Tina was on her hands and knees. This was not unusual.
Malachi had his slim arms wrapped around her waist. One knee was pressed to the ground, his other leg bent for him to half-kneel. He hammered his waist into her buttocks, slamming the thick head of his cock into her cervix with every rocking thrust.
Tina cast a tired look to her side. Paloma was being raped on a picnic table. She wore just a bikini top, her panties dangling over one ankle. The silver-haired girl's arms were sprawled and her head was tilted up to the sky, and Tina watched impassively as Kenneth's thick cock rammed in and out of her pink pussy.
Malachi's own cock was pummeling Tina's insides. She felt like her womb had been battered to a pulp by so many rapes--at least, she hoped it had. Anything to prevent the men from getting the children that they desperately wanted.
Malachi's cock throbbed and his hips sped up, fingernails digging bruises into her hips. "Motherfuck," he hissed.
Paloma whined. Kenneth was pinching her nipples, a cruel, almost teasing look on his face.
She heard the dead hiss of Julian's voice in her ear. "If you start bearing children, we won't have to do this anymore. You'll have a permanent home with us. But if you prove infertile, then we'll sell you off to another hungry group of men desperate to secure the survival of our species. And maybe if our semen can't bubble into your womb and conceive the next generation-they'll fuck you so much harder and so much longer, maybe they will."
Her dull, deadened mind barely internalized the threat. It was swept away like every other guttural threat or taunt they had tormented her with since she fell into their clutches.
She wished she hadn't.
On her periphery vision, Tina saw the other men half-standing guard, half-waiting their turn, rifles aimed at the ground. Behind them the truck sat, waiting for them to finish their stop and continue on down the road.
***
One day, when the sun was dimming and the chill of autumn swept the tangled fields of weeds, they met with more people.
Tina could not tell what day it was. She wasn't even sure if the months had changed to years--it always seemed perpetually cold, since the world had ended in mid-spring. Paloma was sleeping in the bed of the truck with a quilt over her, and Tina was sitting on the edge, trying to patch a jacket Kenneth often wore.
The bitter smell of smoke was wafting through the air as a cigarette dangled out of Wayne's mouth. "--have to find somewhere to hole up," he said. "I can feel it getting colder."
"Shit. We may have to make our way down south."
"Who knows? May be better to stay here. The cold might kill off the zombies."
Tina pricked her finger with the needle and cursed. She heard a distant hum in the distance.
"My dad owned a big home in Key West. I got the keys to it. We could easily hunker down in it."
"Wayne, you fuckin moron, how the hell are we gonna get to Key West? It's a god damn island."
"Hey, it's just a suggestion. My dad used to--"
Wayne's voice trailed off as his eyes found something further up the road. The hum was so loud it was impossible to ignore it.
With a jolt the truck stopped, and the men jumped off, aiming their guns. Halfway excited, halfway scared, Paloma and Tina looked over the top of the truck, every molecule of their body preparing to flee as their men lined up with the other men, aiming their rifles at each other.
The still, cold autumn air was frozen, beams of white sunlight glinting off the gun barrels. Two lines of men were standing in front of several beaten-up cars and trucks, bodies wary and defensive. Kenneth had stepped forward, holding his arms out to keep his men back. He was speaking with what looked to be the leader of the other men, an older man with a hard face and salt-and-pepper-hair.
Kenneth looked back and called something, and his men lowered their weapons and flung their rifles back over their shoulders. Wayne turned to Tina and Paloma and motioned the two women down.
***
They were all in front of five large campfires, chatting freely. They cooked food, laughed and joked, and swapped solemn-faced advice, all with their weapons laid to the side. It was a brief allyship, a break in the constant turmoil of post-America--not that it felt like it to Tina and Paloma.
The two women huddled close together at the least-populated fire, near Liam, one of the few men who occasionally seemed to have any sympathy for them. They both warily watched the men who prowled around, their lean faces and hungry eyes following the two women.
"Hey!"
The sudden, high-pitched birdsong of a woman's voice shocked them to the point of completely forgetting about the men. A woman with short, curly hair and a loose lace dress had come from the circle of cars to sit beside them at the fire. Her face was raw with joy, flushed in laughing in a way they could tell had not happened for a long, long time. She had a little baby in her arms, which she cradled to the ripped translucent lace covering her milk-swollen breasts.
"Hi! It's good to see another gal around. Where you from?"
Her cheerful timbre knocked Tina off guard. "We're... from Indianapolis."
"Cool shit! I'm from Chicago. These here your men?"
"If you mean rapists," said Tina acidly, "yes."
The woman flapped her hand. "You'll get used to it. These fellas picked me up when I was running for Michigan. Name's Camille, by the way."
"I'm Tina," said Tina, shaking her hand. She gestured to Paloma, who was still curled up, not saying a word. "She's Paloma."
The baby gurgled, and Camille guided her nipple into its mouth. "You got any kids yet?"
Paloma shivered from beside her. "No. None." She put an arm around her friend and held her close. "Why are you so blasé about this?" Burst out Tina. "These men raped you and forced you to have a baby. This isn't normal. This isn't--you're a god damn sex slave just like we are!"
Camille shrugged and smiled blandly. "Once you start having babies they care less. Let you alone more. Pop out a few kids and settle down somewhere, maybe return to some semblance of normalcy."
"But this isn't normal. Women aren't chattel. To let these--these monsters, these rapist savages--"
"This is the new normal. We gotta get used to it. We ain't going back to who we were--and what we were. We could have it worse. I've seen men that treat their women like cattle. Beat the shit out of them, don't let them get no rest, hit their kids, make 'em work all day, you name it. We're safe where we are. Don't gotta worry about being eaten by a zombie. Got some men to forage, protect us. All we gotta do is do our part. Men are animals. Civilization comes from women. Deprived of that, men revert to their base instincts. Now we gotta bring civilization back."
Her matter-of-fact tone quieted Tina immediately, as did the sense in her words. Although every atom in her mody railed against it, she was right. Men were savages at their core, and this was nothing but human nature, like the horsemen of old burning a village and taking their women as their own. She looked down at the crackling fire.
The men were cooking something that smelled of meat. One of Camille's men came over to her and handed her a slab of meat on a newspaper. She tore it up in pieces and handed some to Tina and Paloma.
It was chewy and burnt, but she ate it anyway. Camille chewed it carefully, and once it was pulped, carefully fed it to her baby, which kicked its fat legs and whined.
"How many other women have you met?" Asked Paloma in a small voice. Tina started. "Have you seen any--any towns? Any cities? Any--"
"Civilization?" Camille laughed bitterly. "Nothin'. Just roving men and a couple women. Then again, we haven't gotten to the real farmland yet. Might be a few families putting down roots and building houses. The way things are, this can't last forever. Eventually the stores are gonna be picked bare and we'll have to grow our own. Then, maybe, things will get better..." Camille looked up at the sky, her round face settling into a wistful mask.
The fire was burning down and blankets were being tossed onto the field. Guards took up their stations at the edges of the group, torches burning and rifles in their arms as they watched out for zombies.
Nicholas pulled Tina into the circle of his strong arms, and pulled her down with her back facing the embers. Julian was fondling Paloma hard, his hands sliding under her dress to pinch her sensitive nipples. Paloma didn't react, even when he pushed her over and mounted her from behind.
Tina mutely spread her legs for Nicholas. The stocky blond ex-soldier had an eight-inch cock, and struggling usually did her pussy more damage than if she lay still and let it slide in. He was incredibly heavy over her, and she could feel twigs bury themselves in her shoulderblades.
The head of his monstrous cock slid into her pussy--easily, she was always wet nowadays, from the semen dumped inside, or from the men pinching between her legs--and started a rhythm. His throbbing length pummeled her cervix, riding her like a filly with every hard thrust he gave inside.
She heard a soft cry from one of the other fires, and looked over to see Camille straddling one of the other men. Her baby was nowhere in sight, and milk dribbled down her chest as the man palmed her breasts. He was jerking upwards, steadily and spasmodically, smashing his heavy waist into her slimmer one. Tina could see his slippery dick emerge from her clenching pussy, then bury itself inside her again.
