My Zombie Honeymoon: Love in the Age of Zombies Book One

by Evans, James K.

  I heard them hit him a few more times and Kevin groaning. The big guy said grab him by the hair and make him kneel. I heard the sound of a zipper unzipping, but I couldn’t really see anything with it being so dark. I guess it was the fat guy. He told Kevin to open his mouth nice and wide and get ready to swallow. Kevin said no again.

  He got hit again, and then the guy stuck his gun right in Kevin’s face and said you suck my cock or you die right now. Kevin didn’t move. It looked like the guy stuck his dick in Kevin’s face. There was a pause and I heard the guy say that’s right bitch suck my cock. Then he yelled son of a bitch he bit me! Now you gonna die, motherfucker. He backed up and pointed his gun with one hand while he grabbed his bleeding crotch with the other. One of the guys was shining his flashlight on his bleeding cock. I could see blood dripping through his fingers.

  I raised my gun and stepped out so I had a clear shot. I said hey. The big guy flinched right as his gun went off. Kevin fell over. But I didn’t miss. I shot him in the forehead. The other two guys tried to get away. They ran up the stairs. I shot one before he got to the top but he kept going. I chased after them. They ran to the front door and ran out. The zombies had heard the three gunshots. There were a lot of them. I saw one guy get caught as they swarmed him. I don’t know what happened to the other guy.

  I rebolted the locks and went back downstairs. The fat man was now a dead fat man. There was blood all over the floor. He lay with his face in his own blood. But I didn’t care about him.

  Kevin had fallen on his side. His knees were bent. There was a pool of blood by his body but it was a small pool. He was breathing. His face was bruised from where they had punched him, but I wasn’t worried about his bruises. I rolled him over and tore his shirt off. He had been hit in the shoulder. There was blood in front and back but no major artery was hit. It wasn’t bleeding too bad. I got my med kit. I started cleaning up the wound. I knew the bullet had exited the body. I put antibiotics inside and outside. I hope the bullet stayed in one piece. I sewed him up front and back. While I was doing this he woke up. He was very weak. I told him he got shot and I told him he was a fucking asshole for scaring me again. He tried to laugh and said he loves it when I talk dirty. Then he passed out again. I finished putting in the stitches then bandaged him up. When I was done I made him wake up. I made him stand up even though I could tell it hurt. He had to get to our bed and not stay on the floor. I couldn’t carry him. He made his way across the room and I helped him get on the bed. He was wincing.

  I grabbed his arm and said this is going to hurt. Then I moved his shoulder around. I needed to know if any bones were broken. It seemed okay. While I was doing it he passed out.

  I took his shirt and took off my bloody clothes and threw them in the wash bucket. I went and stared at the dead man. Trying to decide. How could I get him up the stairs? I didn’t like having him there. But I didn’t think I could move him. I tried but wasn’t strong enough. I cleaned up all of his blood. It took a lot of towels.

  I have a lot of washing to do.

  I got a sheet and wrapped him in it. It was hard to do. Then I duct taped the sheet so it was tight on him. I found the bullet that hit Kevin embedded in the carpet. I pried it up and stuck it in my pocket. Then I took a shower and threw up.

  Kevin started waking up. He was calling for Tammy. That was okay. I went to him. He asked me again what happened. I told him I killed the fat man and saw another one die but wasn’t sure about one but he was gone. Kevin asked how bad he was hurt. I said I didn’t know but he was going to be okay. I gave him some Versed I had and some antibiotics. He fell asleep.

  I got the little mattress we don’t use and dragged it into the bedroom. I made my bed. I lay in it but didn’t sleep for a long time. I listened to Kevin breath in and out and it made me feel better.

  The next morning Kevin woke up and he looked a lot better. He wasn’t so pale. I made him take off his pants and underwear. I wished he wasn’t hurt. I looked at his wound. It didn’t look worse.

  I asked Kevin to sit up. He did but I could tell it hurt. I told him the next day he was going to have to get up. I told him we had to move the body. He said okay. I told him to rest today or it would be worse tomorrow. When I turned around to leave he patted my ass. I knew he was going to be okay. I checked on him all day. He was bored and got tired of reading. I gave him the shortwave radio to play with. That made him happy. Men and their toys.

  I took care of the plants and washed all of the bloody clothes and towels. It took a lot of water and they were stained. I miss my washing machine. I stared at the dead body a lot. And at Kevin. I realized I love him. Damn.

  I fed him. I got him a bottle when he had to pee. He hated that. I told him he couldn’t get up. I gave him another sleeping pill. I wanted to go look at the stars in the living room but didn’t want to be near the body.

  The next morning I made him stay in bed until late. I gave him a double dose of Oxycontin then helped him get up. He was stronger than I hoped. I helped him get dressed. We went out and looked at the body. He showed me where some rope was. We tied the rope around the dead guy’s feet. I grabbed the gun and went upstairs. I looked around but no one was there. Kevin came to the top of the stairs and we started pulling on the rope to pull the body up the steps. We got the body most of the way there and had to stop. Kevin did all he could but I did most of the work. Kevin was pretty doped up, but I couldn’t have done it without his help. I went out the trap door and tied off the rope then went back. Kevin was on the sofa. He was pale and kind of loopy. He told me he needed to rest. I let him. About four hours later we finished moving the body upstairs. Then Kevin went downstairs and slept until the next morning.

  I puttered around and then went to sleep. When I woke up my arms and legs were sore. When he woke up he knew we needed to finish the job. The body couldn’t stay in the house. We went upstairs and it was already starting to stink. We pulled the body to the side door. We checked the windows. It looked okay if we were fast. No zombies very close. We unbolted the door and started pushing and pulling the body outside. Some zombies saw us. They came toward us. We got the body outside. I jumped inside but a zombie nearly got me. It touched me. We bolted the door.

  Kevin sat in one of the upstairs kitchen chairs to rest. After a few minutes he was staring at the trap door. They had used crowbars to pry it up. The wood was ruined. I asked how they knew we were there. Kevin thought for a minute but then said look at the floor. Besides the spots of blood from the guy I shot I didn’t see anything. But when I looked on the other parts of the floor I could see a lot of dust. At the edge of the hidden trap door, a path could be seen. Our tracks in the dust gave us away. Bastards. May they rot in hell.

  Kevin said we will have to fix it. I said not today. He said okay. We went downstairs. He slept some more. I took care of everything. He didn’t have to pee in a bottle anymore. I was glad because he didn’t just pee. I told him he could take a shower and he did. I put fresh bandages on. I gave him more antibiotics. We tried to have sex but it hurt him too much with me on top. It hurt too much when he was on top too. So instead I used my mouth on him. We were both satisfied.

  It’s been a few days and he’s mostly better. The bruises on his face and body have mostly faded. I think it will take a while for his body to be completely healed. But we are having sex again.

  December 13th

  I asked Michelle to write down what happened since most of the details are kind of fuzzy to me. Here are some of the few things I do remember.

  Of course I remember them breaking in and beating me. I remember the big guy saying I had to give him a blow job. I remember being beaten again and him forcing his penis in my mouth. I remember I tried to bite it off, even though I knew he would kill me. I bit down as hard as I could and nearly tore it off before he hit me again. He said he was going to kill me and pointed his gun at me.

  I heard Michelle shout something behind me, and I remember seeing the gun shift slightly in his han
d as he looked up. I remember seeing a flash from his gun as it went off.

  The last few days are pretty hazy. Michelle insists I helped her move the body upstairs, but all I remember is looking at the trap door and thinking what a pain in the ass it was going to be to fix.

  I’m much better now. On my feet again. My first priority was the trap door. I realized it would be impossible to repair it convincingly, since I don’t have any wood or the same stain, so I did the next best thing: I messed with it (mainly one-handed) until it worked, though not as good as it had. I glued a throw rug on top so the edges of the rug were just beyond the end of the boards. It disguises the damage, and I used a rug that used to lie in the same spot when Tammy was still here. It felt right to use that rug. Michelle was a little nervous about me working on it upstairs, but she didn’t try to stop me. She did hover around me quite a bit.

  I started listening to the shortwave radio when I couldn’t do much but lie around. I’ve learned a lot, and most of it isn’t good. Many of the broadcasts are the same looped recording from the Emergency Broadcast System, so I ignore them. I’ve heard a few survivors talking to each other but they don’t answer me when I transmit. I guess the signal can’t get out of the basement.

  The only exception is an older doctor not too far from us, all things considered. He can pick up my signal most of the time. He’s near Atlanta, Michigan, west of Alpena. He hasn’t seen any zombies—his cabin is deep in the woods. I’m going to try and enhance the antennae so my transmissions go farther and I can talk to him more.

  I was surprised at how excited I was to talk to another person. Other than Michelle and those assholes, I haven’t seen or spoken to another living person. Now I know there are other survivors, perhaps a lot of survivors. But where are they and how can I trust them? It used to be a dog-eat-dog world out there; now it’s a human-eat-human world; and watch out for bad guys.

  When I think of how things might have turned out—the bullet might have killed me if he hadn’t flinched when Michelle yelled out. Or he might have shot her. Or done worse—lord knows, from what we saw them do earlier, they would have had quite a good time torturing us and raping Michelle—or raping both of us, more likely.

  Meanwhile, I’ve been enjoying making love with Michelle. She’s very imaginative.

  There’s something different in her eyes, something that wasn’t there before I got shot. There’s still just as much lust, but it seems there’s something deeper and warmer as well. Or, hell, maybe I’m seeing her differently, maybe my eyes are more wide-open.

  When I bit down on that guy’s pecker, I knew I was going to die. But when I looked down the barrel of his gun, I was not afraid. So when I woke up and realized I wasn’t dead, I felt a change come over me. I was glad I wasn’t dead. I wanted to live, and I wanted to be with Michelle.

  Tammy told me to give Michelle the stars. Maybe she didn’t mean for me to paint the ceiling. Maybe she meant for me to put little pinpricks of light in the darkness of these times. I’m no star in the heavens, but I believe I can help make her life easier. I can die knowing I made a difference in someone’s life.

  But I don’t know with certainty if she feels the same about me. I’d hate to hear her say, Gee, Kevin, I like you too, but we’re just friends with benefits, okay? That would . . . ugh. It would be devastating.

  I wasn’t sure of these feelings when I first woke up after I was shot. I knew I felt different, but it took a while for me to figure out how. Over the past few days, she’s fussed over me and taken care of me. The more she does for me, the more she touches me and talks to me, the more affection I feel for her. And yet my fear remains. I’m afraid to fall in love. But is it too late?

  The Wind in the Birch Trees

  you save my life

  one day at a time

  when I find myself

  swimming past the drop-off

  I hear you mumble in your sleep and I am serene

  when I find myself launching

  into dark spaces of my psyche

  you tether me with your bright laugh,

  a carefree echo of song, a quick toss

  of your auburn hair

  you are the wind

  in the mottled white bark of the birch trees,

  the breeze sighing over the sun-dappled grass

  your voice beckons and disrobes me

  until I lie naked and aroused

  upon the sandy ground

  amazed at the sensation

  of shadow and light upon my skin

  December 15th

  It’s amazing the difference a couple of days make. There’s no doubt anymore. I really do love her. It’s not just lust and not friendship or gratitude. When I’m with her (which is almost all the time), I feel whole. I feel healed. She’s wonderful, and although it’s probably some kind of blasphemy to say, I’m glad the Collapse happened because it brought us together. I don’t just want to be with her, don’t just want to have sex with her, I love her. I love her and want to be with her. I want her to be my wife.

  I want to ask Michelle to marry me but don’t want to just blurt it out. Honey, can you hand me the pruning shears? Oh, and will you marry me?! I want it to be romantic, something she’ll always remember.

  Okay, this is just an aside, but my rational side is demanding he be voiced. Here I am gushing on about my love for this woman I’ve only known a few months. Wanting to be together forever without even a clue as to what tomorrow holds. Things aren’t looking up. I think most of humanity became infected. Survivors are few and survival is difficult. Some men have become evil. The long-term outlook is grim. And here I am excitedly pondering when best to propose to her. As if there’s marriage anymore. As if there’s anyone to marry us. As if it’s a given she’ll say yes.

  December 21st is the solstice. That would be a cool day. We could look at the stars. Christmas Eve is romantic, and so is Christmas Day and New Year’s Eve.

  I’m still afraid she doesn’t feel the same about me. But my fear is allayed by what I see in her eyes. And in her touch. When we’re in bed, it’s incredible. If I was having this kind of sex with Tammy, I don’t remember it. Sometimes I almost hallucinate. It feels like our souls are merging. I feel something in me enlarge and expand beyond the room, beyond everything physical. I don’t know how else to describe it. Sometimes, like I said, the experience is so intense it’s hallucinogenic. Other times it’s more subtle, like an interesting note in a beautifully complicated chord.

  But there’s almost always a spiritual element to it I’ve never felt before—or felt but forgot. This is not just a biological function. This is not just an activity plugging into my pleasure receptors. This is something different. This can’t just be an emotional/physical response to the release of our natural feel-good chemicals like oxytocin and phenylethylamine.

  Re-reading what I just wrote, I sound like a spaced-out granola wuss. I feel like I’ve gone off my nut. Maybe I have.

  If I felt like this about someone before the collapse, I would have handled it differently. I might have backed off or kept her at arms length, afraid of being hurt. I might have decided I didn’t want to be in a relationship. It’s so less complicated to be alone.

  Michelle in almost all certainty is my one and only friend in the world. “I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last man on earth!” suddenly takes on a whole new meaning.

  December 17th

  We went upstairs yesterday, something we haven’t done in a while, but we had another small bag of trash. We exited the trap door around 3 p.m. and were surprised by how bright it was. It wasn’t nearly as dim as I expected. Approaching the windows we saw it was a brilliant December day with freshly fallen snow on the ground, an emerald blue sky, and a dazzling yellow-white sun illuminating everything.

  Looking outside we both started laughing. Five inches or so of snow covered everything. Everything! Including the zombies. It was like a sculpture park after a snow. Five inches of snow on their heads. Five in
ches of snow on their rotting shoulders. Their feet buried in snow. Big humps of snow were probably snow-covered bodies of zombies who had fallen in the snow and couldn’t get up. It was eerie; even with the snow on them, they looked like people, not statues. But if these had been human beings, we would have seen the fog of their breath. There was no fog. There was no breath.

  As soon as we started laughing, we stifled ourselves. We didn’t want to be heard. Seeing how slowly they moved gave me an idea. I quickly went downstairs and got the gun off the nightstand. When I went back upstairs, Michelle asked what I was up to. I replied, “Some yard work.”

  I unbolted the side door and stepped outside. It was pretty cold. The thermometer on the outside wall near the door read fifteen degrees. The body of the big guy was still there, thankfully covered in snow. It reduced the stink. Thank God there are no maggots this time of year.

  I quickly walked over to the nearest zombie and shot him in the head. His head exploded and he fell over. Bits of brain made a dry rattling sound as they hit the snow covered ground, as if the brain was completely frozen. And yet they move. How is that possible?

  The closest zombie was slowly turning toward me when I got to him. I shot him in the head too. He fell over. One by one I walked around the yard, shooting zombies, reloading when I ran out of bullets, then shooting some more. I went through a whole box of ammunition.

  I had one unpleasant surprise. As I approached a zombie, it looked somehow familiar. It was completely naked and used to be a woman. The neck had been eaten on both sides, both breasts were ragged and torn, and it had been nearly eviscerated. Shreds of its internal organs hung out grotesquely. Most of one arm was missing. One foot was also gone. Then I noticed lateral marks across the back of its legs and butt. Marks that looked like someone had beaten her while she was still alive.