out a blood curling scream and then the unthinkable happens.

            The school doors burst open.