Puppy And The Salamander

AUTHOR'S NOTE AND A WARNING TO READERS: This story features fetish elements - specifically the drinking of urine, age differences, and a strong focus on anal sex. There is no vaginal penetration at all in the story. Furthermore, it is an apocalyptic tale set in the late 1800's, featuring zombies, gore, and dread. These elements are in no way sexualized. The inspiration for this tale came from old western movies paired with one of my favourite video games.

It is a work of fiction, and all of the characters in the story are above the age of eighteen.

All of my work - including this one - is copyrighted. © Devinter.

--- PUPPY AND THE SALAMANDER ---

Clutching the rifle in her hand, Victoria tried to steady her breathing. Cold sweat ran down the side of her face, and she swiftly wiped it with the frilled sleeve of her blouse before returning her hands to the 1886 Lebel, squeezing it tight, feeling its heft. The stock of the rifle pushed against her shoulder as she held it steady in a strong grip, just like he had taught her. The man that had come to be her only true companion left in the world. Gretchen didn't count. Not yet. She wasn't sure if she could be trusted if and when things got truly dire - and although the woman seemed sweet, Victoria would not lay down her life for hers. But she would for him. For the Salamander.

Outside of the small cottage, built out of logs from felled pines and with the sweat of men likely no longer among the living, she could hear the terrifying sound of the creatures. Their howls - so unlike any other noise she had ever known - made her blood crawl in her veins; the terrible discordance of beasts that did not belong to this world. Once human, now something entirely different.

The shelter seemed insufficient in her eyes, with vision only in two directions. To the front, a sharp cliff edge leading down into a valley of trees, beyond which the dead moved without pause, never resting. And from the other window, she could see nothing but the mist crawling up over the hills. The red, unnatural, otherworldy mist that the husks loved to skulk in, and that seemed to grant them strength they couldn't have otherwise possessed.

"You see anythin'?" she whispered to the Salamander. That's what people called him, though she was one of the few people that knew his real name was Fred Hansson. And that he'd been a school teacher before the red rain fell and the world turned upside down and inside out all at once. He was in his early 40's, twice her age and old enough to be her father, but he wasn't. On the contrary; he was the man that had killed her father with the polished revolver now swinging from his hip.

That was of course after he had turned into one of those deformed, violent, hollow shells that moved about this world with their twitchy movement and their seemingly endless craving to drink human blood. Victoria had piled up all of the furniture of their neo-gothic home to block the door shut - her heart hammering in her ears - but the creature that had once been her father threw himself at the barricade over and over, scratching at it with his hands that had deformed into a claw-like mass. With the window barricaded by metal slats, there was nothing she could do except wait for her inevitable end. And to scream.

And scream she had. Until her voice gave out. Until tears stained her cheeks a hundred times over, and her throat felt like if she had swallowed fire. Until finally, just when all hope seemed lost, she could her the ringing sound of a six-shooter, fired by a stranger. Then, a saviour. Now, her everything.

Still, it had been tough jerky to chew at first, before she really came to terms with the fact that her family was dead. Victoria had not been the most grateful of souls when they first met - her and the Salamander - and if she recalled correctly, she had threatened to stab him if he got any closer. But the man had just given her that half-smile of his, one corner of his mouth rising up higher than the other, and taken off his hat. Then, he sat with her until she was calm enough - and despite her injured leg, and the fact that she slowed him down in the apocalyptic hellscape, he didn't leave her side. And not once did he ask for anything in return. Three months had passed since their first encounter, though it felt so far away it was like a different life entirely.

"I don't see a thing," he responded - a bit too casually for Victoria's liking - as he peered out of the window through the cracked glass. "But I hear them. I think we'd best stay here for the night, and go to Trader's Cove in the morning." He said the name of the place with distaste, but it was a trip they could not afford to skip. They could do with some more ammunition and they were lugging around objects of silver that were unnecessarily heavy and served them no good other than satisfying the greed of the few remaining individuals still alive in this world that cared for such useless trinkets. Even as the world fell apart, shiny objects seemed to be in high demand by some. It concerned them both that Gretchen wasn't back yet, however.

Victoria sighed deeply. "Rest here? We're too close to the road," she objected. It was meant to be reasonably safe territory, close to Sankt Augustine but far away enough not to run into too many of the mindless husks - and lots of survivors and scavengers would traverse these parts. Evidence that people had rested in the very same house they were now sheltering in was everywhere; an empty canister of food, some scraps of bloodied cloth, a half empty bottle of some unidentified liquid that had a foul odour. The last time they had ventured this close to the city was three weeks prior, when they'd been in dire need of replenishing their supplies, and things had gone terribly wrong. And not because of the creatures; no, because of other humans wanting to steal their possessions - and willing to do so by force. Victoria had thought killing a man would feel different - that something heavy and dark and cold would take hold in her gut. That had not happened. No, those that preyed upon the innocent deserved whatever came their way.

"You want to try and navigate through this?" he asked her, cocking his head towards the window. Undoubtedly, it was going to be dark soon, which meant they would lose sight of anything moving in the shadows - and the red mist already reduced visibility by a decent margin, and would only get thicker. Night time, or when it rained, was particularly dangerous. "Where is that damn lass anyways?"

"Just sayin', boss. You know what happened last time," she reminded him, her voice still kept low. "And I don't like the feelin' in my gut." Victoria squinted as she stared out over the mist-covered landscape beyond, covering the opposite side compared to Fred. A few times a minute, another howl could be heard coming from the darkness of the thicket, and sometimes Victoria swore that she even saw movement right at the treeline - figures that resembled human forms until you saw them up close, their skin ashen grey and bright red in places, their limbs mutated. No two were exactly the same.

The Salamander grumbled at that, and opened one of his many pouches to scrounge for his map, drawn onto what had once been a sheet made of twilled calico. It wasn't particularly detailed; nothing more than lines representing the roads and rivers, with a few key landmarks added here and there. "I think there's a small church and a few farms off-road if we move north," he said, more so from memory than from his scribbles. "But I wouldn't be surprised if other survivors are staying there for the night already. It's the safest spot in this region, I'd imagine. No, I think we stay here."

Victoria let out a deep breath through her nostrils, put the rifle down, and rolled up her sleeves. She untied the knot of her bodice, revealing some freckled cleavage underneath her white blouse. A sign of defeat. The air was dry and filled with dust, but at least the house they had found refuge in insulated them from the wind. She didn't like that it was just the one floor, however. The creatures often found it difficult to get up a flight of stairs with any sort of speed, and had next to no hope with ladders - so high ground was invaluable. The little house, likely built so long ago that the first settlers of these lands had helped with it's construction, lacked all of that. In fact, it didn't even have a proper fireplace or stove.

"Goin' to be a cold night?" Victoria asked, her cheeks suddenly turning rosy. That was code for 'Will we cuddle up together?'. The Salamander had a certain rugged look to him that most would consider handsome - and paired with his undeniable charm and good mannerisms, he was difficult to keep at a safe distance. She had no doubt that before the red rain, he would normally make women go crazy and consider having sex out of wedlock. If he'd have asked for her virginity, she would have obliged that request, married or not.

"You can borrow my coat if you'd like?" He winked at her, knowing exactly what she was actually asking. Victoria had made it clear that she liked his hands wrapped around her. Some warmth and safety in a world gone mad. But the age difference seemed to make the older gentleman uncomfortable, or perhaps he still grieved his lost love. She knew he had been married once, but had never dared to ask for the details.

She made a face of displeasure. "Please don't make me beg, boss." Her eyes flickered towards the window once more, a distant howl cutting through the air outside. It could have been an animal - it was too far away to tell - but it was more likely to be a mindless husk wanting to rip them apart and feast on their innards.

Fred clicked with his tongue and took of his hat, resting it on top of his knapsack. "You're far too young of a lass to act this way," he said with a serious tone. "And I'm far too old to entertain your notions."

"Didn't stop you last night," she snorted back, looking out of the window again. Mostly just so she didn't have to look at him, and show him his words upset her. A moment of silence fell over the small cottage. "Can't play with my emotions if you're going to act all high and mighty about it now."

The Salamander grunted loudly. "I suppose not," he said, scratching his beard. "I apologize, Puppy." He called her that sometimes because of her big eyes, he said - and because they could make any man do her bidding, he insisted. "But we keep our clothes on."

"Fine, but I get one kiss," Victoria countered - and it was clear she wasn't going to take no for an answer. Not this time. She felt her heart flutter a little. Sometimes, she hated how open and vulnerable she was around him, but also realized the importance of not having to grit your teeth and stare into hell every moment of your waking day. The importance of having someone to rely upon, and to trust unconditionally. Someone to talk to - to open up to - as if no barriers existed between them. She just wished she wouldn't have to negotiate each time in order for him to give her his affection.

The man said nothing, just pulled their bedrolls and blankets out of Victoria's leather backpack, and placed them onto the creaking floorboards. "You're not hungry, then?"

Victoria shook her head. They were doing decently well on food rations, which meant they didn't have to worry about hunting for dinner unless there was an emergency. They ate the meat of the animals with some caution, worried that they might be carrying some part of the curse within them too - but an empty stomach would occasionally lead to poor decisions. At least they seemed fine so far. Eating the husks, however, was unthinkable. Starvation was preferred over going down that route.

"Give my share to Gretchen when she returns," Victoria said softly. "That girl is nothing but skin and bones."

"She really should have been back by now." The worry was clear in the Salamanders voice. "What could she possibly be doing out there for a quarter of an hour?"

Victoria laughed. "Probably masturbatin'." It was a joke. Mostly. Then again, would someone risk their safety for some sexual gratification every now and then? It didn't seem completely unthinkable. "Should we go out and look for her?"

"Might be that we have to," Fred conceded. But just as he stood up, he heard a noise and raised his hand to motion for Victoria to stop stirring. "I hear somethin', maybe it's Gretchen."

Something came moving through the mist. Victoria instantly took aim - one knee on the floorboards, the barrel of the rifle resting on the windowsill - ready to shoot the figure in front of them if necessary. The shape moved with purpose, that much she could tell. The hairs upon her neck suddenly rose. This person wasn't coming out of the woods like a stray husk; no, this was a human being making their way towards their hideout with great urgency. They held their breath in anticipation.

"It's her," Victoria breathed out with relief. "Finally!" She let go of the rifle, leaning it against the wall. The tension that had built up in her stomach faded away, replaced by a tingling sensation of succour. "Took her long enough." She glanced at the Salamander and quickly tied her bodice back up.

The woman walked in through the doorway, carrying with her an enormous burden. "It's just me," Gretchen announced, holding one of her hands up. "Sorry to keep you waiting. I found mushrooms!"

Fred groaned as the lass entered the cottage, her loose-fitting dress pulled up to create a makeshift pouch for the small collection of white fungi she had collected. "Don't risk your life for some mushrooms, woman. Can't you hear the howling out there?"

Gretchen smiled impishly. She was almost 25 but far more immature than Victoria who had recently turned 19. Not only that, but she had a tendency to lose her cool in moments of stress - and she certainly wasn't a particularly good marksman. She could hit the broad side of a barn, perhaps - but not with any great precision, and it didn't help that her only weapon was a Lindsay Model 1860, which only held two shots and took forever to reload.

The woman was a recent addition to the small family they had formed; and a temporary one if Victoria had a say in the matter. It wasn't that she didn't like Gretchen - merely that a third person meant fewer intimate moments with Fred, whom appeared extra cautious whenever someone else was around. Not only that, but Gretchen's skillset didn't amount to much when it came to being out on the road. But on the other hand, Victoria did have to admit that she was excellent at sewing and had patched up many of their belongings.

No surprise, considering her family - the Pendlebrooks - had made their wealth in the textile business. A fever had taken her father a few years prior, and her mother was foolishly remaining within their estate, hiding away from the world, worried that going outside would somehow get her infected. That's why she had sent Gretchen with Victoria and the Salamander. To get supplies from Trader's Cove so they could be holed up in there for as long as possible. Plus the woman desperately needed medication. Opium, meadowsweet, willow bark, and herbal wraps.

It was unclear why only some people had turned into mindless, mutated creatures, and others hadn't. Most believed it had to do with God, however. Either that the Lord had punished the wicked by turning them into little more than beasts, or that it had been the work of the devil but that God had intervened and spared those that deserved it. Either way, he had a lot to answer for, in Fred's opinion. A religious man, much the same as everyone else in the late 1800's, but not as pious as some of his former neighbours.

"We're staying here tonight," Fred informed Gretchen as she moved the stack of mushrooms into a sack for storage, which she then returned to her backpack. Her pack was far smaller than the other two, and looked more like a child's bag compared to the large rucksacks Victoria and Fred lugged around. But it was filled half-way with items in shiny gold. They would fetch a small fortune once they reached civilization again. What little remained of it, anyways.

"Sounds good. My ankles are killing me." Gretchen plopped herself onto the floor, letting out an exhausted bleat. The woman reminded Victoria of a sheep at times, with her round, cheerful face and lax demeanour. And it was clear she was a follower, not a leader. Victoria supposed that was a common characteristic amongst the privileged youth.

They laid down not long thereafter - almost fully dressed to Victoria's dismay, as she preferred skin to skin contact - but as soon as the blankets covered her and Fred, she was on top of him like an eagle catching it's prey. Their lips met, and they shared one kiss before they were all tangled up, their tongues dancing as the Florida sun set outside the small cottage. Gretchen paid them no mind. She fell asleep quickly and let out quiet snores as Victoria basked in Fred's scent - which did things to her that she couldn't explain. It wasn't just that he was good looking. There was also something about being in close proximity to someone she trusted implicitly that made the woman's heart swell.

Her body rubbed against his, eliciting small sounds from both of them - and just for a moment, as their bodies melded together into something wonderful, they found a moment of peace in the eye of the storm. A reminder that even when the world had fallen apart, there were still a few good things left in it.

After their lips parted, and Victoria hovered over him, the Salamander stroked her cheek with his calloused hands. He loved this woman's beauty; her red hair framing her pale skin like a fire in the night, her piercing eyes fixed on his. The way she looked at him as if he were everything. They had grown so close in such a limited time; but if Fred was truly honest with himself, she was the reason he kept fighting so ferociously. He simply could not let her down. Thus, in a way, they had both saved each other.

"You are such a lovely woman," he whispered into her ear. "If I was twenty years younger.."

Her face softened up for a moment and she exhaled deeply. It was clear there were many emotions at play, many of which were strenuous to articulate - so instead she smiled, and gave him another kiss, significantly more chaste, before laying down on his broad chest, eyes closed.

"You never married?" she found herself asking as they lay there, sharing their body heat. She already knew the answer. One night, two months prior, when they had stumbled across a few bottles of rum at one of the farmhouses they'd scavenged from, they got drunk together, and she had asked him that very same question when Fred had called her by the wrong name. It had stung more than a little, she recalled.

Fred was silent for a moment, pondering how to answer her question. "I was, in my youth. She passed away. Tuberculosis. But that was many years ago. Long before the world ended."

"The world isn't finished with us just yet." Victoria nuzzled against his neck and ran her fingers over his chest, feeling his warmth, and strong muscles underneath it. "You've suffered in solitude enough, Fred."

"Don't call me that," he sighed, though without any real ire behind it.

"Gretchen's already asleep, boss. Besides, if you didn't want me to know your name, then you shouldn't have told me." There was some cheekiness in her voice that amused the Salamander - but he didn't bother saying anything else, instead just falling asleep with the young lass in his arms, stroking her slender back until the slumber took hold of him.

--- 2 ---

Victoria woke up from his stirring. "What's wrong?" she whispered, still half asleep, and clung to him like he was her pillow. Truthfully, she had not been sleeping much on her own bedroll for weeks already, spending most nights directly on top of the older gentleman. It was dark inside the cottage, with only the faintest of the moon's glow illuminating their faces.