"The Container Castle" (An Adventure from "The Walking Dead")

This is a dead thread that is being rewritten with a new fellow writer, JustAnotherHornyGirl, with permission from my previous fellow writer, Alice2015

Tamara (Tam) Wilson
26 years of age
5'8", 36B-25-36, 128 lbs
Hazel-brown eyes, brunette hair

Polly Wilson
18 years of age
5'4", 35A-24-35, 110 lbs
Hazel-blue eyes, naturally light brunette hair normally worn bleached blonde.

Hannah
20 years of age
5'6", 34B-24-36, 120 lbs
Brown eyes; slightly curly, naturally dark brunette hair worn bleached and straightened.

(OOC: I will also write a couple of male characters, but they don't get descriptions as with the girls above.)



Tamara had been up well before dawn, fully packed, and eager to begin today's trek through the city. She was a country girl, heart and soul, and she didn't like being stuck here in the city. She hadn't liked being here before the Walker Uprising, and she certainly hadn't liked being here following it. For months, she and her companions -- family, friends, and strangers alike -- had been hiding and running, hiding and running, hiding and running all over again. And they hadn't been hiding from just Walkers: they'd been run out of their last hideout by living people with guns and Molotov cocktails, thugs who'd wanted their possessions, their weapons, and apparently more by the way they'd eyed Tamara and her younger sister.

They'd spent the last six days zigzagging across the city to arrive here in the container yard. She hadn't like the idea of being trapped within the rows and rows of containers at first, but as they continued onward they actually found it easier to see the Walkers coming and either evade them or kill them. Of course, the latter would have been easier if they had ammunition for their weapons. They'd fired their last bullet two days earlier and had been killing Walkers with hammers, axes, sharpened sticks, headless golf drivers, and anything else that could crush or penetrate a skull, including the butts of their now unloaded guns.

There had been eight of them moving down a narrow hall between two tall stacks of containers when suddenly there were Walkers ahead of them. They turned back only to find Walkers behind them as well. A kill or be killed fight erupted as the group tried to escape. Tamara found herself leading her sister, Polly, and a young man, Craig, who they'd only recently met, through a maze of container stacks. When they felt safe enough to slow and search for the others, Tamara found something she would never have imagined: a man atop the containers, looking down on them through the scope of a rifle.

She'd initially feared they were going to be shot and pulled her sister and Craig back out of his line of sight. She peeked up at him, finding him now aiming his gun a different direction. She looked that way, too, and found some of the rest of her group. They called back and forth in low volumes, trying to be heard by one another but not by any Walkers who might still be in the vicinity. They were missing people. Their eight was now down to five: Tamara and Polly; Craig and his friend Pete, with whom they'd been traveling for three months; and a 20 year old party girl named Hannah who they'd found a couple of days earlier, passed out after finishing off a full bottle of vodka while trapped inside a minivan high centered atop a fountain in a city park.

From her hiding place, Tamara saw Hannah point upward toward the man before running out into the open, hollering, "Help us! Please! Don't let us die!"

"Get under cover, Hannah!" Tamara hollered, fearful that the teen was going to be gunned down. "Get back!"

But Hannah ignored the older woman, waving desperately to the man 25 feet above her as she continued begging for help. Tamara warned her back again to no avail, then hollered to Pete to get her back, again to no avail. And then, from three directions over the next dozen seconds or so, the Walkers began appearing, all heading for Hannah. Tamara and the others hurried forward to intercept the Walkers, and the battle had once again begun.

Harold was focused on the young woman calling up to him. He didn't see the walkers any sooner than had the people below him. When he did see them, his first instinct was to kill them. Kill wasn't the right word. The walkers were already dead. Stop might have been a better word.

He took aim at a walker but feared shooting the man who was engaging it with an aluminum baseball bat. He looked for another target, found one, and fired. The bullet struck the torso, jolting the walker. The second shot entered the temple, though. The walker dropped.

Harold searched for another target, but the fight was too close. He couldn't help from up here. He'd torch-cut some metal staircases from one of the neighboring buildings and installed them down the inside of the wall. He rushed for one. Thirty seconds later, he burst through a hatch-like door he'd cut from a cargo ship. He'd installed it in the side of a second level container. It let out atop the container that was perpendicular to the others, the one that served as the castle's tunnel-like gates and entrance.

He rushed to the end of the container. Raising his rifle, he began shooting walkers who were closing in on the fight below. In seconds, the fighting was over. Harold looked up and down the yard. More walkers were closing slowly.

"You're all gonna die if you stay out there!" he hollered to them. As they looked his way, they found him now aiming his AR-15 at them. "Drop your weapons on the ground and move to the gate ... and I'll let you in."

Over the top of the group, Harold spotted another walker. He lifted his aim and popped off a round. The walker dropped. He looked back to the people below him. "Weapons to the ground! Walk to the gate."

The response to the man’s demands varied across Tamara’s group. Hannah, who had initiated the call for help, didn’t hesitate, tossing her machete to the pavement, then unslinging the empty shotgun from her shoulder and setting it down at her feet.

“Let us in, please, Mister,” she begged again before urging the others to disarm.

Craig and Pete were still on guard concerning the approaching Walkers, with the former moving out toward the nearest one, ready to crush his skull with his trusty aluminum bat. But after the man atop the container put a round through the Walker’s forehead, dropping it into a still and silent heap, Pete called to his friend, urging him back toward the others as he himself dropped his ax to the concrete. Craig hesitated, but eventually he followed the younger friend's lead.

Polly looked to her older sister for guidance, and after the man again warned them of their imminent demise, both sisters laid down their functional hand weapons and ammo-depleted firearms, too.

“We’re disarmed,” Tamara called up, her hands out to her sides in a surrender gesture. She looked to her left and right, finding Walkers within 40 yards of them. She looked to the man above them. “We mean you no harm. You can see that. Please … don’t let them get us.”

(OOC: As we discussed, I will only speak for the men as you have permitted.)

Harold's attention shifted from walkers to visitors. So did the aim of his assault rifle. He had no intention of shooting any of the living below him. But he needed them to believe he would. This was a new, dangerous, unknown world. And Harold had been alone in it almost from the moment he'd stepped off the Marylou.

He put down a couple of more walkers as the people below him shed their weapons. He slung his rifle, pulled the key ring from his belt, and stripped off one particular key.

"Catch, he said, tossing it out toward the eldest of the three women. She caught it, and Harold explained, "It's for the lock on the door below me. Hurry!"

He put down another walker as the five hurried to the door. He called down, "There is a bar to secure it from the inside once you're inside."

He heard the man who he would come to learn was named Pete ask, "Are we sure we want to go in there? We don't know who this guy is. It could be a trap."

His friend Craig pointed off toward the approaching walkers. "Stay out here if you want. I'm going inside."

Harold heard the heavy metal door creak open. He took down a couple of more walkers as the five visitors hurried inside. The door slammed. After he heard the security bar that he'd welded in place slam downward, Harold returned to and through the hatch. Inside the second level he pressed his ear to holes he'd burned through the steel with a torch. He listened, wondering whether or not he hear anything that should concern him about his new guests?

(OOC: Sounds good, concerning your OOC above.)



Tamara snatched the key out of the air like a single woman catching the bouquet at a wedding reception.

"Watch for walkers!" she told the others as she rushed to the container doors, finding one of those round, heavy duty locks like she'd used to secure her rental storage unit during her time away at college. She hurriedly unlocked the container, ignoring the conversation between the two male friends. She knew they'd follow her inside: what choice did they have? As she and Polly threw open the doors, Tamara hollered, "Inside! Hurry!"

As they stepped inside, lights illuminated near them. They were battery operated, motion detector lights attached to the walls flanking them, and as the five would go further into the container, more of the lights would turn on welcomingly.

"Help me," Tamara told the pair of males. "Pull that down, cross here."

They pulled the doors closed and found a heavy cross bar that fell across some recent welding work, not unlike the way a Medieval castle door might be barricaded. Whoever this man was, he'd thought ahead, Tamara was realizing. She couldn't help but wonder whether or not Pete had been correct in being concerned. As she turned to watch the space being illuminated as Polly moved deeper into it, Tamara began to realize that the quintet had essentially put themselves inside a jail cell.

"What now?" Polly asked from nearer the other end of the container than the one at which her sister still stood. "Where's that guy?"

"Up above us, killing the Walkers that wanted to killed us, I'd imagine," Hannah said, an appreciative tone in her voice. She tilted her head as if looking up and around, then added, "I don't hear any more shooting, though. Think they're all dead?"

As if wanting to answer the young woman's question themselves, Walkers slammed against the door of the container. Tamara nearly leaped out of her skin, spinning and backing deeper into the container. The sound of growling throats and scratching nails echoed throughout the container.

As he passed by Hannah, Craig said with a growl of his own, "They'll never all be dead."

"What do we do now, Tam?" Polly asked as she reached the far doors and pushed them without result. She shoved harder for the same result, then headed back toward her sister and the others. The combination of Walkers being held outside and them being held inside was causing her eyes to glisten with threatening tears. "We're trapped in here!"

"We're not trapped," Tamara tried to reassure her much younger sister as she moved her way. "We're safe!"

"Sure, from them!" Polly said, the first tear breaking down her cheek as she fell into the open arms of her older sister. She looked up toward the container's top as if able to see the man who'd invited them into this cell and asked, "But what about him?"

A rapid, excited conversation broke out, with as many if not more opinions about the fate of the group's members as there were members in the group. There was talk of trying to overwhelm the man when he finally opened the container, but Tamara cut that thought off immediately.

"He saved us from those Walkers!" she chastised. "Have some faith that he isn't a monster like those he saved us from."

They talked some more, then one by one went quiet as they just waited. There were some crates and plastic containers scattered about the walls, so Tamara suggested they all just take a squat, relax, and wait to see what became of them. It was easy to say such to the others, but inside Tamara's own heart was beating hurriedly at the uncertainty of what was to follow.

"It's okay, honey," she told Polly after the two of them sat together and held one another tightly. She looked around to the others, reminding them, "This is the safest we've been in a long time. Just ... enjoy it for the moment."

One by one, the motion detection lights would de-energize, but Pete was pacing slowly from one end of the container to the other, causing them to turn back on when he neared. Tamara eyed him and mouthed Sit! But he only shook his head and continued walking about, his hand on the hilt of the big knife that he hadn't stripped off when told to disarm earlier.

Harold unlocked and unlatched the inside set of doors of the container. He backed away and pulled his 9mm. He called toward the container, "Okay, you can come out. Or in."

In or out sort of depended upon your point of view, Harold guessed. To him it was in: they were coming in to his home. To them, it probably was out: they were coming out of, of what, a cell, a cage? And out into what? Harold had been trying to imagine what they expected. He couldn't. They were literally stepping into the unknown.

He heard them speaking amongst themselves. Then he heard the shuffling of feet. A moment later, the doors opened. One man appeared before Harold. Then another. They squinted against the harsh sunlight. A women stepped up between them. Then the younger two. They all had their own expressions. The thoughts about what was ahead of them, Harold knew, were probably as different as each of them were.

Harold backed away slowly as they emerged. He wanted to keep his distance. He didn't know them anymore than they knew him. He held his 9mm before him in both hands, ready for use. But he pointed it toward their feet. He wanted them to understand the threat of the weapon without actually feeling threatened.

"Which one of you has the knife?" he asked, looking between the two men. They looked between one another as well, as if wondering how the man had known. Harold smiled. "There are peep holes in the gatehouse. Above you. I was listening. And watching."

"Gatehouse?" Pete asked.

Harold began to explain how Medieval castles had had gatehouses. He began pointing out the similarities between these castles and his container home.

But Craig interrupted with, "So, what are you, like, the king?"

"A man's home is his castle," Harold said without realizing that the younger man had actually been inquiring more about him than the place where they stood. He waggled the handgun a bit. "About that knife?"

Pete hesitated, then slowly pulled the big knife out from under the long tail of his shirt. He tossed it onto the concrete near the stranger's feet.

"Who are you?" Pete asked.

"My name is Harold," the fisher answered. A walker slamming against the far end of the gatehouse container attracted the attention of all. It also got reactions from the women still standing just inside the door. He moved around the group toward the doors, adding, "Harold Taylor."

He urged those who hadn't already emerged to do so. He looked to each of the five for a moment. Then, in a show of faith, he holstered the pistol and turned his back to them. As he secured the gate, Harold realized that if he had misjudged these people, this could be the end of this place being his castle.

When their savior's footsteps were again heard above them on the second level of metal containers, then apparently outside on what sounded like a metal set of stairs, Tamara stood and told the others softly to just stay calm. But the guys instinctively moved toward the end of the container opposite from that which they'd entered. The two remaining male members of the now smaller group had become very protective of the Wilson sisters over their months of traveling with the sisters. Tamara knew it was a bit of male instinctiveness, animalistic protection of the herd. She knew it was a bit of macho posturing, too.

Almost from the moment they'd laid eyes on the younger Wilson, both of the long time friends had had difficulties hiding the many erections they suffered for her. Tamara had always been very protective of her little sister, even before the Walker Uprising. She'd had to take over the role of mother in addition to sister after their actual mother had died of cancer a decade ago, and Tamara wasn't about to let just any random horny guy claim her sister's cherry.

In fact, after catching the two men -- who were both younger than her and older than Polly -- flirting with the barely legal girl for the umpteenth time, she'd pulled them aside one afternoon to have a little talk.

"If either of your cocks ever see the light of day anywhere in Polly's vicinity, let alone try to find refuge inside of her," she said to them in a quiet, calm tone, "I'll cut it off and feed it to you, balls'n'all."

The younger Pete's eyes had widened with shock, showing his true belief in Tamara's promise. The older Craig, however, had laughed, not because he didn't honor Tamara's concern for and protectiveness of her sister but simply because the threat had been humorous to him. His laughter had ended very quickly, however, when in a flash the older Wilson girl's hunting knife was at his throat so tightly that it actually drew blood from a nearly three inch long cut that, with more pressure, could have ended his life, as well as his laughter.

Since then, the two men had taken great pains to hide the occasional erections that resulted from their unavoidable fantasies involving the cute virgin. And despite the fact that Tamara occasionally had begun getting naked with him when her own animalistic needs arose, Craig still couldn't help but imagine himself stripped down with the younger Wilson at times, too.

Hannah had added a new sexual element at a time when Tamara feared such distractions could get someone killed. The sexy, flirtatious, provocative 20 year old hadn't been with the group a week, yet she had already found and given pleasure to two of the group, one male and one female. Tamara had been planning on talking to Hannah about the situation, about how she felt that the young woman needed to pick and stick with a lover and avoid some imminent drama. And yet ironically, two of the three people they'd just lost were Hannah's new lovers.

Tamara would contemplate how this loss might affect the new girl later, but right now she had this new development to deal with. Yet when they exited the container to meet their host, Tamara found the situation a great deal calmer than expected. Pete gave up his knife without a stink. And the man -- he said his name was Harold Taylor -- even let down his guard by turning his back on the group to secure the doors they'd passed through.

Out of the corner of her eye, Tamara caught the two male friends eye one another, then look simultaneously toward her. They were looking for guidance on what to do about the man who was no longer watching them, let alone holding a weapon on them. Guidance? She feared for a moment that they might have even been looking for permission. She casually stepped between the two and Harold and whispered to them softly, "Let's play nice, okay?"

Tamara continued past them toward the center of the castle's courtyard, eying the big empty space that occupied a huge chunk of the interior. When she reached the edge, she studied the pit, then the mounds of dirt. It looked like good topsoil rather than the typical urban fill that cities often used in such locations. She looked to the walls of the castle, then to all of the work that had been done, including stairs and elevators and fortifications and so much more.

She hadn't seen any evidence of other residents, and as she turned to face their host again, she asked, "Are you alone, Harold?"

Tamara gave the man a moment to answer, not sure if he would, then continued, "It's obvious that you're planning on staying here a while. Safe and sound behind your castle walls."

She glanced around to the others, then back to Harold. She smiled wide, continuing, "What your little kingdom needs, though ... is peasants. Can't be a king without peasants--"

"Peasants...?" the younger of the males asked with obvious displeasure in the description.

"Shut up, Pete," Tamara said softly, her gaze still on Harold. "I don't mean it literally. And I don't think King Harold took it literally. But ... he knows what I'm getting at. Don't you?"

"This could be a farm," Polly said, having been studying the pit and the mounds of dirt. She looked to her sister, then to her host. "All this dirt. If we spread it ... and got some seed. There was a feed store we passed on the way here--"

She looked to Tamara, the excitement building in her expression. "Remember...? I wanted those jeans in the front window, but there was a Walker inside."

With her eyes still studying Harold, Tamara responded, "I remember."

"This time of the year they'll have tons of seed," Polly continued, hopping down into the pit a foot below her. As she walked the uneven surface, she continued, "Maybe even some plant starts still 'live. Tomatoes. Squash. Seed potatoes for sure."

Polly pulled at the leaves of a weed, turning and stuffing it into her mouth as she said, "And these are edible, too, dandelions. I mean, it's not like we're gonna have a feast fit for a king or nothing like that--"

"You wanna plant a fucking garden?" Hannah asked in disbelief. "Those things out there are trying to kill us, to eat us ... and you want to plant taters? And eat weeds?"

As her four compatriots engaged in a heated conversation about the pros and cons of becoming urban farmers in a Walker world, Tamara started back toward Harold until she was standing just out of his reach, wondering what was going through his mind.

Harold didn't know these people. Should he have expected to have a knife stuck into his back when he turned it to them? People had always told Harold that he was too trusting. But it had worked for him thus far. And it was working now.

He listened to them talk about kingdoms and peasants. And he understood what the oldest woman meant about needing others here. She came up close to him as the others argued the pros and cons of a farm.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Harold answered concerning needing others here. He smiled, playfully. He said softly, "A kingdom needs its peasants."

He stepped past her a bit, to look at the others. He told her, "It'd make a good farm. Or a big garden at least. But..."

She questioned his hesitation. Harold looked at her, then chuckled. "But the only thing I know about farming is that I don't know anything about farming. I'm a fisherman. And a mechanic. Handy man. Always have been. Always will be. I can use a torch and welder to build just about anything from anything. But make something grow?"

He looked to her, then to the others again. He turned and headed for the north wall, telling her over his shoulder, "C'mon. I want to show ya'll something."



Harold gave his five visitors a tour of his castle. He showed them what he'd done with the containers that were now his home. He'd been salvaging this and that and the other thing from here and there and everywhere else. He'd created a full kitchen, a comfortable bedroom with a king sized bed, and even a recreation room with a dart board, some pinball games, and a bar sized pool table.

"I had to cut out that wall," he said. He pointed to the container's interior wall. The burns of the acetylene torch and subsequent welding seams were still visible. He smiled. "But I love a good game of pool."

Craig had been eying the table. He picked up a cue stick and looked down its length. "Straight. Good weight."

He looked to Harold. "You any good?"

Harold laughed. "No one's beat me yet. Least, not on this table. Here."

That got some laughs and jeers both. The others looked about the room for a moment. Harold studied them, seeing their interest in something ... normal

"There's lots of room here," he said with a sincere tone. When they looked to him, Harold went on, "You could each have a container of your own. Two. Hell, you could have ten as far as that goes. Lot'sa room. Like I said."

"What do you want in return?" Hannah asked. Her tone was suspicious. Before Harold could respond, she added, "Nothing's for free. 'Specially nowadays. What do you want from us?"

Harold studied the young woman for a moment. He wasn't much different from the other males here. He'd gotten in a few ogles of the shapely beauty, just as they had. He'd had some fantasies about her. About what she'd feel like. Warm, wet, tight pussy enveloping his long, thick, hard cock. It'd been a long time since he'd been inside a woman at all. Forget being inside a young thing like Hannah.

"Well ... peasants had a nice ring to it," he said, smiling. Some of the others smiled, too. Others rolled their eyes or glared. They were unsure of whether or not he was joking. "But ... how about ... how about everyone earns their keep. That's all. I know what I can offer. What I can contribute. I'm sure ya'll know what you can contribute, too."

Harold looked to Tamara. He'd already concluded that she was in charge. He shrugged, asking, "Whatcha think?"

Tamara looked to each of the others as they stood in a circle out by the open pit. She'd wanted to talk to them away from Harold, just in case any of them had questions, concerns, or reservations they didn't feel comfortable speaking about in his presence.

The general consensus was that they probably weren't going to find a safer, more secure place in all of the city to put down roots. But the question Hannah had posed remained on the minds of most of the five.

"So ... which one of us?" Hannah asked. She looked to Tamara, nodded toward Polly, then clarified with, "Which one of us is gonna sleep with him?"

Polly's eyes widened and her mouth fell open. She looked to her older sister with an expression of panic.

"None of us!" Tamara snapped in response. "No one's gonna be fucking anyone."

"Well, that's a bummer," Pete said softly, smirking as he looked to Craig, who laughed.

Tamara ignored the younger man, continuing, "Harold's not asking that."

"How do you know?" Hannah asked. "He's a man. The only thing a man wants from a woman--"

"I know what a man--" Tamara cut in. But she didn't finish her thought. She glanced at Craig, with whom she'd been bumping uglies off and on over the past couple of months. Hannah may have thought she knew men, but Tamara knew women. Or at the least, she knew herself. And Tamara could yearn for a hard cock just as much as a man could for a tight pussy. She looked about the others again, continuing, "He's offering us a place to live. Live! Not just survive. Live. Maybe even thrive."

"Pipe dream," Hannah said. "I don't like this. I don't trust this. I don't trust him!"

Tamara studied the young woman for a moment before looking about the others. "What about the rest of you? We've always voted. Democracy in action."

"I like it," Polly said quickly, surprising Tamara. "I think we should stay."

"Me, too," Pete said. That didn't surprise Tamara. The younger male would do anything to stay close to Polly or, with any luck, get closer yet, so long as it didn't result in the girl's older sister cutting off his manhood and feeding it to him. "This whole farm thing sounds smart."

"Are we going to be treated as peasants or equals?" Craig asked, his gaze set on Tamara. When she only gave him a knowing look, he thought for a moment, shrugged, and said, "I say we give it a try."

Tamara looked to Hannah again, gave her a moment to realize that she was the odd woman out, and said with a reassuring tone, "We're being given an opportunity, Hannah, that I don't think we're--"

"Fine," the young woman answered with a reluctant tone. "I'm in."

Polly practically bounced the ten feet distance to Hannah, taking her by the elbow and squeezing.

Tamara asked for any last concerns, got no answer, and said, "Okay. I'll tell Harold."

Harold smiled wide at Tamara's news. "Good. Good. I'm glad to hear it. You won't be sorry. You'll like it here, I think. You'll be safe. I promise, um ... I'm sorry, I still don't know your name."

She told him, and Harold asked for the names of the others. He'd been in the makeshift kitchen, awaiting Tamara's decision. It wasn't quite homey yet. It was still missing some key features, but what counted at this moment was there. Namely, a folding table now crowded with food and disposable dinner ware.

"It's not much," Harold apologized. He explained about having spent the first months at sea. "By the time we returned to port, all the fresh food was gone."

He showed a can of tuna to Tamara, chuckled, and began opening it. "I haven't eaten fish from a can since I was six years old. There's beans, corn ... more of the standard vegetables. Some corn hash..."

Harold went through the rest of the offerings. He laughed, pointing at a half case of cans sitting atop a crate that served as a kitchen counter. "Mystery food. Haven't had to open them yet. Maybe if we grow a garden, we won't have to."

Harold could see there was more on his guest's mind than lunch. He thought he'd caught Tamara glancing at the pistol in his belt. He knew what the issue was. He reached to his waist and removed the 9mm, still in its holster. He stretched over the folding table and set it before Tamara.

"You're their leader, right?" Harold listened to whatever answer Tamara wanted to give, if any. "You should be the one with the gun, then."

He chuckled a bit. "I have to confess. I'm not sure that I trust some of them anymore than they trust me."

Harold glanced toward the open window that looked out over what in a castle would have been called the inner ward. He'd discovered a container filled with window panes of all sizes, imported from Viet Nam. He'd only just two days ago begun cutting holes for them in the inner walls of some of the containers. Most of what constituted his home had at least one window now.

"I wasn't eavesdropping, Tamara, but ... I did hear some of what was being said down there," he informed her. He looked to the gun. "They might trust me more if you were packing. And I might trust them more if only you were packing."

Harold stepped slowly closer to the castle's new resident until he was within arms reach of her.

"Does that work for you, Tamara?" he asked, extending his right hand. "For now, I mean."

Harold was beginning his new arrangement with Tamara and her traveling partners the right way, in her opinion, laying out a spread of food like nothing they’d seen in weeks. It had only been a few months since the world had fallen apart, and yet the shortages of basic necessities -- food in particular -- had already become obvious. Especially here in the city, where most families had had less than a month's worth of food in their cupboards and the stores had been bought out of the good food and then plundered of the rest in those first days or even hours of the Walker Uprising.

But when Harold set the pistol before her and told her she should bear it and it’s meaning,Tamara began to wonder if her own worries -- hidden from the others -- about the man and the situation could be set aside.

"That works for me," she said, taking his hand.

She didn't take the gun, though, reaching instead for an unopened jar of green olives, gesturing it toward her host as if needing his permission, and then opening it.

"Got hooked on these while bartending at the Empty Saddle when I was in college," she said, popping one of the olives into her mouth. "It was cross the street and down the block from the fairgrounds, where the rodeos were held. Cowboys. Real cowboys, not these urban cowboy wanna-be's. Don't know why we stocked garnishes for martinis in a shit kickers bar, though.”

She tossed another olive into her mouth, capped the jar, and set it aside as she crossed to the window. She’d listened to what he’d said about overhearing them talking, and she wondered just what topics had ir had not been heard.

“Hannah thinks you’re just looking for someone to keep you warm at night,” Tamara said, looking down upon the others. “Among other between the sheets sorts of things.”

She looked back over her shoulder to Harold, and while she couldn't be certain, she thought she might have caught him ogling her ass. She wasn’t the conceited type, but Tamara also wouldn’t have blamed him. She’d just donned a pair of yoga pants she’d salvaged from an abandoned home and had been about to slip some cut-off shorts over them -- giving her pockets and loops for her all important belt and the weapons she carried on it -- when the walkers had set upon, so the lower roundness of her shapely, fit ass was well displayed below the tail of her button up shirt.

She gave Harold a slight smile before turning back to look at the others, eager to hear his response to the accusation.

Harold smiled, then laughed. Tamara had been very blunt in suggesting that he was looking for a place to park his cock at night. He was, of course. Hell, what man wasn't? At all times! But that wasn't the sole reason for making the offer.

He made his way over to the window. Standing beside Tamara, he looked down on the others. A pair were in the pit near a topsoil pile. The other pair surveyed the castle wall. The two women below were young and good looking. Despite the dirt and grime, wear and tear of being on the run. They'll clean up fine, he thought.

"They're a bit young, I think," he said with a soft tone. He glanced to Tamara, smirking. Was she wondering whether or not she was too young for him? Harold turned away. "But, speaking of keeping my bed warm..."

He looked back over his shoulder at her, gesturing her with a curling finger. He stopped at the entry to what was his bedroom. He'd simply removed one of the doors of each container butted up to one another.

"There aren't enough beds, obviously," he said. He pulled back the blanket that now served as the bedroom's door. "I want you girls to take my room for now. King sized bed. It'll serve you 'til we can get more. The guys and I can sleep out here."

Tamara couldn't help but smile wide when Harold spoke of keeping his bed warm, then gestured her toward it. His explanation about the sleeping arrangements he was nice and she thanked him. She tried to argue that it was unnecessary, that they'd been sleeping anywhere and everywhere and a soft mattress wasn't necessary, but he was insistent.

"I'm going to call the others up to eat," she said, returning to Harold's kitchen and another green olive. "But ... I want to talk to you more about what it is that you actually want from us. Beyond growing potatoes and tomatoes, I mean."



The evening was like nothing Tamara and the others had experienced since the Uprising began. They'd stopped eating only when they were full, rather than when they'd run out of food as was the routine. They'd sat and told jokes and stories and laughed to their hearts' content without hushing one another again and again in fear of drawing attention from the Walkers. And showers. Showers! Harold had rigged a propane tank he'd taken from a forklift to a gas heater, and the heater to a tank filled with rain water. There had been enough hot water for each of them to stand under the water until their skin was pruning.

"We need clothes, clean clothes," Polly told her sister as she dried. She sniffed at the tank top that she'd been wearing for more than two weeks, grimacing, then held her panties up before her. They were falling apart. "Don't supposed there's a Victoria's Secret down here on the docks is there?"

They laughed and talked a bit more, then made their way to where Harold and the others were hanging out near what they'd decided would in fact become their garden. She looked around to each of the others, making eye contact, knowing eye contact.

"So, we discussed it, your offer," Tamara began, her gaze on Harold. "We're in."

She listed the reasons why she thought this place would make a safe, secure, prosperous home. She told Harold what she thought the group could offer. Some of the others chimed in, clarifying their talents or simply adding to what Tamara had said about them.


She looked to each of the others one after another again, then back to Harold. She smiled. "So ... where do we start?"

(OOC: Hope you enjoyed your turkey day.)



Harold's delight was obvious on his face. He'd been without company for far too long. Fishing hadn't been a group effort type of career, of course. It had always been just Harold and Max out there in the Pacific. Sometimes they would take an extra hand, during some fishery seasons. Yet while being just two or three or four of them, it had still been more than just one.

"We start," he answered, "by not starting. You guys need some rest."



After a long discussion, it was decided that the group would take it easy for a couple of days. The arrival of Tamara's people had attracted walkers from every direction. There were two walls of steel between the outside world and the inner ward of the castle. The walkers weren't getting inside. Yet they knew that there was food in here. And the always hungry walkers weren't leaving until they'd eaten.

The group spent the next two days doing ordinary normal stuff. They washed their clothes. They ate good food. They planned for their futures. They slept. The laughed and had fun.

Using Harold's AR-15 and a home made silencer, they cleared the walkers outside the castle and retrieved the weapons outside. Even before he'd been told the guns were empty, Harold had told Tamara that her people would carry.

"I know where there are more weapons," he told her mentioning the arsenal Max had been carrying when he'd been taken down. "And there's more on my boat, if we can get to it. Plus, the store might have more food and other things we might want."

It was decided that the guns and loot were worth the risk. But walking that far from the container yard to the fishing docks and back could be dangerous. And it would take all or most of them to carry enough loot to make the trip worthwhile.

Harold led Tamara and the others to a container sitting inside the inner ward. He'd been using it for storage and now threw open the doors to reveal the answer.


"They're not gonna win us the Tour de France," he said. "But we only have to be faster than the walkers, that's all."

"Who goes?" Pete asked with a concerned tone.

"I go, obviously," Harold said quickly. "I know where we need to go, and I know the best route."

Harold looked to Tamara, who he still considered leader of the group. "So, who goes with me?"

Two days of not waking up dead...

Hannah stood under the flow of the makeshift shower her host had created and just let the hot water wash away her fears and concerns. Two showers in two days: she hadn't been this clean since the whole Walker Uprising began. And while after the cleaning up and eating well and sleeping uninterrupted for a full half day -- two days running -- should have made her about the most content and relaxed person in the world, Hannah's body was in turmoil.

She needed a fix.

Since joining the others, Hannah had hidden her addiction from them well, keeping her stash of Oxy hidden in secret pockets and only popping the pills when she knew the others wouldn't take note of the sudden change in her personality. But she'd taken her last pills before arriving at Harold's castle, and while he'd given her some prescription meds he'd found in a drawer someplace after she'd claimed she'd pinched a nerve in her back, there had only been eight pills in the bottle and she'd already burned through all of them.

She dried and dressed and went out to join the others for some work before they began talking about making a run to a convenience store somewhere across the shipyard.

"I go, obviously," Harold said quickly. "I know where we need to go, and I know the best route."

Harold looked to Tamara, who he still considered leader of the group. "So, who goes with me?"

Click to expand...

"I wanna!" Hannah jumped in quickly. "Let me go."

"No, you stay here," Tamara responded quickly. "You and Polly take watch stations, northeast and southwest. Craig and Pete, you keep the Walkers cleared--"

"But I wanna go!" Hannah persisted. She stepped up closer to Tamara, stressing, "I need to go."

Of her traveling partners, Tamara was the only one who had taken notice of Hannah's mood swings and, at one point, had even questioned her about whether she was using. Hannah had told the older woman no, but her denial hadn't been very convincing. The two hadn't talked about the situation but they both knew that the other knew there was one.

"Not a good idea," Tamara said almost in a whisper. In an even lower volume, she told the young woman, "We'll discuss your need before I go ... okay?"

As Hannah considered the implications of having to finally confess her addiction and the solution to it -- namely discovering and pillaging some good drugs -- Polly asked her older sister with concern, "Why are you going?"

Tamara's explanation turned into a discussion which turned into an argument which ended with Tamara finally demanding, "This is how it's going to be! Harold knows where we're going, so ... he's going. Craig and Pete are the better aims, so, they'll handle the Walkers with the guns Harold's providing. We need lookouts who can see all four directions. That takes two."

She pointed to the two younger women, continuing, "That's you two, which leaves me to go with Harold. Settled!"

Settled was Tamara's way of letting the others know that there was no more discussion to be had. And there wasn't any more. There was still some fuming, though: Craig had wanted to go because he was the macho dude kind of guy and thought he should be out there in Tamara's place; Polly didn't like that her sister would be out there again without the entire group's protection; and Hannah was concerned that her needs wouldn't be filled.

The only one who seemed content with the decision was Pete. The younger of the two males who'd been friends and traveling companions since before the Uprising had no desire to be out there with this man who he still hadn't come to trust, not with his own life anyway. He was perfectly happy to remain here and guard the castle from behind the safety of its walls.

Plus -- and this was so far beyond appropriate that even he had to chastise himself for thinking it -- he'd be alone with Polly for the first time without Mother Tamara near enough to, in her own words, cut off his balls and feed them to him should he try anything with the pure of body teen. Well, alone with Craig nearby, to be precise. But Pete didn't think that his buddy would get in the way of his finally getting hands-on with the young beauty if he got the chance. Fuck, who knew: Craig might try to make a move of his own as far as that went.

There was always Hannah, if nothing happened with Polly, of course. And hell, there was nothing wrong with Hannah. She was a babe, and even better than that she liked sex. Pete knew for a fact that she'd been fucking one of their male traveling partners, one of the three that had died the day they'd found the castle. And he'd suspected that she'd had something going with one of the female travelers, too. (That had in fact been true, but Pete had had no proof.)

Only problem was that Hannah didn't like Pete much. It was the reason they weren't already bumping uglies on a regular basis. For reasons Pete was unaware of, Hannah had taken a dislike to him almost from the start of their traveling together. Actually, the reason was known, although Pete refused to acknowledge it. He was a bit of a misogynist. No, not misogynist: he didn't hate women. What was that other word, that phrase, the one his bra burning, women's movement, ERA-supporting grandmother had used so much to describe men?

Male chauvinist pig.

Yeah. That was probably pretty accurate. Although it wasn't true in any way, Pete had felt that he, Craig, and the now dead male members of the group had pulled far more than their own weight when it had come to protecting the group, and more specifically the women within it. Between them, Craig and Pete alone had killed about half of the Walkers dispatched by the group. Oh, it wasn't because the others were scaredy cats or anything like that: it was simply because the two men had always been the first and last to engage. Also, Tamara had put a little more effort into protecting her sister. Hannah wasn't the stab'em in the temple type.

There had been a lot of factors, of course. But Pete had a way of being selective about which factors he considered in making his argument about what each team member owed the others. And from the beginning, from the very first time that he'd stepped up and prevented Hannah from being bitten, killed, and turned, the young man had felt that Hannah owed him a debt. And her payment could be found between those delicious, white thighs.

"So, settled," Tamara repeated, this time toward Harold. "You and I go, the others protect us and the castle."

She pulled the 9mm from her belt that her host had given her ammunition for, checked it for a full clip and round in the chamber, then looked to Harold. She smiled confidently, saying, "Let's go for a bike ride."

Harold didn't understand the interaction between Tamara and Hannah. He'd never had much experience with drug addicts. Booze. Alcohol was his addiction of choice. But he was happy with the job assignments Tamara handed out.

Over the past two days he'd taken Craig, Pete, and Tamara up to the crenellations of the castle to pop walkers with his scoped AR-15. Of them, Craig was by far the better shot with the rifle. Pete had been close behind. But Tamara had shown up all of the men with the Glock. They went out atop the gate house where Harold had first met Tamara's people. She took 6 shots and downed 6 walkers, leaving no undead for the others to practice on.

"Up close and personal," Harold said to the woman, an obvious compliment. "I feel safer already."



They left the next day just after the morning fog had cleared. Harold wanted maximum visibility as they travelled through the container yard. Craig and Pete put down some newly arrived walkers. With the yard clear, Harold and Tamara headed out. They caught sight of some walkers occasionally. But they were all distant enough to not be a concern.

Until they reached the store where Max and his guns were. Harold and Tamara rode around the store a couple of times, putting down a total of 8 walkers. There homemade sound suppressors worked as expected: no walkers were attracted from elsewhere near the store.

When he felt safe to do so, Harold dismounted and tried the door. It was open, as he'd expected. But no sooner had he opened the door than two walkers surged out at him. Instinctively, Harold backed away and fired several times. It was only after the two creatures had fallen that he realized what he'd done.

He spun away from them, bent over, and a moment later retched. Tamara showed some concern, but Harold's mind was spinning and he didn't really hear or see her. A long moment later he recovered. He stood tall, took some deep breaths, and turned to look at the second of the dead-again people.

"It's Max," he said in a whisper. "It's my friend. Max. I just killed my friend."

"You didn't!" Tamara responded immediately, moving closer to Harold. "You didn't kill your friend ... because he wasn't your friend anymore. That thing. It wasn't Max anymore. Understand?"

Tamara moved up to Harold, grasping his arm to gain his attention. She looked into his eyes, asking, "Understand?"

She listened to his response, then backed away, telling him firmly, "Come on. We need to finish. Finish the mission, Harold."

Tamara turned and began searching the shelves and floor, encouraging Harold to do the same. The store had been looted and was a mess, yet there were still a lot of items of value to be had. Tamara couldn't know it, but Walkers had attacked and interrupted the initial pillaging that had taken place just days after the Uprising had begun. She found a plastic shopping basket and began filling it with all kinds of stuff: cans and packages of food, first aid kits, spools of high test fishing line, and more. She made trip after trip to the bikes which she and Harold had brought inside before closing the doors.

Soon enough, the beds of the bicycle pickups were filled almost to overflowing. Tamara found a wayward Snickers bar under the lip of a counter, unfolded and dropped into a canvas chair, and opened a bottle of water. She waited for Harold to take a moment.

"Come sit," she said, standing to open another of the chairs. She patted it, then tossed the uneaten half of the chocolate bar through the air to Harold. "I want to talk to you."

Once he was sat, Tamara stood and moved closer to Harold, stopping when she was almost close enough for their knees to touch. She studied him for a moment. Then, she reached to her bosom and began unbuttoning her shirt.

"Take your pants off, Harold," Tamara said in a whisper. "I need you. Now."

Harold tried to believe Tamara's reassurances about Max. It wasn't Max anymore. It was one of those things. A walker. A monster. I didn't kill Max. I killed a walker. I SAVED Max. I saved him from being one of them...

He didn't hear much more of what Tamara said. And when his mind returned to the here and now, he found her already searching the store. He remembered the specific reason they'd come here, saying, "Max's bag, it's over here."

Harold found the weapons he'd given his friend, weapons that had done him no good. At first, Harold hesitated reclaiming them. The M-4 and Max's bag were black with dried blood. Max's blood. He looked back to his friend again, but turned away quickly. What remained of the fisher's entrails were laying out before him. And his face, already mutilated, was only more destroyed by the bullets Harold had put through it.

He leaned over and retched again. After clearing his mouth, he went back to their mission. He collected the weapons and ammo bag and moved to one of the bicycles. He gave Tamara the M-4 assault rifle and, if she needed, offered her a quick explanation of its features and operation. He gave her Max's 9mm and divided the clips between them. He slung the .44 magnum's belt around his waist and checked to ensure the weapon was loaded. The rest of the ammo and gear went into the pickup.

They spent a good long time loading anything and everything into the bikes. Some of what they found and took didn't seem to have an immediate use for them. But Harold knew they'd find a use for such things as heavy duty fishing line, metal fishing gear, life jackets, and more. Other things had obvious value: first aid kits, knives of all types, toilet paper!. He'd run out of toilet paper a week before Tamara's arrival. He'd never realized how rough other forms of ass wipe could be on his sensitive ass hole.

Harold thought they were just taking a break when Tamara invited him to sit with her. When she stood and began undressing, Harold's eyes widened in shock. He'd been fantasizing about sex with her almost from the moment she'd entered the castle. But he's only actually begun to have hope for something like that in the last day or so. He thought he'd found her looking at him with a similar hunger that he himself had for her. Of course, he'd presumed it was just wishful thinking.

And yet, now he was on his feet, quickly shedding the weapons he'd just donned. Harold hadn't even hesitated to stand and follow Tamara's instructions. It hadn't even occurred to him to ask Is this a good idea? Is this the right place for this? The right time?

No, instead he'd stood without hesitation and begun shedding all that would keep him from being inside her. In a flash, his jeans and boxers were around his knees. He was nicely sized, 8 inches or so with a slightly larger girth than average. His size was emphasized, though, by his eagerness. He was hard as a rock and pointing at Tamara as if to scream out You! Yes, you!

Then he remembered his boots. Harold dropped back into the chair and began working quickly on the laces.

Tamara had shed her button up shirt, untied and stepped out of her own boots, and unfastened her jeans to shed them by the time Harold dropped back into his chair again to deal with the boots he'd obviously forgotten about in his haste to get naked. She smiled at his realization of the mistake, recalling some of the awkward moments of her early sex life.

"You're wasting time," Tamara said about his fumbling with the double knotted laces that ran up the tall boots to his shins. She moved forward and pushed him back into the chair, commanding, "Just sit there."

She shed her panties to reveal the smooth skin of her freshly shaved groin. She'd been anticipating this moment for some time, which had made keeping back an unused disposable razor turn out to be a good idea after all. Tamara hadn't been fantasizing about Harold to the degree that he had been about her. Hell, she'd already been occasionally fucking Craig for months, though they hadn't been together since arriving at the castle. But she had decided early on that she would at some point be having sex with the man who'd taken them in. If not for her own pleasure, then to show her appreciation for his bringing them into his safe haven. This moment was a combination of both reasons, though Tamara couldn't have given an accurate account for which was driving her more at this moment in time. Nor would she want to take the time or mental effort to divvy up the percentage of reasoning.

Tamara popped the bra loose, dropping it aside to stand entirely naked before Harold. She stepped closer, slinging one leg, then another over the arm of the folding chair. She laughed as it creaked and threatened to collapse under their combined weight.

"We might have to take this easy, less we break this thing," she told him as she reached down between her thighs to find Harold's stiff cock. With the other hand, she moved one of his to her buttocks, telling him, "Help me."

With his assistance, she moved farther forward over his groin, pressed the end of his cock to her wet, open hole, and urged him to enter her.

(OOC: I'm writing Hannah in a separate reply. I find it easier to write and read situations that involve characters in different places this way. Also, I know we are sharing Hannah, Craig, and Pete, so I'm going to begin this interaction between Hannah and Pete, but then I want you to take it over, okay?)

Hannah, at the Castle:

Harold and Tamara had barely disappeared around a distant container before Hannah caught Pete by the arm and told him quietly, "We need to talk."

She told him to meet her in the kitchen, then asked Polly and Craig, "Can you two take the first watch. I need to talk to Pete for a moment."

Polly had a suspicious look on her face, but Craig only smiled. He knew Pete had been waiting for this moment, for when Hannah would finally get naked with him since the first time he'd seen her just under a week earlier. He was envious, of course: Hannah was fucking hot, and everyone already knew that she liked sex. But Craig had Tamara, so, whatever.

At least, he thought he had Tamara. He'd suggested that he wash her back the day before, only to have her say it wasn't necessary. That was Tamara's way of saying no or at least not now. Their sexual interactions had always taken place at Tamara's initiative. Craig was happy that she'd taken to fucking him, of course, but he'd always known that he was just an available cock for her to use as needed.

Would she fuck Harold some day soon? Possibly. He was an old fart, more than twice Tamara's age. But Craig somehow felt that whether or not she ever got naked with him, it wouldn't be or not be because of his advanced age.

"Sure, go have your talk," Craig said with a smirk, turning to Polly. "Come on, I'll let you take the southeast watch position. There's shade, and protection from the wind. Walkers can't see you, but you have a good line of sight through the container yard."

As they headed off, so did Hannah. She caught up with Pete in the kitchen, finding him just standing there waiting anxiously. She could see in his face that he, too, thought he was finally going to partake of the group's newest sex kitten.

"I need you to take me outside," she told him as soon as she walked in.

"Outside what?" he asked as he donned a confused expression. Then it struck him. "Outside? You mean out side. Outside the castle."

"Yes," she replied simply.

"Why? We're safe inside--"

"There's something I need," Hannah interrupted. "Something Tamara and Harold probably won't find, or, even if they do, they might not bring back."

"What?" When Hannah only stared at him, Pete said firmly, "I'm not going out there to help you find something you want if you won't tell me what it is. I'm not risking my life for--"

"Oxy," she cut in again. She saw his surprised expression and continued, "Codeine, Morphine, Hydrocodone ... whatever."

Pete studied Hannah for a moment, saying with a knowing and disappointed tone, "You're an addict."

"No," she countered quickly. She hesitated a moment, then lied, "I have back pain. Serious ... back pain. I just need some pain killers. Muscle relaxers. Whatever."

Pete wasn't sure whether he believed Hannah or not. But she didn't give him long to consider it. She donned a smile, asking, "Remember that house we stayed at a couple of nights ago, the one with the DVR?"

Pete's expression shifted from doubt to confusion to humor. "The old cat lady?"

"Yeah. With the game shows."

"The Price Is Right," Pete clarified. He went on wryly, "Recordings of The Price Is Right. Like anyone needs to watch that show once, let alone record it for future viewing, really?"

"Remember how those models would wave their hands toward the cars and boats and shit," Hannah asked.

"Sure, what about them?" he asked, changing direction with, "And what does this have to do with you needing drugs?"

"If you take me outside," Hannah said, taking a flirtatious tone as she struck a The Price Is Right pose and swept her hands before her womanly features, explaining, "This ... could all be yours ... if ... the price is right."

Pete's lips spread as he realized where Hannah was going with this. "And the price ... is me taking you out there ... so you can find drugs."

She shifted her pose again, displaying her curves in answer to his question.

(OOC: Okay, you get to choose what he does.)

Harold with Tamara in the fishing dock's convenience store:

Harold gaze was shifting all about Tamara. From the determined expression on her face to the hardened nipples thrusting out from smallish but firm breasts to the hair free zone just above that treasure chest in which he was about to find fortune. She was so beautiful. So perfect. And so in his lap, grasping his cock.

He drew an excited breath at the feel of her maneuvering his erection into place. It had been a long time since someone other than he himself had handle Harry. A very long time.

At Tamara's urging, Harold grasped her buttocks in his powerful hands. He pulled her nearer to him, over his thighs. Arching his back to sort of withdraw his shaft gave her the aim to get it inside her. Then, Harold laid back into the chair and lifted. He growled with closed lips as he felt her wetness and warmth begin to take him in.

She was tight and reacted to his intruding upon her. Harold followed Tamara's lead. He stared into her face, looking for cues. It wasn't long before they were going at it. She felt so incredible! He wished he was out of his boots and jeans. The position was a bit awkward, and it prevented him from getting deeper inside her.

But it didn't matter. At least, not for him. After just a dozen or so shifts of her body in his groin, he was done. Harold's head fell back against the canvas chair as his groan signaled his eruption. Instinctively, he grasped her hips and pulled. He tried to get as deeply inside her as possible as he unloaded.

Even as his head was swimming in ecstasy, Harold was already embarrassed. He shouldn't have been. It had been a long time, he reminded himself. This was just how it went. He'd last longer next time. He hadn't consciously noticed that he'd closed his eyes. He opened them now to look up at Tamara, wondering greedily Will there be a next time?



Pete with Hannah in the kitchen of the Castle:

"How do I know you'll actually do it?" Pete asked. His question revealed where his priorities were: sex before safety. "How do I know that after we get back, you'll have sex with me?"

Hannah reassured him she would. He just stood there staring at her for a moment. He'd wanted this for so long. Well, days He'd only met Hannah for the first time, what, a week ago? He was torn by a number of thoughts...

Pete had only had sex with three other women in his life. And he'd never had sex before having dated quite a while. Six months. The shortest first-date-to-first-sex relationship had been six months. He'd known Hannah about six days.

But, Hannah didn't need such long time periods. She'd had sex with one of their group after just two days. Pete hadn't known Carlos well. Carlos had only joined Tamara's group a few days before Hannah had. Pete had felt cheated that the new girl was doing it with one of the new guys. Particularly since Carlos had been a free rider: he didn't kill walkers, he didn't initiate scavenger hunts. What was that saying? He rode their coat tails? Something like that.

And, of course, they'd been the rumor that Hannah was also doing it with Patti. Hannah and Patti! Pete would have given his share of rations just to watch that! He would have given his right nut to be part of that.

But that didn't matter anymore. The envy concerning Carlos or the fantasy concerning Patti. They'd both been killed the day Tamara's group found the Castle. So, Hannah was looking for a new lover.

No! Pete reminded himself. She's looking for drugs.

"Okay," he told her. His lust for her far outweighed his sensibility or even his need for self preservation. They were all gonna die soon enough anyway, despite the Castle. Better to die after getting inside that sweet blonde than before missing out, right? "Where are we supposed to find this stuff? And when are we going?"

Tamara:

She grimaced a bit as Harold's cock parted the tight muscles of her foreplay-lacking pussy, but with a moment's hesitation and determination to have him inside her, she opened to him and he slipped inside. Tamara groaned at the combination of pain and pleasure, holding in pace with just his head penetrating her. Then, she pushed downward to take some more of him, lifting and lowering again, then again, then again. Each time lubricated his shaft and let him inside her with greater ease. Tamara tried to take all of Harold inside her, but the awkward positioning of them made that hard.

Tamara did the best she could, shifting back and forth in his lap to both feel his cock inside her and rub her clit against him where the base of his cock met his groin. The pain had subsided and the pleasure was being to well when Harold suddenly grunted out in orgasm. She felt his cock pulsed against her, in her, and felt his entire body begin to tremble in climax.

She did her best to continue, desperate to achieve her own ecstasy, but the man was overwhelmed by the euphoria surging through him and couldn't help her chase her own. She slowed her movements in his lap, then simply stopped them, just feeling his cock as it continued to twitch within her.

When he opened his eyes, Harold expression intrigued Tamara. She only smiled to him, asking softly, "Been a while?"



Hannah:

"How do I know you'll actually do it?" Pete asked.... "How do I know that after we get back, you'll have sex with me?"

Click to expand...

"Carlos is gone now," she said, confirming what Pete already knew about her previous male lover. She didn't mention Patti, though Hannah knew that it might have helped convince Pete that she was a bit slutty and would have sex with just about anyone. "Carlos took care of me, found me what I needed. So, I took care of him, gave him what he needed. You know ... before he got--"

She didn't finish. It was still too recent and fresh in her memory. Hannah hadn't really cared so much for Carlos that his loss would have driven her to tears over him. He was as Hannah had led Pete to believe: a drug supplier with whom she'd had sex.

"You get me out there," she continued, "help me look around for what I need, and I'll fuck you."

"Okay," ...... "Where are we supposed to find this stuff? And when are we going?"

Click to expand...

"Right now," Hannah said without hesitation. "We have to find what I need and get back before Craig and Polly realize that we aren't down here fucking right now. You know that's what they think we're doing, right?"

It was obvious in Pete's face that he, too, thought that they'd be down here fucking. Soon enough, she thought. She headed for the kitchen's door, snagging Pete by the wrist as she passed.

"We can get out the main gate without being seen if we go now, while Craig is showing Polly the southeast watch station," she insisted, dragging him behind her. She looked to his waist, asking about the 9mm he'd been carrying that Harold had given ammunition for, "That's loaded, right?"

Harold with Tamara in the fishing dock's convenience store:

"Been a while?"

Harold smiled at Tamara's softly spoken comment. Then he laughed. Soft at first, then louder. His head fell back a bit, eyes closed, before he looked to her again. He nodded agreement, asking, "Could you tell? Was it that obvious?"

His hands had fallen away from Tamara's hips. He reached up to them again now. Grasping them tightly, he asked with a hopeful tone, "Shall we continue?"



Pete with Hannah in the kitchen of the Castle:

He never thought getting to -- or into Hannah -- would have finally happened this way. You get me out there ... and I'll fuck you.

But hell, whatever.



"Over here, Hannah," Pete called softly. He pressed his face against the dirty glass of a Starbucks. There didn't seem to be any walkers inside. He tapped the glass to draw out hiders. Nothing. He looked over his shoulder for Hannah. "Ready?"

Pete checked the handle. It was locked. He tapped the hilt of his knife against the glass until it broke. They waited for walkers a second time. Nothing. They slipped inside quietly. The shop had been pillaged. Nearly every business in the city had.

"Check it out," Pete whispered. He lofted a bag of finely ground coffee. "Breakfast Blend."

Pete continued searching as Hannah disappeared deeper into the business. They had already discussed her search. She'd be looking for first aid kits, purses, lockers, secret stash places. Any place where someone might put their legal prescriptions or hide their illegal dope.

By the time she emerged from the back, Pete had filled three reusable shopping bags with coffee, cookies, crackers, and more. He was actually surprised he'd found so much. He looked to Hannah, asking, "How'd we do?"

He used we, not you. It wasn't a mistake. Scavenging, they always had used that word. Loot was always shared, regardless of who actually found it. But in this case, Pete used we because if she found drugs, he got laid.

Actually, that wasn't the deal, was it? Hannah had said Pete only had to bring her out here. The search didn't have to be successful. Did it?

Tamara with Harold

"Shall we continue?"

Click to expand...

Tamara smiled at Harold's question. She knew, or at least hoped, that his reason for asking was more about her pleasure than his. She leaned down and, for the first time, kissed him. It began soft but became more erotic, as she opened her lips and reached her tongue out to softly press it against his. She tilted her head to kiss him more passionately as she began shifting her body atop his slowly, then quicker.

"Yes," she whispered between kisses, "we shall continue."

It wasn't but a moment before they were fucking hard and fast. Tamara's moans got louder and closer together as the pace accelerated and, with a shift in Harold below her, his strokes penetrated her more deeply. She was going to cum, Tamara had no doubt.

A sudden bang against one of the store's windows shocked them both. Tamara rose a bit higher to look toward the sound, finding a single walker pressing against the glass. She hesitated a moment, then looked back into Harold's face.

"Fuck'm," she said, resuming her movement atop Harold. As the pleasure and her moans quickly returned, she said, "He'll wait ... but I can't."

They were seriously testing the strength of the folding chair when Tamara drew a deep breath, held it through a half dozen or so poundings of Harold's cock inside her, then cried out long and loud as the ecstasy exploded within her. She went still atop the fisherman, her body trembling throughout. She cried out short and sharp as the waves swept through her, then collapsed down upon Harold's body, panting with her heart racing.



Hannah with Pete:

Hannah went straight to the back of the Starbucks, passing right through the customer area. She had no interest in coffees, teas, or scones. She pillaged the first aid kit, finding no drugs stronger than aspirin or ibuprofen. The desk in the manager's office yielded a joint, not that would do Hannah much good. Still, she could probably trade it to someone back at the Castle.

The lockers, though, were like treasure chests. Using the metal cross bar of the security door at the back of the store, Hannah easily popped the padlocks off each of the dozen lockers. The very first one she opened had a dozen prescription bottles sitting in plain sight on the top shelf, and Hannah's eyes widened in shocked delight as she read the label: Hydrocodone 300mg. She shook the bottle, finding it about half full and teared up with joy.

Hannah popped two into her mouth, put her lips to a standing water bottle dispenser, and gulped them down. She wasn't a big girl, weight wise that is, and she hadn't eaten since breakfast, so she'd be flying high soon enough! She pocketed the bottle and continued onward. Every locker but one belonged to a female employee, and even a cursory inspection told Hannah that most of them must have come to work each day in their street clothes and changed into their uniforms. She found shoes, socks, under clothes, tee shirts, shorts, make up, feminine hygiene products, birth control pills, curling irons as well as hair straighteners, and more. There were also the gender neutral things to be expected: iPods, cell phones, paper backs, bicycle helmets, and more.

Hannah located a couple of backpacks, a satchel, and an oversized purse and began stuffing them full of things she thought she could use. When she found she still had room, she started taking other things that might benefit the rest of the group. When she didn't think she could carry anymore, she headed back out front to find Pete with bags full of his own pillaged goods.

"How'd we do?"

Click to expand...

She smiled widely, saying with joy in her voice, "Pretty damn good. Pretty ... damn ... good!"

She readjusted the load over her back and shoulders and headed for the door. "Let's get this stuff back before we attract any attention from the Walkers."