by RR Haywood
‘I will, and thank you again for your support, it’ll be nice to know I can count on you when the time comes.’
‘Of course,’ he smiles once more and steps away, heading back towards the tents. Finding a place of worship will secure his position amongst the religions. Being in a central organisational role was important to Graham, it gave him a sense of responsibility. Going back now and saying he’s secured a place would be great, but going back and saying that he not only may have secured a place but he’s already scouted it out…that would be better, far better.
He deviates his route, heading towards the back door, lost in thought of having all the religious people staring at him as he delivers the good news. Of course this has taken me some very careful negotiations and putting pressure on the right people at the top, but you all know me…ready to sacrifice myself for your good causes and never one to back down, so I’ve got us a special place where only the people of faith can go. Of course I will be administrating the area to ensure fair play and smooth running…he smiles to himself, knowing how good he’ll look.
And even better was that it was right at the water’s edge, he should introduce some kind of water cleansing ritual. Something that would get those religious girls into the water wearing flimsy t shirts with their breasts poking through. Yeah, like those girls from the internet at the wet t-shirt competitions. He licks his lips at the thought of holding them steady while they dunk down under the purifying water. Staring down at the long thighs, he might even be able to touch one, you know…if the girl slipped or something.
He wasn’t a pervert. He knew he wasn’t a pervert. He never looked at actual pornography, just the wet t-shirt competitions. He loved them. More than any other faith he loved girls in wet t shirts. Damn he missed the internet and could feel himself start to grow.
Graham wasn’t an ugly man, and knew that several of the women liked him. But they were the frumpy fanatical types, shapeless and boring. No, he wanted the slim girls with the big boobs and the tattoo’s on their lower back. And those hip hop girls that made their bottoms bounce, they were good too, but getting the girls to bounce their backsides might be quite hard, where-as getting them into the water shouldn’t be too difficult.
He could do one on one spiritual cleansing sessions. That would do it. He’d have to do the men too but they would be done quickly, in and out. In fact, the men could be done in groups and the women in private, you know, to give them some privacy and decency. That back area with the high wall and the single gate would be perfect.
Buoyed up and excited he made his way to the back wall, smiling and grinning at the people as he passed them. Especially the girls. This hot weather was making them strip down to the barest of clothes, and some…some were even walking around in just bra’s and shorts. They look hot, maybe he should drag a hose out and start showering himself off in view, encourage them to do the same.
The back first. Check the back and get the news to the others, then maybe look at getting a hose out. His own hose was starting to bulge so he quickened his pace, marching to the back gate.
In dismay he spots the guard stood there holding a shotgun, leaning against the wall while smoking a cigarette. He snorts in frustration, he needs to be somewhere private. The growing strain in his pants is starting to hurt.
‘Hi,’ he smiles at the guard, holding his hand out, ‘I’m Graham, I’m on the main committee for the fort, you know…trying to get everything organised,’ he rolls his eyes and smiles.
‘Er…hello,’ the guard replies, an older man with thinning hair and a paunch.
‘How’s it going here?’
‘S’alright,’ the man replies, ‘bleedin’ hot though…and my feet are killin’ me.’
‘Poor chap,’ Graham makes a sad face, ‘well I’ve come to check the back area, we’re thinking of putting it to use, I just spoke to Sergeant Hopewell and agreed I’d come check it out…’
‘Ted said no one was to go in or out without him or Chris saying anything.’
‘Ah Ted, great chap, really good chap and a good friend of mine. Yeah he does have those instructions but I think something got lost in translation. He means unless told by anyone from the main committee.’
‘He definitely said just ‘im and Chris.’
Damn this man, Graham smiles knowingly, ‘Also gives you a chance to take a break, get something to drink…hey you should get one of the hoses out and wash your hot feet off, I’ll be here keeping watch until you get back.’
The man shuffles, looking down at his feet. The thought of running cold water over them is too tempting to resist, ‘yeah…well, you sure like? You know I don’t wanna get in trouble or nuffin.’
‘Don’t be silly, fine man like you needs a break…I just spoke with Sergeant Hopewell and she’s in overall charge here anyway, go on…get yourself a sit down in the shade for fifteen minutes.’
‘Alright, ‘ere, you want this?’ The man holds the shotgun out.
‘Er…yeah okay,’ Graham has never fired a gun in his life, but now realises that if the guard thinks the gate is protected he will relax better and give him time to relieve himself. He takes the shotgun, surprised at the weight.
‘Right, be fifteen then,’ the man starts to walk off.
‘No need to be exact, take longer if you want,’ Graham calls after him. He waits for a second before turning to pull the bolts back on the gate. Dirty big solid bolts that he struggles to pull back, then a big key left in the lock.
With the shotgun resting against the wall he finally gets all the bolts and locks undone, pushing the thick solid wooden gate open and stepping through. The sight of the water finishes him off, just the image of the wet water, the same wet water that will soak those tops and make the material see through.
Groaning with anticipation he steps out and pushes the gate closed with his foot, taking a step back to prevent anyone from pushing it open. With his eyes fixed on the water he dreamily unzips his trousers and pulls his engorged penis out. The sudden release of the confinement excites him even more, as does the feeling of the open air on his member. His hand starts working the shaft as he stares out at the sea. His mind full of images of gorgeous girls all wearing white t shirts and rising slowly up from the water to reveal their nipples straining against the sodden material. He groans audibly as he hand works faster, putting himself in the middle of the image, of all those girls draping over him and pressing those wet t shirts against his bare chest.
His eyes flutter closed as he nears climax, the first climax he’s had in days. Other than the quick one he had in the toilets of the visitor centre the other night, and that was ruined by some rude man banging on the door and telling him to hurry up.
Ah there it is, the climax building up. The sensation at the back of his balls that starts to tingle just before ejaculation. The image builds to a crescendo, the girls slowly peeling those tops off to reveal their pink and brown nipples….no…no good, they have to be wearing the tops.
‘Put them back on,’ he whispers to himself, the girls do as told, pulling the tops back down to show the sodden look. The orgasm builds slowly, threatening to make his legs go weak. This is going to be a good one. Several days of being trapped inside all waiting to be released.
‘You dirty motherfucker,’ a deep voice growls in his ear, the hot breath tickling the back of his neck. Graham freezes mid stroke, right at the point of orgasm, with the semen dripping from the tip of his penis.
‘You are one fucked up motherfucker,’ the voice growls again, an immensely deep voice with a strong accent. Graham’s life flashes before his eyes. Not for one second thinking he is in danger, but that someone has caught him wanking and will tell everyone.
He screws his eyes shut, his dick now limp in his hands as the goo drips from his still clenched fist.
‘I’m gonna bite the fuck out of you….but don’t be thinking for one goddam second I’m gonna enjoy it.’ Strong hands grip Graham, pulling him back. He goes to scream but fin
ds a very large rough hand clamped firmly over his mouth.
He squirms desperately as he feels teeth brushing against his neck, the pressure gets harder as they start to bite. His flesh tearing as the mouth bites down. Pain sears through his neck, burning as he struggles in vain. The mouth releases but the pain continues. Spreading through his whole body.
Within seconds another pain is flaring deep in his stomach, a wrenching churning feeling that causes his legs to give out. The strong arms hold him in place, the hand still firmly over his mouth.
Graham squirms and bucks, his penis flopping about as his body writhes. He feels his heart beating slower and slower. The sensation of sickness through every part of his body. His vision starts to go, darkness creeping in from the edges. Dark, everything black. Just his mind is left. A mind only too aware of what’s happening.
His heart stops and Graham dies. Going limp in the arms of a disgusted looking Randall who looks down over his shoulder at the flaccid member dangling away.
‘Put that think back in his pants,’ he whispers to Colin.
‘Me?’ Colin blanches, blinking his red bloodshot eyes.
‘Yeah you…put that fucking thing away, man ain’t got no decency dying with his dick hanging out.’
‘I ain't touching his wotsit Randy, it’s still dribblin’.’
‘Put that mother-fucking thing away now you dumb-ass retard,’ Randall snaps. Colin flinches from the ferocity of the larger man, bending over to wince as he gently grips the thing and pushes it back into the dead man’s pants.
‘Don’t fucking play with it, you queer motherfucker,’ Randall adds with an evil smile.
Graham starts the return, his body twitching slowly and building to the convulsions. Still gripped by Randall his body shudders until it goes still. The eyes opening to reveal the red bloodshot gaze.
‘He’s one of us,’ Colin nods as he leans round to look at Graham’s face. Randall lets him go, physically turning the man round to stare into the red eyes, taking in the slack jawed appearance.
‘Close your fucking mouth, you look like a retarded motherfucker.’ Graham does as told, closing his mouth with a smacking noise.
Randall steps to the door and cracks it open enough to peer through quickly. Nodding he pushes it to and moves back to Graham.
‘You go back in, go deep…right in the middle of those motherfuckers, keep your fucking head down and when we go in you start biting every motherfucker you can get…you understand?’
Graham nods back dumbly, his eyes staring at Randall with a look of love and awe. Randall turns to another of his men, ‘you go after him, and go left, ain’t no motherfucker there right now…head down and walk natural, make it look like you lost something and get as far as you can.’
The two men slip inside. Those looking in that direction simply see the familiar form of Graham walking with another man, both of them looking for something on the ground. The men separate and walk opposite directions, Graham heading into the densely populated tent city while the inmate skirts the inside of the wall.
Randall watches through the crack in the door as they disappear from sight, his intelligent eyes ablaze with the thought of what’s to come. Spying the shotgun leaning against the wall he quickly reaches in and grabs it, thrusting into the arms of another inmate.
‘You gonna be one of their guards, hold it across your body and go down the middle…keep your fucking eyes down like you checking the gun or somethin’.’ The man holds the weapon across the crook of his arms, like any normal guard strolling about. After checking the area is clear Randall gets the man inside, watching through the gap as the man assumes the role of camp guard and steadily walks down the middle of the camp, one of his hands fiddling with the breech of his gun that he stares down at.
Three inside and every second they get deeper amongst the dumb motherfuckers. Randall darts back at seeing a woman looking at the gate, a puzzled frown on her face at seeing it slightly open. She walks towards it, peering intently and looking round for the guard that should be here.
Randall grabs Colin, turning him so his back is to the gate and making him stand like he’s having a piss. The gate pushes open, the woman tutting at seeing the back of the man stood urinating into the sea.
‘That’s gross,’ she chuckles, ‘couldn’t you wait.’
‘Sorry,’ Colin says without looking round, ‘I was bursting…don’t tell anyone will you.’
‘Nah you’re alright, looks nice out there.’
‘Have a look,’ Colin turns round, keeping his head down as he pretends to be fiddling with the zipper on his trousers.
She steps out, her eyes staring at the shimmering stillness of the water, the openness of the sea captivating her after days of being locked inside. Hands grab and pull her to the side. Harry holding her tight as Randall moves back to the gate.
With her mouth covered and the bear like man holding her there is nothing she can do to stop from being lifted bodily of the ground like a rag doll. Another inmate moves in, pulling her skirt up to reveal an expanse of thigh. He bites quickly, tearing at the flesh and holding his mouth over the wound. She bucks and squirms but like Graham her resistance is futile and the inevitable happens.
Two minutes later and she’s stood on the ground as Colin washes the blood from her leg and marvels at how quickly the wound clots.
Randall sends her back inside with the same instruction to keep her fucking head down. She does as told, slipping into the fort and walking straight into the living quarters of the many refugees.
Looking at the outline of the guards on the wall at the far end and the distinct shape of the long barrelled weapons they hold, Randall senses they could still be in danger. There could be guards on all sides, ready to fire down into the crowds if anything happens.
What he needs is a distraction. A big mother-fucking distraction that will buy them a few seconds to run in and get deep within the crowds.
They say the devil takes care of his own. The old adage comes true as the distraction is freely given.
To the west, far in the distance a huge explosion takes place. A deep rumbling sound that rolls over the open water with a sound like thunder from a summer storm. All activity in the fort ceases as the strange sound fills the air. Every guard on the walls, at a height advantage from those on ground level, stare across at the plume of flame and smoke scorching up into the air. The distance is great but even from here they can tell the explosion must be huge.
Those with local knowledge know it must be the refinery. That site being the only thing in that direction and area that could cause such a detonation.
Randall grins with disbelief and gets ready to run inside. The disbelief grows as the survivors closest to the gate, seeing it open, head towards it, running out the back to stare across the sea at the fireball in the distant sky.
The first couple give only a brief glance at the men already stood there, the spectacle in the distance too wondrous to look away from. Thick crowds pour out of the gate, standing packed on the little shore.
Randall and his inmates stand quietly, all of them shielding their eyes as though to protect against the glare of the sun. They shuffle into the crowd, gently jostling to get within the ranks.
‘Get back inside and lock that gate,’ someone shouts from inside the fort. Ted appears at the gate wearing his police uniform with his flat cap tucked on. ‘Come on, we can’t have this gate open…’ He urges the people back inside, swapping comments about how it must be the refinery going up from the heat and the safety procedures failing.
Randall keeps his head down, knowing how distinctive he looks. He sinks his shoulders and rubs at his face, flanked by some of the larger inmates he slips inside with the crowd. All of the inmates moving with the mass as they stroll back towards the tents, chatting excitedly to the others about what they’d seen outside.
Ted, shaking his head with annoyance at where the bloody guard has gone and intending to rip him a new arsehole slams the gate
closed, rams the bolts home and turns the key.
Randall glances back, his men are spread out. Deep within the confines of the fort. Locked in. Sealed.
And so it begins.
Thirty-One
Marcy stands in the street with her small carefully chosen group clustered round her. Reginald, April, Mildred and Jerry. A small non-threatening group of undead chosen exactly for the way they look and their gentle manner.
‘They’re all inside the houses,’ April reports.
Marcy looks back down the street at the large detached beachside houses with their pastel coloured wooden fronts. The horde all out of sight inside, sheltering from the sun and taking it in turns to drink from the cold water taps.
The decision to leave them here was contested, as usual, by Reginald, with him arguing that it wasn’t safe for Marcy to be so exposed and unprotected. Marcy countered that they couldn’t approach the fort with such a large number of zombies. To which Reginald countered that they were not zombies but living challenged and surely there must be somewhere closer they could be hidden.
‘And what if we fail? What then? What will they do without their leader?’ Reginald had protested, knowing it was his final attempt to dissuade her.
‘Another leader will surely present themselves and do things how they see fit,’ she replied, ‘it won’t matter for us…we’ll be dead.’ She knew the comment would upset him and watched with a mischievous grin as he shuddered.
‘Maybe I should stay here and keep watch then,’ he feebly attempted to get himself out of any potential danger.
‘Reggie, I will not order you to come with me, nor will I make you…but I want you to come of your own choosing.’
He squirmed for a minute, already knowing what his answer would be but just delaying the inevitable. Finally he sagged, sighing dramatically, ‘you know full well I’ll come with you.’
‘Thank you Reggie,’ she said with genuine sincerity.