Zombie Sex (Zombie Apocalypse) Read online

  Zombie Sex

  Decimus Black, Kindle 2013

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form without written permission except for the use of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews

  “You’ve got red on you.”

  --Shaun of the Dead

  -1-

  Some salt, some pepper, and. You know what, I dipped my finger into the simmering pot, tasted like carrots and potatoes – perfect. I wiped my fingers on my jeans and that’s when the doorbell rang.

  He had a black leather jacket on, white trainers, a bouquet of red flowers, and a smile that said: I’m here to read you the seven o’clock news I’m that hot. Before I could tell him how handsome he looked, he came in, threw the flowers on the floor, and scooped me up. His mouth tasted of cold mint.

  ‘Want one?’ He asked. I blushed; he must’ve noticed my eyes locked onto his lips. I pushed him away.

  ‘Not when dinner’s almost ready.’ I picked up the flowers. ‘What’s the point of getting me these if you just throw them on the floor?’ He took them from my hand.

  And threw them back down. ‘Just a distraction for–’ I chortled as he scooped me up again ‘–you like my distraction?’ Our lips touched. This time I didn’t just get a hint of his minty lips but swallowed him whole. The hairs on my neck tingled. My chest warmed. I felt like pushing him away but couldn’t. He squeezed my hips, whispering how much he likes it, and clasped both hands under my behind. I don’t like where he’s taking me. The staircase cracked. I grabbed hold of the beam.

  ‘And where you think you’re going mister?’ What was it about his hair that made my legs go numb? Maybe it’s the color, an autumn red; maybe it’s the way it’s slicked back. I’ll go for the last one.

  ‘Want me to stop?’ I hated that question. It was like giving a toddler a chocolate and taking it away and then asking, “Hey, want me to take it away?” He knew what he was doing. And it was working. Dammit, I told my body to calm down. It did the opposite. We kissed.

  ‘Gu-ess tha-t a no.’ He said in my mouth. While he kissed the funnel of my breasts, I thought of the soup. Was the stove off? Think it was. Would I care if it burned? Not really. It was on a low heat – not like the house was going to burn down.

  ‘Your breasts smell of lavender.’ I raised my eyebrows. He hit the spot head on.

  ‘I had a shower before you–’

  ‘Shut up and kiss me.’ Fine with me. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and dug my nails into the back of his neck.

  He kicked the door open. We laughed into my bedroom. I was waiting for him to throw me on the bed – like he always did. But instead, he held me in front of it and kissed me. Each time our tongues twirled and sucked, my heart grew lighter. I asked him to bite my neck. He said no. I asked him to bite my lips. He said no. I asked him to meet me halfway and suck on my lower lip. He said no. Each no made me want to slide my hands down his body toward the only place where I know I can turn that no into a yes. And I think that’s where he wanted me to go. It was the way he stared at me, a look he usually gave me at work while I’m busy taking calls and writing notes. I bit the tip of my tongue and asked him to lower me. He didn’t say no.

  I’m feeling dangerous. Why satisfy his craving when he declined mine? And he didn’t even ask. I gritted my teeth.

  ‘And that look?’

  ‘You know,’ I ran my finger down his chest, ‘maybe you should ask me again.’ He smiled. Was he contemplating it? How dare he? So he wants to play it hard. Fine with me. I opened my mouth wide enough for him to see my tongue playing with my insides, and then I ran my finger down his chest; until I grabbed hold of his ever expanding bulge. I’m going to enjoy teasing him.

  ‘Get on the bed.’ Before he could do it himself I pushed him. He fell with a grin. I looked at his lips with a hunger that was impossible to sate; four days of sucking that minty flesh wouldn’t suffice. I stretched my neck and felt a bead of sweat trickle. Think my breasts needed fresh air. I looked at my shirt and felt my legs wet. I was either turning myself on or it was his bulge in my peripheral that did the trick. I looked at my gleaming arms and felt hot; could even smell the lavender squeezing through the pores. I cocked my chin up, stretched my lips, and kept my mouth slightly open. My hands felt clammy; I liked it wet. I reached for the buttons on my shirt – starting at the middle. I clicked one open, my shirt felt lighter; I clicked another, my shirt slid; I clicked the third, a black lace became visible. Now do I keep my shirt on? Or do I–

  His hand grabbed for my breasts. I pushed him away. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘This isn’t fair.’

  ‘But.’ Can’t be pushing him away all the time; need to give him some hope. ‘Do you want to open my last, top, button?’ He nodded.

  ‘Then you’ll have to say–’

  ‘Please,’ he leaned forward, ‘Velvet.’ He clicked the last button. The shirt slipped from my body. He smiled not at my face but at my stomach. He rubbed his palm across the surface and licked his lips. He grabbed my back with both hands and gently pulled me closer. He brushed his tongue around my navel and then kissed the wet saliva he’d left behind. Each warm print from his mouth made my legs want to faint. A surge of animalistic love rushed through my body and into my head. I don’t think it’s possible to keep it all in – I want him inside of me. I ran my hands around his shoulders (I like) and felt like taking his shirt off. He was two steps ahead of me; his hand reached for my bra. He was about to snap it off when his phone buzzed.

  I thought he was going to ignore it but then his hands slipped down my back and away. ‘Did you leave something at work?’ He smiled and looked at his pocket. The thing kept buzzing. ‘Is it her?’ The buzz stopped.

  ‘Might actually be work,’ he laughed, ‘we’re in the middle of–’ his pocket buzzed. Why do things like this always have to happen when you’re in the middle of something good? He looked away as if it didn’t bother him but I could tell that it did.

  ‘Do you want to answer it?’

  He grunted and pulled it out. I could see her name flashing on the screen. Great. I walked backward.

  ‘Hey don’t go I can just–’

  ‘Answer it.’ He did. I picked up my shirt and slipped it on. He sounded so calm over the phone; as if he was in an aisle at Toys R Us picking a toy for their newborn. I shook my head and went downstairs.

  While swirling the soup, I could hear him blabber. He was telling her that he was still at work – and that, “Things got a little hectic,” and “Don’t worry we can have dinner together.” The glittery liquid didn’t look so appetizing all of a sudden. So what does that mean? Was he leaving? Did I make this soup for nothing? A part of me wants him to leave her. The only reason I haven’t said anything is because they just had a child. I’m not that cruel. I swirled the soup with rapid strokes. If he was happy with her then why did he always complain about her? I shook my head and heard him call for me. I don’t think I feel that horny anymore. Think I’m going to tip this soup down the drain. He called again – this time I frowned.

  I looked up at the ceiling. ‘James?’ I thought it was nothing, but then he yelled again. Was he crying? I walked out of the kitchen and gazed up the staircase. He was – sobbing like a child – trying to catch breath. I looked at the walls as if it could answer my confusion. I think I knew why he was crying. Did she just find out about us? Or, maybe a family member died, or worse, maybe his child. I rushed up.

  I walked in while closing my buttons. He was in the bathroom. ‘James you ok?’ I knocked on the door. ‘James?’ I heard him sit on the toilet seat. He didn’t answer me back. I knocked again.

  He blew his nose. ‘J-give a minute.’

  I wasn’t going to wait a minute. I needed to know what was going on. I leaned my face against the door. ‘Why are you crying?’

  ‘Velvet please just give me a–’

  I closed my eyes. ‘No.’ I felt angry for some reason. A headache jumped out of nowhere. A few minutes ago we were making love on the bed now he was sitting on the toilet crying. ‘Can I come in?’ I winced away as he screamed at me saying no. And then he continued sobbing. I looked at my shirt to make sure all the buttons were closed. I was going to walk inside so that I could calm him. His phone buzzed – he answered it as if he was holding his finger on the button.

  I’m so sorry Angeline so sorry. He whispered. I scratched my forehead.

  Are you all right? He gasped for air. Is the child all right? Angeline? Why aren’t you speaking to me what’re you doing?

  I think this had to be one of the weirdest moments of my life. I reached for the door handle and then stopped. I could hear him lower his tone even more – to devilish whispers.

  I’m going cut our child you like don’t you Angeline. My mouth dropped open – did I just hear that right? He began giggling. My chest contracted. My lungs kicked out air. I heard a baby scream. The cell went off. I shook my head and opened the door.

  He looked at me as if he had been crying for five days straight. Eyes bloodshot. Lips raw. The sweat and gel an intoxicating mix that made his face glisten. ‘What the fuck is going on?’ I asked.

  ‘I hav
e to go.’ Go where? Do we need to call the police? He couldn’t even push himself up from the toilet. I don’t understand what was going on.

  ‘James please tell me what is going on.’

  ‘I can’t not now.’ He used the sink to pull himself up. ‘Need to get–’ He turned around and held the sink. He coughed.

  ‘Are you, ok?’ He coughed again. Liquid slurped. I walked in to help. But then I saw lines of sweat snake down his neck – like his head was an open tap. I gasped. My heart didn’t feel light anymore.

  ‘I don’t feel good.’ He gripped the sink with both hands. His coughing turned into spitting. His neck now a stream of sweat. I was too stunned – too dazed to compute what was happening in front of me. I made my way around him so that I could see his face but I didn’t get far. He waved his hand back.

  ‘Velvet go.’

  ‘I’ll call the ambul–’

  He waved again. ‘No just go.’

  ‘Are you ok?’ Of course he wasn’t. I swallowed and leaned. I couldn’t see his face. He had it tucked in the sink – coughing. My knees felt weak. For some reason I just wanted to see his face. I stepped closer. And then he swiped his hand back – his nails cut me like a knife. A line of red slid down my forearm. I can’t believe it but I think I was going to cry. ‘James please tell me what’s wrong.’

  His head collapsed into the sink. He began screaming down the pipe. His body convulsed. He gripped the sink harder but it didn’t keep his body stable. And then his knees cracked against the cupboard. I stepped closer but feared for another swipe. I had to do something – I grabbed his shoulder. A tear slid down the bridge of my nose. ‘James look at–’

  He did look, and what I saw, I didn’t like. I let go of his shoulder and stepped backward. His lips were blown up like a purple balloon, his right cheek hung off his face like a slab of meat, lines of blood slid down his nose that occasionally spurted into bigger ones, but it were his eyes that made me slap my hand onto my mouth. They reminded me of marbles my brother used to play with; not the colorful ones, the black glossy kind. He reached his hand out to me.

  ‘H-help please.’ A scream slipped through my hand. My knees shook. I had to grab the wall for support. I looked away and closed my eyes. This didn’t feel real. I need to count, five-four-three-two–

  A thump startled my eyes open. He was halfway toward me, crawling, asking for help. The skin from his cheek fell off. My heart fell into my stomach; think I was going to faint. I skid along the wall and bumped into the corner. With his stomach flat on the floor, he cocked his chin up.

  ‘Angeline me help please it hurts.’ Why was he calling me his wife’s name? I shook my head. I gulped and felt warm spit trickle down my throat. I tried walking backward through a brick wall.

  ‘James stay where you are.’ He slapped a hand forward – pulled. ‘James I-I’ll get some help–’ he slapped another hand forward – pulled. He kept his chin up. His eyes, those ill-black marbles, glinted as if the sun shone on them. He looked at me as if he was looking at his terminally ill mother; saying his last words; not being able to bare the pain. But beneath the sad look, I could see something else, a sneer. Every muscle on his face, except his mouth, drooped in a way that seemed to say, “I’m sorry.” His lips however, the way it hung askew, seemed to say, “Why did you do this to me?”

  While his arms slapped forward I instinctively looked for a weapon. A weapon? What was I thinking? I’m not going to hurt him am I? The hairs on my body pricked against my clothes. I swiped sweat from neck and grabbed of the nearest thing – a hairdryer. He stopped a few feet away and started to cry. I looked at the hairdryer shaking in my hands and then at him. Air left my lungs. He was crying blood.

  He gazed at the floor, coughed, and craned his neck up toward my upper body. ‘Angeline it hurts oh God it hurts.’

  ‘I’m not Angeline!’ I burst out crying. The hairdryer fell out of my hands onto the floor. As soon as it hit the floor, making a crack sound, he stopped crying. He cocked his head down, in a mechanical sway, and stared. Not a single part of his body moved. His gaze was that of a toddler, trying to understand that strange thump, but it was also the gaze of something else. And then it occurred to me, it was like a lion sneaking up to its pray; the gaze precise and honed in. I looked at the blood dripping from his nose and swallowed. My mouth opened, about to say a few words, and then closed. A part of my body told me to stay still. I don’t know understand what was going on. A moment ago we were making love on the bed and now, and now, I can’t even–

  He jumped up on all fours. My chest squeezed inward. He then started swaying back and forth like some weird ritual – his eyes didn’t waver from the hairdryer. Each sway left a fresh line of blood on the floor. But it weren’t the lines of blood that made me want to faint, it were his eyes. Those steel black things. It wasn’t possible. How could his body change so rapidly? I’ve never seen anything like it in my entire life. He stopped swaying. I dug my nails into my skin; think blood was dripping from it. My heart told me to kick the hairdryer away but I couldn’t. My imagination showed me a picture of, him jumping on me like a leech with legs. I kicked the hairdryer.

  It went crashing past him against the wall. He jumped around (gargling out blood) and attacked it. He hammered it with his jaw – kla-klah-kla – trying to get a bite. I looked at my fingers and saw them waving. Adrenaline – that felt like a slap of sunrays – washed over me. While he chewed on my hairdryer in a standing fetus position, facing the wall, I stepped toward the door. Each step closer made me want to faint. Halfway, I couldn’t even walk. The thought of him gazing at me like he did at the hairdryer made me feel sick. And then, the chewing stopped. The kla-klah-klang, gone. My body froze. I need to look at him. If I don’t do it – I can’t. I just can’t do it. Ice-cold electricity shot through my veins. He was standing behind me. Fingers ran down my neck, hot breath puffed against my skin, he spoke words I couldn’t understand.

  My mouth twitched. I glanced. It wasn’t James behind me. It was someone else.

  ‘Eigh ma hurt my lungs.’ He ran his nail down my throat, tickling it. ‘Plea Angelina it hurth.’

  I stumbled backward against the wall. My hand stretched and felt the exit. ‘James please – please don’t just.’ He stood still, head cocked, hand reached out as if asking for money. I ran–

  Past my bed and almost tripped over the carpet. I stole a glance and didn’t see him. I shut the door and dashed for the stairs – that’s when I allowed myself to scream. I could hear the door open (think it was me crashing down the stairs), he was coming for me, he was going to jump down, those eyes, those black eyes. I grabbed my mouth so that I could stop screaming. I ran into the kitchen and smelled the burnt vegetables. With tears gushing down my face I slammed the switch off – and heard my bedroom door creak. My heart jumped from my stomach into my throat. I knew it was my door that’d opened because I heard running down the stairs. My eyes locked onto a glint. Knives. I ripped one out and heard panting.

  He stood at the door holding both sides. He wasn’t panting through his mouth; he was panting through his nose like a buffalo about to charge. His mouth slipped open and showcased a set of healthy white teeth. Until he plucked one out. He threw the tooth toward me and chortled. He plucked another – threw it down. Plucked another – threw it behind. He closed his mouth; it didn’t stop the blood from seeping through his lips. I think I was going to die of fear. I screamed and pointed the knife.

  ‘Stay fuck away!’ I waved the knife. He walked in. He kept nodding at me. I stretched my arm and pointed the tip. ‘Please God – James stay away.’ He opened his mouth. The red water spilled out. He ran to the counter. I ran the other way. We were now walking around the table. Him on one side, I the other. If I can get close enough to the door I can make a run for it. He was slowly walking around the table, tapping his nails on the counter, chortling at me. Cold sweat, from my hair, slid down my neck. This was a nightmare. What else could it be? I swallowed, licked my lips, and dashed for the door – but stopped. He jumped onto the table and jumped toward me. Everything around me turned slow motion. His body turned into a shadow. His chortling sounded like knives carving. I startled from my trance when hot drops spat on my face. He knocked me onto the floor. My breasts throbbed – I screamed. That’s all I could do. Scream. He was trying to bite me. He was trying to fucking bite me. He snapped at my neck and missed. I pushed him away but he came again. I clenched my hand and realized I didn’t have the knife. He slobbered his warm liquid onto me and snapped again. I cried and swung my hand around. When I felt steel I gripped – and screamed (I locked my fingers over the sharp end of the knife). I lowered my hand and grabbed the base. He bit something off me. I think a chunk of my skin. It was hard to tell whose blood it was. He had a piece of my shirt matted on his lips. He was going to strike; I could see those black marbles roll in their sockets. With all my strength I sliced the knife through his throat. His screaming sounded like a choir of demonic voices. It gave me enough time to shove him off. I got up. He grabbed my leg. He looked at me with a child’s expression, “Please mommy, don’t go,” the expression said. I scanned the floor for the knife thinking that I had dropped it. But it was still locked between my fingers.