Rotter World

by Scott M. Baker

  In the bunk above him, Tibor stared up into the pitch dark at the ceiling. “I don’t trust the humans.”

  Dravko mentally sighed. Having to listen to Tibor’s complaints did not help him relax. He pretended to be asleep, hoping Tibor would do the same.

  Unfortunately, Sultanic was not as astute. “Shut up and get some rest.”

  “I can’t. What if the humans are waiting for us to doze off so they can kill us?” Tibor nearly spat the word “humans”.

  “You’re paranoid,” said Sultanic.

  “And you’re naïve,” Tibor shot back.

  Dravko reasoned it was time to end the conversation. “The humans have done nothing to threaten us. Why distrust them now?”

  “I’ve always distrusted them.”

  “So why complain about them now?”

  “Because of last night’s raid.” Tibor leaned over the edge of the top bunk and leered at Dravko. A large scar ran down his face, the result of being sliced centuries ago by a hunter who dipped the blade of his knife in holy water. The scar stretched from the right forehead, across his eye and cheek, and over his lips before ending on his chin. “Didn’t it bother you?”

  Dravko hesitated before answering. “I admit it was unusual.”

  “Unusual?” Tibor snorted. “Get your head out of your ass. We haven’t gone near Portsmouth since the Navy yard fell to the rotters. We didn’t even send a scouting party to look for survivors. Yet last night Paul and Elena risked the entire raiding party to rescue six humans.”

  “Quit exaggerating. It wasn’t that bad.”

  “They didn’t know that. Do you remember the last time they sent a raiding party deep into rotter territory?”

  Of course Dravko remembered. It had happened five months ago when the Seabrook Nuclear Power Plant on the New Hampshire-Massachusetts border threatened to go critical and melt down, which would have contaminated most of the coastal region, including their camp. Elena and Paul had dispatched a raiding party of four humans and two vampires to shut down the plant. It turned out to be a suicide mission. The party had succeeded in shutting down the reactor. However, no one ever heard from them again. Both commanders promised they would never send out their people on such a mission again, a promise they had kept until last night.

  Dravko wanted to avoid any further discussion. He rolled onto his stomach, breaking eye contact with Tibor. “I’m sure they had their reasons for ordering last night’s raid.”

  “Really?” Tibor rolled out of his bunk and dropped to the floor. Crouching by Dravko, he sneered at the back of his commander’s head. “Did you even bother to ask Elena why she approved such a raid?”

  Dravko definitely did not want to discuss this any further.

  “Well?”

  Dravko rolled over to face Tibor. “Yes, I did.”

  “And?”

  “She told me to stop asking questions and do as I was told.”

  “I thought so.” Tibor’s words dripped with self-righteousness. He sprang back up to his bunk and settled down, content that he had won the argument.

  As infuriating as he found Tibor’s attitude, Dravko could not fault him. Even he was bothered by the cavalier way they had been ordered into rotter territory and Elena’s curt response to his question. As far as he knew, Paul was just as mysterious with the humans.

  It had not always been this way. As mistress of the New York City coven, Elena used to be forthcoming with Dravko and the others, especially after her vampires began to fall victim to the rotters. As the living dead overran the city, Elena had evacuated her coven and headed north, holing up in the basements of abandoned buildings during day and traveling through the countryside by night. Realizing they could not survive on their own, she had sought out a human colony to join forces with. Not just any colony, however. She had wanted one whose members she felt had the intelligence and the ability to survive, yet which was small enough that if the humans turned on the vampires the coven would have a fighting chance. After weeks of searching, they had stumbled upon Paul’s group. Elena had approached the camp one night under a white flag to propose an alliance. Fortunately for her, Paul had seen the advantages of bolstering the camp’s strength by their inclusion, so he accepted the offer and made Elena his co-commander.

  At first, neither the humans nor the vampires had accepted the arrangement. The entire situation probably would have fallen apart if Paul and Elena had not struggled to make it succeed. Still, words and insults had been exchanged, followed by threats. The mutual hatred had boiled over one night when one of her vampires, Vladimir, and two humans went after each other. Elena had banished Vladimir from the camp, condemning him to almost certain death out among the rotters. Paul had sentenced his two humans to serve as blood cows for the rest of the coven for a month, giving up a pint a week to feed the vampires. After that, even though the hatred and distrust still existed between each group, everyone had internalized their feelings and refused to act on them.

  The downside was that Elena had violated the openness and trust she once shared with the coven. From what Dravko could surmise from Robson and the others, Paul had not kept them informed either. The secretive mission had severely strained the good will Elena and Paul had built up these past few months.

  Although Dravko would not publicly admit it, he felt that for once Tibor was justified in his paranoia.

  Dravko leaned out from his bunk and looked up at Tibor. “I agree that Elena shouldn’t have kept us in the dark. But she’s done well by us so far, so she must have her reasons.”

  Tibor responded with a frustrated huff.

  “Don’t lose faith in her.” Dravko rolled over. “As for the humans, we still have to work with them, but that doesn’t mean we have to like them.”

  Under his breath Tibor muttered, “Some of us like the humans way too much.”

  At last, thought Dravko. Something we can agree on.

  Chapter Seven

  Lee O’Bannon trudged across the compound toward his steel container, avoiding those who came to greet the returning raiding party. The well wishers meant no harm, and only wanted to express their appreciation that they made it back safely. Yet these homecomings irked the living fuck out of him. None of these assholes who came to greet the raiding parties had ever left the confines of the camp. For them it was a way of living vicariously, of pretending that they actually exposed themselves to danger. Maybe if they put their lives on the line once and came along on a run into rotter hell, O’Bannon might tolerate the hollow gesture. Until then, these well wishers were nothing more than pains in the ass.

  God, how he hated these raids. Not because he was a coward. Hell, the last person at camp to accuse him of that lost a tooth and suffered a fractured jaw. O’Bannon had been on every raid since arriving at camp five months ago, and had volunteered to lead the ill-fated mission to Seabrook before Paul told him to stand down because they needed him here. Going one-on-one with the rotters did not bother him, either. Unlike some of the do-gooders around here who still harbored pre-apocalypse sensitivities about how to treat the dead, he saw the rotters for what they were: lifeless, soulless predators. He had as many qualms about putting a bullet through a rotter’s skull as he did about squashing a bug.

  No, he hated taking the bloodsuckers along on the raids with them. The damn vampires had brought this whole rotter hell down upon themselves and mankind, so as far as he was concerned, the rest of the camp should drag them into the sunlight and watch them burn. As always, Paul thought otherwise. We need to cooperate to survive, Paul would preach, spouting tired old phrases about working together and strength in numbers. The others bought into it, but not O’Bannon. If the bloodsuckers’ supposed superior senses and strength were so beneficial to the raiding party, then why had five humans died over the past five months but not a single bloodsucker? Too fucking coincidental for him. Good luck getting that asshole Paul to see the truth, though. If Robson and the others kept listening to Paul, the human contingent of the raiding
party would be dead by the end of the year.

  Not if O’Bannon had his way. Before the toughest and strongest humans were all wasted in these useless raids, he would kill the bloodsuckers.

  Arriving at the door to his quarters, which sat at the far end of a row of containers situated along the interior side of the barricade closest to the farmyard, O’Bannon removed the keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. As he stepped inside and closed the door, he noticed that the heavy blackout curtain had been pulled tight over the window and taped to the wall. His eyes scanned the confines of the container, unable to distinguish a thing until they adjusted to the dark. Slowly, he slid his gear off his shoulder and gently placed it on the floor. A faint rustling sounded from the far corner.

  “Who’s there?”

  The movement stopped. O’Bannon took a few tentative steps into the container. He reached out with his left hand, blindly feeling around.

  “I know you’re there.”

  Something moved behind him. O’Bannon spun around, only to have a strong hand grasp his outstretched arm by the elbow. A leg swung out and clipped him behind the knees, bending him over backwards. He tumbled to the floor, his fall broken only by the hand clutching his left arm. As he lay sprawled out, his attacker dropped onto his waist, while a pair of strong hands pinned his shoulders to the floor.

  “Damn it. Can’t you just say hello like everyone else?” asked O’Bannon.

  “It’s more fun this way.”

  One of the hands lifted off his shoulder and reached to the left, flicking on a kerosene lamp by the foot of the cot. As its soft yellow glow lit the interior, O’Bannon looked up into the opal-colored eyes of Tatyana. Her raven-black hair cascaded over her shoulders and across her chest and back, with several loose strands hanging down in front of her face. The dim light only served to accentuate her natural beauty, from her stunningly gorgeous eyes to the seductive smile. She wore nothing but a sheer white nightgown that nicely complemented her pert breasts and cleavage. Robson had once said that Tatyana’s elegance reminded him of one of the Sirens from Homer. O’Bannon understood why. He surmised that Tatyana had used her beauty to seduce many a man to his death in the days before the outbreak.

  “Not tonight.” O’Bannon tried to sit up, but Tatyana pressed his shoulders back against the metal floor. She slid her pelvis down onto his crotch and began slowly gyrating against him.

  “What’s the matter?” she cooed. “Not up to it?”

  Despite his best efforts, O’Bannon felt himself becoming aroused. “We had a rough night.”

  “Just the way I like it.”

  When in one of these moods, Tatyana was insatiable. Rolling to one side, O’Bannon tossed Tatyana onto the floor beside him and quickly jumped to his feet. “Damn it, I said not tonight.”

  Tatyana crawled over and knelt before him. She reached up with her right hand, her fingernails stretching into two-inch-long talons, and gently ran the talon of her forefinger along the bulge in his trousers. “You’re saying no, but this is saying yes.”

  O’Bannon tried to back away. Tatyana grabbed him by the belt and held him in place. With her other hand, she pulled down his zipper. His erection popped out of his pants. Tatyana began stroking him with long, slow movements. Just as his balls began to tighten and churn, Tatyana pushed herself away.

  “What’s your problem?” he demanded.

  “No problem.” Tatyana smiled and licked her lips. Rolling over, she got onto her hands and knees, her ass raised toward him. She glanced over her shoulder, admiring him through matted strands of hair. “You know how I like it.”

  O’Bannon stepped over, dropped his trousers down around his knees, and yanked the nightgown up over her thighs.

  * * *

  He stripped out of the rest of his clothes, flinging them into the corner. Tatyana rested on the floor at his feet, exhausted after whoring herself for the last fifteen minutes. A year ago he might have been turned on by a woman who reacted to him like she did. Now he looked down on Tatyana with contempt. She mistook their fucking for passion or lust. For him, she was merely a convenient way of venting his anger and hatred for how his world had gone to shit. For the bloodsuckers who had brought this on them. For that asshole Paul, who wanted to make nice with them. For having to go out and face the rotters night after night while more than half the camp sat around on their fat asses. For losing what few friends he had left. For being impotent to do anything in a world overrun with the living dead. Each time O’Bannon violated her, he vented a little more anger and hatred, but far from enough to purge his soul.

  As he walked over to his cot, Tatyana rolled over and looked up at him adoringly. “You want me to join you?”

  “I’m exhausted.” He did not care how unfeeling he sounded.

  “I understand.” Tatyana did not do a good job of hiding her disappointment. “You had a rough night. I hope I helped a little.”

  “You were just what I needed.” O’Bannon grinned at his inside joke.

  Tatyana smiled. O’Bannon wondered what she would think if she knew a part of him wanted to open the door and throw her out into the sunlight.

  Chapter Eight

  Robson enjoyed the communal dining facility, and not just because of the food, which was much better than could be expected in the midst of a rotter apocalypse. The cooks were able to supplement the mundane supplies of canned goods and dry rations with fresh fruit and vegetables from the gardens Paul had planted in the common area, as well as smoked pork or beef jerky from the camp’s livestock. They could even count on the occasional egg from one of the chickens, though at the moment there were only enough chickens for every person to get a single egg once a week. Considering that almost everyone here had known days or weeks of starvation out in the rotter world before finding sanctuary within the camp, even the skimpiest of meals seemed a feast.

  Robson enjoyed the fellowship. In the dining hall, everyone was equal. Raiders, Angels, mechanics, farmers, maintenance crews. It did not matter how dangerous or mundane your job, or whether it was mentally or physically draining. Breakfast and dinner were the two times that people could get together with old friends. They sat at the benches that ran in rows down the length of the dining hall, talking, joking, laughing, and flirting.

  Especially the flirting. Robson had noticed a lot more of that in the past few months. As life ever so slowly took on a semblance of normality, and people began to realize they might actually survive and have a future, human desires worked their way back into the psyche. Several couples already had openly declared themselves in a relationship, with just as many keeping their trysts secret. Paul encouraged it, constantly stressing that if society was ever going to survive, then people had to procreate. Robson smiled to himself. Although he agreed with Paul, he prioritized things differently. People needed to feel comfortable about loving someone without fearing they would be devoured alive before they would start having children.

  Thinking of relationships made him suddenly think of Caylee. He scanned the tables, eventually spotting her sitting alone at the farthest end of the last table in the hall. The red, bloodshot eyes and the dark circles beneath testified that she had been up all day crying. She sat at a slight angle that kept her back to most of the dining hall, sullenly staring at her plate and pushing the food around with her fork. Caylee had taken a chance on falling in love with Jordan and trying to live a normal life, only to have another loved one ripped away from her. Robson admired her strength, not sure if he could have mentally survived another loss.

  He started to gather up his tray to go sit with Caylee when he heard an unfamiliar male voice from behind him. “Mind if we join you?”

  Robson looked over his shoulder to see two people standing there. Thompson stood holding a tray of food, looking clean shaven and refreshed, but still wearing the same camouflage uniform from last night. He had that bearing about him that would have defined him as an officer even without the cammies, from the crew cut blonde hair to the
ramrod straight posture. Robson guessed him to be about fifty, mostly because he wore the rank of colonel, though it would be difficult to guess his age from his appearance. His body had the lean, hard look of someone who worked out regularly, though the bagginess of his uniform around the waist indicated he had been living off of reduced rations for awhile now.

  Beside Thompson stood the young woman whom they had saved along with the others. Last night she was dirty and scared, and looked like the hell she had lived through. Since then, some of the girls at camp had made her feel at home, obviously getting her a hot shower and a change of clothes. Auburn hair fell down to her shoulders in gentle curls, and she had abandoned the soiled clothes and lab coat for a white blouse and tan slacks. A broad smile lit up her face when Robson motioned to the empty seats opposite him.

  “Please, be my guest. This must be the first hot meal you’ve had in a while.”

  “Tell me about it.” Thompson sat directly across from Robson, with the young woman sitting to his right. “We’ve been eating MREs for months. And we ran out of those when the group that set out on its own in New York took all our supplies with them. By the way, I’m Colonel Glenn Thompson.”

  “Mike Robson.” Robson shook the colonel’s outstretched hand, trying not to grin at the officer’s strong Alpha male grip.

  “Sorry about pointing my weapon at you last night.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ve had worse things greet me when I’ve opened strange doors.”