Cellar Door
Oliver stumbled along the trial, backpack feeling as if it weighed three times as much. He was thirsty and hungry to the point he was feeling weak. It had been some time since he crossed a stream or creek, and his food had run out the day before. There was a town down in the valley, but he was terrified to go into it. He still could not get his head wrapped around how quickly everything changed. A week ago, he was backpacking with his friends, David and Matthew, starting down in southern Virginia and making their way north. Now he was alone.
He came out to a gravel road. It was narrow and rough, some sections washed out from the hard rains from last winter, now the washed-out sections just hard dry packed ground. It would be easier to go down the slope but that would take him to the valley, so he turned right and walked up the slope, step by slow step.
The lane curved along the side of the mountain, rising in sections gradually, then other times so steep it made Oliver struggle to make it. Sweat ran down in his face and his back was wet where the backpack lay against it. He was unsteady on his feet but eventually came to the end of the steep incline and followed the lane around a curve, seeing a clearing in the woods.
Coming around the bend, he saw a house sitting in the clearing with the mountain continuing to rise up behind it. It was two stories with dark green siding and trim in dark brown. He stared at it, looking for signs of life. He wondered if the owners were home. It could be a vacation home for some couple who lived in Florida or in DC, a place to come during the brutal summer months, despite the mountains no longer providing the cooler temperatures they had done so in years past.
There was no movement, not in the yard or in any window. The house looked dark, empty, and Oliver slowly approached it, fearful someone could come out less than friendly, maybe even carrying a gun.
The front door was locked, and Oliver made his way around to the back yard. A garage was nestled into the side of the mountain, its rear wall up against the grade. The three garage doors were down revealing nothing. He looked across the rear yard taking note of the wood deck, the gazebo out from it and the back door standing open.
Oliver entered the house cautiously. “Hello,” he called out as he moved through a mudroom into a kitchen and he stopped, seeing how the cabinets stood open. The floor was covered in scavenged debris, but the cabinets still had items in them but after looking closer he noticed the pantry was empty. No food was within any of them. He turned on a faucet and no water came out and he remembered most of the houses in the mountains were on wells which required electricity to function. A bag lay on the floor, clothing spilling out of it. It looked as if the owners had packed up hurriedly and rushed out. It meant they left sometime within the last two weeks, and if they had waited until everything went to shit, sometime in the last week.
He moved through the house, family room, dining room, a study that appeared undisturbed, books on the shelves, a laptop on the desk, and furniture in its place. Upstairs, he found two bedrooms and one bath undisturbed like the study, but the primary bedroom and its closet and bathroom were in disarray, clothing scattered over the bed and across the floor and in the bathroom cosmetics and lotions and soaps knocked over or on the floor.
How bad had it got, Oliver wondered as he made his way back down the stairs. Two weeks ago, David, Matthew, and he had set out knowing there were news reports of a virus showing in some cities in the country and overseas the virus turning into a pandemic in several nations. They had thought it would be handled like it had been in times past. It wasn’t the first virus the country had to deal with and given a week or two surely a vaccine would be developed to slow the spread of it. They felt being on a trail in the mountains would be the safest place in the world therefore they didn’t worry about it, believing that when they came off the trail everything would be right as rain. But they didn’t take into consideration the level of destruction the Republicans had done to their research and medical organizations. Since the administration of that dark time, wasn’t everything simply put back in place? Oliver knew there was many cautioning everyone that those institutions were severely damaged and it could take decades to repair them, if ever. China and Europe had stepped up to fill some of the void.
Oliver and his friends hiked for days not knowing how bad it had gotten. They came out after five days to a small town that had a hostel for hikers where they could clean up, have a proper meal, and replenish their provisions. As they walked into the town it was obvious something was wrong. There were only a few people out, and the traffic was racing out of town, one SUV blowing the horn at them when Matthew tried to walk along the edge of the road. The hostel was closed, and they roamed around until they found a convenience store open rationing gasoline to those filling up. Inside the place, it looked ransacked, and they had stood shocked staring across the room.
Jesus, it’s like out of some bad doomsday movie, Matthew had said.
The woman operating the cash register told them the virus was spreading rapidly and had a high mortality rate. The goddamn thing incubated in people before attacking their bodies. It’s been here for over a month. Now it kills.
It’s not in the mountains, is it? David had asked.
Honey, that virus is everywhere. Half the town has it and the mortuary is full of bodies stacked up.
They had bought a box of crackers, the only thing left on the shelves, getting charged twenty dollars for them. Back outside they saw a fight at one of the pumps, and they turned and headed back to the trail, not looking back once.
Back in the mountains they hiked over the ridgeline and down into the next valley. They set up camp by a stream where they could filter water. It was hot and they had no food that needed cooking, so they sat around their small campsite, slapping mosquitoes and eating crackers and trail mix.
We need to know what’s happening out there, David had said.
Agreed, Matthew seconded.
They had their cellphones turned off since there was little to no signal and they needed to save their batteries, but they had decided to use just one of them to look at the news. Over the next three days, every two or three hours they turned the cellphone on for a few minutes to get the headline news.
All Fifty States Have Outbreaks.
The CDC is Helpless to Stop the Virus.
The Mortality rate exceeds 75%
China Has a Vaccine in Testing.
Too Late, Says World Health Organization.
Riots in Dallas, Atlanta, & Miami
Martial Law Declared. Protests Increase.
Europe sending vaccines; USA blocks China’s New Drug.
Infrastructure Failures. News Organizations Going Dark
Chaos Reins
On the fourth day, nothing. No news site was working. David had taken off, desperate to get to his family in Arlington. Oliver kept trying to get in touch with his family no longer worried about saving the battery on his cellphone. He finally got through to his grandfather. Don’t come back, go somewhere safe, then his grandfather told him they loved him. They talked until the signal was lost. Two days later, Oliver woke up to find Matthew gone.
Oliver came out of the house and looked over to the garage. Would there be a vehicle inside with a full tank. If so, where would he go. Could he make it to Mexico or Canada. Why would he try to go to those countries for wouldn’t they be as bad as his own, maybe even worse. It was just the desperation talking. The shock of everything he understood about society that seemed to just end. Nothing made sense.
He crossed the rear yard and tried each garage door, none bulging an inch. He went around to the far side and found a door. The upper half was a window and when he found it locked, he knocked out the window with a paver stone from a small stack nearby and unlocked it from the inside. The first bay was a lawnmower, a four-wheeler, and two bicycles. The next bay was empty and in the third an old Jeep, one with no top, not even the doors on it. A person who drove through a hostile area would be an open target. He started to back out, then looked along the rear wall. A work bench cluttered with tools, a section with garden tools hanging from hooks, and a door. A solid metal door, and Oliver pictured how the garage was nestled into the mountain and knew the door had to lead into a cellar cut into the side of the mountain. He crossed the room and tried it. It was unlocked. A disconnect was on the wall and he flipped it, just to see if anything would happen. A fan started up somewhere, and by the sound of it, it was in the attic of the garage. He flipped the switch next to it and lights came on, revealing the interior passage. About four feet into the narrow passage, steps led down.
Oliver came to the bottom of the steps to a small room. Before him another metal door. He tried the handle and found it unlocked. The room was dark, and he felt around the wall by the door frame, finding a j-box surfaced mounted with a switch. The lights came on, LED stripes down the center of it. Before him was a room about twelve feet wide and twenty-four feet long. Three bunk beds ran down the left side and along the right, a small kitchenette, a table that sat four then two doors. Beyond them, some sort of radio set up. The back wall had a door centered on it. The room had a concrete floor, walls that gently curved up to a flat concrete ceiling. A shelter, one perfect for the current situation, and he wondered why the family abandoned it. He moved down the room, looking into the cabinets, taking note that all the beds were unmade but had blankets in plastic bags at the foot of each one, and at the first side door he found it a mechanical room with an electrical panel, controls noting some wind turbines and solar panels, a battery backup, then an inline water heater.
The next door was a bathroom. It reminded him of prison bathrooms he had seen in movies. Bare concrete, plain fixtures and at the back of the room, a floor drain and shower. No partitions, no mirror over the sink, no rugs or towel bars. Just grey concrete and white fixtures.
At the door in the back of the room, Oliver opened it and stood in shock. It was shelving down both side walls and across the back. To his right, linens, clothing, medical kits, camping gear, utensils, flashlights, and boxes unlabeled. To his left and along the back, food. MRI’s, canned items, and some ingredients in glass jars.
Oliver moved along the shelves looking at all the provisions, then he picked up an MRI and went back to the table and tore into it because he was so hungry everything else could wait.
For days Oliver lived in the underground shelter, one he had begun to call the cellar for he preferred the sound of it over the apocalyptic nature of underground shelter. He explored the grounds, and on the day, he was standing at the base of the drive to the house, wondering if he should conceal it in some manner, then decided that would draw more attention than if he just left everything the way it was.
He went back through the house, not sure what he was looking for, but one thing that nagged at him was why did the family pack and leave when they had the cellar. He found his answer on his second exploration of the house, a note that had fallen on the floor by a recliner in the family room. He could see how it played out. A landline phone was on the side table, and on the note, a phone number to a hospital in Macon, Georgia, and a room number. Someone important to them had been in the hospital. He looked at the photographs hanging on the wall. A man and woman at various stages of their life, with a baby, then with a young girl and another baby. Then the two as children, a girl and a boy; the perfect family. He saw the children grow up, graduate high school, college, the girl gets married, has a family of her own, and the boy is in foreign countries doing relief work.
Oliver assumed it was the girl or someone in her family that had summoned the couple from their home.
Another
After a week, Oliver explores further away, going up to the ridgeline and over into the next valley. He stands on a rock outcropping looking over the valley. It is narrow, and he sees nothing of his world. No roads, no homes sticking out of the mountain sides, no buildings down in the valley. Just shades of green of the foliage for as far as the eye could see. Over the next week, he visits the outcropping every day, just standing on it looking over the valley. He considers how the valley the house overlooks has development, therefore the possibility of others. It scares him. He fears what the attitudes could be if anyone in the valley is in survivalist mode. Would they torture him to know how he is able to feed himself. Would they kill him for it.
In the cellar, he eventually starts going through the boxes on the lower shelves. One has two pistols and ammunition. Another has bandages, bottles of alcohol, medical tools, such as needles, scalpels, scissors, and hemostats. There is a box of books, and each one is a manual on how to do something. He eased to his knees to look at the bottom shelf and finds an odd-shaped plastic case. It is a few inches thick, straight along the hinge side and curved on the latch side. He opens it to find a bow and arrow kit. He stares at it, then up at the box with the pistols. He had thought the pistols would be good for hunting, but looking at the bow and arrow, knew if he could master it, it would be far better. For one thing, it would be quiet. No sound of a gun shot echoing down a valley. He closed the case and carried it upstairs to the garage and began to get the feel of it. Outside, he set up a target made of a bag of fertilizer from the garage. After a few shots at it, he realized it was harder than it looked, and he would need to practice a lot before he was able to hunt with any success.
Oliver has come over the ridgeline and made his way down into the narrow valley. He has an arrow in the bow and moves slowly and quietly through the woods. It has been six days since he found it. Six days of constant practice, breaking two arrows and learning how to string the bow, but he finally began to be consistent in hitting his target.
He moves silently through the woodland as bird song fills the air. He never realized how much noise there was in the woods. He comes to an area where boulders have come to rest in the valley, and he eases through them. A snake slithers by, and he freezes until it is out of sight, then proceeds cautiously. He comes back to open valley and eases along, wondering if he should have gotten there earlier, maybe right after dark, or maybe he should have waited until late in the day. But he hated going out late for it meant he got back to the cellar after dark.
After a few hundred yards, he comes to a small open meadow. He stands in the shade of the trees looking over it. He had not seen it from above and realized it was so narrow there was no way for him to see it from that angle. The stream cuts along one side of it, separating trees from wildflowers and tall grass. There are no butterflies, and he wonders how the flowers survive. They may be the last of their species.
He starts to step out of the trees to cross when movement catches his eye. Along the right side, there are a few boulders about the size of a small car, and someone steps up on one, bow and arrow in hand. He steps back into the deep shadows behind a tree to watch. Bare chested, hair pulled back into a ponytail. Even from the distance, Oliver can tell the guy has a lean build. The skin tone is a brown tone and where the sun strikes the skin, red tones are evident. The hair appears black, shiny in the sunlight, and the body smooth.
“What are you doing?” Oliver says to himself, for he knows sizing the guy up is foolish, and dangerous. But he can’t stop himself. It has been too long, all the way back at college before the end of Spring Semester since he was with a guy.
He thought of Charlie, wondering what he was doing now. They had dated for four weeks, then with exams and the end of the semester on them, decided to end their dating amicably. Charlie was going to Costa Rica for a couple of weeks then flying back to Knoxville where he was from. Oliver wondered if he was still in Costa Rica or if he made it back, doubting seriously that was the case. He pictured Charlie in some hospital struggling to survive.
The guy on the rock pulled the arrow back aiming at something moving on the ground. Then the bow shot out and the guy jumped down to the ground and rushed to where he shot. The guy stood with a rabbit and Oliver felt jealous of how easy it had appeared for him. He wondered if he waited for him to leave, if he could find one for himself. He stood behind the tree not moving, watching the guy remove the arrow, hold up the rabbit as if to give measure of it, then turned and went into the woods by the rocks.
Oliver waited for a long time, then eased out, following the stream on the opposite side of the meadow, then back up the other side coming by the rocks. Nothing. Not even a snake. “Damn,” he uttered as he continued back to where he first came out, ready to call it a day. Maybe tomorrow he will go the opposite direction in the valley.
He moves through the woods less carefully, not worrying about making a little noise. He comes to the large boulders and cuts back through them the way he had come. He comes back into the open woods and suddenly an arrow hits the tree next to him. He freezes, then slowly turns expecting an arrow to the back. As he comes around, he looks among the boulders, then he looks up. On top of one of them he sees the guy aiming another arrow at him.
“Whoa, don’t shoot!” Oliver exclaims.
“What are you doing here?”
“The same as you…but not as successfully.”
“I don’t know you.” It was stated as fact, blunt in tone.
“No, I guess not. Are you from around here?”
“I’m asking the questions.”
“Okay, okay, I get it. I’m from Mobile and my friends and I were hiking on the AT.”
“Where are your friends?”
“Gone. David rushed to get home when we realized how bad things were getting and Matthew…Matthew…he just disappeared during the night a while back.”
The bow and arrow were lowered a bit but still pointing in Oliver’s direction. He was trying to figure out how not to get shot. It was crazy. Was it really every man for himself now? He looked up breathing hard from fear.
“If I’m trespassing, I’m sorry. I was just hunting for food.”
“You’re not trespassing.”
“Oh, good, good. Do you consider this your hunting area?”
“It’s just a place available to me.”
Oliver looked up at the guy, and now that he was close enough, he saw the body was filthy, dirt smeared over the chest and down the arms. The pants were filthy as well and torn in one knee.
“Where are you staying?” asked Oliver.
“I have a camp site nearby.”
“I’m Oliver. Oliver Goodall. What’s your name?”
The bow and arrow dropped further down, and the guy’s posture relaxed.
“Gatlin Lover.”
“Gatlin? That’s an interesting name.”
“I’m Cherokee.”
“Gatlin, are you alone out here? I am. I have no one and…” said Oliver, looking down before admitting how lost and alone he felt, “I’m alone. Out here by myself as the fucking world burns.” Tears pooled in his eyes, trickled down his cheeks and he wiped them with one forearm. “Goddamn it.”
“Yes.”
The reply was spoken so softly, so low, Oliver barely heard it. He looked up to see Gatlin step back from the edge of the rock, then a few seconds later, come out from between them along the path Oliver had taken. Gatlin came to him, stopping only a few feet away. Oliver noticed Gatlin was slightly shorter than his five foot ten with a build similar to his own. Lean, but firm. But what he noticed most was the dark brown eyes. He had always considered brown eyes mysterious, able to conceal the thoughts of the guys with them, but now he saw they could reveal so much. The same hurt and sense of being lost. The same longing for something, in this instance probably the companionship of another human being.
“If we can trust each other and…” Oliver stammered, not sure how to say what he was thinking.
“I would like us to help each other. It’s tough doing it alone…you know,” said Gatlin.
“I know,” Oliver whispered, then he took a deep breath and looked at Gatlin. “I found a place. One with a solar or wind power system or maybe its both, I’m not sure, but it is a secure place, and it has a bathroom with a shower.”
“With warm water?”
It was said with such enthusiasm and surprise it made Oliver smile. “Yeah. Would you like to pack up your stuff and come with me? I’ve got some food, medical supplies, beds to sleep in, and…will you come with me?”
“You’ll share everything?”
“Yes, but you have to hunt for us. I’ve had shit luck finding anything.”
It was Gatlin who smiled this time. “I can hunt for us.”
“Okay, let’s go get your stuff and get back to the cellar before it gets too late.”
“Cellar?”
Oliver smiled. “It sounds better than underground bunker or whatever you call it.”
“You found a bunker?”
“Yes.”
“And no one was in it?”
“It seems the family took off to go to one of their children down in Macon, Georgia. I found their notes on the hospital they headed to. I don’t expect them back.”
“No one is coming back,” said Gatlin. “My camp is this way,” he added, as he headed across the valley ignoring the path through the boulders.
Oliver sat the MRE on the table, a macaroni in tomato sauce, and sat opposite Gatlin. Gatlin had cleaned and cooked the rabbit, and it lay between them next to the macaroni.
“It’s not much, but it looks a damn sight better than what I’ve been eating,” said Oliver.
“The macaroni will be a nice change. Although I’ll show you how to forge for mushrooms and wild greens tomorrow.”
Oliver looked at the cleaned-up Gatlin trying hard not to think of it. The physical nature of the body, one still exposed, for Gatlin said it was too hot for a shirt. Oliver couldn’t think of one argument against him going shirtless. As they ate, Gatlin caught him staring time and time again, but never said anything about it.
“You were in college?” said Gatlin.
Were. The past tense. It hung over Oliver, and he knew the truth of it. “Yes, at Virginia Tech. I just finished my sophomore year. Aerospace engineering. Do you think I’ll ever get to finish my degree…or even have a use of it?”
Gatlin shrugged.
“My folks are in Mobile, Alabama, and I have a sister in Boston,” Oliver continued. “I wonder—”
“Don’t think of it; not now,” Gatlin interrupted. “Besides not knowing might be better.”
“You’re right. What about you?”
“I grew up in Wilmot, a little community south of Cherokee. Dad got a job up here in Roanoke three, no, four years ago. I had just finished high school and was preparing to enter Virginia.”
“Virginia U in Lynchburg?”
“Yes. I would have been the first in my family to go to college, but now…”
Oliver helped Gatlin make up one of the other beds, noting Gatlin had tossed his gear on the upper bunk. The sleeping bag looked rough and the few clothes sticking out of the backpack were filthy.
“We can get your stuff washed tomorrow. I figured out where the switch is at in the house to get power to it, so we can use the washer and dryer.”
“Okay.”
“We can go out early and you can show me how to find mushrooms and other stuff then you can see if you can put some meat on the table,” said Oliver in a light tone, trying to lighten the mood, for the two of them had been struggling with what was happening and ever since dinner, neither had talked much.
Gatlin turned to him and smiled, nodding his head. “Okay.”
Soul Mate
For days they circled each other. Every morning, they went out for Oliver to forage and Gatlin to hunt. When Gatlin came back with a small deer, they were able to fill the freezer and refrigerator in the house with meat, hoping no one would come around scavenging for food. It would be a treasure trove that might get others coming around.
Oliver found it surprising how much that was edible. MRE’s sat on the shelf, deemed for emergencies, both knowing winter could be a difficult time. They ate berries and nuts for breakfast, then some left over meat from the night before for lunch wishing they had bread in some form. Dinner was their main meal; one they cooked meat and sauteed mushrooms, placing it with raw greens.
Once they settled down for the end of the day, they played cards or read one of the books found in the house, most of the books made them moan or comment derisively about the storyline, but it gave them a diversion and something to joke about. And they circled each other, watched the other, and at times turned away as if caught doing something wrong. For Oliver, it was extremely difficult. He found Gatlin pushed away the loneliness but now he felt a longing for more intimate companionship. It didn’t help that Gatlin rarely wore a shirt and, in the cellar, began to wear just boxers that were too tight on the round the ass and a crotch that plainly revealed the cock pushing at the front. Every time Oliver looked at Gatlin, he saw exposed skin, exposed nipples, the navel, the hips tapering into tight boxers, and a back more muscular than first realized. It made him breathless and fantasized about something happening between them.
But Gatlin never made any statement that would give Oliver hope. No sexually insinuating comment or at any time let Oliver see him doing something like masturbating. Oliver knew Gatlin could be doing as he did, once separated in the morning while he was out foraging, the first thing he did was find an isolated place and masturbated furiously while thinking of Gatlin, picturing the body and imagining them kissing and touching and sucking each other off. He never got further for he always came by then.
One evening, it was dark outside, and the cellar sealed up for the night, Oliver came out of the bathroom wearing just boxers. He was desperate to know if there was any chance Gatlin would be willing. He wanted intimacy to the point he was willing to take a chance with the possibility of getting an erection, and Gatlin seeing it. He didn’t think his body was as nice as Gatlin’s, but he was in shape and felt better than he had in a long time despite everything that had happened.
He crossed the room seeing Gatlin glance up, then looked up again and watched him go to his bed and lay down with a book.
“The bathroom is all yours,” said Oliver.
“Okay,” said Gatlin, who climbed to his feet, picked up his towel and headed to the bathroom.
The door was left open, and Oliver could see about halfway into it. Then he realized Gatlin didn’t take a pair of boxers to put on. Was Gatlin craving more from him as he was of Gatlin? He considered how Gatlin never wore a shirt and was in boxers every evening. Maybe they were more alike, than he first considered. He looked over the top of his book, seeing boxers drop on the floor. He could see the back half of Gatlin. The long torso, the slightly long neck, the long dark hair, and the round ass. He couldn’t take his eyes off the ass and watched as Gatlin moved around then turned to the shower, his back to Oliver. A full view of the back and ass and Oliver tugged on his cock while thinking of it.
Oliver tried to focus on the book, read one sentence over and over not once comprehending it. The shower curtain fogged up and he could only see the blurred form moving around. The water shut off and the curtain pulled back and Gatlin reached out for his towel giving Oliver a full-frontal view. Uncut cock hanging heavy over the sac, a small fan of pubic hair over it. He watched Gatlin dry off the body, then towel the hair while stepping out of the shower. With arms raised the dark hair in each armpit was visible. Gatlin may only be eighteen, but Oliver could only think of him as a man. Sensually, sexually, a man he desired to the point his heart was racing in his chest.
Gatlin tossed the towel over the left shoulder and strolled out naked, and Oliver watched him. He watched the way the body moved, how the cock flopped around, and when he dared, up at the face staring back.
“Did you work out before,” Oliver asked, for he had to say something, no matter how stupid it might be.
“No, I hated working out, but I jogged, sometimes running through the mountains to see how far I could go, and I backpacked with dad or some friends for long weekends or even weeks at a time. Why? Do you think I look okay?”
It was the first time Oliver really heard some lack of confidence from Gatlin. Gatlin had always been so stoic, at times firm in what he had to say, to hear him now, he knew there was some fear of how he would respond to him.
“You’re very attractive,” Oliver replied. He just stated it, with no rambling to cover it as some casual observation.
“Thanks. Your attractive too.”
Oliver looked at Gatlin as he stood staring back, naked, with his towel in the right hand, making no move to put on a pair of boxers. He knew he couldn’t let this moment slip past.
“You want to come over and sit with me?”
“Yes,” Gatlin replied, tossing the towel down and moving to Oliver’s bed. Oliver sat up, swinging his feet to the floor and Gatlin sat next to him, so close a hand wouldn’t fit between them.
Oliver looked at it, Gatlin’s cock. It was thicker than before, and he saw it stretching out before him.
“Do you see what you do to me?” said Gatlin, as the cock thickened and started to stretch out.
“Are you really gay…or am I just the only one available?” said Oliver, the questioning tone showing his own fear and worry.
“I had a boyfriend in high school, but he broke up with me before our prom, going out with a girl instead.”
“That was cruel.”
“Not as cruel as losing my family.”
“What happened?”
“When everything happened, dad sent me into the mountains when he and mom got sick…I didn’t know how I’d survive.”
“When Matthew disappeared in the middle of the night, I knew it was bad and until I met you, I assumed any kind of contact with another would never be possible again.”
Gatlin laughed, one of hurt and fear then with a dark humor. “I have tried to get you to respond to me since we met but I assumed you were straight at first, then I wondered if you were gay and just looked at me like some kid.”
“You’re no kid,” said Oliver, reaching over and putting his hand on Gatlin’s thigh. The flesh was so smooth, so warm, and when he squeezed lightly, he felt the firmness of it. He looked at him, saw the pleading in the eyes, and he leaned toward him. When he closed about half the distance between them, Gatlin moved toward him, bringing their lips together.
As they kissed, Oliver moved his hand over to the cock. He fondled it, tugged on the it, then pulled the foreskin back and jacked it slowly until Gatlin moaned into his mouth.
Gatlin moved in front of him, down on knees. He watched Gatlin move to his crotch where his cock was starting to push against the front of his boxers. He watched him move to his cock, mouth it through the thin fabric, then taking the waistband, tugged on them. Oliver raised his ass and let the boxers slip around his ass and down his legs until they were around his ankles. He kicked them off and leaned back on his elbows as Gatlin held his cock, slow stroked it, then took it in the mouth. He shivered with the feel of the mouth sliding down its length.
Gatlin toyed with his nuts, rubbed his thighs, raked a hand across his chest and pinched one nipple then the other all the while sucking his cock. Gatlin knew how to pleasure him, and he found himself clutching the bed desperately trying not shove upward, wanting Gatlin to keep sucking him as he was doing.
Hands slipped under each leg and suddenly Gatlin was pushing them up, forcing him to his back. With knees pointing straight up, he felt Gatlin go from his cock to his nuts, tugging on one, moving them around in their sac with the tongue, then moving further down until tongue was raking over his opening. He threw his head back and moaned.
The tongue drove him mad. It licked it his ass, ran up and down it until he was shivering and his cock drooling on his stomach.
“Gatlin…put it in me. Fuck me,” said Oliver. “Fuck me; please.”
Gatlin climbed to his feet stroking his cock. As Oliver held his legs up and spread, Gatlin bent to his ass and rubbed cock across it, then up and down over his wet opening, then pushed through his tightness penetrating him. He felt the cock bore into his depths, going deeper and deeper as Gatlin fucked him.
Gatlin pulled out and manhandled Oliver around on the bed, climbing on it at his feet. The legs were held up then pushed over until pressing down on Oliver’s chest and Gatlin kept them held down as he sank his cock in Oliver’s upturned ass, burying it all the way. He fucked with an increasing rhythm until hips smacked against ass and the metal frame bed squeaked and rocked beneath them.
“Fuck; I can’t slow…I…take me, take me, Oliver!” exclaimed Gatlin as he slammed down into Oliver’s ass and shuddered with release.
Oliver had been surprised by the physicality of Gatlin’s fuck then he was just as surprised by the intimacy when Gatlin took his cock. He was sitting up against the wall and Gatlin was in his lap, moving up and down on is cock. Gatlin’s cock was still hard, wet and slimy, leaving a wet trail on his stomach. He had his arms around the lean body, feeling its warmth and smooth skin as it moved up and down. He kissed the chest, up along the neck as Gatlin held his head back, breathing hard. He took Gatlin’s cock, stroking it while Gatlin continued to move on his own. He was close, so very close.
Gatlin leaned back and pumped cock through his hand and ass on his cock. Faster and faster Gatlin worked his ass until Oliver felt Gatlin’s cock swell thicker, then flex with each ejaculation, spraying cum over the chest and stomach. It pushed him over the edge, and he shuddered with his own release.
After they fucked until spent and exhausted, Oliver led Gatlin to the bathroom where they showered together. Once dried off, Oliver led Gatlin to his bed, one they were to share from now on.
Descending
The weeks passed, Oliver and Gatlin working together to find food, to put some of it up for the winter months, and after dinner, made love, then lay intertwined on one bed or the other. They found a sense of their old selves, and at times a happiness they dared not consider, for it was fleeting. No matter how much they supported each other, gave of themselves in one way or another, the reality of their world was always at the periphery. The smell of smoke seemed to be in the air all the time and when up on a ridgeline they could see it, thick black plumes rising from the horizon. The plumes that were near they could name: Wytheville, Blacksburg, Roanoke. Those visible only on the clearest days and far away they assumed by their location on the horizon which cities they could be. Charlottesville, Richmond, Greensboro, Winston-Salem.
One afternoon, standing on a rock outcropping, Gatlin had stared at the smoke to their south then turned to Oliver. “The whole fucking world is burning.”
Oliver tried to pretend Gatlin’s statement was an exaggeration, but seeing the plumes of smoke rising into the sky, he couldn’t argue with him.
Their fear made them check the house again, look for ways to hide their presence on the property. In the garage the screwed a shelving unit to the door so when the door was closed, it was concealed.
The madness of it all made them cling to each other at night. During sex, they could be intimate, gentle, allowing their sexual desires to consume them, if for only a short time. Other times they fucked as if desperate, that at any moment they could lose each other. Afterward one of them would cry and ask if they would be alright. They always lied, saying of course, everything would soon be back to normal.
Summer came to an end, and the valleys became a riot of color. Oliver said it was breathtaking, and Gatlin tells the story of the Great Bear. Fall doesn’t bring the cooler temperatures of times past, instead it stays warm right up to the Hunter’s Moon.
“Winter could be brutal,” Gatlin whispered one night after sex.
“But it’s still so hot.”
“For now.”
The shortest day arrived, and Gatlin made mention of it. Oliver didn’t think, just blurted out “Christmas Eve?”
“Do you not know your own legends?” said Gatlin smiling at him. “Your man-god dies on the 21st, the shortest day, and for three days, days that seem to be static, no longer shortening but not yet lengthening, he supposedly lays in his crypt rotting away, until on the third day, the day that is the first to get longer than the previous day, the son of your god rises. The sun rises. Ra, Sol, Incan, Huitzilopochtli, and—”
“You’re saying the two are intertwined, one influenced by the other,” said Oliver.
“Yes. And you say our legends are primitive,” Gatlin whispers in the dark then rolls on top of Oliver, holding him down.
Neither could say the date, no longer even trying to do so, but one winter day they awoke to strong winds blowing from the north, then freezing rain began and after a time, a snowfall the likes neither of them had ever seen before. Huge wet flakes that quickly covered the ice covering the ground. Temperatures plummeted and Oliver and Gatlin locked themselves away in the cellar knowing the subterranean nature of it would insulate them from the worst of the cold.
Huddled in the cellar, they clung to each other, kissed as if to devour the other, hungrily, desperately, holding tight to each other. Oliver rolled to his back, pulling Gatlin to get on top of him.
“Fuck me, fuck me,” Oliver pleaded as he manipulated Gatlin, tugged and stroked him until fully erect. “Put it in me,” he uttered as he tugged the cock to his opening.
Gatlin lifted himself on his hands and pushed through the tightness. He shuddered with the tight squeeze as Oliver moaned and cried out. He pushed inward, about halfway, then began to fuck. Slowly at first, waiting on Oliver to loosen to his penetration. He felt the hands holding his waist, fingers digging into his sides, and he increased his pace, fucked harder, faster, until the bed squeaked and rocked beneath them.
Gatlin slipped his arms under Oliver’s legs and folded him into a ball underneath him and he fucked. Fucked harder, rougher, hips slapping against the ass. He fucked until sweating and burning up as Oliver pleaded with him not to stop. And Gatlin didn’t stop. He didn’t slow down. He fucked to cum. He fucked to forget and push aside his fears and frustrations.
He fucked to cling to Oliver, to have him up against his body. To feel the heat of it, the sweaty slick skin rubbing against his own.
“Gatlin,” Oliver uttered.
“Don’t leave me,” Gatlin whispered in reply, a confession of his fear, and he finally slowed, pushed into Oliver all the way and ground his hips against the upturned ass, and came.
Gatlin lay on his stomach as Oliver moved on top of him. The undulation of the hips pushing cock into his depths. Kisses and nips on his shoulders and neck. He pushed his ass up as cock bore into his depths and hands held his own down. He surrendered to Oliver, gave himself to Oliver’s fuck. He buried his face into the bed and moaned and cried.
“Don’t cry,” said Oliver as he lay heavily on him.
They showered together, made dinner, realizing it was the first time they had to go into their stores. They knew it wouldn’t be the last time. They lay in one bed, Oliver reading aloud for some time before calling it a night and turning off the overhead lights.
The next morning, they came out to find a foot of snow on the ground and the skies a vivid clear blue. It was colder than it had been in a long time and so quiet, eerily quiet, that they found themselves whispering to each other.
Oliver started to go to the house, one foot stepped into the snow, when Gatlin pulled him back.
“Don’t go across the snow. If someone comes up, they’ll see your tracks.”
“Do you really think someone could come up here with this snow?”
“Do you want to chance it?”
“No.”
They went back into the cellar, securing the door. They spent four days in the cellar, huddling up together most of the time. The temperature dropped in the cellar until they had to stay under a blanket when not stirring around. The lights dimmed and they shut off anything they didn’t need to keep most of the power available for the refrigerator and freezer.
Gatlin checked the system and found the solar panels were not making electricity, knowing it meant they were covered in snow. The only power generation came from the wind turbines. He knew if the power shut off from the turbines the generator would kick on and he worried about the noise it would make and threw the disconnect to it. If the power went completely off, he would go up to the roof and clean off the solar panels, and when he felt it safe, would venture up the mountain to the wind turbines to get them working again.
When they finally ventured out, they stood at the door of the garage and looked across the ground at the melting snow, feeling how the heat had returned to the air.
“It must have been a polar vortex that pushed artic air down on us,” said Oliver.
“It sure didn’t last long.”
“They never do anymore.”
There would be one more cold spell, but without the snow, and Oliver and Gatlin passed the days hunting for there would be no berries or nuts to gather or mushrooms sprouting out of the ground. They would ease through the woods, each with an arrow ready to shoot, staying close enough to keep sight of each other.
When spring arrived, it arrived with rain. Heavy down pours that flooded the valley and downed trees. One went down on the house, busting through the roof and flooding the interior, and others lay across the drive, blocking access to any vehicle that may try to come up it.
Then summer arrived, hot and humid, and the air still most days. They sat on one of the rock outcroppings stripped to their boxers watching sunsets most evenings. Just sitting there lifelessly and sweating, wondering how it could get so hot in the mountains. In the cellar they would have sex, make dinner, then shower in water as cold as they could get it. They slept naked in separate beds to keep cool and drank water until Gatlin was constantly cleaning the filter to the water purification system.
“Is this how it’ll be from now on,” said Gatlin one evening when they were watching the sunset.
“I don’t know,” Oliver replied. “Do you think it would be safe to go down into the town—”
“No,” Gatlin interrupted, and he turned to Oliver, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think so. Not yet.”
Oliver looked as if he was going to cry and Gatlin leaned to him brining their lips together. Then they touched each other, Oliver holding Gatlin’s arms as Gatlin brushed the back of his hand over Oliver’s chest. They stripped off their boxers and continued to make out, to touch and caress until Oliver was on hands and knees with Gatlin pushing into his depths. Oliver felt the hard rock under his hands and knees as cock moved inside him. He looked up across the valley and sucked in air. He breathed deeply no longer smelling smoke from fires. He drew in each breath as he rocked with their fuck.
Gatlin held Oliver by the waist and moved his hips fluidly, steadily, pumping cock into the ass. He built up his pace, pushing deeper and deeper until bumping against the ass. He felt his growing arousal, how his cock became so sensitive his toes curled under. He leaned over Oliver and kissed the back, then dragged his tongue up the spine to the neck and he kissed him gently, not once losing his rhythm.
The sun became intense, and their skin became hot where exposed, sweat beading up on it and Gatlin fucked, fucked with his steady pace.
“OH, Gatlin,” Oliver cried out. He was aroused to the point the world pushed away from his thoughts. It was just Gatlin and him. He rocked with their fuck, cock swinging between his thighs and Gatlin took him in hand. He shivered when the hand moved over the dripping head, then he was working his hips as Gatlin stroked his cock and fucked his ass.
Oliver came first, his cock spurting wad after wad across the rock beneath him. Then Gatlin pushed into his depths and shuddered against his ass. Gatlin came, pumping wad after wad into Oliver’s depths.
Sometime toward the end of summer, the house burned down. Gatlin guessed it was some electrical short, but Oliver wasn’t so sure. They locked themselves in the cellar fearful someone would come investigate for the smoke rose thick and black as the house was consumed by fire. They lost the refrigerator and freezer that was inside it, along with the food stored in them.
When they emerged, they found the smell of charred wood hung in the air and the house was reduced to ash. The fire had burned down the front yard to the drive but luckily the trees were far enough away they didn’t catch.
“This feels bad,” said Oliver.
“We still have the cellar.”
“Yes, we have that.”
On the first break in the weather, a bit of coolness that spoke of approaching fall, Oliver and Gatlin went hunting in the valley. They got a turkey, and Gatlin carried it as they made their way back to the cellar. They climbed over the ridgeline and eased down along the path until at the edge of the woods. Gatlin froze, holding his hand out for Oliver to stop.
“What is it?” Oliver whispered, then he saw what made Gatlin freeze. Four men on horseback were circling the burned down house. One pointed to the garage and Oliver tried to remember if they locked the cellar door, fretting about whether or not it was closed. They always closed it, but with two men approaching the garage, he let his fear overwhelm his reasoning.
“We locked the cellar, right?” Oliver whispered.
“Yes, I locked it.”
The two men rode up to the garage, one going left the other right, who would soon find the side door. They watched the man dismount and go into the garage. A minute he came out pushing the two bicycles, their tires flat.
“There’s an old Jeep, a lawnmower, and these bicycles,” the man yelled back to the two still at the burned down house site.
“We got plenty of bicycles and the other stuff is junk unless you know were we can get gas,” one the men yelled back.
Oliver and Gatlin heard the tone of the reply, sarcastic and defeated. They watched the bicycles get dropped to the ground and the man go back to his horse.
“There’s nothing else in there?” the man at the house yelled back.
“Just junk like you would find in a garage,” came the reply.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here and go check out that campground over on Ridgeline Road.”
Oliver and Gatlin lay low, barely breathing, afraid they could be discovered. They watched them gather at the end of the house then ride off together down toward the drive.
“Shit, that was close,” said Gatlin.
“Should we have approached them? Maybe they could have helped—”
“No, didn’t you see the rifles? They would probably have shot us after getting us to show them the cellar.”
“You’re probably right.”
After waiting until near dark, they rushed into the garage and secured themselves inside the cellar, not coming back out for three days, and rarely then, staying inside more often than before.
Fall arrived with its staggering beauty and for one afternoon, they sat on one of the rock outcroppings just staring out over the valley. Then, as before when the natural world provided them with some comfort, they came together. They kissed, and caressed exposed skin, then with boxers removed they fondled cocks until erect.
Gatlin lay on his back with Oliver sitting on his cock. Oliver moved up and down as he watched. He took Oliver in hand and stroked him as Oliver kept moving on his own cock. Up. Down. The steady pace of a fuck. They fucked until Gatlin came in Oliver, and Oliver didn’t stop, kept moving on the slimy cock, keeping it hard. He moved slickly on it until Gatlin could no longer endure it. Sitting up, Gatlin hugged Oliver to his chest and rolled him to his back. Legs wrapped around his waist as he adjusted his position then began to fuck. He pushed into Oliver’s depths, all the way, and kept pumping his cock inside him as Oliver stroked his own cock.
They fucked as the sun dropped to the horizon. The round blazing sun began to disappear as the ridgeline blocked it, every minute a bit more disappearing from sight. And Gatlin kept on fucking. Fucked until the two of them were noisily moaning and grunting.
Oliver came first, shooting wad after wad over his chest and stomach, and as his cock spurt each wad, Gatlin shoved inward and shuddered with his own release.
It was dark shadow and a dull gray light by the time they got back to the cellar. They showered and prepared dinner, then cut the lights and snuggled together, both drifting off quickly from their exhaustion.
Winter sets in with mild temperatures and days of steady rain. The valley flooded and the ash of the house washed across the open ground. Gatlin and Oliver know their routine. A shift from their foraging to strictly hunting for game.
They found themselves going days with little conversation, but at night they clung to each other, and more often than not, they had sex. Sex for the comfort and love they felt toward each other. Sex to push away the bad thoughts, sex that was physical and rough. Sex that was opportunistic, occurring at a moment’s notice. Gatlin in the shower and Oliver slipped in with him. Oliver hanging up laundry to dry and Gatlin pulled him to one of the beds. Oliver in the storeroom doing a visual survey and Gatlin coming up behind him, already naked, cock hard.
Spring arrived with torrential rains, worse than the year before. Oliver assumed it was the warmer air, knowing it held more moisture. After two days of constant rain, they went up to the garage and watched it, how the rear yard was flooded, rivers of water running down the slope. When they went back inside the power was out, the cellar dark and quiet.
Gatlin fiddled with the equipment that controlled the solar panels and wind turbine power generation as Oliver held a flashlight.
“Fuck, I don’t know what is wrong with it.”
“If we can’t get it back up…” Oliver didn’t want to say it.
“Yeah. We can’t stay in here without power.”
“What will we do?”
“We’ll…we’ll back up our gear that we can carry and hike over into the valley and find a place to set up camp, then we’ll make plans on where to head next.”
“Head next?”
“If we get a winter like last year, we won’t survive out in it. We’ll need to go somewhere for shelter.”
“It might be for the best.”
“It might be,” said Gatlin, but his tone said he wasn’t convinced.
Deliverance
The days were long and hot, and it had been weeks since it rained. The spring flowing into the stream just below their camp was down to a slow trickle. It was their second camp site since setting out, and all they knew was they had gone north. Where they were located by any map, they had no idea.
Oliver was sitting on a rock, naked, washing off the dirt from their morning hunt. He was aggravated because he lost another arrow. It had sailed wide and seemed to have disappeared. He had searched for it until Gatlin showed up telling him to forget about it.
Gatlin came down the stream stripped of his clothes and sat next to him.
“Wash my back,” said Oliver in a low tone, the exhaustion evident in his voice. He felt the familiar hands move over him and he relaxed to it. “I’m so tired,” he uttered as Gatlin scope up some water and poured it over his back.
“Me too. We need to find shelter,” said Gatlin
“I thought that house back on that pond was perfect until those two horsemen showed up.”
“They seemed to be organized. We need to avoid them.”
“Do you think they did it?”
Oliver didn’t need to say it, didn’t need to spell out what he was referring to for Gatlin knew. It was a scene from a horror movie, that house with those women, and all of them dead. It was obvious they were abused.
“They fit the bill,” said Gatlin turning toward the stream and began to bathe himself as Oliver sat staring into the woods.
Two days later they had decided the next morning they would pack up and continue north, but for just one more day they wanted to rest. They had stopped going up on the mountain in the afternoon because it was too hot. Instead, they came out of the tent at first light and made their way up to some overlook, this one an abandoned fire tower. They couldn’t get into the tower, so they sat on the steps just below it and watched the sun rise in the east. It was a reminder that life went on, that no matter what, another day arrived.
Despite the drought and the stifling heat, the valley was a beautiful sight.
“It looks so peaceful,” whispered Oliver.
“Yes.”
Then they heard it, the unmistakable sound of a helicopter approaching. They looked at each other, not sure what to do. It was too late to rush down the stairs and hide. The reverberation echoed over the valley, then suddenly a large yellow helicopter flew over the ridge directly overhead. It had red accents and had the Canadian flag painted on the side just behind the cockpit. It flew out over the valley, then came to a stop, turning sideways to them.
“What are they doing here?” said Oliver.
“I don’t know.”
The helicopter drew closer until they could see the pilot, then a rear door opened, and someone stood in it, dropping a small bright yellow box. The pilot pointed at it, then gave them a thumbs up sign. The helicopter angled away from them and flew north up the valley.
“Let’s go!” exclaimed Gatlin, rushing down the steps.
By the time Oliver got to the place where the box landed, Gatlin had it open. Gatlin took out a piece of paper, a small flashlight, and medical kit. In the bottom of the box, protein bars.
If you need evacuation, come to Franklin, West Virginia. We will be evacuating out on 1 September. Today is 23 August (the date handwritten in red). Travel cautiously for the militia is patrolling but they are mainly to the east in Roanoke and Staunton. See the map.
The Canadian Royal Air Force.
The back side of the page was a map of the region and there was a red ‘X’ marking their location, noted at the fire tower.
“Franklin is to our north,” said Gatlin.
“How long will it take us to get there?” said Oliver, never for one second doubting they would not go. It seemed like someone had finally thrown them a lifeline and he was going to take it, if Gatlin would too.
“Three, maybe four days.”
“We’re going…right?”
Gatlin looked at Oliver and smiled. “Of course.”
Back in camp, they packed up just what they needed, food and water, a change of socks, their medical kit, two more flashlights, and the map dropped to them. Then they stood to the side of it surveying it.
“Should we just leave everything like this?” said Oliver.
“Maybe someone will find it who needs it. Come on, let’s go.”
Oliver had never seen anything like it except on television. It was a makeshift camp of large white tents grouped on one side of a field just below Franklin. On the other side of the field, two landing areas were marked on the ground, and as they made their way past armed guards, they saw a helicopter take off, wondering if it was the one that had found them.
They were not alone, coming into the camp with a few others, a woman with two children, two boys who could not have been more than twelve years old, and an elderly couple.
“This way, come this way,” a Canadian soldier called out, and everyone turned toward him.
At a table there were two men and a woman, all in uniform. The woman had a laptop open and was taking people’s information. When Oliver and Gatlin came to the table she looked up and smiled and Oliver smiled back, glad to see a friendly face.
“What is your full name?” she asked.
Oliver noticed her last name was Gauthier. He cleared his throat and leaned closer. “Charles Oliver Goodall.”
“Where are you from?”
“Mobile, Alabama.”
“Mobile? How did you get up here?”
“I was backpacking with friends when…”
“I see. Charles—”
“Oliver. I prefer Oliver.”
“Okay, Oliver, we need to know if you want to be evacuated to a safe place in country or out of country?”
“In country or…” Oliver stammered.
“Where in country?” said Gatlin, leaning around Oliver.
“There are safe areas in upstate New York, Maine, then west in northern California, Oregon and parts of Washington.”
“What about the rest of the country? What about down south?” said Oliver.
“Some of those areas are experiencing violence and some we just don’t know about at this point in time. Mexico says some of Texas and New Mexico is safe, but the drought has caused a water shortage,” she replied.
“Oliver, let’s go to somewhere, anywhere out of this place. I can’t stay here,” said Gatlin.
Oliver looked at Gatlin, the one who had always been the strongest of the two of them, the one who fixed things, did most of the hunting, and he saw someone suddenly far more fragile than he had realized. He leaned to Gatlin until their foreheads touched. “We’ll go wherever you want to go.”
Oliver turned back to the soldier. “We want to leave. Out of country.”
She smiled as she typed. “Do you have any family still alive?”
“I have no idea.”
“A lot of people don’t know. We’re hoping some government is reformed soon, and people can get messages to anyone who may have survived.
“How long before that happens,” said Gatlin.
“I’m afraid it could be years. I assume you two are together,” she asked with a friendly smile letting them know it was okay.
“Yes,” said Oliver.
“I just need to get your name and where you are from,” she said to Gatlin.
“Gatlin Ross Lover. Roanoke, Virginia, and no family that survives.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“I’m sure.”
“Okay, I’ll print out an identification badge for each of you, then go to that tent for a change of clothes. They’ll direct you to the showers then the tents where you will stay until we’re ready to mobilize. And I’m afraid you will be in with a lot of other people, so no privacy,” she said to them, the reference obvious.
“Thanks,” said Oliver as he took Gatlin by the hand and led him toward the tent.
“Those two were together?” said one of the soldiers next to Gauthier.
“Oh yeah.”
“After this ordeal, I bet they never separate.”
“I wouldn’t bet against them,” she replied watching Oliver lead Gatlin into the tent.
Tomorrow
Oliver came out and shivered, the air colder than he anticipated. He started to go back inside for a jacket but saw Gatlin riding up the lane. Gatlin was riding Tallulah at a gently trot, the big mare’s head moving up and down as she brought them back to the cabin. As Gatlin drew near, Oliver saw he was carrying something holding his coat around it.
“What have you got?” said Oliver, stepping off the porch. He moved up to them when Gatlin brought Tallulah to a stop.
“Here, take him for me,” said Gatlin, leaning over holding a puppy out to Oliver. It was black and white and looked like a border collie.
Oliver took the puppy and brought it to his chest. “What is this?” he asked, smiling up at Gatlin.
“That’s Fergus.”
“Fergus. And Fergus is a…is this a border collie?”
“Yep. A farmer brought a litter to the garden shop. Said he couldn’t afford to take care of them and was giving them away.”
“Can we afford to take care of it?” Oliver was jesting with Gatlin, teasing him for they had gone from living in an encampment outside Ottawa to having their own cabin. There had been a lawyer from the UK that had tracked him down after being registered as found back in Franklin, West Virginia. It seemed his grandfather had expected the worst when the virus first surfaced and had put money away for all the grandkids in an account in UK. Oliver was the only survivor that could be found, so he got three hundred and twenty thousand dollars.
Then A lawyer from New York came up with papers for Gatlin to sign. The Cherokee people back in North Carolina had closed off the town, barricading them in for the duration. Now they were seeking survivors to give the monies owed them. Gatlin signed the documents then received a check from one of the few banks still operating in the states. It was the amount due his parents and him for the nine months prior to the outbreak, and it totaled over thirty thousand dollars.
For a while they sat on it, wondering what to do. They knew if they stayed in the Ottawa area they could burn through it quickly. Then Oliver found the cabin for sale about eighty miles to the north. A week later they were moving in. A week after that Gatlin came home from the nearby small town riding Tallulah leading Geronimo. A mode of transportation that didn’t require gas or electrical power. Just grass and hay, something they had in abundance down below the cabin.
That had been a year ago, and it still felt surreal. They lived in Canada. They had no one back in the states as far as they knew. It was just the two of them, so they clung to each other, relied on each other, took care of each other, making a home for themselves.
Holding the puppy, letting it lick his chin, Oliver knew their home now had Fergus.
“Did you get food for him?”
“Yes, but we’ll need to go back soon for it is a small bag,” Gatlin replied.
Gatlin put Tallulah in the pasture with Geronimo and watched the two horses take off running. They circled down toward the woods then raced back up to where he stood by the fence. He knew they ran for the pure pleasure of it for it was in their blood. He turned and followed Oliver into the small cabin, with its two rooms and bathroom. The porch ran across the front of it and in back, there was an outdoor shower and a small deck.
Gatlin closed the door as Oliver went to the small kitchen that ran along the end wall. A sink with a small casement window over it, a range, and a small refrigerator, and sitting on the back wall, their most important appliance, the small chest type freezer they kept vegetables and meats frozen for long term storage. The room held a small table with two chairs, a sofa that faced the fireplace in the back wall, and one wood rocking chair Oliver had found in a consignment shop. In the next room was a queen size bed, two small side tables and one old armoire to store their few garments, and tucked between the bedroom and main room, and narrow bathroom with a wall hung sink, a toilet, and a shower stall too small for the two of them to shower together. When the weather was nice, they preferred the outdoor shower where they could bathe each other and fuck if the mood arose.
“That smells good,” said Gatlin.
“Are you hungry already?” said Oliver.
“I’m starving.”
“Well, let’s eat.”
The puppy was asleep on a large pillow laying on the floor and the lights turned off, only the light of a full moon illuminating the interior. On the bed, Oliver was on top, moving inside of Gatlin. He pushed inward slowly, tugged out slowly, relishing the feel of his cock moving inside him.
Oliver lay on Gatlin’s back and together they moved, Gatlin pushing the ass up as Oliver worked his hips, pushing into the ass then tugging his cock outward. An arm around the neck, Oliver clung to Gatlin as he kissed the side of the face, below the ear, then tongued its curvature. With his other hand, he laced his fingers with Gatlin’s, another connection between them.
Oliver fucked until he was close, the need to cum welling up inside him. He felt every aspect of it, and he worked his hips faster, pumping his cock with an urgency.
“Oliver…fuck me,” Gatlin whispered breathlessly.
Oliver kept fucking, kept working his cock inside Gatlin until he was breathing heavily. Then he buried his face into the crook of shoulder and neck and cried out as he came.
Gatlin held Oliver’s legs to his chest as he pushed through the tightness, slowly, gently, easing inch after inch into him. He felt the shiver through the legs and heard the soft pleadings, begging him to keep going. He pushed deeper, then began to fuck. To work his cock inside of him. As he fucked, he pushed deeper until he was bumping against the ass. Then he pushed the legs forward and down until the knees were pressed into the bed, Oliver folded over, ass angled up. He held the legs down and fucked.
Gatlin began to sweat, to gasp for breath, as he fucked. Fucked with an urgency.
“OH, fuck me…fuck me,” Oliver cried out.
Gatlin bore down on the ass, hips smacking against it as he fucked harder. Sweat ran into his face and rained down on Oliver. He was burning up, almost feverish with the heat of their fuck. Then he slammed down into Oliver’s depths and shuddered and jerked with release.
The night had cooled down, but not enough to keep Oliver and Gatlin from using the outdoor shower under the dim light of the full moon. They bathed each other, hands rubbing over familiar bodies. They kissed under the cascade of water, then Oliver turned to the screen wall, hands braced on it and looked back at Gatlin.
“Fuck me again.”
Gatlin moved to Oliver and slowly entered him. He held the narrow waist and fucked, slowly, relishing the feel of it. How the tight ass milked his cock. He lay against the back and hugged the warm body against his own as he worked his hips, pumping cock inside Oliver, pushing into his depths over and over.
Gatlin took Oliver in hand, stroking the hard cock as he kept pumping his own inside of him. Time stood still, the night silent except for their moans and utterances. Their fuck would last a long time until Oliver could take it no longer. He shoved his ass back on Gatlin’s cock, then shoved his cock back through the tight fist and came. As his cock spurt wad after wad, cock worked through his ass increasing the intensity of his release.
Gatlin felt Oliver coming, and he pushed into the ass all the way and came too.
Another morning arrived bright and clear. Oliver and Gatlin sat on the porch watching the horses graze and Fergus moving around the yard by the porch as they drank their morning coffee. It was the one luxury they allowed themselves, and they savored it as they savored the quiet solitude of cabin.
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