It was about an hour and a half past sunset when Mike took over one of the perimeter guard posts from Susan. It was simply the far corner of the garage complex that overlooked a field and the highway beyond it.
“Quiet?” He asked.
“Pretty much. The dog... what's that dog's name anyway?” she asked.
“He doesn't have one,” Mike admitted. “We, uh... we just call him The Dog, you know. He survived. He got through it same as us; he made it, you know. He's The Dog.” Mike finished lamely.
“Oh. Sounds like a little guilt there, Mike. Maybe we should all get together and name it,” Susan suggested.
“Well, anyway... The Dog kept looking off towards the highway. He didn't, like, bark or anything. I thought maybe deer, cows, something else. But with the meat drying, it could have drawn anything at all. The fires and so many people should be enough to keep anything away. Even if it's wolves, they'll probably stay away, right? I just thought you should know about it.”
Mike nodded. “Could be something, but you're probably right: Most likely it's nothing. I imagine the smell of the meat will draw every carnivore in the area. That's okay as long as they don't try to bother us. There will be plenty of scraps when we're gone.”
Susan nodded and he watched her walk off into the darkness. He turned his eyes back out over the highway beyond the field.
After his eyes became accustomed to the darkness Mike could see the dark shapes of cattle grazing in the field, a few deer mixed in with them. He almost missed the radio call, almost wrote it off as one of their own, until he realized it wasn't.
“Hello the camp,” the voice repeated.
Mike unclasped the radio from his belt and raised it to his mouth and spoke. “I guess you mean us,” he said more calmly than he felt.