Mort

by Rod Redux

  Dao-ming looked to Dongmei. “I never thought about the power plant… we just thought we’d stay here until the zombies all die. They can’t keep going forever. Most of them I’ve seen are already starting to look a little… well, rotten.”

  Mort spread his hands. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, Dao-ming. I’m just telling you what Pete and I decided to do.”

  Dao-ming nodded. “Yes… Yes, I understand. I’ll have to think about it.”

  Mort nodded.

  “But do you think it’s really likely? A melt down?” Dao-ming asked.

  “It’s going to happen. The only question is how much damage it’s going to cause, and how much radiation it’s going to release into the environment.”

  Dao-ming scrubbed her face with her hands. She looked at her little sister then and said, “Give me one of those cigarettes.”

  They talked until night fell, then shifted their palaver to the den, which was an inner room with no windows. They could safely use candles there without drawing hordes of zombies to the light. Dao-ming and Mort went into the kitchen and prepared dinner before it got too dark to see: spam sandwiches, potato chips, canned fruit and vegetables, and for desert… Hoho’s.

  Mort was hyper aware of Dao-ming’s movements. He felt a mild tingle of electricity when her body moved close to his, wondered if it was real or only his imagination. He jumped when her hands brushed his as they prepared dinner. The two of them talked about their parents mostly. Dao-ming was still in mourning for hers, couldn’t really believe they were dead. Mort’s father had died during a triple bypass almost a decade before, he told her. His mother had retired to Miami the previous year. He hadn’t been able to contact her since the outbreak.

  Mort was unaccustomed to attention from such a beautiful woman and had difficulty speaking coherently. His dick was a hair’s breadth away from a full on hard the whole time, even though he tried to think of the most disgusting things he could imagine to keep from embarrassing himself: geriatrics in soiled Depends tongue-kissing, the chest bursting scene from the movie Aliens, Burt Reynolds face… post-facelift.

  Dao-ming was well aware of the effect she was having on him, but didn’t act put-off at all. In fact, she seemed flattered by his discomfort. She patted his butt when she walked around him to the other side. She pushed him out of the way with her hip as he fumbled with the dressing. “What’s the matter, Mort?” she asked teasingly. “You’re all sweaty and clumsy.”

  “Ah…um… ahem! I guess my… uh, sugar’s low. I haven’t eaten since this morning.”

  Well, he was smooth, all right.

  They returned to the den and ate by candlelight. The quartet talked some more, even joked around a little. Everyone was relaxed and happy. Everyone except Pete, who was extremely jumpy, mostly due to Dongmei. Dao-ming’s little sister was all over Mort’s companion. She wanted to sit in his lap. Play with his feathery blonde hair. She kept making highly suggestive and even a few outright dirty comments to him.

  When the Zhao sisters finally put them up in beds for the night, Pete snuck into Mort’s room and shut the door firmly. “That little kid is like a cat in heat,” Pete complained, his voice a stage whisper.

  Mort snickered.

  “Hey, it ain’t funny. I’m no pedophile.”

  “Didn’t you just screw a zombie earlier today? Besides, it’s the end of the world, dude. Do you want her to die a virgin?”

  “Har-dee-fuckin’-har.”

  Pete had stripped and started to climb into bed with Mort.

  “What are you doing?” Mort asked, clutching the sheets around him. “We got our own beds for the night.”

  “I don’t like sleeping by myself anymore,” Pete said, sounding more than a little petulant.

  “Go sleep with Dongmei then.”

  “No way.”

  “Really, I—“

  “Oh, I get it. You think Dao-ming is going to sneak in here in the middle of the night.”

  “No…”

  “Mort want a little sucky-sucky, fucky-fucky?”

  “That’s not even… that’s not....”

  “Yeah right.” Pete jerked the covers from Mort’s hands and scooted into the bed. “Oh, Mort…! Me want you so bad! You make me big fucky-fucky! Me love you long time!” Pete mocked him, his voice pitched high.

  “You’re such an asshole!”

  Pete chortled. Mort’s buddy fluffed his pillow and pulled the covers up over his shoulder. Exhausted, he was snoring within minutes. Mort lay beside him, unable to sleep for what felt like hours. He stared up at the ceiling, then turned on his right side. Couldn’t get comfortable. Rolled onto his left side. Still couldn’t find a good spot. He finally decided he needed a drink and slipped carefully out of bed. There were cases of bottled water in the kitchen. Mort crept to the door, wincing when the floor creaked. He glanced at Pete, teeth gritted, but Pete was still snoring softly. He inched the door open and stepped out into the hallway.

  Dao-ming froze, ogling him. She was wearing a small silk teddy and nothing else. She’d been tiptoeing down the hallway toward his room.

  “Oh! Hi, Mort,” she whispered awkwardly.

  “Hi.”

  “Can’t sleep?”

  “No.”

  “Me either.”

  “Oh.”

  “So… you want to fool around?” Dao-ming smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

  Be cool, Mort! This will never, ever happen again!

  “Um, sure.”

  “Your room?”

  “No, Pete’s in there.” He chuckled. “We, uh, kinda got in the habit of sleeping together. Well… not sleeping together. Just…”

  “It’s okay. I understand. Dongmei’s in my room. Come on. Let’s go to the guest bedroom.”

  Dao-ming took Mort’s hand, which was suddenly very sweaty, and led him through the dark hallways of the large townhouse to a bedroom on the other side of the property. Inside, she locked the door and slipped into Mort’s arms. He held her close, enjoying the scent of her hair, the soft, firm pressure of her breasts against his belly. She seemed to shrink into herself within his embrace, becoming smaller, more childlike. She took a deep breath, exhaled long and slow.

  “You’re so big,” she said softly. “I feel safe in your arms.”

  “You smell good,” Mort replied.

  Smoooooth…

  “I’m not normally such a slut…” Dongmei whispered. “I just want to make love with someone kind and gentle, and you seem like a really nice guy. It’s been a rough three weeks. Plus, I like big boys. I think they’re cute.”

  “It’s okay. It’s the end of the world, right?”

  She leaned her head back, so he put his lips to hers. He guided her to the bed as they kissed. Dao-ming moved away from him for a second to pull her gown off over her head. Mort pushed his boxer shorts down and kicked them into the corner. He wished there was more light in the room so he could see her better. Then he felt her hand on his cock.

  “Nice,” Dao-ming murmured.

  “Ditto,” Mort replied, putting both palms on her breasts. He circled her nipples with his thumbs. They were hard as pebbles.

  Dao-ming lay on the bed and pulled him down between her thighs. Mort groaned as his cock sank inside her. They fit perfectly, no fumbling around. And she was so hot and tight! He felt her fingers on his ass, her nails biting into his skin.

  “Oh! Put it in slow. You’re kind of big,” Dao-ming gasped.

  Mort replied: “OHfuckingSHIT! Fuck! Don’t move! Ahh… ah, damn.”

  She stroked his cheek. “Um, Mort… did you just cum?”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry. It’s been a long time.”

  Dao-ming laughed softly. “That’s okay. We can try again in a couple minutes.”

  Mort was quiet a moment. “I don’t need to wait. I think it’s still hard.”

  Wrapping her legs around his waist, Dao-ming smiled in the dark and purred, “Atta boy…”

  9


  The Last Living Pimp Gets Saved

  As Mort was making love to the woman of his dreams, Lavender Baasim was sitting at the edge of the rec center roof, staring disconsolately at the horde of zombies that were still milling around the sidewalk below.

  He was all alone.

  Landslide was gone. T-Rex was gone. Everyone was gone but him.

  When the zombies busted into the rec center, T-Rex had lifted him up into the ceiling, helping him escape. Unfortunately, there was nothing Lavender could do to help his companion in return. There was no way he could have pulled T-Rex up. The man weighed over four hundred pounds. And even if he could have lifted the big man off the ground somehow, there was absolutely no way the drop ceiling could have held that kind of weight. Lavender had almost fallen through the paneling into the zombies himself, and he only weighed a bit over 110.

  He had watched as T-Rex was surrounded by the walking dead, as they bore him down and then ate him alive. T-Rex had held his gaze for an unbearable amount of time, finding the strength somehow to scream on and on and on as his flesh was devoured right off his bones by the frenzied monsters.

  It was more than enough to give a nigga nightmares… forever.

  Lavender shuddered at the memory, tearing his eyes from the zombies on the sidewalk below. He looked up at the sky, trying to push that terrible last image of T-Rex from his mind, tracing the city skyline with his eyes, visible only by its contrast with the moonlit heavens.

  It had stopped raining earlier, and the clouds were breaking up, revealing a bright half-moon and a smattering of distant, winking stars. At least there was plenty to drink on the roof. The rain had collected into lots of big puddles, but he had no food, and his belly was starting to make loud gurgling sounds. It was no surprise his belly was growling. Judging by the position of the moon and stars, he figured it was just around midnight. He hadn’t eaten in sixteen hours.

  He prayed the zombies would wander away so he could climb down in the morning. Maybe find himself something to eat and gather together some more ammo (there was plenty of ammo laying around the project). He’d picked off zombies from his rooftop position until the light, and his bullets, gave out.

  But for now he was stuck. He was wet, cold, hungry and stuck.

  He put his hands to his ears, trying to shut out the howls and groans of the zombies below. Oh, that sound made him feel so crazy! It was maybe a good thing he was out of bullets, because if he had to listen to that all night long, he might just put the Mac-10 in his mouth and pull the trigger.

  As Lavender held his ears and squeezed his eyes shut, he felt a queer prickling sensation in his head. The prickling felt like someone poking little needles in his brain. He had the sudden suspicion that someone was watching him and spun around, bringing up the barrel of the submachine gun even though he knew he had no bullets for it.

  “Who dere?” he demanded.

  There was no one of the roof behind him, but he did catch movement at the periphery of his vision. Something in the air. Something flying in the sky like a bird. Or a bat.

  He craned his head back and watched as several dark objects descended through the moonlight. They were distant at first, tiny and indistinct, but growing larger by the second. As they drew nearer, he realized it was people. Flying people! And they were headed right for the roof!

  “D’fuck?” he exclaimed.

  The flying people were approaching at a terrific rate of speed. Fast as they were going, he figured they would punch right through the roof and keep on going down through the rec center. At the last moment, however, they unfurled great black capes and settled with hardly a whisper on the rooftop before him.

  He blinked as a wave of dizziness swept over him.

  Not capes, he realized. Wings! Great feathered wings!

  There were six of them. They stood slightly apart, eyeing one another archly, as if they did not quite trust one another, or did not feel comfortable being so close together. There were two women and four men. The one standing closest to Lavender smiled gently.

  “Lavender,” he whispered.

  His voice was deep and smooth. It instantly put Lavender at ease. A voice so honey sweet and suave could not possibly belong to anyone who might wish to harm him.

  “You do not need that weapon, Lavender,” the winged man said, stepping toward him.

  Lavender watched as the flying man’s wings folded to his back and seemed to shimmer halfway out of sight. He rubbed his eyes and looked again, but those black wings continued to shiver in and out of existence, like a mirage. He remembered his Grammy talking about angels and devils and he couldn’t help but wonder which one of them these flying people were, or maybe he had finally just completely lost his marbles.

  “You are mad,” the flying man said. “Your mind is broken. I can feel it.”

  Lavender drew back as the little needles poked into his brain some more. “You’re hurting me,” he whined.

  “I apologize. I just needed to take a little peek.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “From you?” the man asked. “Very little. Nothing you can’t spare. I’ve come to save you, Lavender. Would you like to be saved tonight?”

  The man was close enough now that Lavender could make out his face in the moonlight. He had a long, angular, pale face. He was white, but he wasn’t just white like the honky crackers who ran out on him today, this dude was white like chalk white. He had large, dark eyes that seemed to draw your soul into them. Eyes like deep, dark pools. And very red lips, with bright shining teeth. Beautiful, but terrible: his face, his eyes. His entire body seemed to glow a little in the moonlight, like there was a cool mist bleeding off him, catching the light, diffusing it.

  “But your name’s not really Lavender, is it?” the flying man asked, frowning a little.

  “Nuh—no.”

  “Your name is… Lawrence, isn’t it? Your mind broke when the ravenous ones killed your brother and grandmother.”

  Lavender felt hot tears on his cheeks. “Why you makin’ me remember dat? I don’t wanna remember dat!”

  The flying man swept Lavender into his arms. “Shhhh! It’s all right, Lawrence. You don’t have to remember. We’re going to take you to a place where you’ll never have to remember anything ever again. Isn’t that right, HaMerkavah?”

  “Sure. Whatever,” one of the flying ladies said with a sneer.

  The man was so hard and cold. It was like being cradled in the arms of a marble statue. Lavender shivered in the man’s embrace. “Are you angels or devils?” he asked.

  The cold white creature that was holding him smiled and whispered, “And what if we’re both?”

  10

  Goodbye, DuChamp

  After they’d all risen in the morning, Dao-ming announced that she and her sister wanted to accompany Mort and Pete on their journey. The threat of the DuChamp power facility had factored into her decision, but so had her loneliness and the promise of a safer and more simple existence in the countryside. Dongmei, who was still in panties and a t-shirt, was just as eager to go with the two men as her sister. She had developed a fierce crush on Pete, and had taken to following him everywhere in the house he went. She even talked to him through the bathroom door when he was taking his morning constitutional, sitting across the hallway and rattling on until Pete yelled at her from inside.

  “Beat it, kid! I’m trying to take a dump in here, for Christ’s sake! Let a guy shit in peace, why don’tcha!”

  Mort was more than happy to have their company. He was still on cloud nine from the night before. He and Dao-ming had made love half the night. She’d done things to him he’d been too afraid to ask for, even in his fantasies, and there were stars in his eyes every time he looked her direction.

  Pete acted as if he couldn’t care one way or the other if they came along. His jealousy of Mort and Dao-ming’s quick rapport was glaringly obvious, and Dongmei’s incessant pestering and clumsy romantic overtures were exasperating him to no en
d.

  The four of them decided early on they would load the Benz with all the supplies they could fit in it and ride out of town together. Dao-ming assured them she knew a route that would get them out of the city successfully. She had driven close to the outskirts of town twice.

  They retrieved a map her father had in his office and unfolded it on the dining room table, tracing Dao-ming’s proposed course with a yellow highlighter. If they were all going to throw in together, they all had to agree, she said as they discussed possible routes. There was no question about Dao-ming’s driving prowess. Mort trusted her skills behind the wheel without reservation. The two biggest dangers they faced if they were going to try to drive out of town were running into some impassable pile up somewhere down the line or wrecking the car into zombies. The streets were littered with crashed, stalled and abandoned vehicles, and the deadheads ran into the paths of passing cars with no thought to their own safety. They were like kamikazes when they heard the sound of an engine.

  If they could make it out of DuChamp in one piece, they would travel west.

  “We should probably stay away from the interstate highways altogether,” Mort said. “There will probably be more pileups on the interstates than county roads. More zombies, too. There’s also more of a chance of meeting military or survivalists on the interstates. We don’t need to get into a standoff or run across a bunch of nervous soldiers with itchy trigger fingers.” Mort put his finger to his lower lip. “Let’s see. What else…? Oh! We need to avoid bridges as much as possible. Any wreck we come across on a bridge is bound to be a huge mess. We don’t want to get stuck in the middle of one with a bunch of zombies beating on the car windows and no way to turn around.”