CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Gemma and Travis found the perfect place to set up camp. Toward the back of the room, there was a two story shelf made out of reinforced steel with a ladder leading up to it. It had been designed to hold and store heavy objects out of the way--like the crates they brought down to clear out a nesting space. Travis liked the fact that it was not only obscured from direct view, but off the ground and ultimately hard to reach. If for some reason they were invaded, he wanted to know that he'd have enough time to strike back before he was bitten and turned. He deserved to die with a fighting chance.
Gemma had grabbed a thorny looking hacksaw to use as a weapon as they made their way back for the night. Travis had chosen a trowel shovel with a pointy iron head and a wicked looking hammer with a claw on the back that he supposed was used for digging up tent stakes. Given their position, backed into a cinder block and concrete wall, he'd prefer to have a long range weapon to keep his attacker at bay if need be. The hammer was a last ditch resort. He considered for a minute bringing along one of the propane torches, but thought better of it. The last thing he needed was an uncontrolled element like fire changing the terrain without warning. The only thing worse than dying or becoming a zombie would be burning alive in the tiny backroom of the local strip mall store. It was funny, he mused, how he'd never considered that before. He'd always assumed that if a zombie outbreak came, the dead would be his only concern. He'd completely overlooked how average, everyday ways of dying were still in play as well.
If we survive this, we’re going to need to find a doctor, Travis thought. We’ll have to clean up and burn the corpses of the infected before we can start over--there could be radiation to deal with, as well. Still, the idea of rebuilding seemed to lift his spirits a bit as he started padding a space for them to bed down for the night. Working quickly together they made a makeshift mattress out of soft materials they found in the store. Their bed was a stack of furniture pads laid over paint tarps, topped with their sleeping bags. They lay on their backs, holding hands and whispering like kids at a sleepover.
“Let's play a game. You in?” Gemma asked.
“Sure,” Travis said.
“Let's pretend, just for tonight, that we're the last two people on Earth...” she began.
“We might soon be,” Travis interrupted.
“...and it's up to us to repopulate the world.”
“You know I'm a virgin right?” Travis smirked.
Gemma rolled over and stared into his eyes. She leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips. Travis tried to suppress a giggle, but it slipped out.
“What?” Gemma asked.
“I'm a little worried,” Travis confessed. “I don't know how long I can last. I mean, I've never been with anyone before.”
“Don't worry,” she said. “You won't last long the first time. Guys never do. But then it will get easier to go longer and still have control. We've got plenty of time to work on it.”
Travis smiled at the thought of spending all night literally having sex with the girl of his dreams. It was beyond anything he'd ever conceived, even while staring at a shoe box full of her stolen photos.
“I need to tell you something,” he began, feeling his conscience prickle at the thought of those images.
“Wait,” she said, leaning over and kissing him again and time seemed to stand still.
“I think you will want to know this,” he protested.
“Not yet,” she said before kissing him again one last time. “Just in case.”
“In case of what?”
“In case it ruins our perfect moment,” she said. “I've been saving myself for a decent guy for a long time Travis. I'm pretty sure you're that guy. I'm so horny right now and all I want to do is feel loved and special again, in case we all die tonight in our sleep. Please, whatever you have to tell me, whatever big confession you have to make, can it wait?”
“Yeah,” said Travis. “It was nothing. I'm just nervous.”
She smiled and kissed him again.
“I don't have any protection,” he said.
“I don't think we're going to have to worry about that anymore,” she giggled, playing with his belt and pulling down his pants. His erection strained against his underwear. Embarrassment and insecurity flooded him as she freed him from the restrictive undergarments, wrapping her hand around his aroused member.
What if she laughs? What if I'm not big enough for her? What if she changes her mind?
Travis had little time to squirm under the weight of his terrible fears. Gemma gently placed him into her warm mouth and began to suck. Almost immediately he began to fight back the desire to release himself. He tried to think about something else, anything, but it was no use. The heat of her breath danced across his exposed skin and her silky hair tickled his stomach. His legs stiffened and his breathing grew shallow and rapid. She responded by bobbing her head back and forth faster, pushing him over the edge. Travis felt his eyes rolling into the back of his head. His hands found their way to the top of her head. He became aware that he was bucking his hips right before he shot his load into her mouth. He could hear the embarrassing grunts coming out of him but he couldn't control himself. His balls tightened, his ass clenched, and the world disappeared as burst after burst of hot fluid shot out of him. Gemma took him deeper into her mouth, into the back of her throat, swallowing rapidly and making slight gagging sounds. Soon he began to relax and grown soft and sensitive. She released him and sat up smiling.
“Gemma,” he said, gasping for breath. “That was amazing.”
“I'd say it was a good start,” Gemma said. “Now that we've got that first one out of the way, let's go for round two.”
She leaned over and kissed him, forcing her slimy tongue into his mouth. He kissed back, tasting himself and feeling oddly aroused by it, his flaccid member starting to grow hard once more.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
The sun rose early, peaking through the crack in the boards. It slowly crept up and onto Parker, Max, and Holt, all fast asleep next to one another in sleeping bags. Exhaustion had pulled them under quickly, overwhelming them one by one. Gunner sat awake at the window. He'd found a coffee pot with some instant black coffee crystals nearby and that rat poisoning sweetener. Gunner didn't mind the bitterness.
Pain is your friend, he thought. It reminds you that you’re alive.
He sat in the window with a pair of binoculars, enjoying the relative quiet. The zombies were still out there, plain enough for anyone with eyes to see. We’re nowhere near the end of this battle, he feared. The dead roamed in small packs from broken car to broken car, looking for scraps of meat they might have overlooked in their desperation and hunger. Some moved in and out of the alleys, dragging along on torn and twisted limbs, a gruesome theater of mangled and rotting flesh. He’d been watching for an hour since light broke and the zombies seemed to be growing more and more agitated. They were gaining momentum, that was for sure.
Gunner wondered if the sun had some special affect on them he hadn't considered. It could be as simple as easing the cold and rigor mortis, allowing them a greater range of motion. He took another gulp, polishing off his mug and wincing as the sharp flavor momentarily overwhelmed him. No amount of sweetener, chemical or otherwise, could take the bite out of it. It was as if they existed side by side--the bitter and the sweet. Something about that made him chuckle to himself, appreciating the caffeine kick coming on.
He scanned the street looking for a pattern in their movements. If it existed, he couldn't see what it was. He'd been at it so long his eyes were growing tired. Lack of sleep wasn't helping either, although he didn't really feel tired. He'd offered to take first shift and let the kids sleep. Once they'd gone under, he'd decided to just let them have their rest. It wasn't just sympathy. He was being practical. They were sloppy and emotional when they were tired. They weren't trained for this like Gunner was. The more tired they grew, the more likely they were to make a fatal error, the
kind that could also get him killed. He didn't need a repeat of yesterday's performance.
His binoculars stopped on the face of a zombie that was ambling toward him. He pulled the lenses from his face and rubbed his eyes, confirming that the monster was over a hundred and fifty feet away. He put them back to his face and took a good, long look. The dead guy appeared to be middle aged, although it was getting harder to tell by first glance. Whatever was causing this was definitely changing the people it infected. The man's skin had turned an ashy gray. His eyes were like two bullet wounds, deep, sunken in, and hollow. There was an emptiness to these things. A tiny intelligence drove them, fueled by the need to feed and infect, and little else. Blood had run from this guy’s nose and crusted into dried streaks. His teeth were jagged and covered in a slimy-looking film of wriggling white foam. The mouth looked like it was eating itself, constantly chewing in anticipation of the next kill. The sides of his face were drawn in. Gunner wondered what would happen if the man was unable to locate food.
Will they die for real without meat? he wondered. Or will they just slowly rot away until they’re no longer able to attack anyone?
He scanned past the man and adjusted the binoculars for long range viewing, bringing the base in the distance back into focus again. It was an oddity that Gunner couldn't wrap his head around. Every other building was routinely searched by the wandering zombie hunting packs. They went back to the same vehicles time and again, despite no new activity occurring. And yet for some odd reason they didn't go anywhere near that base. He'd made it a habit to check every few minutes. Not once had they even seemed to notice it.
Why aren’t they attracted to it? he wondered. What is it about the Air Force base that makes them seemingly blind to it? Maybe they've got a signal that repels them, like insects or a dog whistle.
“It's like they dipped the whole place in holy water,” he muttered to himself.
Gunner wasn't a religious man. It wasn't for some deep intellectual reason. Like most people, he wanted to believe that something happened when he died. All he needed was a little proof and he'd be happy to sign up. The thing was, despite seeing some absolutely horrific stuff during his time on this ball of mud, the solid kind of proof he sought never came along. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to wrap his head around the idea of a God that cared about him personally and wanted to help him out. He supposed it didn't help that most of the people he knew who talked a lot about their faith seemed to be crooked and twisted in some way. He didn't blame them. It was human nature to search for answers, to attempt to justify their bad behavior with myths and fairy tales. In the end he'd resigned himself to not knowing, and he vowed to never pretend to know like some kind of dupe or charlatan might.
I guess I’ll find out when I die, Gunner thought. Until then, I’m following my own moral compass--not some arbitrarily made-up set of rules crammed down my throat by religion or society. But then that was the point, right? Now there was no more 'society' to be concerned with. The truth of it flooded him and he liked the way it felt to be honest. The very same society he'd served, fought for, bled for, the one that had rejected him for his sacrifice, turned him away, shunned him, no longer existed--and in all likelihood it never would again. It was almost too much to wrap his head around. And these kids wondered why he seemed happy about all this.
It’s the first sense of peace I’ve had since the war, he thought.
A strange sound off in the distance shook him from his serene contemplation. It sounded like the engine of a large truck, and it was getting closer. All at once the zombies spun around and froze, gazing into the distance. Gunner turned his binoculars in the direction of their hollow stares, up toward the north end of Main Street. The source of the disturbance came into sight. Gunner could hardly believe what he was seeing. A garbage truck with two men in the cab was racing in high gear toward the center of town. Snarling packs of zombies clung to all sides of the truck as it advanced toward him. Men in business suits, women in their morning robes, children in school uniforms, they were crawling over the vehicle like ants, scanning every inch for an entrance. A dead man in a jogging suit swung in front of the broken windshield. Through a hole punched in the glass, the short barrel of a shotgun came out and blasted him off. He fell under the wheels and was run over and dragged. The sound of the gun reached Gunner a half second after the blast had sent the zombie to his final resting place. The man in the passenger side was not nearly as lucky. One of the zombies, the one in the expensive looking suit, had jammed himself between the sides of the door, preventing the door from properly closing. Gunner saw the dead creature lean in and bite the man's neck. A splash of bright red exploded in the cab, covering everything but a small patch on the driver's side. The driver turned and blasted the undead businessman out of the cab with the shotgun. He tumbled like a rag doll, rolling alongside the garbage truck. Immediately he was up and stumbling after him again. It sent chills down Gunner's spine to see them rise up like that, as if nothing had happened, when they should be permanently silenced.
Gunner walked back over to Parker and nudged him with the tip of his boot. Parker stirred but didn't get up.
“Wake up, sleeping beauty,” Gunner said.
“Go away,” Parker replied without opening his eyes.
“You’re going to want to see this.”
Holt heard and sat up with a loud intake of breath, grabbing for his crowbar.
“I'm awake,” he said. “We got action?”
Max rolled over and stretched like a cat, climbing out of her sleeping bag and cracking her back with a yoga stretch. She noticed Gunner staring at her skin tight undershirt and quickly covered up again, searching for her bra. Gunner shook his head.
If you’re gonna keep showing off your body like that, he thought, you’d better get used to being on the receiving end of some extra male attention. He didn't see why she always bristled whenever he checked her out. As far as he was concerned, she ought to be flattered he noticed her in the first place. She turned her head to break eye contact, not ready yet to escalate a fight until she was fully awake.
“Pervert,” she mumbled under her breath. This was one of those rare times she was actually glad Holt and Parker were around.
“What's going on?”
Travis and Gemma emerged half dressed from the camping goods store. They both wore the beatific smiles of a couple madly in love who'd spent the night exploring each other in a pleasure garden of wide-eyed wonder. Wrapped in a blanket together, they sauntered over to the window following Gunner, Holt, and Max.
“I thought I heard a truck or something,” Gemma said, unable to hide the hope in her voice. “Have they come to rescue us from the base?”
“Come take a look,” Gunner motioned them over with his hands.
The garbage truck was much closer now. It had picked up several more zombies along the way, the smell of the fresh blood drawing them in like flies to meat. It seemed to be picking up speed.
“What are the odds?” Max asked.
“Slim to none,” Travis replied.
The truck slowed to a stop almost in front of the automotive store. The driver fought off a zombie that tried to crawl into the cab, beating it in the head with the butt of his empty shotgun. The blue of his jeans was stained dark red and black with the bites he'd sustained. He was a goner. It was just a matter of time now.
“The guy needs help,” Holt protested.
“He's covered in bites,” Max argued. “We can't help him anymore.”
Travis pulled Gemma closer to him and Gunner shook his head in disgust.
“So I'm the bad guy for being honest?” Max asked, but no one made eye contact with her. “Whatever.”
The man turned toward them, gave a curt nod, and slammed the door shut. He pulled the truck forward in the opposite direction of the hardware store.
“Where is he going?” Holt asked.
Parker sat up, rubbing his eyes like a little kid.
“Wh
at's going on?”
“Nice of you to join us,” Max said.
The truck stopped abruptly and the tail lights went from red to white. A familiar beeping sound rang out as the truck rapidly backed toward the building.
“What’s he doing?” asked Gemma, her eyes widening with fear.
“He's going for the front windows,” Holt answered.
“They'll kill us all!” Gunner shouted. “Clear out!”
Holt ran and helped a stunned Parker to his feet. The rest hurriedly made their way to the back of the store. The truck reversed until its back end was flush with the right side of the boarded up window. The beeping stopped and everything was silent save for the snarling of the hungry dead.
“That was close,” Max said.
No sooner were the words out of her mouth than a loud crashing sound of wood tearing and glass breaking, accompanied a loud ringing of metal as the driver released the lever that sent the hydraulically powered scooper tumbling into the store. The side of the building seemed to crumple as well, sagging concrete and broken cinder blocks filling in around the shards of shattered window and splintered wood.
“What the hell was that?” Max yelled.
A zombie hand shot through the side of the broken window then pulled back as the glass tore through the dead flesh. The debris settled around the tiny hole as it disappeared.
Outside, the loud screams of a man could be heard as the zombies undoubtedly tore the man from the cab and began to devour him alive.
“A desperate last stand, I guess,” Holt said sourly, leveling a disgruntled stare at her. Everyone turned and stared at Max who shifted back and forth uncomfortably.
A small cough sounded from somewhere in the dust, ending the awkward silence. Holt gripped his crowbar tightly as he stepped forward and prepared to smash in someone’s head. Gunner took up his shovel and followed him. The rest stared, wondering what new horror was about to be thrust upon them.
“Wait!” Gemma shouted at the top of her lungs.
The Rising Dead Page 19
