by J. Morgan
They looked at each other for a time, her face cold, not from the weather but from her present state of mind. His features were initially confused, not knowing how to act, but seeing her, he soon reflected her sentiments. Should he ask if she was heading back to her town? He can’t trust her, surely he couldn’t… but… God damn… fucking her felt so fucking good last night though. His features faltered, softened, and hers twitched. The faintest flash of recognizing the look in his eyes, what his mind might be thinking, the briefest moment of indecision going to her face, and then back to the cold look, possibly added with disgust and hatred.
If she had something to go back to, she likely would have gone by now… well… even if she DID have something back there she couldn’t really go recklessly because the walkers would be all over the place along the road. Still, she did not turn back, not yet, and so he imagined she could not for one reason or another. Broken purse was held in her right hand.
“You don’t want to go back there…” It was almost as much a question as it was a statement; she did not reply. He let out a sigh of frustration, turning now though not walking away; his body faced south while his head faced east, then it turned 180 degrees to look to her. He had a rifle, he had supplies unknown to her in his backpack, he had ammunition strapped along his torso in the bandolier he’d taken off this morning so they could drape themselves in warmth before having to deal with piss-head. He was big, he was strong, and though he had 'raped’ her last night… it could have gone FAR worse than it had.
“I… you sh-… you…” Tiff stumbled over her words. Arms crossed, more an attempt to keep herself warm than to appear tough.
“Hmmgh… well come on then… only get colder standing around here…” Finally he turned, walking away to the east, leaving behind the truck he’d slept in for the night; their cardboard mattresses still laid out. She took the undersized warm coat and draped it over her back. It looked foolish, but helped keep her arms, back, and a bit of either side of her torso warm. She would need pants soon, and maybe she’ll get them some time, or maybe she’ll get frostbite in the coming months and have to be shot for mercy… he had to shoot previous survivors he had lived with out of mercy before. They always asked for it though; he never shot them without their consent. They pleaded with him for mercy via his firearms, and so he gave it, no matter how much he didn’t want to, no matter how much he knew it would haunt him later.
She followed the man who had made her a woman, or at least that’s how he seen it. Well, that wasn’t the REASON why she followed; it was because he was capable, and she was not. No, she followed him because it was her best, really her ONLY, chance at survival. It also just so happened that he had taken her virginity the night before, so it was a poetic way to phrase it; the man who made her a woman. She stayed behind him, one step after another, more quickly than his steps for his legs were longer, strides made more distance, while hers were shorter in both respects. While he faced away, she discretely reached between her legs, adjusting her panties which she found to have been in an uncomfortable position while she walked, though had been not TOO bad while laying down… he had done things to her that she’d never experienced before in her life, and he considered her lucky.
Rape… REAL rape… was not an uncommon thing in this world anymore. What he did with her last night was downright GENTLE compared to what could have befell her had another man found her first. It crossed his mind that the straps should have been kept in his bag for tonight, and he thought it too late to go back as he looked up to the walls of jagged rock on either side of the road from the ‘rock cuts’. Footsteps stopped, he looked back to the rig they left behind; it wasn’t all THAT far back, he supposed. Groaning with a sigh, he retreated. No, he still did not trust her, and every night they spent together until he DID, if he ever WILL that is, he will have her tied up.
“What?... What did you forget? There’s nothing back there…” He did not reply to the question or statement, but just kept on. Once he got to the box of the truck, backpack coming off and sitting on the tail gate in which the keys still jangled underneath, she scoffed in disbelief at what was in his hands.
“Really? What? Are you going to tie me up and RAPE me every night no-OH!” She gasped; he’d taken a quick step towards her and back-handed her harshly with a severe SLAP. She gave a couple quieter shocked gasps as her left hand held her cheek.
“You still don’t fucking know the definition of that word, feminist… misuse it one more time, and you will learn REAL fucking quick what rape truly is…” He stared at her coldly, she did not retort, but merely held her cheek in shock of him. The straps were put into his backpack; it was zipped up, barely any room left within it. Swinging it onto his left shoulder they continued their journey, or rather HE continued his journey and she followed. The walls of jagged rock were passed; exchanged for walls of trees.
As they traveled in silence save for his boots scraping the pavement and her little shoes or slippers or whatever they were called more gently plodding along the tarmac, distance was slowly but surely made. In spite of the weight on his shoulders, literally and figuratively; the man’s pace was quick, and hers had to quicken to keep up with him. The woman’s legs were reasonably strong, but they were not used to such a steady and quick pace for hours on end. They began burning before long in spite of carrying barely anything with her while he had a good 40lb (18kg) on him or so if not more, not to mention the sheer bulk of his body.
6’ tall, legs thick with muscle, barrel chest reflecting that there was muscle on his torso beneath the soft layer of fat from his beer belly. Arms were not the size of body builder’s, but were obviously quite strong. He marched as though he had a history in the Military, and considering the way he now walked, along with the way he handled his bayoneted rifle; it was not an unreasonable thing to imagine. Leather boots, blue jeans, black t-shirt now completely hidden by his Navy blue hoodie, he looked relatively normal save for the stuffed backpack, rifle, and green bandolier. Scruffy, sure, and the clothes seemed lived-in, which they were, which gave off the thought that he might be homeless if this were the normal world, and indeed he was. Most people were people of the street now, or rather, people of the road. The street? As in towns or cities? Staying on the streets would mean death. Places of high human population were now places of high undead population, which is why he tried so hard to avoid that town and anything that might be in it, but she dragged it on over to him.
A green van was passed by, a corpse leaning on the steering wheel, dried blood and brain matter splattered on the driver’s side window with a hole cracked through it. Suicide, more than likely; bullet through the brain. The smell was outpaced shortly as they continued walking, then he stopped, arm going off to his right while looking intently forward; signalling for her to stop. She either did not know or did not listen.
“Why did yo-?...” Tiffany’s voice cut off as she seen why, but just then its head turned towards them. An ear flapped, eyes wide, and then the antlered deer pranced off quickly into the woods. He slowly turned on her, and she knew why… she had just cost them what could have been SEVERAL good meals. DAYS worth! “I… I’m sorry… I didn’t kno- NO, PLEASE!...”
He’d walked dangerously quickly and harshly towards her, anger clear on his face, and she knew what was coming so held up her arms in defense, begging for forgiveness. The man stopped, staring daggers at the woman, wishing for nothing more than to throw her harshly on the rough pavement and tell her to kindly FUCK OFF. Attracting the undead to him yesterday afternoon, then again last night, and now this morning frightening potential game? “RAAAAAHHHHHHHH!” A furious roar from him echoed off the trees that surrounded them in this dew-drenched start to the day. She buckled before his rage, scared of it, still hiding herself behind forearms. “Get used to hunger; you’ve EARNED it…” It was said more sedately than the war cry he gave just prior, and both of them knew he meant it. Turning, he continued walking… and she followed.
The Sun gre
w higher and higher before them which blessedly also warmed the day up a bit. Still chilly, but manageably so. Her legs were quite red from the cold, no doubt she wished she had some pants, the uppity feminist was far more sedate today than she was the day before. Rape she had cried, but had not said the word since what happened between them outside the truck when he got back the straps. Had she learned the definition of it first-hand, or did she perhaps think that she got a new concept of it and was thankful that her first experience wasn’t entirely a non-consensual bout of intercourse? His anger having given time to mellow, it was tempting to ask her, but decided against it.
Another truck, this one with an open box, its black plastic surface inside shiny from a bit of frost where the shadows of the low Sun still clung, but largely it had been replaced by moisture. A walker in the cab clawed at the glass for them, she kept her distance from it, Richard walked by it undisturbed. The worst thing about it would have been the smell if a door opened or a window broke. Thankfully neither occurred as they continued on their way, the east-facing vehicle left behind.
“Please… do you have any food?... I haven’t eaten in like 2 days now…”
“How did you survive all those months in that town, anyways? The infection must have hit about 6 months ago at least.” The question regarding his supplies was deflected effortlessly onto something more pressing, or at least interesting, in his mind. Her stomach groaned, and by the looks of it she was holding back a groan herself.
“She was stocked up on supplies, lots of it, she also owned the rifle, too… do you have any food in your bag?”
“What happened to her?”
“Please…” he did not ask again, nor answer her question regarding food. He MUST have had food, and she hated him for it; there had to be something in there, in his pack. “She went out looting, later I thought I heard a scream, and she didn’t come back…” ‘now give me your fucking food, you rapist, misogynistic ASSHOLE!’ was added on in her mind, anger boiling up at the thought of food in his backpack, being withheld from her just because some stupid DEER got spooked. He had sex with h-… he RAPED her last night, you’d think that would earn a woman a meal…
“Ah, looting isn’t really worthwhile these days. You’re FAR more likely to find a bite than to find any food. Was she cute?”
“Veronica was a lesbian...” It was not a remark on her capacity of being cute, but more a pointed statement that she wouldn’t have been interested in him anyways.
“Ohhhh, so tell me-“ an audible groan of disgust came from her as she already knew what was coming, she held her stomach as it groaned as well, “-did you kiss a girl, and did you like it?” A shit-eating grin on his face as he looked back at her briefly, his terrible joke made, having quoted a song that was, to his recollection, around 7+ years old.
“Ugh, really?... You’re disgusting. Well if you must know-“
“I must.” He gave a nod while still looking ahead, the conversation going on between her and his back.
“Yes, we kissed… happy? Now PLEASE can I have some food?...”
“Ooo… surely that’s not all. What, did you just kiss and you were all ‘nope, I think I’m straight, sorry’, or did you two enjoy a bit of ruuubbiiiiiing, or liiiiickiiiiiing, or scisssoooorrriiiiiing, or anything like that?” The words were extended, though said casually, but also a little bit mockingly. She groaned again, and her belly voiced its agreement.
“Go fuck yourself, fuck-face… I can’t believe I actually had SEX with you last night, ugh, you’re so fucking nasty…”
“Ohhhh, sex, is it? So we had sex? You sure we didn’t have rape? No?” He had turned his body around, looking at her, back-pedaling on the road that continued off to the east. The dip of a valley came into view, a small farmhouse showing up along her right, his left, on the south side of the road. Now he really was mocking her, and she scowled at him.
“You’re a sick bastard…” yet she did not answer the question that the man with the shit-eating grin asked.
“YyyyyyUP!” the fellow said cheerfully, turning around to look where he’s walking. A body was lying down on the porch of the house, a corpse, but it was far too far away to be of any threat if it were to get up right now as they slowly got closer. “Well well, looky here…” Still a ways back from him causing her to spot the building after the man, soon the house became more visible to her from at this high point on the edge of the sweeping valley. The forest had gone, replaced instead by mostly grassland, only the occasional rare, lonely tree speckling this open area. A small stream ran down it, alongside this quaint house. Not really fit to be called a ‘farmhouse’, he supposed, since there were no farms in sight unfortunately. Back when he was driving through Saskatchewan and Manitoba with his friends from Alberta, now THERE was some farms.
“Do you think there’ll be any-?“
“Food?” He turned his head to look side-long at her after the interruption; she angrily scowled back. “Unlikely.”
“Oh FUCK you!” She lashed out, pissed off that he couldn’t at least give her THIS much; this little drop of hope. The curse came out as a high pitched shriek, and looking away from her, down at the house, the ‘sleeping’ corpse moved, peering round. From the echoes of the word it could not place which direction it came from, and the two standing off to the west were too distant for its cold, dead eyes to focus on.
“Oops, you woke the baby… you know if you keep alerting the dead to us I might just make you get a stick and try to deal with it yourself. It’s not as easy as it looks.”
“You can take that stick and shove it up your ass…” she grumbled, now walking ahead of him, and he laughed.
“What’s that? You want me to take my stick and shove it up your ass? I had no idea you were into anal. Hey, it would save on the need for a condom at leas-“
“FUCK YOU, you son of a bitch!” A swift step back, and she pushed at his chest, a couple clips clinking against one another in protest at the sudden thrust on the bandolier, and he was mildly amused, but also displeased that she had made a violent move against him.
“Woah-ho-ho, cunt. Easy there, I don’t like being touched by sluts who open their legs on the first date.” A smirk on his face, arms coming up either side of him, palms facing her, an innocent gesture of surrender as though she was a force to be reckoned with.
“OH!” She gasped, a surge of anger coming through her, and her hand shot out towards his face to slap him. He was too quick. In spite of the weight on him from all his gear, his upper body bobbed back and out of the way, knees bent, right foot coming back to counteract the loss of balance, right hand already coming up and took her right arm by the wrist when it had passed by his head.
“I… wouldn’t do that… again…” Balance stabilized, he was now leaning towards her, hand squeezing down where it caught her; another gasp as he suddenly took the offending limb and threatened her. Then she seemed to release this close-mouthed, high-pitched sound of anger and frustration as she moved her right arm savagely about to try and get it free but it was in vain. Left hand came forth and banged on his barrel chest in a fist, then it opened and the palm slapped against him there. The fellow’s left hand grasped that wrist as well, and he held her there as she spastically tried to get the two wrists loose so as to hit him.
“Fuck you- fuck you- fuck you- fuck you- fuck YOU!” Once more, she spat at him, he tried to dodge left but the spittle still sprayed his rugged features, however at least most of the saliva flailed past him between his head and where the Lee Enfield stuck up from his shoulder. The final word she said was again a high pitched scream, and with the movement, whatever was on the porch was standing now, looking out at them. It moaned; the low sound echoing off the low and wide walls of this valley, however so deep and low that she didn’t notice. Still facing east, he did. The figure’s right foot began weakly banging on the porch then, hands leaning on the westward rail of the rooved porch.
“He’s alive…” Richard muttered, ignoring the drop
lets of spit on him, features showing wonderment. Those brown eyes were capable of being narrow and observant, but also can reflect cruelness, or when opened wide the anger was intimidating. When neutral, he himself almost looked to have a scowl, looked angry, but it could all disappear with a good natured smile which he used to experience FAR more often than he did now. Right now, however, the eyes showed wonderment and her green eyes, previously showing fury, looked at him with curious astonishment that he would ignore this argument that was taking place. They soon opened wide as she realized he was looking over her left shoulder rather than at her; he meant the one on the porch?
Looking back, her wrists still in his hands, she saw the figure leaning on the rail, his hand coming up and waving. It was a terribly weak gesture. “He’s… maybe he has food…” she muttered quietly.
“Unlikely.” A huge shit-eating grin on his face as the word made a return. She looked at him with astonishment, this time mixed with rage instead of curiosity, and she tried to strike him once more but her wrists were bound in his large, strong, calloused grasp.
“Let me GO!” Another roar that echoed through the valley, and he was tempted to strike her more for making such a racket. She really was loud and obnoxious, felt that she would rally the dead to him again before the day is done; they headed down to the survivor, a sleeve wiping off the traces of saliva on his scruffy face. The nose was strong though relatively thin with a straight bridge and somewhat pointed though not sharply so. Chin was not wide, nor anywhere NEAR as tall as, say, Jay Leno’s, but pronounced in its own right; far from weak. Eyes were typically somewhat narrow, mouth not much wider than his narrow nose, and not far above the eyes were his prominent Jack Black or Jack Nicholson-like eyebrows. They were masculine, and somewhat angled though not overly so. Above them was a tall forehead topped with a widow’s peak. Short-cut, dark-brown hair covered the top, back, and sides of his head. Ears did not stick out entirely, but did not lay too flat against his head either. He’d been called handsome before, however the chub around his midsection and hair of his body might make many women say otherwise upon seeing him nude. For now, it was time to cross a pleasant little bridge and say hello to a stranger.