Zombies

Authors Note: The first real chapter of this story and some sex at last! If you've missed it please read the prologue for some plot background:) As always comments are greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading.

Chapter 1

Zoey slipped out of her small house and stole across the street quiet as a mouse, the darkness shielding her as she made her way to the small pub just down the road. She darted from shadow to shadow, uncomfortable with how bright the moon shone tonight.

She was scared but also slightly excited. For close to three months she'd scarcely seen a soul, there had been three cars or four cars traveling on the highway a kilometer away but nothing passing through the village.

But that had all changed tonight; tonight the hotel which had once been the highpoint of the nightlife in this small town she called home once again had light shining through its windows. She moved up the street until she was crouched behind a dumpster peering in through the large windows at the front of the Prince Alfred Hotel.

Inside she spied a strange sight, a young man decisively moving through the large array of alcohol still stocked behind the bar. She'd never been a drinker and her town was evacuated before a run on the local stores could occur. She'd hidden out in her cellar, refusing to leave her sick parents, whilst the army went from house to house, forcibly removing all those who wouldn't come willingly.

She watched as the strange man rejected bottle after bottle, moving down the shelf, until he finally reached a dusty bottle that had sitten undisturbed on the top shelf for a fair while. Zoey watched as the stranger uncorked the bottle and poured a large dose into a glass. She had to admit with his short brown hair, tall frame and athletic body he was pretty cute, from this distance at least.

"What do I do?" She whispered to herself, having become accustomed to voicing aloud her internal monologue. She was scared at what would happen if she approached the stranger. It wasn't the fact that he might turn violent that scared her, well obviously that did scare her but she felt the risk was mitigated by the revolver wedged in the back of her jeans. It was her grandfathers from the war; he'd brought it back from Germany back when the government was less stringent on those type of things. She had a half dozen shots in the barrel and another three dozen in a box in the house. The gun had been kept clean through the years and she'd practiced with it enough during the first stages of the apocalypse to know how to use it. If Zoey had to admit to herself what she really scared of, it was probably the fear of rejection.

"Well fuck it," she whispered, standing up, one hand on the handle of the revolver in her back as she slowly walked across the street to the hotel. She knocked loudly on the door and watched as the stranger got the veritable shock of his life, clean dropping the bottle still clenched in hand.

***

I was standing in a pokey old hotel called the Prince Alfred, a name which gave me a good chuckle when I first spied, it, sipping a fairly decent single malt when the last thing in the world that I'd expected to happen occurred. A knock sounded on the old door. The bottle of Highland Park slid straight out of my hand and I spun around to see who was knocking, hoping against hope it wasn't a zombie banging into something.

"Shit," what I saw was a much bigger shock than seeing a zombie and also a far better sight. A young women, I'd estimate about twenty or twenty-one, stood in the threshold. Her blonde hair ran in ringlets down the side of her face, accentuating her large almond eyes and full red lips.

"Hello," She greeted, her voice was soft and calm, a surprise since mine was the furthest thing from calm imaginable.

"Hey," I croaked, my hand shaking so much I spilled most of my whiskey on to the bench top.

"I'm Zoey," She moved a step closer, her right hand stretched out in front of her, her left behind her back.

"I'm Charles," I placed my nearly empty glass on the bench top and extended my own hand towards her. Her shake was delicate yet firm and her hands were soft without a hint of a callous.

"Pleasure to meet you," I couldn't help it, I laughed at this, "What?"

"Well this is just so absurd," I explained, trying to suppress my laughter.

"How so?" She was smiling now and god was it a smile! Her pearly white teeth were perfectly straight and she had two cute little dimples in her cheeks.

"Well, I mean we're two of god knows how few survivors in the world and I don't know about you but your first alive person I've seen since this thing happened; yet we're acting as if the social etiquette rules still apply!"

"I guess it is kinda surreal," She admitted, shrugging her shoulders.

"Kinda? Damn this is hella-surreal!" I smiled and leant against the bar, "So tell me... Zoey, tell me all about you?"

"You mean about my life before or after the Events," I could tell by the emphasis she put on Events that that was clearly her way of thinking about what I had nicknamed the Apocalypse.

"Everything, both and neither. Sorry where are my manners," I paused, grinning like a loon, "Would you like a drink?" I motioned to the extensive bar behind me.

"Thanks, but I don't really drink," she said, smiling as she said so.

"Are you sure? I make a great cocktail?"

"Thanks all the same," She took a bar stool, one arm leaning on the bar, the other resting on her leg. She started her story, telling me of how her parents had gotten ill, how she had refused to leave them to die alone, even when the fever had wrecked their body and left them nonlucid most of the time. She told me of how she sat with them when they died and finally buried them in the backyard. She told me of how she had moved from house to house, caring and later burying the sick and ill.

She told me of how she had done her own stockpile of food, how she had busied her days over the past three months. When she reached the end of her chilling tail she then jumped back in time to well before the invasion, telling me of her childhood and her family, how she had gone to high school in the area but escaped to the big city for university, how she was only home on holidays when it all started. When she had eventually run out of words I put down the scotch I'd been steadily drinking and just looked at her.

"Shit, that's some life. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be, being sorry never helped anything. Anyway, I have no doubt you have an equally depressing tale," I told briefly of my childhood, how my parents had moved to the UK when I was young and shipped me home to my grandfather's farm during summer holidays. I'd spend long hours shooting, rounding up the animals, fixing broken fences and a hundred other tasks synonymous with running a farm. My grandfather passed away three days before my 16th birthday and that was the last time I ever went to farm, he left a few things, including his old shotgun with a friend, but I could never bring myself to return to the farm itself; I was scared that if I ever did go back it'd feel empty without his large heart and larger soul to fill the place. I'm not really too sure what happened to it, I think the family ended up selling it to one of the adjacent properties.

I finally moved back to Australia when I was 18 and it was time to start university. I'd lived here ever since, only returning to England for two months over Christmas each year. The last time I'd seen my parents was six months ago and I had no idea if they were alive or not, I assumed they probably weren't but had no real proof and that slight hope had been a great comfort some nights, when all I wanted to do was curl up and die. I told her of my exploits in my apartment building and my eventual escape in the large Hummer still parked outside. I told her of my egress from the city and my eventual plan to head deep inland, hoping there might be some small desolate town that hadn't been affected or failing that a government restoration camp.

It was only when I told her about the zombies that she said anything, up until that point she had contented herself with moans of approval or sorrow depending on what best fit the situation.

"Sorry you saw a what?" She eyed my carefully and then looked accusingly at my whiskey, clearly assuming I was drunk.

"I saw a zombie, a walking dead, a reanimated corpse."

"Yeah okay,"

"Listen I'm not drunk," I ruined my statement slightly by taking that moment to knock over the glass in front of me.

'Sure okay,"

"Are you telling me you haven't seen any?"

"Any what? Zombies? No I haven't surprisingly enough," her hand had disappeared from her leg and was pressed against her back where I assumed she had secreted a weapon.

"Honestly, I'm not fucking with you. Honest to god I saw a zombie, killed a dozen of them so far. You've probably buried all yours!" I was angry that she didn't believe me but hardly surprised.

"Easy there, easy there," she had gotten off the bar stool and took a step towards the door.

"Sorry, come back," I calmed down a bit, scared of losing the only human contact I'd had in a quarter of a year, well living contact that is, "Listen you don't have to believe me, but that's what I saw. Why don't I just move on with my tale?"

She treated the rest of my tale slightly more dubiously and I omitted all further mention of the undead from that point. I figured she'd have to see it to believe it; fair enough I would have too.

"Listen," She finally said when I finished my tale, "It's late and I'm tired. If you can hang around another day we can talk more tomorrow?"

"Yeah that sounds great," I yawned too and put the glass in the sink, automatically twisting on the tap before realizing there was no water, just as there was no electricity.

"Well I'll see you in the morning then," Zoey turned around and walked out the door, showing me the revolver she had secreted in her jeans. I watched her go, admiring the sway of her ass as she trailed into the night. I waited until she had departed before picking up the shotgun that had been resting against the bar next to my leg. When I had my weapon safely in my grasp again I moved up the stairs in the back of the hotel and made my way to one of the rooms they kept above the bar. I broke in using my crowbar and created a hasty barricade after by dragging the chest of draws in front of the door. It wasn't that I didn't trust Zoey, but in this new world it didn't pay to be anything less than cautious, even when it came to potential allies.

I eventually fell asleep, the shotgun no more than an arm's reach away, my mind buzzing with both the alcohol and the discovery of another living soul.

***

Zoey left the bar with mixed feelings. On one hand she had met another living soul, but on the other he had clearly been on his own far too long.

"Zombies," she scoffed, closing her door and locking it behind her. She padded upstairs in the near pitch darkness, knowing the home like the back of her hand. She stole into her bedroom and locked and closed that door behind her too.

'Can't ever be too prepared,' her father used to tell her and those words had stuck with her through it all.

She kicked off her ballet flats and peeled of the hoodie and t-shirt she was wearing. She stood in the mirror in just her bra and jeans. She ran a hand over her chest, cupping her breasts and wistfully staring at their reflection, wishing they were bigger.

"Silly me," She said let going of bosom and turning away from her reflection, "I meet a pretty boy and all I can think about is how I look." She tried to banish all thoughts of him from her mind as she unbuttoned the skin tight denim and pushed her jeans off her hips, wriggling until they lay in a pile on the floor. She moved to the bed and lifted the pillow, pulling out the pajamas she kept there.

She was just about to pull on the pink floral patterned nightwear when she stopped and reconsidered. It wasn't that cold of a night and beside... she didn't feel like going to sleep just yet. Maybe it was Charles, or maybe it was because it'd been a week since she'd gotten herself off, but whatever the reason she felt that familiar itch.

She lay on the bed and let her fingers play across her body; starting with her breasts, slowly stroking and massaging them above the bra. She let the small tendrils of pleasure rekindle the fire that was smoldering deep within.

Zoey's right hand released its breast and slowly stroked down her stomach, an image came to her mind unbidden, a shirtless Charles stroking her the exact same way she was now. The hand brushed over her belly-button and continued further south until it reached the elastic of her underwear.

In her mind Charles was teasing her, tracing the lines but refusing to touch the sensitive flesh that lay beneath.

"Please, please," she whispered to nobody but herself, imagining a fierce battle of the wills. Her hand finally obliged her whispered pleas and began to stroke the fleshy triangle through the cotton briefs she wore. Her fingertips dipped lower and lower until it reached her nether lips. She teased around her slit, not quite daring to put any pressure on her most sensitive areas yet.

Zoey abated her self-pleasure for a quick second to reach around her back and undo the clasp of her bra. Her breasts, 36 C and quite acceptable despite her own misgivings, sprang free from their enclosure, her large brown nipples fully erect. She used the fingers of her left hand to pull, squeeze and generally just tease the two nubs while her right returned to its previous position.

She allowed herself to slowly stroke her clit through the faded orange underwear, slowly getting into the rhythm and feeling herself get moist.

"Oh yeah," she moaned, enjoying the slow stabs of pleasure that coincided with every brush of her clitoris. She abated the pleasure of her nipples and let her second hand slip down her soft smooth body to rest atop the elastic of her undies. She lifted her ass off the bed and wriggled free of the slightly damp clothing.

Her left hand played with the soft short blonde curls that adorned the triangle betwixt her legs whilst her right gathered some lubricant from her wet opening before again flicking across her clitoris. She rolled the sensitive nub slowly between her middle and ring finger, slowly sliding her hand up and down.

Her back writhed on the soft Egyptian cotton sheets, loving the expansion of the ball of pleasure located deep behind her navel. Her head rolled back and her eyes closed, her the rhythm of her hand upon her clit speeding up. Her left hand stopped running through her golden curls and slipped down to her wet entrance. By kicking elbow out the side she managed to slip her middle finger inside herself until two and a half knuckles were buried inside her tight wet vagina. She curled her middle finger and slowly rubbed her front wall, trying to but not quite able to reach her g-spot. Instead, she wriggled a second finger inside herself and began thrusting slowly.

The pleasuring rolling through her grew and grew until she was soon bucking her hips without abandon; muffled screams escaped her mouth as she moved closer and closer to that elusive orgasm. Her fingers were pistoning in and out of herself hard and fast whilst the rubbing on her clit had fastened to a near blur. She pushed her hips into her hands and raised her ass clear off the bed. She could feel the waves of pleasure growing larger and larger.

She bit her lip hard as her fingers massaged and plunged deep into her sex, she could smell the pungent smell of her desire and hear the sloshing of her own wetness as she approached her orgasm. It only took a few seconds before she was bucking fiercely and all but yelling, the orgasm breaking over her body like a tidal wave. Her walls clenched down on her fingers and she held tight onto her mound, lost in her own desire.

When the orgasm finally subsided she slumped back onto the bed and, with a bit of effort, slipped her fingers out of her opening. Still in a half comatose state she lay there and just waited, waited either for her senses to come back to her or for sleep to overtake her.