Sex in the Time of Zombies

mentioned how I wouldn’t let anyone put that thing in my bung hole even if they were offerin’ an entire Chinese buffet.

It weren’t so funny now with those screams seemin’ to come from all around us and John lookin’ like he was about ready to go postal on someone. We didn’t say nothin’ but just kinda looked around, tryin’ to figure out where those screams were comin’ from.

All at once John’s runnin’ again and I figure he musta got a bead on it so I’m right behind him. We turn the corner over by this big, rusty machine that looks like somethin’ outta Star Wars and I stopped so quick I almost fell forward.

Funny thing is, the first thing I noticed was that Ginny was naked. Maybe it was cause I’d never seen her without her clothes on before and my mind just kinda blanked when I saw tits and a dick connected to the same body. But then I saw that her skin was covered in these red smears and she had all these lines criss-crossin’ her flesh like she’d just run nude through a briar patch. And I see how her hands and feet are tied to this metal framework and she’s all spread out like she was in the middle of makin’ a snow angel. She’s got this wild look in her eye, like a muskrat caught in a trap, and there’s this guy leaning over her and yanking on this bandana that’s tied around her mouth. He cinches that thing so tight that even from a distance I could see the way her cheeks just kinda puff out around it.

Maybe John was just as shocked as I was ’cause we both just stand there for a second and the realization dawns on me that the guy gaggin’ my best friend is that same fucker with the beady eyes and the squirrel. Only he must not know we’re there yet since he doesn’t pay us no mind. He picks up this big ’ole knife and he just kinda slices it right across Gin’s belly and she’s squirmin’ around now and I saw that twisted fuck lean over her.

He’s workin’ himself with his hand and for a second I think he’s kissin’ her at the same time. But then I get this sick feelin’ in my stomach as I realize what’s really goin’ down.

“He’s lickin’ her.” I think. “Lickin’ her damn tears.”

I kinda snapped outta whatever daze I was in and see that John is almost to where Gin and the tear drinker are. He’s runnin’ like there’s no tomorrow and he’s got that bung wrench raised over his head, yellin’ to beat the devil.

The bastard attackin’ Gin looks up just as that wrench smacks into his jaw. His head jerks to the side and I see this spray of blood shoot outta his mouth along with a white chunk of tooth. And John is just swingin’ away with more and more blood eruptin’ outta that fucker’s head

The dude is flat on his back now and John is straddlin’ him like a cowboy at the rodeo.

From where I’m standin’, all I can see is his back and how he keeps on bringin’ that wrench down again and again. The factory is echoing with these wet smacks and panting and it almost seems weird, the way nobody is talkin’ or yellin’ or anything.

Next thing I know I’m halfway across the factory and thinkin’ I gotta get Gin untied but I don’t really remember startin to run or anything. It’s like there’s this tiny little piece of memory that was just washed away somehow.

I’m almost to where they are when I catch movement outta the corner of my eye. I’d been so focused on Ginny, I’d totally lost track of John and how he was beatin’ the mortal fuck outta the tear drinker. My head snaps to the side, thinkin’ that maybe there’s actually two of ’em, but all I see is John just kinda stumblin’ around like he was a damn rotter or somethin’. His face is so pale it almost seemed to glow and his mouth and eyes made these perfectly round O’s. He’s got his hands pressed against his belly and I notice how there’s this big, red stain spreadin’ across his shirt.

And then I saw the hilt of the knife stickin’ outta his belly like a meat fork in a turkey.

He kinda falls to his knees, sees me watchin’, and reaches a blood soaked hand toward me.

“Mon… Monica….”

Somehow, I’m suddenly right over there next to the tear drinker and his face is this bloody pulp of swollen skin. I see a tooth stickin’ through his top lip like a piercing and that rat-like nose is now all swollen and bloody and blackened from where that wrench busted it up real good.

After that I only have these little bits and pieces of memory. Kinda like photographs that flash through my mind. I see his hands raised in the air as if he were tryin’ to push me away.

My hands in his hair as I slam his head against the concrete floor so hard I can feel the thud jar my body. That bung wrench halfway down his throat and me just leanin’ on it, driving it deeper and deeper with all my weight.

I see John staring at the ceiling with eyes that don’t never blink or move, a pool of blood surrounding his body like the crimson wings of an angel. Someone who might be me pullin’ the knife outta his gut and tryin’ to muster up the courage to drive that blade into his eye, to make sure that he finds peace with his wife and daughter and doesn’t come back as a freshy.

Then there’s Gin pressin’ against me, cryin’ and screamin’ while I take off my own clothes and put them on her. The two of us, huddled together and staggerin’ away from that damn factory, me in nothin’ more than my dirty undies and her all covered in blood with these little squiggles where the tears cut through it all to showed clean skin beneath.

It musta been close to a week an a half before I actually started gettin’ hungry. Most of the time I just layed around in my lean-to, cryin’ until my stomach muscles felt like I’d done a thousand situps and I couldn’t cry no more. I didn’t sleep much, but when I did I saw Master Twinklebottom in my dreams. He was sittin’ in his shack and tellin’ me stories about how he’d once seen a fish as big as a car and then Granny Foster would come in with this steaming apple pie and say somethin’ about the cows gettin’ outta the barn again.

But a girl’s gotta eat, right? Even if those damn rotters out there seem like they’ve got more life in ’em than you do, sooner or later ya gotta put somethin’ in your belly. Ya gotta find a way to carry on, to keep movin’ forward in the hopes that someday you might feel whole again. It’s what he woulda wanted, see?

So that’s why I’m kneelin’ before this skinny little guy who came around with his cans of tuna. That’s why I’m kneadin’ his prick in my hand, tryin’ to coax an erection from that limp noodle and whisperin’ encouragement.

“You can do it. That’s it. Come on, now. Get it up for me. You want it, don’t ya?”

He nods his head rapidly but his eyes are closed tight and he’s kinda got his tongue peekin’ out between his lips.

“That’s it, John… that’s it….”

His eyes flutter open and he gets this confused look for a second. He seems unsure of himself, like he don’t know whether he should say somethin’ or not. Finally, he does talk. He says in this shaky, small voice, “Uh, yeah… ummm… I’m… my name’s not John.”

I smile as I close my eyes and press his junk against my cheek.

“Honey,” I say with a sad smile, “when you’re with me it is.”

Tiffany Shepis and the Fanboy of the Apocalypse

That no good, two-timing, sneak thief Tanny Henderson had to die. A bullet or two to the head would drop a rotter like Judgment Day, but that would be too good for that degenerate son of a bitch. No, Tanny had to be made to suffer: he needed to experience every agonizing second of the brutality Owen was going to unload on his sorry ass. That backstabbing piece of shit would end up praying to God and the Devil to release him from the torment that would be wrought upon his fleshy prison; and if Old Scratch answered first, the fires of Hell would seem like a welcome relief after what Owen had planned.

He’d already touched down in the center of the campsite, devastating it within the span of a few seconds like a tornado in a trailer park. Clothing was scattered about the clearing as if it had exploded from a central point; rocks and limbs lay atop crushed boxes of food and the little elbows of macaroni resembled the discarded bodies of those who could not withstand the fury of nature. Even the tent hadn’t been immune: its pegs had been pulled from the ground and guy lines coiled about the trunks of trees like nylon serpents; the canvass flapped in the breeze, having been ripped into long, jagged ribbons that fluttered like banners heralding the arrival of some dark god.