Sex in the Time of Zombies

“I swear to God, if you ever… and I mean ever… talk about her like that again I will fuckin’ kill you. You understand? I will cut your balls off and shove ’em down your throat til you die.”

At this point, Tanny would have agreed to wearing a saddle and letting Owen ride him through the forest if it meant getting that crazy fucker of his chest.

“Yeah, yeah I understand., please let me go, I’m sorry, man… it won’t happen again, I promise.”

Owen flipped the cigarette into the woods and picked up the photo of Tiffany Shepis so gingerly that it almost seemed as if he half-expected it to turn to dust in his fingers. He stroked her cheek with the tip of one finger and the rage that had possessed him seemed to dissolve a little more with each loving caress.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, baby.”

He walked over to the little stone wall he’d built and placed the picture within its confines before lighting the tea candle and setting it in front of the photo. For a moment, Owen simply stood there and watched the glow of the candlelight flicker against the glossy surface of the photo. The rage had entirely disappeared and his face was now as serene as an altar boy contemplating the votives at mass. Laying down upon the ground, he curled up his knees into an almost fetal position and began whispering to the picture: his voice was nothing more than a soft murmur, the individual words lost in a rhythmic lull that was occasionally punctuated by a chuckle or sigh.

Tanny had scooted backwards until he was leaning against an old log and he watched Owen as if expecting the man to charge across the clearing at any moment. Every instinct in his body told him to run, to just scamper off into the forest and leave this little campsite far behind; but he was trembling so violently that he didn’t entirely trust his legs to support his own weight and the back of his head was throbbing like a heart trapped within a vise. Besides, what if that crazy son of a bitch saw him? What if he chased the little man through the woods and cornered him? Tanny’s hand scrambled across the forest floor until it felt the jagged edges of a rock and he quickly snatched it, holding it tightly to his chest as if it were a small animal that he had to protect.

I’ll bash his fucking brains out, I swear I will, he’s crazy, just let him try, I swear to God I’ll kill that fucked up nut-job….

But Owen seemed to have forgotten that he wasn’t alone within those woods. His eyes never strayed from the shrine he’d constructed. In fact, he seemed totally oblivious to everything around him: the chirping of insects, the rustling of underbrush as some hidden creature scurried through the darkness, and the distant call of a nocturnal bird that sounded as if it were whistling some secret all-clear signal. None of these things seemed to register at all.

As the flames of the campfire dwindled to the point that there were only occasional eruptions from the mound of red cinders, Owen’s voice had begun trailing off. It would grow softer and softer until there was only the sounds of the wilderness at night to keep Tanny company. Within a few seconds, his body would jerk as if an electric current had just coursed through it and there would be a few mumbled sentences before the entire scene replayed itself. Eventually, however, exhaustion overtook the blond man and snores rumbled from his open mouth.

Tanny wasn’t sure how long he’d watched Owen sleep; long enough to make sure that it wasn’t just some clever ruse, some trap the wacko had come up with to test his companion’s true intentions. Though the back of his head still ached like a son of a bitch, Tanny stumbled to his feet and clutched the rock in his fist so tightly that its crags seemed to be attempting to embed themselves in his hand. He took a few steps across the clearing and stopped, watching for the slightest signs of movement from the sleeping man.

Owen, however, hadn’t changed positions since the last time he’d bolted awake. He was still sprawled across the ground, one hand reaching toward the picture of Tiffany Shepis like that painting on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

Tanny stood as still as the trees in the forest and his heart thumped in his chest so hard he was certain the sound of its beats would stir Owen from his slumber. He tried to breathe softly and scanned the ground ahead for any dry twigs that might betray his presence with a sharp snap.

Taking three more steps, Owen stopped again. Listened. Watched. Moved again once he was certain that his so-called friend was still safely nestled within whatever dreams flitted through that twisted mind.

After what seemed to be an eternity of creeping across the campsite, Tanny glared down at the sleeping man. The rock in his hand seemed as heavy as a brick and he stared at the tangle of blond hair just above the little knot at the base of the skull. Every muscle in his body seemed tense, as if they had been pulled tightly across his diminutive skeleton and longed for release.

I could do it. Right now. Let that bastard see what it feels like. Let him have a taste of his own fucking medicine.

Owen’s chest continued to rise and fall as a tiny spider crept across the folds of his clothes.

Serve that crazy asshole right….

Tanny felt as if he were towering over his traveling companion, as if he were a giant that could rain death and destruction down upon a village that was no bigger than the ones he’d once set upon his mantle at Christmas. It would be so easy to simply swing his arm, to feel the thud jar his elbow and shoulder as rock crashed into bone. So easy to let the man’s blood flow into the hungry soil out here, hidden by the trees and darkness with all the little insects who’d parade in to strip the flesh from Owen’s battered carcass. He could do it….

In the back of his mind a voice that fluttered with nervous excitement babbled.

What if you don’t kill him? What if he wakes up and yanks the rock out of your hand? Shit, you saw what happened earlier. What the fuck would he do if you were actually attacking him? You want to end up being the one left to rot out here? That’s how it would end…. Do you really want to die because some obsessed crazy man got the best of you? Damn it, Tanny think! Think, think, think!

The spider had made its way to Owen’s collar now and it’s spindly legs stretched out as it pulled its body onto bare flesh. The man mumbled thickly as his brow creased and, reaching up with one hand, he flipped the little arachnid away.

Tanny felt as though he’d just plunged into an icy river. Chills tingled his scalp and a sharp pain jabbed through the center of his chest as his heart forgot to beat. He held the rock above his head as steadily as he held his breath.

Kill me, he’s gonna kill me, the psycho son of a bitch….

Owen rolled onto his side and smacked his lips lightly. He sighed and muttered groggily; for the most part it was nothing more than an incoherent babble. But there was one word that Tanny heard as clearly as the hissing embers of the campfire: Tiffany.

At the same time, the blonde man pulled Tanny’s satchel close to his body. He spooned the light brown pack like a lover and nestled his cheek against the canvass as if it were the soft flesh of his obsession.

Tanny thought of all his supplies and belongings, tucked away under Owen’s head. His food. His clothing. The pocket knife and lengths of cord.

Fuck it. Fat lot of good those things would do him if his brains were splattered across the forest floor. He’d put the rock carefully upon the ground and then simply slip into the darkness of the night. By the time this maniac woke up, Tanny would be far away from the mountain; he’d be safe and, with an interesting story to share with other survivors, would begin the process of gathering supplies again.

Yet, part of his soul still burned with anger. It was as some ancient demon had seeped through the gash on the back of his skull and infected his mind with the poison of vengeance. It demanded retribution, some sort of satisfaction for the indignities the little man had endured. People just shouldn’t be allowed to get away with shit like that. It wasn’t fucking right and that bastard deserved to hurt so damn bad that he’d rue the day he ever heard the name Tanny Henderson.

A grin caused Tanny’s mustache to bristle like an angry curr as a cold glee frosted his eyes.

Yeah, he’d hurt this ass licker in the worst possible way. He’d crumble this degenerate fuck’s world just like the rotters had laid waste to the real one. Leave him crying on the ground like a little baby with a diaper full of shit.

With a smirk, Tanny snatched the picture of Tiffany Shepis from it’s little altar.

Owen had been raised in the woods. He’d grown up in a rundown shack where running water meant the creek that wound its way down from the hills and divided the front yard. At eight years old, he’d been left to wander through the night as he searched the forest for the mythical snipe with paper sack firmly in hand. He’d spent the better part of his childhood hiking, fishing, and camping; his grandfather had taught him how to hunt long before he’d even had his first wet dream. Owen knew that sweet little spot just above