Living Amongst The Dead (Book 2): Dark Days

by J. N. Morgan

  Looking more devastated than she has in weeks if not months, even more than when she figured Tiff was dead and gone, she went to the back door of the house where she had gone in. Kneeling, she dropped the many casings onto the bare Earth of Charlie and Denise Winters’ grave so they wouldn’t be lost in the grass and then hit the road, headed west.

  They were desperately short on towels but now with the keys to get in the Master bedroom, she rooted about in Charlie’s drawers who’s clothes were too thin and/or too short for the three current occupants. A couple white dress shirts were found and promptly brought downstairs, using the scissors from the backpack to cut up. Richard had passed out from all the struggle of the simple human act he had just done, even with her help. A couple sweaters were taken from the room as well, those replaced the blood soaked and blood stained towels beneath his arm. They were heavy from wetness.

  Instead of undoing the wrappings she had done around his shoulder, she just cut through them and peeled them away. It didn’t smell very good, and she prayed that it didn’t mean it was an infection. He wouldn’t survive an infection. Little bits of toilet paper clung to the gore of his wound and she reflected for something this bad, that was a stupid idea, but a professional nurse or doctor she was not. Carefully, she picked what she could off of him, then had what she hoped was a brilliant idea. The Polysporin she had used for her feet! It was in her bag upstairs on the nightstand by her side of the bed!

  Once more she ran up, got what she was looking for, and got back down. So the sweaters to help soak up the blood were under his shoulder, she had the thick bandaging to use, the bandaging that was on him was taken off though with the dangly bits of thread on the towel sticking horribly to the wound which made it start bleeding rather badly. She applied a rather generous amount of Polysporin to the points of the bandage where she estimated the wounds will be, was thankful that he was passed out as she struggled in moving him over a bit to get the bandage in place under the terrible exit wound, then brought the length of bandage over the smaller entry wound, happy that she estimated correctly, and so the process of wrapping it up began.

  She was sweating by the end; he was a big guy to move around after all. Redness was showing on the bandaging already but it didn’t look too bad. Not as bad as before, and this time it looked much more professional. Her hands were bloody but she was proud of the work she did on him, and glad to see he was still breathing. “Sleep well, sweetie… er… baby…” it made her feel almost motherly when she called him that first sign of affection, and maybe that’s why he was a bit weirded out by it. Best to save it for the bedroom, she thought.

  The first thing she noticed upon going out the back door was the casings. The Sun had just started its way down, perhaps 2 or 3 in the afternoon if she had to guess, though figured it probably wasn’t a very accurate guess. Hunger was getting to her and she was trying to think of what to eat with Nick. The half bottle of deer that was left, a bit fed to Richard since breakfast, was for him. She was adamant about saving it for him, though didn’t appose having the occasional nibble when he offered her a piece. Heading to the west towards the river to wash her bloodied hands off, she noted that her friend wasn’t in sight, and once those hands were clean; washed UPstream of the bucket of course even though by now it had probably been washed of any ‘solids’ that might have been left, she then circled the premises in search of her dark companion.

  The search had to be visual, not wanting to shout in fear that it might stir her man from his deep passed-out slumber. Nicky was nowhere in sight, and she thought on the last place she seen her, then the last thing she said to her, and her hands went to her face. “Oh no… please… don’t tell me she just... left…” heading to the front porch, sitting down, she accepted the uncharacteristically cool early-Autumn air. “Where have you gone?...” it was asked to nobody but herself as she looked helplessly along each direction of the highway, hoping she’d see her friend again before nightfall, for to not see her by then, it would be easy to think of her as having gotten herself killed.

  It was about two hours later, the Sun much lower in the sky, Richard had woken up, Tiff was already beside him. He was thirsty and didn’t notice his new dressings but that was fine. At least he didn’t remark on it feeling any worse than before, but could only imagine how bad the feeling of both torn tissue and burnt flesh must feel. There was clear effort in trying to keep his voice sounding normal but obviously the pain still got through. She gave him water, however he was not yet ready for more food, there were apologies for earlier but his amateur nurse would have none of it. Instead, to try to keep him in good spirits, she eluded to perhaps playing nurse for him when he’s better, perhaps by inspecting the quality of his sperm via an oral examination. A smile came to his pale, scruffy face.

  She pulled a book out of his backpack by his request, ignoring the one for reloading. The only other one was Sharpe’s Regiment by Bernard Cornwell. There was no way she could set herself up a suitable bath to enjoy, they were good on drinking water, the dishes could wait… sure she was a bit hungry and her mind was still worried about the disappearance of Veronica, but maybe this would help take her mind off it. His request for her to read to him was accepted, and pulling a laminated bookmark out from the book, she gave it a look. It had the picture of a baby on it, its name beneath. Rebecca Mary Knight, it read, and there were black and pink decorations taking up the roughly 2/3 or so of the rather thick bookmark that wasn’t being dominated by the picture.

  “Oh, how cute… is she yo-?” A stupid question to ask these days for if he was a father, and doesn’t currently have any children with him that he may have had before the infection, then in all likelihood they were dead. Thankfully, his answer was ‘no’; she was his niece, and that was an old picture from back when she were a mere infant. She’d be about 6 now, he said, and didn’t know if she were alive or not. Such was the case with probably everybody alive; not knowing what relatives still lived or… likely a larger list… what relatives had died. She cleared her throat pointedly, wishing to get things started with the book. He grinned as he recalled where it left off, and looked forward to Sharpe and Harper’s revenge on those who had done them wrong at the ‘Foulness’. It wasn’t the kind of stuff that Tiffany typically read but found herself enjoying the imagery, the history, and the witty writing that occasionally had her giving a laugh.

  This lasted for a good while, sometimes questions were asked of Richard, who claimed to have read 16 or 17 novels in the series and he’d answer them as best he can while dealing with his discomfort and pain. She brought up his new dressing and finally looking down to it, acknowledged that it did look different, and was glad it wasn’t that messy series of strips of towel. “Thank you… nurse… can I have... my sponge… bath please?” To this the woman gave a giggle and brought her right hand to his right thigh, stroking him not far from his manhood.

  “As soon as you’re back on your feet, I promise, I’ll scrub you down aaaaalllllllllll over.” After a naughty little wink, she brought her hand away and continued reading until he was ready to finish off the bottle of deer meat. That was it, the rest of their meat save for a can of tuna in his backpack that he had since the infection started. There was also his own can of beans and a can of corn though not on the cob, also having been owned since it all started. She will probably… well… no… she couldn’t ‘break into that tomorrow’ because with only one good hand she couldn’t open them. The pancake mix had run out, the last of it eaten this morning by the women. The rest of the grub was canned… what the Hell were they going to do? She fed him the deer meat and was thankful for him offering her to have the last piece, looking quite full and satisfied himself.

  Some more reading, since he found himself awake and not wanting to sleep at the moment, she ignored the growing sense of hunger within her. It wasn’t much longer until she noticed he was lying still, mouth gaping open, and again, checked his breath. His arms shot up, grasping the hand before his face, and p
ain coursed through her as he buried his teeth in her only good hand. She screamed, watching the blood leak and spurt from torn flesh, the book was dropped without the bookmark, she pulled desperately from his grasp, got free, and looked at the mangled bloody state of her hand.

  “NO! NO, RICHARD! OH GOD!” He moaned, getting out from under the covers, still wearing nothing but his bandages. He crawled to her, face covered in her blood, hungry eyes glaring at her, she tried to crawl back but hit the coffee table, he was at her foot now. Cold hands grasped it, crackling coming from his right shoulder likely from broken bone, he feast on her foot, bones breaking from the pressure of his jaws, a couple toes dislocating and being bitten off. She screamed up to the sky, trying to unholster the M1911A1 but it wasn’t coming out, the stiff leather wouldn’t let go of the male snap button it kept within its female counterpart, all she wanted to do was put it to her head and pull the trigger to get rid of this pain. It was over, it was all over!

  “Ahh!” She was before the coffee table, not far from the bookshelf, he slept, as had she, the book in her lap, the bookmark not having been placed. Damn, she’ll have to find the spot later. No clue what time it was, it was dark, the candle in the thick-glassed but otherwise thin mug was nearly out. Grabbing the mug she went out the backdoor, relieved herself behind her usual bush, came back inside, locked the back door, double-checked that the front one was locked, checked upstairs to see if Nick had returned while she was out, found her still missing, then thought to carefully plod back downstairs in the darkness. So hungry, though… check the storage room first; was there anything there that didn’t need a can opener? The can of SPAM wasn’t the actual name brand stuff and didn’t have a pull-tab, just this key thing which, putting the candle down on the shelf, she pulled at but it just cracked off. Looking around it she felt a protrusion, a somewhat sharp one.

  There was a slot on the key and the tab was about the same side; feeding it into the slot she tried turning the key, and found that it had popped an opening in the side of the can up near the rim. She continued turning, and was blissfully relieved that she would not have to go to bed hungry tonight. Taking the container and candle down to the kitchen, she finished opening it, able to do so with one hand, and getting a spoon quietly to try and avoid waking up the wounded man in the living room she spooned half the meat in her mouth one bit at a time. It didn’t taste very good as it was, in her opinion, but beggars can’t be choosers. Leaving half of it for the morning, she found her place to Richard’s left, once more she slept beside him, hoping to get a full night’s sleep, and that her body warmth will help keep him warm even when the fireplace burns out inevitably.

  “Fuckin’ noisy bastards…” she complained, rummaging in her duplex home. The one next to her had been cleared out long ago and really Tiff could have stayed there if she liked, but had much preferred to stay under the same roof as her friend for comfort and security’s sake. The thought of them breaking into where she stayed at night, having to fend for herself without Nick’s help, it was a horrifying thought.

  It was still the afternoon, she’d only gotten to Strathcom recently, having left the house a while ago. In spite of all those he had killed when they follower her out of the town there was still of course plenty to keep her busy. They banged their arms on the boards nailed outside her lowest windows, but she felt quite secure for there were also boards on the inside of those windows as well. They were at the front door too, but she tried to ignore them, knowing that they never had been able to break in through there before, though can lay siege for quite some time.

  Inside from the front door was the boot and coat area which was simply on open spot on a landing in between two different floors of the quaint home. A short stairway went up to the main floor where the kitchen, living room, and one of the washrooms were. Downstairs is where a storage room, two bedrooms with the biggest being Veronica’s of course since it was her home, and a smaller second washroom which only had a toilet and sink.

  She was in her own room, dead legs visible shuffling about at the window up near the ceiling, curtains drawn to help let some of the natural light in. The window was very narrow, less than a foot high and perhaps two feet wide, it was imbedded down into the ground outside. Sometimes one of the clumsy bastards would slip a foot down into the niche in the ground where the small window lay but had so far not broken the glass. Rarely they even seemed to notice the window, occasionally when a foot fell into the hole the ankle would snap. This often brought a pained “Ooooooo…” from the woman, but ultimately came with a smile, finding the grizzly sight and sound of it entertaining.

  Her safes were being opened… an unfortunate thing about this town; very few gun owners. When elections came to town, or to the country, typically red would be the most common colour seen on people’s lawns; Vote Liberal! Fucking hippies, she thought. Sure she was all for cannabis legalization, go for it! More taxation, more money for the government, criminals wouldn’t make money from selling it because people could buy superior product from stores provided they were of age, it means less money for drug dealers and more money for the Canadians! As for the rest of the Liberal’s stances, other than their view of the LGBT community, there was just about nothing she agreed with them on. No, she was a Conservative woman in spite of her sexuality.

  The good thing about this town though… some stores still sold ammo, and she’d managed to get her hands on some of it. Pistol ammo, not really; she didn’t know of anyone else there who had their Restricted License which allowed for the ownership of sidearms with barrel lengths 4.14” or longer. As far as she knew, she was the only one, and had only just ordered a Chinese made copy of the Browning Hi Power as well as a used Glock 23 with an extended barrel to keep it legal there in the Great White North. Only came to $800 in total for both and the Glock was going to come with half a dozen magazines as well as night sights already installed from the previous owner!

  Alas, too little too late, they would never arrive. What she did have however was a fresh box of 20 7.62x54r with soft point bullets, the same of .223 but with FMJ, three rectangular green boxes that held surplus 10-rnd clips of 7.62x39 (FMJ of course), but all the .308 she had was long gone so the rifle she brought was pretty much just a melee weapon she kept on hand. A box of .30-06 soft points though it had been found in a dude’s house and only had 7 rounds left. Whatever rifle he had in which to shoot it was nowhere to be seen. A cheap safe she broke into once using a crowbar had provided her with a sporterized Lee Enfield of sorts but couldn’t find any .303 for it, and amazingly even though SKS-45s and M91/30s are so popular in Canada, not a one could be found, yet she had ammo for both. Disappointing…

  She looked around her room, along the faintly yellowish walls on which various posters stood including some with wet women in bikinis, others with blatantly nude woman, one in which two were making out, and then to the electric LED lantern for which she had a nice stockpile of batteries. It didn’t drain them very easily, especially when on the dimmer setting, so due to the slow rate at which the batteries were eaten up she had made a nice collection of them as she looted house after house. That could be taken… she was going to do everything she could to try and make it up to her friend that she had shot the ‘man’ she loved. As for him, he could drop dead at any point. The only downside is she couldn’t learn how to reload from him if that happened but that wasn’t a huge deal. No, she wanted to make things right with Tiff… and maybe work her way into those panties of hers… mmm, there was just something about chubby chicks.

  No clothes were needed from her drawers, nor from her closet. In the backpack she used for hiking went all the things she would be bringing save for the lantern and rifle which would be kept in her hands. She put in a couple boxes of pads that she’d looted over time, quite a supply of them in her closet for the time being. It was tempting to bring the vibrator under her bed; not a cock-shaped one, fuck no, but one of those ‘egg vibrators’ or ‘love eggs’. Fuck it, if she was going to be livi
ng under a new roof, with no women around to sate herself with, she’d need something to help her out. In the backpack it went along with the ammo and roughly half her stock of batteries which conveniently worked with both the egg and the lantern. AA batteries, two were used in the egg but needed to be replaced more often if it was used a lot, while four went into the lantern however if she used it as little as usual then it needed replacement far less often. 15 of those AA batteries were in her bag now, not including those in the egg.

  Heading to the other room, her roommate’s, there wasn’t much to look at. The walls were mostly bare save for a feminist poster and another one showing a dominatrix woman clad in leather standing tall with a foot on the back of a naked man who was crouched down low on the ground. Though he was nude, his genitals were not in sight, and even though Tiffany was straight this picture never really turned her on at all, it was merely there to remind her that women need to rise up from the ashes, that a time was coming when men would no longer be the dominant gender in society, that women would have their time to dominate the men. Nick nodded at it, disliking the sight of the naked male but she enjoyed imagining herself as the woman in leather… a riding crop in her hand just like in the hands of the dominatrix, and just beating the Hell out of the man beneath her as he squirms and cries in agony. A white man… obviously.

  Clothing… the white jacket she seen her in when she shot that Norbert guy or whatever was ruined from blood but then when she came and visited her at the fire she had the exact same one, or at least the same kind, and it was clean. Wherever she was getting the clothes there must be a good bit there for her to wear if there are multiples of the types of clothing. Could that woman, Dolores or whatever, be her size? Not impossible, she supposed, so saved the space in her backpack for other items. There were quite a few books… Macaws of Death by Karen Dudley… maybe she’ll like that one. Whether she already read it or not, she had no clue. For herself, the one novel she had was taken from her room; Fingersmith by Sarah Waters. It was difficult to get into, as awesome as the title is, but perhaps this was the time to give it another go.