Bite The Bullet

I can’t tell time anymore, I can’t tell how long it’s been since the world went to shit, but I remember it begun with a virus that spread like wildfire. By the time scientist called it a pandemic, millions of people were infected, hospitals across the nation were penned up with patients beyond capacity. It wasn’t until a patient attacked a nurse and attempted to eat her flesh that we saw what we were dealing with. No one foresaw what happened next; The government quarantine cities, closed down airports, and rationed resources. International trade stop, the stock market collapsed, the oil wells dried up, the power failed, store shelves emptied, and the water taps ran dry. When hunger and despair set in, the men and women that were sworn to protect us were nowhere to be found.  People took to looting and killing and the new law of the land was established, Survival of the Fittest.

The Resurrected—that’s what I call the infected—have a distinct putrid odour, a smell so repugnant it’s enough to knock you backwards. Imaging hundreds-of-thousands of decomposing bodies roaming through Broadway, Park Avenue, and the great Central Park. Bodies of different sizes and age.  Literally, New York City is still the city that never sleeps, now a Big Rotten Apple! If you ever visited New York City, you know that it’s dirty and it stinks, but now one-hundred-times worst. There are corpses everywhere, burned vehicles, pillaged buildings, so much destruction sometimes it's hard to recognize a street or landmark, and the added Resurrected, the infected, walking corpses, that were once dead and now have come back to life depict a very grim city.

Resurrected are generally slow moving. You can easily outpace one without drawing too much attention. But don’t run, never run. Knowing how to avoid them and when to defend yourself is key to survival. The most effective way to kill a Resurrected is by damaging the brain. Not an easy thing to do since the skull is one of the toughest and thickest bones in the body, capable of absorbing tremendous amounts of force. Ideally a bullet to the head does the job, but the sound of gunfire lures them, often too many, more than a single person can handle. Using a blunt or slashing weapon is less noisy and effective, but it will require several tries because swinging even a machete drains your stamina pretty fast. Especially when the body is exhausted, dehydrated, and hungry.

I believe It's our body-scent that attracts them, it works like pheromones, I supposed. When one of them gets a whiff of a healthy person, it follows that scent until it finds them. At the same time their howling alerts others and soon a mob is formed—find yourself surrounded by a mob and you're fucked—no one can survive a mob  alone. However, a healthy person can mask their scent by bathing in the guts and body-fluids of corpses, smelling like the dead one can become invisible and even walk among them.
And so here I am, covered in blood and guts, stealthily, snail-walking alongside a mob of Resurrected. You think I’m crazy, and perhaps you are right. I must be soft in the head walking so close to the one thing that will kill me. I know the risks I’m taking, if one of them sniff me out I won’t survive, not this close. Though, there’s been many encounters where I was sure it was the end for me and yet somehow, perhaps by pure luck alone, I'm still here. I’ve learned to adapt, I’m not all that vulnerable, I converted my bikers gear for extra protection, It provides some defence against bites and scratches. Besides, I’m not out here for a Sunday walk in the park. I’m out here scavenging for water and food, and I’m so far out of my last dwelling that I’ll need to find new shelter before nightfall...

“Shh!” You hear that? Someone is screaming, someone got themselves in trouble, and the raucous is getting the attention of my escorts—they turn a sharp left, I turn left, heading toward the noise, but I’ve no intentions to follow them, nothing I can do for the screamer with a mob this size. I must separate myself—I slow down my pace and let the mob walk ahead of me until I’m safe enough to walk in a new direction.

There are people still alive in the city and on occasion I come across someone. Though, encounters with other people is less and less these days, I prefer to stay away from people anyway. There can be strength in numbers, but with people there also is a shit load of drama...

Listen! No more shouting!

Poor bastard met his end. They must have torn him apart, a mob that size, I be surprised if there was anything left.

I see a residential building with a second door in the entrance and it's intact. This is a good sign, there is a probability it hasn’t been looted, I may find food inside.

I picked the lock—yeah, useful trick—I slide my bank card into the gap between the door and the doorjamb, I slide the card downward and in, and wiggle it until the card presses against the latch assembly and the door opens.

Not all doors will open this way though you can be surprised how easy it is to break into lock doors.

I slip inside and close the door behind me. It's a classic four story walk-up, probably build in the early nineteen-hundreds. There are two adjacent doors at the end of the long hallway, and the stairwells are to the right.

I walk toward the back, listening for unusual noises. I hear some low growling. I’m not surprised, I expect there are Resurrected trapped inside apartments. Probably some elderly person left behind to die alone, whom either starved to death or some illness and the lack of medication kill them. It can take minutes or hours for the dead to come back to life. I don’t know why it takes longer for some people to turn than others, but I’ve seen it happen.

I grip the machete out of its sheath and ready myself for anything. I step-up close to the door on the right and press my ear against the cold metal. It’s in there, I can hear it. And it knows I’m out here.

I turn and do the same on the opposite door. I don’t hear anything. I wait a minute and still hear nothing. I turn the doorknob and it’s locked.

For this door I will need to use a bump key.

I dig in the fanny pack  strapped across the chest and pull out a set of bump keys. I test several keys before I find the one that fits in the lock, I do this as quietly as possible. I slip a rubber ring-hole on the key, enter the key in the keyhole, and use the back of a screwdriver to tap on the head of the key. The tapping noise excites the trapped Resurrected, I hear it pushing and clawing at the door behind me. I don’t stop, I continue tapping until the door opens.

I push open the door slightly and peek inside; the room is poorly lit, but I can see the furniture in the room. I enter the apartment and close the door behind me. I even fasten the safety chain. One can never be too careful. If I can get in so can someone else, and no one is getting in here without me noticing them first.

The apartment is empty of life. The room smells sour, like a cheap motel room. Likely from the lack of ventilation. I cracked open the kitchen window. A quick look around gives me the impression that no one’s been here in a long time. There is a thick coat of dust on the surface of everything, and there are dirty dishes still in the sink. Desperately, I open the refrigerator and got slapped with the stench of spoiled food. But I don’t care about the smell, I rummage through every sealed Tupperware, plastic containers, and bottles. Lucky me, I find bottled water, cranberry juice, and beer. I hit the jackpot!

I break open one of the beer bottles and jug it down in one gulp. The warm sudsy wheat taste soothes my thirst, and provokes a loud belch, which makes me chuckle.

“That was good”

I search the cabinets and find expired cereal boxes, dry pasta, tea bags, and can goods, among them canned tuna. I grab the tuna can and stab it with my pocket knife, desperately cutting open the can. I waste nothing, I drink the salty but tasty water and chow down every bit of the delicious tuna. I can’t remember the last time I had such a treat. I was so excited about the tuna I didn’t notice the cut on my finger in the process. I lick the blood off my finger and grab the can of corn next.

Once my hunger was satisfied I explored the rest of the apartment. There are photos of happy people decorating the walls and in small frames on the side tables, and one repeating face in most of the pictures, a white man in his mid-thirties. I assumed the person that lived here. By the looks of it, he was a musician, there are several pictures of him playing a violin. There is a large collection of vinyls and a well preserved old record player on a shelf. I don’t bother looking through the music, it's not like I can play one, and something tells me I’m not going to like what I find anyway.

The bedroom is unkempt. There are clothes on the bed, the closet looks like it had been raided, and some drawers are half open and empty — he took off in a hurry when shit hit the fan is what it looks like. Wherever he went I hope he got there at least.

I sit on the bed and fall back. “Wow,” so soft my body lets out a sigh of relief. I am going to sleep good tonight. This is going to be my new dwelling for a while, I’m thinking.

I continued to search the room and find a tube of lube and a very realistic dildo inside the nightstand. I chuckled. This thing is bigger than mine. This guy was a faggot.

Searching further I find a stash of gay porn magazines and gay porn videos. I’m not gay, but curiosity got the best of me. It’s porn. To be honest, I’ve never really seen gay porn. Sure, I’ve seen guys kissing and some porn ads, but I’ve never actually sat and watch gay porn, come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve sat through a full straight porn movie either.

I look through the magazine in my hand and scan the images. Mostly buffed white guys with large penis posing, nothing special in my opinion. The second magazine had a mix of black and ethnic looking man, sucking dick, kissing, fucking each other, and by the time I saw the last image I realized I had a boner.

I laughed at myself. It has been a while since I gave my dick some attention, and I guess it was telling me so. Back in the days of the living I was never short of sex. My last one was Claudia, she was beautiful, smooth body, big tits, man I loved going down on that girl, sweet as honey. Though, relationships have never been easy for me, women are nuts and complicated. I’m not the marrying kind, I’ve been told.

I start to peel off my dirty clothes and notice my naked body on the dresser mirror. I’ve lost weight, but I’ve kept my muscular shaped, my six pack is still defined, and my guns swell up nicely when I flex. I do look like a greasy-bear, long beard, long hair, and I’ve got quite the bush between my legs.

My dick is still swollen. I grab it and thug it a bit, pulling the foreskin forward then peeling it back. Surprisingly the head is wet with precum, I spit on my hand and rubbed the head in a circular motion. I relax enjoying the roughness of my hand against the warmness of my cock. With my right hand I hold the base of my dick and squeeze it to make the muscle even stiffer.

My thoughts are filled with memories of Claudia and the times I fucked her. I imagine myself going down on her pussy and the taste of her cum in my mouth. I think of her lips wrapped around my dick. And then the memory comes to me of the one time when I had her pinned against the headboard and fucked her up the ass. The memory almost sets me off, but I held back. I don’t want to cum yet.

I look over at the dildo on the bed. I got curious. I know that massaging my prostate will give me a more intense orgasm. Other than the occasional finger up my ass I have no experience with anal play. I've never been fucked up the ass. But I’m curious and I think why the fuck not.

I grab the lube from the drawer and lube-up the dildo, then I slip a lubed-finger in my hole. It feels tight and I tense up thinking this is going to hurt. I need to relax.

I lay on my back and start to play with my dick again. I get my dick nice and hard, I’m so excited I can feel my balls rise up. I grab the dildo and run its rubbery length on my hard cock. I close my eyes and imagine I’m being touched with the real thing, letting the sensations guide my imagination. I feel the long cock pressing against mine, the slippery slide from side to side on my head makes my cock pulse-up excited. The head slides down the shaft and pass my bouncing balls. I spread my legs, knowing well where I wanted it. The head slides between my butt cheeks, teasing my butt hole. I arch my ass up surprising myself, because for the first time I want to be fucked.

I’m extremely relaxed, I feel my ass winking, begging for it, and I press the head of the dildo into the mouth of my ass, and it slides in without much resistance. I treat my ass like I would the ass of a lover. Pushing the dildo as far in as my ass allow. And just when I hit that wall I retreat, and my cock drips precum as it pulses-up excited.

“Oh fuck it feels so good!”

I start to wank my cock furiously with my left hand, and with my right, I fuck myself, and each deep trust builds-up an intense explosion, each time the dildo slides inside me it gets me closer, and I can't stop myself - my legs spread wide open and I drill, and drill, over and over, until my toe's roll into themselves and my gut starts to spasm, and the anal muscles start to squeeze the dildo, and I let out a loud grunt as my cock shoots multiple thick loads of cum all over my chest and face.

When it's over my body is exhausted. I lay motionless on the bed, holding the sex toy in my hand catching my breath, my eyes close, and slowly I drift into darkness and the empty nothingness sleep brings.