Again, this hasn't had it's first edit, so there going to be mistakes. Otherwise, enjoy.

Ron, I saved it as RTF and then opened it using word pad and cut and paste from there. I hope that will fix any issues.

Chris

The Return
Chapter 2

April 17, 9:59 AM

The sound of Harold’s voice caused the Shepherd to lock its eyes on the small man. The dog’s blue eyes narrowed and if it was at all possible, the growl deepened.
“No one makes any sudden moves,” Eric whispered, just loud enough for the small group of survivors to hear. As he spoke, he slowly raised the Glock 22 and sighted in on the large animal. The Shepherd glanced at him and at the gun, the blue eyes of the dog considering the threat the weapon presented and discarded it.
Slowly it approached the corpse of the zombie, the hackles on its back raised in a threatening manner. Once the dog reached the body, it lowered its head and bit into the zombies shoulder, all the while the eyes of the feral dog never left the party.
Ever so slowly Mike, Harold and Jack raised their weapons and aimed them at the dog. Despite the fact that Mike, Eric and Roger were trained martial artists in the ancient art of Shaolin Kung Fu, they didn’t want to go toe to toe with a Shepherd, especially one that size. Even with their training, they would more than likely get hurt and god above knew what kind of disease the dog could be carrying.
For now, firearms would be the best bet when dealing with animals.
Still growling deep from within its massive chest, the German Shepherd began to tug the body away from the truck as well as the small group of survivors. The dog’s eyes never left them as it pulled the corpse back around the front of the truck and out of sight.
Both Mike and Eric began to move heel to toe towards the front of the semi, wanting to see where the dog was dragging the body off to. Jack waved a hand at them to stop, since from his perch he could still see the animal.
    “It’s taking the body towards the edge of the building.” Jack informed them, and then stopped. “Hold up a second.” He continued to watch and as he did he pulled the compound bow from his shoulder and placed one of the arrows to the string. “This doesn’t look good.”
    Throwing caution to the wind, Mike and Eric crossed the front of the truck and instantly caught what Jack had seen. Another pair of huge dogs, one another Shepherd and the third unmistakably a Doberman joined the first dog and together they pulled the corpse of the zombie around the edge of the building and out of sight.
    “I guess we now know what happened to the shamblers,” Mike told the group. Before anyone could ask for clarification, he continued to speak. “You all saw how well fed that dog looked, despite being obviously feral. I’ll be you dollars to donuts that all the larger breeds of dogs are now together in one massive pack and have been taking down the shamblers and eating them.”
    “Eww, dad, that’s disgusting!” Roger said his face a mask of revulsion at the thought.
    Eric rubbed his chin and considered it. “Makes sense, doesn’t it? The owners dead, the dogs starving, it wouldn’t take them long to figure out that they had ample food just walking around and that it was far from hard to take one of the shamblers down.”
    “In that case we better get moving.” Mike replied as he turned away from where the dogs had disappeared and made his way back to the driver’s side of the truck. “I’ll go check that door,” he indicated to a heavy metal door that was at the top of a small flight of stairs leading into the back of the store. “Maybe we can get in from here.”
    Jack pulled himself into the cab of the truck and checked the ignition. “We’re in luck!” He exclaimed. “Key’s still in the ignition.”
    “Let’s hope it starts,” Roger said as he stood next to his father. “I’m coming with you, Dad.”
    Mike nodded and together the two of them crossed the distance to the back door. While they were walking, Jack turned the keys in the ignition and there wasn’t even so much as a sound of the starter turning over.
    Eric sighed. “It sounds like the battery is history. Hey, Roger!” He called out.
The young man stopped and glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Toss me the keys; we’ll see if we can boost this truck.”
Roger dug into this pocket and fished out the keys to the Avalanche. With a casual flick of the wrist, the sent the keys flying through the air. Eric deftly caught the keys and turned his back on the younger man as he walked over to the truck and climbed in.
    The Avalanche roared to life just as Mike and Roger reached the stairs and had climbed up to stand before the metal doors. Mike holstered his pistol and un-slung the Remington 870 shotgun, backing up to the edge of the steps. He held the weapon at hip level, the barrel pointing at the door. He nodded towards Roger who stood off to the left of the door. The younger man reached out and grabbed the handle, giving it an experimental tug.
    It was locked.
    “Shit,” Growled Mike.
    “Agreed,” Roger smiled at his father. “So we’ll be going in through the front then.”
    Mike nodded. “But we should be able to leave though the back door. We need to see what’s in this fifty three foot trailer.”
    A moment later there was the sound of a heavy engine struggling to turn over. The sound quickly died away. Mike rubbed his tired eyes and together he and Roger climbed down the stairs and began to walk back to the tractor and the Avalanche.
    As they reached the tractor, heavy wet snow began to fall in earnest. Mike cursed under his breath, already starting to feel a dull ache in his left shoulder. Whenever it was this cold and the humidity was up there, the arthritis in his shoulder would act up. He knew that it was going to be a pain filled night for him once they got back to Wainwright.
    Harold was standing off to the right of the tractor’s cab, his eyes alert for signs of movement. Mike was behind the wheel of the Avalanche and was revving the engine, helping to charge the tractor’s battery in hopes that they might be able to get it to turn over.
    Eric leaned out and called to Mike. “Tell Jack to try it again.”
    Mike nodded and turned, but Jack had clearly caught the gist of what Eric wanted and he leaned over the wheel of the tractor and tried it again. The starter caught and the engine coughed, tried to turn over and then went dead once again.
    “Sounds like you almost had it there.” Mike said as he moved to stand at the foot of the tractor’s driver side door. He yawned and suppressed a shudder, not sure if it was from the cold, the exhaustion, or the tension that they were under whenever they were away from the military base.
    “We’ll give it a couple more minutes of charging and then I’ll try it again.” Said Jack as he thoughtfully scratched his neatly trimmed beard. “Third time’s bound to be the charm.”
    “God willing,” Mike muttered.
    “Allah willing, and don’t forget it.” Jack said in mock sternness, but the grin on his features clearly indicated he was joking.”
    Mike couldn’t help but grin. Jack was a devote Muslim, and ever since they had arrived at Wainwright together with their respective families weeks before, he, Eric, Roger and Jack had become close friends. There had been many a long discussion about god and religion during their hours together and despite the fact that all three men held different views on god, they found that they could discuss their differing versions of belief without anyone becoming offended.
    So it wasn’t uncommon for them to make little cracks like that. It always helped to ease tension.
    “Roger, keep a lookout with Harold.” Mike told his son.
    The younger Harris nodded and jogged over to stand next to the smaller man. Harold clasped Roger on the shoulder and together they scanned the surrounding grounds, which were quickly becoming obscured due to the increasingly heavy amount of snowfall.
    More howls tore through the snow thick air, raising the hair on the back of Mike’s neck. “I’m starting to think we should just abandon this and get the hell out of here. You saw that dog after all.”
    “Dad, we need to take any medication that might be left in the pharmacy.” Roger told him. The younger Harris stood at casual ease, despite the snow coming down and the threat offered by the feral dogs. He was being quite general but everyone knew that he meant that they needed to look for the diabetes medication that his father needed to survive. They still had months of the medication left back at Wainwright but it wouldn’t last forever.
    “Alright, we’ll go in and hit it, and try to grab whatever food might be left behind, but I won’t deny it, those fucking dogs have got me scared.”
    “You’re not the only one,” Eric confirmed. Even though he stood at the ready, casually watching the surrounding area, the wrinkles around his eyes clearly showed the tension he was feeling.
    A moment later Jack keyed the ignition for the tractor once again and after a moment’s hesitation, the engine caught, sputtered, and then roared to life. Jack pumped the gas pedal, feeding the truck’s diesel engine, which hesitated for another handful of nerve wrenching seconds before it finally settled into a deep throated purr.
    Mike grinned at the sound and the expression on Jack’s bearded face. “Jack, stay with the truck and don’t let the engine die. Harold, Eric and I are going into the interior. We’ll see what we can salvage and open that door.” He indicated to the locked door that he and Roger had tried minutes before.
    Jack nodded and then Mike waved his son over. “Roger, you’ll drive the Avalanche around the front of the building and wait. Keep your eyes open and if you see anything out of the ordinary, lay on the horn.”
    Roger nodded. “Got it dad.”
    “Let’s move like we got a purpose.” Mike said and with a quick nod to Harold, he made his way over to the Avalanche and climbed in the passenger door. Roger quickly exchanged seats with Eric, who got into the back with Harold. Jack waved at them through the window of the tractor’s cab as they pulled away from the semi trailer.
Half a minute later, Roger backed the Avalanche up to the shattered front windows of the grocery store and brought the vehicle to a halt.
Mike stared out into the darkened morning light, as the snow was coming down even heavier than it had only a scant few minutes before. He turned and faced his son, who was staring intently at the near white-out conditions before them. “I know you can hardly see a thing, but try to give us some warning if any zombies show up, ok?”
    Roger nodded. “I don’t know about the undead, dad, I’m more worried about those feral dogs we saw.”
    As if on cue, more howls ripped through the cold snow filled air, and then abruptly ceased.
    “I think you’re right, Roger.” Harold agreed. “It’s a little too cold for the panhandlers to be out right now, but clearly the bylaw officers are not doing their job. The people who left their dogs to run free like that should be fined, at the very least!”
    There was a quick bark of laughter from Eric and he slapped Harold on the shoulder. “Yup, you’re right Harry. Make sure you write a sternly worded letter to the town hall once we get home tonight.”
    “My name is Harold,” the smaller man said with a slight pout.
    “Right, sorry Harold.” Eric told him as he took his hand from the other man’s shoulder. Harold had been a late comer to the small group of survivors as they made their way out of the deathtrap that Calgary had become. It was clear he was a few sandwiches short of a full picnic, but the small man had proven to be an invaluable, albeit annoying addition to the group. So much so that despite his eccentricities, they had welcomed him to continue to work together as a team on excursions as the one they were currently on.
    Mike pulled his Diesel hat off his head and ran his fingers through his dark brown hair. Roger frowned at him as he did so. “Dad, did you have something to eat this morning?”
    “Yeah, eggs and bacon as well as half a loaf of toast.” He answered the younger man’s question. “Why do you ask?”
    Roger pointed at his hand holding the hat. “Your hand’s shaking, that’s why. Are you hungry?”
    The elder Harris looked at his hand. Indeed there was a slight tremble running through his hand. Mike dropped the hat on the dashboard and held up both his hands. The tremble ran through each one. He realized that he was hungry and that he would have to eat soon. His diabetes has caused him to almost faint in the past when his blood sugar got too low.
    And when he began to get the shakes, it was imperative that he get food in his stomach as soon as possible. “What do we have for chow?” Mike said, looking into the back seat where sat a small cooler, filled with enough food to cover the small scavenger party for the day.
    Eric popped open the Coleman cooler and pulled out a neatly wrapped sandwich. “Spam and mustard seems to be the choice today.” He handed the food to Mike, although Eric couldn’t hide the concern on his face. “Are you up for this?”
    Mike took a big bite of the Spam sandwich and chewed on it for a moment before swallowing. “I’ll be fine, I guess I should have eaten more, that’s all.”
    “Shit, Mike, you eat more than I do!” Eric said with a half hearted laugh.
    It was true, Mike did tend to eat more than everyone else except for maybe his son, but despite that fact, he, like everyone else, had lost several pounds over the past few weeks. A combination of lack of his usual diet, as well as the near constant strain of fear and worry led to many people having to tighten their belts a little more than they had just two months previously.  “What can I say, I guess I just have a slightly faster metabolism than you do Eric.”
    “Might I suggest that we head inside and see what we can find?” Harold said as he indicated the entrance to the store with his thumb.
    “Yeah, let’s get this over with.” Roger agreed.
    Mike quickly consumed the last of the sandwich and washed it down with a bottle of water. “I’ll hit the pharmacy, Harold; see what you can find in the way of canned food. Eric?”
    “Yo.”
    “See if you can find your way to the back of the store and try to get that back door open. Hopefully you can open it.”
    Eric nodded and then handed everyone large flashlights. “You know, one of these days we should finally decide who’s running this group once and for all.”
    Mike took the offered flashlight and put his Diesel hat back on as he opened the door.  “We could, but what difference does it make? We’re both pretty good at this leadership thing… we both work off one another’s strengths.”
    Eric shrugged and opened his door. “True enough man.”
    Roger opened the bed cover from the cab as everyone exited the Avalanche. All three moved around to the back of the truck and pulled out a number of large canvas bags and folded up gear bags. They didn’t know how much, if any, useful food or items they would find, and if worse came to worse, they could just grab carts from the interior and use them to bring out any goods.
    “Be careful dad!” Called Roger from the driver’s seat. “And you guys as well,” He indicated Eric and Harold.
    “Thanks, Roger.” Harold replied.
    Harold slammed the bed cover down and the trio of survivors crunched their way through the freshly fallen snow, their boots grinding chunks of glass into the concrete of the sidewalk as they disappeared into the darkened interior of the abandoned Store.