I push my hair out of my face as I walk along the rugged terrain. Some days, I wish my family hadn’t survived the explosions that fell all around them. And even though I wasn’t alive when it happened, the infection continued down through our bloodline.
A slight tremble wracks my body, but I shrug it off. That’s one of the side effects that I’m used to. I roll my left shoulder as I readjust the strap of the old backpack I salvaged the other day from a precariously standing shack.
Going inside had been a gamble because it could have easily collapsed on me, but sometimes, I let curiosity get the better of me and I follow yellow brick roads that I shouldn’t.
As I look around the forest, I blow out my breath. I’ve been walking for a few hours and I’m starting to get thirsty. I know there’s a creek around here somewhere. I just can’t remember where.
My ears perk up, as I can almost swear that I hear the sound of hooves galloping in the distance, but that can’t be right. From what I understand, there haven’t been horses in Los Angeles for at least twenty years.
Which means there has to be someone else out here that we didn’t know about after all.
I turn my gaze to the left and begin to grind my teeth thoughtfully.
Last I knew, there were at least one hundred people left who didn’t suffer the maladies of nuclear war. It’s why I’ve spent a good amount of my time hiding from everyone. I think I’m the only one who still shows signs of radiation because of how goddamn infected my blood is.
I lift the patch over my left eye and use a knuckle to gently rub the ragged lid of skin.
Another wonderful side-effect is that I was born with partial vision due to my eye never really fully forming. It looks just like anyone else’s—except there’s no color to it and it’s permanently turned up into the back of my skull.
I tell myself that I don’t want to frighten anyone who I may happen to come across and that’s why I keep it covered, knowing full well that I’m just sick and tired of seeing a fucking monster in anything that reflects my visage back at me.
Keep walking and get what you need so you can go back home.
I purse my lips and decide that I’ll heed my advice sooner rather than later, but for now, I need water and I have to find that damn creek.
* * *
As I fill my canteen, I smile at the cool, flowing water. I’m sure this will be safe to drink since it’s sourced from the waterfall I’ve never been able to find. It’s a dream of mine to see it one day, but I don’t stay out long enough to make that come true.
There’s not nearly enough time in the day to do what I want, I think as I glance up at the setting sun. The sky never really regained its beautiful blue hues. After the blast, it turned into burnt sienna, and the clouds … they became muddled like my eye.
The constellations show all the time now. They’re easier to pick out at nighttime like they had always been, but having patience and looking closely enough will almost always uncover them as the milky clouds float by.
I glance down at my reflection in the flowing water and smile. My right eye still has that damn sparkle to it. I remember my mother once told me she could see hidden galaxies inside of it, secrets of some gods who don’t care about us anymore, having long since abandoned the world after it turned on itself, and full of wisdom she wished she had. Secrets she’d kill to know. Everything she saw in my eye was everything she envied and said that others would, too.
Maybe I’m more beautiful than I think I am. The thought makes me chuckle.
If I can compare myself to the hell above me, then perhaps I have more problems than I care to admit.
Just as I’m spinning the cap back onto my last canteen, I hear a faint shout, followed by another, and then silence. I stand up immediately as I shove the last of my canteens into my backpack and secure the straps over my shoulders. My mouth becomes a tight line as I loop my thumbs through, putting a small distance between the worn leather and my arms, and glance around, peering at the trees and bushes.
Someone is out there and they’re not alone.
* * *
Underneath the shade of one of the Black Walnut trees, I find a place to sit. I have a handful that I managed to pick from the branches that aren’t rotten or otherwise compromised and have been enjoying my little snack. I’ll keep moving soon enough because I want to find the source of the voices I heard and find out if they’re friends or foes.
Not that I put much stock in friendship these days.
Everyone is out for themselves, no matter how kind they happen to be in a moment, but it’s understandable. Survival is something that the last of humanity has been fighting for over the last two hundred years, although I think it’s made us more animals than men.
I peel back another shell, spitting out the last bit of walnut, before placing a fresh one on my tongue, and begin to chew again. I wish I knew what these tasted like when they were all safe to eat. Even though I find myself blissfully content with my little snack right now, I can’t help but wonder about things I’ll never know. And even something as simple as the taste of a fucking nut is enough to drive me insane if I let it linger for too long.
I lean my head back against the tree as I chew on my last walnut, briefly rubbing the bridge of my nose with my free hand, then let out a sigh. I know that I’ve spent too much time getting lost in the feeling of being outside just before the sun goes down, and if I’m not careful, that might be my downfall someday.
But not today, I think as I get to my feet, leaning down to pick up all the shells I’ve cracked open, and tucking them securely in my pocket. Covering my tracks is essential in this crazy fucking world of today, and something I can’t afford to fail at.
Not when I have a handful of people still depending on me back home.
* * *
My body aches from all the trekking I’ve done. Late afternoon into midnight is the longest I’ve ever been away from home, but I still haven’t found anything sufficient to help feed everyone hiding in my brick home.
It looks unassuming, an abandoned school that’s somehow still standing. I figure if it could withhold the blast of so many nukes, it would be a good enough place to hide during the daytime.
The walls still radiate with poison, and I do my best to make sure everyone inside is as healthy as they can be, given the circumstances. I feel bad most days knowing that they’re suffering in silence, but the fact that they trust me to know what’s right means the world to me.
If only Mom was still alive to see that I was able to keep my promise to her, I think wistfully as I start walking up a small dune.
The terrain isn’t exactly flat, but it’s not rugged enough to stop me from moving onward and upward. I’m used to cuts and bruises from the low-hanging vines, the roots that became upturned in a desperate attempt to stay alive but died on their heads. I’m used to small stones moving around me of their own volition, some randomly jumping up from the contaminated ground and nicking me as they fly by my face. I don’t think I’d like a normal world. I wouldn’t know how to survive in one, given that survival wouldn’t be something that I’d have to fight for daily.
As I glance around, I rake a hand back through my chestnut-colored hair, then give it a quick shake through. Somehow, I’ve managed to get to the top of the dune without even realizing it. Just up ahead there’s a shack and inside of that shack, I see a flickering light.
I knew I wasn’t alone.
Grinding my teeth together, I walk quickly and quietly. I won’t make my presence known even though I don’t have anything on me worth stealing, because sometimes, just being is enough to have to fend off an attacker.
I scratch the side of my face when I’m a mere few feet away from the window, and glance around to make sure that there’s no chance I’ll be found out or set upon, before I saddle up to the side of the rotten, wooden wall. Taking a deep breath, I close my eye for a moment before I peer around just enough to be able to look into the window.
And that’s when I see them.
An older man, probably mid-life since no one lives too long in this polluted wasteland anymore, of incredible strength as obvious by his body, and a young girl so fucking beautiful, that I have to fight a gasp when I set my sight on her.
“But if you want me to be a good wife to someone, you have to help me understand what it means, Daddy. Show me what it feels like,” she says to him, a slight whine to her voice.
The way he looks at her, like he’s torn, intrigues me.
“You watch your Mama, Bevie. That’s how you learn to be a good wife,” he replies, his tone wavering slightly.
“Daddy,” she begins patiently, “if you don’t show me how a good wife treats her husband, I’ll never know. Mama doesn’t love me anymore—we both know it, and don’t you try to deny it. I just… I just want the man that I love to help me.”
Her shoulders slump, and he takes a step forward, putting his hands firmly on her shoulders. I watch as he uses one to tilt her chin up to look at him.
“Bevie, we can’t—”
“You don’t love me!” she shouts at him suddenly. I stumble slightly, completely taken off guard by her immediate shift in demeanor.
Taking a step back, I flatten myself against the side of the house, then turn my face up toward the sky and silently count to ten. They’re inside arguing and I’m feeling like a bit of a busy body. But then the man says something that causes me to peer into the window again.
“I… Bevie … you can’t let your Mama know.”
“She doesn’t even talk to me anymore, unless it’s berating me. Why would I tell her about this, Daddy?”
“Lay down for me, Bevie.”
I watch as the girl eagerly does as she’s told and as the man lowers himself to one knee in front of her. He looks at her with conflicted hunger in his eyes, and when she reaches down and pushes her jeans off, I watch the confliction shift to definitive.
My heart races a little when I watch him raise his eyes to hers, his hands gripping her panties and pulling them off her body. He briefly holds them to his nose before tossing them aside and lowering himself between her legs.
When she arches her back and whimpers, I can feel my cock starting to get hard.
I run a hand over my mouth, doing my damnedest to ignore the sensation, but when she lets out a mewl as he wildly laps at her, I find my hand taking on a life of its own as it snakes its way down to my fly and pulls the zipper down. Reaching into my boxers, I give my dick a firm tug before I pull it through and watch as he pulls his face away, only to plunge his fingers into her as he looks into her eyes.
“Does that feel good, Bevie?” he asks her in a thick voice.
“Yes, Daddy. Please don’t stop,” she manages to gasp out. He nods and lowers his face again. I watch as he flicks his tongue against her clit, his fingers moving in and out of her hole, provoking another strangled gasp from her.
I tug on my dick harder, faster, pressing down on the throbbing vein that’s bulging on the side of my shaft. I don’t know why I so desperately want to be him right now, but he’s having a better meal in this moment than I’ve had in fucking years, and what makes it even more enticing is how goddamn wrong it is.
A low growl escapes him as he removes his fingers from her cunt. He pulls his shirt over his head, showing how strong his body is. All the scars from hunting and being attacked, all the fighting he’s obviously done for his family—for the girl in front of him.
He reaches and pulls her roughly against him, kissing her with a desire I’ve never seen or felt before, and as I tug harder and faster on my cock, I can feel a twinge of jealousy coursing through me.
But it’s when he reaches for his fly, pulls down his zipper, and fists her hair, that my jealousy turns into rage.
I don’t know why I’m so angry.
Maybe it’s because it’s not my cock she’s swallowing right now, it’s not my hand slapping that glorious, plump ass of hers, telling her what a good girl she’s being, how fast she’s learning.
Fuck! I growl internally when a stream of cum shoots out of the head of my dick. I move away from the window, close my eye, and take a few deep breaths as I try to regain my bearings. Shoving my semi-hard dick back into my pants, I wipe my hand on the side of my jeans and shake my head as I walk away from the forbidden little lesson I just witnessed.
She wants to be a good wife and I want to be a good husband to someone. Maybe I can find them again one day and have a talk with her father about being able to provide for her. After all, even relationships aren’t made the same way they were before.
Matches are arranged.
And sometimes, the best ones are against another’s will.