by James, Guy
Smiling, she walked over to him, put her hands on his shoulders and squeezed, pressing downward at the same time, making him stop in place. She kissed his mouth, then gave his bottom lip a playful tug with her teeth.
Pressing her body against his, she moaned as the longing grew deep in her belly. She kissed him again, and he kissed her back. Then she broke away and walked backward, beckoning for him to follow. Powerless to resist the lilt of her body and the sudden playfulness of her mood, he followed.
She took his calloused hand in her own and led him to the bug bite couch in the living room. She lay down on it and pulled him on top of her, and he threw the frayed couch cushion that was above her head to the floor.
“You need to de-stress, relax a little…let the rest of the tension out,” Senna whispered. “Let me help you…some more.”
Alan looked at her. She had a coquettish grin on her face and her head was cocked slightly, at an angle that was undeniably jaunty.
He began to take his glasses off, but then she put her hands on his, stopping him.
“No,” she said, biting her lip and grinning, “keep them on. You know how I like that. Keep them on…for me. The way they glint in the firelight…makes you look just a bit…evil.”
He did know she liked the black-framed glasses, so he let his hand drop away from the frames and put his arms around her. She moaned, then wrapped her legs around him and squeezed. Alan leaned into her with more of his weight, and she moaned again, her mouth staying slightly open. He bent down and kissed her deeply. They began to move rhythmically, and then she was tearing at his clothes and he was reciprocating, her want igniting his own.
Moments later, they’d succeeded in getting most of each other’s clothes off. A button had been freed of its stitching on Alan’s shirt in the struggle, and was now lying beside the fireplace, inches from the flame-licked timbers.
The exposed flesh of their lean and suntanned bodies was glimmering in the light of the flames, and beads of perspiration were gathering in their usual, strategic places. She pulled him down on top of her, making sure her nails were grazing his skin, and loving the feeling of their toned, sweaty bodies mingling.
Their movements became more sporadic, and in their give-and-take locomotive of pleasure, you could see the desperation with which they lived in the post-apocalyptic world. Their bodies were infused with an awareness that this might very well be the last time, so let’s fuck each other’s brains out, shall we?
Framed in waning firelight, they gave in to an unabashed and unbridled lust.
16
Alan and Senna were lying on the bug bite couch. The couch was draped in brown, unfinished leather, like a relic from another time, which it was. It creaked beneath them, showing its age and entirely unashamed of doing so.
There were several scatters of bug bites in the leather—on one of the side cushions and the arm opposite it and the back—that gave it a noble authenticity Alan loved. It still smelled faintly of leather, especially in the places where it was stretched and cracked, and there were many such places.
Uninfected leather, Alan thought, beautiful, natural, clean leather. Then he thought of what animals were left that could be used to make leather, only one obvious one really, and his expression soured. You could always hope that the stories of wildlife refuges untouched by the virus were true, but then you wouldn’t be in your right mind, but then again, if you were thinking that, you’d be living after the outbreak, and being of sound mind wasn’t exactly high on the priorities list any longer.
Some people had left in search of those refuges. Six since Alan and Senna had moved into New Crozet. They’d never returned, and probably hadn’t gotten very far, either.
It’d be crazy to leave here, Alan thought, to go back out there, in search of clean animals, or to see what was wrong if something was—thinking of the oddity they’d noticed at the fence tonight—or to search for the answers that had eluded everyone when they were still trying to win the world back.
And though neither of them knew it, Senna echoed the same thought in her mind some moments later. That was how attuned they were to each other.
Unbeknownst to either of them, they’d have to do just that: leave the perimeter very soon, and for the worst reasons imaginable, but, thankfully, that was a thing outside their realities at the moment.
For now they were lovers, elegant in the simplicity of their happiness, and shouldn’t they be allowed that? Hadn’t they earned at least that much?
Their breathing had settled some since their last bout, but not completely. Alan was spooning Senna, and the couch was just deep enough so that he had to hug her tightly to keep her from rolling off. His face was resting against the nape of her neck, and he was breathing in her wildly delicious scent.
“I want you to hold me like this forever,” she said.
He smiled and gently bit the back of her neck.
“I will,” he said, meaning it.
He watched her, lying there in his arms, feeling her warmth and her resilient heartbeat, fully aware that he wasn’t sure what she looked like anymore. What he did know was that she was perfect in every way, made so by the interplay of her beauty and her even more beautiful imperfections.
She drew closer to him, adjusting her hair too keep it out of his face, and sighing contentedly.
In the fireplace, the frantic leaps of the flames had died down to steady hops and caresses. Embers were lighting up in places and glowing like tiny furnaces, smoldering defiantly in the places from which the fire had retreated, saying they were now the lords of their domains.
Alan watched the flames, trying to reinvigorate them with his will, to push them back into the places where they’d feasted hungrily moments earlier, and, apparently, grown sated. There was so much nuance in fire, in its movements and chatter, that he’d become increasingly fascinated with it over the years. It was the only tool they had with which to force the virus from the world, and for that he sometimes thought it was mankind’s only remaining ally in nature.
Cold had begun to enter the room, displacing the fire’s fading heat, and Alan squeezed Senna’s body even more tightly, wanting to keep her warm. In this moment, he knew she was his, and he was hers, and that was all that mattered.
When they were together like this, the reality of the world and the horrors that went on unchecked outside the fence shrank away almost to nothing until it was just the two of them, living out an effortless joy.
“You’re friskier than usual,” Alan said, thinking of her spirited mood of late.
She turned to look at him and gave him a challenging stare.
He grinned. “I’m not complaining. Not at all.”
“That’s right,” she said.
He laughed. “Were you always this feisty?”
“Ha, I go easy on you. Way easy. You’re an old man, after all.”
He laughed again. There was an age gap between them, it was true: he was forty-one and Senna was thirty-three, but you could hardly tell by looking at them. Even with the wear of the extreme stress of outlasting the outbreak, and their sun-cured skin, they each looked the better part of a decade younger than they were, and they were in the best shape of their lives.
What the outbreak had done was give each of them a choice between achieving the limits of their physical capabilities, and death. Alan and Senna’s strength and stamina had grown by leaps and bounds after the virus ran loose, out of necessity.
It had been the ultimate adapt or die scenario, and on top of that, one had to have been lucky to have even had the chance to adapt. They’d been among the fortunate few who got the chance to survive, and they’d taken advantage of it.
Now, there was more than enough physical work to be done within the perimeter, farming and maintaining the town, and with less stress than they’d had on the rec-crews to beat them up. It was as quiet and healthy a life as you could get after the outbreak.
Alan considered this for a moment. Was that why sex with Se
nna was the best he’d had in his life, because they were so fit? Or was it because their fates had let them give in to each other with the reckless abandon of prisoners condemned to death?
It was probably a combination of the two, he decided, and something else, as well, something that was just beyond their understanding, and outside of what language could describe. They both felt it on occasion, and Alan was feeling it now. It was a higher…something.
He looked with longing at Senna’s naked belly, taking in its subtle curves, and was reminded of how he very badly wanted to have a child with her, and how imagining the way she would look pregnant sometimes drove him near madness with desire.
They’d tried for a while without success, and had given up two years earlier, and that was probably for the best, anyway, given the life the child would have in this world, a life in the shadow of the virus. They didn’t speak of it anymore.
He tensed, remembering what had worried him earlier that night.
“At the fence tonight,” he said, “why do you think more didn’t come? We had to wait a long time for the one that did, and then there were no others. What do you think it was?”
She turned to him, and he saw that all the relaxed contentedness that had been on her face a moment earlier was gone, and at once he regretted disturbing her mood.
“I was wondering when you’d bring that up again,” she said.
She sat up on the couch and looked at him as he propped himself up on an elbow, then she reached over the couch’s side and pulled a down comforter from the floor, drew it around her shoulders and covered Alan with the rest of it. The comforter was mostly patchwork now, and the patched parts didn’t match and had different textures, each more rough than the comforter’s native fabric. Its inside was still soft, however, though more than half the feathers were gone.
“Could it be the market?” she asked.
Alan shrugged. “I would’ve thought it’s too early for that, and it doesn’t explain why there weren’t at least some more animals besides the deer. Even if the market is close already, I don’t think it could be attracting all the animals in the forest. The traders don’t usually travel together, and they move quietly and use noisemakers to divert the zombies.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
Looking troubled, Senna pulled the comforter around her and lay down, then closed her eyes and pressed her forehead into Alan’s shoulder.
They remained silent like that for a few minutes, then he said, “Do you think it’s worth bringing up tomorrow, in the town hall?”
She lifted her head. “I’m not sure what it’ll accomplish. It might just upset people.”
“It could be a good sign.”
“Of what?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the zombies are getting weaker. Maybe they’re dying.”
“I don’t think anyone will share your optimism,” she said. “It will probably just scare them, and only that. Another mutation, they’ll say. You know how they’ve been lately.”
“I know,” he muttered. “I know. I’m sure there’ll be more talk of it tomorrow, as always.”
He frowned.
“What?” she said.
“Corks was up in the watchtower and he’s sure to have noticed it too. He could say something.”
“I’ll talk to him before the meeting. If he thinks it’s important, we can bring it up with Tom in private.”
“We should talk to Tom about it either way,” he said.
“Right. Not sure what it’ll do, but yeah, we should.”
They were silent for another while, then Senna said, “What do you think about how Rosemary did tonight?”
“She did alright,” Alan said. “It’s always hard, the first time.”
Senna nodded. “That’s true. You know, she talks about traveling with the traders and seeing other settlements, especially the underground ones.”
“She’s a long way off from that,” he said, wondering what there would be left to see when she was old enough, and if New Crozet would still be around.
“I know, and I wonder if after tonight, she’ll still want to.”
“She did fine, and we’ll take her again, and she’ll get better. She’ll get used to those things. She’s a resilient girl, firing that second shot the way she did, on her own without you prompting her.”
Senna nodded. A few minutes later, she said, “Do you miss…the outside?”
“What?” Alan said incredulously. “Do I miss it? I don’t want to see the other side of the fence again for as long as I live. If we never have to go back out there, it’ll be too soon.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Just wondering.”
“I don’t think we’re in too tight a cage,” he said. “If that’s what you mean. And being stuck here with you isn’t exactly a punishment. More like I won the post-apocalyptic lottery, and big time.”
Senna’s face brightened. “Do you want something to eat? You’re all skin and bones, as usual.”
“If it’s as usual,” he said, “why do you think some food will help?”
“I’m persistent, you know this.”
“That you are,” he said, smiling. “I’ll have some of whatever you’re having, within reason.”
“Strict vegan for you, then?” She grinned.
“Please,” he said, suppressing a shudder.
17
Senna opened her eyes and saw Alan sleeping quietly beside her. They were in semi-darkness, the room lit partially by moon rays stealing their way in through cracks in the blinds.
The night sky had become mostly clear as the dopey puffs of cloud finished their exit stage left. Senna’s gaze caressed the lines on Alan’s face, finding familiar, masculine reassurance in each one, but even the comfort of his presence wasn’t enough to quell the anxiety she was feeling.
They’d made love again after eating, and then they’d drifted off to sleep. And then the nightmares had come, again.
She thanked God that she didn’t scream when she had them. She would feel even worse if she cost Alan his sleep too. That, and she didn’t want him to know she was still haunted by her past.
There were things she wanted very badly to undo and un-see, and remove from her memory. During her waking life, blocking the images was more or less achievable. When she was unconscious, however, it was a different matter.
Dreams made her defenseless, subverting her will, and she hated that. If she could find a way to stop dreaming altogether, to stop the nightmares, she would do just that. Then she’d only have to repress during the day, and that was manageable.
There were sometimes days at a time when she didn’t think about what had happened, and what she’d done, but it always returned sooner or later. She wished it could have been confined to nightmares, but it had been real, it had all been real, and it had happened in front of her, to her, and had affected the course of her life.
I’m one of the lucky ones, she reminded herself, lucky to be alive, lucky to have any nightmares at all.
She looked at Alan and took some comfort in the regular rise and fall of his chest, and the slight noise of his breathing.
You still won’t tell me everything about how you survived, she thought, so you must’ve been through worse.
The thought brought tears to her eyes. A feeling of hopeless dread seized her, bringing with it an inexplicable certainty that something horrible was about to happen, something far worse than she could imagine. The conviction that propped up the feeling made it unbearable. She felt the anxiety on top of her again, crushing, and the more she tried to make herself relax, the worse it got.
After some moments and when she’d gotten close to panic, the feeling lifted on its own, as if drifting off in search of a new victim. Variety is the spice of the anxiety demon, perhaps. She stifled a gasp as it left her.
As her breathing began to settle, she got up and quickly went on tiptoe to the kitchen, not wanting to disturb Alan—she was glad she hadn’t already. She put the kett
le on and boiled water, turning it off just when she could hear the water beginning to boil but before the steam became excited enough to blow the whistle, then made herself a cup of chicory coffee and sat down at the table.
Steam from the cup began to rise in front of her face. Her eyes flitted about the room, looking for something out of order, something out of place or dirty that she could set right or clean. There was nothing.
She turned her attention to the surface of the ersatz coffee and her eyes found a silvery sheen on top of it, as if she were looking at a cup containing a black cloud, behind which was a sun of silver whose rays were traveling up the unknowable space between the dark liquid’s edge and the glass’s sides, and then assembling on the cloud’s face.
The thought made her remember something that had been at the tip of her mind’s tongue for some weeks. She thought of Alan, slumbering peacefully in the next room, and she knew that she couldn’t bring herself to wake him.
Then she remembered the dishtowels were fraying, and she got up, took a pair of scissors from a drawer, and began to trim the towels’ loose ends. When she was satisfied that the tattered parts were short enough not to catch on anything, she put the towels and scissors back in their places and returned to the table. She drank the cup of chicory coffee, washed the cup, dried it with one of the towels she’d just trimmed, and went back to the bedroom.
Alan had rolled over onto his side. He was facing the door, where Senna was now framed, and beside him in bed was an empty spot. It looked like he was waiting for her to come back, even though he was asleep.
She got in bed next to him, inserting her body under the covers with practiced stealth, then she turned toward the door, her back to Alan, and pressed her body against his. He stirred, and sleepily put his arm around her. She smiled, brought his arm to her lips, and kissed it.
