Arcturus Syndrome

Author's Note

: All characters are over the age of eighteen. This is a work of fiction: any resemblance to person's living or dead is coincidence.

Recap

: Carl and Ruth are survivors of a mysterious plague, and now on the run from the military enforced quarantine zone. Known as the Arcturus Syndrome because it is thought to have reached Earth in a meteorite originating in that region of the sky, the disease so far has been held mostly in isolation at the impact area. In State College, PA, scientists are working to understand the alien infection. What is known is that it inspires unstoppable sexual attraction, along with a variety of other side effects... and has killed most of the town of Philipsburg, PA. Carl has a criminal background, and had no desire to be examined by the government when they eventually move into the quarantine zone. Ruth may have similar reasons for joining Carl's plan. Together, they are working to elude detection.

>>> Day 2 - Morning: Carl

"Spanky's Courthouse Cafe: we

have

to go there."

Ruth didn't like the idea, and she liked it even less when they stepped through the door only to see a table full of state troopers. Carl held her by the elbow and guided her to the back.

As far as Carl was concerned, they were free citizens of these grand United States, and had as much right to a $3 bottomless coffee as any other paying customer. The three egg breakfast with sausage and hash browns looked good too.

Ruth, on the other hand, was twitchy. Nervous.

"Relax, babe. We'll make it to Pittsburgh on time. There's no rush."

Ruth looked like she had a thousand things she wanted to say, but the table of cops kept her zipped up. Carl kind of enjoyed it.

"Unless you just want to go your own way now..." he added quietly.

The waitress approached and Carl put in his order, extra crispy, extra salty on the hashbrowns. Ruth asked for a latte and eggs basted, but was rewarded with a blank stare, and had to settle for coffee with half and half and what would undoubtedly turn out to be a disappointing Eggs Bennie.

Carl put his finger to his lips when Ruth looked like she was going to start discussing the options.

The state troopers were arguing amongst themselves.

"This is the big one," one said. "The towelheads finally got themselves their dirty nuke."

"Not a chance," a second responded, "this is total government fuck-up. We're just here to clean up after some shitshow D.C. cooked up."

A third: "You definitely don't think it's an actual disease, then?"

"Didn't say that," the second said. "You know they have Penn State locked down too, I think maybe something got out of a lab there."

"Another covid strain?"

"Maybe. Maybe worse, if they don't want anyone in or out."

The first chimed back in, "You all know Jerry, though, right? He sometimes drives the Governor. And I tell you, he's heard for sure there's a nuke."

Someone said, "That's just dumb. Why the hell would some Iranian jagoff bring a nuke here? They'd go straight for New York or D.C."

Carl maintained eye contact with Ruth, holding her attention.

Before long, they both felt that heat kick-starting again. She frowned happily.

"You bastard. How do you do it?"

"You want to walk out of here right now, you can make me do it... How do you do

that

?"

Ruth took a deep breath.

The troopers were only in for coffee, and soon the five bulky men banged their way out the front door, with all their armor and all their gear.

"You sure fucking like taking chances, don't you?" she hissed, once they were gone.

"Not particularly, but what do you think it would look like once we came through the door, saw a table of police and ran away?"

"It would look like we changed our mind."

"It wouldn't look good. We already look like a couple of people who were up all night, who waded through a muddy river, hiked another three miles, and stole a car. If it weren't for the fact that just about everyone around here looks like that plus an opioid addiction, we'd have been in real trouble. As it is, it's always better to carry on as if you are right where you are supposed to be than it is to hide or run away. You probably don't know this, but cops are predators. When they see something run, their first thought is:

prey

."

"And what if they thought

prey

anyway."

"Then I would do my best to run faster than you."

"You bastard."

He reached out and took her hand.

"But," he said, "I'm the best kind of bastard."

"The kind that can make me cum ten times a day? That is true."

"Seriously," he said. "We need to put distance between us and this town. Just in case someone heard something, we are

not

going to Pittsburg. We're going to head south on a private little crime spree, get to a place in Georgia I know where we can wash ourselves some new ID, and then, technically, we should each go our own way. Preferably out of the country. However, you might want to go your own way right now. As you have surmised, I am already on the lam, and your fate will be considerably more gentle if you have nothing to do with me."

"Such a gentleman."

"It's all up to you, babe. When push comes to shove, you call the shots here. I'm already a good three years past my expiration date, so it's all gravy for me, but you have a future in front of you."

"I have a dud husband, a dead boss, and a hot bad-boy boyfriend. What kind of choice do you

think

I'm going to make."

"Seriously, Ruth, things tend to get weird around me. Even before this clusterfuck. You can push the reset button without going down this particular road."

She squeezed his hand. "Carl, it turns out I

like

weird."

"To be honest, I believe it. And you want to tell me where you learned to hold a gun? When you had me pinned to your porch, I knew I was dealing with someone considerably more acquainted with firearms than I am."

She smiled coyly. "I came in second behind Becky Yackley in the nationals for women's USPSA. Let's call it a hobby."

"So, just randomly, you're some kind of handgun sharpshooter?"

"Carl, I

told

you, I like weird. Leave a girl some mystery, will you?"

"Ok, but one more question: how the hell did you end up with a dud husband?"

Her expression lost some of it's color. "I don't want to talk about it, Carl. Let's just say, I made some bad choices in my life, and he was the way out."

"Oh shit. He's not a Russian oligarch is he?"

She didn't laugh. "No. But he's in a similar demographic."

"So maybe it's me who should go

my

separate way."

She shrugged.

"Fuck it. I like weird too."

* * *

By mid-morning were on U.S. Route 119 toward West Virginia.

"We are going to need to ditch the car, but getting a new one is a lot trickier now. Back in the Q-zone, they had satellites watching everything, but nobody was going to phone in a theft. Here, stealing a car could draw more attention."

"Why not keep it then?" Ruth asked.

"Because they're going to have footage. They're going to put all the pieces together. Probably sooner, rather than later, so it will be good to ditch this before some fake amber alert comes out on us."

"I am imagining you have a plan?"

"That I do. We need the four C's: Car, Cash, Cel, and Credit Card. And here's how we're going to get 'em..."

"Oh boy."

Forty minutes later, they pulled up at the Schumacher Funeral Home in Blairesville, PA.

"Trust me," Carl said. "Funeral directors are easy pickings. They're already pariahs, and usually about the most wholesome people in town. This will be a breeze."

Ruth adjusted the not-entirely-appropriate tank-top they had shoplifted, trying to make sure the girls were

mostly

contained.

"Ok," she said. "Time to get weird."

They were met by a fellow that more than lived up to Carl's expectations.

"Welcome to the Schumacher Family Services Center. My name is Salvator Pepper. How may we be of assistance?"

Salvator looked somewhat like fresh kneaded, newly risen, but not yet baked bread. Silky smooth, softly rounded, and pasty white. His smile was so artificial it seemed sincere, or maybe the other way around. You couldn't tell.

Carl hung back, while Ruth made her approach.

"We're looking for a rather

large

service, Salvator."

He merely looked puzzled.

"I have something I

need

."

"Well, we are here to help."

"It's not your usual service, Salvator."

"A pet? We have a wide range of options for both standard and exotic pets."

"Mmm, not exactly, Salvator. But some...

petting

... might be involved."

He furrowed his brow. "I'm not sure... what service are you looking for?"

Ruth sidled closer, putting on her best 1940's femme fatale glamor in a millennial minimalist chic costume. Poor Salvator was wearing a tie, which gave her the opportunity to stroke it, pulling him closer.

Carl could only admire her style.

Ruth had her hand on his arm. She held his gaze to hers.

Carl watched as this Salvator swallowed hard, and struggled to keep his gaze at eye level. Struggled and failed. Carl had to admit, he had a hard time getting his gaze

to

eye level, sometimes.

Ruth was really turning it on. Well, she was certainly turning

Carl

on. Watching her sinuously dance around Salvator made him positively salivate. What goddess had he accidentally pleased to bring this smoking-hot woman into his life?

He slipped away to find the office.

In his experience, every funeral home has an office. And in that office is an office manager. Usually a formidable woman in her sixties, probably the owner's wife. Carl wasn't entirely looking forward to his part of the plan, but this was business. They needed resources.

The office was easily found, but the office manager surprised him. A young woman behind a very organized desk with a laptop open, a stack of invoices or some such on either side. No heavy print dress for her, she wore a plain t-shirt tight over a slender frame.

He rapped on the door to get her attention.

She looked up from the laptop.

"Can I help you?" polite but not welcoming.

"Salvator sent me. He said he needed your help with something."

She frowned. "That's odd," she said.

"Let me guess, you the owner's daughter? Salvator avoids you like the plague?"

Her frown deepened. "Do we know each other?"

Carl raised his hands. "Well, don't blame the messenger."

He strolled in and sat down across from her, catching her gaze.

She had brown eyes, brown hair, smooth skin. Probably late twenties. She struck Carl as the kind of clear-thinking woman who had prematurely given up on a passionate life, and was focussed on an orderly one.

"I don't think you should be here," she said.

Carl shrugged, held her gaze. "How are the invoices going?"

"Bills of lading. We're missing some propylene glycol, and I'm trying to match deliveries against inventory to see which vendor shorted us. But you shouldn't be here. Let's go talk to Salvator."

Carl held her gaze and didn't get up. She started to, but paused with her hands on the arms of her chair.

"What?"

"What's your name?" Carl asked.

"None of your business."

"That's a funny name, shall I call you Nun?"

Seeing her paused at the point of rising, Carl enjoyed the very graceful curves to her, with sharpness at chin, cheekbone, collarbone. As she was leaning forward, Carl was able to enjoy the gentle curve there. She was not accustomed to men checking her out and looked even more uncomfortable.

"Have a gatorade," he said. "You're going to want it." He tossed her a bottle of neon orange liquid.

She caught it and slammed it down on the desk.

"Let's go, mister."

"No problem, Nun. My name's Jeff, by the way."

He grabbed the gatorade back when she left it behind, and they left the office. He was pleased to see she was wearing a skirt.

Carl felt the heat in his body, in his belly. He felt the stirring in his cock. He saw a hint of nipple probably behind the padded plate of her mostly-ceremonial bra.

They went back to the welcoming room, which was empty.

Nun glanced at Carl, as if to say, "Well?"

He caught that glance and held it. He shrugged.

"Salvator said he was going to show Jill around."

"Who's Jill?"

"You sure you don't want this gatorade?"

She ignored him but poured herself a cup of water from a glass watercooler with lime slices in ice-water.

"It is a hot day," he said, as if he were agreeing with something she said.

She gulped it down and poured a second one.

"Let's just find Salvator," she said.

There were two rooms of coffins, one for the budget burials, and one with the fancy goods. And there was a small chapel. Ruth, it seemed, had taken Salvator to the chapel. He heard her at the same time Nun did, a low moan, with a giggling trill to it.

"What the?"

Carl quickly grabbed her hand, spun her to face him. With the tingling contact of their touch and the gaze meeting, he felt that haze descending. "I'm afraid Jill may have gotten to Salvator. Are you sure you want to find him now?"

Her eyes dilated, a flush crept into her cheeks. She tried to pull her hand away, but Carl didn't let go.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Jill can be a little... forward..." he said.

"What are you doing?" She tugged her hand again, but taking care not to spill her water.

"I can be a little forward."

He stepped closer to her, ensuring that she would feel the heat. He lifted her cup of water to her lips. "Drink," he said.

She licked her lips and drank.

He took the plastic cup from her hand and tossed it in a coffin.

Carl led her by the hand into the chapel.

The chapel didn't have an altar, exactly, but it had a broad, low table suitable for holding a coffin. Flowers in somber blues and purples banked the space. Ruth had her tank top pulled up, heavy breasts free. She sat on the coffin-stand with her legs spread, skirt wrapped around her waist.

Salvator knelt before her, lapping hungrily at her sex.

"Oh good god," Nun breathed. Carl held her hand tight.

"You see what I mean," he said casually. "Jill just has this effect on people."

Nun weakly pulled her hand. "I need to call Dad. This needs to stop."

But her vision did not waver. Ruth was playing with her breasts, her thighs holding Salvator close. Nun didn't seem able to tear herself away from the sight.

"You can call Dad in a minute," Carl said. "Let's just see how far Salvator is willing to go."

"No, no," Nun said, even more weakly.

Never releasing her hand, Carl squared her shoulders to face the scene. He stood behind her and led her closer. He put his other hand on her hip; he felt her heat also.

"No," Nun said, but she wasn't tugging her hand anymore. Carl let it go, moving both hands to her waist, holding her steady, holding her facing the scene.

Ruth opened her eyes and saw them.

She smiled and licked her lips.

She pinched her nipples and spread her legs wider.

"Ohhhh, Salvator," she said. "You are sooo talented."

She winked at Carl.

Carl pressed his hips very lightly against Nun's backside, brought his chest to her back.

Only half-aware, she leaned back into him, but surely she would feel his arousal, the hardness against her.

Ruth moaned again, rocking her hips to Salvator's hungry motions.

Carl slid his hands up under Nun's t-shirt, flipping the bra cups up so he could massage her there, and tease her nipples. She breathed hard, and pressed her butt harder against him.

"What am I doing?" she asked herself aloud, her words blurry with the erotic haze of the moment. But she didn't stop moving her butt against Carl.

He pressed her nipples gently in, rotating them slowly, softly between his fingers and her ribs. He felt her sharp gasp of breath. He leaned in to softly bite at her neck.

Ruth pulled Salvator up from between her thighs to her breasts. As if to reflect what Carl was doing to the office manager, she pulled Salvator's mouth to her ample breasts, squeezing them and holding him to her.

He eagerly continued his oral ministrations.

"This can't be happening," Nun whispered.

Ruth squeezed her breasts together, pulling Salvator into her soft flesh; she wrapped her legs around him, all while watching Carl holding Nun.

Carl milked at her nipples with his fingers, pulling, swirling, and then pressing again.

Nun's breath quickened, and she moved her ass against him.

"Your turn," Ruth said helping Salvator up.

She turned him so that he could see Carl and Nun.

"Oh shit!" Salvator said, startled out of his haze.

"Oh crap," Nun said.

But Ruth dropped to her knees, stripping Salvator's pants down, and immediately took him into her mouth.

The horrified expression didn't leave his face, but he seemed stunned into paralysis. Carl bit Nun on the neck, playing with her left breast while his hand dropped down. He lifted her skirt and slid his hand under her panties, dipping into her wetness.

"Oh god," both of the funeral home employees said at the same time.

Ruth's head bobbed, her straight blond hair waving with the motion. Salvator closed his eyes, shutting out the complexity of the situation, losing himself in the pleasure.

Nun shuddered under Carl's touch. She seemed to be sinking, as if her legs weren't working well. But Carl held her firmly, sliding his fingers through her slippery lips, spreading the slick fluid, opening her labia. He tapped her sharply, lightly there, but did not enter her. He kept his other hand on her breast and began to massage both clit and nipple in unison. She let out a beautiful soft moan of pleasure.

"I think they're ready," he told Ruth.

She made a delicious slurping popping sound as she released his cock and stood. She pressed him down so that he was sitting on the coffin-altar. His cock stood at attention, glistening with her saliva.

Ruth strolled over to where Carl and Nun stood.

She took Nun by the hand, and Carl took her other hand. They walked her forward.

Salvator kept his eyes tightly shut, until Ruth said: "Watch, Salvy."

He reluctantly opened his eyes.

Carl stripped Nun's panties off, lifted her shirt, left the skirt.

"It's time," Ruth said. She looked like a voluptuous goddess next to the small, thin, office manager. She pressed herself to Nun, letting the woman feel her heavy, soft breasts, bringing her hand to Nun's sex. "It's time to give Salvy what he's always wanted."

Nun barely whispered, "No."

"Oh, yes," Ruth said. "Yes, and yes, and yes. Feel how much you want it."

"No."

"Oh, yes, and yes, and yes." Ruth swirled her fingers expertly. She brought her lips to Nun's, kissing her deeply, moaning into her body. "Yes," she said again, breaking the kiss. "Say it with me:"

"Yes," Nun whispered.

"Good girl," Carl said.

Salvator's cock was of ordinary size, but his arousal was second to none. There was a bead of pre-cum at the tip, and the column of flesh stood perfectly vertical.

Ruth and Carl guided Nun to kneel astride Salvator. Ruth guided cock and cunt together.

"My wife..." Salvator weakly whispered.

"My dad..." Nun replied.

And then Nun began to rock her hips, swirling Salvator inside her, and they didn't say anything more for some time.

Carl and Ruth proudly stood back, admiring their handiwork.

Salvator moaned with pure pleasure as Nun slid herself up and down on him, circling her hips. He reached up to hold her breasts.

The appreciation and wonder with which he touched and caressed her breasts seemed to excite her, and joined him in making sounds of pleasure.

"Shall we?" Ruth asked.

"I appreciate you giving me a choice. But first, the business."

Carl fished Salvator's phone out of his crumpled trousers. He held it to Salvator's face to unlock it.