Mark Clodi & Tiffani Speller. About a Woman
A Zombie Chronicles Novel
'It's not like it's that big of deal.' Roger said wearily.
'Not a big deal? Not a big deal?!' she responded, her voice seething and shrill, 'We'll see when I start swelling up like a balloon, when we have diapers to change, college to fucking pay for!'
Sighing Roger protested, 'We're married for Christ's sake! It's what 'married' people do, right? It isn't my fault the condom slipped off!'
The way he said it betrayed something, in the darkness her eyes widened in shock and she knew it was indeed his fault the condom 'slipped' off. She started to reply, to escalate the fight, but her anger just deflated.
However nothing had changed and she was pretty sure nothing would. Roger now wanted a kid, a hundred and eighty degree turn around from the day he took his vows, he also made it clear two or three kids would be better.
She moved her hand between her legs, listening for Roger to stir, he was lethargic, drifting towards sleep, yet not quite there, she had been 'caught' before, explaining that had been humiliating. She usually just slept after another one of what she thought of as 'Roger's Rapids', especially if his foreplay was of his standard performance variety.
Twenty minutes later she was still glowing with the after affects and turned on the television, a cable news channel came on with the latest news about the riots that seemed to be everywhere the last few days. On both of the coasts, Denver, Austin, who knew where or why, no reporters we on the scene, travel along certain corridors was prohibited, it was a total cluster-fuck, so far as the woman could tell no one had come out and used the 'T' word yet. She was leaning towards a domestic terrorist group herself, another group of nuts, like the Constitutionalists or something. This would be just another group put down by the government; the end result would be fewer rights for the remaining people with higher taxes to pay for it. And so it goes.
The news was leading off with a story on several explosions in Colorado, rumored to be nuclear explosions. Someone had smuggled footage out of the 'Denver nuke', and it was all over the air now. The woman sat up, clutching the thin covers of the bed closer around her.
The woman resolved to head to the pharmacy when she got up the next day. The rest of her night was spent watching the news. In the morning her husband poked his head into the room then came in and shut off the television without really looking at it. Before leaving he rumpled her hair and kissed her brow goodbye.
An hour and a half after Roger left a curfew was issued, citizens were ordered to stay in their homes. Twenty minutes after the curfew was issued a man approached the woman's front door. The man was about six feet tall had a bulging belly and wore a gray suit with black leather shoes. His knees and pant legs were muddy and there was a black stain along his right arm. His once designer haircut was mussed, leaving his gray-black hair a tangled birds nest. He was slow, he shuffled instead of walking, he did not knock at the woman's door, he did try to turn the door knob.
The front door had not been used in months, not since Roger's parents had come over for dinner. The woman preferred to go out, not stay at home. The door was locked. The man at the front door tried to force it in, his attempt was lacking and he soon gave up and moved to the next house. The noise he had made stirred the woman in her sleep and she awoke minutes later.
She yawned sleepily and scratched her ribs as she struggled into consciousness. Getting up was a chore, especially after staying up to watch the news so late. She hopped out of bed and viewed herself in the bedroom's full length mirror.
Her old grandma had a wild past, that is one thing everyone agreed on, she still went against the grain living on her own, a few hundred miles away, at an age when most people in their eighties considered retirement homes a welcome respite. The woman continued her nude assessment, legs; good. Arms; excellent. Buttocks; rather nice. Hips, good, breasts, never enough, but the men she had been with had not complained. Lower stomach, well, that is where the extra few pounds had settled.
Now, it actually was 'the morning after'.
'Dr. Bayer's office. How may I help you?' asked the receptionist on the other end of the line.
'Hi, this is Dora Sturges, I am one of Doctor Edmundson's patients. Could I speak to him please?' said Roger's wife.