No Room In Hell (Book 3): Aftershocks

by Schlichter, William

  “Doesn’t mean I don’t desire you. It’s the first time…I’ve let go.” She fumbles with his belt.

  “And this is the defining moment proving why I’ll never understand women.”

  “What a remark for a man who wants to finish in my mouth.” She smiles through her tears.

  “Who said there?”

  “You can go anyplace, but...” She draws his hand over the curve of her rump. “I can’t be quiet if you go in there. It will attract many unwanted spectators.”

  Ethan laughs hard enough that his slight gut jiggles her enough to bounce her breasts.

  “What’s so fucking funny?”

  “I may not tomorrow, but right now, I love you. Never have I ever thought I’d have such a conversation with a woman.” He lays her down as comfortably as possible in the third seat. “It’s been a while, but I will make it last—”

  “Forever.”

  “I don’t think that’s one of my superpowers, but I’ll give it a go.”

  “What does it mean?” she asks Ethan.

  “I hope it means that, despite being out of practice, your moans of contentment were genuine.”

  She leans inward, pushing her breasts against him, “You found your rhythm the second time. I’ve no complaints.”

  “Good. I certainly enjoyed you.”

  “But what we did?”

  “We had sex. Great sex. And I don’t need it to lead us into emotions,” Ethan says.

  “We connected. And not in some school girl’s first cock way. I’ve never had a connection. You felt it,” Gentarra insists.

  “I felt it. It makes it worse. Everything I do will compromise my explorations. Will I get back home to be with you? Do I go out? Do I let others go outside the fence so I can stay safe and be with you?”

  “You have no one?”

  “You know, it’s funny. I was married, but I was never pursued by women. Now, at the end of the world, I’ve got to fend them off with a stick. I was recovering from a beating, near death, and woke up with a half-naked woman next to me. Explain to me how that would have ever happened before the undead?”

  “When you have tits like these and a small ass, all men desire you.” Gentarra smiles.

  “You’re a woman. All men want to poke you.”

  “Some were more respectful than others about it. Now, when they glance, it’s not like before. They don’t care about the appearance. A few months after the undead walked, there was this twenty-something man, we held each other in the mud-soaked drainage culvert. Hugged. We could have, but the closeness wasn’t about sex, it was about safety,” she says.

  “You sleep better when you know you’re safe. I know I do,” Ethan says.

  “You travel alone?”

  “Second floor of a house. I make sure the room is clear, and I drop the dresser in front of the door. Nothing gets in without making noise enough to wake the dead.”

  “Pun?” She twists her fingers in a small mound of his chest hairs.

  “It works.”

  “And you sleep knowing you’ll hear everything?”

  “Humans don’t expect it, so they bang into the dresser and the undead just bang.”

  “You said you were recovering from a beating?”

  “This group got me. One of them hid under their campfire. They dug a pit and hid under the fire. I never thought of it. Even fire will burn through sheet metal after a while. As I dealt with the group, one got me from behind.”

  “How did you escape?”

  “This cop found me. He was searching for his daughter’s killer. It happened before the end. My group had picked up the killer. Lost four of my people.”

  “It’s a risk. We’ve had a few. Most of our camp problems before the earthquake were trading extra food for sex.”

  “It’s a hard choice. But if we leave people outside our wall to die, then we aren’t worth saving.”

  “We keep getting burned. We bring in a nice one, and the next group steals at best. At the worst, leaves a biter who kills others. For the most part, they only pillage. The forced rapes have stopped.”

  “Smart people would scream and attract attention. It’s difficult to run from biters with a hard-on. But I’ve encountered some of the worst of society to survive.” His hand runs up and down her spine.

  “Tell me.”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Yes, I do. I want to know what’s out there.”

  “Lot of dead rapists.”

  “How do you know they’re dead?”

  His jaw forms a telling grin. Not happy, but one giving a final answer as to how Ethan knows they’re dead.

  “Oh.”

  “This fucker. He had a harem of four women. He cut off both hands of three of them, making the fourth care for the first three. Girl four could have run, but she felt guilty about leaving them, so she stayed.”

  “How horrible.”

  “I shit you not, the first time I saw them, they were in the yard, sunbathing.”

  She laughs. “I’m sorry. In a world of walking undead, to encounter four naked women must have been surreal.”

  “He had them in swimsuits, but I was sure I had lost any sanity I had.”

  She rubs her fingers along the broken texture of his left leg. “You going to explain your leg scar?”

  “You fill this truck with your useful cargo. Get those willing to leave ready when I return with guns.”

  Her fingers tickle the raw, dough-like skin with no response. “Few people with a limp have lasted for ten months. I’ll bet you’re the only one who leaves the safety of a secure compound.”

  “It was before the undead. Most of that life doesn’t matter.”

  “It’s intense. I want to know. Were you in the war?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t know how to describe this texture.” She wonders if he even detects her finger against his leg.

  “I was training to be an EMT. Picked up more than half the course and was doing my ride time. We burst through a red light and the bus was sideswiped. We skidded on the lateral for half a block’s distance. Everything in the back became projectile weapons. I’m not sure how my leg was mangled, but it was smashed, and now’s more steel than bone. It’s a bitch when it’s freezing outside.”

  She tickles the bumps with the tips of her fingers. His fingers remain on her spine. “You gave up saving lives?”

  “It was a year in recovery. I did get a settlement. But not being able to leave the couch for months at a time changes your perspective. It sent me on another path.”

  “What did you do?” She runs her finger along the surgical scar.

  “I attended college.”

  “To be what?” She kisses his stomach.

  “There’s a bet around my camp on what I used to do.” He caresses her hair. “None of them even know about the ambulance.”

  “Makes me a special gal. If you tell me, then we can split the kitty.” She kisses toward his chest. Her hands slide around his leg, and he detects the movement toward his groin.

  “I might have to take you up on that. The best story—I was caught by a hook, being some offshore fishermen in Alaska.”

  “That would hurt.” She halts her hand before reaching her target.

  “What did you do before the end?”

  “Not college. I attended a few courses, not enough to count.”

  “You strike me as someone who knows people. You seem to know exactly what people desire.”

  “It’s not difficult in the apocalypse.”

  “What did you do before?”

  “You want to reinvent yourself, so do I. I’m not ashamed of anything I did, but people are still judgmental.”

  Ethan’s grin reflects his guess at her past occupation. “Fair enough. Some of those with harsher lives are better equipped for this new world. Many people are lucky. Many in my group wouldn’t have lasted if I hadn’t found them.”

  “What makes you so well equipped? You can’t r
un away from a herd.”

  “I shoot well. I don’t panic. Even limited training in dealing with high pressure situations helps. Mostly, remaining calm keeps me alive. Biters are slow. They’re always hungry. Their nature never changes. It’s the living you must be concerned about. They’re unpredictable. They panic. They kill with no logic, making them more dangerous than the undead.” Ethan clamps his hand on her shoulder. He works his fingers into her flesh to loosen the tension.

  “God, you’re strong. I might have to have a safe word with you.” She grabs his manhood.

  “Are you that kind of girl?”

  “I’m whatever kind of girl you desire me to be, as long as we stay like this forever.”

  “It would be nice.” I’ve not allowed anyone in in so long. He massages out her tension.

  “You’re such a natural. Do you know how long it’s been since I had a neck massage?” She works her own hand on him.

  “I’m out of practice. My ex always thought I was too heavy-handed.”

  “Sorry for her. I like a rough touch.”

  “I’ve noticed,” Ethan says.

  “You know, I’ve some hang-ups about dating again, and they’re gone with you. The rules are different now. Much of what bothered me before is thrown out the window. I’m not anti-feminist, but my mate will have to be a protector.”

  “That would explain the knocking at my door.”

  “I’m not surprised you draw a lot.” She slides on top of him. His long arms allow him to continue to rub her shoulders.

  “Once the world ended, I became attractive, but before, I couldn’t get the time of day from too many women.”

  “We’re stupid. How many are dead because they chose the wrong guy in the old world? Right now, all I care is how incredible a third time will be.”

  ETHAN GLANCES OVER his shoulder. He doesn’t care for all the shadows in this automotive showroom. His M&P points at the floor to keep his sleep-deprived paranoia from popping an imagined monster leaping from the dark. Somehow, shooting at ghosts won’t create any rapport with this redhead. From the dust on the floor, this place has no moving creatures, but obscurities keep the hairs on the back of his neck on end.

  “There’s nothing here. I checked the perimeter,” the fiery redhead in the front seat of the truck calls.

  Ethan grinds his teeth. Maybe she’s the reason I’m skittish. She offers no camaraderie in a time when the people around you need to have your back. Gentarra trusts her, but I can only guess as to why. If she didn’t need to prepare her group to travel, I would’ve brought her. But if I did, we might never have made it across the river. I sure didn’t want to leave her this morning.

  Ethan holsters his weapon, giving him free hands to raise the hood on the truck.

  “How many? How many have you killed?” Serena asks as if she were five, bouncing in the driver’s seat for the first time.

  “I don’t keep track.” Ethan checks the level of juice remaining before he connects his jump-start to the battery. I’m sure Anubis does. May the good I do outweigh the evil when he matches my heart against a feather.

  “Harding keeps track. He has a wooden stock on his rifle. He notches it with each dead he takes. He’s been out of bullets for a while.”

  “I guess there’s nothing wrong with keeping track of the dead.” Ethan signals her to crank the engine.

  “He crosshatches when he takes a human life.” Serena turns the key.

  The engine sputters.

  “Has he killed a lot?” Ethan nods for her to try again.

  “When he first started, there were lots of raiders. People went nuts. The quarantine camps filled up. Then the sickness—it spread fast. Only those willing to kill quick made it. Most of his cross notches are from then.”

  The engine turns over.

  “Sometimes we must do what we must to survive.” Ethan unhooks the jump-start before slamming the hood. “Do you know how to drive?”

  “Better than you, old man.” Her face melts into an impish smirk.

  “I thought you said this car lot had boats.”

  “They keep them in the back. You said a car inside had a better chance of turning over.”

  “Vehicles in garages start easier. Less exposure to the elements,” Ethan says.

  “You know this stuff before the end of the world?” Serena hops to the passenger seat.

  “I grew up before you could Google everything.”

  “I wasn’t much for spending time on my phone. Some of my friends were, let me tell you. As their batteries died for the last time, I think they would have shot themselves if they had a gun.”

  “Any of them around?” Ethan slides behind the wheel.

  “No, they all died. I think they gave up,” Serena says.

  “I think a lot of people did.” He pulls through the showroom doors.

  “So why do you keep going?” she asks.

  “I’m not ready to quit life.”

  “Do you like Gentarra? You two were gone a long time last night to get the SUV,” Serena says.

  “You ask questions like a five-year-old. I needed one with a trailer hitch. Couldn’t find one quick. The area has been picked over.”

  “Uh huh. She likes you. I’ve never seen her look at any man the way she keeps her eyes on you. Before you arrived, I thought she liked gash. Men would try, and she turned them down. Better looking men than you. Younger, too. But she said no.”

  “I’m flattered, but if I’m to get your group safely north, I don’t have time for a date.”

  “Boff her. She could use it. And there ain’t dating anymore. Just hooking up.”

  Ethan hops from the truck. After sitting, he must stretch out the hitch in his step.

  Serena wonders what he did, but instead asks, “What are you searching for?”

  “Sign.” Ethan notes the fresh ground dirt and broken brush where a truck tore through the field to get back onto the road. “What’s rare in today’s world?”

  “Frozen food.” She gives him the open mouth “you’re the dumbest thing on the planet” glare. “Clean sheets—tampons.”

  “You’re not wrong, but so’s gas. A truck smashed through these bushes no more than a day ago. I’m betting to check for fuel.” Ethan points across the field. Next to a barn rests a gravity tank on stilts.

  “How do you know?” Serena hops to the driver’s seat to get a better view.

  Ethan tears away a splintered branch. “Still green. Hasn’t dried and turned brown. Means something destroyed it recently. Not weeks or months ago—a day. They risked getting stuck in the field on a chance no one checked for gas at that farm before now.”

  “Is that something you learned back when you were on the Oregon Trail?”

  “I’m not old.”

  “Come on, you, like, know this military shit. I figured you wore the gray.” Serena’s impish smirk returns.

  “Wow, you little ginger shit. Is this how you steal souls, insult your prey?”

  “You’re so funny—old man.”

  “I try. Women weren’t always allowed to have a sense of humor.”

  “Back when it was racy to show ankle?”

  “You’re intelligent despite your cuteness,” Ethan jabs.

  “What the fuck? You saying if I’m cute, I can’t be smart. Fuck you, old man.” She pouts. Then shoots daggers from her eyes at him. “Why is this broken bramble important to you?”

  “I lost a friend on the Desoto Bridge. She was a little older than you. She and another from my team split to take a family with a newborn baby back to our camp while I finished what we came for.” Ethan chooses his pronouns with care.

  Flabbergasted, Serena exhales. “A baby.”

  “Not news. Babies are born all the time.”

  “Maybe in your world. I’ve seen two. Since the end. Both dead. One mother followed. You know what happens when you die.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I get the picture. I delivered this baby. She was healthy. I had to re
ach the military base across the river. I was too close not to, so I sent my team back without me. On the bridge, Becky shows up a prisoner, and no one else from the group’s among them.”

  “What happened to the baby?” Serena asks.

  “And Chad. He was part of my scouting team.” Ethan kicks the ragged sod. Whoever drove through was in a hurry.

  “You should’ve returned with them.”

  “I figured on catching up,” Ethan says.

  “There are raiders everywhere.”

  “I’ve yet to encounter the Mad Max style attackers.”

  “It’s not those. It’s the teams of three or four that will take a person down. You never see them. They don’t mess with the knights, or Chet, but others have never come back.”

  Ethan’s fading bruises tingle. “I understand how you’ve survived.”

  “Glad you do. Not a day goes by I don’t think of jabbing my knife into my throat. This is no world to live in.”

  “People will rebuild. My people are rebuilding.” Ethan asks, “Why your throat? Little girls like the wrists. Bleeding out—hurts less. As cutting yourself can.”

  “There’s the chance they would be able to stop the bleeding. Not if I jab my own neck. I’d die for sure. If I’m going to do it, I’ll do it right.”

  “Why don’t you?” Ethan marches to the blacktop.

  “What the fuck, old man,” Serena says, enjoying how Ethan’s face twitches when she stresses the word old. “You encouraging me to kill myself?”

  “Why don’t you? What’s keeping you motoring along?” He opens the driver’s door to the truck.

  “I want a life. I don’t know how much more of this one I’ll stand, but I enjoy breathing.”

  She hops to the passenger seat. “You know, I wake up and wonder if this is the day I’ll be raped.” Serena opens the door and slams it so hard the cab shutters. “Not every guy wants to rape. I mean, some gang group will find me and destroy me. I know it will be horrible, and worst of all, I bet they let me live after.”

  Emily has a similar fear. Founded. I did save her from such a fate. Ethan reaches for the key. The engine purrs quiet. “Rather a depressive view.”

  “What future do I have? Every day, I wake up and wonder if my future lover and children will try and eat me,” Serena says.