by RR Haywood
‘I’ve been bitten,’ I say after swallowing the mouthful, ‘and had a human heart shoved in my mouth and…’
‘What?’ She stares at me in shock.
‘And I bit a blokes throat out,’ I nod and delve the spoon back into the tin, ‘and had eye juice drip in my mouth from an eye I popped and…’
‘Urgh stop it.’
‘I’m immune. You’re…fuck knows what you are but whatever you are can’t hurt me so…’ I waggle the spaghetti hoops at her, ‘we share otherwise I’ll shoot you if you touch the ravioli.’
‘You’ll shoot me?’ She asks and steps closer to push her spoon into the tin.
‘Sorry,’ I pull my spoon out to give her room, ‘yeah I’ll shoot you…they’re so nice.’
‘Are they?’
‘Like really nice.’
She tilts her head and opens her mouth to receive the spoon. I can’t help but watch and I much as I hate her, right now I want her to enjoy the taste I was enjoying.
‘Oh my,’ she chews then stops and closes her eyes.
‘Nice?’
‘Better than nice. You wouldn’t really shoot me.’
I take another mouthful and chew the little squidgy hoops so all the tomato sauce bursts out into my cheeks and tongue.
She goes for another spoon and has to step closer to see down into the tin, I wait and our hands brush as she lifts and I descend.
‘Still good? And yes I would shoot you.’
‘Amazing,’ she says with a mouthful, ‘yours?’
‘Same.’
‘You had a human heart put in your mouth?’
I nod and wait for her hand to come out so I can get another spoonful, ‘still beating.’
‘No way?’
‘Yeah,’ I close my eyes and chew the hoops before swallowing them down and still the water thunders into the bowl behind us. ‘That’s what the baddies do,’ I add pointing my spoon at her, ‘they do bad things…but I guess you know that.’
‘All gone?’ She asks, ‘and yes I was a baddie that did bad things.’
‘One left, go on.’
‘You have it.’
‘I’ve had more,’ I push the tin at her.
‘Oops,’ she goes to push the spoon in and misses.
‘You keep on doing that.’
‘Clumsy and I’ve done it twice,’ she gets the last few hoops on her spoon and wolfs them down.
‘Did you ever put a human heart in someone’s mouth when you were a genocidal maniac?’
‘Not that I recall. Were you a complete prick before becoming a hero or did it just happen recently?’
‘Always been a prick.’
‘I figured.’
‘Murderer.’
‘Dry humping prick.’
‘Next?’ She asks turning back to the table, ‘ravioli?’
‘Definitely.’
Using the opener she cuts the top off and lifts the tin up to offer it over so I can see the fat squares of goodness within the rich sauce.
‘Hang on,’ she turns and grabs a plate from the cupboard and spoons them out before grabbing a fork from the drawer. She stabs a meaty parcel and offers me the fork. I take it and push the ravioli into my mouth and bite down to burst the parcel apart. Chewing contentedly I stab the next one and hold it out. She leans forward and without thinking I lift the fork to her mouth. Her lips part showing her white teeth and the tip of her pink tongue that darts out to lick her lips. She closes her mouth over the fork and slides back to pull the ravioli off. I swallow at the sight and stab the next one for myself. She chews. I chew. I stab another and hold it up for her. She takes it in the same way and this time while watching me. I blink and clear my throat. She chews. I chew. One for one we stab and eat while I feed both her and me. The food is delicious. The taste is amazing but I want more.
With the last one gone and Marcy holding the plate I reach my hand up and run my forefinger through the juice left on the surface.
‘Good idea,’ her finger joins mine as we trace swirls through the sauce to lick off and the sight of her finger going into her mouth makes me sigh audibly.
‘If only your boyfriend could see you now.’
‘Darren? He wasn’t my boyfriend.’
‘No? What was he?’
‘Oh he was the man that murdered me,’ she says pulling a sauce laden finger from the plate to suck dry.
‘Yeah but you made it up for since.’
‘Next?’ Her voice is deeper, lower, huskier.
‘Anything.’
‘First one I touch, okay?’
‘Do it,’ I nod eagerly and with our eyes locked she reaches down and fumbles through the table top knocking several over in the process.
‘Clumsy,’ I say in more of a whisper than I intended.
‘Very,’ she pulls her hand back up and flicks her eyes over to read the label, ‘peaches,’ she says with a look back at me and one eyebrow raised, ‘want peaches?’
I nod and this time the tin opener isn’t needed as she peels the top back. I take the plate from her and put it on the side so I can get closer and smell the fruit as the lid comes back.
‘Slippery,’ she pushes her fingers into the juice and tries to grab a segment of peach, ‘got it.’
The opening is there. Her fingers holding the prized peach above the tin. I’m inches away and leaning in. She lifts it higher and the peach touches my lips, ‘careful,’ she says. I open my mouth and suck the peach in and her fingers brush my lips as she guides it safely in.
‘Oh fuck…fuck that’s good…’
‘Sweet?’
‘So sweet,’ I say and watch as she fishes for the next one and scoops it up and into her own mouth. I can smell her. I’m so close I can smell her hair and the air is full of peaches and tomato sauce. Her left shoulder brushes against my right side.
‘Ready?’ clutching the next segment between thumb and forefinger she lifts it out but it slips and plops back in. She grabs it again and this time it lands in the palm of her hand, ‘still want it?’
‘Fuck yes…’ I lean in as she palms the peach into my mouth and the tip of my tongue touches her palm. She blinks and blushes.
‘You licked my hand.’
‘Sorry,’ I shrug, ‘I still hate you.’
‘Hate you too.’
I don’t care for the insults because the peach is making my mouth have an orgasm and still the water thunders into the bowl behind us. We get gooey and messy eating peaches and it seems right and proper that she feeds us both.
‘Spam,’ we repeat the same thing and stand face to face and eye to eye as she fumbles through the tins for the next one, ‘meat,’ she says with a flash of a smile.
This one takes longer to open and the wait makes it all the better.
‘Need a knife,’ she says as the pink meat slides noisily from the tin onto the plate we used for the ravioli.
‘No we don’t,’ I grab the slab of meat and hold it up for her to take a bite. This isn’t fruit or ravioli. This is meat and teeth are needed. She bites down and takes a chunk away from the corner. I tilt it back and bite down on the same spot she did and her focus sharpens intently as my mouth touches the part her mouth touched. Her saliva in my mouth. Her hand comes up and covers mine to tilt the meat back to her. She leans in and bites down on the same spot again as though competing with the challenge. My saliva in her mouth now. Like wolves we share the spoil. Edging closer until we’re but inches apart so the tilting only has to move the least amount of distance. Her hand still covers mine in an almost dominant action of control as she pulls it gently towards her then pushes it just as gently towards me.
Sauce from the peaches glistens on her chin so I take it the next level and reach out with my clean hand to slide my finger up and over her soft skin to remove the juice then suck the juice into my own mouth. She breathes heavily at the action with a look of determination and a crimson blush that starts flowering up from the base of her neck.
‘Tomato sauce
,’ she runs a finger down the side of my mouth and pushes the finger into her own mouth while staring straight at me.
The last chunk of meat and it comes my way with a covering of gelatine fat glistening across the surface. I open and she feeds me, pushing the meat into my mouth and I spot the bits of fat and meat stuck to the end of her finger. I hold her hand and pull it closer to my mouth and I take that too. Her finger. In my mouth. I suck the meat and gelatine as she slides it free. Breathing heavy she glares at me defiantly, ‘you missed some,’ she says without looking at her finger still extended. She pulls her hand to her own mouth and slides the same finger between her lips. My hand still on hers and my knuckles brush the tip of her nose.
Now I breathe heavy and glare defiantly.
‘Next?’ I ask while flicking my eyes from hers to her finger sliding out from her mouth. My hand still covers hers. She twists so hers goes on top. I pull back and twist so mine covers hers again. We don’t blink. Gentle movements. Dominance being tested. With her other hand she fumbles through the table and pulls the next tin up.
We both read the label and dare the other to laugh or show reaction. Neither of us do.
I turn to grab the spoon while she gets the lid off and this time I feed. The spoon dipping into the thick yellow custard and pulled out to be lifted to her mouth. She takes it in and the custard dribbles down her chin. I use the edge of the spoon and scoop it back up and aim it towards her mouth but her hand comes up to cover mine and the aim is reversed towards me and I take it without blinking. My turn next and while her hand clasps over mine I spoon the custard into my mouth and this time the dribble is taken away by a soft finger that traces a stroke over my chin and the spillage goes between her lips. Messier than the peaches and every spoonful seems to be dribbled. Her fingers clear mine and the edge of the spoon clears hers.
With her hand on mine she operates the aim as I go for the next one and at the last second she deliberately veers it away so it smears across the side of my face and plops down onto my t shirt.
‘That’s for being so mean,’ she whispers and her eyes are challenging.
I delve the spoon in and lift it out towards her mouth. Her eyes narrow with suspicion at the lack of messing about. I lift an eyebrow as though to suggest the time for playing is over and there is eating to be done. She pauses, shrugs and goes for the spoon which is twisted over so the contents in the cradle fall down over the front of her t shirt. We both stop and stare down at the big yellow dollops landing on the top of her cleavage. She lifts her head slowly and fixes me with a look.
‘That’s for saying I dry humped your leg.’
Eyes fixed on mine and she pushes a finger into the custard, lifts it out and flicks the dollops on my face.
‘You did dry hump my leg.’
I take it without flinching and push the spoon in then lift it out and smear it gently across the side of her face.
‘I did not.’
‘No?’ Her head tilts as she asks and a new idea forms in her eyes. Her hand tenses over mine holding the spoon which she guides towards her chest. The tremble is evident but she tightens her grip and glares as though daring me to pull away. I meet that gaze and aim the edge of the spoon to gently brush the biggest dollop of custard from the top of her breasts. Safely on the spoon she pushes it back towards me with a slow mischievous grin forming on her face. I could refuse but the rules of the game have been set and to back out now would be a sign of weakness. So I take it. The custard that fell on the tops of her breasts is taken into my mouth and the spoon comes away clean.
A look of small victory in her eyes and the game continues as the tension builds and the water from the tap thunders into the bowl. Her hand still on mine as we go for the next spoonful of custard and the back of her index finger brushes against the rim of the tin which she pulls away quickly with a sharp intake of breath. A bead of blood forms quickly on the cut, crimson and stark on her skin.
‘You okay?’
‘It’s tiny,’ she says as we stare at the small bubble of blood. Her eyes flick to mine and with understanding I stare back. Blood on her finger and a desire to know the limit in her eyes. I nod, almost imperceptibly and gently I start pulling her finger towards my mouth as the breath catches in her throat and her eyes widen as I get ready to take the victory of the challenge. The tip of her nail touches my lips and we pause, the last fraction of distance for the bead of blood to be taken into my mouth.
‘No,’ she pulls it away quickly and pushes the finger into her own mouth, ‘enough.’
I exhale and close my eyes for a second, releasing the tension. ‘You bleed,’ I say for lack of anything else to say.
She nods with her finger still in her mouth. She pulls it out and stares at the tiny cut, ‘clotting already.’
‘Is that normal?’
‘For a small cut,’ she nods then laughs softly, ‘want to stab me and see if I clot?’
I snort a dry laugh, ‘can I,’ I ask, ‘nah…listen, sorry for what I said…’
‘Ah at last he apologises.’
‘Blood sugar? Hungry, tired…stressed…’
‘I know,’ she says knowingly, ‘but you were still really mean.’
‘Really mean?’
‘Really mean,’ she nods.
‘Really really mean?’
‘Very funny,’ she rolls her eyes.
‘Your turn.’
‘What for?’
‘To say sorry.’
‘So you apologised to get an apology in return?’
‘No, I apologised because some of the things I said were out of order.’
‘Some? Try all.’
‘Some, and yeah you owe me an apology too.’
‘For what?’
‘Dry humping?’
‘But you did.’
‘Marcy, I did not dry hump your leg.’
‘I was there,’ she says innocently, ‘I remember it. I remember thinking this is Howie dry humping my leg.’
‘You did not!’
‘So did.’
‘You were busy making faces at me and taking your clothes off.’
‘Oh you remember that bit then,’ she says, ‘just not the dry humping.’
‘I remember it very well,’ I say with a blink, ‘it’s scarred into my mind.’
‘Oh,’ she pulls a sad face, ‘was it that bad?’
‘Which bit?’
‘Seeing me naked.’
‘Eh? No that was fine…er, you know…yeah that bit…oh fuck off.’
‘What?’ She laughs, ‘you’ve gone red.’
‘Well, you were making those faces anyway.’
‘What faces?’
‘Pouty faces…like all serious…like a porn star,’ I pull a mock serious lustful face and make fish lips while widening my eyes, ‘like that.’
She bursts out laughing and covers her mouth, ‘I was not doing that.’
‘Were.’
‘Probably in response to you dry humping me.’
‘I wasn’t even horny,’ I say with a nod.
‘You were,’ she says, ‘you bloody were. I saw it.’
‘Marcy!’
‘What?’ She laughs, ‘I did see it.’
‘Well, you don’t actually say that to someone.’
‘You said you weren’t even horny and I was simply pointing out the evidence to the contrary…that I saw your erection.’
‘Marcy!’
‘You saw me naked,’ she grins evilly, ‘and I saw you naked…except you still had your trousers round your ankles.’
‘True,’ I admit ruefully, ‘was it the chemicals?’
‘Pardon?’ She asks with real shock.
‘Forget it,’ I turn to get another tin.
‘Hang on,’ she turns me back to face her, ‘what did you say?’
‘Forget it.’
‘Howie, say that again.’
I go to speak but the water still thunders in the bowl behind me and for a second I think it’s that noise
that I can hear but Marcy knows that sound as well as I do and her eyes widen as the blood drains from her face and we freeze stock still.
Ten
The scientist was wrong.
The gathered horde are not between a dozen and twenty miles away. They are twenty five miles away.
Twenty five miles to the south to be exact and that town, filled and waiting, snaps as one with eyes right as the small man gives death to a host and as one they start walking. As one they start jogging and with bodies warmed they run.
From the local knowledge contained within the hosts, the infection calculates the distance, the route, the weather, the heat, the terrain and it sends them as one. From the fittest to the fastest they run as one to cover the five miles.
Eleven
‘Oh this is most frightening.’
‘What is?’ Clarence looks down to the bespectacled man adjusting his tie knot.
‘Everything,’ Reginald wails.
‘Dave, nice touch back there,’ Clarence says to the other small man.
‘What was?’
‘What you said to the boss.’
‘I didn’t touch Mr Howie.’
‘No, I meant…forget it,’ Clarence gives up instantly, knowing he lacks the patience of Mr Howie in his ever pressing need to understand Dave. Instead he focuses on the door of the first house in the row on their allocated side. He takes the lead and gently tests the door handle to see if it yields to the touch.
‘Locked,’ he sighs, ‘check the back?’ He turns round to spot Reginald staring over the square to Howie and Marcy arguing visibly as Howie hands his pistol over.
‘Where’s Dave?’
‘Oh dear,’ Reginald says, ‘they hate each other so.’
‘Reggie, where’s Dave?’
‘Back is locked,’ Dave says walking from the side.
‘Right,’ Clarence replies tightly, ‘of course it is.’ He steps to the side to peer in through the window to the tidy interior of the cottage.
‘Done it,’ Dave says dully, ‘looks clear.’
‘Of course you have,’ Clarence turns back and catches Marcy kneeling down next to Howie, ‘what are they doing?’
‘Mr Howie is giving Marcy his pistol,’ Dave says.
They watch as Howie stands over Marcy adjusting the belt before standing and both of the gesturing angrily as she tries to reach the pistol round her back.
