Living amongst the Dead

by J. Morgan

  “You’ll die…” he informed her disinterestedly from off to her right as she lay on her belly.

  “LET ME OUT!”

  “I made a bed for you.” It was said as though it was a special treat she could enjoy if she stayed. Like she was a grumpy kid who wouldn’t eat her veggies, and he the parent who said he would buy her a toy if she ate them all. The jeans were rolled up with the t-shirt wrapped around it; it wouldn’t be as comfortable a pillow as he had with that puffy jacket, but it would do.

  “FUCK YOU!”

  “I didn’t throw your bag away, actually.”

  “FUCK YOU, FUCKFACE! FUCK YOU!”

  “I DID rape you though, so expect company in about 9 months…” She was starting to cry now, not from his comment about rape which was obviously untrue, but because of everything that was happening. Turning on the light, he saw her pained face, tears coming down onto his cardboard. Her eyes opened when she noticed the light, and stared angrily at him red-faced. This foolish woman probably thought that grabbing her boob was rape; stupid fuck. He could do it to her if he wanted, even without the bindings he could beat her into submission and have his way with her, but he won’t… or at least he might not. God knew he still wanted her to pay for all she had done, and taking satisfaction from her body however he damn well pleased seemed like a nice way of getting even with her act of attempted murder and twice attracting danger to him.

  “Fine, I DIDN’T rape you…” he admitted, to break the silence, just to keep the unpleasant dialogue going.

  “You’re a pig…” she said tearily in spite of the hard look on her face, “A fucking pig…”

  “At least you’re saying it and not screaming it.” It was obvious her insults weren’t making any impact whatsoever on him as he tended to her side of this tiny ‘bedroom’.

  “A PIG! A FUCKING RACIST, MASOGYNIST, PRIVELEGED WHITE ASSHOLE PIG!” He was laughing now; an honest grin on his face as she railed on him. This was amusing, it reminded him of those obnoxious, beta, SJW fools online.

  “I see, so I’ve got a femi-Nazi on my hands, huh?...” the term being an insulting mix between feminist and Nazi, of course.

  “Fuck you, I’m a PROUD feminist, and you’re just a dirty, uncaring, evil, misogynist PIG!” The light was off now, he felt around the cardboard; it seemed to be laid out right. Hearing her so angry honestly did lift his spirits, even if it further encouraged the dead to assault the truck, to weakly bang their bodies and arms against the box and panels. They were safe, so he didn’t much care.

  “At least I don’t bleed from my crotch once a month.” More trolling, and he was loving it. No attempt was made to defend himself from those insulting titles. Misogynistic, privileged, racist, evil, dirty… ok, fair enough, ‘dirty’ was somewhat true but he did not consider himself a misogynist, somehow ‘privileged’, a racist, or evil. After all, to start going on the defense, she would simply see the attempts at being offensive as a success so would continue trying to hammer the words into him.

  “Fuck you…” she said weakly. This ‘proud feminist’ was hungry- no, STARVING; she was exhausted from all the running, tired, and was losing the strong urge in her to verbally attack this woman-hating man. At least she believed him to be a woman-hater; she probably believed ALL men were woman-haters.

  “Got your bed made.”

  “Fuck you…”

  “Fuck you too, love…” he said it with mock affection as though he’d instead said ‘I love you, too’. Content, he turned the light on again then moved towards her, arm coming across her shoulders, left hand grasping her left shoulder to roll her.

  “Don’t fucking TOUCH me!” She spat at him, both with words and with actual spit; it hit his face. He growled at her with a scowl and rolled her around until she was on her back like before, in the middle of the box. “Don’t TOUCH me you RAPIST! RAAAAAPE!” More complaints came when he had done the rolling, and when he mounted her like before in order to get back to his own cardboard.

  “RAAAAAAAAAPE! RAAAAAAAAAAAPE!” It was HIM yelling now, and his voice was FAR louder than hers; it was a deep voice, it was rough, and the anger would have been evident in his face if she has been able to see it. His tone she could hear clearly as well as feel the breath on her face. “You don’t know what rape fucking IS if you think this is rape, you dumb cow!” Then, with her on her back, staring up at him in unseen horror, their faces inches apart; his hand came out of nowhere. SLAP! “You call me a rapist ONE more time, and I’ll SHOW you what rape fucking is, YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!” The voice seemed magnified in their tight confines. “I WILL FUCK YOU AND LAUGH AS YOU FUCKING CRY!” SLAP! Harder than the first, her glasses were knocked off, she was weeping now, weeping pathetically. “APOLOGIZE!”

  “I’m sorry…” The feminist said weakly, and then there was a third SLAP!

  “I SAID APOLOGIZE!” She was outright bawling now as he shouted it, hearing his voice and feeling it at the same time from the sheer volume.

  “I’m SOOOORRRRRYYYYYYY!” The word was broken from the sobs, and he grinned, loving it. He was still straddling her, and she was weakly rocking side to side wishing he would take his weight off her, partly because her arms were losing circulation beneath her. The light was grasped by the hand that struck her three times, it illuminated them. She could see his smugness.

  “Who do you think would come and ‘rescue’ you, anyways, huh? Screaming ‘rape’…” It was spoken as ridiculously as it was. In all likelihood there were dozens of kilometers AT LEAST in every direction without a living soul, none within earshot, ESPECIALLY in the box of this truck. The only things she would attract are the undead outside, and they were already quite interested at this point. All she did was sob quietly beneath him, no longer rocking from side to side, accepting her fate. She had a lot to learn in this new world, that’s for sure…

  Moving over to her right where she lie facing up, he rolled her one more time to her left so she was on the cardboard at the south side and then told her exactly what he’d just thought. “You’ve got a lot to learn if you think a man touching your shoulder is ‘rape’, love…” that one-word nickname was dripping with sarcasm, “…by God, you wait until you’ve got my cum dripping from your gaping fucking HOLE, and THEN you can cry rape…” It was vulgar, could even say it was a disgusting thing to utter, but it was true. She no longer had the coziness of society and law enforcement to comfort her, she couldn’t just drop the ‘R-word’ for nothing to try and get people to harass him just for the sake of harassment, she didn’t have a bunch of lady friends to crowd around her and talk about how AWFUL the person was to touch her shoulder, this person that she would have been ruining the reputation of by saying such a word.

  It was just her, and him. HE was the one with the strength, HE was the one who was armed, HE had the food, and she?... She had sweet fuck-all, and so her word was nothing. His word, Richard’s, may as well be the word of God almighty. He grabbed her purse; she was facing away from him now, quietening her sobs, but he would have gone for it anyways even if she protested. Inside this ‘bag’, was what he probably should have been calling a purse from the beginning instead of said bag itself. A snap button, what he typically called a haps, was clicked open and she looked over. One side of this purse was folded open, and then a central flap was folded open again like a brochure. She seemed to now know better than to complain.

  Money was the last thing he was interested in unless perhaps it was paper money and he was trying to start a fire. Training the light, he found an ID of hers. “Tiffany Caldwell… sounds English…” he commented, and indeed it did, but her accent was a pretty standard one. Canadian or American, his own was often Canadian due to the years and years spent on ‘the mainland’ however occasionally a unique accent would come out of him. If he were to describe it himself, it was like a mix of Irish and English, but leaning heavily towards Irish. He was a Newfie; a Newfoundlander, from an island on the East Coast of Canada. This ID of hers was from Ontario. “Well
Tiff,” he didn’t care if she wanted a nickname or not, “I’m Richard… pleased to fucking meet you…” the card was put back in the purse which was then closed, and along with her glasses were returned to the bag that was then zipped back up. She didn’t reply though probably kept his name in mind; would like to go crying to someone in uniform if ever she seen one, not that it’d do her any bloody good.

  The bag was returned, “I found a few Maxi-Pad thingies in the cardboard box you’re lying on; took the liberty of putting them in your bag.” She stared at where the straps had been ripped off, then looked at him with anger, but still didn’t say anything. He was glad for it. “I’ll free your wrists and ankles in the morning. For now, don’t try to get out of them or I’ll damn well knock you out again… or worse.” A look of cruel warning went from the mid-20s but 30s looking scruffy man to the feminist across from him in the weak red LED light. “You’ll be free to fuck off at your leisure, but for now unless you want to go out there and be eaten tonight, we’re stuck together, and since you’ve proven yourself THOROUGHLY untrustworthy you’ll be staying just like that.”

  Outside, the dead roamed, still bumping against and hitting the box of the truck but he figured it would be slowing down soon now that the yelling and screaming has stopped. He grabbed his rifle from his right while lying on his back, against the side of the box, and put it between them again, favouring it on his left side for some reason. She couldn’t do anything with it anyways, and even if she DID get her hands loose, she likely wouldn’t be able to figure the safety out especially in the dark, also it was too cramped to get enough leverage to properly hit him with the long-arm, so he figured it was alright. Hell, even if there was light, there weren’t any letters or symbols around said safety so it still wouldn’t be particularly obvious to her where the source was that kept the bolt from moving and the trigger from being properly pulled.

  It really was tempting to have his way with her… God knows it’s been a while since he got his dick wet, and giving a nice creampie would help him sleep. She wasn’t THAT bad looking, her personality was for shit, but as far as looks went, she wasn’t exactly hot but she wasn’t TERRIBLE to look at. No way would he put his cock in her mouth, nuh uh, this one is liable to bite it off… thinking of it though, it hardened him, and lying down on his back in the darkness, knew there was a tent at his crotch. “Fuck it…” he muttered aloud, and turned towards her.

  His tone was deep, low, and serious, wanting to make PERFECTLY clear what he was saying, while also not wanting to rile up the undead. The light came on between them, she was facing him as well, clearly nervous and worried at what he had said which sounded like he’d decided on something. “Not a word; first I’m going to talk, and then you’ll have your chance, got it?” Not wanting to agree with a DAMN thing this man was saying; she apprehensively nodded none the less for she didn’t have much other choice.

  “You… tried… to shoot me. Don’t deny it, I SEEN you shoulder the rifle, and I SEEN your finger going at the trigger while pointing it in MY direction.” Her mouth opened, his left hand came up in a position to back-hand her, and so she closed it as her body twitched defensively, having already been struck several times. “Not that it matters but that’s attempted, bloody, murder. Laws don’t matter anymore though, it don-“ Her stomach rumbled, and her face reddened, then after a brief moment of silence he continued, “It doesn’t. All that matters is what the one with the gun thinks. Here, look.” With the right hand holding his carbiner watch/light, his left hand took the rifle by the stock. She edged away from him, frightened, and the rifle was laid down against the left side of her waist while she leaned on her right.

  “You have the rifle now, see? ‘Oh no, please don’t shoot, I’ll do anything!’ See? YOU make the rules, and I have to follow, or I die.” He then took the rifle back which she could not grab due to her wrists being bound. With the safety still engaged, though not to her knowledge, he took it and, with the right hand still holding the light but being down near the trigger, it was pointed at her. “Now, I have the rifle… so I make the rules, which you must follow, or you will die.” She was visibly shaking.

  “Pleas-“

  “Shut it…” the rifle was put back down on the bed of the truck’s box. “You won’t be arrested… you won’t go to court… you won’t go to jail… if you ever had a firearm license then you won’t lose it nor do you even need it though I’ve still got mine… your fate is in my hands right now, and we’re stuck together until morning. Whatever happens, you can scream whatever you like, you can cry, you can howl, nobody is going to come save you, all you’ll do is get the dead outside more energized, more eager to keep us up all bloody night.” She was slowly shaking her head side to side, Hell, her whole BODY was shaking. It was like something horrible was about to happen.

  “So to make this night easier on you… tell me… when was the first time you seen me?...” Those mean brown eyes watched her intently; there was silence for quite a while. “Tell me.” It was said harshly, and she twitched at it. Still silence. “Well if you’re not going to go with Truth, then perhaps you’d prefer Dare.” The button for the light was released; they were in darkness once again. She squeaked at the sound of movement, a click was heard which was him attaching the carabiner to his belt loop, though for all she knew it could have been his pistol, then she was pushed to the far side of the cell they shared. Her back now against the wall having slid on the smooth cardboard surface, and she felt it on her breast.

  “No!” She cried, though quietly, however meaning every millisecond of that syllable. Squeezing, kneading, his breaths coming deeply, warmly on her, his breath less than ideal but it was his touches that she was helpless to focus on. A deep groan of a moan came from him, “Mmmmm…” like an animal as he fondled her; molested her. She was whimpering, “No no no no no, pleeaaaaase…” it came out in a whisper of fear, he could hear her with no problem for he was right in front of her, and she gave a soft high pitch sound in her throat, a moan she couldn’t quite suppress. Was this a fetish of hers, he wondered? Being bound, tied up by a big rough man, being handled harshly, spoken to harshly. “I-I seen you, please please please, I saw you!”

  “Yeeees?...” he asked, the onslaught of her chest ceasing for the time being; right hand having slid down her soft belly to the base of her blouse which he would have pulled up out of her skirt had it been tucked in. The day’s events had loosened it out, and now the soft, warm flesh of her belly was under his hand. The hand had stopped, though before it had, it was going up her body, wishing to feel her breasts directly. He could feel his cock throbbing in his jeans, his breaths coming deeply; it was clear she was trapped in here with an aroused man, one that was not opposed to taking her like some wild animal.

  “I-I was in the city, er, the town.” She was talking quickly, panicked, her breathing coming quickly as well. “You were at theeeee uhhhh the-the-the PARK!” Having difficulty finding her words by the sound of it, his hand was still on her stomach under her blouse, waiting patiently, but imagining the softness of her chest, anticipating hard nipples that would betray arousal. This uppity bitch was probably getting off on the fear of the situation, of the seriousness of what was going on; the way she was being treated… he had a theory about that. The women who most wish to be treated with more respect than they have earned, are the ones that most get off on rough sex that render them helpless.

  Without hesitation, she continued. “I seen you in the uh, the glass thing, the scope, you were, or you had, um, your backpack, it was full, I was hungry, please stop pleeeaaaase stop, I just wanted to ask for food, that’s all, I swear, PLEASE just let me go, let me sleep, I’ll be quiet, PLEAS-“

  “You just wanted to ‘ask’ me for food?”

  “Yes!”

  “By pointing a rifle at m-“

  “No no no, I just, I was scared!”

  “You called me ‘fuck-face’ and tried to shoot me…”

  “I… I…” She wanted to take
his stuff. He was sure of it. She wanted to shoot him like a dog and take his stuff. He changed the subject FOR her since he decided what her intentions were.

  “The walkers spotted you; followed. You didn’t expect that, did you?”

  “N-no… no I didn’t… I was so scared, I thought I was going to DIE-“

  “Yeah I’m sure…” He said it sarcastically, uncaringly, and she whimpered as his hand moved on her flesh, going left over her warm belly button, then back to the right, coming to her left waist. “Mmm, I like a woman with some meat on her bones… you know tha-?“

  “No no no, please, I’ll tell you anything you want!”

  “Anything?”

  “Anything!”

  “Tell me how huge my cock is…”

  “You… I… what?” She seemed taken aback at the question, repulsed. With a grin in the dark, he repeated the question.

  “Tell me how massive my dick is.” It was clear he was enjoying himself, his tone almost comedic though obviously the man was in no patient mood to be denied.

  “Please just let me g-“

  “I think you’re forgetting the situation…” He cut her off, not so much with words, but with his left hand coming up to her bare throat, squeezing slightly but not enough to hurt or to truly cut off air or to stop her from speaking. It was just a reminder that he had her by the metaphorical balls.

  “N-no no no no, stop, PLEASE, PLEEEAAAAAA-!” It came as a squeal, cutting herself off as the left hand began to tighten though still not hard enough to choke her for real, while the right hand helped itself up, under the left cup of her bra, and now was directly fondling her left breast. The nipple was indeed hard, and he smiled. A few deep panting breaths came from her as the right hand went to work, rubbing, squeezing, kneading, and then it took the nipple, pinching it playfully, rolling it a little between his fingers, and her breathing became ragged.

  “Seems to me like you get off to this stuff…”