Living amongst the Dead

by J. Morgan

  Chapter 2

  She had been pestering him to check it out for a while now, whispering for him to take a look. The response was the same each time; wait. Very persistent, this one…

  “Well if you’re too chicken shit to check, then I will!” Came a pushy whisper.

  “I doubt you even know how to get out of here, just shut up and wait, I think I can still hear o-“

  “I don’t hear shit, let me out of here. You still stink...”

  “I swear to Christ, if you don’t shut your hole-“

  “You’ll what? You’ll WHAT? Misogynist pig… even SMELL like a pig-“

  “Fuck you.”

  “Fuck YOU!” She replied indignantly, seemingly appalled that he would say something like that to her. “What woman would POSSIBLY want to fuck you, anyways? You’re fat, smelly, rude, cowardly, disrespectfu-“

  “Disrespectful?! You’re still ALIVE, aren’t you?! I should shoot you right fucking NOW for what you tried to do back there!” She was resorting to name-calling now, childish name-calling, and his temper was rising. Yes he had a beer belly, and the fact he had managed to maintain it in all these months was testimony to how well he was surviving. As for smelly, yeah it’s been a while since he’d bathed, and since hot showers or hot baths were essentially a thing of the past, NOBODY was in any sort of rush to jump into a cold river, lake, or ocean every day. Cowardice was just a low blow; he was careful, he was cautious, he didn’t believe in taking unnecessary chances or risks. That wasn’t being cowardly; that was being SMART.

  “You’d shoot a woman?! I’m not bit!” The cunt deflected the fact she tried to kill him. Their whispers were becoming steadily louder.

  “You know good and well that it has NOTHING to do with whether you’re bit or not you God damn uppity bitch!” He was now approaching the volume of an indoor voice rather than a whisper, angered that she would even try to pretend that she hadn’t attempted to shoot him. “You tried to shoot me but you’re too God damn stupid to work the bolt of a bolt action after firing!”

  “I di-“ she tried to rebuttal but he cut her off, the light was on now, and his face was like that of a man ready to kill.

  “You fucking DID! If I don’t put one between your eyes before the day is out, which it might be night time already, it will be a FUCKING miracle, do you hear me you mouthy cunt?! I will murder you if you do not shut your FUCKIN’ mouth!” There was silence then, he was saying it all coldly and clearly, his tone almost approaching a yell. He continued to stare down at her face where it was roughly at the level of his knee. She was looking back, the fight gone from her.

  He was not joking… he was not exaggerating. This was a world without law, without law enforcement, without judges or juries, there was no electricity, no running water except for rivers, this was a world where he could shoot her, leave her for dead, and people could walk right by her decomposing corpse with a rifle round through the forehead and not think much of it. In fact they’d probably think she was killed as a member of the undead, not as a human, and would be glad that there was one less zombie roaming about, thankful for what he had done to her. Likewise, if she would have killed him back at the trail leading up to the road, then passersby would have simply ignored him or at most checked his pockets for leftover loot.

  More… he wanted to say more… he wanted to scream at her, to make her cry out in fear, he wanted to take his rifle and ram his bayonet into her heart, or to unholster his pistol and giver her one in the shoulder to hear her scream and cry. In this confined space, to fire off a shot would deafen them horribly for a time; possibly even cause some permanent hearing loss to an extent. This man didn’t care, he was quickly reaching his wit’s end; he wanted to shoot her in the legs, in the belly, watch her writhe in pain, watch her blood leak out, her pig-like face go pale, watch her die slow, and then… only then… bayonet or shoot her head so he wouldn’t have to deal with her hungry undead corpse. She could see the anger and hatred in him, and suddenly, realized that he very well might kill her.

  “Gah…” he grunted in defeat, wishing he could spew more hatred at the woman, but he was getting too angry to think. The light went up to the top of the tail gate, near which were the tabs for the rearmost panel of the truck’s box. One after another he pulled, seeing it loosen. After both were done, light streamed in as the carabiner was attached to a belt loop once the panel was harshly pushed off, flopping over onto the next one, and then the rifle was grabbed knowing the safety was still engaged. Getting onto his knees, his back pushed up one end of the 2nd panel, and pistoning himself up, feeling the cool fresh air, that 2nd panel and the 1st one that was on top of it flopped backwards towards the one nearest the cab. He stood, feeling unstable, even a little dizzy suddenly as he had spent so much time lying down and now rose too quickly.

  Sat back down onto that 3rd panel that was still in place, the woman was moving about wishing to take a look, and as her head came up over the edge of the box, it came face to face with a walker only 4 feet away or so, reaching towards her, and she screamed, falling back against his feet. Well, it was more like face to half a face. Much of it was torn, bitten off, the teeth were all bare, an eyeball missing, it was like something out of a horror movie. Shaking his head he began to feel less dizzy; she was already screaming at him to kill it, and looking back to the west, silhouetted against the low Sun, was about a dozen walkers. Fucking Hell, they were on the way back to town, but now peered to the truck where the screaming was coming from, shuffling about as they intended to return.

  “God damn BITCH!” The rifle was raised, and then slammed down, brass butt plate knocking her in the head, and finally there was blissful silence save for shuffles and low, gurgling moans. She lay limp at his feet, looking more peaceful than she had at any point in the few hours he’d known her. Well, he didn’t know her… what’s this cunt’s name? Not that it matters, he stood, standing over her, a leg on each side of her unconscious body. Rifle was brought back, and thrust down. Wasn’t aimed well enough; the ribbed spike bayonet went down, breaking through the hole in its skull that his nose once breathed through, piercing through tongue, and coming out at the base of its jaw towards the throat.

  Twisting the long-arm, the sound arose of scraping as the four ribs of the cruciform spike made itself free from the suction of flesh and friction of bone; he pulled hard. The unsightly walker’s chest bumped against the side of the box, almost jumping up slightly from the pull, and then fell back down. It’ll be up again soon. There was one in the ditch to the north, now heading towards him. Nothing to the south save for the biter that was trying to get back up, the rest to the west, none seemingly to the east. The rifle was laid down for a moment as he dragged the woman about, putting her back to where she was before except with her head near the gate; like his was earlier so that her head wasn’t down near his knees.

  Grasping her bag, the thick and soft leather straps were grabbed, booted right foot coming down on the bag itself, and with a mighty tug, ripped the straps off one side of the bag, and another pull ripped where they were connected on the other side. He rolled her onto her belly, intent on binding her wrists with these bits of material. Softer leather than she deserves, he thought. Dropping the straps for now, he grasped the rifle; that walker was getting up. Bring it back, thrust, and the bayonet struck its forehead. That savage point managed to bust through skull with the 9lb of wood and steel behind it, about half a pound of ammo in the magazine, then more than 230lb of equipped man behind that. Twist, hear the crackle, and pull as the bastard fell in a slump. The one to the north was still a good ways away.

  Rifle down, bayonet nasty, he knelt, grabbed the straps, then made a clumsy but quick Tom Fool’s knot with the awkward ‘rope’ made of soft animal flesh. This did not feel like actual rope so it felt strange in his hands. One wrist after another fed into each of the two loops, and then either end of the knot was pulled tight, though when he seen the hands begin to redden; circulation cut off, he loosened it sli
ghtly, and tied the ends together. The other strap he was about to use on the length of strap between the wrists, but thought of the possibility of her savagely trying to kick him. Same thing; Tom Fool’s knot, ankles through the holes this time while leaving on her pitifully worn-out shoes that had no laces or Velcro straps of any kind. Thusly, she had her ankles tied together along with her hands bound behind her back. Good.

  Standing up, the ditch rotter was climbing towards the road; the undead group that was previously heading towards town was still at a safe distance. Was there anything he had to do?... He unzipped his pants, pulled his manhood out, and pissed to the north, wetting the bugger that was nearly on the road. The stream that eventually got itself aimed on its face seemed to have confused it; its eyes getting wet, everything blurry, and it fell to the side before rolling back down into the ditch. This brought a deep laugh as he gave his prick a shake, then put it back into its denim prison.

  She better not wet herself in there, he thought. Best not ‘turn’ in there either. The latch of the tail gate was pulled to let it drop, the two panels returned to their original position, the last one being clicked into place as he pushed it down on either side to secure it. Jumping down from the gate, he went to the cab of the truck. No corpse inside to be seen, thank God. Driver’s side door was opened, he grasped for the right side of the base of the wheel where the keys might be. Bingo. Pulled them out, slammed the door closed, headed to the back of the truck noting that there really wasn’t much daylight left, and knelt down. He put the keys into the hole below the latch and turned. There, that should lock it. Pushing the gate closed, he tried to open it; not a chance, it was locked tight. Perfection.

  Unlocking it, he brought the tail gate back down, locked it again as it lay open, grabbed his rifle, knelt at the zombie he killed without a shot fired, cleaned his bayonet of blood and brain matter on its grimy shirt, and then stood with rifle in hand. With his right hand he grasped the socket portion of the socket bayonet, a wide rectangular button pressed in, then rotated counter-clockwise and pulled the bayonet off with ease. It slid back into its scabbard with a metallic scraping. His beloved wooden-stocked, English-made rifle was put into the box in the same position it had been before save for the bayonet now being removed, and then he climbed into the box once again just as the pisshead was making its way back up to the road.

  Pulling on the cord nearest him, the gate closed. Knowing it was locked, he knew that they could not possibly be safer. Now… he had to check. Reaching over into the darkness, he felt her body, hands coming to her left shoulder in the darkness where she lay on her belly. The large man pulled her so she was on her left side, facing away from him, and felt how her head was lulled to the side. Feeling the back of her neck, nothing felt out of place, good. At least the hard blow hadn’t broken her neck it would seem. Then, he stuck his pointer and middle finger up at the base of her jaw where a major artery hid; the name of which he didn’t know, the jugular perhaps? No pulse… shit… shit shit shit, had he killed her? The fingers poked around, he couldn’t find any pulse. Reaching round to the front of her face, he brought his fingers in front of her mouth… warm breath was felt. Good. A doctor he was not, so he assumed his inability to find someone ELSE’S pulse, in spite of being able to find his own with ease, was merely due to his own inexperience in the matter.

  With a gentle push, she rolled back onto her stomach. His carabiner was unlatched from his belt loop again, turning on the light. She looked alive at least, like she was sleeping, visibly seeing that she was breathing fine. Those cold, brown, calculating eyes scanned her. Legs were fairly thick, she must enjoy walking or something, it didn’t appear to be from too much fat. Her arms were somewhat thick as well but reaching out, feeling her left arm, it definitely felt quite soft and figured her arms were simply flabby/fatty rather than being thick with muscle. The way her head was angled, half her face covered by the box’s floor, there was a double chin at her neck. The flesh of her face was now pushing towards the left making her features bulge slightly, lips parted and looking puffy, nose pushed up to slightly resemble that of a pig’s. He wouldn’t exactly call her attractive, well… simply based on her garbage personality she was decidedly UN-attractive, but this man had a thing for ‘plump’ women, and ignoring the pisshead outside who was now clawing at the side of the truck, reflected that she didn’t look all THAT bad. Not to him, anyways. Others may have a different opinion.

  Now for the matter at hand;… bloody hungry. He turned to his backpack that remained in the northeast corner, unzipped it, and grasped a Mason jar. Pressing the lid, it popped; good, it was the already opened one. He wanted to use this one first before opening the still sealed one. Pulling it out, leaving the bag unzipped, the lid was unscrewed and placed upside-down on the bed of the truck. Pocket knife out, given another wipe on his pants knowing that he had used it to scrape a spider off the now broken purse recently, he stabbed into the jar, got a cold but cooked piece of moose, and brought it to his mouth. The jar was tipped to said mouth, some succulent juices running onto his tongue along with a chunk of meat tumbling out. Mmm… delicious, and gave a slight audible moan to it.

  Once the half full jar was empty, it was screwed shut and returned to his pack which was then zipped back up; the female not yet stirring. While eating he had checked again to make sure she was breathing. Yeah, she was alright. Not feeling full, but at least feeling content, his body relaxed; a happy sigh coming from him in the blackness. The boxes… he recalled the boxes. Those two cardboard boxes… what on Earth could be in them? Bending forward on his left side, a bit awkwardly, feet still against the farthest end of the truck’s box, his head came to rest on the back of her thighs just below her rear. Carabiner was unhooked, light turned on. The tops of these cardboard boxes were just about flush against the bottom of the panel, so opening them the usual way was NOT going to happen.

  One was grasped, moved about; clearly empty. The man ripped it open, unfolded it, and moved it so that it was where he was going to sleep tonight. Moving about like this in a dark and confined space, it reminded the fellow of the movie Buried. What a sexy beast Ryan Reynolds is… grasping the cardboard container farthest in the corner, a small black beetle crawled around from behind it as it was moved. The rifleman’s hands shot away, the sudden movement making him think it could be another spider but relaxed when he seen it wasn’t. It was flicked off the box with a grin and so ripped open the mystery box. Some clothes spilled out; who stores clothes in boxes? A woman’s sweater, small size, puffy, it seemed light blue in the red light, definitely too small for either of them to wear. It may very well have been a teenager’s but whoever the previous owner was, it was tossed in the northeast corner towards the zipped up pack so he can use it as a pillow. An equally small/skinny pair of jeans came next, some shiny embroidery on its butt where the pockets were. A small t-shirt with some kind of logo on the front, and… ah, the cunt might like this, literally and figuratively speaking. A couple boxes of pads. The two were taken and thrust into her strapless purse.

  That’s it. The box was ripped open like the first, her purse and his rifle were brought to the northern wall of the box to get them out of the way and he rolled her towards him. On her back, he moved himself over her to get to the south side of the box which had been her side. In the dark, once he was atop her, straddling her, he stopped and chuckled. “Heh… you don’t know how lucky you is that I’m a decent man, uppity little fuck… well…” With both knees on the bed of the box on either side of her, and both hands the same on either side of her shoulders, his right hand came away from the hard black plastic surface. It cupped her left breast, squeezed it, kneaded its softness from through the blouse and the bra beneath. “… Maybe not entirely decent…” that deep voice said in the darkness with a smirk, enjoying her body as she lay unconscious. Once moved over on the other side of her, he rolled the soft feminine body over again; she ended up face-down on his cardboard ‘mattress’.

  In spite of th
e use of his eyes not being present, he gave a slap, and his estimation was correct; his hand made contact with her ass and it gave a sharp noise in the confines of their little sleeping quarters for the night. More activity was heard outside from the report. It was too dangerous and too late to travel outside, that small horde having no doubt returned to the truck by now. She gave a stir and a groan; “Ohhhh… ahhhh, my heaaaaaad…”

  “Wakey wakey, eggs n’ bacey…”

  “Mmmn… don’t talk about food…” her voice was whiney, like a child who had just been woken up too early in the morning and didn’t want to go to school, or like a teenager who was waking up with a hangover for the first time. “What did you... do?...” It wasn’t accusatory, more like a confused tone, which was growing lower as she realized her wrists and ankles were bound. “WHY CAN’T I-?“

  “Shut up. Firstly, you attracted the dead to me for the SECOND time today, and secondly it’s too late to travel and as stated, you led the dead to us by screaming, so we’re spending the night. I don’t trust you so I tied you u-“

  “Is… no… no no no no…” He grinned at the realization in her voice; she must be figuring out WHAT her bindings came from as he was setting up a cardboard ‘mattress’ for her. “Is this?... Did you?... WHERE’S MY BAG?!” she screamed, “WHERE’S MY FUCKING BAG?!” He could hear her violently moving about, trying to get free.

  “I gave it a toss, it’s somewhere in the woods.” He didn’t care about her making noise now; the dead were already amongst them, but they were safe in here. So now he just wanted to stir up the bee hive, to be a little shit kicker.

  “YOU FUCKER! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU! LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT!”