Living Amongst The Dead (Book 3): On the Road Again

by J. N. Morgan

  “Oh, no, tea would be awesome. That sounds great!” It was smiles all around as the survivalist optimistically replied. “Honestly, it’s incredible what you guys have here. This community is… well… like I said, I’ve been on the road since Alberta, and I think this is the closest I’ve seen to actual civilization in months.” Part of the conversation from the night before as they passed around the little wooden pipe, cutely painted by the woman who spoke next.

  “It’s alright.” Brit gave, modestly but cheerfully. Hearing of some of the things that he’s seen, it gave a new appreciation for the little village, not that she was lacking in appreciation already. “Well we should head out, see what we can help out with. We’ll see you later, ok?” Putting a hand on Malcolm’s arm, his shoulders slumped as his eyes rolled, making as though he were a child being forced to do chores. It earned a chuckle as they left, and the door was closed once more.

  It came quite suddenly. The hand that rested on her shoulder moved to the back of her neck. Her tall and broad-shouldered man turned about, moving his torso from beside her to just about before her. Lips locked, taken by force, and her body stiffened at the suddenness of it but quickly relaxed. A right forearm to his lower back, a left hand to the side of his scruffy face, he was moving, she found herself on her back and he knelt before her. Knees wide on the bed to keep him stable, he had no spare arm to hold him up, and the other was busy at her chest now, groping, fondling. She moaned in his mouth.

  Clothes were undone; rubbing, stroking, squeezing, kissing, licking, sucking… but not much more. Thrusts sent spikes of pain through his newly bandaged and professionally clean wound. Riding did similarly. Tiffany had missed his forwardness, his advances, his vigour. She missed feeling him, and feeling him feel her. Feeling him inside her, feeling him fill her, but that would take more healing it would seem. Still, by satisfying their needs by other ways, they soon dressed up once more and headed out.

  Unlike their initial arrival, any gazes in their direction now was primarily coupled with a smile. Sometimes a nod, or a wave, but always at least a nod of recognition. They’d been ready for war, but ill-prepared for it. Not many firearms, most people with merely bow and arrows, but there were more with arms now since Malcolm had returned.

  The two went up the metal steps into the shack that they had spent the previous night, the shack that Veronica had been kept inside. The door was locked. A quick visit to the lunch shack where everything was being prepared and cooked had them before Grant and Kathleen once more. Friendly ‘good morning’s exchanged, she asked how his shoulder was doing, he told them that their first meal of the day won’t be much longer, and not only did they allow the door to be unlocked but the key was taken off of his key ring for the time being, given to them.

  With thanks, followed by a warning not to let her out, they left and went back to where Nicky was; passing by the oft-used fire pit as they walked. Inside, they found her still tied to the chair, head drooped in difficult slumber. It bobbed at the noise, looking weakly up at them. Features moved, she had tried to smile at her Tiffy but it barely registered before the head drooped again. Sitting up like that all night, it was no wonder that she was so exhausted.

  “Nicky…” she gave, quickly moving to her, a hand going to her shoulder and the other cupping her jaw, cradling it. Richard approached more slowly, but was soon behind the chair, fumbling with the rope that had her bound forearms tied to the chair itself. Once she was released from the chair, she was helped over to a mat by the woman. He felt it best not to lay a hand on her, considering the argument yesterday. ‘Nigger dyke’… he shook his head at remembering the words, and at remembering how she wanted to attack him for it. Her arms were still tied behind her, her ankles still bound as well, and he was glad that Tiff neither tried to undo them herself nor asked him to do it.

  Her face was indeed a bit swollen. Left in only her black jeans and black sleeveless shirt, the luxurious coat had been denied her, tossed aside. Considering how cool it felt that morning, she must have been cold all night. It was no wonder that she seemed to have fallen asleep almost instantly upon being laid down onto the mat, that big coat draped over her to warm her up. The woman stroked her short black hair as she knelt beside her.

  The tension between the woman’s young friend and her lover was palpable. The frustration of how uncontrollable and how volatile she was, was very real. Tiff wished things were simpler, wished the early-20s woman would just snap out the hatred that had been instilled in her. Those hateful ideals; towards men, towards whites, towards ‘hetero’ males, towards ‘cis’ males… snap out of it like she had.

  “Looks like breakfast is done.” Looking over to him, where he sat on a different chair, he was looking towards a window through which he could see people streaming to where they’d just left. “A lot of people…” he clearly didn’t much want to go in there where all eyes would likely end up on them.

  “I’ll get the meals…” she offered, and was thanked as she got up from where she knelt and headed to the lunch shack. Standing up as well, he went to the window where he could see through another that the food was being put on plates. A long line-up, she was at the end, and a few people were offering her to go before them but eventually she found herself in a position of having to wait like the others. Fair enough, it was nice of them to move her forward. Eggs… it was going to be delicious, he thought, as he watched people slowly be given plates.

  His brown eyes peered left, up to the north towards the trail that went into the woods where supposedly there were some fields for growing crops. They then looking right, towards the road, and the figure of Veronica came to his peripherals. The eyes went further right, within the little structure itself, looking briefly at the African Canadian, and just as they were coming away from her they did a slight double-take as they returned. Utterly still, completely exhausted, face tender from pain, and his heartrate sped up a bit, quite suddenly and unexpectedly.

  The eyes went back to the lunch shack, the line was moving slowly; she’ll be getting two plates since that’s all she could hold, might get hung up in conversation with Kathleen too. Bring them here, probably eat them, and then get another for Nick to have later.

  “Vera…” he muttered, what he used to call her, both because he liked the name and also because it annoyed the woman who had shot him. The woman that regularly talked down to him. The racist, the sexist, the misandrist, and unbeknownst to him, the woman who had aimed her loaded rifle at his head just a few nights ago.

  His boots clunked on the floor as he approached her, intentionally loud, looking down at where the coat moved gently with her breath. Not a peep, not a shudder, no stirrings; nothing. Out like a light. The Ruger 10/22 that his woman recently had in her possession hadn’t been given back, and likely won’t. It was the boy’s, the boy Nick had killed, and so his parents would probably keep it as a keep-sake of the lad. Fair enough. He had his Lee Enfield however, and though she suggested leaving it at Brit’s and Malcolm’s, he would do no such thing. Now that it was back in his possession, he intended to keep it within arm’s reach whenever possible, just like before, and indeed it was now being unslung and placed down on the floor next to him where he knelt beside the sleeping woman. Outside his jeans on his left hip was his black leather holster, normally on his right hip inside the waistband but due to his right arm being out of commission it was best kept on his left. He stroked it now as he looked down to her, at her head, her thick hair… how would she like to look down the barrel of a firearm, not knowing if it would go off or not? How would she like a round in the shoulder, striking bone, fragments left in her flesh to fester and pus?

  He gently grasped the neck of her coat, the coat that acted as he blanket, and rolled it away to expose a black shoulder. His white left hand came to it, stroked the smooth skin until that pale hand was down to her elbow. What if she awakened? What if she yelled? What if she told Tiff that he had creepily been watching her as she slept, touching her?... who fucki
n’ cares. Darkness seemed to flood his mind as he knelt in that dim room, looking down at the slumbering figure that had caused him so much pain, that had forced him to flirt with death. He was not married. Was he in a relationship? He had a lover, sure, but so what? The hand slipped down from her upper arm, which he had stroked again, and went to her chest.

  “Heh…” he gave a soft chuckle as he cupped a breast. No bra, and there wasn’t much to it. Perhaps B-sized, considerably smaller than those impressive breasts he normally enjoyed, Tiffany’s. Also far smaller than Brit’s… yeah, that Malcolm fellow was a lucky man. He’d happily fuck her in a heartbeat. He continued to fondle that dark chest, and watched as that headstrong young woman continued to slumber unknowingly. Pulling gently, she rolled onto her back, arms still bound behind her. The black sleeveless shirt was pulled up, revealing her bare chest. Large, dark areolas. A nipple within one of them was pinched, and he grinned as she moved her head a bit, eyebrows furling up slightly in the faint pleasure being put into her.

  “Nigger dyke…” he whispered, almost daring her to hear, to wake up. It still wasn’t known whether she’d be alive come tomorrow morning. She might even be put down before noon. The shirt was pulled down as the hand left her chest, and as it went down it tried to slip within her jeans. They were rather tight, he only got as far as her pubic area and could feel the hairs there. It came out, moved down past the zipper, and cupped her femininity, rubbing her. Oh, how she would freak the fuck out if she knew what he was doing right now.

  He could feel his member give a twitch in spite of having just satiated itself in Tiff’s mouth, in Veronica’s crush’s mouth.

  “Yeahhh, you wish she was yours, don’t you.” A statement, not a question. “Well she’s not. She’s mine… and right now… so are you…” looking over to a window, getting up a bit from where he was kneeling, he couldn’t see her in line, though then again much of the line was out of view; only the end of it could be seen through one of the windows of the lunch shack. “Fuck it… suck my cock you bitch.” Whispering harshly at the fellow survivor, he unzipped his blue denim jeans and let his member spring out rigidly into the cool air.

  With gentle thrusts, he ran his length along her closed lips, even going up and bumping it against her nose at one point. The nose twitched, wrinkled briefly, and the head turned to the left towards him. His cock was on her cheek now. Releasing it, he pushed his thumb between her lips, gently pushed her lower teeth down, and the mouth opened limply. Still asleep… and so the member entered her mouth. He could feel her dark lips on him, the warm wetness coating his manhood, and he reflected that it was likely the first cock ever inside her. It brought a chuckle from him.

  Hearing a faint click, he might have been prepared to face whatever he must as he molested this slumbering bitch, but his heart jolted all the same. Rising a little, he could just see the door to the lunch shack, or at least a small portion of it; much of it was obscured by his woman; Tiff, and she had a plate of food in each hand. Giving a closed-mouth grunt of disappointment, it would appear his fun was over, or at least delayed for now, and so with a backwards thrust of his hips he pulled the cock from the sleeping mouth, a hand pulled the coat up so it properly covered her torso which already had the shirt fixed so it looked halfway normal, and so grasping his Lee Enfield he pumped his legs to bring himself to standing. Slinging the rifle, his zipper was zipped up once his erection was tucked away, and so he returned to the seat he had been at before. The door opened, and the woman who had sucked him off mere minutes ago smiled at him.

  “Breakfast!” She gave happily, though relatively quietly, and he smiled back. It was indeed eggs, as well as toasted bread that appeared to be buttered; home-made butter of course. Hashbrowns, some fish… an odd item to have for breakfast but it was food all the same. So they dug in, quietly, not wishing to wake up Veronica, though something told the fellow that she wouldn’t rouse particularly easily.

  “Are you ok, baby?” Tiff asked, leaning over and looking at him. “You look flush.” His face was somewhat red, but that was due to his still-racing heart. Within his pants, he could feel the wetness of his molestee’s saliva, coated on his slowly softening member. He shook his head with a smile.

  “Nah, just… just wish we could do things ‘properly’ is all.” Those brown eyes went down to her chest, then down further to her lap, and back up. She smiled sheepishly at that, feeling his gaze on her, and it made her feel good to be so desired even though it came from secretly false words.

  “We will…” she replied softly, erotically, “eat up and get your strength back. We’ll have our fun soon enough.” She reached over and stroked his lap for a moment before returning her attention to her plate, still smiling sweetly, feeling so lucky. His own smile faltered as he looked down at his own.

  “Oh! Tea!” Tiff quickly got up, he reflexively smiled just in case she looked to him, not wanting her to suspect anything, and after putting her plate down on the chair she left. His eyes went to ‘Vera’, alone again with her, a part of him fueled by his remaining arousal told him to continue, but that sheepish and sweet smile… he groaned, putting the fork on the plate on his lap, then picking up the plate he leaned down to put it on the floor and let his head hang. He shook his head, letting the shame hit him at what he’d done. A molester, a pervert, taking advantage of the weak, or at least temporarily weak. While awake and with him in that wounded condition, she could most definitely take him out, even bare-handed probably. None the less she’s exhausted, her face showing the abuse she took, even still tied up. Not only that, but he’d betrayed his woman.

  Darkness came as he closed his eyes, hating his hardening manhood, hating the part of him that wanted to continue what he had been doing… and yet wanting to do more. So much more. Images went through his mind, images where his right arm was perfectly fine, as strong as ever, and she were still tied up on the chair. He was beating her, punching her, swelling her face up more. He spit on her, and then grasped his rifle, put the muzzle directly against her right shoulder, and fired.

  The scene changed, they were back at the Winters’ house, he had her tied down on the bed and she wept as he ravaged her, blood coming as her hymen was broken, and in this imagery he laughed maniacally. Then they were rocking on a ship, a wooden ship, she wore rags for a dress but nothing on her torso. He wore an 18th or 19th century outfit, and so with her facing away from him and her hands up high due to how she were tied up, he whipped her back. A slave owner or a slave trader, whipping his property. Terrible visions… and yet… he loved them. The nearly-flaccid length at his core was rigid once more, and finally his eyes opened just as the door did.

  “Are you alright, Richard? You’re starting to worry me…” with a cup of tea held in each hand, she watched as he still leaned forward, head hanging, merely looking down at the floor between his feet where his plate of food sat waiting. No, he wasn’t alright.

  Breakfast was great, the tea was outstanding even though it was without sugar however amazingly there was some milk. Both milk and butter? They clearly had cows there somewhere. Veronica got lucky; they decided not to kill her, but she was tied up outside, near the road, and was to spend the entire day and night out there. No food, no water, however Tiffany managed to sneak out that night to give her a bit of both. So while the wounded man luckily had the day to just rest and recuperate, the white woman spent it fretting about her friend though wasn’t allowed to approach her. It was her punishment, and she must suffer it alone.

  The four of them; Richard, his woman, Malcolm, and Brit, got stoned that night. Quite stoned. Though they warned her against it, they allowed her to sneak the food and water out, and even allowed her to bring the pipe out with a stuff bowl to let her get baked as well. Thankfully she wouldn’t be left to freeze; they at least let her have her coat on. In spite of the circumstances, there were plenty of laughs and giggles to go around that night. Even a bit of playful flirting between Rich and Brit. Tiffany objected, but the Native fel
low didn’t care; he knew she wouldn’t do anything behind his back, and just found it funny. Then he took a crack at flirting with the white man’s woman, and the shade of red she turned was so quick and so vibrant that they all had a laugh at how bashful she was.

  There was no breakfast the next morning; food had to be rationed, but if they could indeed give all these people 2-3 meals a day consistently, then it was most definitely a sign. Humanity was down, but it wasn’t out, and people can still survive. So though he was a little hungry, he wondered fondly about Newfoundland, about how many people might still be alive there. Obviously not all half a million, no way. In places like St.John’s, Gander, Corner Brook, and Stephenville, they no doubt took huge hits, but small communities? There could still be people all around the coast, but primarily in the small communities that are farthest from the major cities.

  Well, since she survived the night with no undead stumbling upon her, they untied her in the morning. Whatever that father did or said, it must have sunk in, because she attempted no resistance nor did she say anything. Her rifle was handed over to her friend, who was instructed to keep it in hand until they were well out of sight of the town. Once that was finished, they told Rich and Tiff that they could then return if they want, to stay with them, but there was no way that Nick could return. They will shoot her on sight, and considering they always had people on watch there was just no way she could get close without a fire fight happening.

  “Man… that really is a tempting offer.” It was an honest thing for the man to admit, and Malcolm gave a grin and a thumbs up.

  “We’d be glad to have you. Could always use another good hunter.” He had shared stories of the animals he had taken down and eaten since everything started months ago.