C.D. Breadner's Blog, page 4

Let’s Write Something with Zombies – Waiting Game

Oakley had certainly taken the safety of Greenwater’s gates for granted, she was all too aware of that now. Standing there out in the open on the wrong side of the chain link, unarmed except for the hunting knife strapped to one thigh, she wasn’t sure what her slight friendship status meant with most of the men that were staring at her right then. She was “pretty sure” they wouldn’t hurt her, but “pretty sure” wasn’t much comfort.

She caught Tap’s eye, and he swallowed uneasily before looking away. The new guy, Sharp, turned and went back to whatever he’d been doing before Hunter dragged him along for the meet-and-greet. Hunter wasn’t looking at her, either. Hands on his hips, he was staring at the ground as though it was pissing him off.

After what felt like about six years of silence, Tap shouted for everyone to get back to work setting up camp. That’s when Hunter’s head finally camp up, caught her gaze, and with a jerk of his chin towards his shoulder he bid her to follow him.

It was a relief similar to suffocating and finally getting air. She nearly ran to him, but instead forced her head high, shoulders back, and took what she hoped appeared to be long, confident strides to fall in place behind him.

But before she got there a man with a heavy scar down one hemisphere of his face, bisecting his eyebrow and cheek, stepped right in front of her. He had the stink of at least three months on him, beard scruffy, long hair pulled back in a ponytail. Eyes dark as jet ran up her body as he blocked her path, a small twig in the corner of his mouth. He took it out, smiling as his eyes came to her face, then running them back down over her form.

Years ago, before Greenwater, she had learned well what this look meant. It was the same look women used to get when shopping for clothes: dying to try something on. See how it fit. When men looked at women this way it was no different.

Oakley may not have been strong enough to lick this guy in a fair fight, but she had intentions of fighting fair and she also learning that some men could lose that look in a fight. Others just enjoyed it.

Either way, she’d never just lain there and taken abuse. She always fought.

“Hawk,” Hunter’s voice snapped behind this man. He didn’t move, just clamped his teeth back around the stick and wandered away like they’d accidentally crossed paths.

Oakley realized then her pulse had spiked and she was now free to breathe. She cast her eyes around to see that no one had actually followed Tap’s word and started working. They were all still staring … at her. Some looked surprised. Some looked angry. Some looked amused. And some looked like Hawk. The last two groups worried her the most.

“Oakley,” Hunter called, hand out. Now she did speed up to get closer, his hand settling on her shoulder as she fell intro stride next to him.

“What the hell happened?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

Hunter shook his head. “I have no damn idea. She mentioned this Matilda, like you said, and asked if I would agree to father the baby. Assured me it would not affect her decision to let the men stay. So I said no.”

“And that’s it?”

“Yeah. I don’t know what the hell else happened.”

“There had to have been something else.” She put her hand to his elbow, making him stop and face her. “What exactly did you say?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair roughly. “I said I wasn’t comfortable with it.”

“Okay. And then?”

“She asked me why.”

Oakley’s stomach sunk. “And?”

“She asked if it was because of you. I didn’t lie, I said yes and no.”

Oakley frowned. “Yes and no?”

“I said that girl should pick someone who cares about her for this. Especially if she wants a baby. It shouldn’t be just anyone with a zipper. It should be someone who feels about her the .. the way I feel about you.”

Oakley didn’t take the time to fully appreciate the moment. She just muttered, “Shit.”

“Shit? That’s what you have to say to that?”

“Memee doesn’t trust anyone who likes men, Hunter.”

He shook his head. “That’s insanity.”

“That’s Memee,” she corrected. “Just see it from her side. You lead this group of people. We’re close, you just confirmed how close to her. She might think you intend to take over. She doesn’t want me working for you on the inside.”

The anger lit his eyes again. She didn’t find it as exciting as she usually did. “She’s right to worry then, isn’t she? Because this is ridiculous. Who does that bitch think she is?”

Something in his tone made her skin feel cold. “She’s just protecting all those people who count on her. It may seem crazy but that’s her motive.”

“She’s breeding crazy people, the only things she doesn’t have in that compound are studs to make her fillies pregnant.”

“Hunter -”

“You’re staying in my cabin until I have a chance to talk to my guys. You understand?”

She nodded, scrambling to follow as he started walking again. “Hunter, please don’t do anything crazy,” she was pleading.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’re not hurt, babe,” he was assuring her as he shoved the door to one of the wooden-walled cabins open. There was an iron stove in the corner, counter with a cut-out for a basin, and a cot. Everything else in the room was some kind of weapon.

He shut them in together. “Just don’t leave her without me, okay? Or Tap. I don’t think Tap would try anything.”

“Tap? Try anything? Like, try what?” She knew he was mostly thinking out loud but she still required more than he was giving her.

Hunter raised his eyebrows at her. “Babe, we’ve been out in the woods all summer. Thirty-five or more bloodthirsty criminals and ne’er do wells. You look good, smell good, and I don’t need to tell you that you feel just as good as all that. So stay here.”

Oakley was shocked. Memee had always trusted these men to be … well, not gentlemen, but certainly not as dangerous as he was implying.

“I think I can convince them to keep you with us, claim you as mine, whatever, just to keep you safe. But I can’t keep secrets from you now, babe. The men are not happy about having to squat out here like we’re camping, knowing how nice you ladies had it all set up on the other side of those gates. And not to mention the ladies themselves.”

She felt her hand clutch his shirt, her desperation just as surprising. “Don’t, Hunter. Don’t do anything to Greenwater, please. Most of those women are my friends.”

“And these are my friends out here, sweetheart. They’d love soft beds, warm meals and soft bodies just as much as I do.”

Oakley felt sick. “Please, I’m begging you.”

“This isn’t something I want to do, babe. But it’s also still a democracy. I … I have to go and check with the men to see about keeping you with me.” He cupped her face with both hands, pushing her hair back and letting his thumbs trail over her cheekbones. Usually she loved that, but now it felt like he was trying to talk her into something she really wasn’t on board with. And she supposed that’s what this was. “You come first for me, babe. I swear it. But if they want to take Greenwater, sorry to say, right now I’m a vote on their side, too.”

Tears sprang to her eyes, and he noticed them, wiping the first one to fall away with his thumb. “No tears for the likes of Memee, sweetheart. And I’ll do what I can to make sure no one’s hurt.”

“You just told me I’m in danger of being raped here,” she whimpered, hating sounding this weak and scared. “There’s no way you can protect the women inside from the same.”

His mouth pressed tight, he said six words that brought her close to hating him right then. “Worry about you first. That’s survival.”

“This isn’t for survival. This is ugly, bullshit aggression.”

“Oakley -”

“I mean it, Hunter. I don’t want them attacking Greenwater.”

Hunter kissed her forehead when he realized she wasn’t being convinced. “Stay here, be safe. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” And with that he left the cabin, shutting the door behind him.

Oakley looked around at the accoutrements on offer. He had more blades here than she would have expected, and of course his bows and an assortment of arrows. The good thing about a bow and arrow was the arrow could be retrieved and used again. Guns were effective but finding ammunition these days was pretty rough.

She picked up a shiny new machete that he had pegged to the wall. It was a bit lighter than hers, but nicely made. It felt pretty good in her hand. Hunter’s warning had her wanting to be prepared to defend herself if she had to.

Then she sat cross-legged on his cot, machete in front of her, waiting to find out what her fate would be, along with her friends in Greenwater Gates.

So we know the men won’t like having Oakley there, but what will they want to do about Greenwater?

Take Our Poll

POLL CLOSES THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 19th at 5pm.

Let’s Write Something With Zombies – A Dragon Lady Scorned

The Harley’s engine came to life silently. Tink’s face was broad and grinning, her happiness beaming in all directions as bright as a star. It was infectious, and Oakley felt herself smiling right back.

“Oh my God, Tink. It works. It actually works.”

Tink just nodded.

It wasn’t really her Harley anymore. It looked totally different now. And while Oakley couldn’t understand half of the jargon Tink threw at her, she did speak this; something that somewhat resembled her Softail with a wonky-looking Harley V-twin that looked like it exploded extension cords all over the place was silently running like a motorcycle. There was a battery cell, she knew that. Tink had done something to that engine that used most of its parts to operate the Harley’s drive train. No gasoline, no motor oil. A solar panel that plugged in to the battery cell. They were going to let the bike run in place to see how much of its life was lost in an hour of just idling. Then she’d ride it around for an hour, then two. Right now it appeared the battery required eight hours to fully recharge from dead.

She knew Tink had ripped apart an electric car to help her plan. Oakley was willing to bet her bike was almost as much a Nissan as it was a Hog now.

As silly as it seemed, Oakley missed the noise of the Harley’s twin cam engine.

“You’re so smart you’re practically an alien,” Oakley murmured, hand on the seat. It wasn’t shaking, it was still as the truly dead.

“I knew it would work,” Tink finally breathed, the wonder in her own voice making Oakley realize this feat was half guessing, half luck.

“You’re bloody amazing, Tink.” Oakley wrapped her up in a big hug that picked her up off her feat. “I’ve got something special for you.”

“Hope it’s cigarettes.”

Oakley grinned, heading back to the bag she’d dropped on the grass behind Tink’s shop. She yanked the ties open, pulling out Marlboros, of course, as well as a bottle of Patron tequila.

“No way!” Tink squealed, running forward and snagging the bottle. “Where’d you get Patron?”

“Couple trips ago. I thought it would be a good installment for the bike. I just owe you about twelve more.”

“I am so opening this tonight.”

Oakley grinned wider. Everyone was pretty excited for Matilda’s nineteenth. For whatever reason, Memee had decided that the nineteenth birthday made a person an adult. So for the past three or four years, everyone’s nineteenth birthday involved a huge bash. Oakley made some pretty fantastic trades from people just before someone’s nineteenth birthday. After all, she was the one out there getting alcohol. The supply runs did not cover libations.

“Yeah,” Oakley agreed with a back slap. “Pretty good timing, Tink.”

“What’d you get for Matty?”

“That spiced rum she likes so much.”

Tink nodded. “Excellent. So I hear Hunter’s men are back.”

Oakley nodded. She had know today would be the day they set up their winter camp close to the front gates of Greenwater. But to keep wraps on her inside knowledge she pretended she only noticed that morning.

Tink didn’t know about Hunter, Oakley was pretty sure of that. That was good. The rumours weren’t running as wild as she’d feared.

“Yeah. Speaking of which, Memee wants me to come with her to invite the guys to Matilda’s party.”

“Cool. I’ll leave this going until you’re back.”

“Perfect. I’ll be by as soon as we’re done.”

Oakley left Tink marvelling at her own genius while clutching her cigarettes and tequila tightly. Jess waved brightly from the bench on the porch before turning back to her book.

Memee and Rainbow were just making their way down the front walkway as Oakley strolled by. Oakley hated the delighted grin on Rainbow’s face. Memee was, as always, impossible to read.

“Sawyer will be taking another crew out tomorrow. We’re thinking we should stock up as much as we can before winter,” Memee started with as Oakley fell into stride next to her. “Fewer trips out bringing more in each time. The cargo truck has been adapted to electricity so that will help.”

It would help, but Oakley hated enclosed vehicles. They were just another way to get trapped.

It seemed soon to be going out again, especially if Sawyer was showing signs of being a little gun shy. But Oakley had said she’d help and that couldn’t change now.

If Hunter was going to do what he could to stay in Memee’s good books, she’d do the same.

As they approached the gates the two women on watch pulled them open, giving a head-dip of respect to Memee as their threesome passed through. Oakley could see the men’s camp was coming along. They had their vehicles parked among the small wooden shacks that were left behind when they vanished each spring. They were unloading bedrolls and packs from the trucks, and a huge reefer cube truck was parked next to the gates.

That was the thank you gift, Oakley knew. It was full of frozen meat.

At their approach two men broke off from a group erecting a canvas tent, one of whom gave a sharp whistle that brought Hunter’s attention up to their group. His men fell in step behind him, and Oakley fought down her reaction to seeing him again, all business, stalking towards them ready to go through with this formal request for Greenwater’s protection and help for the next four months.

“Memee,” Hunter greeted Greenwater’s leader warmly.

Memee smiled at him politely, taking his hand in a shake then nodding to his lieutenants. One Oakley recognized, his name was Tap. The other guy appeared to be brand new. Tap gave Oakley a wide grin that was smug. She didn’t take it personally; that was just how he was.

The new guy smelled a bit like trouble. The way his dark eyes roamed over Rainbow, Memee and then her as well made her skin crawl a little. And when he realized she caught him looking he didn’t drop his eyes from hers.

Oakley looked away first.

“Hunter, Tap,” Memee said equally friendly. “Who’s the new guy?” She sounded as impressed with him as Oakley was.

“This is Sharp,” Hunter said, indifferent.

“A pleasure, Sharp,” Memee told the new recruit.

He blinked in return.

“All righty then,” Memee mumbled, turning her politician smile on Hunter. “You’re welcome to camp here for the winter with out blessing and hospitality.”

That made Tap chuckle in a very man’s-man way. Oakley shook her head at him, managing not to laugh. She knew Tap was a cad. He’d starve and still be happy as hell as long as he was getting laid.

“We appreciate Greenwater’s generosity. The truck is loaded with frozen deer, and this year we were far enough north we managed to get bison as well.”

Memee’s eyebrows went up. “You were busy this year. Thanks to you and your men. You’ve arrived on a very lucky day. One of our residents is celebrating a birthday tonight. We’ll be celebrating around dinnertime. You’re welcome to join us for that, as long as the men remember to behave.”

Hunter ducked his head. “Of course, Memee. We’d be happy to join you.”

“Wonderful. Can I also speak to you privately?”

Hunter raised on eyebrow at the request. “Of course.”

Memee led him by the arm away from the group, and when they were out of earshot Tap jolted Oakley in the elbow. “Oakley, how you been?”

“Still on this side of the grass, Tap.”

He nodded, tongue in his cheek as he looked her up and down. “You look like you’ve had a good year, sweetheart.”

“You touch me and I’ll have you on your back so fast your head will spin.”

“Now you’re just trying to turn me on.”

This was how it was with Tap. She didn’t take him seriously about ninety-eight percent of the time. But she was always a bit wary.

Sharp had been watching their exchange expressionless. Rainbow must have been getting the same vibe from Sharp that Oakley did, because she ignored him entirely. “Tap, does that bullshit ever work?”

Oakley could have laughed. If anyone knew how well that worked it was Rainbow.

Tap smiled, taking his lanky body her way in two strides. “Oh, Freckles. You know you’ve missed me.”

Oakley frowned at that nickname. Rainbow didn’t have freckles … that she knew of, anyway.

Rainbow blushed as soon as he called her that, dropping her head down, making Tap laugh low in his throat. “Right,” he drawled out. “I’ll be looking for you tonight, baby.”

Rainbow took a reactionary step back and Oakley managed not to laugh.

By now Hunter was heading their way again, and he looked … pissed. Oakley had a bad feeling. Memee was behind him but her face was still blank.

“Let’s get back to work,” Hunter snapped at his crew, not meeting her gaze.

Memee started to the gate, Oakley and Rainbow followed without having to be told.

Oakley had no idea what was going on. When the three were back inside the gates Memee turned suddenly, stopping Oakley in her tracks.

“Sorry Oakley,” Memee said in that even-keel tone. “You’re no longer welcome in Greenwater.”

Rainbow looked startled. Oakley gasped out “What?”

“I need the men’s protection and help more than I need you being jealous and selfish. You like it so much more on your own, congratulations. You’re all on your own.”

Rainbow tilted her head. “Memee, what -”

“I won’t expect Hunter to get Matty pregnant. But he tells me he cares about Oakley too much and that’s why he refuses. So the men can stay, but she’s not welcome. She better hope his men will be okay with her along.”

Oakley could hear her pulse pounding in her ears.

“Get her outside the gates and close them,” Memee shouted to Sarah and Tacoma, who were manning the gates. They paused long enough that she had to add, “Right now.”

Oakley wasn’t hard to hustle back outside the perimeter, and Sarah and Tacoma’s faces were apologetic as they rolled the gates closed and locked them.

Oakley swallowed hard. She clenched her hands into fists, letting her short nails dig into her palms. She forced her back straight, then she turned around.

Hunter’s men had all stopped what they were doing and were staring at her. Sharp still looked like he didn’t give a shit, Tap looked stunned, and Hunter still looked furious.

For the first time in years Oakley was again scared of the living more than the undead. And she could only wait to see what was going to happen next.

Will Hunter’s men welcome Oakley into their fold?

Take Our Poll

Poll closes Thursday, September 12th at 5pm.

Let’s Write Something With Zombies – Tactical Upgrade

“You sure you don’t want to take leftovers?” Maine held out a Tupperware container holding the last of the honey-bourbon chicken she’d grilled for supper, jogging it temptingly.

“Nah,” Oakley said. “You deserve the extras more than me.”

“Where do you think the bourbon came from?” Maine replied, sealing the lid back on. “I know who my suppliers are. I know who deserves special treatment.”

Oakley accepted the plastic box with a grin. “You spoil me, Maine.”

“Thank you again for the splendid meal,” Memee said from the kitchen doorway, nodding her head to Oakley. “Oakley, I’ll make sure Sawyer fills you in on the next supply run.”

Oakley felt her smile slip but she nodded anyway. “Thanks Memee,” she returned without much enthusiasm. Their fearless leader gave a small wave then returned to her upstairs quarters without another word.

Maine raised an eyebrow. “Honey, I’m so sorry. I know you hate supply detail. But honestly, I’m not entirely sure Sawyer knows what she’s doing. And now she’s going to be twice as stunned.”

Oakley nodded. “I know. The dangerous part is that many people having to look out for each other. Your self-awareness suffers if you expend part of your energy taking care of other people. The more people, the less aware you are of your own well-being. It’s just … math.”

“Add in Sawyer’s need to kill every creeper and not just run away when she knows she’s outnumbered and … well, that’s recipe for disaster really,” Ty-Ty piped up from the sink where she was washing dishes.

“What?”

Maine gave Oakley an all-sass look. “Don’t tell me you don’t know about this.”

“What? Tell me,” Oakley insisted, setting her leftovers on the marble countertop and climbing onto a stool.

“They didn’t go into that store room just for stock,” Maine shared on a whisper. “Sawyer knew creepers were in there. The truck was loaded, they were set to go, but she didn’t want to leave any of those bastards animated. She told California and Tanya to go kill them. Sawyer has put killing creepers at the top of every agenda, over getting supplies and being smart.”

The floor under her tilted just a bit as the consequences of that hit Oakley. “How do you know this?”

“Maybelline told Tink and Tink told me,” Ty-Ty piped up.

“Are we sure she wasn’t trying to get Sawyer in shit?” Plenty of people on the supply run crew had run-ins with Sawyer from time to time.

“She didn’t tell Rainbow which means Memee doesn’t know,” Maine replied as confirmation. “But this hit Sawyer hard. Maybelline figures that’s punishment enough for being stupid.”

Oakley trusted Maybelline’s opinion, one of the few people in Greenwater she could say that about. The list wasn’t too long; mainly the two women who had just cooked this fantastic meal, Tink, Memee (as long as she knew what was going on), Maybelline and Matilda. The only reason Jess wasn’t on the list was because she was still so young.

“Damn,” Oakley whispered, bringing up her recollections of California and Tanya. They were both sunshine blondes, peaches and cream skin and crystal-blue eyes. Twin sisters. Memee had rescued them from a pimp in San Diego when they were fifteen.

“Yeah,” Maine agreed, lost in her own thoughts as well.

“Well. Should I help with dishes?” Oakley offered, knowing it would be an offer declined.

“Nope. Go on and get. I’ve heard there was some fine-ass, bearded man spotted along the fence just outside your trailer,” Maine whispered with a knowing grin. “When I see you tomorrow you better be grinning wide, honey.”

Oakley rolled her eyes, waved goodbye with the chicken in her right hand, and bounded down the porch steps already smiling.

In her backyard she pulled a small pack down from the peg board above her worktable, shoved the chicken inside, and slid the machete into the sheath she’d had added to the side of the pack that fit snug to her back. She hefted it onto her shoulders, grabbed the field-point arrow that had landed next to her washtub that afternoon, and checked the backs of the surrounding houses. Most of the lights were out; the ones that weren’t did not contain the silhouette of curious observers.

She picked the climbing vine away from a section of chain link, untwisting the wire she’d used to hold a small flap closed. Checking for an audience one last time, she rolled the fence away just enough to climb through, straightened it back in place and fastened the ties again.

On the opposite side of the fence, the world felt wilder. That was likely the real reason she ventured out at all. It wasn’t just the threat of creepers; there could be bears, wolves, hell, even badgers were plenty nasty. Life was unpredictable here and the creepers were no more of a major player than she was.

The sky was tinged with purple, and the shadows loomed that much darker as she approached the tree line and was embraced by the wildness of untouched forest.

The wind blew the leaves and branches overhead. Birds were calling to each other. She could hear squirrels scolding their neighbours. And the unmistakable puffing breaths of a nearby creeper.

Oakley stopped, drew the machete, and turned in a slow circle, giving it time to show itself. Twigs snapped under its shuffling feet, and she turned to her nine o’clock position, ready for it.

It had been a middle-aged man in life. He wore cargo shirts, a polo shirt and one glove, likely for golfing. There was a nasty, seeping black wound on the side of his neck. He’d been attacked back when the affluent were still trying to live their regular, comfortable lives. The dead were walking around and he’d been golfing for Pete’s sake.

Then she frowned. That was ten years ago, if not longer. How had he been around for that long? They’d started starving at one point. But this one must have been a very lucky bastard.

Until now, of course.

He lurched in her direction and she charged. Not making a sound she swung the machete at his head and the unthinkable happened.

He ducked.

Her swing brought her back around to face him again, and she gasped her surprise as he stumbled a hundred and eighty degrees, starting his way back to her.

What. The. Hell?

In thirteen years she’d never seen a creeper perform an evasive maneuver. It jangled her nerves, made her take a step back, into the waiting arms of something cold, slimy and dead.

She screamed at the surprise of it, but something in her muscle memory was working after all. She had both hands on the machete’s grip and she swung upward, not stopping until the blade hit something. The arms around her let go, she pulled the blade free and stepped away fast. The body behind her hit the dead leaves of the ground, but she didn’t exactly check that it was out of commission because the first creeper was charging her way now.

She changed tactic. She joust-attacked him, running at him and dropping the machete blade last minute in an arc that severed his torso in half. His upper body tumbled one away, the legs stopped for a moment then flopped over forward. Not wasting a second she swung the blade down at the head, just like chopping wood.

“Oakley!”

The name was shouted from behind her, so she spun fast, just in time to catch a creeper right through the skull. The woman’s skull was hard, though. The blade sunk in about four inches on the one side of her head and Oakley couldn’t move it any further. The woman’s body took the machete as she fell. Once she was down Oakley grabbed the handle and wiggled the weapon free.

“Are you okay?”

The voice she knew. The man walking her way with a fiberglass bow in one hand, arrow at the ready, was also familiar. Her adrenalin prevented the flush of desire she usually experienced at the sight of him, but Oakley did manage to give a weak smile. “Hunter,” she said unnecessarily.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, drawing close enough that she could smell the male scent of him, sliding a hand down the back of her shoulder, a tingle from that touch breaking through the numbness of her survival instinct.

“Did you see all that?” she asked weakly, reaching to her back and pulling his arrow from where she’d lodged it in the pack. She handed it over and he attached it to his quiver without really paying attention. He was examining her, making sure she hadn’t been cut or bit.

“Yeah babe, I saw it,” he murmured, turning her around, hand running over the back of her neck and shoulders. “I was watching you. They came out of nowhere. That one that grabbed you was hiding behind a tree.”

“Did the creepers get a tactical upgrade when I wasn’t looking?” she asked wryly, finally making him smile in a way that split his face half-open and brought out a deep, baritone laugh she felt in the roots of her hair.

“You’re okay,” he declared, swatting her butt then pulling her close with one arm. “You look good and smell good, too.”

She felt her heart flutter, such a ridiculous and girly feeling. “Thanks,” was all she could say before he dropped his mouth to hers aggressively, beard scratching at her chin, moustache scraping her upper lip, tongue sweeping into her mouth just enough to make her tighten her free arm around his waist. When he brought his head up again his smile was downright wicked. “Missed you, Annie.”

Her real name from his lips made the flutter return. “Missed you too, Hunter.”

…

Oakley’s body mourned his heat as he pulled away from her, but Hunter wasn’t gone for long. He retrieved the chicken from her bag and returned to the sleeping platform, sliding into the sleeping bag next to her and leaning his back to the wall.

This had been a hunting platform, halfway up a huge oak tree. It was an eight-foot-square deck with half-walls around all four sides and a trap door at the top of a ladder built into the oak’s trunk. A double mattress had been added by Hunter for their … meetings. He’d assured her it was brand new, she honestly couldn’t give a damn.

He bit into a piece of Maine’s amazing chicken, growling and letting his eyes roll back in his head. Mouth full he declared, “A taste of my Annie and a taste of this? It ain’t even my birthday.”

She laughed, sliding into his side and resting her head on his chest. His arm came around her shoulders instantly, cuddling her close. “When are you guys going to come to Memee?” she asked casually, her fingers playing through his chest hair.

“Tomorrow or the next day,” he answered then tore more meat off the thigh bone he held. “Haven’t decided yet.”

The day after tomorrow was Matilda’s birthday. Which reminded her about the bad news she had for him.

“Hunter,” she began, tone indicating she was about to tell him something very not pleasant.

“Yeah babe?”

“There’s a woman at Greenwater that’s got the motherhood urge again.”

“Hmmm.” He knew about Tennessee, of course. It had given her nightmares while sleeping right next to him that resulted in vicious fingernail tears along his arms when he couldn’t wake her up.

“It’s someone I really know and like, too,” she delayed. “Her name’s Matilda. She’s going to be nineteen.”

Hunter guffawed at that, tossing the thigh bone into the Tupperware. “Nineteen, hey? Well one of my guys is going to be a hell of a lucky bastard, isn’t he? Shit. Nineteen.”

She pinched his side, making him yelp. “Hey,” she snapped, making him laugh.

“Damn it Oakley, you know you’re the finest piece of ass I’ve ever had.” That was his default comment when he thought he’d inadvertently insulted her.

“I’m not jealous of her youth you twit,” she snapped, unable to avoid a smile. “I’m … I’m just …”

He pushed her hair over her shoulder, his hand sliding along her jawline. “What is it, babe?”

“She’s decided you’d be a good father.”

His face didn’t change. His attention went from one of her eyes to the other, waiting for the punch line or the Just kidding. When it didn’t come he froze.

“What?”

She flattened her hand between the pads of muscle on his chest. “She’s a real sweetheart, Hunter. And it galls me to say this but … I want you to give her this.”

He shrank away from her slightly, not so much physically, more as in body language. “Are you insane?”

She bit her lip. “Look, this thing we have isn’t exactly a secret anymore. I’m scared that if it comes out beforehand she’ll change her mind, then resent me for preventing something she really wants. And I’d hate that. I really like her, Hunter. And as much as the whole pregnancy thing freaks me out, what’s the point in surviving if we’re not trying to populate?”

“You are out of you ever-loving mind,” he whispered. “And who knows about us?”

She winced. “Rainbow found out, which means Memee knows. Two friends, Maine and Ty-Ty … well, you know Maine,” she said carefully. Maine had been lucky enough to draw the first choice selection the one time Hunter showed up for sex assignment. Lucky bitch.

“Maine knows? Oh babe,” he said, almost apologetically.

She waved her hand. “I don’t care that you two were together. Whatever. I love Maine, love her cooking, just like you do.”

He shook his head slowly. “There’s no way, Oakley. She’ll have to pick someone else …” he surged to his feet, pacing the small amount of room on the platform that wasn’t occupied by the bed or trapdoor.

Oakley couldn’t even appreciate the sight of that bare skin, lit only by a camping lantern, still shining with good, male sweat. She sat up on her knees, drawing the sleeping bag up over her chest. “Hunter, you have to.”

He shook his head. “That’s … I can’t. I can’t do it.”

Oakley didn’t know how to talk him into it. “You have to. All you have to do is get her pregnant. After that, you don’t have to do anything.”

He dropped his hands from where they were pulling at his hair. “What? You think that’s what’s freaking me out?”

She was lost for words. “Isn’t it?”

“No!” he nearly shouted. “Christ, Oakley. What is this? She has a kid, what are you going to feel seeing that kid every day?”

Her answer was soft and honest. “I’d know you gave my friend a son or daughter.”

He shook his head. “Oh Christ.”

“What?”

He knelt next to her, taking her face in his hands. “I don’t come here just for the chance to sleep with you, babe. I come here for you. To be with you. Against all the shit going on, I care about you and I want to be with you. If I didn’t think Greenwater was the safest place for you I would have run away with you a long time ago.”

Her breath caught. “You would?”

“Of course.” He sounded pretty pissed off she didn’t believe him. “You’re my girl, Oakley. And if I want a kid with anyone … it’s you.”

She drew in her breath sharply, and he smiled as he watched her clue in.

“You’re getting me now, babe?”

“I get you.”

“So … shit. I don’t know what to do here. If I tell Memee no, what happens?”

Oakley shrugged. “Maybe Matilda has a second choice?”

He threw his head back and laughed at that, bringing her skin back to life again just with that sound. “That’s a flattering thought. Not that any of my guys would care that they weren’t her first choice. Like I said …” he waggled his eyebrows. “Nineteen, babe.”

She smacked him again as he tumbled her to the side, landing with him half on top of her. He smoothed her hair back from her temple. “I can’t do that, Oakley. But I’m worried that Memee’s decision to let us winter here might change because of it.”

Oakley tightened her mouth. “Then you do it, Hunter. You spend the two weeks having wild sex with Matilda. I want to know you’re safe in the winter. That’s more important to me.”

He smiled so sweetly she could have sighed. “Okay, babe. Fair call. Anything to be safe.”

Hunter says no to fatherhood, what will Memee do?

Take Our Poll

Poll closes 5pm on Thursday, September 5th.

Let’s Write Something With Zombies – Rainbow and Hunter

My apologies to the men reading this at this point. This is a chapter for the ladies somewhat, but I promise to kill some zombies in the next chapter.

Her Airstream trailer was parked in a far corner of the compound, at the meeting of two sections of fence. The position gave her a triangular back “yard” of sorts, and she’d let a creeping plant of some kind climb up over the chain link as wildly as it wanted. When she looked out the rear-facing windows she could almost convince herself it was a yard.

There was a crude walkway to the door made up of limestone chunks, grass growing between the pieces and not really anywhere else in the front yard. It had been someone’s RV parking stall at one time, so there was a gravel bed under everything that allowed weeds, chamomile and the odd tuft of grass to grow here and there.

Technically Oakley was living in the backyard of a two-story adobe Spanish-style home Greenwater Gates, one floor occupied by Tink and Jess, the ground floor shared by two other very shy, quiet sisters. Grace was supermodel beautiful, but was so startled by everything she rarely left the house. Oakley could only guess where that fear came from; heaven knew before Memee had found her Oakley’d been scared of living, breathing people more than creepers. Grace’s sister, Delilah, preferred to be called Sawyer. She was the talker, the take-charge half of that particular family unit. She was head of the supply security team, and she and Oakley had a strained but polite relationship.

Sawyer wanted Oakley to help get the essentials. Oakley preferred to go outside of the walls only worrying about herself. Having to take care of others was dangerous.

Either way, it appeared Sawyer was going to get her wish granted.

Oakley nosed her bike through the adobe’s driveway, though the backyard gate, and slowly coasted to her parking spot at the front of the Airstream. Even this late in the year the aluminum siding reflected the sunshine hot and intense, making her wince as she removed her sunglasses and engaged the kickstand before climbing off the Harley. It was likely the reflection that made her miss Rainbow sitting on the rocking chair Tink had set out next to the trailer for whatever reason she had at the time.

Rainbow got her name from her hair. She was a cornflower blonde, but she preferred to run streaks of wild colours through it, perhaps to get rid of the All-American Girl vibe she had. Because she wasn’t, in truth Rainbow was a supreme bitch of the highest order.

Now her hair was a mass of aquamarine blue and royal purple. The candy-coloured dyes were sought out and sold to Rainbow by Oakley herself, usually for favours of the leave me alone and stay out of my way variety. Rainbow was in Memee’s ear most of the time, and Oakley couldn’t afford to have Rainbow gunning for her.

Rainbow smiled, rising to her full substantial height, tilting her head in mock affection. “Oakley, you’re back. So good to see you.”

Oakley felt her teeth rot from the false sweetness. She didn’t react, didn’t smile back. “Rainbow,” she said with indifference. “What brings you to my little hovel?”

Rainbow shrugged. “I was just checking on Sawyer. She’s taking the loss of Tanya and California pretty hard, as you can imagine.”

Oakley just nodded. That was why she worked alone; so she wouldn’t have those problems.

“That was nice of you,” she replied, setting her helmet on the bike’s seat. “See you around.”

“Oakley, wait,” Rainbow stopped her before she got to the door. “Listen. Matilda is young and naive. You have to go to her and tell her why she can’t try for this baby thing.”

Oakley frowned. “I’m not going to do that. It’s no more my business than it is yours.”

Rainbow’s smile faded and she crossed her arms. “Don’t bullshit me, Oakley. All I’d have to do is tell Matilda about you, Hunter and your little sex-pad in the woods and she’d change her mind. But she’ll also be heartbroken.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Rainbow halved the distance between them in about three strides. “Don’t insult my intelligence. I know about this relationship you have with him. It’s not against any rules, so I’m not sure why you insist on keeping it quiet. But whatever your reasons, you’re only fooling the sheep, not those of us who have half a clue.”

Oakley’s stomach flopped over, but she kept her face blank as she took another step in Rainbow’s direction. As expected, Rainbow backed up. “Rainbow, I’m tired. I need a bath. I need to change my clothes. Matilda’s an adult, Hunter’s an adult. If they do this they do it, if they don’t they don’t. Either way, all I want to do is get inside my trailer and try to feel like one of the living again, okay?”

Rainbow narrowed her eyes, and it was surprising how ugly that could make her. “Fine. But you and I both know what a bad idea this pregnancy thing is.”

“And you know very damn well it’s not your call or mine. Now get out of my way before I get pissed off.”

After a couple of reluctant blinks, Rainbow walked away like it had been her own idea. Oakley watched her to make sure she left the yard, then unlocked her trailer and her home welcomed her.

As expected, it was stuffy and stale inside, everything just as she’d left it. She opened a few of the small windows to get the cross-breeze moving through, grabbed a bar of soap from next to the kitchen sink, then walked out the door and circled around to her back yard. The vine on the fence was higher than when she’d left, and a few of the leaves were already blood-red from the approaching autumn.

Oakley grabbed the huge washtub in the centre of the triangle of grass and flipped it over right-side up, then moved to the cistern in the backyard, yanked on the hose and plopped the nozzle into the iron tub. At the cistern she turned the tap on, touching the plastic. It was warm from sunshine, meaning she was in for a luke-warm bath today. Fantastic.

The tub filling, she yanked off the sheath wrapped around her thigh that held a long, dangerous-looking hunting knife. The knife itself she stuck in the ground next to the tub, close enough to be grabbed easily. The holster was set on a workbench along the back of the trailer. Her machete joined it, and she made a mental note to give it a sharpening and a good cleaning.

Her tank top and jeans were tossed to the grass. They would get the same treatment as she was, but she got first crack at the rain water.

It wasn’t terribly warm, but as she climbed in she sighed anyway. The sweat and dirt washed away with the soap, and she felt damn near human again as she climbed out. She stood naked in the sun, the bright rays drying her skin quickly as she hand-squeegeed herself, then she plucked her clothes off the ground and tossed them in the bathtub with water still beading up on her skin.

Bless Tink, there were three towels hanging from her clothesline. Oakley stole one, wrapped herself up, then set about soaking and rubbing her clothes against an old-fashioned washboard.

It was then an arrow hit the grass on the opposite side of the tub from her, cutting through the air with a whizzing sound before planting itself with a thunk. She jumped, then her surprise turned into a smile. She yanked the arrow out of the ground, seeing the slip of paper tied around the shaft. As Oakley untied the bow and uncurled the note her smile grew.

Have I ever told you I love your bathroom? It’s got a great view, babe. At dusk. Usual spot. I’m glad to see you cleaned up for me.

Oakley cast her gaze up at the fence surrounding her trailer, but there was no point. The trees on this side of the compound were thick and mature, the forest virtually untouched. Hunter could see her but there was no way she could see him. So she just smiled, knowing he was still watching, then hung her clothes up to dry and returned to her trailer to put on a fresh outfit for supper.

When the men had first shown up to help with Greenwater, there wasn’t a single woman in the compound that didn’t take notice of Hunter. He was the leader of the ragtag team he’d pulled together, but he wasn’t a prick about it. He was just smart and knew how to deal with people and conflict. A male version of Memee, really.

While most of the women went on hospitality duty when the men started working, making sandwiches and handing out glasses of water when needed, a few like Oakley helped with the hard stuff. There were two reasons for this. One, no one had ever in her life given Oakley the impression that works done by hand was so-called “men’s work.” Plus she hated spending her entire day in the kitchen.

The second reason was Memee’s extreme paranoia. She was sure the men would build some kind of secret way inside to pillage and sack Greenwater while the women were sleeping. Oakley had voiced her opinion that if that was what Hunter and his men wanted, they’d had ample time to do it before the fence went up. Memee’s reaction had been a stone-faced glare.

While building the fence Oakley had met Hunter.

She still felt a tremor when she remembered how he’d appeared to her that first time. He didn’t so much look like a cowboy as a bounty hunter from some old western movie. He wore a long, oiled duster, a straight-brimmed hat, jeans and a long-sleeved work shirt. Not that the shirt stayed on all day.

It was him taking that shirt off in the sun that made her stop what she’d been doing and stare. She still honestly couldn’t remember what she’d been in the middle of. But Hunter shrugging that thing off his shoulders froze her in place, made her stop breathing.

If the Reckoning, the Rapture, or the Event or whatever had never happened, Hunter would have been a striking man. But with how life changed in the aftermath, he was absolutely the essential man’s man. His hair had been left to grow long and wavy. His beard was kept trimmed somewhat, but it still darkened his jaw and neck. He was tall, six two at least, and like everyone else he’d grown lean from living thin. But his genes meant he still packed on muscle, and his biceps were bigger than she could fit both of her hands around. His chest was padded with strength under a carpet of dark hair, and his hips arrowed to a V that a girl couldn’t keep her eyes off of.

It wasn’t just Oakley staring. Everything with ovaries was tracking the movement of his chest and shoulders as he tossed the shirt to the ground and fixed his hat back in place. But it was Oakley he noticed staring.

She’d dropped her eyes back to whatever he hands had been doing, but it was too late. She was pretty sure she was blushing now, and she knew damn well her mouth had been hanging open too. Idiot. Complete idiot.

He’d said nothing to her. She couldn’t decide on whether to be angry or happy about that, but she just pushed it to the back of her mind.

That is, until Memee announced the deal she’s brokered, essentially pimping out the willing Greenwater citizens to the help.

At first the thought made Oakley’s skin crawl. Then she remembered Hunter and his heavy jaw, striking eyes, and those shoulders …

For the first time since the Happening she found herself wanting to be with a man.

It took a lot for that to happen, admittedly. The years before Greenwater had been very grim for most of the women now secure here. But a few of them had been feeling the … urge. Oakley being one of them.

Reporting for service had been awkward. The women picked who they wanted, no one was going to be forced into sex with someone they weren’t comfortable with. They drew straws to determine the order.

Honestly. Drawing straws.

Oakley never got first pick. Not that she’d minded; Hunter’s crew wasn’t a band of marauding madmen, they were more like an army unit really. The two men she’d been with had been … well, eager for certain. Too eager for the experiences to be particularly enjoyable, but they definitely hadn’t hurt her. And they’d been respectful and kind before, during and after.

She would have loved to have been able to select Hunter, but he’d only shown up for one of the three occasions, and she didn’t have first pick on that occasion.

Hunter had actually come to her.

He’d shown up at her trailer, not a word said, just pegging her in place with his silver-grey eyes, so bright in contrast with his weathered skin. She’d only been able to stare back before he’d pushed his way into the Airstream, wrapping her in his arms and kissing her hard.

In all her life she didn’t know a man couldn’t feel, taste and smell so good. She didn’t miss candy, didn’t miss booze when it ran out. But a day after every time he left she missed Hunter so much it hurt, and it didn’t stop until he was back. Or she was fighting for her life; that tended to focus her energies as well.

Ever since then if his group was close, he snuck away to a hunting platform in the woods behind her trailer, obscured by tree limbs and dense evergreen. He’d send her a note by bow and arrow (because romance wasn’t dead after all) and Oakley would meet him when he specified. They’d spend one night alone together before the group of men would announce their arrival, and until right then Oakley had been sure no one knew about it.

He’d been away three months now. Not knowing how Rainbow wised up was going to make her bonkers. And now that Matilda had her hopes up on the whole baby angle, Oakley felt her excitement at his return flicker just a bit.

In clean clothes once again, Oakley strapped the hunting knife to her leg. Not having some kind of protection made her feel naked.

Then she set off on foot to Ty-Ty and Maine’s for supper, conflicted with the silliness that seems to come when you think the world is safe and predictable.

Next question: what will Hunter’s reaction be to Matilda’s request?




Take Our Poll

Voting period will end Thursday, August 29th at 5pm.

Let’s Write Something With Zombies Chapter Three – Meeting the Dragon Lady

Each stair grew taller and taller on the way up to the Dragon Lady’s lair. The hardwood was glossy and cosy, the colours on the wall were beautiful. The entire house was gorgeous, but anxiety knotted Oakley’s stomach almost painfully, draping a lie over the cheerful décor.

Didn’t matter. She pulled her peace offering out of her pocket, tightly gripping it in a fist like a weapon.

Memee Trong wasn’t physically imposing, nor was she violent and mean. There was just something packed into those startling red-brown, almond-shaped eyes that made you listen. Do as you were told. Not question. But she was frightfully intelligent, and a combination of all these attributes meant that even if the vote hadn’t gone her way, she’d still be running things in Greenwater Gates behind the scenes somehow.

Dragon Lady was her whispered nickname because when she was angry, one could feel fire in the room. Almost like the tension and contained violence could singe your arm hair.

Oakley got to the door of her suite, took a breath and knocked.

“Come in,” was the pleasant response.

Oakley held that same inhale as she entered, eyes on the floor, stepping three strides into the room and stopping, hands clasped in front of her. She hated this submissive bull but it helped keep her under Memee’s radar somewhat.

“Oakley, you’re back.” Strictly based on words and tone it was difficult to tell if Memee found that happy or upsetting news.

Best to go straight to the defensive. “I swear, I told Rainbow I was going. She must have forgotten to relay the message but I couldn’t find you. Sasha said we had a week of good weather ahead so I hit the road and -”

Memee waved a hand, coming forward from behind her huge oak desk and leaning against the front of it. “Forget it, Oakley. I don’t give a shit.”

That made her pause, but she wasn’t relieved yet. So she waited.

“I need to talk to you because, as you know, it’s almost autumn.”

Oakley nodded. The leaves were starting to turn, the evenings were decidedly chilly. Winter was not far off. “Ummm … yeah.” Still cautious.

“Which means Hunter and his crew will be around again.” Memee’s expression never changed. Oakley wondered how the hell she knew everything about everyone.

“I suppose so,” she replied, unaffected.

“We’ll vote soon on whether or not we allow them to camp near the fence, but I think we both know which way that will go,” Memee continued, picking lint off her shirt.

Hunter’s crew were a main part of the group allowed to help fortify Greenwater Gates. Every winter they returned, hoping for, erm, hospitality and additional security. In return they always brought food. Usually a huge reefer truck full of frozen game they’d killed.  There had been a few winters where Greenwater could have come close to starving without them. Hunting game was dangerous in winter; the creepers were starving and extra aggressive.

Oakley was proud of her indifferent tone. “I suppose. They feed us well, Memee.”

“Yeah, they sure … feed everyone well,” she returned slyly, her smirk almost scary. “Take the term feed however you want.”

Oakley returned the smile. It was the only thing to do.

“We had a supply run two days ago,” Memee shifted the subject. “It … didn’t go well.”

Oakley felt her skin prickle. “No?”

“Grocery store in Bakersfield. The creepers … set a trap.”

Oakley’s body jerked. “What?”

“They trapped them in the store. Tanya and California didn’t make it back.”

The room spun. “Wait – what? They lost two members?”

“The two of them broke into the back storeroom, untouched stock. Creepers were waiting behind the door. Tanya and California were first through the door and the creepers shut it behind them. They even threw a bolt at the top of the door locking the rest of the team out. By the time Sawyer and the others broke it down there wasn’t much left.”

Oakley felt her stomach heave. This wouldn’t be a genius tactical maneuver for a human, but for a creeper it was just as surprising as it she’d been told they were performing Swan Lake.

“How’s Sawyer?”

Memee’s mouth tightened into a line. “Not good, as you can imagine. I told her there was no way to anticipate coordinated group thought from creepers but for all the effect that had …” she concluded the explanation with a reluctant shrug.

“How many creepers were in there?”

“Sawyer estimated about twenty-five, thirty. They got them all after but … it’s something we have to consider in the future.”

Oh no. Here it was.

“No more lone runs. For anyone. Including you, Oakley.”

“But -”

“No more,” Memee interrupted. “And furthermore, they now need you more than ever on Sawyer’s crew.”

Shit. Exactly what she’d been fearing times two. Oakley set her jaw, there was no point arguing.

With a nod, knowing the terms were accepted, Memee’s exotic eyes drifted down to Oakley’s left hand. Very slowly she started smiling. “Oakley. Is that a gift for me?”

She was tempted to lie, she honestly was. Instead she forced a smile. “Of course, Memee. I was guessing you might be running low.” She stalked forward with enough aggression to make Memee flinch, just a little. After a pause she held her hand out, palm up. Two tubes of liquid eyeliner and two tubes of mascara. They made Memee’s red-brown eyes even more severe and awe-inspiring. Memee loved it.

“Why thank you. I am sad that your luxury cruises will come to an end. But maybe on the supply runs you’ll find some more of that luck?”

Not very bloody likely.

Oakley shrugged. “Maybe.” She swung on her heel to leave and got as far as the door, but Memee wasn’t done.

“Matilda turns nineteen in two days,” she said absently.

Oakley turned around again, planting both feet and digging her nails into her palms. “I know,” she replied. Hence all the booze in her saddlebags; it was for Memee’s birthday bash.

“She’s decided she wants to try having a baby.”

Oakley frowned. “What? Really?”

Memee smiled. “Some women have this mom chromosome, Oakley. It’s not their fault.” Her tone was teasing.

Oakley rolled her eyes. “I know that. it’s just …”

“You’re thinking of Tennessee?” Memee supplied.

Oakley just nodded, not bring those images back through sheer willpower.

“It’s her right to choose to take the risk. Ty-Ty will monitor her closely should the pregnancy take. And good timing, with Hunter’s crew coming back.”

Oakley swallowed and tried to sound indifferent as she asked, “Has she decided who she’d like to offer fatherhood to?”

Memee nodded, smiling again. The bitch actually licked her lips as though she was enjoying this bit of information. And that’s when Oakley knew who it was before she even spoke the word, “Hunter.” Memee’s eyebrow shot up as she added, “Of course.”

Oakley forced another swallow. Don’t react, don’t react. “Excellent. He’s smart. Capable. Strong. A good choice.”

“Not to mention handsome,” Memee added.

“I suppose,” Oakley replied with a casual shrug.

Memee looked as though her reaction was less than she’d been hoping for. “Even I might consider two weeks of being locked in a bedroom with the likes of Hunter,” she mused, straightening and returning to her seat behind her desk.

Absolutely, most definitely do not react to that, her mind was screaming. She just smiled, allowed a dry chuckle, and forced her feet to carry her across the threshold and towards the stairs without running.

Nothing like a triple-dose of shitty news to ruin a homecoming.

As she passed the kitchen Maine yelled out “Dinner in one hour, Oakley!” To which she just waved a hand to show she’d heard.

Anger was clouding her mind. No more lone runs? Bullshit. The supply runs were dangerous. Too many people, too cumbersome of a method of transport, too much shit to carry. Those were points one and two that pissed her off. She kick-started the bike with a bit too much oomph because of it.

Point three was Matilda. Okay, not Matilda particularily, but Matilda picking Hunter as a mate.

She cringed at the very concept. This had only started happening about four years ago, once everyone felt safe and secure. The women were wanting babies. Memee decided it was fine. When the men came by, any woman who craved motherhood could put her name forward as well as her preferred donor. He had the option to refuse.

Of course, the past three times the request hadn’t been refused. As Memee had stated, this arrangement consisted of two weeks of isolated sex. It had to be certain who had fathered the child, and getting it done the first time was important.  The two week span was planned around the woman’s fertile days.

The idea made Oakley cringe. First off, she was one of the few left could distinctly remember having her parents around. The feeling of family, seeing how her father had loved her mother fiercely and vice versa. Oakley truly believed both parents each had guidance to contribute to a child; a female and male role model so that the concept of male and female wasn’t scary. Any child born here, she believed, would be terrified of men. Plain and simple. And if a male child was born … she couldn’t imagine.

Secondly, miscarriages. Tennessee had miscarried at the start of her third trimester. It had killed her. That’s when they realized The Event, The Reckoning, or The Rapture didn’t come about because of some fantastic freak occurrence at the time of death after one was bitten.

It was already with every single one of them. You died, then you walked as a creeper, bitten or not.

Oakley had been the one to severe Tennessee’s head. Memee had done away with the child. It was terrible. Horrible. Awful. The memory brought bile to the back of her throat, and she had really hoped that incident had quieted all the baby aspirations.

Well, it had. For about a year.

Oakley swallowed back her reaction to Hunter being chosen. She pointed her bike towards her place, willing herself not to get pissed off at Matilda.

No one knew about Oakley and Hunter, she’d gone to great lengths to make sure of that, even though Memee seemed to have an idea. How the hell that happened Oakley couldn’t fathom a guess. The Dragon Lady had ways.

What does our hero call home?

Take Our Poll

 

Since I will be on holidays this upcoming week, this poll will end on Sunday, August 25th at 5pm. I will be the next chapter up as soon as humanly possible after that.

Let’s Write Something With Zombies Chapter Two – Greenwater Gates

Greenwater Gates had been an exclusive neighbourhood before The Event, or The Happening, or The Reckoning; again, pick your favourite title for it. The kind of place where a Home Owner’s Association dickwad would come along with a ruler and measure how long your grass was and God help you if you wanted to change the colour of your exterior siding. People moved there for the feeling of supposed security, because gates at the mouth of your cul-de-sac and a five-foot-high brick-and-wrought-iron fence at the back of everyone’s yard meant no one could get robbed.

Now these two-and-three storey monstrosities of stucco and fake stone trim housed a few “families” per level. And that only went for the ones they’d been able to hook up to a well system that fed off a natural underground aquifer. The which also house a lagoon-style septic system. This was outside of a major city and people hadn’t wanted to wait for all that infrastructure to catch up with their dreams of country living.

The thought made her snort. The houses were no more than six feet apart, and every window had a view of the houses around it. The windows off the back of the development somewhat took advantage of the pastoral landscape surrounding them, but they were too small to make it seem worth it to live there.

Living there back in the day would have really given her the scratch. She would have preferred sleeping in a tree.

As she pulled up to the fortified gates on the autumn-foliage scattered street they were already parting, the seven-foot-high chain-link halves separating on rollers that squeaked. She barely had to brake; she already had room for her handlebars to glide through and the gates paused, then lurched back towards each other again.

“Oakley!” She heard a familiar voice shout her name, and she grinned, throwing a wave at the guard tower. She knew that voice belonged to Matty, short for Matilda.

She rode the Softail up to a home that hadn’t been able to be hooked up to the well system. Homes like this one were used for industry instead of living in. And this one belonged to Tink.

She flipped open a saddlebag, grabbing a carton of Marlboros and two tubes of flip gloss. The sound of her footsteps on the porch were met by a thirteen-year-old girl who ripped the door open so eagerly Oakley grimaced on behalf of the hinges. Then Jess was in her arms, hugging her tight. “Oakley! You’re finally back!”

She smiled and gave Jess a light kiss on top of her crop of dirty-blonde curls. “Jess,” she exclaimed, stepping back. “What the hell is Tink feeding you? How’d you grow a whole foot in a week and half?”

Jess just rolled her eyes. “I only grew two inches, Oakley. Stop with the hyperboles.”

Oakley raised an eyebrow. “Get to the H’s in the dictionary?”

Jess shook her head. “Enough making fun of me. What’d you bring me?”

“Why should I bring you anything? You’re so smart, go get your own shit,” she joked, then held out her hand. Jess cupped her underneath immediately and Oakley dropped the lip gloss into her waiting palms.

“Lip gloss!” she shrieked. “Awesome! I’m all out.”

“I know, honey. Where’s your sister?”

“In the back. she’s still messing around with that battery cell for the Harley.”

“Cool. Let’s go see her.”

Jess bounced off ahead of her, hair springing and swaying the whole way. Oakley had to laugh; she’d been about Jess’s age when The Happening, The Event, The Reckoning, whatever, had taken place. She had gotten over this innocence of youth thing pretty fast in the days that followed the downfall of civilization. Jess had only been a toddler. Thank God she didn’t remember any of it.

“Oakley’s back!” Jess shouted,  flinging open the screen door a the back of the house and racing across the storey-high deck to the stairs. “And she brought me lip gloss!”

Oakley followed down the wooden steps, thanking whoever had invented rot-resistant lumber. It would be a while before they had to get a sawmill up and running.

Tink was in the sunshine, bent over a sheet of plywood spread out over whatever weeds passed for grass these days. She had a motorcycle engine sitting on the plywood, a bunch of wires and contraptions running out of it to various things with dials and meters. None of it made sense to Oakley, other than the large flat solar panel Tink positioned on the grass next to it.

As she approached Tink looked up, smiling. “Hey,” she greeting casually, like Oakley hadn’t been gone for almost two weeks. “Lookit what I did.”

Oakley nodded slowly. “Yeah, that’s something all right.”

Tink laughed, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head. Her hair was thick and curly like Jess’s, and it held the sunglasses without effort. “I’ve got the charging system for the battery hooked up. And I’m so close to having it drive the engine. I just need to see a working one again.”

Oakley nodded. “Bike’s out front. I should remember to grab a manual on my next trip, hey?”

Tink shrugged. “It would be handy. I just keep forgetting what’s electrical and what’s running on fuel. And where everything’s located on that thing.”

Gasoline and oil close to Greenwater was getting sparse. There was an emergency reserve at the compound, but plenty of times Oakley had been damn near empty before finding a pump or an abandoned vehicle with a few drops to get her home. If Tink could get the Harley running electrically, charged with a solar panel, she’d be golden.

Tink squinted up at the sun. “Well, I can’t hook it up to show you until nighttime, not without frying myself. So let’s leave it charging for now.” Her eyes ran down to what Oakley was holding, just seeing it now. “Hot damn, I hope those are for me.”

Oakley chuckled, tossing them to her as she straightened up. Tink clutched the smokes to her chest. “I had two left, Oakley. I was saving them for your funeral.”

Oakley always told her that if she didn’t come back one of these times, just burn her stuff, have a funeral and move on.

“You need to ration better,” Oakley quipped. “Those things will give you cancer.”

“I’d love to make it long enough to die of cancer,” Tink snapped back with a grin. “Oh, and you better go see the Dragon Lady. She was pretty pissed when she found out you were gone again.”

Oakley sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. Mention of the Dragon Lady always brought on a headache. “Bullshit,” she muttered. “I told Rainbow I was leaving.”

“Rainbow denied hearing it then,” Tink answered apologetically. “You know Rainbow’s terrified of her.”

No she’s not,” Oakley sighed. “But I am.”

“Bullshit,” Tink exclaimed. “If you were scared of her you’d hide her like the rest of us.”

“Well, I better go do that first then,” Oakley muttered as she turned. “Don’t suppose you wanna come with me?”

“Hell no,” was the cheerful reply.

The Dragon Lady resided at the house in the centre of a curving cul de sac that had been called Willow Way. All the streets had been given tree names, which was funny since this had been farmland not forest.

It was the house one was forced to stare at driving down the short lane, one of only six houses built along this street. These were the biggest houses in the development, and since the Dragon Lady had somehow been crowned their leader, she resided in the top floor of the nicest house. But don’t think for one second that this was the kind of arrangement where she sat around on silk pillows and ate candy all day. The Dragon Lady worked just as hard as the rest of them and took her turn on patrols as well. She just had the nicest view from her pad.

Oakley parked in front of the house, her stomach like a lead weight in her gut. She didn’t want a headache from the Dragon Lady, not when she’d just made it back. At least give me a day to rest up, she thought wryly as she made her way up the walkway.

The main level of the house belonged to two women who Oakley like immensely; Ty-Ty and Maine. They cooked and cleaned for the residents of his street, and their food was flipping spectacular. They put up with the Dragon Lady because the kitchen on her main level was absolutely divine and they liked using it for their own meals, too. Having the Dragon Lady sit down with them most of the time was a sacrifice they were okay with making.

When Oakley reached the step of the house’s wide, gorgeous wrap-around porch she could hear them in the kitchen, singing songs and cooking. The smell hit her and made her stomach rumble. She smiled to herself and clutched her gift for them with both hands.

By now you might be noticing something peculiar about Greenwater Gates. Something missing in the grand scheme of evolution and survival.

Men.

There were none here. They weren’t allowed and they weren’t welcome, save for a few select people who had been enlisted to help with the manual labour required to get Greenwater Gates up and going.

The Dragon Lady knew men weren’t to be trusted once law and order was thrown to the wind. Not all were bad, true. But many were only well-behaved for the fear of getting caught and put in jail. Once that was gone … those men weren’t to be trusted.

The ones that were trusted had trenched in the lines for the well, hefted solar panels to roofs, and helped beef up the security fence. In exchange they were fed and offered … comforts. In that case the women who didn’t want to take part didn’t have to, the ones that did were expected to step forward to volunteer.

Of course, at that time, no one wanted to be the one branded a slut, panting to have a helpful male rut her like an overzealous ape. But as time had gone on, a few here and there had sought them out.

Oakley had been one of them, Ty-Ty and Maine two more. it was no secret the Dragon Lady preferred women, and had obvious disdain even to this day to the women who had made good on the deal that bitch herself had brokered. Oakley suspected that the Dragon Lady honestly believed the women living in her house were lesbians by choice not necessity.

When she knocked on the door the singing stopped and she heard footsteps approaching, a melodic “Coming!” sounding out as a greeting. Like they were still living in Mayberry or something.

Maine answered the door, so named because that was where she was born and raised. She was a tall, slim, African American beauty with a giant smile and a smart ass mouth. Oakley had always gotten along with Maine. She had no idea how old the woman was, but she had to guess that Maine was coming up on 40. She’d been a doctor when the world went to shit, and a few years past med school to boot.

“Oakley – well shit. It’s about time you got back.”

“I know. I’m sorry, but I had to travel an extra day further out to get your requested supplies,” she explained with a meaningful tone.

Maine set her jaw and crossed her arms, instant sass. “Well then you better be about to hand me some double-Ds because you know that triple-A shit won’t cut it with me.”

Oakley burst out laughing, handing over four two-packs of double-D batteries. “Will this get me supper tonight?” she asked through her grin.

Maine beamed back. “Hell yeah it will. My poor vibrator’s just been sitting there looking at me all sad. And I need something moving, honey.”

“I understand. I’ve got some for Ty-Ty, too.”

“Good, because that bitch is getting cranky without her little pink bullet on duty.”

Oakley just shook her head, shutting herself in and following Maine to the kitchen. It was a white-cupboard and stainless steel mecca, a museum to what home magazines had wanted to buy. In the center Ty-Ty was flitting around like a butterfly, humming to herself and using that domestic magic she had to create something that smelled flipping fantastic.

“Ty-Ty, look who’s brought you a present,” Maine interrupted her culinary ministrations.

Ty-Ty broke into a warm smile, coming forward to hug Oakley like the mother she’d been back in the day. Two women couldn’t be more different than Maine and Ty-Ty; where Maine was sleek and dark like a runway model Ty-Ty was only about five-three, round in all the good places, with blonde hair cut pixie-short, still sporting the freckles of her youth along with her very agreeable laugh lines. They’d been on the run together before finding Greenwater, and Oakley was never entirely sure the nature of their relationship. She only knew that they were incredibly open about everything with each other, despite of the fact they still required battery-operated companionship.

Oakley handed over triple-A battery packs to Ty-Ty, raising her eyes upward. “Off to meet the Dragon Lady,” she mumbled. “Apparently Rainbow threw me to the wolves; never told her I was leaving.”

Maine shook her head. “That bitch always has some kind of bullshit agenda. Watch your back around her; Dragon Lady may be scary but she’s still fair. Rainbow’s the one that causes the shit.”

Oakley sighed, making her very slow way to the stairs leading upwards. “If I’m not back in two hours, say nice things at my funeral, okay?”

Ty-Ty laughed and Maine told her, all too seriously, “I will, girl. I promise.”

Here’s an easy one: how mad is the Dragon Lady?

Take Our Poll

Poll will close Thursday, August 15th at 5pm.

Let’s Write Something With Zombies – Chapter 1B

The machete balanced in her right hand like an extension of her arm. Couple flicks of the wrist and she fell into fight position, allowing a half-smile as these drooling undead freaks stumbled around to face her. She didn’t wait for them to shuffle too close. Dividing their ranks she ran through the centre of the cluster, machete spinning right first, bisecting the first creeper’s cranium horizontal at the eyes. He dropped as she spun and swung left, catching the second creeper in the back of the head at an angle.

She had to yank the blade free of his skull, but the strike was deep enough to hit gray matter. He slumped to his knees and tumbled forward.

The last two had been caught by surprise when she met their group head-on. She had their full attention as she once again attacked, striking the one closest to her horizontally across the head, the feel of metal slicing that softening bone barely registering in her mind. The sound was like a watermelon hitting the ground. Thunk. She didn’t completely bisect this one’s skull, but the arc of the machete blade cut deep enough in his head that the crevasse it left immediately gushed a slightly yellow, waxy ooze that had once been a brain. He dropped and the fourth one was no wiser for having seen its posse go down.

This had been a woman at one time. Her dress was filthy and falling off one shoulder. Her hair was matted and her chin likely permanently stained brown-red from the blood that had dried there however long ago. Like the others, her eyes had a milky blue-grey cast to them as though blind.

No pity for this one, either. A quick swipe of her right arm and the bitch’s head came off, hitting the ground with almost the same sound as her friends’ heads had made when struck with the machete. To be sure the fourth creeper was down one more brutal machete strike was delivered, splitting the skull through like a cord of wood.

The brain matter and gore was first wiped off against a tree trunk, then the grass, then she pulled up on the female creeper’s skirt, wiping the steel dry before returning it to its sheath.

Wide awake now, the slayer made her way down  a gentle, moss-covered slope to the dirt road she’d been travelling on. No surprise, her bike was still parked as she’d left it. She wrenched the saddlebags open to ensure nothing had been digging around in them while she slept, but everything was accounted for.

There were search parties that would leave the compound to get the basic supplies from abandoned towns and cities; anything they couldn’t make themselves. Material for clothing, glass and crockery. Although when she’d left on this excursion Tink had been very close to having a fully-functioning, wood-burning kiln for pottery. Hell, she was likely done it by now.

But what brought our zombie slayer out of the compound this last week was not clothing, bandages, penicillin or Midol. On her solitary trips she was out looking for the luxury items that they couldn’t make themselves. And her saddlebags proved that.

One saddlebag was nearly filled with cartons of Marlboro cigarettes. Tucked in around the edges were bottles of moisturizer for every body part. The other saddlebag held Patron, Smirnoff vodka, spiced rums and Grand Marnier as well as other tiny luxuries; mascara, bubble gum, lipstick, and batteries. A buffet of batteries of every size.

Every shopping trip took her further and further from the compound. Soon she’d have to just take a truck so she could stock up and make fewer outings, but that didn’t really suit her either. She needed these moments alone and her own secret missions. It was the freest she felt.

She swung one leg over her Harley-Davidson FLSTC Heritage Softail Classic, smiling as the engine rumbled to life. Yeah, it was a noisy choice but she was more bad news to creepers than her noisemaker was to her, and she loved this bike. Tink had put a lot of hard work into making sure it was always in peak form in exchange for a couple of cartons of Marlboros every two weeks or so.

Kicking up a cloud of dust, her rear wheel spinning out to the slide as she took off, she only had to avoid a solitary creeper on the road as the engine carried her back towards the compound, which she still couldn’t quite think of as home.

Next question: what is this compound?

Take Our Poll

Voting period with end Thursday, August 8th at 5pm.

 

Soul Stealer – Now Available!

Here’s an excerpt from Sin Eater Series Book #2, Soul Stealer. Now available for sale on Amazon.com!

Click here!

It was always biting. The jaw tingled with the need to sink its teeth into meat and tear at it. Chew it. Swallow from necessity then repeat.

Blood would fill his mouth, tangy and coppery, wonderfully warm. Fluid and real; the opposite of what he was at that moment.

The last time he’d held solid form was ages ago, yet he could remember the carnal thrill of taking something smooth and unmarred and ruining it with his own teeth. Souls went down smoother, sure, but that was just energy for the metaphysical batteries. Until he was stable he only had dark dreams and memories of far-away places.

These were moist, green, tropical and lush locations where they sacrificed young women with fair hair and skin to keep him from stealing the souls of the entire community.  Virgins volunteered for the honour of dying for the greater good. Rumour was his bite brought orgasmic pleasure at the moment of death.

Not true in the least. It hurt. He felt their pain as he tore into that tender skin, hardly touched by sun. They screamed and it only made him more ravenous. He tore with clenched teeth and the straining of his own neck muscles. The blood would spurt and spray all over their thin white shifts, running hot down his neck and chest. His face was completely wet with it, and the victim would be gasping, eyes pleading for death. When they were mad with the need to pass he would let his mind wander in to theirs, finding that spark inside that drove the whole mechanism of their human bodies. He tore it out by the root, and that’s when death occurred.

The dark-skinned tribes of small jungle islands used to give gold and chocolate. In return he’d take their killers and rapists in their sleep. It was punishment for evil-doers, and they kept paying him for it until he would become tired of the climate and move on. In the North they didn’t do sacrifices. So instead he was the Arctic boogeyman; a tale to caution people on how dangerous it was to wander away alone in the coldest of the cold and dark months. He couldn’t be picky on what he ate there: he took anything he found for months then headed for the equator to thaw his hungering body.

But lately every time he tried to solidify, starting with a few souls taken here and there, growing his power slowly but surely, he lost the will to keep going. He would scatter again to the winds of time, blown away to linger and wait for the urge to hit him again. Months and months of existing off of souls was no way to thrive. It was a difficult hill to crest; he needed blood. He wanted the meat.

Maybe this time. If he held the memory of that food as a goal for going through with all the work of becoming fixed in the world, maybe he could see it through this time.

That first soul had been lovely. So pure, sweet. Completely untainted. How delicious the young ones were … their flesh was even better.

Yes, the souls were necessary; they were the vegetables that kept him healthy and going. But next to that he had to have the living, breathing, bleeding and still wriggling meat to make it all worthwhile. He only lived once every few millennia … he had to make it worth the effort.

To celebrate the new book, Sin Eater, the first book in this series, is available as a free eBook from Friday, August 2nd to Monday, August 5th. Click here to download!

Let’s Write Something With Zombies – Chapter 1A

Here’s the intro to our zombie tale … poll for the next detail at the end.

Sleeping in a tree did not work for light, active sleepers. Unless you tied yourself off, and that couldn’t be particularly comfortable.

If you were a heavy sleeper that moved as much as a boulder, you could pass out anywhere and be cosy. Since it was hard to rouse such a sleeper, you had to be well off the ground, overhead, where creepers couldn’t reach you. Heavy sleepers were the first to die after the Event, the Happening, the Rapture. Whatever you decided to call it.

She woke slowly this morning, the sun just starting to warm the world, and a familiar snarling, puffing, grunting symphony sounded below her. She rubbed her eyes, sitting up straighter, back against the tree trunk, peering down.

Two, three, four creepers this morning. A light bit of work compared to some days. She yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, and stretched. Nothing worse than defending yourself still stiff from sleep. When shoulders, back, arms, neck and legs had blood flowing at a regular pace she descended a few limbs down the trunk, feet and hands grabbing the branches closest to the trunk where they were strongest.

It also didn’t help your survival rate to fall out of a tree and break your leg.

When her ankles were in grabbing distance from the creepers she crouched, back to the trunk again, reaching for her weapon of choice, strapped to her back.

“All right you bastards,” she muttered. “Come and try it.” Then she leapt and rolled to the ground.

What does our kick-ass heroine use to kick ass?

Take Our Poll

 

Poll closes Thursday, August 1st at 1pm.

Let’s Write Something …

You know what might be fun? Writing something while you guys set the direction of the story. It might be short. Might be a novella. Might be an epic. We’ll start with a few questions to set the tone, then I’ll just need you to give me a week and I’ll write the next chunk of the action. When I get to a fork in the road I’ll ask what you guys think. At the start there will a lot of questions to figure out what we’re doing.

First thing’s first: what genre are we talking about here? Here are some ideas I had, genres that I could easily start writing on and get in the mood for.

Take Our Poll

Feel free to suggest anything else, too. It doesn’t have to be paranormal in nature. I like office dramas, sibling rivalries, motorcycle gangs, cute love stories, anything.

I’ll call the voting period DONE as of 5pm on Sunday, July 21st, and I’ll move on from there. So expect another question next week. Let’s have fun with this!