by James Evans
“Reports have been confirmed that apparently fatal injuries to the body do not terminate the activity. The CDC is still investigating the cause.”
It was nearly eleven o’clock in the morning. He opened a cold Natty Light with a SNICK! For the next hour he drank most of the six pack and watched society collapse. He felt like he was in the Twilight Zone as he flipped through the channels. One station showed mobs of zombies swarming through Atlanta. Most of the people were bloody and injured, although they didn’t seem to notice. They acted without fear or intelligence, and their raw numbers overwhelmed any resistance.
QVC had adjusted quickly and was selling survival gear and supplies, the hosts bright and cheerful as they hawked their wares with tones of glib assurance. All of the broadcast stations and news stations had banners running across the bottom conveying news that only worsened. The shopping channels, movie channels, and nature shows were the only channels not broadcasting alerts.
After his fourth beer he was tired of the Natty Light aftertaste and decided to head downtown for a beer. Before he left his room he peeked out from behind the drapes. The news had him skittish and he reprimanded himself for being such a candy-ass. He tucked his revolver into his pants and headed out.
He walked the short distance to town and looked around. A few of the restaurants were dark, signs posted CLOSED. One pub was crowded with people, most of them drinking beer while they watched the TVs mounted on the walls. Those who weren’t watching TV were playing with their phones. They appeared to be texting.
Sammy didn’t want to watch TV. He wanted a cold beer. He walked into a bar called Stormcloud and stared at the beer list. All these Goddamn beer snobs, he thought. Sometimes a guy just wants a regular cold beer, not some weird artsy beer. What the hell is a Saison anyhow?
He finally ordered a Birdwalker Blonde and enjoyed it more than he thought he would. He sat at a table, watching the other patrons. Talk was quiet. Nobody was laughing. People huddled together at their tables, talking in low tones or not at all. Most people had their phones in hand and checked them often. Sammy didn’t check his phone; nobody alive would be trying to reach him, and hopefully nobody dead, either.
As he was finishing his pint, an attractive ginger-blonde came rushing in. “RICK!” she shouted. “RICK, WHERE ARE YOU?”
A man rushed through the kitchen door. “Penny? What’s wrong?”
“We just got word of an outbreak in Manistee. The place is going crazy. They say the town is overrun. And it’s headed our way!”
Sammy looked on as some people rushed out of the pub. Someone loudly suggested they barricade the bridge over Betsie River. The lights went out and everyone was silent for a moment. Then a few women screamed while men shouted in alarm. “Oh, shit.” Sammy heard someone say.
For the next few weeks, everything was crazy. Zombies attacked and killed a number of people before a hastily arranged town council decided to build a fence from Crystal Lake to Betsie River, and another fence stretching from Lake Michigan to Crystal Lake. The hope was that the fences and river would, at best, prevent the zombies from getting to Frankfort, or at least slow them down.
During a hastily-arranged public meeting in Open Space Park, everyone agreed to have patrols monitor the fence in case of a breach, and the same patrols would seek and destroy any zombies they found. Sammy pitched in and did his part, although his surly demeanor and complete lack of social graces prevented him from making any friends. Of course, he didn’t volunteer for altruistic reasons; he just thought it would be fun to shoot people and maybe meet some girls.
A lot of people left town before the fences were built. Some left to find missing family members, others left because they had a safer place to go, or so they thought.
New people came to town, seeking refuge and looking for friends and family. Most of the summer residents had left long before the grid went down, and their houses stood empty. When it became obvious how many houses were vacant, the town council agreed to let newcomers use the houses on a temporary basis, but they would have to vacate should the owners return.
Sammy spent several days checking out the available houses. He had some specific needs in mind, one of which was a cellar. He also wanted it to be fairly remote. He didn’t want anyone to see him coming or going, and definitely didn’t want anyone to hear any alarming noises coming from the cellar. He finally found a suitable house near the United Methodist Church. There weren’t any neighboring houses nearby, and it was within a mile of downtown. He received permission to take possession and moved in.
Sammy was tempted to barter some of his liquor when Frankfort moved to the barter system, but he decided to hold on to it. He knew the value would increase as the supply decreased, and he was already unsure how he’d survive the winter without it.
He found a job on a fishing boat. Not only did he earn credits, he got a share of each day's catch when there was enough to go around. He made barely enough to survive. He found some cast iron cookware in his new home, and learned through trial and error how to cook in the fireplace. He’d never cooked more than toast in his life.
As the news of Jake’s greenhouses spread, Sammy asked him for a job and was hired. He secretly hoped to have a permanent supply of marijuana, and within a month was pilfering a few buds whenever he could. He wasn’t greedy and was discreet, so he didn’t get caught. Jake knew what Sammy was doing, but chose not to make an issue of it.
Sammy also went out of his way to see Lee’s fabulous cleavage. He could tell she was kinky. He dropped a few hints but she didn’t respond.
Lee began to feel uneasy around Sammy. She avoided him as much as possible and let Jake know that Sammy made her uncomfortable.
On his mandatory patrol one March day, Sammy spied a zombie impaled on a dead tree branch. The branch had pierced the zombie’s abdomen and it was too stupid to extricate itself. It was barely moving in the cold and presented little danger. But it gave Sammy an idea.
He carefully noted the location of the zombie but didn’t say anything about it to the rest of the crew. Late that night, when the temperature fell into single digits, he trudged through the snow with a tarpaulin (thankful for the winter coat he’d pilfered from Meijer) until he found the frozen zombie. He broke the branch off and pulled it from the zombie’s abdomen, then rolled the zombie in the tarp and dragged it over the snow back to his house. There was no moon that night, but he still felt conspicuous.
He carried the zombie into the cellar and secured it to the cinder block wall with a short length of chain. The zombie used to be a woman. Before it thawed out, Sammy cut off its clothes. The breasts had nearly rotted away, but the sight of its nipples still excited Sammy. The zombie tried to attack Sammy after it thawed out, but the short chain prevented it from making contact. It couldn’t get to him. Sammy soon learned how close he could get to the zombie while staying safely out of reach.
He liked to go into the cellar and take off his clothes, then with his cock hardening he’d whip the zombie and shout the disgusting things he wanted to do. Then he’d ejaculate onto the floor, get dressed and go upstairs. He tried to figure out a way to have sex with the zombie, but the idea of penetrating rotted flesh was more than even he could stomach. The one time he tried, he couldn’t even stay hard. It was just too disgusting.
The only thing he didn’t enjoy about the jerking off in the cellar was the zombie stench. He opened the solitary cellar window to let in the cold and let out some of the smell. While it helped, it didn’t eliminate the odor. After a while Sammy didn’t mind the smell so much and closed the window.
Jerking off while pretending to humiliate a naked zombie was exciting but, he knew, completely taboo. He kept the cellar door padlocked and kept the key on the fireplace mantle. There was little chance of discovery because nobody ever visited him, and it was in Sammy’s nature to be secretive. As time passed, the novelty of eroticizing a zombie wore off, and he hungered for a real woman. All his efforts thus far had been rebuffed,
but new people were arriving all the time and he did his best to check them out.
So when a lady he hadn’t seen before walked into Stormcloud wearing a triskelion design on her t-shirt, he hoped he’d found his next party girl.
CHAPTER nineTEEN
Sammy was low on credits, but still had his stash of liquor to barter. He decided to take a chance. The woman sat at a table and looked around uneasily. Sammy approached her table and put on his warmest, friendliest, most disarming face.
“Hello! You’re new in town, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I just arrived.”
‘Mind if I have a seat?”
“Help yourself,” she replied.
Sammy sat down and asked, “Where are you from?”
“I paddled a canoe from Empire. I’ve been living in a house on South Bar Lake.”
“No kidding? I didn’t know there were survivors in Empire.”
“I can’t say if there are. I was in my parents’ home between the little lake and Lake Michigan. But after eight months of solitude, I felt like I was going crazy. This is the first time I’ve seen people since . . . you know.” She fiddled with her hands while talking and could barely make eye contact.
“How did you survive?”
“I was lucky. My parents were active in the LDS church and had a year of supplies in their pantry.” Her face tightened up at the mention of her parents and she looked ready to cry.
“LDS?”
“Latter Day Saints. You know, Mormons.”
“Right, I gotcha. What happened to your parents?” he asked indelicately.
“They . . . I . . . “
“Never mind, I understand.” Sammy hit his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Geez, am I being rude or what? My name’s Sammy,” he said, extending his hand.
She grasped his hand and said, “Nice to meet you. I’m Laura.”
“Can I buy you a beer? Wait, do Mormons drink?”
“I’m not a Mormon. That was my parents’ thing. And yes, I’d love a beer!”
Without asking what she wanted, Sammy went to the bar and ordered two Birdwalker Blondes. He had enough credits for two rounds. When he returned to the table, Laura looked more relaxed. Dealing with a horny guy was familiar territory compared to dealing with zombies. She still only made fleeting eye contact.
“So you’ve been alone since October? Geez! I’d go stir-crazy! What did you do?”
“I pretty much stayed inside and kept quiet after the power went out. A few of those things came to the house now and then and freaked me out. But I hid and kept quiet, so they lost interest and wandered off. I read a lot. Played some games. But after a while, I hated being alone. Now I know what it means to be stir crazy.”
“I know exactly how you feel!” Sammy said, lying. “My wife and I were trout fishing near Benzonia when it all fell apart. One of the zombies got my wife. I was barricaded in a hunting cabin for four months. Nobody but me and the deer and the occasional bear. I liked it for about a week, then I hated it. I had to survive on my wits.”
“Yes! I know what you mean!” Laura said, taking a sip of her beer. “What I hated most was the silence. No TV, no sound system, no Bluetooth. I sang a lot, even though I’m not a good singer. It was frustrating, going through my folks’ CD collection. All that silent, inaccessible music.”
Sammy saw an opening and went for it.
“I have an MP3 player at home. I have a solar battery charger and some decent speakers. I listen to music all the time. What kind of music do you like?”
Laura mentioned some bands and composers he’d never heard of, but he nodded his head like he knew exactly who she was talking about. He offered her another beer.
Laura felt a tickle of alarm while talking to him, although she couldn’t decide why. I’ve been alone so long, she thought, being around anyone feels weird right now. She dismissed her feelings and accepted his offer with a smile.
Sammy went to the bar and ordered two more beers. Rick poured the pints while Brian wiped down the bar. After Sammy went back to the table, Rick commented, “Looks like we have a new girl in town.”
“Maybe someone should warn her about Sammy. I don’t think he’s quite right. He sure hasn’t made any friends here! All the ladies avoid him. I’ve heard him make a few comments that didn’t go over well. I’ve warned him to behave.”
“Penny leaves as soon as she sees him. She says he creeps her out. He pays his tab and has never caused any trouble, but even so, I trust Penny’s intuition.”
Sammy sat back down with Laura. They talked about music a bit longer and Sammy made sure to mention his sound system several times. He also kept glancing at her V-neck cleavage and the triskelion design. Laura only occasionally looked him in the eyes, and it was always a quick glance.
“I got lucky. The people who lived in the house before me had the whole place wired for sound. My solar charger gives me just enough juice to power speakers in every room. A few weeks ago it was warm enough to open the doors and windows and listen to nothing but music and nature. It was great to listen to a duet between Brian Eno’s ambient music and crickets in the back yard.” He did his best to look wistful.
“I used to take a Bluetooth speaker onto my parents’ patio. I’d smoke a joint, then listen to music and Lake Michigan. That was before the power went out.”
“I have some weed at the house. I get it from Jake,” Sammy said. “He’s one of the main players here. He grows medicinal weed. I work for him. If you want, we could go back to my place and smoke a little, then listen to music.”
Not having had alcohol for eight months, Laura’s beer was hitting her hard. “Seriously? I haven’t heard music or smoked since October. Do you have anything to drink?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. I stocked up on whiskey and tequila right before the bottom dropped out. I also have margarita mix.”
“Damn. A margarita sounds good. I’ve been alone so long… it feels good to be back among the living. I appreciate you being so nice to me.”
“I’ll tell you what, I have a few things to take care of,” Sammy said, “why don’t we meet around dusk at the corner of Main and Seventh. It’s about four blocks east of here. You’re welcome to spend the night at my place, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. If you want to check into the guesthouse, it’s two blocks west of here.”
Laura nodded her head and they continued talking as they finished their beer. Laura again felt a warning tickle. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Are you kidding? We have to stand together in this world or fall apart. That’s my motto. I figure I might as well treat everyone as a friend until they give me reason not to,” he said with a grin.
Laura studied his face. He was a swarthy man with coarse features. His grin didn’t fit his face and looked more like a grimace than a smile. Something about his eyes made her cold.
He can’t help the way he looks, she thought, so I’m not going to judge him by his appearance. He’s being awfully nice to me. He’s probably hoping to get in my pants. And maybe I’ll let him.
The ache in her heart from all the months of solitude clouded her judgment. In days past she would have remembered to follow the cardinal rules of dating: never go somewhere alone with a man you don’t know, don’t trust a guy until he’s been proven trustworthy, and make sure someone knows who you’re with and where you’re going. But she didn’t have a girlfriend to hang out with and there wasn’t anyone to tell.
“I can’t help but admire the design on your shirt. It’s called a triskelion,” Sammy said, wanting to see how she responded.
Laura nodded her head. “My old boyfriend gave it to me. He said it was from an old Star Trek episode called The Gamesters or something. He liked me to wear it to parties. For some reason it got a lot of attention.”
“Maybe because it fits you so well,” Sammy said, once again blatantly admiring her cleavage and breasts. Fucking whore doesn’t fool me for a second. Star Trek my ass. She’s
obviously a sub trolling for a new Dom. He felt himself getting hard. Laura blushed as he leered at her.
After they finished their beers Sammy walked her to the guesthouse. “See you in a few hours,” he said as they parted ways.
Laura carried her overnight bag to an empty second-floor room after signing the register. She was tired from paddling the canoe from Empire and lay down for a few minutes. Afternoon sun filtered in through the window and she rested her eyes for a moment.
She awoke to the sound of the couple in the room below making love. It was getting dark outside; she’d slept a couple of hours without knowing it. She stretched, then made a quick dash to the bathroom. She considered taking a shower, but remembered the sign-in sheet said there was no hot water. She tinkled then hurried to her room.
She freshened up and put on a fresh blouse and jeans. It was warm at the moment, but June nights in Frankfort can get pretty chilly so she tied a sweatshirt around her waist. She thought about leaving a note about going to Sammy’s in case anyone tried to find her but nobody except Sammy even knew her name.
She walked outside. Dusk had settled in and the streetlights flickered to life as she walked beneath them
After he’d walked Laura to the guesthouse, Sammy hurried home. In order to increase his chance of success he needed to clean up a little and make sure nothing looked suspicious. He removed the padlock from the cellar door so he wouldn’t have to mess with it later.
He didn’t have an MP3 player, didn’t have a solar charger. He wasn’t planning on sharing his marijuana with her. His only plan was to get a few drinks in her and then show her the cellar.
He grabbed a lantern and headed down the steps. The naked zombie immediately reacted to his presence, shuffling toward him until it reached the extent of its tether. Its lips had rotted away and its jaw opened and closed with a click as it made the tell-tale rasping sound. Arms outstretched, it reached toward him, compelled to tear into his flesh.
“I wonder if you’d like some company,” he said rhetorically. “Maybe I’ll give you a new playmate.” He checked his gear: floggers, paddles, a cane, restraints, a blindfold, and a ball gag.
