Hungry for Your Love: An Anthology of Zombie Romance

by Lori Perkins

  For a miraculous godsend the duct sure was a pain in the ass—and neck and knees, elbows and hands. It was a coffin-tight squeeze with all my new protective gear on, though they were already doing the job admirably. It was hot, cramped, pitch black, and uncomfortable. The hard metal sides echoed and thumped and boomed with my every move, and pushing the canvas bag was exhausting. My first setback came when the tunnel took a sharp bend and I couldn’t get the javelin past it. After five minutes of cursing and sweaty blind fumbling, I left it behind with a heavy heart, and kept worming my way slowly forward. At regular intervals I passed over a grate, and could peer down onto scenes of carnage in progress or upturned zombie faces as they groaned in frustration and strained to reach me. I pushed on, and tried to get my bearings along the way. There were occasional side tunnels branching off, but I resisted the urge to explore them; the last thing I wanted was to get lost and start going in circles.

  After endless Shawshanking through the ducts, I came to a grate that offered my first break from the horror show. Below were neatly arranged desks, keyboards and monitors, coffee cups, funny knickknacks. There were no bloodstains anywhere. I had made it all the way to the admin wing. The school offices looked like heaven. I fished out the trophy and hammered down the grate. It fell with a satisfying thud. I poked my head down and gave the place a quick upside-down look-see. It was clean. I dropped the equipment bag and lowered myself down to the carpet, feeling just like a ninja.

  It felt surreal to be back among normal, quiet, well-lit surroundings again. Soft elevator Muzak smooth-jazzed through the air. I thought I could fear faint sounds from somewhere impossible to locate. Wielding my trusty clunky trophy-hammer, I stalked past the cubes towards the doorway that led to the front desk of the school office, if I wasn’t mistaken. A sharp acrid smell hit my nose as I went through the doorway. I could see that someone had barricaded the glass front double doors with heavy shelving and a big folding table. Behind the blood-smeared glass panels, nothing but zombies, stymied and gloomily loitering, waiting for their chance to get in.

  As I stepped around the front desk, I saw the white tiles were stained with a thin, dark, reddish-black puddle spreading out from beneath the body of a highway patrolman—how’d he get here? His uniform was immaculate except for a heavily bandaged hand holding a pistol in his mouth. I stood there a moment, thinking deep thoughts at first, like, what a refreshing change to see a corpse that wasn’t moving around and trying to kill you. I wondered: just how hard is it to pry a gun from someone’s cold, dead fingers?

  Then came a crash from somewhere behind me, and I jumped on the body to grab the gun, slipping a little on all the blood. Wow, rigor mortis is for real. Damn if I couldn’t pry it loose even to save my life. Crap! Shit! Crap! In a panic, I gave up and instead wielded my trophy again, breathing hard, eyes darting around for attackers. Nothing was coming after me right this second, but I didn’t want to get jumped from behind while fumbling with the patrolman’s dead body. I stepped back around the front desk, and back into the cubes. There was another entrance on the back wall to a hallway behind. I moved up to it. Yes, there were definitely noises coming from there.

  I crept up to the doorway and hazarded a quick peek around the corner. The hallway was clear here, but there were several side passages and noises seemed to be coming from multiple places. I took a chance and turned left, then peered around the corner down a second corridor. There were offices on the left, an unmarked door on the right. I thought I heard a muffled cry from there, so I sucked it up and opened the door.

  There they were, just like I told you before: Principal Caruthers and Ms. Foster double-teaming Mrs. Hastings on the table as she squirmed piteously and struggled in vain to put up a fight. It really was quite a sexy sight, in a pervy guilty-pleasure sort of way, until you noticed the blood and the grisly mess on their faces. And until they spotted you.

  Principal Caruthers charged me first and I brought the business end of my trophy down as hard as I could right on top of his comb-over. The sharp marble edge chunked deep into his skull and he dropped dead in his tracks—well, you know what I mean, anyway. Sweet, pretty Ms. Foster, now just about the scariest creature I’d ever seen in my life, screeched like a banshee and tackled me to the ground. She sank her teeth right into my neck, or at least would have if my shoulder guard hadn’t been there. Instead she got a nasty mouth full of hard plastic, and I pulled out my screwdriver and fished around in her ear until she stopped trying to rip me to pieces and died for good this time.

  I rolled her off me and tried to retrieve my trophy from Principal Caruthers’s cranium. Phew, it was in there good; it wouldn’t budge, not even when I stepped on his head and pulled with both hands. Oh well, I needed to go get that patrolman’s handgun anyway. I stepped back into the corridor, screwdriver at the ready, listening and looking around corners first. But I had already made too much noise. He was so silent, I didn’t hear him until he was right behind me.

  I caught just a glimpse of movement in my peripheral vision and then he was on me: our school mascot, Peppy the Pleasant Valley Victory Puma. He looked like he had been in a fight with a real puma, with his fuzzy suit torn and sticky with fresh bloodstains.

  It was goofy, being attacked by a cartoon character, but he grabbed me with his big mittens and when I tried stabbing him in the brain the screwdriver just kept slipping off his happy oversized puma head. Worse still, the head kept slipping up and exposing his snapping teeth and the dark bib of blood on his furry suit. He had already eaten somebody, and was going to eat me too if I didn’t do something quick. He slobbered and gnawed at the rim of my chest protector, trying to get at my tasty skin just beneath it.

  Bloody drool from his mouth, along with bone splinters and meat scraps, kept dripping into my face. Then came a deafening boom and the puma head flew backwards, along with a good portion of the zombie’s head. Eugene, I think his name was. Funny guy.

  “Jeremy? Is that you?” said some sweet angelic voice. I turned my head to see what the hell had just happened. It was my English teacher, Ms. Baymiller, kneeling over the patrolman with a smoking shotgun.

  “There were seven of us left,” she later told me in the nurse’s station as she examined me for bites and cleaned me up with a wet washcloth. “There were ten for a long time. Then they snatched one of the secretaries right through the front door while we were getting the barricade up and a couple of the men ran out to save her.”

  “None of them made it back. The rest of us thought we’d be okay until more help came. We didn’t know about how the—this infection spreads, or how fast. Then a few minutes ago, everyone with an injury started acting sick, then became erratic and violent, then, well, you saw what happened.

  “Sarah—she was the nurse—she and I were in here looking after poor Eugene.

  We knew he’d been attacked, but we didn’t know he’d been bitten. He refused to take off the costume; he was in shock and hysterical. He kept rocking back and forth, saying the suit was the only thing protecting him. I told Sarah I needed to get more shells for the shotgun from Officer Garcia and I’d be right back. That was the last thing I said to her. I never even made it that far. Everyone started going crazy at once, and Mr. Caruthers came after me. I swung the shotgun at him—hit him, too, and ran for one of the storage closets. I thought I’d be stuck in there for the rest of my life.

  “And I would have, if you hadn’t shown up when you did.” She finished tending to my scrapes and bruises, and regarded me with a thoughtful expression. “Jeremy, it looks like we’re going to have to hole up here for the night.”

  “That’s pretty much how I saw it, too.”

  “And I think it’s safest if we stay together in the same room.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  “I just want you to understand it’s just for safety, right? Under normal circumstances, this wouldn’t be appropriate, but nothing’s going to happen—between us, you understand?”

  I put u
p my hands. “Hey! No worries on my side of the bed. I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

  She smiled, a little embarrassed, and relaxed a bit. “I know you will. You’re a good kid—no, a fine young man. I’m just still in teacher mode. They really drill it into our heads. You know, liability issues, protecting the youth in our care and custody.”

  Looking at her, I suddenly realized I would never have to write that essay on Romance Era poets now; in fact, probably no one would ever have to write an essay on Romance Era poets again.

  We had grim work to do. We moved all the bodies into a utility closet on the far side of the building, and for an extra line of defense, we piled desks and chairs in the two entrances to the front office. If the zombies did manage to get through the barricaded double doors, we knew our little hallway blockade wouldn’t keep them out for long either, but the racket would alert us and give us a little time, if nothing else.

  We raided the nurse’s station and the earthquake kit for blankets and food, and decided the principal’s office would be the best place for us to stay in. The door could be locked and there were secure windows that we could bail out of in a pinch. The teacher’s lounge had couch cushions we took to make a comfortable mattress.

  By then we were both exhausted and ready for bed. Ms. Baymiller locked the door, and turned off the light, leaving us illuminated solely by a rectangle of blue moonlight. I peeled off my gear and stripped down to my T-shirt and shorts. I turned away so that she could undress; she would sleep in just her blouse and panties. I politely stared at the wall and listened intently to the delicate little rustling sounds while she slipped out of her herringbone pencil skirt, unbuttoned her elegant blouse, undid her bra, and buttoned up again. I was acutely aware of her lifting the blanket and slipping into bed next to me.

  “You can turn around now, Jeremy. Thank you.” We faced each other in the starry half-light; her eyes were so warm and gentle. She smiled at me. “You did some remarkably brave things today, Jeremy. I’m very proud of you.” She hesitated, as if she wanted to say more. “And thank you.” She looked me right in the eyes, stretched her hand out to run it through my hair, then leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead.

  “Thank you, Jeremy.” My throat tightened and I couldn’t say a word. I could only think of those eyes. I started to bring my hand up to touch her hair, too, but she rolled over.

  “Now try to get some sleep, Jeremy. We both need it.”

  Like I could possibly sleep after that. I fluffed my makeshift pillow and lay on my side like usual, but all I could do was watch her lying next to me in the moonlight.

  She finally slept, making sweet little noises, and I felt like her stalwart defender, keeping watch over her by night. Occasionally there were terrible sounds, crashes, gunshots, screams, off in the distance; sometimes, not all that distant. They made her moan in her sleep like a child, and after a few more she rolled over and buried her head in my chest and nestled her arm against me, still sleeping fitfully. I bit my lip a little, hoping I wouldn’t wake her up, and tentatively at first, began to stroke her hair, catching up the loose strands off her cheek and tucking them behind her ear. “Shhhhhh….” I whispered almost inaudibly to her. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  After a few pleasant, awkward minutes of this, she stirred. Her hand tightened involuntarily, her fingernails dragged gently on the skin of my chest. Under the covers, my body reacted immediately. Her closeness had been making my shorts steadily uncomfortable. By this time I just hoped she wouldn’t feel how hard I was now. A deep drumbeat of thunder rumbled and a fireball flared on the horizon, briefly lighting up the room with a bright orange flash. “Jeremy?” she said abruptly, looking up at me in fear.

  “It’s okay, I think there was an explosion on the other side of town. Maybe a gas station or something.”

  She nodded, and looked down at her hand on my chest. She left it there, and ever so slightly traced tiny circles with her finger. “ Do you think there’s anyone else left?”

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  She sat up and watched the fire burning off in the distance. I could see the blaze reflected in her eyes. She looked thoughtful, with an expression I couldn’t name. As the faraway blaze dwindled down to a candle glow, she looked down at me. “It’s warm. Do you want to take off your shirt?”

  I forgot how words work and just nodded dumbly. She pulled the blankets down, then reached down and took the waist of my T-shirt and rolled it up. I raised my arms so she could slip it off me. She laid her hand on my chest, and studied me silently for a few moments. “You’re beautiful,” she said softly, admiring my body with a dreamlike smile.

  No one had ever called me that before, or looked at me that way, or touched me the way she was. She ran a warm palm over my chest and trailed it down to my stomach, then brought it back all the way up to my collarbone. I lay there, breathing hard, utterly spellbound by her. She took a moment to adjust herself, sitting up on her knees and facing me fully; the sight of her bare legs was magic. Then she locked eyes with me and without a word, took the blankets and completely uncovered me.

  She turned her attention to my shorts, which were tented up ridiculously. But she didn’t seem to mind. She reached over and ran her nimble fingers under the waistband and asked, “Can you lift up a little for me?” and pulled them right off me when I raised my hips for her. Setting them aside, she bent over me and gently took hold of my cock. I didn’t know it could ever get so big or so stiff. “It’s a nice size,” she said, pleased. She ran her hand lightly over my balls and cupped them sociably, then took hold of the shaft again and bent down to bring her mouth to it.

  My eyesight fluttered and I felt the most amazing fuzzy tingling sensation arcing from my eyebrows down to my groin when she licked her lips and kissed the head. While one hand slid up and down the shaft, she gently cradled and caressed my swollen scrotum with the other and sucked and licked the head of my dick. I grabbed the cushions with both hands and arched my back with a sharp intake of breath. She paused just long enough to turn to me and say, “It’s okay, honey. Go ahead and come for me.”

  That was it for me. What can I say? I shuddered and groaned, and tried not to buck too hard as I came. She kept her grip on me, sucking it all down. At last she raised her head again and beamed at me. “Still with us?” I nodded groggily with half-lidded eyes and a dopey smile on my face. She leaned over and started to unbutton her blouse. “You can touch me,” she said, pulling open her top to expose her breasts. They mesmerized me with their sweet roundness and the perfect tan sunbursts of her areolas. The nipples were rigid under my fingertips, and I loved feeling the breast’s fullness fill my cupped hand.

  Her head arched back as she slipped a hand behind my neck and pulled up me into her chest. I kissed one, then the other, then took her breast in hand and suckled on the firm responsive nipple. She clasped my head and stroked my face and ear, moaning her pleasure as I ran my tongue in circles over the smooth perfect areola, until she couldn’t take any more and stood up.

  What a magnificent view to see her standing above me, then to watch while she dug her thumbs in the sides of her panties and pulled them down. I could smell the scent of her excitement, and it made my head swim. She bent down and touched my cheek.

  “I’m going to get on top of you, all right?”

  Yeah, it was. She straddled me and lowered herself until she rested on her knees astride my lap with my penis standing just before her. She licked her fingers and worked the saliva around my head and shaft. “Look at you!” she said and laughed. “ You’re still so hard!” She was right.

  “Now just relax. It’s okay. Let me do it.” She opened herself with one hand, grasping me with the other as she rose up on her knees, leaned forward, and backed into me until she could ease me into her. Her mouth opened with a little quaver as my penis slipped past her slick folds, and we both breathed out sharply. “Thaaaat’s it….” She groaned. She arched forward and back, holding on to my shou
lders for support as she leaned into my chest and rode me. She closed her eyes and let her head loll as she rocked and grinded into me. The sound of her sharp breaths and languid moaning was sheer music to me; hearing it made me prouder than anything I had ever done before.

  I reached up to gently knead her breasts; then slid my hands down her sides and held her by the hips, experimenting with what I could do with the angle of my own pelvis. She encouraged my initiative. “Ummm, yes…put your hands there…yes, just like that…yes, ooooh, that’s it, I like that. Good…” She closed her eyes, and bit her lip with a deep sigh. I grabbed her butt and pulled her into me more. “God, yes!” she exclaimed, then she was coming. What a show; I could feel her whole body tense and the muscles inside her quivering. She stiffened and opened her mouth to cry out silently. She clung to my shoulders and suddenly dropped down and seized my face with both hands to kiss me with her wet, open mouth again and again. At the touch of her lips and tongue on mine, I came again, even harder than the first time. Such a rush. My first kiss.

  The moon never seemed so big and full. She lay across me, head resting on my chest, her hand on my heart. I ran my hand through her hair. “Jeremy?”

  “Ms. Baymiller?”

  “Um…maybe you should start calling me Angela.”

  “Okay.”

  “Tell me something.”

  “Anything.”

  “Are you eighteen yet?”

  I kept petting her head. “Yeah, don’t worry. Besides, your teaching career has bigger problems.” You’d have thought I’d be wired all night. I sure did. But I was sleeping like a baby before I knew it.

  I woke up the next morning feeling like a million bucks. The sun was up and birds were singing. It was going to be a gorgeous day. I yawned and reached over for Ms.

  Baymiller—I mean, Angela. But she was gone. I shot up with a start and called out her name. “I’m right here, sweetheart. Just getting dressed.” She was standing behind me on the other side of the room, just out of my sight. I expected to see her in her usual academic elegance, in smart blouse, skirt and heels. But instead there was a Valkyrie in her place: hair pulled back into a ponytail, wearing a sports bra, a set of skateboarder’s elbow pads and wrist guards, and some sort of rigid medical neck brace to protect her throat. She had taken scissors to her classic herringbone skirt, and now it was twice as short and slit nearly all the way up. She wore the dead patrolman’s motorcycle boots and belt, his pistol back in the holster. She slipped a big bowie knife into her boot. I had never seen a sexier woman in my life.