The Rooster (Erotic Apocalyptic Thriller)

by Richard Peters

  That’s when Espinoza pushed me away, Rach’s legs dropping hard from my shoulders.

  “So you enjoyed that? Like I said, you’ll never feel his love again.” Espinoza reached down and stroked me, while tip-toeing up and nibbling my ear. “Now that you’re warmed up, you’re going to finish with the only woman you really care about.”

  Rachel rolled her eyes. Espinoza winked at her and raised the weapon… then placed it in my hand. “I don’t need this, Johnny dear. Why don’t you hold onto that?” I fought every urge down and didn’t hesitate. Without a second glance, I just safed it and tossed the gun on another chair.

  For the first time in the whole ordeal, Rachel’s proud facade slipped. Her voice cracked. “What the hell?!” Before I could answer, Espinoza wrapped her arms around me. “Not another word to her sweetie. Come to me.” I begged Rach to understand with my eyes, but she must have still assumed she was invincible.

  Espinoza dragged her bound captive to the edge of her bed, and then flopped down on it. “My love,” no hint of mockery in her voice, “don’t keep me waiting.” Okay, but I’d make sure this wasn’t fun for either of us. There was no lingering playfulness as I undressed her. I just tore her clothes off like a maniac. Rachel’s eyes glazed over with tears when I pried apart the boss’s thighs. Did she think this was passion?

  “Slow down, you eager beaver. You know what I need.” I didn’t fight as she shoved my head down between her legs and started massaging the back of my neck. Admittedly, I was surprised to find, instead of spiders, her completely shaved and impeccably clean. Ignoring her clitoris, the most engorged I’d ever seen, wasn’t easy. I probed fast and randomly. Must have been more like a doctor’s exam than lovemaking. Damn if I was going to give her any pleasure. Apparently, it didn’t matter. With every haphazard flick of my tongue, she seemed only more excited.

  I heard sobbing from the other side. Rachel couldn’t keep it in any longer. What a sick psychological game. Psychological. A lightning bolt struck me. This nut’s pleasure was all mental. If control turned her own, then let’s see how she likes it when someone else wields it.

  Espinoza gasped when I flipped her over like a rag doll. The tiny thing tried to pull herself up, but that only put her in a better position. I snatched her long pony tail like the reins of a horse and rode her hard. This wasn’t sex, this was a straight-up pounding session. I channeled every ridiculous porno I’d ever seen. “Who’s in control now, bitch?”

  Rachel stopped her crying and nodded… but the magic didn’t last. Under me, the boss arched her back and howled, “Oh! You are, my lover. Take me, little boss!”

  Goddamit! I was so angry that my wild pistoning missed. I slid out of her. Looking down to reposition, I saw a tight puckering. Bingo. That had to be new for a lesbian. She was still rocking to my previous rhythm when I shoved everything into her anus. Well, shoving is not so accurate. I had to beat that back door hard to force it in unlubricated.

  My efforts were rewarded with a squeal of panic. Espinoza tried to wiggle away, but I pushed her flat on the bed. I even pinned her legs together. Make things as tight as possible. “Fucker” she screamed. A real reaction. I kept at it until I had the whole shaft in there. It probably hurt me as much as her, but honestly, the domination shtick kind of made up for that.

  “Fucker!” she gasped again, but then added, “Oh Fuck! Harder!” I yanked her up to her knees and pushed that mouth into a pillow. Which only muffled the moaning. She had one hand rubbing herself and the other actually reached back and fondled my balls.

  I was starting to chaff bad, but couldn’t stop. Trying to screw fear out of her, I lost complete control and pounded us both right off the bed. On the ground, she jumped on top, but slid me right back into the same place. “That’s right. Give me what she can’t handle!”

  Just as I squeezed her breasts and exploded inside her, the window blew inward. It wasn’t just me; the whole building shook. In the distance, rifles blazed away… but not all as outgoing fire. In her scramble to dress, the boss stepped on my crutch that she was bouncing on just seconds ago. Charlotte burst through the door. “Cannibals! The gate’s been bombed. It’s a swarm and they’ve, I swear to God, got guns!”

  Espinoza ignored us both and rushed out the door, shouting orders the whole way. The second I cut Rachel free she slapped me. Then kicked me. Then kissed me. The firing outside grew louder, closer. Screams from the hallway drowned out whatever she tried to say. Without another word, I pushed her through the shattered window. She knew where to go. I swooped up Espinoza’s forgotten gun and gave her some covering fire while she sprinted, still naked, to the motor pool.

  The first target I found blew my mind. Even 20 yards away at night, I could tell what it was. A man. Hadn’t seen a dude in a while. He pointed at Rachel and a pair of crazed zombies shuffled surprisingly fast right past him and after her. What type of immunity he had never crossed my mind. Too busy. I took careful aim and fired. That massive recoil nearly broke my wrist. Missed the runners by a wide margin.

  Emptying the magazine in rage got the job done. Not a single headshot, but those giant half-inch slugs tore the runners to shreds. They could still crawl, but they were never going to run again. Time to move. Not much more I could do here. I wheeled around and stopped long enough to pull on some shorts and grab an extra magazine from Espinoza’s discarded holster. Dashing into the hallway, I cursed myself for not risking the window. On the other end of the hallways, some guy dragged a bloodied and cursing women away by her hair. Looked a lot like Cherry.

  This one also kept a dim-witted cannibal for a pet. I had the drop on him, so he ducked behind the creature for cover. I popped off two quick shots, both shells tearing through the zombie and slamming the man center mass. He crumbled without a sound. Aiming a little more steadily, I dropped the zombie with a round through the forehead. First time I ever killed one without a scoped rifle. Speaking of which, I capped the crawling zombie and ran over the dead guy.

  Ignoring Cherry’s “thank you’s,” I left her lying there on the floor. After scooping up the bandit’s rifle I tried to get his ammo vest off. A mess with his guts all over the place. I rolled him over, but then jumped away. He groaned and flipped back over… taking the rifle with him. No way. They don’t turn that fast. Never. It took a second to realize his hissing were words. He, or it, barred some teeth and pounced back on its feet. Hunched over in classic zombie attack mode.

  While I panicked, Cherry pulled the k-bar from his belt and rammed it in the back of his neck. “Now we’re even.” She picked up the rifle. “I have no idea where the boss is. You coming or what?”

  Whatever. I let her lead the way. We ran out the south door and made a beeline for the maintenance bay. Didn’t get far. There was some type of last stand going on there. Cherry and I crouched in the shadows behind a tool shed, terrified to come any closer. Dozens of armed men ringed the compound within a compound. They rained down covering fire while scores of zombies rushed the fence.

  Wild firing from several vehicle-mounted machine guns inside held the horde at bay for a few minutes, but couldn’t last forever. Some Molotov cocktails burst among the zombies. Just like any animal, fire was about the only thing guaranteed to scare them. Didn’t do a thing for the men or men-beasts shooting at the women. One gal took three rounds in her stomach while lighting a wick. I turned away in disgust… only to stare into Espinoza’s face. Her eyes as wide as my own.

  Maybe it was the shock, but it took a moment to realize someone held her head by her hair. I still don’t know if it was the severed head that made me scream or the sight of Danielle holding it. “Oh come now. Don’t look so surprised. That’s no way to greet your new master.” She growled something in a demon accent that sounded like: “Have fun with her.”

  A half-dozen guys appeared from the shadows and rushed Cherry before she could get a shot off. She didn’t scream or plead as they hauled her off to the barracks. I stalled for any seconds that might be left to
me. “How’d you survive? Better yet, how did you domesticate zombies?”

  Danielle pushed me back down when I tried to stand. “As dumb as ever. ‘Zombie’ just describes the victims from the first few generations of the virus. I’m fifth generation ‘evolved,’ baby.” She hiked up her shirt. Only the slightest scars where three half-inch thick bullets had perforated her. “We can control the rage, even use it for such cool tricks. Like any virus that doesn’t want to die out, it eventually finds a symbiosis with the host. Now, don’t worry your pretty little head over the details. I can still use you.”

  She waved an arm at her army in the distance. “Everyone in this sausage fest is infected. And impotency is one hell of a rough evolutionary side effect. We need a pure blood to reproduce. So here’s the deal. You’re going to work for us, like you did Espinoza and-” In a grey and red flash, Danielle disappeared. Neither of us had heard the purring of a Prius over the shooting a hundred yards away. The car slammed on the brakes and backed up. A door popped open.

  Rachel was behind the wheel. “Quit flirting and get your dumb ass in here!” I wedged into the backseat, much like on my first day. These were all “troublemaker” women and never any of my “clients.” What a relief to hear a woman hiss “Fuck off,” rather than lean forward when I accidentally squeezed her breast in the dark. The machine gun above burped endlessly as we sped off into the darkness. The girl next to me reached for another pipe bomb to toss out the window and squealed when her hand wrapped around my pipe instead. “Asshole!” she muttered while lighting another bomb.

  In the cramped darkness with hot brass casings raining from the roof onto my lap, I smiled wide. Through the rearview mirror, Rachel locked eyes with me and mouthed: “We need to fucking talk!” Yeah, it was going to be a good day. Life was back to normal.

  The Beginning

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  Read on for a sample of my military/political thriller, Power Games: Operation Enduring Unity 1.

  Prologue

  November 7th, 20soon

  All the waving red, white and blue bunting had a slightly nauseating effect, when stared at long enough through a 13 power scope. John Randall raised his cheek off the rifle’s stock and forced a ragged breath. He even managed to blink. The damn debate moderator kept droning on longer than expected. Well, after a month of planning another minute couldn’t hurt. Any moment he was going to make history.

  From nearly 400 yards away and 4 stories high, he could still hear the idiotic cheering fire up again. When the beaming face of Senator Dimone came into focus a relaxing wave of finality dampened his adrenaline fire. That rich tool was about to make the last speech of his perverted presidential bid.

  Ah, but first he must shake hands with his opponent, Speaker of the House Terry Scott. The only real man on that stage. John felt a brief flash of regret. He wasn’t a complete psychopath. Deep down, he knew this isn’t what the congressman meant by: “Enough talk; it’s time for action!”

  But all those long hours spent volunteering and canvassing for the congressman’s campaign seemed so trivial, when stacked against the billion dollars poured into his challenger’s various PACs by unknown donors. Remembering how every spare moment of the last year of John’s life, so lovingly invested in trying to save his dear country, could be so casually brushed aside by some corporatist conspiring brought the rage back.

  While no one would confuse John Randall for a true sharpshooter, firing a box a day of .30-06 for a month on a 500 yard range sure builds confidence. He slid the window open and took up as comfortable a position as he could out on the sill. Just like in the movies. He was even dressed head to toe in black.

  The reassuring weight of his semiautomatic rifle, bought without a paper trail from some gun show, relaxed him as much as noticing the wind dying down. Perfect conditions. Shifting his weight, he savored the God-like sense of power from his perch. Randall drank in the grinning face of his prey at the other end of the scope…perhaps a moment too long.

  With his left eye shut tight and his whole world focused on the golden clasp of that $1,000 power tie, he failed to notice some Secret Service agent a few feet from the target clutch his earpiece and shout. He sure noticed the chest caving impact of an alert counter sniper’s round ripping through his left lung a split-second later.

  The well-practiced, gentle squeeze on the trigger became a rather untidy jerk. His body raced the spent casing to the ground, but he felt no regret. Savoring the fresh scent of decisive action and sweet gun smoke gave him a greater sense of peace than people would expect from someone drowning in their own blood.

  *

  Congressman Scott wondered what kind of political stunt this was when someone yelled “Get down!” and his opponent shrieked like a girl. The pieces slowly came together when the craaack of something split the air, followed by his screaming rival falling backwards.

  It all became crystal clear when the round missed the senator, struck a flagpole behind him and ricocheted through the base of Congressman Scott’s neck instead. With the vertebrae shredded, Scott was dead before his body hit the ground. But even so, his disjointed head still made a comical bobbing motion closely imitating his “Together, we can!” advertisements…all in front of the live, primetime coverage cameras.

  Millions of voters watched their hopes die in high-definition detail. Thousands of filthy rich campaign donors saw a huge investment vanish faster than any stock market “flash crash.” Hundreds of other politicians witnessed the entire political landscape turn upside down. A half dozen television networks observed their ratings skyrocket. Regardless of what each saw from their unique perspectives, they all drew the same conclusion: whether they liked it or not, violence was now the decisive force in American politics. It was a lesson none would soon forget.

  Part I

  “Society was cut in two: those who had nothing united in common envy; those who had anything united in common terror.”

  – Alexis de Tocqueville, Recollections on the French Revolution

  About the Author

  Richard Peters is the author of the Operation Enduring Unity series. He served from 2002-2007 as an artillery spotter in the US Army. Richard spent 27 months in two tours bringing peace at any price to the post-apocalyptic streets and mahalla’s of Baghdad.

  He currently lives with his wife and son in Germany and runs his own technical services business.