The group rested after lunch, unloading supplies under the summer sun. Beer cans popped open as students toasted their new sanctuary. Zhang Xiaowen nibbled a biscuit, her spine tingling with unease.
"West perimeter," she muttered. "Something's watching."
The Cube transformed silently, red optics scanning the swaying grass. "Non-human thermal signature. Proceeding with caution."
They pushed through waist-high reeds to find a collapsed farmhouse. A low growl rumbled from the shadows – a malnourished German Shepherd bared yellowed fangs, three whimpering pups hidden behind her mangy tail.
"Survival instincts: exceptional," the Cube observed. "Lactation deficiency detected. Proposal: Offer protein supplement to establish trust."
Zhang slowly unwrapped a sausage. The shepherd's nose twitched. Hunger warred with maternal protectiveness as she inched forward, finally snatching the meat with a snap. Instead of eating, she regurgitated it for her pups.
"Parental sacrifice algorithm recognized," the Cube noted. "Canine loyalty protocols superior to 78% of human samples."
As the pups nursed, the exhausted mother collapsed. Zhang approached cautiously, hand extended. A rough tongue licked her palm – canine judgment rendered.
"Welcome to the pack," Zhang whispered, noting the dog's faded collar tag: *Storm – Long Mountain Resort Security K9 Unit*.
The Cube analyzed Storm's biometrics:
*Weight: 61 lbs (27% below healthy average)
Muscle atrophy: Advanced
Notable injuries: Claw marks on hindquarters*
"Zombie encounter survived," it concluded. "Recommended quarantine period: 48 hours."
Storm limped behind them as they returned, pups cradled in Zhang's jacket. Students gasped at the procession.
"Meet our new early warning system," Zhang announced. "Storm here took down zombies bare-pawed. Anyone allergic to heroes?"
Laughter erupted. The delinquents exchanged glances – even their scheming paused before the shepherd's amber glare.
That night, Storm slept curled around her pups in the clubhouse lobby, one ear cocked toward the Bordeaux cellar where the Cube siphoned merlot into its fuel lines. "For medicinal purposes," it insisted, radar sweeping the moonlit golf course.
Somewhere beyond the ninth hole, enhanced shadows stirred – claws clicking on asphalt, too coordinated for ordinary zombies. The real test of their sanctuary had only begun.