On The Mountain - Closed

[Light Ice]

"Damn, could use a bit of rain." The man spoke to himself, looking out across the forested hills that stretched out before him. At his side, a pair of huskies made their comments, barking sharply in challenge to one another before turning a streak down the leaf-littered slope before them.

He watched them go, bounding along, taking the near-vertical drop with easy strides. The rifle in his hands was shouldered mechanically, the strap laying along his jacket's pocket-riddled front. The sky claimed his attention once again, bright-blue and cloudless. It'd been bright-blue and cloudless for a week now, and he didn't see anything that made him feel safe in assuming it'd change. Water. Part of him hated it now. The creek that ran behind his cabin had dried up, and he was SOL for fresh stuff. He could hike five miles up the creek bed to the outlet, hope it had water. But almost anything he found there would have to be boiled, and frankly, he wasn't keen on spending all that effort.

Just a quick drive to the city. In, and out.

In the nine years that he had been at this cabin, Chris Auryn had returned to the city of Syracuse exactly one time. The "Salt City" was only twenty minutes (making over a hundred on the empty stretch of I-81 leading into the city's heart) from his cabin, nestled safely in the high-lands of Tully. There were far less bodies in Tully, the small town's occupants having mostly gone to Syracuse's hospitals when "the creep" hit. Many of the residents now joined the thousands of badly decayed that were strewn over the city's streets.

But he'd raped Tully's small town for supplies until there was almost nothing of worth left, eight years worth of consuming had seen to that. Deep down, he'd always hated Syracuse. Even before "the creep" turned it, and every other major urban center in the world, into a cesspit of the dead and dying.

"-Jack-! -Cody!-" his voice boomed over the empty hills, echoing down the slope as it struck the rise on the opposite side. They appeared almost instantly, white and black faces lifting from the leaves. "Let's go!"

The huskies were four years old, and he'd always assumed them brothers. He'd found them and their mother down in town. She'd slipped in winter, broken a leg on some stairs. They'd not left her side, even as she died. At three months, they were tiny things. He'd carried them the hour and a half from the road to his cabin, a near vertical hike that'd left his legs burning. They'd recovered from her loss with time, and listened as well as two huskies could be expected. He watched them bound almost effortlessly up the slope to his side, and then tear down the trail ahead of him. He followed, his backpack empty save for his last liter of fresh water, a flashlight, his first-aid kit and a couple energy bars. Out of habit, he had locked the cabin doors.

It was a fourty-five minute hike up Labrador Mountain's forested face to his cabin if you were carrying less than thirty pounds and in good shape. Hiking down, twenty minutes, maybe. Chris had chosen not to mark the path, removing the blue-painted squares on every other tree or so that had been there. He'd met a few people in the last eight years, and none of them had been friendly. He was content to live his life alone now, and had given up hope of finding a decent person left in the world.

When he reached the road, and the half-dozen vehicles he'd gathered there. The dogs were contently playing nearby. He'd decided on the Camaro before he'd left, and hardly paid attention to the pick up truck, SUV, and quartet of sedans.

The huskies piled into the back, expectant. And he settled in. His rifle was set over his head, in a rack he'd mounted himself. It fit neatly, secured there. The car started with a low rumble, and he pulled away, ripping down the road's sharp bends. Syracuse, within a few short limits, loomed ahead. The ominous billboard, once an advertisement for Fuccillo's Auto-Mall (It's HUGE, Tom! HUGE!) was now painted over in glaring, neon-green paint. Their scrawl stretched from top to bottom, ominous and uninviting.

NO HELP HERE
CREEP
TURN BACK

But Chris didn't turn, and instead spurred the Camaro to over a hundred miles an hour. It ripped down the abandoned stretch of I-81, until finally the buildings that had loomed before it passed on either side. The only on-ramp he'd cleared was Harrison-Adams, and he took it, shifting down until the car slowed to a crawl, twenty miles an hour. Cars in various states of defunct were piled about the side of the road, leaving the main streets mostly clear. The United States Army had done Chris that small favor nearly ten years ago, back when he was enjoying his first summer as a high-school graduate.

I fucked Heather Hammond that summer, before everything went to shit.

He pulled the car to a halt before the On-Center, Syracuse's always pathetic entertainment arena. Opening the door, he stepped out, reclaiming the rifle. Silently, he worked the bolt, chambering the first round with the metallic "click-clack" of it's action. The expanding duffle bag was drawn out after the dogs had made their escape. No longer were they playful, the brick and concrete of the city foreign to them. Stranger, still, perhaps was how keenly they'd picked up on Chris' own anxiety.

They stayed close now, and alert. Their pale blue eyes narrowing keenly on things he couldn't see.

Keying the Remington's safety on, he shouldered it once more. His hands went down his hips to the belt about his waist, a tactical belt he'd salvaged from a SWAT van outside the city limits some years ago. The magazines it held were checked briefly, before his hand went to the thigh-holster, also looted from the van, and checked the .45 Caliber pistol there. Each movement was practiced, mechanical, but notedly anxious. To Chris, returning here was -always- a last resort.

With the dufflebag in hand, its black length broken only by the glossy zippers and series of straps along its top, he began to move to the War Memorial. Onondaga County's attempt to honor veterans, it'd held the hockey games and various other events that would fill through the city. It was only his first stop, a place where he knew he could find water.

He passed through the shattered glass doors, and stepped over the glass and dust that'd collected there. The hanging signs fluttered with a breeze, their yellow lengths dominated by huge black letters.

ALL REFUGEES PREPARE FOR PROCESSING

The turn styles were abandoned now, and he stepped past them. Walking over the fallen metal barriers that had once hemmed people into the narrow passways, past the curtains and into stalls with doctors and nurses and armed National Guardsmen. The tents were all torn down now, empty and abandoned. Chris paid them no mind and instead moved down toward one of the nearby concession stands. The sliding metal doors were ripped off and on the ground, and shuddered as he walked over them.

"Stay." It was a simple command, and the dogs obeyed. Their tails briefly wagging before they settled. He entered the stand, stepping over an overturned soda-tap, and promptly reached into his belt. The palm-sized propane torch started on the third click, its pale blue flame lashing out. He set it over the heavy-gauge chains that kept the small stand's back door locked closed. They glowed red, and then yellow, before he extinguished the torch. His foot slammed firmly in the center of the door, snapping the chain, and swinging open.

He held the torch in his hand as he entered, letting it cool as his opposite fished out a flashlight. It raked the darkness with a pale light, cast upon boxes of nacho's and small foil pouches filled with hotdogs. Flies were everywhere. He walked on them, disturbing them into a cloud before his face as he moved. The crates of bottled water and canned soda were beneath a shelf full of condiments, and he claimed them, dragging them out of the room and into the mess of the concession stand.

Tucking the propane torch into its place on his belt, and securing his flashlight, Chris immediately began to fill the bag with water. It was bulging by the time he was finished, thanks to his decision to keep a full-case worth of Coke cans. He struggled with the weight, shouldering the back with an audible grunt before waddling back to the dogs.

"Come on." They were up and out before he was, prancing to the car.

Chris opened the trunk as he returned to the Camaro, and lowered the bag inside. Next to it were three five-gallon cans of gas, each full. There was still space, though not too much. But this wasn't a full supply run, anyway. He secured the trunk and once again got inside the car.

Jack licked his face from the backseat, his breath heavy with dog-stink as it beat against his neck. "Not yet, we've one more place to go. Might as well while we are here." His calloused hand touched the animal's throat and ears, and then Cody's as well, before once again he started the car. It was only then he noticed the woman standing directly infront of the Camaro, her eyes wide as she regarded him.

The next moment was filled with Jack and Cody's aggrivated barks, their tails wagging as they roared their recognition of the woman's approach. His voice boomed out, "ENOUGH, ENOUGH. STOP!" Four times the series was repeated before the dogs relented, stifled to low grumblings in the back of their throat.

Opening the door, Chris stepped out. A man of average height (5' 10"), his body was covered in compacted muscle. He was trim, and rugged. Thick stubble coated his jawline and cheeks, dark as the ebon hair that formed a unkept mane atop his head. He watched her, eyes intensely pale orbs of grey, with only the faintest hints of green in the centers. There was no words yet, or movement. He stood, the door between he and the woman standing infront of the Camaro's grill.

He passed his tongue over dried lips, a heavy brow arching as those pale eyes raked her figure. It was a natural movement, but his hand dropped, fingers resting briefly on the .45 at his thigh.

 

[Sweetp4u]

Reya

It was hard to think clearly, but it was not a surprise. She stumbled into the city after a long fast push for safety. Exiled for being legal, but it was unfair to the old man who had once sheltered her to be so accusatory towards him. Had he not been dying from infection and starvation, she might still be under his protection. In his warped sense of honor, he tried to save her by exiling.

She paused, listening to the surroundings and trying to pin point where the engine sound had come from, where the barking was coming from. Perhaps she was losing her mind? She studied the ground, concrete sidewalks full of clutter and debris, nothing real telling there folks.

Hard to imagine just two short weeks ago she turned eighteen years old. It seemed like only yesterday the world was in chaotic uproar and everything was dying around her. Who thought she'd survive it.. if one could call this survival.

She tried to wet her parched lips, ignoring the sting from their cracked and bleeding surfaces. Her back to the building, she crouched low to remain unseen by any who might be around. She learned back in Florida what happened to women in this day and age. Once they were legal, all bets were off. Small communities were still raided today, men taking off with their sisters and mothers, raping them repeatedly... most often those women never came back. One could only imagine why not.

She felt blindly for her gun. Empty, but no one else knew that. She hadn't eaten in days, barely had water for one more, perhaps less. Her motorcycle was dead back on 81, and so far finding a working gas pump with gas in it was proving most difficult.

Wiping her mouth with the back of her covered hand, she studied the knife in her hand. If the barking was ahead, and she suspected it was.. She just might have dinner tonight after all.

Quietly, she started moving again. Picking her way carefully through and sticking to the shadows. She had to remain quick and light on her feet. Leave no trail behind and find herself a new ride as well as the next destination on the road. Sitting still would, not could, get her killed.

Had anyone been present to see her, they would've merely seen a figure in odd scraps of old uniforms, stalking the city. Not an unusual sight, but hopefully the wrappings hid her sex. Seeing her face though would give her away, as she had left her face mask at an old diner when she heard a vehicle pass by. and if she heard it... so had the others.

All thoughts were on the vehicle in question; a running set of wheels would get her to safety. Something she needed ASAP, god only knew who or what lurked within this city... "I don't want to find out either." The dogs barking changed her train of thought. Normally the idea of eating dog would disgust her, but when you are dying from hunger and there is nothing else around, one didn't care any more where the meat came from.

No remorse, no mercy. The words chanted quietly in her mind as she moved through one of the many entries of the old stadium. She barely registered the car, as the barking was clearly coming from within it. She also failed to notice the man behind the wheel as she rose from her crouch and met the eyes of one husky. Bright blue and so pure looking, she hadn't expected to see a healthy animal... In fact she wasn't sure she had ever witnessed such before?

The barking grew, but the words that were yelled at the dogs caught hold a little later than she would've liked. Instantly she reached and pulled her gun, wide eyes locked on the man rising from behind the driver's seat. Fear didn't enter into her mind, nor did it show in her behavior or steady gaze. Distrust was clearly there, as was that 'no mercy' motto the old man taught her.

She eyed him up and partially down, gun firmly pointing at his chest. Again she cursed, this time aloud. "Shit!" She was so fucked! She had no damned bullets, he didn't know that but what if he called her bluff? A healthy male.. in the city? He hadn't spoken yet, so she didn't know the condition of his teeth, but he looked sturdy, healthy and built well enough she couldn't easily run.

She took all facts in, calculated possibilities and knew it was best to bluff her way out of this mess. "Don't move mister." Her voice sounded strange even to her own ears, but the point made. "Now what?"

 

[Light Ice]

"Don't move, mister." The firearm was out quickly, -damned- quickly. As it rose, the pitch of the dogs in the backseat turned low and menacing. Each was a lean, muscle-laden 70 odd pounds. He left the door open purposefully, keeping it between he and her. Dropping behind it crossed his mind, but Chris was painfully aware that if she caught him in the head his life was over. If she took him in the chest...

His eyes raped the gun sharply, perhaps shockingly pale. The years had been rough on his body, hardening it into a slab of granite. But more stark was the transformation his mind had made, the way he'd learned to pick up on details. Glock, a fine firearm. But, unfortunately for her, most likely a 9mm. His vest could take the round.

Speaking sharply, he let his hand fall, the tips of his fingers laying against the butt of the .45 automatic that was strapped to his thigh.

"Easy." But the words weren't timid, spoken with a harsh edge. The tone was low, almost confiding. They were wasting valuable time. "Little girl, you look like shit. And unless you're John Wayne you might want to put that fucking toy away."

"Fuck off, asshole." came her reply, and the wind picked up. It looked like it'd blow her clean over.

"Even if you hit me, my dogs will rip you apart. You're half-dead as it is."

She considered this, but her features were well-trained. Another drag of tongue across ragged lip, the pistol thrust forward menacingly. She'd taken a step forward, trying desperately to conceal just how bad a shape she was in. "Take that piece out of the holster, kick it toward me."

Chris let his fingers take the butt of the Heckler and Koch, drawing it steadily from the holster. For a moment he considered, considered laying it down at the odd-chance she missed his vest. At the odd-chance he'd misread the caliber of the pistol in her hand, or that the distance would be enough to knock the wind from his lungs and leave him prone for a few lethal seconds.

His thoughts drifted, thinking of his last time downtown. The boy had jerked the rifle at him, gesturing for him to turn around. Mid-winter, his teeth chattering. Chris could hear them, that telltale hint of discomfort. A faint lack of muscle control. He'd planted his foot, and twisted away, drawing the very pistol in his fingers and lifting it as he rounded fully.

He could hear the pistol's roar, that monstrous crack of the .45 as the shells were belted from the receiver. He hadn't seen the first round hit, striking the boy in the shoulder and caving in the muscle and bone. But he'd rounded enough to correct his aim, the next two shells tracking over his chest and forcing him from his feet. Blood had fountained in a thick curtain skyward, splattering over the concrete nearby before the boy struck some five feet away. His arms crumpled at awkward ankles, the .22 in his hands laying harmlessly nearby. He'd bled out so quickly that even had he been alive there'd nothing Chris could have done for him. Not that, in honesty, he would have.

The thought was enough, and his movements were quick. The kind of quick that extended beyond healthy, hinting dangerously of practice and ease. The .45's massive barrel was lifted so swiftly that he almost aimed -above- her, adrenaline nearly damning him. But the ominous maw of the automatic was leveled on her forehead, between her gorgeous little eyes.

At this range, the round would tear most of her head clean off.

"Even if you hit me, I might take one of those eyes and most of your brain out the back of your head. And even if you hit me, my dogs will rip you into pieces before you can get another shot off. Empty the magazine and clear the chamber, or you're dead."

There was no mistaking the hard glint in his eyes, those clear greys betraying the intensity of his command. The ragged figure, hidden under the tattered uniform was a stark contrast to the rugged, predatory shape of his own. Her eyes were sparked with the fury and fear of a survivor. His own? Expressionless. He'd seen worse from humanity in the last ten years, encounters like this were an unpleasant, but unshocking surprise.

 

[Sweetp4u]

Reya

"Fuck FUCK FUCKING CHRIST!" Her mind was screaming louder than sirens inside, her window of options now closing off almost completely as she stared down the barrel of one really big fucking weapon.

"Compensating are we?" She heard the old man say that once to another guy who also packed a lot of big guns... Having no real idea what it meant, she knew it was an insult at best.

Her eyes darted to said beasties, to the man and gun still trained on her. To doorways, counter and windows around them. A chunk of cement caught her attention, looked like someone once drove a really big machine through the building to gain entrance at some point over the years.

"Fucking son-of-a-bitch.. Think.. THINK!" Her tongue darted out, her smile a little shakey as she weighted more options and fewer out comes. Then it dawned on her.. had he wanted her dead, he would've fired, not warned her. Ulterior motives? He didn't look the type to give one squirt of piss about her.

A sparkle of mischief flashed in her eyes, a hint of that dimple in her sunken cheeks appeared, "Looks like we're at an impass.." She refused to give quarter. Rather to die fighting than to die cowering.

Tentively she took a step back, careful of her boots placement, else she twist her leg. "I can't let you have my weapon. I obviously can't do something so stupid as to injure you and incur the wrath of your pet beasties." She made sure the safety was off, though it be empty, it was still only a guess on his part. She flashed a brief smile that did not reach her eyes, "Way I figure it, I go my way and pretend I never saw you.. and you could be humane enough to pretend just the same." She retreated another step, slowly and carefully as she could.

It had been tempting, for a brief moment, to let him give her a way out of all this nightmare. She didn't doubt his weapon was loaded, and that calibre was a guarantee death sentence.. But she wasn't some punk trash scum bucket off the streets, she had some humanity left in her and some definite pride in self.

"What say you? Sound acceptable or am I going to have to make a mess all over my nice clean clothes?" Her words didn't indicate that it would be her blood soaking into her clothing, but his. And clean? that was laughable. She hadn't been clean in two weeks, even now she resisted the urge to scratch some where.

 

[Light Ice]

"Go."

And she did, passing like a shadow amidst the debris and the stricken cars. Her strides were so terribly awkward, the fear noted now as she passed along. The rags didn't betray the signs of weakness, the faint hitch in each movement. No woman walked so stiffly, not naturally. Suddenly, Chris doubted she'd even a functioning firearm. Death would claim her, sooner or later. Naturally or not.

He reclaimed his seat from Jack, the animal still grumbling as it reclaimed its place in the back seat. Only as the door closed did Chris toggle the .45's safety on and pushed it back into the holster at his thigh, exhaling steadily as the car's ignition roared to life.

His prick was hard, but he ignored it. A woman had her uses, but with each came a handful of complications. Complications that were treacherous and dangerous, complications that had cost him dearly in the past. Very dearly..

As he surged northward along Route 81, tearing past the cleared vehicles, he became aware of the ache that'd developed in his chest. A great pain that lingered even as he moved on, leaving the encounter behind as quickly as he could. The first human he'd seen in years, a woman at that (ragged as she was), and he'd just let her walk. He'd not even attempted to speak, to reason. The world truly had moved on, and any hint of his former self had died with each passing season. Reaching, absently, he sought the thick fur of one of the dogs in the back, disconcerned with which his affections were given to.

Their pointed ears passed beneath his fingers as he thought, eyes hard as he took the Tully exit, and broke left. Ever practical, he tore on, intent on saving his daylight.

--------------

The hike with the water would have been brutal, but he chose to spend some fuel on the ATV instead. It lumbered up the trail, sparing him the agony of being a mule in 90+ degrees of summer sun. Even the thick foilage of the trees failed to offer shade, and soon he'd given to staying under the cabin's porch awning.

The cabin itself he'd taken for himself as a priority, second only to his ability to secure the keys to the Great Northern Mall (a benefit of knowing the janitor there from his smoke breaks, so many shifts seperated by a joint between the air). It rested on Hemlock Hill, a particular rise about six-hundred feet shy of Labrador Mountain's summit, two-stories of treated oak logs with a sharply angled roof.

The top floor held two bedrooms, one left empty save a cot. The matress rolled in plastic and the pillow in a similar state. It'd been unused for many years now, empty. There'd been no need for company.

The downstairs sported a wood burning stove, a small oven. There was a table in the kitchen, and a deep wash basin. A massive pantry dominated one wall, filled with non-perishables. Pots and pans were neatly arranged, this meticulous order a symptom that was uniform throughout its keeping. Chris had proven himself wiser for his time, learning to maintain the mechanical and structural elements of the cabin and his equipment until it was second nature. A large gun-safe dominated the living area, complete with a flag-stone fireplace with wide hearth. A sofa with blankets folded over the back was set a few feet from it.

His materials were mostly secured in a shed he'd constructed against the cabin's eastern side, neatly labelled and organized tools and materials. There was also a small door in the floor, leading to an under-ground chill room for meats and other materials to dry.

A small gas/solar generator was behind it, funneling electricity into the cabin to power the lights inside the cabin. The marvel of military technologies that were revealed only as the National Guard had been recalled to help secure Syracuse in quarantine.

The ritual that Chris engaged in upon arriving was practiced and easy, the systematic unloading of his firearms. The emptying and hanging of his dufflebags, the storing of his water. Each supply checked, measured, maintained. His shirt stripped off, tossed in a hamper.

When he had first started this life, this attempt to survive, he'd been a lean boy of just over a hundred and fifty pounds. Soft hands, smooth features. His dark hair framed a handsome, wolfish face with those pale eyes. He'd been in shape, fit from football. He'd fucked his share of women, and was man enough to know his ass from his elbow around firearms from hunting. He knew how to change a tire.

But in ten years, Chris had become something more. At five foot ten inches tall, he was cut with rippled muscle. His skin was riddled with scars paler lines against the bronzed skin. Hardened, like the oak of his cabin's walls, by the harsh passing of the years. Youth had long passed from his features, leaving only the rugged masculinity of approaching middle-age, and the keen glint of a feral, experience driven intelligence.

He spoke three languages now aside from english, teaching himself spanish, french, and german out of boredom. He'd read and reread so many books on carpentry, mechanics, and technology that he could have passed graduate-level finals. Steadier hands with a rifle could not be found, and the big-bore Remington 778 he used had been chambered in .458 Wnchester Magnum. Even when he missed vitals, the round knocked a deer silly, ensuring it wouldn't get up again. The faint waste of some meat was acceptable in return for a promised kill.

Scope, or not, it mattered little. He was talented with a firearm now. Constant practice, drilling, tinkering.

The meticulous nature, the lack of contentment fashioned into an obsessive need to learn and to improve. It all equated to the days being passed productively.

Over the course of the next three, he'd take another deer from the hill and clean it. He'd expand his journals (already 35 notebooks long) by 11 pages. And most constructively, he'd finish building a choke-point of stone in the creek that would lift the water level enough to ensure that when it did rain...

And the more frequent cloud cover hinted it would be soon...

The crick's choke-point would be a comfortable place to bathe and retreat from the brutal heat of 2018's July.

 

[Sweetp4u]

Reya

She moved slower than she would have liked to be moving, but there wasn't much she could do about the condition of her body. She knew she had to find food soon, as well as water and transportation... but first she had to see which way the man was going.

She crawled over an old taxi, using it's roof to hop onto a passenger bus long since abandoned. Crouched on the white top, she watched the camaro drive to the interstate, turn north and quickly vanish from sight. She hadn't realized how tense she was until that car vanished from sight. Wearily she sank to her ass, exhaling slowly. Tucking the gun into her waistband, she studied her shaking hand before curling the digits into a fist.

She didn't have a whole lot of time, and as much as she wanted to stay there and not move for a few days, she knew she had no choice but to move on. She wouldn't get far if she didn't eat, and soon. With that in mind, she scrambled as quickly and quietly as possible off the bus, making her way downtown.

Grabbing the snaps, she pulled open the large army jacket, making quick work of the zipper as she unwrapped herself. Pulling the fanny pack back around to rest low on her hips in front of her, she opened it up as well. Searching through her many tools. A lock pick, a small compass and a can opener were among the few treasures the old man had given her and she kept with her at all times.. well since her flight from Florida.

Her lips curves in a reluctant smile, she wasn't doing too bad for herself. At least she was still safely alone. Had she been clean however, she doubted that the man would've left so easily. She wasn't full of herself, but the old man had told her on more than one occasion that even he would be tempted had he not been paralyzed from the waist down.

"Never doubt for a moment, given the chance any man would be stickin' it to you girl! Willing or not, they don't often see beauty anymore in this world." He'd been gruff, uncouth and often had a fouler mouth than the street rats, but he'd also kept her and her family safe as best he could.. And when he couldn't do for them anymore, he'd sent her away.

Clearing her throat, she shook herself from her memories. She wouldn't cry for that old bastard, tears were wasted on the dead. Memory lane was one place she shouldn't go in unfamiliar territory. Distractions are what would get her ass killed!

She had lost her mother and two older sisters to raiders. The only reason she had survived so long and was not some filth's play toy, or worse knocked up and alone.. Because she listened! She was the smallest of her family, and youngest. Standing erect, she was maybe 5'5" in her socks. She barely filled in anything, but surprisingly she hadn't quite stopped growing just yet. It would stop soon enough, if starvation didn't stunt her growth.

It was late by the time she found food and shelter that first night. Having dined on peaches and olives, she had to fight to keep it down. Starved, she'd eaten too fast and was paying the price for it as she huddled down inside the old sewer system. She didn't groan with her cramps and pains, just did her best to breathe through it and hold it down. She wasn't a wasteful shit, and by god she'd keep it where she needed it!

It was uncomfortable sleeping in a cold, wet cement bed but it was far safer than exploring the high rise buildings. The city seemed empty, and that was a blessing to be sure.. but what if it wasn't as empty as it appeared? Best way to stay out of trouble was to not go looking for it.

Day Two -

She found herself scurrying most of the morning up and down the avenues, alleys and parking lots. Looking for a small compact car, automatic and that it ran was the biggest deal. As much as she wanted to load up one of the many trucks, she'd never be able to siphon that much gas from the bowels of the city. She'd traveled a good mile in diameter of the stadium when she found an old Honda civic that would actually crank over!

Silently she jumped in the air, whooping with excitement, but making no sound. She beamed for the first time in weeks, "Finally! A break! About god damned time too." Making note of where it was located, color and surroundings, she ran back the way she had come. Taking can and hose with her.

By late afternoon she'd managed to get ten gallons of gas from the ground at the old Conoco station just off the I-81. Weary and fighting the urge to not vomit up what gas did enter her system, she hauled it with her. She was tense again, listening to the dead silence as if it didn't bother her. Ignoring the old nightmares from her childhood about such silence. It wasn't normal, it was freakishly scary, but it also meant no one else was around.

So far she hadn't been found.

Day Three -

She'd found an army surplus store, but wasn't too happy about it. She'd slept in front of it, down in the drain the night before and never even noticed. It pissed her off, she pissed herself off with her lack of attention. Everything was vital.. everything!

It took almost an hour to pick the lock on the front door, as the windows were covered with a metal grate, her choices were limited to this. Every muscle ached, but she was used to it. Patients however, was beginning to run thin. Whomever DiJulio was, he obviously didn't want thieves inside his store.

Civic out front, she systematically went through the store. A few blankets, a pillow. Changes of clothes, first aid items and cooking utensils. An axe and water canteens, gas can and boxes of matches. She grabbed a bow and arrows, reusable hunting equipment verses bullets she'd run out of soon enough. She had to set up a home for herself some where down the road, and with that in mind she filled up the small car's back seat with her supplies. The trunk was already taken up with a duffle bag of canned goods, water and a filled gas can.

She paused behind the counter, sighing. "Not a single bullet in stock.." There wasn't even ammo for a .22! Obviously some one thought they'd only need bullets to survive. The rest of the store was pretty much full, except food stuffs and ammo. She couldn't bring herself to toss the gun away, bullets or no. Maybe further up the road she'd find some? Who knew, right?

Pulling a small circular object from her fanny pack, she checked the time on the old broken Timex. Fifteen ‘til five, meant she had two hours roughly of daylight left to travel. Some where a few blocks down a bird squawked, taking flight with a loud flapping of wings. She jumped, gun pointed in the direction. Had she any bullets, she'd have probably fired.. and luckily she didn't.

The low rumble, barely audible at first, was growing louder. At first she didn't recognize the sound, but it didn't take long for it to sink in.

"Someone's coming!" Her eyes swung up, looking for indication of what direction they might be approaching from, but could see no one. Knowing that loud of a sound reverbing meant it wasn't a single someone, but at least three engines. Not wanting to find out who it was with no advantage, she got her ass quickly into the civic.

If she couldn't see them, they sure as hell couldn't see her. She drove quickly to the on-ramp and turned north.

She drove silently, her eyes more on the rear view mirror than the road in front of her. Pedal firmly pressed, she could barely get the damned car to move fifty-five, but she kept it pressed down and moving forward.

They hadn't seen her, or they'd be following. Maybe they wouldn't follow at all, but who would gamble these days? No one she knew. Either way, most of the city was buried under a huge mess, which meant the only easy access route out was the one the man had taken, the same route she was now on herself. So they would be coming this way, whom ever they were?

White knuckled, stomach churning, she kept pushing and pushing the car. An hour and a half passed, each small town exit sign looked promising... too promising for her tastes, and so she ignored five different alternate routes before the 6th caught her eye.

Tully
Pop: (the numbers spray painted over)

It would be dark soon, the name seemed far too boring to be a favorite pit-stop for anyone else. She slowed as she approached the exit ramp. Torn between going on and exiting.

"Make up your time Reya.. yes or no.. yes ....." The lines splintered off, separating to make a lane. "or no..." She gripped the wheel harder and felt the car shudder under her. Brows furrowed together, she checked gauges. "Shit shit shit! don't die damn it." Her voice soft, quiet as she pleaded with the car to cooperate with her.

It shuddered and nearly stalled, making the choice for her as she yanked the wheel towards the off ramp. "Damn it! Fucking piece of shit cars!" What she wouldn't give for a god damned horse! She tore down the off ramp, eyeing the outskirts of the small town with distaste. It was too small for offer much protection.. Or maybe it .. Her thoughts were cut off as the car sputtered, back fired loudly and stalled out.

"FUCK!" Punching the dash, she let the car coast further into town. Key quickly found, she turned it off and back to the start position. Again it back fired loudly, her face paling instantly. "Why not just sky write my arrival!? Hunk of junk! shit.. no im sorry! please.. PLEASE! start!?" She tried again, foot hitting break and putting it in neutral. "Please.. Oh please please.. start.. start baby, come on!" she pumped the gas, uncaring at this point if she flooded the damned thing.

Minutes passed and the battery died down further and further, the whine and protest of the engine growing fainter. Sitting still, quietly counting before she lost all patients entirely, she gave it one last try. It turned over, but it was rumbling and shaking so badly, she doubt it would get her much further. Glancing up to see the steam coming from under the hood, she knew she was at the end of the line with this baby.

Cursing, wishing she had spare water to feed the machine, she crawled into town. Near the post office, the car finally gave in and stopped working altogether. Resigned, she tried to come to grips with her new reality and temporary home.

 

[Light Ice]

Fate had a dark and nasty humor, Chris had come to that conclusion over a year ago. The car's rattles had alerted him ten minutes ago, as she lurched down the exit into the shit-box town of Tully. It was a hick mountain town, population three-hundred before the Creep killed almost all of that. And even then, it was thirty-five minutes away from his cabin.

She had either the best of luck, or the worst of luck. He'd not decided.

The post-office faced the town's main-drag, and he'd cleaned it out a couple years ago. Deer roamed the town streets and he'd taken to using either the pizza place, or this building as a stand. The dogs were lying together, enjoying the shadows that protected the trio from the oppressive heat. And then, the death rattles of the Honda clattered and clunked, stirring them. He watched them rise, before laying his hand out. Jack and Cody stilled, silent, ears perked.

She was punching the dash with her small hands, face obscured by the cracked and filth-ridden windshield. It was a surprise she was alive, and a tragic joke how much she'd progressed. To Chris, she looked like a woman on the cusp of making it. Her knowledge of things incomplete, broken in places just before she could make her life easier.

"With me." He muttered, before opening the building's door. The dogs obediently moved with him. The hinges creaked faintly, and he moved toward the woman's passenger door.

Chris wasn't eager for this encounter, not since they'd last met. For a long while he watched her, aware she wasn't alerted to his presence yet. In his arms the Remington rested, the long barrel pointed to the ground beside him. The car was in a sorry condition, perhaps beyond repair even from his talented hands. There was little doubt she'd not find another functioning vehicle in town, and unless she'd the strength to hike the three or four hours back to Syracuse, she'd have to bunk up.

But this was -his- town. The mountain that was his home loomed thirty minutes of driving away, the roads snaking up the stretch of hills and winding through the rows of heavy, thick trees. Finally, she released another sharp curse, and turned. Their eyes met.

She bolted, scrambling to find her firearm and free it.

"Don't start that shit again." He cautioned, granite-grey eyes narrowing faintly on her hands as they froze. They'd just touched the cold butt of the Glock, before flexing.

She was a deer in head-lights, the raw frustration transformed by a cold fear. There was no simpering, no sobbing or pleading. Instead, a raw anger, coursing through her features. She was silent still, but he could see her thoughts, watch them rip through her in an attempt to salvage the situation.

"Listen, you don't have to believe me but I'm not interested in complicating my life up here. I like living on my own, and I don't need anything you have. But you're in some shit, and you've just brought that shit to me. You keep stumbling about my town on your own and you'll attract some of the Raiders and Drovers roaming through this stretch of New York. Why don't you get out of that piece of shit and tell me your name?"

Silence, but her small hand found the door's latch. It fought her before shuddering open, the metal creaking in protest as it swung wide and stopped. Rising, he nearly shook his head. Dirt and grit smeared her features, but more troubling were the dark circles around her eyes. She was under-fed, and sleep deprived. Syracuse wasn't an empty city, at least never for long. The scavengers swept it frequently, looking to find travellers seeking one of the few colonies lingering within the state. It was a miracle she'd not gotten herself caught, or swept up by one of the predatory bands roaming the interstates.

"My name is Reya." There was a cold edge, almost a challenge in her tone.

Chris only dipped his chin, gesturing with the barrel of the Remington toward a small drive half a block down. Beneath his boots the cracked asphalt was steadily yielding to weeds and wear, and he shifted his weight between them. In comparison to her own they were considerably less-bulky, ventilated. Summer boots, meant for hot temperatures. Meant for the summer. Her own were the stiffer, heavier low-temperature boots. He couldn't imagine how badly her feet hurt from walking, or how uncomfortable she was standing before him.

"I'm Chris, and that's Jack and Cody. I'm being as honest as I can, Reya. You're only alive because I'm convinced it'd be less trouble for me to help you get your shit together and get on your way. You shack up in Tully on your own, you'll end up getting snagged by a drover. Then that drover will like this place, and see it swept. And if they sweep it, they'll see that there's things in this town that you didn't do. Didn't know about. And they'll know someone else is here. So you've two options."

He exhaled, regarding her, the rifle passive in his hands. "You can either take what you can carry and walk your ass up the onramp to 81, and get the hell out of this place. Leave me be. Or you can take up the important shit you've found and follow me to my truck. Tell me where you're going, and we'll think about how to get you there."

Was it truly all preservation, as cold as he made it sound? No, and he'd keep that to himself. Chris hadn't had human company in over six years, and he'd not seen another human in three. The urge for a woman was sharp and strong, ripping through him, touching off the primal voices that he'd turned more and more frequently to. But more than anything, Chris was alone. And at times he'd worried for his sanity.

Watching her, his rugged frame once again was contrasted to her own as she stood across from him. She, ragged and unkept... and he, so comfortable and controlled. It was a lifestyle that he'd adjusted too easily, and at times when he was younger, Chris was often glad that the Creep came. College, the nine to five jobs and life that so many had clung too...

He doubted he could have survived that.

 

[Sweetp4u]

Reya

She stiffened with his tone, and forgot the gun. It may have worked the first time but she sincerely doubted it would work the second. His tone was anything but friendly, and his manners that of a toad. Had she expected better? Not really.

It did piss her off to end up in the same location as this asshole, again! Someone hated her, some where some powerful being.. Call it Fate even, hated her with a passion.. How else would she end up in this asshole's town?

He was so cocksure of himself. His town, his options, his rules and of course her favorite, his way if she wanted to live. She smirked at him, really couldn't help herself either. He had no clue, probably didn't care one way or another, but he only aided the ending of mankind with his trigger happy ways.

Hell he probably hadn't seen anyone, let alone a female, in so long he's got to be partially bonkers by now. She eyed his gun, held in a nonthreatening manner but still as deadly. He seemed at ease, but she knew it was a lie. His dogs were out there some where. Hell, they were probably waiting for a signal to attack.

"Chris?" She sighed, looking down at her boots and the old civic. Dismissive in a small way, but neither could pretend the other wasn't there. Such a shame too, she'd like nothing more than for him to vanish like a bad dream.

"None of those options really seem favorable where I'm standin'." She squinted at the western horizon, the sun would fully down in another half hour which didn't leave her enough time. "Damn it! Fucking so sick of this shit!"

"I don't plan on ruining your little bubble here, Chris. Sure as hell ain't fixin' to stay neither. While I do 'preciate the offer, I'd think it would be best all around if you'd just give me a little bit of time to get myself back on the road and outta your hair.." She stiffened as he shifted, tensed that he might actually come around the car to get closer to her person.

"I've got to get to the border by tomorrow, noon. So.." Her words trailed off, debating whether to warn him about the caravan headed north through the city or not. For all she knows, they might just pass on by or even turn off before reaching here.. anything was possible?

 

[Light Ice]

"I don't plan on ruining your little bubble here, Chris. Sure as hell ain't fixin' to stay neither. While I do 'preciate the offer, I'd think it would be best all around if you'd just give me a little bit of time to get myself back on the road and outta your hair.." She stiffened as he shifted.

"I've got to get to the border by tomorrow, noon. So.." Her words trailed off.

He smirked, a cold twist of his lips that revealed the neat teeth beyond. She'd have a better chance shitting a brick of pure gold then getting herself to the border at noon. She'd have to take I-90, fucked as it was, straight north past Rochester and then directly through the heart of Buffalo. If the former didn't get her killed, the latter almost certainly would.

Lifting the rifle to his shoulder, Chris swung the barrel around swiftly to the forward quarter-panel of the vehicle and pressed the trigger. It bucked hard against him, the thunderous crack echoing sharply through the town's lone street. Even as the sound reverberated against the weathered buildings the car's engine gave a sharp "thunk". Almost immediately oil and fuel were gushing onto the ground from its under-side, spilling out in darkening slick. The car continued to bleed out as he remained, fingers working the Remington's bolt to chamber the next round. The .458 Win Mag had ripped through the vehicle's side and punched into the engine block directly, he doubted it'd ever run again.

She was staring at him, her fists clenched sharply. Had she the chance, she'd tear him apart. He was sure of it then. His smile had faded as he lowered the rifle, resting it placidly in his arms once more. "That Honda was dead, and you know it. Come on, and you'll be able to head northward. And in a hell of a better car."

Lifting his hand, he whistled sharply through his fingers, and from the Post Office the dogs bounded forward. They found their way to the side, tails wagging, content to move with him as he continued to wait for her. His eyes tracked the sharp, frustrated jerks of her hands as she bent, drawing an internal frame backpack from the backseat of the Honda and slung it on. A bow, a few arrows taken up. And then, abruptly, she began to move around the front of the car.

He walked beside her, as though they were friends, his pale eyes ticking over the street with every movement. But she seemed to know he was watching her as much as he could afford, and the dogs nearby were all but entranced in their hard stare. They failed to relax even as Chris did, approaching the F-150 and securing the Remington in the gun rack after he'd empty the weapon's chamber. The dogs climbed expectantly into the bed before he closed it.

"Get in." The F-150 was a dull green, covered thickly in dust and grit. "Put your shit in the back."

 

[Sweetp4u]

Reya

It took all her self control not to tell him what an asshole he was. Some where between the second shot and yanking out her backpack, she realized that he probably already knew he was an asshole and she'd just be wasting precious time by telling him so.

Telling him he was childish probably would also garner the same response as calling him an asshole, and so she gave up thoughts of a verbal attack. Grabbing her bow and few arrows, she started stalking off, prepared to walk the entire way if need be.

Unfortunately she was walking the same damned way Chris was going, and so he assumed she was cooperating. This also made her angry, but what could she really do about it? Her options now nil, she ground her teeth together hard to keep from giving him a tongue lashing he so deserved!

"Get in. Put your shit in the back." He made quick work of putting away his gun, and only a partial job of checking his beasties. Ears drawn back as she approached the side, they both gave off a wild look and low growls. Knowing if she showed too much fear they'd go nuts, but knowing she couldn't do much to either of them she merely growled back.

"Same back at'cha Cujo." Tossing the backpack into the bed, she even had a childish smirk of her own when the dogs leapt back and fell silent. Obviously unsure what to make of her attempted assault, or held in check by the King Dog up in the cab. Nervous and doing her best to hide it, she opened the passenger door and peered in. "What about the rest of the supplies?"

She wondered if she'd regret this, but she knew enough self defense to be certain she'd take him with her, where ever he wanted to dance to.

 

[Light Ice]

The truck's rugged and unwashed exterior was contrasted sharply by the interior. Chris drew across the leathered seat, fingers seeking the keys from his pocket. He was a meticulously neat man, trained by experience and time that being neat saved precious time and energy in difficult situations.

He watched her pause before claiming a seat, almost leaning against the door as it closed. For a moment, if only a moment, there was a begrudged glint of respect in her eyes. Effectively she turned, not allowing him the satisfaction of it for more than a moment, gaze turned to the streets as he turned the key.

Shoe is on the hand that fits, thats all there really is to it.
Whistle through your teeth and spit, but its all right

The Grateful Dead announced the car's easy start, the MP3 player keying on immediately and filling the cabin. Quietly, Chris leaned over and turned the volume down. Jerry Garcia was the only company he'd have wanted right now, with the woman quietly stewing over in her seat.

I will get byyyyy, I will survive.

"Where are you from?" He asked as he steered the car onto the county roads, small houses giving way to long stretches of abandoned fields. At one times, this stretch leading up the Mountain was flanked by farmlands. The small rural community had all but died out as the farmers turned to Walmart instead of the country store. And then the Creep came, killing men and women in their beds. Small children bowing over in school, coughing up the horrendous black phlegm laden with red specks of blood.

The farms had been abandoned, let to grow wildly, rampantly. They faded soon, silence save for the soft rumble of Jerry Garcia from the car's speakers. They hardly spoke.

She answered him only as they turned up the mountain, the fields giving way to thick tree-cover. The dense canopy shrouded the road from the sun, affording them a respite from the heat as they drove on.

"Florida."

He was a hint surprised, expecting Georgia, Alabama. Something that spoke more distinctly of the Confederate flag, red necks, and cowboy boots. But more pressing, he was surprised she was still alive. The entire east coast on her own, a series of large cities from Raleigh to Washington DC, and even Pittsburgh were along I-91. The fact she'd not been picked up yet, it was as surprising as her turning up along his path twice.

Shaking his head, he turned off the main road pulling the car up. A bit further other vehicles sat, parked as though abandoned. The Camaro amongst them. As he began to leave the car, his eyes turned to her, gesturing to the back.

"Take your pack. Don't worry about your supplies, should be alright. And if someone comes across and takes them, I'll tell you where to get more. Over six billion people used to live in this world, they left all kinds of shit behind."

His words were the flat oration of a man without faith or concern, even as he took the rifle from the truck's rack and snapped his fingers. The dogs bounded to his side, leaping from the bay easily and taking off into the brush. They were gone moments later, and the pair were left alone. His eyes on hers, expectant.

 

[Sweetp4u]

Reya

She sat quietly, hand on the door handle incase she had to make a hasty exit. She listened to the low music, barely recognizing it for 'classic rock'.

When was the last time she had even heard music?

Thoughts pushed aside, she best pay attention to her surroundings and the travel route. There wasn't much to notice, but it was still important to pay attention to even the smallest of details.

She had made no comment or compliment on his truck, though she was surprised to find it clean. She had hesistated upon seeing it, almost too ashamed to crawl into the vehicle and dirty it up with her less than pristine attire.. Beggars can't be choosers..

What I wouldn't give for a bath. She almost groaned aloud thinking about it. It was beyond pleasure, a good hot bath. She vaguely remembered chocolate and even that was over shadowed by the power of hot clean water.

"Florida." She couldn't get more specific than that, they'd roamed around so much in a nomadic type way that she never really had a 'home town'. It wasn't until the old man's van stopped working that they were forced to plant roots in a small suburb outside Tampa. Not many places or even running vehicles had handicap access for wheel chairs.

Time ticked by quietly, but it was less uncomfortable than before. She often wondered on the drive out, at least three times, how far out did he live? And why would he choose to be so far from.. It dawned on her just as he pulled into a make-shift parking lot. Seclusion meant safety.

It also means no one will hear me scream.

Brushing it off, unsure but not completely lost in stupidity, she grabbed her pack to follow. Seriously, why would anyone drag a stranger this far just to kill them when they both knew that no one else was around anyway? He could've killed her down in town, had there been residents, they wouldn't have bothered to help out anyway. So being paranoid was doing nothing but making her crankier than normal.

"It's .. nice out here." She grudgingly complimented, eyes scanning for his pet bastards. He motioned for her to go ahead of him, his hand guesturing towards a small opening in the forest underbrush. Being a gentleman? Hardly. He didn't want his back exposed to her, and neither did she.. but someone had to give if they were going to go anywhere, get anywhere.

Stiff but damned sure not a coward, she went ahead of him.

They walked in silence for a few minutes before she offered some information of her own, voluntary and for the first time since meeting, "Five years ago ten percent of the world's population was female. Today, less than three percent and declining daily." Maybe he'd think her a geek or finatic of some kind, but she really didn't care. If he was smart, maybe he'd see why she was trying to get the fuck out of there.

 

[Light Ice]

It was nice out here, beautiful to be honest. Few people understood how scenic Upstate New York had remained, even before the Creep had decimated the human population and crushed urban living, let alone urban sprawl. They walked a dirt trail that was otherwise unmarked, her words accompanied by the sudden burst of movement.

The dogs bounded across the path and disappeared again, playing happily. They were soothing to Chris for a variety of reasons, but most frequently because he helped him forget how fucked everything had truly become. The fact they were oblivious to the absence of human civilization was a blessing, and it had kept him trying in all these years. Kept him working to carve a piece out here, knowing that all he was doing was passing time until his day came.

"You sound like a group of women that came through here, maybe seven years ago. They were headed to Canada, some kind of community. Wanted me to go with them." The words were steady as he moved after her, effortless on the incline that perhaps would labor her.

She hesitated a moment, hiding the weakness that her body was betraying. A long way in three days, but no way as healthy as she could be. The hike was taking a toll. "Came through 'ere? You let them go?"

To this, he smirked, his large palm claiming a tree trunk that flanked the path to help him navigate a particularly steep bit of trail. His boots easily found purchase amidst a root that was exposed, spanning the width of the trail that wound steadily up the mountain's side.

"Helped them get some packs that fit. They wouldn't stick around long. Asked me to go with them." He remembered their names and faces clearly, a faint smile touching his lips. Her back was to him, she'd never know the memories were fond ones by the flat, almost feral tone of his voice.

"Why didn't you?" she asked, the question one Chris had expected.

The dogs burst by again, two balls of white and grey that bounded along the trail with their curled tails wagging furiously. The sun was setting, casting its dark violet and crimson light across the mountain and through the trees. They'd only just arrive to the cabin as night fell. Perhaps they'd walk the last hillock in the dark.

"I've got an entire mountain here. Nobody to demand anything from me. Nobody to argue with. Nobody comes poking around trying to steal my shit." That tone was flat again, his humor grim. "Why would I give that up for some shit-box hut in Canada?"

 

[Sweetp4u]

Reya

"I see your point." She muttered between clenched teeth, trying to keep a neutral tone as much as possible. She was tired, hungry and filthy. Her back hurt, her feet ached and the dizziness was threatening to overwhelm her.

She fought it off, there was no way she was going to go down in front of Chris or his beasties. She managed to get herself this far, surely she could finish this.

"The community was gathering together to try and do something about.." She paused to rest against a boulder, debating where she would set up camp for the night as darkness was coming swiftly. "The lack of children." She wondered briefly if he had slept with any of them, and if so how many? It was possible he had a child if he did touch one or more.

She could admit, if only to herself, it was surprising to find out he let them go peacefully. Perhaps there were some decency left in the world after all? She chanced a long look at him as she pushed off the rock and moved back onto the trail.

With her back to him, she shook her head a little as the small smile formed faintly around a mouth that hadn't had much to smile about in a long time.
"Hollow words, with no way to verify what he's claiming. Don't be fooled Reya."

The few thoughts helped her more so than she was aware of. With her mind else where, she was able to push herself further, harder, to keep moving. One foot in front of the other. Everything ached, including her stomach, but she would rather choke on it than ever voice her discomfort. The old man often told her not to belly ache, no one gave a shit what was bothering her and not to share it.

Straightening her spine, although her body begged her not to do it. She pushed down the tears, tiredness, aches and pains. She wasn't some weak little girl, tired yes but never weak. Inside she would cry, moan and bitch just as long as Chris wasn't aware of any of it.

Panting for air, whether from elevation or exhaustion, she muttered, "Nice place." Voice weary, it wasn't a compliment. This was one hellish of a fucking hike, she was quite certain her old blisters now had new blistered on top of them.

She went down hard on her ass, the air rushing from her already dried-up gasping lungs. She winced, that definitely would leave a mark on her ass since some fucking rocks decided to camp under the very spot she just plopped down onto. "Don't mind if I do have a sit." Her weight shifted a little off her ass and more so onto the backpack's metal frame as she let her eyes close for a few moments.

It really did help the spinning and hazy vision, she just needed a few moments to rest her eyes. Anger rose sharp and quick in her breast, face and body. The small rush of adrenaline almost tempting her to rise up and move on, but she knew it was a false promise and so she did not budge. She hated being this weakened, more so because there was a witness to it. One who had no ties, no cares and no need of her, to her.

 

[Light Ice]

Her ragged compliment was answered with silence as he moved around her, passing her by on the way toward the cabin's yard. The earth here was a darkened earth, fertile and well-managed. Grass flanked up toward them, appearing where the thicker underbrush and trees has been thinned by ten years of work.

Chris had found that teaching yourself material wasn't difficult when you were trying to fill a day, carpentry and yard-work had been some of his first attempts at a self-provided master's degree. The result was a series of small pens on one side of the cabin, housing chickens for eggs and a few pigs. They were silent now, already bedded down. Only a few squacks and grunts echoed, barely audible.

A garden was nearby, carrots and strawberries. She'd notice four large plastic laundry hampers full of apples and oranges, a day-trip to an orchard about an hour from here. The seasonal harvests were events that he'd come to appreciate, apples and oranges a treat he missed during the winter.

A set of keys were produced and pushed into the locks, turning the tumblers until the heavy door could swing open. He'd added the iron braces, securing it further. The ever lingering paranoid of a home invasion, of marauders. Of someone trying to get in while he was sleeping. But this hike, forty-five minutes over twisting trail... the fact the road was unmarked, twisting to nowhere. Only those he brought here had managed to find it.

Inside the bookshelves dominated the living area, full of books on mechanics, carpentry, other material means to educate himself. To teach himself skills that had allowed him to keep the vehicles running, to navigate the pump-well out back. The shed was his own construction, and the solar panels a few dozen yards back on the hill's crest had been a four year project he'd finished only three months ago. They fed to batteries that powered the cabin's minimal power requirements.

He left her in the yard to her own devices, his back to her now. Something about being home made it so easy to do. The dogs bounded inside and drew into the kitchen area, sitting on their haunches with their tongues lolling out.

She entered a short time later as he was locking the gun inside the safe under the stairs, and the ammunition in a similarly sized one nearby. There were maybe thirty to forty thousand rounds inside, plus a couple hundred empty cases he'd fired long ago. The cases were kept in a small cardboard box that was set on a book detailing how to mold your own bullets, mix your own powder, and press them together.

He hadn't had to resort to that yet, but if he ever had to he had the equipment. The books and instructions. A man could accomplish a great deal in ten years without a job or family to consider.

"We'll eat dinner in about forty minutes. There's a shower out back, the pressure's low because we haven't had rain in twenty-seven days... But it'll work. Go ahead and use it if you want. The last time we met I'd just gathered up enough drinking water for a couple more weeks." He spoke steadily, a hint of comfort in his tone. Her bag hit the cabin's wooden floor and rustled, mostly empty it seemed.

She was staring at him, and the cabin's interior. This was not a place of desperation, perhaps wild in comparison to the rovers and drovers that she may or may not have known. The truth of it was that Chris had originally remained here with his father, and when the old man was killed... He simply hadn't the heart to leave. It was his room the woman would stay in. Though, he knew she'd never know that.

"Your room is the empty one on the right at the top of the stairs. There's a lock on the door, a deadbolt. It sticks though, so if it gets stuck don't bother fucking with it. Just take the door off the hinges with the screwdriver on the dresser, and put it back on."

The lock was the only thing he didn't have the heart to fix. He'd learned the right way to jiggle it open and closed when it stuck, but fixing it wasn't an option.

Without waiting for what she would do, he turned into the kitchen after hanging his pack on a hook beside the door. Beside it was another, much larger internal-frame pack. He removed his boots, and walked in thick cotton socks to a wood stove.

The dinner would be large venison steaks, taken from a deer not a couple days before. He'd learned to broil them in the cast-iron oven, and steamed some carrots, broccoli, and rice to go with it. His potatoes weren't ready to be pulled yet, (and that was a bitch) and there was no cheese.

He was still trying to learn how to make his own. Only when he was confident enough for that would he bring a couple milk-cows up here and find a place for them. They were too damned big to make use of in the mean time. He'd learned the hard way with horses. If she got to prying it was the only story he felt comfortable sharing, and the group of women that'd passed through had found it quite funny.

Even thinking of it he laughed, softly to himself. She'd left him here, moving out the cabin's door.

 

[Sweetp4u]

Reya

She was impressed with his sanctuary, but said nothing about it or the books lining the walls. She had never seen any kind of home, other than pre-creep, that was as luxorious. It was no surprise he didn't want company, he was living in a dreamland here.. for the most part.

She doubt he'd ever spent a night, let alone months underground. Living like rats, always scampering and hiding. She felt a twinge of jealousy eat at her, but shoved it firmly aside. It was no more his fault where she grew up than hers, and being mad at him for it wouldn't get her ass out of here.. In one piece to boot.

She felt uncomfortable standing in the cabin, sweat ran in places that was growing increasingly more annoying than ever before. So when he mentioned a shower, she didn't hesistate to start fishing through the pack for the things she'd need.

He mentioned dinner, but her stomach was forgotten with the one thought dancing in her mind, "A shower!" As quickly as possible she escaped the interior of the cabin, feeling relief swamp her as she made it out.

Forgotten were her aches and pains, hunger took a back seat and fear for her person nearly forgotten. She found the shower stall and quickly wormed out of her coat. Tossing down on the grass, she set her clean clothes on top of the coat and stood debating.

If she didn't clean up, he very likely wouldn't come near her with a ten foot pole. If she didn't clean up, she might possibly go crazy from the sensation of bugs crawling all over her.. If they weren't already. Hell, she couldn't even run her fingers through her hair it was so matted with crap and dirt.

The camo coat was shed and already the cooler breeze was reaching to parts of her that hadn't been free in weeks. She sighed slowly, an almost pleasurable sound mewling from the back of her throat and a smile crept over her features.

Bending over, she quickly untied her boots, grabbing her right foot up and hopping in place as she pulled it off. Repeating the same action with the left side, as well as unhooking the fanny pack and tossing it down into the growing pile of crap. Next she tugged off the hoodie to reveal an Old Navy t-shirt beneath.

Fingertips hastily found the skin of her stomach and scratched, shoving the v-neck Tee out of the way. Next came the fatigues and then the long underwear under it. Standing there in the ever darkening night, barely clothed, she glanced around again to be sure she was truly alone.

Socks joined the pile, tee shirt, bra and finally her underwear. Grabbing the small bar of soap she'd scrounged at the army surplus store, she stepped inside the stall and turned the handle.

She knew the water would be cool, not cold as it was summer, but cooler than her body. Still it was a little shocking as it hit her skin, but not an unwelcome feeling.

Groaning softly, she tackled body and hair and body once again. For awhile there she had a sinking feeling she'd never be clean again. Despite all the crap, mistrust and such, she couldn't help but feel herself soften a little towards Chris. Though, he couldn't really nag about her stench when he was the one insisting she come up here with him.

Grime came away, revealing bright green eyes, fringed in thick black lashes and delicate brows of the same color. Her hair untied, unmatted and clean came down just barely between her shoulderblades, also a deep darkbrown in color. In the light one would be able to see the midnight hues as well as the reddish brown. Mixed heritage showed with her high cheek bones, small rounded nose and full lips.

She hadn't seen herself in over a month and wondered if she had changed any in appearence? Uncaring as her stomach was now making it's self known in a rather loud rude way, she dressed in a t-shirt and clean fatigues. Something could be said for the usefulness of military style pants, all those pockets came in handy. Toweling her hair with the semi-dry corner, she left her soiled clothes in a pile as she went seeking something to put them in.

Unsure whether to knock or not, she opted for the later and quietly entered the cabin the same way she'd left. Heading to her pack, she dug through searching for some kind of bag to hold her things until she could wash it. A noise from the kitchen area caught her attention, then scents of dinner reached her sensitive nose.

Her stomach rumbled, her mouth watering against her will as she fought the urge to follow her nose. Somewhere in her pack she'd brought a few canned goods, she'd eat soon enough.

"Do you have a plastic bag of some kind?" She sighed heavily, she had forgotten so many things in the rush to obey Mr. Bossy's orders.

 

[Light Ice]

She'd enter to find that food wouldn't be an issue, her plate was set for her. It was a simple metal cooking plate, and four had been prepared. A venison steak broiled neatly, seasoned and accompanied by the steamed veggies. To mark the occasion Chris had debated wine. The limited liquor he managed to secure (it seemed everyone had made a run for it) had decided eventually was too precious, and despite her being the first in years to share his company... the stock was to stay hidden until after she'd either gone or gained more of his trust.

The dog's plates were supplemented by vegetables as well, mixed in with the steaks he'd cut into fine pieces to ensure they'd eat them. If anything, the meal hinted at how Chris had managed to stay so damned healthy while so many struggled to scratch out a living.

The treat of the meal was Coke, a can of which had been set next to her glass. The ice was in oddly shaped chunks, chipped from the inside of his chest-freezer. A benefit from the solar-powered battery system, he'd never bothered to use the freezer when it was only the gas generator supplying power to the cabin. It simply ate too much gasoline to be worth it.

She was staring, and he could imagine why. If she could only feel how he felt, the pride and the strength it gave him to have spent so long making so many little comforts for himself. The life he'd made here was free from some of the strains and hardships that the communities may still endure, scratching for food was long gone for Chris. He'd evolved, come into his own. He'd earned it all through precise planning and endless effort.

The true strength of his land, was his work. What had given Chris more happiness than anything was the absence of obligations. He'd always been frightened of the world when he was in highschool. The thought of enduring college simply to shuffle into the offices and turmoil of the city one that had always bothered him. To scratch out paychecks that were torn apart for rent and food wasn't appealing. Your coming of age present was a wife and kids, and your retirement spent paying for them to endure the same cycle you'd endured. To Chris it had always been an awful way to waste his youth.

I was too busy chasing skirts and playing football.

And then the Creep had come, and the world began to break down. It spread quickly, within days of the first reports in New York City it was discovered in Buffalo, and then Rochester, and two days later Syracuse. He could remember how it'd been on TV, warnings made by made-up reporters, perfectly calm with their delivery. At first, it seemed so practiced. Wash your hands, and report any symptoms immediately.

And the true awful reality of The Creep wasn't revealed. Not until you were watching someone you know die of it. CBS didn't detail the story of Amy Radcliffe, a 37 year old mother of three living in Manhattan. The first documented case to break out was far too horrifying to share with the rest of the world.

--------------------------------

Amy had taken her children to school, but had never felt well that morning. Feverish, her stomach had been off from the moment she'd woken up. Aches came soon after, accompanied by stomach cramps that grew steadily worse. A stay-at-home mother, she abandoned the care of her family's comfortable apartment and drove to the doctor. Half-way there she began to cough, unable to clear her throat of mucus. She was congested.

She was concerned it was a nasty round of the flu, hoping he'd tell her it was nothing but a cold or a virus and she'd have to wait it out. And that's exactly what happened. He informed her there were several nasty stomach bugs going around and she shouldn't worry, and that the best thing she could do was try not to share plates and glasses with her children to keep them from getting it.

Stay hydrated, take some Tylenol, and get plenty of rest.

Relieved, Amy had gone home and called her husband to pick up the children from work. She stayed in bed, watching The Amazing Race before falling asleep. Her husband slept next to her, and her discomfort from the warmth of the bed finally drove her to slide from their bedroom in the middle of the night and claim the couch.

Thirty-six hours after her first symptoms, Amy's cramps had remained. But the coughing had gotten much worse. She felt as though she was consistently choking on flem, coughing it up and spitting it into kleenex. A trashcan beside her place on the couch was filled and emptied several times.

At 2:13pm Amy coughed up a black wad of mucus, thicker than an oil-slick and full of gelatinous chunks. Small flecks of red dotted it, and her throat was raw. The Creep had broken out in force, and she was a dead woman walking. The downward spiral she endured over the course of the next two-days would become familiar to the world, and because of this many would never know the full horror that Amy was forced to endure. Instead, they'd slink off into bedrooms and bathrooms to claim death their own way. Within two month's time hardly anyone would put them through what would follow.

Amy terrified, drove to the emergency room, twice coughing up thick wads of mucus. The tissues she carried with her, along with the hoarse, hacking coughs that riddled her through the the waiting area infected twenty-eight other people within a few short seconds. Unfortunately, Hospital Officials would not recognize The Creep as extremely contagious for three more days. By then, of course, nearly everyone on the hospital's staff had been infected. Many of which had already descended into Amy's state.

Within the course of the next two hours, Amy took a hard and ominous turn to the worse. She could no longer breathe through her nose, and any attempts to clear her nasal passages to relieve her sore throat was met by gushes of black-flecked blood.

A young doctor named Adam Varelli was the first to phone the CDC. Adam had seen a case of Marburg and grew concerned they had somehow developed a case within New York. They attempted to treat Amy accordingly, but her symptoms grew consistantly more terrifying and confusing.

Fully-concious, Amy endured unnatural fits of pain. It struck her so suddenly and so randomly that she'd wet herself, emptying her bladder in the bed and staining the sheets a dark, amber yellow. The yellow was interrupted by small black flecks, the size of pin-heads. Her body would contort as her muscles contracted.

She endured this for over twenty-four hours. The first virologists from the CDC arrived to see her final pain-fit, and Amy described that the pain was slightly less acute, but now utterly constant. They dosed her with Morphine in an attempt to relieve her.

Three hours later, Amy crashed out. The Creep had been assaulting her internal organs for the better part of three days, and had by now broken down enough healthy cells that her hacking coughs would turn into endless vomiting. Her stomach had long been emptied, but she vomited up buckets of blood, once again near-black. The doctor's recognized that Amy was crashing-out, a term used to describe the process of her virus-ridden body's inability to hold together anymore.

Fully concious (a fact that surprised and terrified the doctor's), Amy's agony doubled as she continued to vomit. There was very little bile within the contents, which were almost exclusively the cells of her intestines and stomach as they sloughed off, peeling from what little healthy cells remained. Her body was in the desperate attempts to purge itself of the virus, unable to accept what by now the doctor's had recognized. Amy would eventually die.

The vomiting ended three hours later, and still Amy was alive. The doctors attempted to introduce fluids to her body, only to receive word that Amy's virus was -NOT- Marburg's, or even Ebola. Infact, Amy's virus was not a Fila-Virus at all. Amy's virus was a perfectly shaped diamond, within a circle, the only hint that it -may- be similar was the long filament-like tail attached to it. They never would come to understand what this design meant. There simply was not enough time.

By the time they sealed Amy off from the rest of the hospital, locking her room down and allowing only doctor's in full environmental suits entrance, her skin had grown utterly pale. Her cries of agony were interrupted by the questions of the doctors, desperately attempting to learn how they may treat her.

An hour after this, Amy's skin began to develop small black postules. The postules grew until they were the size of ping-pong balls. They ruptured with tremendous force, detonating of their own accord to hurl a fine mist of black and red particles into the air. Some of this was blood, and others raw pockets of The Creep. It had been four days since Amy's symptoms and she was still very much alive, wrought in the agony of its terrible illnesses.

The last postule broke with similar force, and was followed by rapid pain spaslms through Amy's entire body. The black-flecked blood trickled steadily from her ears, eyes, and nose. She was sweating a black, oily fluid that stained her pale skin. She screamed, only to hack and cough thick chunks of lung and virus from her chest.

Three days later she died, her skin almost gelatinous against her skeleton, her mouth twisted in a silent scream. Her eyes had liquified the day before, almost entirely black. Her tongue had been removed by the doctors when it had swollen enough to choke her.

They'd later find that the marrow in her bones had been turned black, and the bone itself was being eaten away.

The formal name of the Virus was Radcliffe, after Amy. But more commonly it was referred to as The Creep. The Creep was over 99% infectious, and as a contagion far more frightening than it was as a killer. It spread like wildfire throughout New York, and then the other major cities of the world. Small villages and isolated areas were not spared, even as governments around the world attempted violent and calloused quarantine.

If allowed to run its course The Creep could take as long as fourteen days to kill, fourteen agonizing days that forced the victim to watch themselves vomit and cough up most of their innards as the virus liquified them, or forcefully turned them into virus-filled modules.

The kill-rate was 100%. The only human beings who survived, throughout all of earth, were naturally immune. The virus did not mutate further, or spread into wildlife populations. The ape population of the world was almost instantly wiped out.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Before too much longer it wasn't on the news, because there wasn't any news. It simply was around you, a part of your life as you walked the boarded up houses. All around were National Guardsmen with rifles, dressed in environmental suits in a vain effort to stay healthy and maintain order. Riots started to break out within a couple weeks, fires and gunfights. If Chris' dad hadn't of had the foresight he probably wouldn't have gotten the chance to make it this far.

He had days when he was secretly glad for it all. Secretly glad that he'd the opportunity to make his life as he had. If society had not collapsed, he'd almost certainly never learned how to build and maintain engines, transmissions, or irrigation systems. He'd learned how to speak french, german, spanish, and russian. A side-project that was steadily progressing was Chinese. Chris never would have learned how to hunt, skin, and cook animals. He'd never have learned how to recognize the various edible berries in the world by their bushes alone, let alone how to cultivate them.

In the last ten years Chris had discovered that what often took men and women four to five years to learn in college took a fraction of that time when you simply had nothing else to do, and far more motivation to learn it. Within a year he'd become a remarkably skilled carpenter. Most people took years to learn what he'd learned. These skills, all of the skills he had pursued had allowed him to keep sane. He never settled, never rested. The routines that saw things running, kept everything maintained had proven enough. All the effort was a joy in his life, and everyday he felt as though he'd earned what he'd made for himself.

It was only the loneliness that lingered.

"You really are going then, aren't you?" he asked, breaking from his thoughts as he claimed his chair. The dogs were seated beside one another to his left, while her plate was set at the table's opposite side. The distance between them still palpable as he bent, offering the two huskies their meals.

He straightened, opening his coke and pouring it. It crackled against the ice and foamed, and for the briefest moment they were seemingly back in civilization. It was only the faintly humorous attire she'd taken, fatigues, that served to remind him what was going on outside. Chris hadn't worn fatigues in an age. He preferred cotton in the summer, and his pants were denim jeans. Faded at the knees and hips were they were forced to move the most. The shirt was tucked in at his belted waist, drawing the T-shirt tight against his rugged form. Loose clothes had a chance to snag and tear. To him, fatigues had always seemed too predictable.

"Well G.I. Jane, we'll need to get you a working vehicle, something with four-wheel drive. Get you a rifle, probably, unless you can shoot that bow with any talent. A map. So you can try and avoid going through cities and still get there. Sleeping bag, tent, though if you sleep outside your car you're fucking crazy. You're half as prepared as you should be." the words were flatly offered, before he finally softened the most faint of smiles. His eyes tracked toward her as he cut into his steak. "But I don't need or expect you to listen to me. They didn't listen to me, either. You do as you want, so long as you do one thing for me. When you leave Tully, you don't get back on 81 the way you came. You go -through- town, north, and get back on 81 somewhere else. I don't want anyone seeing you leaving this place. I know it's clear north of here, but there's a good chance if for some reason someone is leaving Syracuse they'll see you if you go back the way you came. I don't need that. I don't want that."

The steak was almost perfect, medium instead of medium-rare. All the same, the thick weighted venison had always been a favored taste. He'd not gotten sick of it in ten solid years. Of course, he'd learned to fish and handle pigs to give himself some variety. The chickens he left alone. Their eggs were more valuable than their meat. Besides, turkeys wandered by enough for him. He'd get a few this fall when they were easier to see.

These were his thoughts, and they were meticulous in their origin. A steady list of needs and wants that he accumulated or found ways to manufacture. His eyes lifted in the midst of this silent shopping list, pale gaze tracking over the shape of her face while she ate. Even as she looked down to her meal he could see the bright glint of her eyes, softened emeralds beneath curled lashes.

The monotony was broken by a stark, stirring sensation lifting from him. His prick, a proud and thick column of smooth flesh, had rapidly stiffened down his corded thigh. It strained at his jeans, outlined clearly in the denim.

Christ, she really is beautiful. I haven't seen a beautiful woman anywhere but in pictures in over.... ten years.

 

[Sweetp4u]

Reya

She sat where he motioned and kept her eyes to herself. Not one to be stupid nor play coy, she had no problem eating what he offered. Even if it killed her later, she hadn't beheld such succulent scents in so long... Hell, probably not since pre-creep had she eaten something not canned.

She studied the plate, fork and knife. Her mouth watering so badly, she was afraid to open her mouth for she might drool all over the place! That would really make things worse, something she didn't need. She had some dignity, she was going to put it to the test too by not picking it up with her fingers and shoveling it into her uncivilized mouth!

She hid her confusion, watching him then picking up her utensils. When was the last time she'd used a knife for something so simple as cutting food? Not any time she could recollect.

Fighting back bad manners, clumsiness and over all hunger, she took her first bite. Chewing slowly, she schooled her features well but did compliment the cook, "Very good." Which was nicer than she'd been in a long time, seemed to fall short too of exactly what she meant to say.

It doesn't matter. He just wants you out of his town.. and soon!

He was rambling off items she'd need, even called her Jane? "Reya.." She quietly corrected, wondering where he got Jane from? Her eyes on the ice and can of coke. Debating whether or not to drink it, or stick to water.

"I have no where else to go. The rest of my family is gone, if not dead. The old man who took care of us, died of an infection in some cuts on his legs." Cuts he wouldn't tell anyone about or let her see until it was far too damned late for her to do anything about it! He was looking for a way out of this misery called life, but she hated the fact he took the chicken shit route out.

She glanced down, expecting her meal to be done as it usually was by now, to find she still had half to go. One could get used to this.. But like all pipe dreams, this one had a deadline too.

"Someone has to repopulate the planet.. or some shit. I hear the clinic up there has a functioning clinic. Sperm bank. Was even told they had many specimen to choose from without having to deal with the dick.." Her words trailed off, a flush rising slightly at what she just said.

"Can we be any more insulting?" It was the perfect time for that coke! Keeping her eyes away from his, she quickly popped the can and poured it over the ice chunks. "This is ah.. great, thanks." She flashed him a smile but didn't actually look at him directly.

 

[Light Ice]

Insulting or otherwise, Chris couldn't help but laugh. The comment was so stark, and so brutally honest, that it immediately endeared her to him. If only for a moment she was no longer a burden, but a human being. A person, someone to speak to. He lifted his own glass, regarding her over the rim before setting it down on the table's surface.

"You mean to tell me that you're going off to a community, just to get knocked up and repopulate this world? You're turning yourself into a baby maker?" The words had a rougher humor, that calloused brutal edge fashioned from years alone. "Sounds... great."

The sarcasm was weighted enough that she actually laughed, the sound harsh and feral. They were suddenly two people again, sitting over a table. Within the cabin there was a noted lack of tension, a sudden ease. The dogs had moved from their plates to the living area, two large dog-beds claimed. Curled up, they slumbered idly, as the pair conversed over empty plates.

"I get it." He added then, as if to afford her that small acknowledgement. "I'm just not as noble. Everything in this world that meant anything to us is gone, Reya. But so are all the things we didn't give a damn about. Those communities, they sound like all the bullshit I never liked as a kid all over again."

It was a fainter smile then as he rose, stretching from the table to his full height. The metal plates were gathered and stolen away to a simple wash-basin, the faucet pumping in cool well-water. He ran it for a moment, rinsing the plates clean, before stacking them in a drying rack over the sink's frame. As they dripped behind him, he turned, resting his ass against the sink's edge to consider her. His cock throbbed hard, forcing him to briefly turn his eyes over the rise of her breasts in the T-shirt. As her eyes turned to his own he regarded them, the soft green stealing his pale stare.

"So why didn't you shoot me that day?" The question betrayed by a faint smirk now.

 

[Sweetp4u]

Reya

She actually laughed at his teasings. She should be used to it, the small few she had come across before had done as he, snickered. What he didn't know was what she had witnessed. A lone person was very easy to pick off, and she didn't feel like being picked off.

There were strength in numbers, if they were the right people in said numbers. No matter what, alone was never the best option for a woman. She handed him her plate when he reached for it, surprised she had finished everything he'd given her without making an ass of herself.

A small accomplishment.

"You have options that I don't if you think about it. I don't think I've ever heard of a wild band of rovers breaking into some guy's place and raping him before or after killing him." Brutal but truth. Maybe there was a case or two of it, but it didn't get leaked through. Certainly not like the stories of the raped, beaten and killed women. Death wasn't all bad compared to the optional life style, a sex slave. She'd heard rumors of those places as well.

She moved from the chair, stretching towards the ceiling with a small groan of pleasure. It felt good to have some freedom of movement, but his last question made her pause.

"Shoot you?" She stuttered a moment, debating whether to lie or not? She had gotten good at lying, but some how it just didn't sit well with her tonight. A twinkle formed in her eye as she remembered, a faint smile coming to her face. "Ooooh.. yeah. that.." She chuckled, shaking her head.

"Would you believe that it wasn't loaded?" It was better than the truth, she would never admit how much she was sick of seeing death, blood, hearing screams in the night. That was a weakness neither could afford. She wasn't his best buddy or long lost lover. She was a stranger as much as he, so it was definitely best to not admit to any thing other than that.

Lack of ammo was easier to believe anyway, no one these days cared enough not to blow your head off.

 

[Light Ice]

The city's and roads had a chilling quiet to them now, a large reason he'd claimed the forest and hills as his home. Beyond the wooden walls that surrounded them the world was still alive, though perhaps only Chris could appreciate each sound for what it represented. He listened to her, even as she rose, pressing the chair out to stand but a stride from him now.

He was reminded how long the years had been when she stretched, his prick twitching so firmly, so futilely against his jeans that an arc of pain shot through him. In high school the girl's hadn't looked as she had, dolled up to flaunt what nature had given them. The years had been spent missing the days he could pull them aside at parties, feel their bodies crush up against his own. He'd remembered the sounds they'd make, the soft, hushed cries as parents or people moved in the rooms nearby.

She was speaking, but his thoughts had drifted. The harsh bite of her accent, the feral way she carried her body. Smooth skin over a sleek glide of muscles, concealed by bagged fatigues and a simple T-shirt. It took a bit of effort for him to tear his eyes off her, to conceal the predatory ache that ran through him. He was suddenly so aware. He felt constricted further, warm.

"You're lucky I didn't shoot you, I thought for sure you were car-jacking me." There was a hint of humor there as he lifted his shirt, revealing the kevlar vest beneath. He drew it off, tossing it onto the table beside her with a subtle smile. "Not that it would have done you any good."

He'd learned the hard way, years ago. And bare-shirted before her his rugged frame revealed the reason for the vest, a small circular scar along his rib-caged just before the muscles of his abdomen began. The years where your body was a source of pride had long passed, but Chris maintained his own all the same. He relied on his physicality to keep him alive, to endure the hikes that he made along the mountain, his strength affording him second chances at life when he slipped along the rocks or scrambled up a tree from the occasional black bear.

He watched her eyes slip over him, part weariness and part appreciation as he spoke, the words cutting through the distance between them. The pull took him suddenly, that deep-seeded want arcing through him in primal surges. He gripped the sink's edge, attempting to stay in the moment. "It's really shit out there, Reya. Chances are you'll get to Buffalo and then get killed or worse. The species isn't worth saving. And I'll tell you another thing, getting knocked up from frozen cum kind of defeats the point, doesn't it?"

 

[Light Ice]

Ten Years Prior - A Memory


They'd hiked the trail times before, mostly in the summer. It'd always been an escape, a sanctuary away from the bustle of suburbia and the grueling demands of life. The first time Chris had ever seen it he'd fallen for it and he was only twelve, the cabin's rustic charm attracting some part of him he wouldn't understand for years to come. He didn't even fully understand it now.

As they crested the last hill and the small run-off that separated the trail, he drew his water bottle up and pulled from it. The sun beat down through the lush canopy, an intermingled plethora of Appalachian and Adirondack forests. The Finger Lakes area around had been particularly known for its birches, cedars, and hemlocks. Lately, thanks to conservation efforts, a few young oaks had taken root here. Whites and Reds, towering hardwoods that were joined with slightly more popular shoots of Hickory and Spruce.

Up here nature was enduring. Up here, Chris and his father hoped to do the same.

The hill was framed by two large streams, each flowing downhill from different lakes that were well north of here. Immediately flanking the cabin, about twenty yards downhill from the eastern wall was the first. It ran southward, rapidly twisting the length of the hill's main trail. If you followed it far enough you'd see where it met the second, a stream that flanked the hill from the western side and cut southwest. They joined to form a more turbulent flow, the water so fast and clear that you couldn't wade across it.

Fresh-water streams -that- fresh were rare in Upstate New York, both suitable to drink.

"That hike hasn't gotten easier." The words belonged to Chris' father, a man who everyone initially thought Chris would grow to be. The son had come to terms that this wouldn't be the case long before the father would. David was well known, respected and beloved. His gentle humor and dedication to the community, to Chris' football team and the other school clubs had made him a bit of a celebrity. An avid hunter and outdoorsman, he owned a terrible golf swing (the white-collar's domesticated sport he'd come to call it) and a gentle humor. Chris had always been more cutting, more serious. The pair were entirely opposites in their manner.

David had hair that was steadily greying now, and was forty-seven years old. He was fit for his age, but hardly trim. His belly had begun to sag, and its prominence was softened only by his broad shoulders and affinity for flannel. His narrow nose and masculine features were echoed in Chris, and in his youth he'd been devastatingly handsome. He had gentle, deep blue eyes.

Chris didn't answer. He rarely did. Popular and appreciated in High School, he'd grown into a man almost strictly known for his action. Instead, he stepped into the clearing before the cabin and toward it's short porch. The backpack was heavy, and he was glad to set it down. Looking to the empty stone fire-pit and the cabin's looming frame. Once again it was a sanctuary. For the first time, it was to be home.

"Get some wood chopped, would you, CJ? I'll get your things up to your room. Which one you want?" The question drew his attention.

"The one on the left, dad. Thanks. You think it's wise to have a fire tonight?" He was capable even at eighteen, but far more nervous than his father. He'd already retaken up the rifle he'd been carrying, the weight somehow reassuring in his hands.

His dad shook his head, with a lop-sided smile. "No, but we'll use the stove."

Chris finally smiled. He'd forgotten the stove. Moving, he took up the camp-saw from his pack and the hatchet strapped beside it. He spoke without looking up at first, relieved. "Alright. You're right."

The father smiled, faintly now. Concern was an inherited parental trait, and it'd manifested with Dave in ample amounts now. They'd been amongst the first to leave Syracuse, among the few intelligent enough to see the growing troubles and skirmishes as the beginning and not the end. His son had seen things that few children at that age should see, and a part of him mourned the passing of the boy he knew and fought the emergence of the man he was beginning to understand.

Chris moved into the brush, staying close and working outward. He was a strong boy, athletically gifted and stoic. The saw was audible a short while later, cutting through the dead branches of a fallen cedar. Dave's thoughts strayed and he moved inside, beginning to quietly settle their things. The kitchen, the dining room. There was much to be done, and if he'd learned anything it was that downtime was the devil.

----------------------------------------------

The pair lived well together, fighting little. Around them the world burned down and society collapsed, and they quietly ferreted away supplies and resources that'd afford them comforts in a few years would be unheard of. They'd both lost, lost terribly. What the Creep didn't kill the ensuing panic certainly did, wiping out many loved ones and what little ties they had.

The pair were sharp, intelligent. They ventured to Tully for supplies when they could help it, making trips for books and bullets. David taught Chris, and Chris taught David. They learned carpentry, plumbing. They learned how to raise a garden and hunt. Chris was a natural with a rifle, always had been.

They learned how to avoid others, and how to keep themselves a secret.

It went on like this for three years.
-------------------------------------------------------------

But the pair eventually had to go to Syracuse, and when they did they took a pick-up truck. The Dodge Ram had been David's choice, and his son had argued. In the last three years he'd taken his ability to understand mechanics, his linear mind, and turned himself into a kind of authority on motors. They'd horded away a half-dozen vehicles, and Chris poured himself into each of them. The upkeep and care kept his mind at bay, and David didn't mind.

They went into the city today for another car, hoping to find one of the Army vehicles and take it with them. The blockades had proven useless, the bullet-riddled Jeeps and Hummers wouldn't start. They had to go on, move inward. Years later the intersection at Harrison street would be where Chris had found Reya.

This day, Chris and David found an idling Jeep. Nobody was inside.

They got out, and Chris was immediately nervous. He worked the bolt on his rifle slowly, quietly chambering the first round. His father was unconcerned. David had thought enough time had gone by that people would miss companionship, company. That perhaps the violence was now seen needless.

The first man that appeared came from the Everson Museum, a pistol holstered at his hip. He was blonde, young. Waifishly thin, with his jeans obscenely tight on his hips. His hair was long, swept in a part that combed over his forehead to the left. His eyes were a dull brown. The two that followed him were differing shades of brown, but the trio were all young. Not older than Chris. They had piercing on their face and in their ears.

"Holy fuck, boys! Survivors!" The blonde called out, grinning with thin lips. He had narrow features, a pencil nose.

The pair whistled, and spread from the door, each armed with long knives strapped to their hips.

"Hello, boys. Good to see some folks still walking!" David greeted with an amiable smile, but Chris was silent. The rifle in his hands was held comfortably, the barrel pointed down. His dad had his across his chest in folded arms.

"Survivor types, flannel and all. Right out of OLC and in our back yard! Nice guns. We can't find any to save our lives. None that we can fire, anyway." The blonde called back. "I'm Evan! This is Drake and Bad-Day."

David was greeting them, but Chris was already on edge. His father had insisted they secured as many of the firearms they found as possible, and the rest had been locked away. Key-making was a skill they'd learned, and they'd locked the sporting goods stores up tight. Chris had the only set of keys in his vest. Worse, they were teasing them, and Chris wasn't used to that. Jeans, flannel, hunting vests. They wore only what life had dictated convenient.

He heard his dad, eyes ticking briefly past the boys into the museum. There was a terrible smell from within. Death. His dad hadn't seem to catch it yet. "We've got a couple to spare. You boys alone? Oh, and I'm David. This is my son, CJ."

"Father and son, how fucking cute." Bad Day was speaking, but the other two ignored him. Chris was preoccupied as well, looking into the museum. He couldn't see anything.

"Dad, let's go." He said abruptly, his words muted aside to his father. But David didn't reply, only stepped forward a bit.

"What's that smell, boys. You got a deer in there?" David's question suddenly was taken with a hint of curiosity, and Chris grimaced.

Bad Day and Drake exchanged a look. Chris slid his finger over the rifle's trigger.

Evan turned his back on them, looking into the museum. He laughed suddenly, beginning to turn.

"A couple of does, but we made a mess of them."

As he turned, Chris watched him. It was as if suddenly everything was moving slowly, his hand dropping, Evan drawing out his pistol. The nine millimeter spat sharply, the round whistling past Chris' ear. He backed up, dropping away, his body recoiling from fear before he could measure his reaction.

He was fumbling, trying to shoulder the rifle, Evan shot again. The pistol "popped" instead of "cracked" like Chris' own, a shell airborne. The round caught David in the shoulder, spinning him on his feet. Fifty-years old, it was nearly enough to put him on his knees. Drake and Bad-Day were charging, their knives out. Chris fired the rifle blind from his shoulder, leveling the barrel in their direction. The .458 Winchester Magnum roared, kicking hard against his shoulder.

The bullet hit Bad-Day in the throat, and the soft-tissue evaporated amidst a spray of blood and flesh. His head snapped back with the impact as he fell, crumpling sideways as his hands pawed helplessly to close the gaping wounds.

"Fuck, FUCKERS! FUCKERS!" Evan was screaming, the pistol began to pop rapidly, bullets whining through the air.

David snapped himself straight, and as he twisted his torso brought his rifle across into Drake's face. The boy's knife came down almost in time, punching into David's chest and driving into the rib-cage where it skipped off the bone and cut downward, splitting skin under the boy's weight as his legs buckled. His eyes shot wide with shock at the impact, rolling faintly in his head as his jaw shattered, teeth airborne.

Evan's next bullet slammed into Drake's calf as the boy fell, ripping into the muscle and twisting his leg awkwardly beneath him. Drake screamed through a mangled mouth, the sound garbled and unnatural. As if he was trying to speak with a mouth full of spaghetti.

David caught the next one in the thigh, Evan riding the pistol's recoil and spraying bullets toward him. His body began to sag forward.

And then the back of his head exploded behind him, a nine millimeter round slamming into his cheek and caving in the side of his face before it exited the back of his head. David was dead before his body hit the pavement, his rifle clattering aside.

Chris was touched by grace, frozen as he watched the skinny, twiggy blonde blow his father's brain out the back of his head. It had to be a dream, but it wasn't. Evan's pistol popped a final time, the round slamming into Chris' chest and mushrooming against his rib. A millimeter in either direction and it'd deflected deeper into his body instead of slamming directly into his bone and stopping dead in its place.

The impact blew him off his feet and onto his back, white dots of pain filled his eyes and his lungs refused to take in air. He was vaguely aware of Drake pawing around nearby him, the boy's hands on the barrel of his rifle, pulling at it. Struggling, Chris attempted to suck in air, succeeding in only wheezing. Panic ripped through him, his eyes shooting down, looking at the boy attempting to crawl up his body and wrench his rifle away. He pulled the trigger, the rifle clicked harmlessly. He'd never chambered the next round.

"Get out of the way, Drake. I'll shoot the fucker! I'll shoot the faggot! GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY!" But Evan's calls didn't stop Drake.

Chris and Drake pawed for the pistol on his thigh all at once, their fingers scrambling at one another. He wheezed again, not nearly as much air as he needed. He'd never had his wind knocked out like this in football, not nearly as bad. There was no doubt in his mind he was dying, that he was shot and his lung was punctured. But some spark in him refused to die with these two alive, refused to let them continue on. By sheer will his fingers found Drake's own, and bent sharply to the side, jerking them.

They broke with audible pops, and Drake screamed a wet, gurgled scream.

The .45 automatic was in his hand then, and his thumb tripped the safety. The first round ripped Drake's ear off, tearing it away in a bloody strip of ragged flesh. Drake was howling helplessly now, and Evan was screaming.

"FUCK FUCK FUCK! FUCK DRAKE FUCK!" he shot at them in panic now, the bullet striking the concrete next to Chris' head and sending splintered pieces of asphalt into his cheek. It burned, the pain helping him wheeze another breath into his lungs.

"He 'slot me, he slot m-" Drake's shattered jaw stopped working the slurred words as Chris corrected the .45's aim and pulled the trigger. All at once Drake was all but entirely headless, the top half of his skull exploded straight into the air while the back blew out. The round turned his face into a canoe, and Drake simultaneously shit his pants.

"FUCK YOU!" Evan's shouting somehow made it easy for Chris to sit up, pushing Drake's bloodied, shit-stinking body off of him as he lifted the pistol in his hand. His dad had found the Heckler and Koch on the body of a National Guardsman they'd found shot to death, and had given it to him. He didn't remember this now as he pulled the trigger, emptying the weapon's magazine. Of the five rounds he fired four struck Evan in the torso, blossoms of red forming where the impacts were.

The boy stumbled, and fell, laying still. The pistol in his hand clattered aside, into the museum. And it was suddenly -very- quiet.

 

[Sweetp4u]

Reya

Her nose wrinkled up with the mentioning of "Frozen cum". Distasteful thought, but his opinion he was entitled to it.

"My guardian paid quite a hefty sum for a map of the cities underbellies. I have enough alternate routes set up that I can break through, but thanks for the concern.." She tried to keep it light, but they both knew neither was that trusting to mean any pleasantries spoken.

She peered at him as he removed the vest, her lips curved in a cynical smile. Look at us, pretending to be more human than animal. Strutting around, waving our feathers. Her eyes rested on his gun holster, pissing on our ground, marking territory while stating how dominate we are.. and so we dance.

The words echoed quietly in her mind, how true they were. Each sizing the other up, it would be laughable had the plague wiped out guns. He may be three times larger than her.. or so he appeared to be, but guns spoke louder than words, strength and speed.

A shiver of awareness went down her spine, he was one fine ass specimen of manhood. While she looked hard and unapproachable, her gaze was caressing over him in a very primal, primitive female kind of way. There was something incredibly sexy about a man his size. Some caveman, hair-dragging, I’ll-save-your-ass-brute strength that made her tremble with a sudden urgent need.

He gave off this lethal vibe that was awakening something in her self.

Forcing herself to breathe naturally and not sigh pleasure from the odd unknown source, she straightened up to offer assistance with chores. As much as she wanted to sit and look him over.. again and again.. He wasn't exactly 'petting zoo' approachable right now. He'd probably rip off her head and shit down her throat if she tried to touch him.

Why did she want to anyway???

God don't go all girlie and hormonal! The thought alone made her scowl a little more with distaste. She was behaving like an idiot; with a stranger she couldn't trust anymore than the next bloke down the road.

"The frozen specimen might not be the best means, but the facility is also there to check women coming in for fertility before they waste time, funds and resources on them. Some think the virus did something to women to make us unfertile. I can partially believe it, partially I blame the weakness of the sex as reasons behind low birth rates. We're dying out, being killed and in the worst cases, used as sex toys for colonies of men... I wouldn't want to bring life onto this earth either." A small part of her didn't but she was almost programmed since puberty to 'do her part in saving mankind'.

She turned to pick up the empty coke can. Taking it to the sink, she rinsed it out and set it on the towel to dry. Who knew what else it would be used for, but nothing went to waste anymore. Couldn't afford to waste anything these days.

She didn't have a whole lot to fear with the idea of 'rape', pain wise. Her sister showed her and gave her the means to take care of her own virginity awhile ago. So after her mother and sisters were taken in the raid, having heard the horror stories, she had seen to breaking her hymen herself.

"I wouldn't have left had the Rovers not found it. Wasn't safe any longer, so here I am." She glanced around, normally she would ask why he was here by himself and how he got here.. but she didn't really care. When the old man died from infection, resulting from the raid on their home, she knew she had to move on. It had no bearing on her future to exchange stories, nor would knowing her help him.

So why did you tell him, Reya?

She concluded she was merely being friendly with him because he, so far, posed no threat to her. Probably because he didn't care about her, didn't want to know her, and wanted her gone that it was easier to relax around him. Hell, he hadn't even stared at her tits and that usually got every male's attention for at least one minute, one glance. He could possibly be gay, it did enter her mind, but she didn't care. If he was, she could feel a little regret for the female species, but when would he ever see another woman again in his life?

Most likely never. She had a sneaky feeling he was more humane than he let on.. it remained to be seen though.

 

[Light Ice]

It was a tale he'd been told before, one filled with lab-coats and syringes. The electric tones of machines, the stale scent of hospital linens. In his mind Chris could see women in stirrups, their every movement picked over by doctor's. Somehow, this image had been comforting to the few women he'd known. A haven of kinds.

Looking at Reya, he shook his head. She moved closer to him, the scent of her skin salty-sweet. Her long fingers turned the can over in the water as he spoke to her, "There's no room for a man like me in a colony."

It was a stark truth, but he'd resent them too much. A great flock of sheep who would inevitably come to expect him to provide a service of some kind or another for them. They would never be content enough to let him live as he has, they'd attempt to use the false logic of guilt and obligation. Obligated to the other survivors, to humanity, to the species and the world they'd once known. Chris had let all of that go, and those pleas would fall on deaf ears.

His hands worked the counter tirelessly, squeezing and releasing it as she lingered there. The emerald of her eyes were bright under sooty lashes, her lips full and pouted. Chris felt his prick give another hard jerk, and he forced himself to speak. The husk of his voice was impossible to fully conceal, muted as they remained so close.

"It isn't the weakness of women, but of people. If The Creep did anything positive it was thin out those of us who couldn't make it, and leave it to the rest of us to salvage what we could and go on. Your colony will be filled with leeches and dreamers, folks too busy mourning what's gone to reach out and take what's left."

He wasn't refined. The stubble along his jawline, the gnarled muscles beneath sun-bronzed skin. Chris spoke to her, his knuckles white as his fingers held the counter. There was something so terribly honest in him, so raw and unkept. He felt her attention return, her eyes crawling up toward his own. Speaking was something he still wasn't entirely comfortable doing. In his mind there was always the chance of something dishonest and confusing being forged. The benefit of all of this had been his ability to act and feel, two things that had proven to be pure to him.

All at once his hand was on her hip, pressing through the fabric of her fatigues. They concealed what his fingers discovered, the soft feminine shape and ample round. The muscles there were softer, compliant to the pads of his fingers as they pressed. He felt the air leave her before he heard it, felt how he startled her. Bending to kiss her, Chris let his pale stare cut to her eyes and hold there. He looked deeply into her, past the fear. She jerked her head back, turning her mouth to the side, one of her hands finding his wrist in an effort to push his hand away.

He jerked her closer, her palms spreading on his bare chest. Those slender fingers spread along sweat-slicked skin, attempting to press him away. Again his face dipped, turning, his forehead pressing to her own and forcing her head to fall back in a last attempt to escape him. And then his lips were on her own, claiming them, tasting deeply the sweetness of her with a primal swipe of his tongue along her lower lip. Her teeth lashed out, chomping down, and his own tier began to swell and bruise.

Undaunted, he deepened the kiss... twisting his tongue against her own.

 

[Sweetp4u]

Reya

His touch was unexpected to say the least, his hand resting at her hip was anything but threatening. She stilled, their gazes locked as if reading each other. She would've fought had she felt threatened by him, yet she did not?

Strange indeed.

Something sparked in her, her gaze turning deadly, an unconscious reflex, like breathing. She was very much unhappy to find her self reacting to him this quickly. A twinkle came, a random thought in her head. He was straight, normal and apparently healthy.. and very much groping her without so much as a word of permission?!

Her face turned as his neared, her hand gripping his offending wrist..but she did not throw him off.. Not that she could have. The knowledge made her shiver, heat up and her breathing hitch within her breast. He pressed further, invading her personal space enough that her hands left his and pressed against a wall of muscle.

Sweet jesus! He dwarfs me!

She could feel his heartbeat, feel how it too had sped up as they neared each other. It was hard not to react to such a man as this, he could do whatever he chose to, based solely on the pure size of him.. and yet he did not try and use force.

As hard as she was, toned and trained, she recognized power and strength. Soft spoken, very different than what she was used to, clean and very dominating as well. This man was an enigma, and arousing her like no other... but she knew better than to let him walk all over her too.

She bit him as he pressed the issue, making her growl a warning before he forced his tongue past her lips. Her nails were short but still left little welts on his pecs as she curled them into fists. Her intent wasn't to hurt him, but fight the urge to slap him, resisting that urge to pull him to her.

His gruffy face rubbed against her smoothe one, creating a soft burn on her skin. As crazy as it was, it added to her awareness of him. He tasted different, but not unpleasant. He smelled very male to her, musky in a very refreshing clean way. Her nipples tightened, her hands opened to rest against his chest, to feel the heat and hard muscle beneath her fingertips. She had no real experience in kissing, it must've shown but she wasn't an idiot and picked up on it within seconds.

Returning his kisses by following his lead, she was paying close attention to the subtle changes in her body from the encounter. Curiousity was inviting trouble, but she didn't care as this was feeling rather nice.