Originally printed in Something Wicked Issue #9 and illustrated by Kobus Faber
Author's Bio

Read an excerpt:

   His last frantic thought before the pit bull ran him down: Which arm can I do without?
   It's simple to rationalize such thoughts when you're starving and snow-blind. It had to be an arm. A leg? Never. Not in this changed world. Give it a leg and you're dead. Give it an arm and you might live to see morning.
   He first saw the beast after leaving the apartment where he'd found the aspirin. Its impressive jowl jutted from the relative shelter of an alleyway. Surely starving as well, it risked the storm's wrath for easy pickings. Like Jason.
   That quick glance revealed muscular shoulders, a square face with a mangled right ear and eyes desperate and entirely too human. Its loose lips flung gobs of spit. Breath shot out in hazed clouds. A killer, every ounce a killer. Looking away, Jason gripped the straps of his pack with both hands, hoping to project the aspect of neither victim nor aggressor. The snow fell steadily, whirling over his ankles. If he stepped wrong he could easily sink into a hidden pothole, possibly snapping an ankle. Then he would surely be a victim, and swiftly thereafter, dead. He left the apartment building behind, hunched against the snow burning his throat and eyes. 
   The sheer wind pummeled his face, freezing the sweat gathered in his scraggly beard. He couldn't have heard the pit bull start its charge, but must have at least sensed something. He looked over in time to see it digging through long, silent strides a block away.
   Jason turned to run, throwing caution to the wind. With his first step he slipped, catching himself before he went down.