Waning afternoon light cast a sickly yellow glow across the sylvan landscape. A cacophony of frogs and cicadas added to the ethereality of the twilight, as if a million tiny bells mourned the dying rays of the sun. The four survivors scurried through the silent husks of residences that once comprised a trailer park. The silver whales of houses lay dormant and stinking of spoiled food, but their rural location isolated them from the infected, and the only walking carcasses were those of the sluggish, starving occupants. They were dispatched with ease, and now Nick and Rochelle stood guard outside one white metal monstrosity with pink trimming as Coach and Ellis plundered its kitchen.
"I found a canned chicken," Ellis said as he inspected the cupboards. "The can ain't that big; I always wondered if they took real young chickens to put in there or just did something like they do with the ship-in-a-bottle things, where you fold down all the pointy bits." He tossed the can to Coach, who put it into his pack.
"I could use some chocolate right now," Coach sighed and opened the refrigerator before immediately closing it with a grimace.
"You know, this reminds me of the time me and my buddy Keith snuck into a chicken farm with about ten pounds of chocolate . . ." Ellis prattled on as he rummaged through the pantry. Coach never interrupted the younger man; he always appreciated the quiet optimism Ellis maintained in his humorous, if strange, anecdotes about his friend. Rather than wallowing in the dark ending that Coach suspected all of the stories culminated in, he chose to reminisce in the brightest moments. The moments full of laughter and adventure. Coach found himself losing focus on the story, and instead watching Ellis' plump lips bend and scrunch to form words.
". . . Anyway the cats wouldn't stop following us for about a week after that. . . Um, Coach?" Even in his digression Ellis noticed the group leader's unwavering stare. Coach stood in the golden light of the kitchen window. Ellis found himself returning the stare, drinking in the curvaceous shadows cast by Coach's chiseled features. The tall leader had the visage of a god thrown to earth. Ellis swore Coach's eyes shimmered between brown and green in the sparkling rays.
Suddenly each man felt a strange, warm feeling. A shiver traced its fingers up Ellis' spine, and he reached over and closed the front door. The two men stood in stillness a moment more, each silently daring the other to make a move. Finally Coach came forward and caressed Ellis' jaw, and grinned when he felt the goose bumps on the flesh beneath his palm. Ellis pulled the big man against him and their mouths met. Coach felt a tingling desire spread from his groin down to his inner thigh. He embraced Ellis with one arm and used his other hand to grab the younger man's Awkward Euphemism. They danced a slow, lip entangled tango back to the bedroom.
Rochelle and Nick sat wide-eyed on the front steps of the trailer. When the grunts and thumping started they had attempted to make polite conversation over the noise, but now they sat with their backs against the shuddering trailer, numb to the carnal pleasures being explored within.
"You wanna make this a Nichelle story?" Rochelle asked the con man.
"No, I'm saving myself for some Nellis later," Nick replied. They gazed at their feet for several more minutes before he said, "You know, you could always hook up with Coach later. We could call it 'Roach'."
"Shut up, Nick."
"Okay."