He knew he couldn’t stay here – but where would he go? Steve thought about all the zombie and post-apocalypse movies he’d watched through the years. He had engaged in online debates with fellow horror aficionados, and had always asked the same question: what about one of those big-box warehouse stores? Those places were filled with non-perishable food, bottled water – hell, some even sold hunting equipment, rifles and compound bows. They also had camping equipment, batteries, First Aid supplies, clothing…everything a zombie survivalist could need.
And there was just such a store located roughly ten miles from Steve’s house.
Ten miles was quite a hike, especially with the undead milling about. He thought about taking Dad’s car, but he knew from the scene out in front of the bank and all throughout his trek to get home that the streets had been mostly impassable due to all the crashed or otherwise driverless vehicles. Like it or not, he had to make the journey on foot. Or maybe he could take his old bike out of the garage. Yeah. He could do that. Just go, and make sure not to draw any attention to himself in the process. He mastered that particular skill in school by dodging bullies. Bullies like James Stanasila.
Steve grimaced when that memory crossed his mind. James Stanasila had been a junior when Steve started his freshman year at Brooklane High. Steve remembered him as being tall – but then, at just under five and a half feet, Steve saw everyone as tall – with thick, dark hair and ice-blue eyes hooded under a heavy brow; Romanian, Steve once heard someone say. The guy was a side of beef, too, always working on cars in Auto Shop. James could have been a jock but instead he preferred hanging around the student smoking area with the other Judd Nelson criminals of The Breakfast Club variety. Normally, Steve had to pass by that spot to get from Chemistry class in the main building to Advanced Robotics Workshop in the outlying vocational facility. Every day he ran that gauntlet, he had to endure taunts of “dork” and “pussy,” and the worst, “homo.”
He still remembered the time when one of the other guys had tripped him and he had landed on his knees, right in front of James. Before Steve could grab his books and get to his feet, James had snatched him by the back of the head and held on while pushing his groin into Steve’s face. The faded denim of his jeans was soft and smelled of smoke, motor oil, and something else Steve could never identify, but that moment had stuck in his sense-memory and he could never shake it. He had felt humiliated, but at the same time his body had reacted in a contradictory manner. “On your knees, bitch, and suck my cock!” James had sneered at him, while his friends laughed.
Steve had managed to break free but when he stood up, he heard someone say, “Watch out, James, the kid’s got a boner for you!” Steve could have educated them with facts about fear-induced erections, but had been too embarrassed to speak. He had to run away – and they let him – but he had never been able to escape the truth known only to him: he had been aroused by James manhandling him. He had been turned on by the realization that his nose had been smashed up against the very distinct bulge in those faded Levis. Steve had been questioning his sexuality since sixth grade, once he found out what the words “fag” and “queer” meant. He had started to find men appealing when he turned fourteen. But how could he be attracted to someone who made his life a living hell? Steve knew he could have gone to someone in authority to report James but that would only make things worse. Instead, he had discovered a different, albeit longer route that helped him to steer clear of his bully.
So going out of his way to get to where he needed to be was nothing new for Steve. It meant safety, and that’s all that mattered. The warehouse store would be safe. It would be his sanctuary. But first, he needed sleep. He gave in to the heavy pull on his exhausted mind and body, and spent the rest of the night plagued by dreams of being chased by zombies who looked like James Stanasila.
He woke the next morning to sunlight pouring in through his bedroom window. Would it be too much to hope it was all a bad dream? Scrambling to the window, he looked out and down at the back yard. His spirits plummeted when he saw the tarp, still in place over his dead parents. Steve sank back down onto the edge of his bed and buried his face in his hands. This was his reality, now. He had to accept it, and make the best of it.
He loaded his backpack with a few essentials he figured he might need on his journey. He needed more weapons. He still had the security guard’s gun and plenty of bullets, but the night stick wasn’t enough. Going back out to the shed, he found a hatchet. Yeah, that would work. Steve made one last pass through the house, trying to think if he needed anything else. He stopped in front of the fireplace. Framed photos of his family lined the mantel, pictures of his parents on their wedding day, shots of him as a baby… He took down the one of him in his graduation robes, Mom and Dad beaming as they stood on either side of him. Steve ran his fingertip over their faces and smiled sadly. “I’ll keep trying to make you proud of me,” he said. Stuffing the picture into his pack, Steve headed to the garage for his bike.
Having wheels as opposed to being on foot turned out to be just as challenging. In some places, Steve had to stop and walk the bike around major car pileups. He saw a lot of zombies. He also saw a lot of bodies that didn’t have the skin disfigurement but had been horribly mutilated. They must have been people who had survived The Event only to be taken out by the undead. Steve got to see it first-hand. He heard a woman screaming for help. He raced toward the sound only to arrive just as the zombies tore their victim to pieces. Steve left the scene before they noticed him, in no hurry to meet with the same fate.
He was sweaty and aching by the time his destination loomed into view. Steve almost wanted to laugh with relief. “Oh, thank god!” The front parking lot had a couple of cars in it. Steve saw three zombies staggering around near the main entrance, all of them wearing work coveralls with the store’s logo on the back. They saw him and advanced. Steve got off his bike and pulled his gun. He shot two and put the hatchet through the head of the third. His triumph was short-lived. Instead of glass doors, he discovered the corrugated metal of a security barrier. Steve slammed his palm against it in frustration. “Okay,” he told himself, “calm down. There’s got to be another way in.”
Circling the building, he checked fire doors and found them all locked. He reached the loading dock. A delivery truck stood in one of the bays. Steve’s heart skipped when he saw a gap under the door. A steel hand cart lay on its side and had blocked the door from closing completely. “Yes!” At that moment, two more zombies came around the front of the truck. Like the others, they wore work uniforms. I didn’t come this far to be stopped by a bunch of frigging zombies! With a roar, Steve attacked. He brought down one with the pistol, and hacked at the other. The hatchet became lodged in the zombie’s skull, forcing him to surrender it. Another bullet finished the job. Breathless and covered in gore, Steve continued toward the loading bay door. The opening was narrow. Removing his pack, he managed to slide under and get inside. Immediately, he saw another worker slumped on the floor near the door’s controls. Dead, of course. “Well, buddy,” Steve said, “you’re not staying in here to stink up the place while you rot.” With some effort, he managed to push the body out under the door. Kicking at the hand cart to dislodge it, Steve jumped back when the barrier dropped down the rest of the way with a clang.
He turned to look at his new surroundings. The first thing he noticed was the light. It didn’t surprise him – a lot of stores had backup generators in the event of city-wide power outages. It was enough to keep the refrigeration units, cash registers, and a few overhead lights operational. For the first time since this all began, Steve felt himself relax. “I made it,” he said, and then laughed out loud. “I’m safe!” Spying a shopping cart, he dropped his backpack into the basket. “So – where do I start?”
He knew the generator wouldn’t last forever, so he decided to find flashlights and batteries. Okay, that would be in Hardware. Steve wheeled the cart over to that section of the store. Along the way, he
snagged a family-sized box of snack cakes and one pint from a twelve-pack of milk in the Dairy section. He hadn’t eaten since last night. He had been too tense this morning before leaving home to even think of food. Now, he tore open one of the cakes and shoved the whole thing in his mouth. He reached Hardware and started loading up.
“Hey!”
Startled, Steve dropped his milk and whirled around, gun drawn. Another live human being – here? His heart leapt into his throat and parked itself there, hammering wildly. In the dim emergency lighting, there were a lot of pockets of darkness; he could see a form just a few feet away, standing in the shadows. Steve motioned with his weapon. “Hands where I can see ‘em, and step into the light,” he said, voice quaking, “or I’ll shoot.”
Slowly, the other person moved forward, entering the pool of light just in front of Steve. He had his arms raised as instructed. As soon as Steve got a good look at the guy, it took all of a second for recognition to kick in. His heart did a cannonball from his throat to his stomach. “Oh, fuck.”
James Stanasila stood before him, dressed in a pair of blue work coveralls, short sleeves rolled up to reveal tattoos on both biceps. He still had that thick, dark hair with the curls in front, full lips that never seemed to smile, and those cobalt-blue eyes set deep under a heavy brow. He had at least a day’s growth of beard which did little to hide the dimple in his chin but made him look even more menacing than Steve remembered. “How’d you get in here?” he demanded.
“There was a gap under one of the loading dock doors,” Steve said. “I was able to slide under. I closed it once I was in.” He glanced around quickly but kept the gun trained on James. “I didn’t realize there was anyone else in here.” You were the last person I ever thought I’d run into, Steve thought, grimacing. God must really hate me… “Are you alone?”
James responded with a reluctant nod. “Yeah.” He gulped audibly, and there was a distinct tremor in his voice. “What the hell happened out there?” He nodded to Steve’s clothes. “And why are you covered in blood? You some kind of axe murderer?”
Steve thought briefly of the hatchet he left buried in a zombie’s brain pan. What was more important right now was the fact that James Stanasila, the guy who bullied him relentlessly for two long years, was scared. Any other time, Steve might have reveled in this discovery. But considering the current state of the world beyond the store’s stone and steel walls, he couldn’t bring himself to gloat. Your parents didn’t raise you that way. Don’t dishonor their memory by being a dick. Lowering the gun for the first time, Steve sighed. “Trust me – you don’t want to know. But suffice to say, you’re the first…well, normal person I’ve come across.” Which isn’t saying much… He noticed a bloody rag tied around James’ right forearm. “What’s that all about?”
“Nothing,” James deflected. “Just a scratch from when I ran into something in the dark, before the generator kicked in.”
“So you just tied a dirty rag around it?” Steve let out a short laugh of incredulity. “Jesus – you’re sitting here with a fully-stocked pharmacy and tons of medical supplies in the Health and Beauty section… Did you even wash it?”
James didn’t answer.
Steve rolled his eyes. “Oh my god, you are helpless,” he muttered. Putting the safety on, he tucked the gun into his jeans’ waistband and pulled his shirt down over it. “All right – let’s take care of this.” He pushed past James and got a few paces ahead before he stopped and turned around. “Come with me if you want to live,” he said, in a deep voice and his best imitation of an Austrian accent.
James screwed up his face – he had the audacity to look attractive even when wrinkling his nose – and asked, “Why are you talking like that?”
That made Steve’s jaw drop. He blinked at James in disbelief. “Really?” he said. “Are you kidding me? You don’t recognize one of the most famous lines in movie history when you hear it?”
“I’m not into that kind of thing,” James said, rolling his shoulder.
Steve stared at him for a long moment. And just what kind of ‘thing’ are you into? Finally, he waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever. Just…follow me. Okay?” He had to glance back a few times to make sure James was still behind him. Surprisingly, he was. When they reached the pharmacy, Steve searched the shelves until he came upon the First Aid kits. He plucked up one, and a bottle of saline solution, and led James over to a bench near the Prescription Pick-up window. “Have a seat.” As James sat down, Steve tore into the kit and took out gauze, antibiotic ointment, and tape. He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out his house keys for the small Swiss Army knife attached to them. “Okay, let’s take a look at this…”
The wound wasn’t too deep, and wouldn’t require any stitches. Steve washed it out with saline, applied the antibiotic cream and a couple of butterfly bandages. “So,” he said, trying to make small talk to diffuse the tension. “What were you doing when the world changed?” He fished around in the kit for more adhesive strips. “How’d you manage to survive?”
“I dunno.” James shrugged. “I work third shift. Me and six other guys, we unload the trucks and stock the shelves. The store’s closed on Wednesdays, so we can take our time. Ow!” He hissed and jerked back when Steve had to pull up and reposition one of the butterflies.
“Hold still,” Steve chided him. He began wrapping the arm with gauze. “Okay, so you were working, and…? Go on.”
James glared at him. After a moment, he continued. “Two of the guys went outside to have a smoke. I was just going into the deep freeze when I heard them hollering ‘hey, come look at this!’” He shook his head. “I guess the other three went out to see what it was.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Fuck, no, I didn’t – I was working! I’m not like them,” he gestured with his free hand, “fucking off all the time, screwing around. I got work to do, and I do it. I can’t afford to lose this job.” He snorted. “Well. Not like it matters, now.”
Steve had to agree on that point. He cut another piece of tape off the roll and used it to secure the gauze. “I think you being inside that freezer, and me being inside a bank vault, might have saved our lives. Both are heavily reinforced.” He looked up to find James watching him with those hooded, penetrating blue eyes. “If one of your coworkers had stayed inside but wasn’t in the cooler with you, he would be dead.” Steve hesitated. “Which is what happened to my dad.” He applied another piece of tape. “But if they had all gone outside, they became zombies.” He swallowed back the emotion that threatened to knot his vocal chords. “Like my mom did.”
“Zombies,” James echoed, and shook his head. “I always thought that kind of thing was fake.”
“Well,” Steve said, shaking off his moment of melancholia, “so did I. But considering what I had to go through to get here? I can assure you that there is nothing ‘fake’ about it. Zombies, or whatever those people have become, are real.” He pressed down the last strip of tape and sat back on his heels to admire his work. “There. All better. I’d give you a lollipop for being a good boy but we’d have to go over to the Candy section for that.” When James didn’t say anything, Steve sighed and began putting the remaining supplies back into the kit. “It’s okay, you don’t have to thank me.”
“Thanks,” James said quietly.
Steve paused, a little surprised. He really did not expect any gratitude. Politely, he replied, “You’re welcome.” He got to his feet, suddenly too aware of the fact that he was on his knees in front of his former bully. “Well. Okay. I guess we should kind of…take stock, now.” He looked around, eyed the tall shelving loaded with pallets of goods, each one constructed of steel. Steve pointed to them. “Our best bet would be to turn those into loft living quarters. You know how to operate a forklift? We can move some of those pallets out of the way. It would be safer if we were up high, in case someone managed to break in. We’d have the advantage from above. But first, I need to continue what I was doing, before
you showed up.”
Retrieving his cart from Hardware, Steve headed over to Sporting Goods. “Camping supplies,” he said to James, who trailed him. “Lanterns – especially if they’re the kind you can crank to generate power. Although give me a few hours and I could probably rig up some solar panels on the roof. There is a way to get up there, right?” He patted a large box containing a water collection unit. “We can set up a few of these bad boys, while we’re at it. Totally self-sufficient.”
He turned around to find James pawing through his backpack. “Hey! Get out of there!” He tried to reach for the bag but not before James had pulled out the framed photo. Steve eyes flashed in anger. “Give it back,” he demanded.
James looked at the photo. “This you with your folks?”
Steve huffed a sigh. “Yes,” he said, and made a grab. To his surprise, James didn’t jerk it out of his reach the way he used to do with Steve’s text books; instead, he handed back the picture.
“You look kind of familiar…”
He’s only just now starting to recognize me? Steve snorted and stuffed the photo back into his pack. “Well, that would make sense, all things considered.”
“Whaddaya mean?”
You’ve got to be kidding me. Steve placed his hands on the cart and looked James right in the eye. “You really don’t know who I am?”
James shrugged. “Should I?”
That caught Steve off-guard. Why should he remember me? Bullies never remember their victims, but victims never forget their bullies. It took a moment for Steve to find his voice again. “We went to the same school.” He licked his lips. God, he could be setting himself up for trouble if he went into any further detail. All he needed was to jog James’ memory of his glory days as Steve’s personal tormentor, reactivate him and start a new cycle of torture. The alternative was going back outside. All things considered, which is the lesser of the two evils? Steve waved it off. “Never mind.” He grabbed the cart and started moving down the aisle.
Interracial Romance: Gay Romance: Bound By His Own Desires (MMM Endowed Black Men Bondage Threesome Romance) (A Billionaire's Freedom Book 3) Page 99