The day after: An apocalyptic morning

by Jessy Cruise

  "Let's not make any sudden moves," Skip told his crew as he pulled off his helmet and dropped it to the floor. "They're covering us with guns."

  "Right," Paula, dropping her own helmet, replied a little nervously.

  "I hope they're careful out there," said Mick, who still sounded a little shaky from the flight. "It would be kind of ironic to come all this way and then get shot in the community center parking lot because someone's a little loose on the trigger."

  Skip slowly opened his door and, keeping his hands high in the air, stepped out. On the other side Paula did the same. As soon as they were in the open and recognizable Skip yelled out, "It's okay, it's Skip, Paula, Jack, and Mick. We're back and we're safe."

  Christine was the first to emerge from cover. She had an AK-47 in her hands and a broad smile on her face. She shouldered the weapon and came running over to them as the rest of the gun toting townspeople came out. She slammed forcefully into Skip, her arms going around his neck, her face showering him with wet kisses. "You're back!" she squealed happily. "God, I was so worried!" She let go of him with one arm long enough to pull Paula into the embrace as well. "I'm so glad to see you guys! Is everyone all right?"

  Before anyone could answer a complete crowd was around them, a thousand questions being asked at once. "How was it out there?" and "Did you find any supplies?" and "Did you see any other people?" and many other inquiries about the trip. Stacy, who was wearing her dinner preparation apron, pushed her way through the crowd and found Jack just as he pulled himself free of the helicopter. She slammed into him so hard that he did fall over. Maureen, Mick's significant other, hit him with a similar force.

  It was a good ten minutes before the excitement died down enough to hold a coherent conversation. Each of the expedition members gave a brief summary of the trip to those around them, all of them, for the moment, leaving out the unpleasant details about the cannibals or the widespread destruction.

  It was Christine who made perhaps the keenest observation. After holding Paula and Skip closely, after kissing both of them on the cheeks, she could contain herself no longer. "My God," she said, wrinkling her nose. "You guys really smell bad."

  Though this could have been taken as an insulting statement, laughter was the only response.

  Jack and Mick, more disgusted with the grime clinging to them then concerned about hunger, headed off to the bathing area to clean themselves off. They flipped a coin to see who would go first (which was about the only thing a coin was good for anymore) and Jack won. Stacy, who had been excused from dinner detail for the night (thanks to Paul, she and Sara now had an additional staff of two town women to help on kitchen detail - one of them none other than Jessica) joined him in there to "help with the filling". They were in there considerably longer than was probably necessary for strict bathing and they went immediately home afterward. Mick didn't mind the wait however. Maureen helped him fill the tub when it was his turn.

  Paula and Skip took the opposite approach. They were more anxious to get their teeth on some real food for a change then they were to get immediately clean. Only Christine was brave enough to sit with them (and even she had to sit two spaces over).

  Just as the meal was finishing up - and as Paula and Skip were working on the second helpings that they had been granted as a reward for their mission - Paul got behind the podium and flipped on the PA system. He publicly thanked the expedition crew (two of whom were conspicuously absent, but this was not commented on) and invited Skip to come up and give a general briefing on the mission.

  Skip swallowed down the rest of his tuna salad and canned corn, drank the rest of his powdered lemonade, and then walked to the front of the room. He was cheered as he made the trip but more than one person was forced to hold their breath as he passed, so powerful was the odor of him.

  "First of all," he said into the microphone, "I'd like to promise everyone here that I'm going to bathe just as soon as I'm done talking to you all."

  This statement was greeted with a burst of playful clapping and laughter.

  "It is rather difficult to keep yourself clean out there," he said. "It seems all the decent motels have gone out of business." He let the smile go from his face, putting a serious expression on. "Let me begin by telling you what you probably already know. We have managed to recover a highway patrol helicopter from Cameron Park Airport. As far as I can tell, it is in fairly good shape, there are some basic spare parts and maintenance supplies back where we found it, and there is about two thousand gallons of fuel there as well."

  A prolonged burst of applause greeted this statement.

  "Now this helicopter is a McDonnell-Douglas model 500. It had a range of about 300 miles with only a pilot in it, and a range of about a hundred miles full of cargo. What this means to our community is that, if I can keep this thing running, we'll be able to search for supplies or even game from the air and bring them back here to Garden Hill. We'll be able to recon the surrounding area to try to determine if there are any friends or enemies out there. As a defensive tool, this helicopter will also serve an important role since attackers will be able to be spotted from the air and even engaged from where they least expect it. With the forward-looking infrared pod that's installed in it, we can even see people at night. This aircraft is quite possibly this town's saving grace."

  More applause echoed through the room.

  "But there is going to be some more work involved before we can start using it for this purpose," he said next. "First of all we're going to have to figure out a way to get that two thousand gallons of fuel from Cameron Park to Garden Hill and we're going to have to figure out a way to safely store it. We're also going to need to get all of the spare parts and maintenance supplies over here. What that means is that I'm going to have to fly enough people over there to secure that airport long enough to make ten or fifteen trips back and forth."

  Though he had yet to ask anyone, dozens of volunteers immediately stood and offered their services. Many of them were the newest members of his guard force.

  "We'll figure out who is going to do it once we have the logistics of it down," Skip said, waving them back to their seats. "But before everyone get too enthusiastic about this, I think that maybe I should explain just what kind of thing we're up against out there."

  They all quieted down and he told them, using his no nonsense, this-is-the-absolute-truth, courtroom voice, about the destruction of the land, the dead bodies, and the evidence that cannibalism was taking place outside their walls. Almost everyone winced as he described this last bit.

  "Now what I just told you should serve to clue you in to the danger out there before you volunteer," he said. "It should also serve to clue you in to the danger that just might show up on our doorstep one of these days. So think carefully about it before you put your name up for consideration of this mission. You'll probably have to spend at least one night in Cameron Park, well armed but beyond the reach of help from the rest of us. Keep that in mind."

  Some murmuring rumbled through the room as people discussed what they had just heard.

  "And there's one other thing I'd like to say before I let you get back to your business and I get on with my much needed bath. One of my first priorities with this helicopter will be to teach a few other people to fly it. If, for some reason, I meet an untimely demise, I want this town to be able to continue to utilize this gift that has come our way. Now flying a chopper is a difficult task and I will be a very strict and unforgiving instructor. But if you're interested in learning, start thinking about letting me know. I'll consider each person's request on an individual basis and I will retain the right to have the final say on who is taught and who is not. Are there any questions?"

  There were many, most having to do with the cannibals or the flight training program. Skip answered them the best he could, as quickly as he could, but it was still nearly 7:00 PM before the meeting came to an end and people started to drift away.

  Paul, who had yet to talk with S
kip since his return, saw his opportunity and stepped in before he could get away. Skip dutifully sat back down, Paula and Christine at his side, and spent another half-hour giving a more detailed debriefing of his mission.

  "So that's pretty much how it is," he said wearily when he finally finished. "I figure that we can transport the fuel over 250 gallons at a time, maybe 300 if we use the outside hook. So we need to figure out first of all, what to store it in and second of all, what to transport it in. There's also the Micker of how to pump it efficiently, both there and here. Any ideas?"

  Paul scratched his head for a moment, thinking. "The water tank on the grass fighting rig we have," he said at last. "It holds 250 gallons. We can take it out, reinforce it a little bit with some steel straps, and rig it so it can be carried levelly underneath the chopper. Would that work?"

  Skip thought that over. "I don't see any reason why it wouldn't. Is it a steel tank?"

  "Aluminum," he said. "If it was plastic I wouldn't have suggested it."

  "Good enough."

  "As for the pump, the fire station had an electric powered evacuation pump that we used to get water out of a flooded house. It doesn't pump very fast, but it would be faster than siphoning. All you'd have to do is get a vehicle operating that has an inverter or get a generator running. Do you think the airport has either one of those?"

  "I don't know about the vehicle," Skip said, "but I'm sure they have a generator at the airport somewhere. Question is, will it still have fuel and will it still work?"

  "You'll just have to find out."

  "What about storage?" Skip asked next. "That's the big one. Do we have anything around here that we can use to store two or three thousand gallons of jet fuel in?"

  Paul thought long and hard on that one, turning every possibility over in his mind. He drew a blank. "Sorry," he said, shaking his head. "Nothing that I can think of off hand. We'll have to work on that one."

  Skip nodded. "No real hurry. I'd suggest that we take out that carrying tank tomorrow and get it ready for transport. If nothing else, it gives us a 250-gallon reserve that we can store here. That's enough to fill the chopper's tank almost four times."

  "Sounds like a plan," Paul said, lighting one of his cigarettes and taking a puff, more to drown out the smell of his companions than out of any real desire to smoke. "And I'll put on my thinking cap about the long-term storage."

  "How have things been going here?" Skip asked.

  "Pretty good," he said. "As Christine probably told you, she's run ten more women through the basic gun training class. Most of them did well enough so we shouldn't have the problems we had in the first battle."

  "Meaning they probably won't break and run," Christine said sourly, "or shoot shotguns at people two hundred yards away."

  "It's a start," Paula said cheerfully.

  "How about Sherrie?" Skip asked next. "How is she doing?"

  "Still bedridden," he said. "But no signs of infection or blood poisoning yet, and I've got her off the narcotic pain killers and onto strict Tylenol for the pain. I think the worst danger is over for her now as far as infection, but there's still the danger of pulmonary embolism."

  "What's that?" Skip wanted to know.

  "It's a common thing that happens when people have bone injuries and they're bedridden. Little clots form on the bone ends. If they get big enough, they can break loose and travel through the blood stream to the lungs. Once they get there, they block the pulmonary arteries and keep the oxygen exchange from taking place. The person suffocates to death in a Micker of minutes."

  Skip winced a little. "Is there anything you can do to prevent that?"

  "Blood thinners," Paul replied. "They keep the clots from forming in the first place. Fortunately there were a couple of bottles of Coumadin in storage." He smiled a little. "They used to belong to Jessica's husband. He had a heart condition. Kind of funny that something from her house may be what saves Sherrie's life."

  "That is pretty funny," Skip agreed. "And speaking of Jessica, how have things been with her? I didn't see her here tonight. Any problems?"

  He shook his head. "She's been keeping to herself, just like before you left. Doesn't have much to say to anyone, not even if they say something to her. She does the kitchen duty right alongside Stacy and the others and then she goes home until the next morning. She doesn't even complain about it."

  "She's looking pretty haggard though," Christine said. "Wait until you see her. She looks like she's aged about ten years in the past two weeks."

  "How hard they fall," Skip said without much sympathy.

  "She's scheduled for the firearms class day after tomorrow," Christine said. "That should be interesting."

  "Something to look forward to all right," Skip agreed. "Well, on that note, I think I'm long overdue to get cleaned up."

  "Me too," Paula agreed. "I've never felt so filthy in my life."

  "I'll leave you two to that then," Paul said. "God knows you need it. I'm gonna go check on Sherrie and see how she's doing."

  They left the gym, Paul heading in one direction, Skip, Paula, and Christine heading in another.

  "This is thoroughly disgusting," Paula cried as she looked at the brown, muddy water that had been formed in the bathtub. She and Skip had pumped the tub full of steaming hot water and climbed in together while Christine stood by outside, filling their rinse buckets up for them.

  "That's about how bad we all were when we first got here," Christine told her. "Close your eyes, here comes the water."

  Paula closed her eyes and had two gallons of warm water dumped over her head, turning her hair into stringy brown lumps. "Gross," she complained, running her fingers through it.

  "Get some shampoo in there while I fill this for Skip."

  Christine filled the bucket again and saturated Skip's hair. By the time she was done refilling it again, Paula's head was covered in brown, frothy soap lather. She dumped another load on her, getting much of it off and then ordered her to shampoo one more time.

  "Yes, mother," Paula said with gentle sarcasm.

  In all, it took them almost fifteen minutes just to get the first layer of grime off. As they sat in the muddy water, letting Christine pour buckets over the top of them, Skip's legs were entwined in Paula's still unshaven ones. It felt nice but it was eerily reminiscent of his first night in town with Missy, a woman who was now dead and buried, a victim of rampant sexuality. Eerie or not, sandpaper legs or not, Skip's penis didn't seem to mind. It was standing up at rigid attention, wondering why it hadn't been placed somewhere soft and warm yet.

  "All right," Christine said next. "Pull the drain and stand up. I'll give you each one more rinse and then you get out to clean the tub."

  It was when he stood that the state of his penis became apparent to his team of wives.

  "Well look at that," Paula said with a giggle, reaching her soapy hand out to give it a stroke. "It seems that somebody wants to play."

  "Hey," Christine said lightly, "don't be making that thing fire off. I have uses for it tonight."

  "You have uses?" Paula said. "What about me?"

  "You've had him the last eight days," Christine complained. "I've had nothing but my fingers. I need the real thing, and soon."

  "Eight days in the filth and mud," Paula countered, continuing to stroke up and down. "And he only performed his husbandly duties with me once - on the last night."

  "What?" Christine said, turning on him. "You only did her once out there?"

  "I didn't want anyone to hear us," he said defensively, suppressing a groan at the friction of Paula's talented hand. "And she forced me to that last night. I was an unwilling participant."

  "Unwilling?" Paula cried, letting go and giving the head a playful slap. "You asshole. You loved it. But I need the no-holds-barred kind. It's not in my nature to be quiet during sex."

  "No kidding," Christine said, carrying her bucket over. She dumped it on Skip, washing all the clinging suds free and leaving him mostly clea
n. "Out with you," she told him.

  Dutifully he stepped out, standing next to her, shivering in the cold. Paula, with nothing else to do with her hands, picked up the bar of soap that they had been using and rubbed it all over her legs. That done, she grabbed the disposable razor that was sitting on the edge and began to scrape the accumulation of hair free.

  Christine, after filling her bucket up for Paula's final rinse, grabbed Skip's erection and picked up where Paula had left off.

  "Hey now," Paula told her. "Don't you go making it fire off either. I can see that we're both going to have to utilize it tonight. Let's conserve our ammo, shall we?"

  "I'm just checking out the merchandise," she said with a smile, gripping it a little harder. "Making sure it's clean."

  "Mmmm," Skip groaned, his knees wobbling a little.

  Christine, a naughty smile on her face, dropped down to her knees at his feet. Though she ordinarily disliked giving blowjobs, she slowly slurped him into her mouth, giving a long, teasing suck of the head while her hand continued to jack.

  " Christine," Paula said, feeling her juices starting to flow in earnest now, "don't you dare make him come!"

  Her lips popped free and she gave the head one final lick. "I'm just keeping him interested," she said.

  "Oh, I'm interested," Skip assured her. "I'm very interested."

  Christine stood back up, removing her hands from his organ. "You ready for a rinse, Shellie?" she asked.

  "You know it."

  Christine dumped her bucket on Paula and then ordered her out. The mood of sexuality faded a bit as they were faced with cleaning the accumulation of mud out of the tub. Christine sprayed it with the high-pressure fire hose while Skip and Paula scrubbed away the filth with towels. It took about fifteen minutes before it was presentable again. As soon as it was, they began to refill it for the final rinse.

  Paula bent over to put the hot water hose in place and Skip, seeing her tight ass and her puffy pussy lips peeking at him, could not resist touching her. He slid his hand over the firm cheeks, running it down to the upper thighs. He probed between her wet lips with a finger.