After The Virus (Book 2): Homesteading

by Archer, Simon

  “I never knew you were interested,” I complained.

  “I wasn’t sure I was, really,” she said. “It took a little while for me to sort out my own mind and my own heart.”

  “It really was Jackie that laid the groundwork for this,” I said. “Apparently, she was something of a free spirit, and when Angie expressed an interest in me, they put their heads together and overwhelmed me.” A grin stretched across my face. “I’m not complaining. I probably never would have thought of, well, having more than one partner if it hadn’t been for those two.”

  “Just took the right combination, didn’t it?” Estelle asked playfully.

  “It did.” I nodded vigorously. “I’d been meaning to approach you, too, but the time never seemed to be right.”

  “Ain’t that always the case,” she said with a smirk of her own. “Now, I happen to know that a possible fourth is waiting for you in Atlanta, too.”

  “Wait, what?” I exclaimed and gave the doctor another sharp look. How much did I just not know?

  “Gwen likes you, Henry,” she replied. “I got to hear all about it while I was there with Tommy. You made a good impression on the girl, and she’s planning on trying out the rural lifestyle.”

  “Cool,” I said. Gwendolyn Markovski was a forensic pathologist for the CDC and had been part of the team, along with Estelle and me, that met up with the erstwhile Bruce Gassler at a Kroger gas station. She was snarky, short, and looked like a pixie. Apparently, she studied Brazilian Jiu-jitsu, too, or so she’d said when we first met. Her grip was strong enough, at least.

  “That’s all you have to say?” Estelle laughed. “Cool?”

  “Doc,” I replied. “You have managed to outflank and disarm me for pretty much this whole conversation. I ain’t sure what to say about anything, other than ‘Cool.’ Have you got anything else you need to hit me with? Or have you blindsided me enough?”

  “Poor, poor Henry Forrest,” she said comfortingly. “It’ll all be okay, but you’ll need to buy a much bigger bed.”

  “Where the hell do you find a bed built for four, let alone five?” I demanded. “I’ll have to build the damn thing.”

  “Then that’ll keep your hands busy for a while,” she said, not really answering the question, but then, I hadn’t expected her to.

  “Any idea how many more people are going to be flooding the homestead?” I asked. “Since you and the others have apparently had radio conversations without me.”

  “Not as many as I’d like,” she admitted. “I wanted to try to talk to the rest of my co-workers and security to abandon the complex, but they don’t want to. Bruce wants to head back to Arizona, but he likes feeling needed, too, so he’s sticking around until everything is up to spec, he said.”

  I nodded slowly, keeping my eyes on the road. Apparently, the ladies had all done some work to try to help me rest, and I was grateful. I didn’t really want to be in charge of this herd of cats, but somehow it had fallen, mostly, on me.

  “Gwen wants to come, and it sounds like all five of the folks that Bruce stumbled across want to just get the hell out of Atlanta, but we’ll see.” Estelle leaned back in her chair and stretched. She’d left the lab coat back at the farm and was instead wearing a light cream sweater with a low v-neck, jeans, and boots.

  We all had taken to wearing boots since virtually day one.

  Boots had become the new sexy.

  I looked over at the doctor and grinned.

  “So, there was this thing that Angie and I did,” I said slowly. “Right before we hooked up.”

  “And what was that?” she asked, arching an eyebrow as she looked at me.

  “Speed dating,” I replied.

  “What?” Estelle asked.

  “Kind of like twenty questions, but you ask something about the other person, and they have to answer, no matter what it is. No need for an explanation unless you want to give one, but it can lead to a deeper conversation, too,” I explained. We were maybe halfway to Atlanta at this point, with a little under an hour left to go.

  “Oh, what the hell,” she said with a shake of her head. “Who starts?”

  “Go ahead,” I told her.

  “Hmph,” she muttered. “Put me on the spot already. Fine. Blondes or brunettes?”

  “Redheads,” I replied with a smirk. I’d actually thought this one out. “Fish or chicken?”

  “Fish,” she answered after a moment. “Movies or books?”

  “Hard call,” I said. “I like both. Men or women?”

  “Men, definitely,” Estelle replied. “Kids or pets?”

  She’d started to get the hang of this.

  “Both,” I answered. “Always would have said pets before, but Tommy and Irene kind of changed my mind.”

  The doctor nodded slowly. “I guess answers that aren’t a choice are fair.”

  “The point is to be honest about it.”

  “Right,” she frowned and looked at me curiously. “You really prefer redheads?”

  I nodded.

  “Yeah. I just never had any luck with them,” I answered, then shrugged. “That’s not to say I’m not perfectly happy with what I have, I just really like red hair.”

  “That’s fair,” she observed. “Did that count as two?”

  “Not really, just expanded conversation. Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  “Trimmed or natural?” I asked.

  “Brazilian,” she replied. “Safe or risky?”

  “Depends on what you mean,” I replied. “If you’re talking about sex, it depends. Anything else, well, that depends, too.”

  Estelle laughed and shook her head.

  “Okay, fine,” she said. “I’ll be blunt; safe sex or not?”

  “That still depends,” I held onto my answer stubbornly. “On who I’m with.”

  She huffed, but I could see the laughter in her eyes when I glanced over.

  “Fine,” she grumbled at last. “I’ll accept that.”

  “Fantasy or Sci-Fi?” I asked, turning the game around a bit.

  “Nerd,” she replied. “Romance. Sex or cuddling?”

  “Both,” I answered. “Morning or night?”

  “Afternoon delight,” she sang, then eyed me as I started laughing again. “Seriously, whenever, and damn, but it’s been too long. How often?”

  “Often as I can,” I replied honestly. “Song or dance?”

  “Both,” she replied. “Rock or hip-hop?”

  “Rock, metal specifically,” I said. “Board games or cards?”

  “Cards,” she said with a smile. “Easier to carry in a lab coat pocket.”

  Most of us in my unit had carried our own packs, usually with naked women on the backs, but not always. I glanced over at her as she gazed out ahead at the brightly lit road. The sun continued its path as we drew closer to Atlanta.

  Estelle took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment.

  “This is kind of fun,” she admitted sheepishly. “Hot tub or pool?”

  “Pool, usually,” I said. “Bath or shower?”

  “Bath,” she answered. “Chinese or Mexican?”

  “Mexican,” I said. “Cats or dogs?”

  “Cats,” she replied. “Dogs are okay, but cats are a lot easier for me to get along with.”

  “Fair,” I said.

  “Turn off or go straight?” she asked.

  “What?” I glanced over at her.

  She just grinned right back and pointed. “My turnoff is coming up. Just outside the Atlanta perimeter. I wanted to make sure you still wanted to spend the rest of the day and night with me.”

  “Hell, yeah,” I said.

  18

  “Flat Shoals?” I asked as I eyed the exit sign ahead.

  “Yes,” Estelle answered with a firm nod. “Then stay in the left lane.”

  It was eerily quiet. The empty road was strewn with limbs and other natural debris. As I paused at the turn from the offramp onto Flat Shoals Road, a pair of wild d
ogs watched us from a grassy patch off to the left. The trailer rattled a bit when I made the turn, catching a bit of junk under the tires, I supposed.

  Estelle pointed ahead.

  “It’s one of the next couple of lefts,” she said. “But if you keep following this road, you’ll come to a Wal-mart supercenter. Just a thought if you wind up needing gas.”

  “We should be fine,” I said. “Do you think we’ll need power?” Mostly I wondered so that I’d know whether or not to unpack the generator I’d started carrying in the Silverado’s bed. It wasn’t a large one, but it was more than enough to run a couple of small appliances or a water heater, if we needed to use it.

  “I don’t know?” She replied. “I guess a lot depends on whether or not we have water pressure…” her voice trailed off. “Damn it all. I didn’t think about that.”

  I was quiet for a minute. If no one died with the water on, chances were good that there’d still be pressure, albeit somewhat reduced, just from the water left in the water tower.

  “We might be lucky,” I told her. “Unless there’s been a major leak or someone left the water on, your tower ought to have pressure.”

  Estelle nodded slowly.

  “And if not?”

  “We find a truck nearby and make a run to Wal-mart,” I replied with a grin. “Plenty of water should be there. Or, we see if any of your neighbors have a well. I could wire up the generator, and bam, running water.”

  “You’re just ready for anything, aren’t you?” she asked.

  I shrugged. Ever since this happened, I had gotten more and more into being ready for any situation I could think of.

  “Maybe,” I replied. “There’re probably a few things I haven’t thought about, but I try to be at least a little ready for anything.”

  “Turn here,” Estelle interrupted.

  I braked hard. The conversation had been more than a little distracting, but that was fine. Truck and trailer both complained, but the ABS worked fine, and we didn’t even skid.

  “Sorry,” I exclaimed.

  “My fault,” she said. “I distracted you a bit too much.”

  I turned the wheel and accelerated a bit, angling the truck down a leaf and limb-strewn street leading into a neighborhood. A couple of turns later and Estelle told me to park.

  The house was a light brick, with a garage and a covered porch that was about half the length of the house. Grass rose to about knee-high and leaves mostly obscured the sidewalk.

  “I’m going to have to resist heading straight to yardwork,” Estelle observed as we met on the curbside after disembarking. “Such a mess…”

  “It’s fine,” I said, then took a chance and slipped an arm around the doctor’s shoulders. She answered by putting her own arm around my waist.

  “It’s just a reminder of everything that happened.”

  “Do you still want to stay here?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said firmly. “At least the pool was drained and shut down for the winter.”

  “You had a pool?” I asked as we walked up to the front door.

  “Small lap pool,” she replied. “I wanted to get it covered, but never got around to it.” Her eyes sparkled as she shot me a glance. “How do you think I stayed so fit?”

  “Good genes?” I teased.

  Estelle snorted and pulled out a ring of keys that she used to unlock the front door. Stale air washed out as she opened it, and she wrinkled her nose.

  “Okay,” I said. “Time to run through and open all the windows and doors.”

  “Definitely.”

  I followed the doctor into the warm, stale interior of what she called her little house. It was a three-bedroom, three-bath, ranch-style house with a seriously overgrown backyard, a small pool, and an open kitchen/dining area/living room with a large island and a small bar.

  The two extra bedrooms were pretty much just storage, though one had a bed, and the other a treadmill that was mostly used as a clothes rack. The decor was fairly plain, with blackout curtains over Venetian blinds. All the windows had locks that we had to undo before throwing them open to the cooler spring air outside.

  “Start running the water in my bathroom,” Estelle called from the kitchen. “It’s sort of working in here, but there’s air in the lines, and it’s kind of brown.”

  “Right,” I hollered back.

  The doctor’s bedroom was an interesting counterpoint to the guestrooms. There was a queen-sized bed, neatly made, a nice walnut dresser and nightstand set, and a walk-in closet. A painting of a woman with a mandolin dominated the wall along with a couple of other less-striking pieces. Something about it looked familiar to me, and I resolved to ask her about it when I had the chance.

  The bathroom was, like the rest of the house, an open affair with a glass pedestal sink, an eco-friendly toilet, and a large garden tub. A glassed-in shower took up one corner.

  I let out a low whistle. This was really nice. However, I followed my instructions and turned on all the water full blast. The spigots all spat and hissed, dribbling a bit of brown sludge at first, but water began to run, eventually. Sooner than I expected, it started to run clear, although I suspected we didn’t actually want to drink it.

  “Looking good?” Estelle asked from behind me.

  “Seems to be,” I replied. “Maybe not potable, but good enough to bathe in.”

  “That works for me,” she said. “I’ve got a grill out back if we want to boil water or heat some canned food, but I’m not going to open the refrigerator. I cleaned it out before I went to Montgomery, though I didn’t touch the freezer side.”

  “Probably best,” I said, making a face.

  The water pressure wasn’t great, but it wasn’t awful either once it started running. I turned off the tub while she turned off the sink, then we turned to face each other. A smile tugged at her lips as she looked me over.

  “What?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious.

  “I think I have a promise to keep,” she said. “Take off your clothes and get in bed.”

  I blinked at her.

  “This quickly?” My mind was rather one-track sometime.

  “I owe you a massage,” she told me, then chuckled. “There’ll be more, but I want to help you relax first.”

  “Oh,” I said and nodded.

  “If it helps, I’m going to undress, too,” she said, then paused. “Want me to go first, then?”

  “Not specifically,” I answered, although I honestly wouldn’t mind watching Estelle get naked, there was a kind of mixed feeling in the air between us. “Thing is, I think that we need to clear the air on something else, first, though.”

  She cocked her head and gazed up at me as I approached, then gently cupped her face. The doctor’s chocolate skin was soft under my fingers as her dark eyes gazed up into mine.

  “Oh,” she said. “I was moving too fast, wasn’t I?”

  I didn’t answer her in words, just bent down and kissed her. She responded immediately and eagerly, leaning in and tilting her head as her lips parted. Moments later, our tongues tangled together in a sensual dance.

  When we finally came up for air, she smiled up at me, her chest rising and falling rapidly with her breathing. I smiled right back. There’d been no holding back in that kiss, and I could tell that she was as wound up as I was. If she really meant to go through with the massage, it was going to be torture. Wonderful, terrible torture.

  “Clothes off, in bed,” Estelle said huskily. “Now. I’m keeping my promise, damn it.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said and started stripping down. “All the way?”

  “As a jaybird,” she replied, doing the same. Her sweater joined my jacket and t-shirt on the floor, followed by her bra.

  Estelle was about my age or maybe a little older. I guessed her to be early to mid-thirties. She had a lush, hourglass figure, but trim, too, from healthy living and exercise. Where Jackie was slim and Angie muscular, the doctor was curvy. Maybe she wasn’t the classic “brick
house” in build, but she wasn’t far off.

  I watched her kick and wriggle out of her boots after untying them, then slide her pants and underwear down. She hadn’t been joking about the Brazilian. Her nether region was perfectly smooth all the way from her bellybutton to the prominent outer form of her labia.

  There was really going to be no hiding the fact that I was hard as a rock once I got my britches down, but at least we’d be on equal footing. I untied and kicked off my boots as a slight delaying tactic, but I could feel her eyes on me while I did. Next, though, I unbuttoned my fly under her gaze and pushed everything down and off. My hardon sprang immediately to attention.

  Estelle nodded and pursed her lips appraisingly, then caught my gaze and smiled as I blushed.

  “Massage,” she repeated.

  I nodded and headed for the bedroom to lie face down as close to the middle of her bed as possible. She followed me partway, but I heard her rummaging around in the medicine cabinet.

  The bed dipped a bit on my left as she sat down alongside me. My eyes stayed closed. This was going to be a definite experience. I’d only had a professional massage a couple of times in my life, but I remembered those instances fondly.

  A scent of lavender and chamomile reached my nostrils as glass clinked down on the wood of the nightstand. The soft hiss of her hands rubbing together followed. Then, warm and slick with oil, they touched my back.

  Estelle’s fingers were strong and sure as she worked at my muscles. I had been a lot tenser than I thought, and the massage was both painful and delightful. Once my back and shoulders started to relax, she eased up a bit, running her hands over me and checking for knots of built-up lactic acid.

  Through it all, my arousal didn’t subside one bit. If anything, it started to reach the edge of uncomfortable with a slow walk towards painful. As my back gave up beneath her magic fingers, she worked her way down over my ass and the backs of my legs. Occasionally, she’d reach back to replenish the oil on her hands, and then she’d return her attention to whatever part of me she was working on before.