by Jake Bible
On a more practical note, I have been thinking about fortifying the compound more efficiently. I am going to use as much as possible to brace the fence. Tomorrow or the next day I am going to use the pick axe to start digging a deep trench around the cabin. Then I’ll fence in the cabin also. Since it’s just the two of us we don’t really need the whole compound. It’s too much space to look after. Putting a fence around the cabin will give us a nice buffer each time there’s a breach. I may be able to sleep better at night. Lord knows I can use the rest. It really all depends on how hard the ground is. It may not be worth spending the energy to dig the trench or build a secondary fence. We’ll see.
Wednesday, December 29th- Evening
Allison and I worked hard today. I told her about my trench and secondary fence idea for around the cabin. She took to it with enthusiasm, so we got started right away. Even with the pick axe it was slow going. I have posts set for the fence, but that is all we could get done. At lunch she told me how she and her family made it out of their city and found the cave. She mentioned that they escaped with another family, but all she would say is the family didn’t make it to the cave. I have a feeling her father had to make a hard choice. At least a hard choice back then. They aren’t even choices anymore. I nodded in all the right parts of her story and let her cry during the other parts. I could tell there was something else she wanted to say, but I didn’t press.
When we were done eating we kept working for as long as we could. The sky grew dark and the wind picked up so much it made my teeth hurt. With the cloud cover it grew too dark to keep working without hurting ourselves. Allison tripped twice before I called it a day. I had to stop myself from helping her up. She wanted to keep working. I think she understands what I’m trying to build here.
Friday, December 31st- Morning
Turns out the clouds weren’t for show. We woke up to the pure silence only a big snow could make. I say “we” because it got so cold in the night that Allison moved her pallet over to mine and we huddled together, making sure no skin was exposed, through the night. It was nice. It was the best non-sex I have ever had. When she got up to pee I heard her gasp. She apologized when I scrambled out from the blankets and grabbed my crowbar. It wasn’t an attack, just three feet of snow and still coming down. We both stared for a good long while out the window. Even with everything that has happened in the world, the wonder of snow has never left. Especially when it’s burying a couple hundred Reamers and making it near impossible for them to move more than an inch at a time. If it keeps up they’ll be fully buried and immobile for at least a few days. I am hoping the storm lasts and kills all the bastards. I know we won’t be that lucky, their need to survive to rape and kill and eat drives them too much. Even if it doesn’t last, it sure has made for a nice New Year’s Eve.
Allison farts in her sleep; smells like Leon.
Friday, December 31st- Afternoon
All good things come to pass. Allison asked me how I got here and how many others there were. I don’t know why, but I told her the truth. After I was done she got very quiet and wouldn’t look at me. I honestly think she wanted to leave right then. Even in the middle of the storm. It’s just like when Leon and I first arrived here from the hospital and the others found out where we came from. They all had the same look in their eyes. I don’t know what I can do about this. I tried talking to her; tried telling her that I believe the world as it used to be was what caused me to do what I did, that since it all changed I haven’t had a single urge to do the things I used to do. I have had plenty of outlets for those feelings without hurting the ones around me. Leon was different though. He never lost the urge. I guess that’s why all the others decided to leave Leon and me here. Well, except Luther, the prick. And I guess Rebecca, but she probably would have left if Luther hadn’t tied her up and kept her for himself. Asshole.
I told all this to Allison. She looked at me hard then started to laugh. She actually laughed at me. When she got control of herself she asked me if I actually believed that everyone left. Of course I did. She asked how they left. So I told her that one morning I woke up and they were all gone. Leon told me that they left in the night and that we were all alone now. Once again we were rejected and forgotten. As soon as the words left my mouth it hit me. Allison could tell I got it now. I wonder what Leon did with all the bodies. He was always good at keeping secrets.
Allison reminded me I promised a big meal tonight so I better get started.
Friday, December 31st- Almost Midnight
It will be the New Year soon. She grew mad at me during dinner because she found out we had canned food. She threw one of the cans at me and screamed at me for making me eat her friend when there were canned peas and corn and ham. I told her that the cans will last for years, but that her friend wouldn’t. It was a practical decision and I wasn’t being mean. She sulked the whole time we ate. Reality broke through, though and she apologized for the cut above my eyebrow the can made.
We talked all through the rest of dinner. She told me about her old life and her family. She cried awhile. When she was done I could see again that she wanted to say something, but couldn’t get it out. To break the tension between us I told her about my scars. They are old scars, older than the plague, older than my time in the hospital. People were brutal monsters before the plague hit. When it was your own mother, the brutality became exponential. Allison didn’t flinch when I told her how the police found me just sitting in the apartment with parts of my mother’s body strewn around the living room. I have no memory of any of it. I only know what the police report said and what my lawyer and shrinks told me. Apparently days went by before the neighbors complained of the smell and called the cops. I ended up in the hospital, but had to be isolated and restrained due to my inability to get along with others. I would black out and then come to covered in blood with orderlies trying to hold me down. They kept me pretty well doped and that is how I was when the world went to shit. That’s how Leon found me. She asked about Leon. I told her a little, but I kept the really bad stuff to myself. Leon was Evil with a capitol E. No one needed Leon in their head if they didn’t have to. Like I said, there were monsters before all of this.
Allison is getting ready for bed while I write this. She pees in front of me now in the can in the corner. I hope she knows what she is doing. I’m not so good with temptation.
Saturday, January 1st- Lunchtime
Happy New Year! I don’t have much time to write before Allison has lunch ready. The snow is up over the windows and it’s still snowing. I’ll dig out later and assess the compound and move all of our supplies into the cabin. This could be a long one. I don’t mind, I have some company. We rang in the New Year properly, with Wild Turkey and sexual frustration. It got kinda silly after that, it’s all still a bit hazy. I remember an empty bottle of Wild Turkey and cooking grease. I think Allison has a couple urges in her that she’s been repressing. I am trying not to dwell on the details too much, but we each had a very good time in our own way.
Lunch is ready. Allison has something she wants to tell me. I think it’s what she has been hiding from me. There is a new look in her eye since last night. The Look Of The Harlot my dear departed mother used to say. But I don’t know how that will play out. I really, really don’t want Allison getting hurt.
Saturday, January 1st- Afternoon
I don’t have much time to write. I need to get this down in case something goes wrong. Allison dropped quite the bomb on me. She said she didn’t want to die a virgin. I laughed and then regretted it right away. She had been working up to this admission for a couple days and I go and laugh at her. The pain on her face nearly crushed me. After a quick apology on my part I asked her how she expected to pull it off without risking us both. That’s when the rope came out. I may be incapacitated for a bit.
Saturday, January 1st- Evening
James is a little tied up so I am going to be writing for a few days. Records could be important some day. We
ate, screwed like bunnies (real bunnies not Reamer bunnies, that’s a nasty sight to see) and then passed out. A crash outside woke me up. I think one of the buildings’ roof caved in. I am hoping that’s what it is. Whether it’s that, Reamers or Scavers, I don’t really care. Let ‘em come. I got this thing down now. I’m ready for the future. I’m ready for a future. Too bad James has to stay roped to a chair and gagged until we are sure I’m not infected and haven’t infected him. Should only be a couple days before we are positive. In the meantime we’ll make the most of his situation. I have a lot of ideas I am dying to try. James is certainly willing. I pray I don’t have to kill him. But what’s the point of living if we can’t really live? Screw it all.
PS- James farts in his sleep; smells like Leon.
Just Desserts
“How many times have I told you, twenty feet? Huh? How many?” Banana Foster said, adjusting his silver sequined tube top and pulling his hand out from under his flame red mini-skirt after adjusting his g-string. “How am I supposed to get any clients with some hippie stoner bopping around me? Seriously, man, step the fuck off!”
The stoned-out pot dealer stared blankly at Banana, scratching at his overgrown face scruff while watching the moths flit about in the pink-orange of the streetlamp light. Banana waited for a response, when none seemed forthcoming he snapped his fingers loudly, making the hippie jump slightly.
“Whoa, sorry man. Totally lost there for a sec,” apologized Baked Alaska, shaking his head a little. “Hey, by the way, how does that g-string fit around your balls?”
Banana foster closed his eyes, trying to fight the urge to bitch slap the loser. “It just does, okay?”
“Hey man, no need to get all hostile,” Baked soothed. “We’re all friends here.”
“No we fucking are not friends,” barked the tranny hooker. “Friends help each other. Friends support each other. Friends don’t ruin each other’s hustle. More specifically, my friends don’t ruin my hustle.” He clenched his fists, closed his eyes and took two deep, slow breaths.
“Jeez, harsh the mellow why don’t ya. I have friends, I know what friends do. They don’t act like that, that’s what they do. Don’t do…do,” muttered Baked Alaska, scuffing away from the angry hustler.
Banana glared, and then turned quickly, sticking his chest out and straightening his platinum blonde wig. They stood silent, twenty feet apart, pretending like the other didn’t exist. Minutes lapsed and a car slowly passed by, the driver glancing sideways at Banana. Banana did his best ‘hard to get’, making the driver circle the block and come by for a second look. This time Banana stepped to the curb, fully expecting the driver to slow down, which he did.
“Hey baby, looking for some fun?” he asked in a husky falsetto, his best Kathleen Turner impression. “I know exactly where you can find some.” Running his hands slowly down his body, Banana Foster winked at the prospective john.
“Um, well, yeah, maybe. Whatcha offering?” stammered the driver as he leaned across the passenger seat, trying to get a good look at Banana.
“Well, sugar, I---”
“He has a huge fucking cock! Dude, I’ve seen it! It’s mother fucking huge!” Baked Alaska yelled, running up to the car, knocking Banana out of the way and leaning into the passenger window. “Hey, you want to buy some weed too? You guys could get totally stoned while he goes down on you, or you go down on him, if that’s your thing. Don’t matter to me, I don’t judge. If you want a big, huge shlong in you mouth, that’s your business.”
The driver’s eyes went huge and he hit the gas, speeding away as fast as he could. Baked Alaska was caught in the passenger window, screaming for help. The driver reached over and punched Baked, knocking him loose and onto the pavement. The car squealed away and around the corner, while Baked rolled a couple of times, then lay still. After a few moments he punched his fist in the air.
“I’m okay!”
Furious, Banana Foster stomped over to Baked—not an easy thing to do in ten-inch stilettos—and kicked Baked Alaska square in the balls.
“You okay now, motherfucker?” He gave him two more swift kicks for good measure. Baked Alaska let out a tiny squeak, then turned on his side and retched. Banana Foster tensed his entire body and screamed up at the night sky. “What did I ever do to be cursed with a fuckstick like you in my life?”
The enraged tranny stomped back to his strutting spot, fists still clenched and body trembling with rage.
Slowly, Baked Alaska pushed himself up on his elbows. He took a couple of deep breaths, tried to stand and thought better of it.
“You promised Mama you’d look out for me. You know I ain’t so good with life skills,” he said, finally finding the strength to stand. He slowly wobbled the few steps to Banana Foster and stopped, putting his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. “You’re the smart one, the ‘go-getter’, as Mama says. I mean look at this spot.” He waved a hand around him at the piss-stained, shit-soiled piece of concrete the two worked. “Location, location, location is what they say, and you found it.”
Banana stared at his obviously mentally-disturbed brother, almost seeing him for the first time. “You really believe that, don’t you?”
Baked Alaska nodded, “Yep, sure do.”
Banana shook his head, then grabbed his brother up, hugging the breath back out of him. Baked gasped, but relaxed into the hug. “That’s what I’m talking about, man.”
Banana let go and gave Baked a playful shove, then his eyes went wide. “What time is it?”
Baked dug around in his many pocketed, multi-patched pants until he finally found his beat up Mickey Mouse watch. “Ummm, 1:30.”
“Shit, shit, shit! We’re late!” Banana cried, shaking his hands in the air frantically. “Mama is going to be so pissed if we don’t get her her bottles of NyQuil!”
“Oh, fuck, man. We are so dead,” Baked agreed. He ran over to a dumpster a few feet away and grabbed a large duffel bag, slung it over his back and took off running down the street, his sandals flapping against the asphalt.
“Wait up, fuck head! You have my sneaks in there!” Banana Foster cried, clacking after Baked, an amazing display of balance and grotesquery.
A car lazily drove by, the driver leaning out his window. “Hey sweet thing, I’m looking to party. You want to join me?”
“Fuck you queer, Mama needs her NyQuil!” Banana Foster yelled at the driver.
The car sped away, leaving the sounds of sandal flaps and stiletto clacks to fill the night air.
All The Freaky Bedbugs Of The World
They keep me awake at night. Partying, carrying on, laughing, drinking, hollering. And dancing, oh the never ending, bass thumping, booty shaking, let’s get it on dancing. Sometimes it’s just wild rave-style, then club, house, trance, tango. But, tonight they have gone too far. Way, way too far. Tonight, its country line dancing.
I hate the freaky bedbugs. I hate them so much.
I try to roll over and cover my ears with the pillow, but that doesn’t help. Apparently, the VIP lounge is now deep within the down feathers. The things I hear. So I throw my pillow against the wall. Tiny screams issue from the avian plushness, silence and then a massive, “Yeah!” as the little freaks get off on the free amusement park ride they experienced.
I think about burning the pillow.
My mattress vibrates with miniscule refrains of “Boot Scootin’ Boogie”. Hand claps, knee slaps and boot stomps echo from the box springs. They must be on the wooden frame now, only place to have a proper line dance. What am I thinking? There is no proper place to have a line dance. I can just imagine them with their pearl buttoned, plaid shirts. Their polished belt buckles and tight jeans, shined cowboy boots lifting and lurching, kicking and scuffing against the unfinished 1 x 2.
I haven’t slept in days. I think about burning the mattress.
My friends have normal, quiet, microscopic, never-mess-with-your-sleep bedbugs. I try to talk about my freaky ones and, well, they just
don’t understand.
“Umm, Jerry, bedbugs don’t dance,” they say.
“The hell they don’t!” I scream at them, disbelievers all.
“But, Jerry, you can’t even see bedbugs, let alone hear them,” they say.
“Oh, yeah? Well I can! I hear everything those little freaks do,” I insist, alone, abandoned, room empty.
And freaks they are. I know they are gay, straight, bi. I know they have tattoos, piercings, wear thongs, wear nothing. Some are into latex and lube. Some like it rough, others like it alone. Some just come to dance, dance, dance. Others, it’s all about the hook-up.
The frat freaks are the worst. It always ends in a drunken brawl, the bed shaking with the violence and then hours of sobbing girlfriends, pissed off bouncers and the little freak police trying to sort out who started what and when.
I’d sleep on the couch, but apparently the couch is freaky bedbug Europe. I can’t stand all the pretentious accents and cigarette smoke.
“Boot Scootin’ Boogie” is over and the song I dread, the one I have prayed wouldn’t start, does. You know it. There’s aches, there’s breaks and there’s hearts in it. Sweet Jesus, make it all stop!
