Sex in the Time of Zombies

by William Todd Rose

  As if by magic, the cigarette butt appeared in Owen’s hand and he held it so close to Tanny’s eye that the heat wafting from its ember felt like a pinprick searing into his lid. Despite the tenuous grip Tanny held on consciousness, he instinctively tried to twist away, but Owen’s other hand pressed against the man’s forehead with the full weight of his body.

  “You apologize, you little turd! You apologize right now!”

  “I’m sorry.” Tanny croaked. “Dear God, I’m sorry okay?”

  Owen inched the smoldering cigarette closer to Tanny eye.

  “Not to me, dumb ass.” he sneered. “To her. Apologize to her!”

  Owen jerked his head to the side, indicating the eight-by-ten that lay on the ground. Tanny tried to follow his attacker’s line of sight, but Owen still had his head pinned to the ground so tightly that he could barely move his neck. Instead, he glanced out of the corner of his eye and could barely make out the edges of the photo in his peripheral vision.

  “I’m sorry… I… didn’t mean to insult you.”

  Tanny felt some of the pressure ease from his head and the cigarette was pulled far enough away that the smoke no longer curled up into his stinging eyes. At the same time, waves of dizziness washed over him and it felt as if his head had turned into a balloon that had been rapidly inflated. When Owen spoke again, his voice was lower but still seemed to seethe with the promise of violence.

  “I swear to God, if you ever… and I mean ever… talk about her like that again I will fuckin’ kill you. You understand? I will cut your balls off and shove ’em down your throat til you die.”

  At this point, Tanny would have agreed to wearing a saddle and letting Owen ride him through the forest if it meant getting that crazy fucker of his chest.

  “Yeah, yeah I understand., please let me go, I’m sorry, man… it won’t happen again, I promise.”

  Owen flipped the cigarette into the woods and picked up the photo of Tiffany Shepis so gingerly that it almost seemed as if he half-expected it to turn to dust in his fingers. He stroked her cheek with the tip of one finger and the rage that had possessed him seemed to dissolve a little more with each loving caress.

  “I’m sorry you had to see that, baby.”

  He walked over to the little stone wall he’d built and placed the picture within its confines before lighting the tea candle and setting it in front of the photo. For a moment, Owen simply stood there and watched the glow of the candlelight flicker against the glossy surface of the photo. The rage had entirely disappeared and his face was now as serene as an altar boy contemplating the votives at mass. Laying down upon the ground, he curled up his knees into an almost fetal position and began whispering to the picture: his voice was nothing more than a soft murmur, the individual words lost in a rhythmic lull that was occasionally punctuated by a chuckle or sigh.

  Tanny had scooted backwards until he was leaning against an old log and he watched Owen as if expecting the man to charge across the clearing at any moment. Every instinct in his body told him to run, to just scamper off into the forest and leave this little campsite far behind; but he was trembling so violently that he didn’t entirely trust his legs to support his own weight and the back of his head was throbbing like a heart trapped within a vise. Besides, what if that crazy son of a bitch saw him? What if he chased the little man through the woods and cornered him? Tanny’s hand scrambled across the forest floor until it felt the jagged edges of a rock and he quickly snatched it, holding it tightly to his chest as if it were a small animal that he had to protect.

  I’ll bash his fucking brains out, I swear I will, he’s crazy, just let him try, I swear to God I’ll kill that fucked up nut-job….

  But Owen seemed to have forgotten that he wasn’t alone within those woods. His eyes never strayed from the shrine he’d constructed. In fact, he seemed totally oblivious to everything around him: the chirping of insects, the rustling of underbrush as some hidden creature scurried through the darkness, and the distant call of a nocturnal bird that sounded as if it were whistling some secret all-clear signal. None of these things seemed to register at all.

  As the flames of the campfire dwindled to the point that there were only occasional eruptions from the mound of red cinders, Owen’s voice had begun trailing off. It would grow softer and softer until there was only the sounds of the wilderness at night to keep Tanny company. Within a few seconds, his body would jerk as if an electric current had just coursed through it and there would be a few mumbled sentences before the entire scene replayed itself. Eventually, however, exhaustion overtook the blond man and snores rumbled from his open mouth.

  Tanny wasn’t sure how long he’d watched Owen sleep; long enough to make sure that it wasn’t just some clever ruse, some trap the wacko had come up with to test his companion’s true intentions. Though the back of his head still ached like a son of a bitch, Tanny stumbled to his feet and clutched the rock in his fist so tightly that its crags seemed to be attempting to embed themselves in his hand. He took a few steps across the clearing and stopped, watching for the slightest signs of movement from the sleeping man.

  Owen, however, hadn’t changed positions since the last time he’d bolted awake. He was still sprawled across the ground, one hand reaching toward the picture of Tiffany Shepis like that painting on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

  Tanny stood as still as the trees in the forest and his heart thumped in his chest so hard he was certain the sound of its beats would stir Owen from his slumber. He tried to breathe softly and scanned the ground ahead for any dry twigs that might betray his presence with a sharp snap.

  Taking three more steps, Owen stopped again. Listened. Watched. Moved again once he was certain that his so-called friend was still safely nestled within whatever dreams flitted through that twisted mind.

  After what seemed to be an eternity of creeping across the campsite, Tanny glared down at the sleeping man. The rock in his hand seemed as heavy as a brick and he stared at the tangle of blond hair just above the little knot at the base of the skull. Every muscle in his body seemed tense, as if they had been pulled tightly across his diminutive skeleton and longed for release.

  I could do it. Right now. Let that bastard see what it feels like. Let him have a taste of his own fucking medicine.

  Owen’s chest continued to rise and fall as a tiny spider crept across the folds of his clothes.

  Serve that crazy asshole right….

  Tanny felt as if he were towering over his traveling companion, as if he were a giant that could rain death and destruction down upon a village that was no bigger than the ones he’d once set upon his mantle at Christmas. It would be so easy to simply swing his arm, to feel the thud jar his elbow and shoulder as rock crashed into bone. So easy to let the man’s blood flow into the hungry soil out here, hidden by the trees and darkness with all the little insects who’d parade in to strip the flesh from Owen’s battered carcass. He could do it….

  In the back of his mind a voice that fluttered with nervous excitement babbled.

  What if you don’t kill him? What if he wakes up and yanks the rock out of your hand? Shit, you saw what happened earlier. What the fuck would he do if you were actually attacking him? You want to end up being the one left to rot out here? That’s how it would end…. Do you really want to die because some obsessed crazy man got the best of you? Damn it, Tanny think! Think, think, think!

  The spider had made its way to Owen’s collar now and it’s spindly legs stretched out as it pulled its body onto bare flesh. The man mumbled thickly as his brow creased and, reaching up with one hand, he flipped the little arachnid away.

  Tanny felt as though he’d just plunged into an icy river. Chills tingled his scalp and a sharp pain jabbed through the center of his chest as his heart forgot to beat. He held the rock above his head as steadily as he held his breath.

  Kill me, he’s gonna kill me, the psycho son of a bitch….

  Owen rolled onto his side and smacked his lip
s lightly. He sighed and muttered groggily; for the most part it was nothing more than an incoherent babble. But there was one word that Tanny heard as clearly as the hissing embers of the campfire: Tiffany.

  At the same time, the blonde man pulled Tanny’s satchel close to his body. He spooned the light brown pack like a lover and nestled his cheek against the canvass as if it were the soft flesh of his obsession.

  Tanny thought of all his supplies and belongings, tucked away under Owen’s head. His food. His clothing. The pocket knife and lengths of cord.

  Fuck it. Fat lot of good those things would do him if his brains were splattered across the forest floor. He’d put the rock carefully upon the ground and then simply slip into the darkness of the night. By the time this maniac woke up, Tanny would be far away from the mountain; he’d be safe and, with an interesting story to share with other survivors, would begin the process of gathering supplies again.

  Yet, part of his soul still burned with anger. It was as some ancient demon had seeped through the gash on the back of his skull and infected his mind with the poison of vengeance. It demanded retribution, some sort of satisfaction for the indignities the little man had endured. People just shouldn’t be allowed to get away with shit like that. It wasn’t fucking right and that bastard deserved to hurt so damn bad that he’d rue the day he ever heard the name Tanny Henderson.

  A grin caused Tanny’s mustache to bristle like an angry curr as a cold glee frosted his eyes.

  Yeah, he’d hurt this ass licker in the worst possible way. He’d crumble this degenerate fuck’s world just like the rotters had laid waste to the real one. Leave him crying on the ground like a little baby with a diaper full of shit.

  With a smirk, Tanny snatched the picture of Tiffany Shepis from it’s little altar.

  Owen had been raised in the woods. He’d grown up in a rundown shack where running water meant the creek that wound its way down from the hills and divided the front yard. At eight years old, he’d been left to wander through the night as he searched the forest for the mythical snipe with paper sack firmly in hand. He’d spent the better part of his childhood hiking, fishing, and camping; his grandfather had taught him how to hunt long before he’d even had his first wet dream. Owen knew that sweet little spot just above a deer’s front leg where a thirty-ought-six would make short work of the heart-lung area. But he also knew how rare it was to drop an animal where it stood; which is why Grandpa Reid had made damn sure the boy knew how to track as well.

  That fuckin’ animal wasn’t bleeding, not yet at least, but he’d still been running scared once he’d gotten a good piece away from the campsite. Once the panic had kicked in, that little bastard may have as well been leaving little note cards saying This way tucked in the bent and snapped twigs of bushes. The trail was so clear, in fact, that Owen could almost picture that warbly rat scampering ahead of him like a ghost.

  “You’ll be a ghost soon enough, you pint-sized cock. I’ll be dropping evil on your ass so hard you’ll hear your backbone pop right before I chew your fuckin’ heart out.”

  The hatchet trembled in Owen’s hand as if excited by the promise of blood; he could even feel it throbbing and pulsing in his white-knuckled grip, as if dark forces surged through the grain of the wood.

  “Soon.” he thought as the trees and rocks blurred by, “So very fucking soon.”

  Shortly before dawn, the ground had opened up beneath Tanny Henderson’s feet. He’d been scrambling down a hillside, doing more sliding than running actually, when the soil suddenly gave way beneath his weight. His foot plunged into the sinkhole, but momentum and gravity had demanded that he continue fleeing. Caught between the two forces, his arms pinwheeled for balance as his body lurched forward and, within the span of a second, his face had smacked against the unforgiving ground. He’d tried to stand, to brush the dirt off his clothes and just keep right on going; but his ankle felt as if it were encircled with fiery bands of steel and he collapsed beneath his own weight.

  Clenching his teeth against the pain, Tanny had scooted the rest of the way down the hill. He drug his ass over the rocks and dirt like a dog with intestinal worms, wincing with every hard fought yard of ground he covered.

  When he finally reached the bottom, he’d crawled to a thicket of trees and leaned against the rough bark as he rolled up his pant leg to survey the damage. The skin had already started to puff up around his shoe and was already showing the first dark splotches of bruising. He touched it tentatively, the way a child might touch a snake, and his muscles felt warm and tight.

  At the same time, waves of pain radiated from the pressure of his fingertips and he drew his breath in through his teeth as he pulled his hand away. He could see the phantoms of his fingertips on the wounded flesh, ovular apparitions which blossomed sickly white before slowly fading into the surrounding redness.

  Not broken, thank God.

  He watched streaks of color paint the eastern sky, stretching the clouds into broad brushstrokes of oranges, reds, and vibrant pink. The birds twittered and chirped, their call and response songs adding texture to this still life portrait of a perfect morning. It was hard to believe that beyond the tranquility of this forest the rest of the world lay in ruins. Entire cities may be burning unchecked, haggard refugees would be struggling for one more day of life, and those damn corpses would still be shredding every law of nature by their very existence: but, out here, life continued on as it had for centuries. There was the sweet scent of flowers and earthy vegetation, the birds and the breeze; it was all too easy to imagine that none of the preceding horrors had ever happened.

  The pain that throbbed through Tanny’s ankle was the only voice of dissension that railed against this fleeting fantasy. It reminded him that things were so much more dire than this picturesque dawn implied. In his past life, a twisted ankle — even one this badly sprained — would have been nothing more than an inconvenience. He’d pop a few pain meds, maybe spend a day or two soaking up sympathy from pretty girls as he hobbled around the office on a pair of crutches, and keep it elevated as he flipped through the channels at home. But, in this new reality, even a simple injury could turn lethal if given the right set of circumstances. Maybe if he just rested here for a bit and took a little cat nap some of the swelling would recede by the time he woke up. Then he could plan his next move.

  Tanny shifted slightly so that the eighty by ten he’d rolled up and tucked into the pocket of his jeans wouldn’t scratch at his back and closed his eyes.

  “Where the fuck is she, you thieving little worm?”

  Tanny’s eyes snapped open as the voice boomed through the silence. The sun had moved on toward the west and, at the top of the hill that had mangled his ankle, he saw a hulking silhouette against the backdrop of trees. The shadow seemed to be bent slightly forward with its shoulders hunched and knees slightly bent. For some reason, an image of the Wolf Man passed through Tanny’s thoughts; but then he saw the outline of the object in the dark figure’s hand. The slender handle leading up to the slightly curved blade. The hammer-like head on the opposite side.

  “Where the hell is my Tiffany?”

  Tanny would have been more relieved to see an army of rotters looming over him. Fear shredded his intestines and the sudden surge of adrenaline caused his wounded ankle to surge in time with his racing heart.

  Pushing himself from the ground, Tanny leaned against the tree for support for a brief second as he gritted his teeth against the agony in his foot.

  Doesn’t hurt half as bad as that damn hatchet will. Get your ass moving!

  “Fuckin’ shit-eating son of bitch!”

  Owen began scuttling down the hillside as Tanny darted into the trees. The little man tried to run but felt as if he were in constant danger of toppling to the right. His ankle protested the torture with every step and the searing pain caused the forest to seem to alternately close in on him and withdraw. As if the tall oaks and pines were a vicious pack testing the fortitude of injured prey.
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  But still he limped on, moving through the wilderness as quickly as his limp would allow.

  He constantly scanned his surroundings, looking for somewhere to hide, for something he could use as a weapon, for some little cave or crevice he could wedge himself into. If he could just find somewhere that Owen was too large to fit into, he’d thrust the picture to him, would give him anything he wanted.

  Please, please, please….

  He could hear something crashing through the underbrush behind him: a growl and yell rolled into a single sound, inhuman and totally devoid of reasoning; pure, primal fury filtered through regression and rage.

  Tanny burst through a line of trees and the forest was suddenly gone. Before him was the dark asphalt of a country road bordered by these spindly blue flowers and gravel. Directly across from him was a house that looked as if it had fallen into disrepair long before society had ever collapsed. Faded planks covered its walls and shattered windows grinned like dark mouths, the remaining shards of glass tooth-like in the gaping maw. The front door was partially open and Tanny could just make out peeling red paint before it disappeared into the gloom. The house was obviously empty… no help there.

  He looked around with quick snaps of his head. There! Cresting the hill about a quarter mile away. A dark, human shaped speck.

  “Help!”

  His yell wavered with pain and beads of sweat dotted his forehead. But he felt the first stirrings of hope within his soul, the little twinges of relief that eased the tension in his muscles.

  “Murder! Murder! Help me!”

  The person in the distance stopped as Tanny’s voice reached his ears. He stood there for a moment, as still as the battered mailbox in front of the abandoned house.

  “Please!”

  He could hear Owen behind him. Huffing. Running. Growing closer with each second.

  “Oh God, help me! Help, help, help!”

  Tanny was scuttling across the road, but his eyes were still focused entirely on the person who could potentially be his savior.