This Town - 4
When the Town Purrs
Jack watched as his sisters, Kacy and Heather, led him back home. Their hoodies rode high above their waists, just barely covering the flounce of their pretty dresses. Their near-matching black boots hugged the pale skin of their legs, tight against their knees with every step. Kacy carried the pack -- full of liquor, smokes, matches, and expired food. They'd hit the gas station off 3rd Avenue and a diner on the corner of Main and Cherry. Supplies had been running low for days, and with the way the town was changing -- darker, hungrier -- it was time.
The fog was thicker now. It hung like wet fabric, clinging to every surface. Even the trees looked rusted. Beneath the air, machinery groaned -- not near, not far, just under. Pipes pulsed somewhere beneath the pavement. Gears ticked. The town was ramping up, which meant moods would shift, hearts would beat harder, and temptation would win.
They hopped the fence like they had the last three, hands slipping on the moss-slick wood. The yards all looked the same now -- dry grass choked in ash, toys melted to the ground, trees stripped bare like corpses flayed and left to rot.
That sound again.
They paused, listening.
It was directly beneath their feet. Always under. Rumbling. Vibrating so hard, Jack figured if his sisters sat down and pressed their asses to the dirt, they'd get off.
A low mechanical rhythm -- pulsing, grinding. Gears twisting in their sockets. Pipes breathing now, bursting in steady hisses. As if something enormous was waking up below them all. Or maybe it had always been there. Maybe it had just slept before.
They kept walking.
A rusted grill lay sideways in the weeds. Lawn chairs half-sunk into the dirt. Another fence -- this one newer, scorched, cracked. Jack pushed through it.
The fog hugged everything. Heavy. Wet. It clung to his neck like fingers.
He adjusted the bag on his shoulder. They hadn't seen another living thing in--hell, did he even know how long? Just the machines underfoot. Just the town -- humming. Waiting.
The sky above them glowed with a dull, electric hue -- not from the moon, but from something deeper. Stranger. Clouds circled overhead in frantic spirals, too fast, like they were caught in a silent storm. And through the gaps, stars winked -- sharp, white, impossibly bright. Not gentle. Not distant. As if the world was pushing them forward, trying to seduce the last of the living with a beauty it didn't deserve. Like it was setting a stage for something dark to unfold beneath it.
The pavilion. Slanted. Sagging. But still standing.
Strings of paper lanterns hung from its beams, their light barely visible through the haze. A blanket spread on the ground, candles stuttering low. It looked... alive, somehow. Like it didn't belong here.
This was their place.
The three siblings -- all in their twenties -- had talked about the town, their reasons for being here, but it was all just speculation. The answers weren't in their surroundings, their choices, or even their actions... not as far as they could see.
They stepped into the pavilion and sat in a loose circle. Kacy dumped the pack carefully between them, and together they took stock of what they'd gathered. Among the liquor, smokes, and a few cans of nuts and crackers, they pulled out some clean rags, bottles of water, and a handful of candy bars -- the kind that hadn't melted or turned white with age.
A sudden thud slammed beneath them -- like a pump choking on a brick. The vibration ripped up through the concrete, deep and dirty, buzzing against Jack's balls. His dick jumped hard in his pants, thickening fast, like the town had reached up and stroked him from below.
Both girls moaned.
Heather gripped the cement with both hands, like she was trying to brace against the sensation.
Kacy closed her eyes and bit her lip.
Jack couldn't let the moment pass.
"Maybe it's a good thing," he said. "Maybe it's ramping up for the better."
"Mmhmm." Kacy opened her eyes as the vibration faded.
"Maybe we're right where we're meant to be," Heather added with a sigh.
Jack had always noticed his sisters' beauty. But in this moment, he noticed their absolute allure.
They cracked open a bottle of Maker's Mark -- the seal and cork breaking with a soft pop that felt louder than it should have in the fog-heavy silence. Jack took the first swig, let the burn settle in his chest, then handed it off.
He lit three cigarettes with the same match, flame flaring gold between them like a ritual. One for each of them. He passed them out -- Kacy took hers between two fingers without looking at him, and Heather brushed his hand when she grabbed hers.
They sat in a loose triangle, drinking slow, smoking slower, the air thick with heat and breath and tobacco. The fog pressed against the pavilion like a hand on glass, but inside, they were warm. Buzzing.
Every few minutes, the town throbbed beneath them -- pulses like distant earthquakes, slow and steady, rising through the ground and into their bones. Each one hit a little deeper. Jack could see it in the way Kacy's fingers tightened on the bottle, in the soft shift of Heather's hips.
They didn't speak. They sat there and let the town move through them.
Jack reached over with his cigarette, hand steady despite the cold, and carefully lit the propane heater. It clicked, hissed, then caught with a low roar. The orange glow crawled up the grate, casting flickering light across their faces and sending a wave of heat into the chilled air.
They used it nightly -- not just for warmth, but for sanity. Out here, surrounded by fog and rot, it was the only thing that made the world feel a little less dead.
Kacy scooted closer, her knees drawn up, hands outstretched toward the flame. Heather followed, curling in beside her, the hem of her dress rising just enough to show the pale skin above her thigh. The warmth made their breaths slower, their shoulders drop. Jack moved in too, until all three of them sat within a foot of each other -- close enough to feel body heat, close enough that their thighs brushed every time one of them shifted.
The heater buzzed steady. Their cigarettes burned low. And between them, the air thickened -- heat, smoke, breath, and something else. Something they didn't name.
The bottle circled again. Their limbs were loose now, shoulders uncoiled, cheeks flushed from the liquor and the heater's steady hum. Smoke curled above them like mist made of want. The town pulsed beneath them in long, low waves -- not hard, not sharp. Just constant. Like a heartbeat buried deep in the dirt.
Heather leaned into Jack first, her head against his shoulder, her bare thigh warm where it touched his arm. Kacy followed, pressing into his other side. He didn't move -- just let them rest there, held in place by gravity or something heavier.
Kacy reached behind and pulled the thick blanket toward them. Heather helped, and together the girls stretched it up and over all three of them -- tucking the edges, sealing in the heat. The world outside faded into black. They were just a tangle of breath and warmth now, hidden under the soft cocoon of worn fabric and fading light.
Jack's arms slid around them -- one around each waist. Protective at first. Holding them.
Then he felt it.
The slow roll of Kacy's hips against his side. The way Heather's chest pressed into him a little deeper with each breath. The smell of them -- skin, sweat, smoke, soft perfume clinging to their clothes.
His hands didn't move. But his body did.
He hardened against the weight of them -- slow, undeniable, throbbing thick beneath his jeans. He knew they felt it. Both of them. And neither one pulled away.
Heather's hand found his knee under the blanket. Kacy's breath caught -- just once -- before she let it out through parted lips. Her hand came to rest on his stomach, fingers spreading slowly, tracing the muscle beneath his shirt like she'd done it before, in a different life, a darker dream.
They didn't speak.
The town pulsed again. Slower this time. Waiting.
