Note: This story will be getting a bit darker now. Non-con themes, violence against women (and men) and really nasty people. As for this chapter, violence, swearing, eh the usual.
The factory had been abandoned years ago, long before the dead decided to rise from their graves like a shitty B-horror movie. Huge holes gaped in the brick, weeds pushing through the crumbling mortar, and small furry things rustled in the rafters. It was a shit-hole, but it seemed an apt place to meet someone like Isaiah.
Job shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. Times like this he almost wished he smoked, just to have something to do with his damn hands. Some of his boys loitered outside, checking the perimeter for zombs. Mickey wasn't one of them, the useless son-of-a-bitch. Too busy sneaking off like a blue balled kid to see his girlfriend. If the talk among the men was any indicator, Mickey spent more time following that piece of ass around then he did actually patrolling.
Job scowled at the thought of his brother, fingers twitching in his pockets. The thought of Mickey of all people being the one to slide up between those thighs…Jesus but it made his skin crawl. What could she see in a grumpy old dog like that? Probably couldn't get it up half the time, fuck.
It rankled him, he could admit, that Maya-perfect-ass-Torres chose Mickey over him. Job wasn't used to not getting the things he wanted, and from the moment he saw that woman saunter on up to the house in those damn yoga pants…damn but he had wanted. Who wouldn't? And women never said no to Job. Especially not now at the end of the world.
At first he had figured Mickey had forced his way on her. Women always shied away from Mickey, afraid of his temper and growling. Usually drove them straight into Job's arms which suited him just fine. Some of his best lays had been women Mickey had had the hots for. Bit of brotherly competition.
So of course Mickey wouldn't land someone like that without a bit of force. Job had even smiled at the thought, imagining that holier than thou bitch brought to her knees to service someone as lowly as Mickey. Delicious irony really, beauty and the beast.
But then Mickey started acting weird. He got all…soft. Job hadn't seen him in a good fistfight in weeks, and Mickey didn't go around beating up men who looked at him funny. He still growled a lot sure, and the men still gave him a wide berth but…something was missing. And Job couldn't help but remember how Maya had shown up at the house, all tiny shorts and smooth legs, all but rubbing up on Mickey like a cat in heat. She had kissed him, slid those plump lips of hers over Mickey's like…well, like she wanted him.
And that… that rankled Job something fierce.
Job leaned to the side and spat. Mickey was always missing now, leaving Job to do all the heavy lifting. Fucking asshole.
"Jesus, how long we gotta wait for?"
Job gritted his teeth, narrowing his eyes at the man who had spoken. "As fucking long as it takes."
The man sighed heavily, rolling his eyes.
The men didn't fear him. Not like they feared Mickey. Job scowled even harder. Without Mickey at his side to sort out the loudmouths, the men didn't give Job the respect he deserved. Job had never been the type to get his hands dirty, after all why need to when you could just use your brother's fists to get the point across? But now with Mickey…occupied, Job was left to do everything himself. Left with a crew who didn't mind back-talking him, didn't fear the repercussions because there weren't any. Sure, Job could go firing a shotgun blast into a few skulls-and boy wouldn't that make him feel good- but the fact was he needed all the men he had.
Plus it was bad for business.
One of the sentries called out. The men straightened at that, and Job let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"Finally," he muttered, rolling his neck as a troop of newcomers entered the factory. "Thought you'd gotten lost."
The man who strode forward to grab his hand, was normal looking. Tall, shaven and dark-haired, he coulda been a neighbor, or the local dentist. Smart looking guy. Like Job and the rest of the men he was in torn jeans and a t-shirt, the uniform of their new world. An assortment of rifles and assault weapons were strapped to their backs, some pretty heavy shit that had Job immediately on edge.
Back in the normal world Job would have worked men like Isaiah over for money, running schemes, protection rackets, whatever. Would have bled them dry and even slept with their pretty trophy wives before he was gone, blowing their hard-earned money on drugs, more women and booze.
But Job had quickly realized that Isaiah wasn't a normal guy. Hell, he was willing to bet real money that the guy's name wasn't Isaiah at all. He may look like your handsome guy next door, but there was something horrible lurking beneath his easy smile. The new world brought out the best in some folks, and the worst in others.
Isaiah was one of the worst.
The man smiled widely, his grip fierce. "Job, you son-of-a-bitch. Good to see you." Isaiah's dark eyes slid to look pointedly at the empty space beside Job. "Missing something?"
"He's busy," Job crossed his arms and the men at his back shifted. "So you bring the stuff?"
With a nod, one of the goons brought forward a duffel dropping it on the concrete between the two men. Isaiah smiled easily.
"As promised. A big ol' bag of guns."
Job kneeled to unzip it, mindful of where Isaiah's hands were. He'd seen the son-of-a-bitch fight, had seen him rip a zomb apart with his bare hands. Yet another little spectacle Mickey had been too busy to witness.
As promised, the bag was packed with guns and ammo, enough to launch a small assault. Job trailed his finger lightly over a grenade, whistling appreciatively.
"Damn but you treat me good," Job zipped everything back up, motioning for one of his own men to grab it. He picked the mouthy one, just to be petty. The man grimaced, but picked up the heavy bag without any lip.
Isaiah folded his arms, still smiling. "So how're things your end, Job? Still peachy?"
Job narrowed his eyes. He didn't trust this man any more than he trusted…well anyone. "Small-talk, Isaiah? Thought this was a business transaction, not a social call."
The man laughed. "Can't a man chat with a neighbor? I've been checking out the real estate in these parts and find it…quite lovely. I'm thinking of investing."
Job grunted. He had a feeling he knew what type of real estate had caught Isaiah's attention. "Told ya, can't hit that group. They're too big to take on and well-fortified up there."
And wasn't that a big ass lie. Only reason Job had let them be was because of his shit for brains brother. Mickey would throw a fit if Job went ahead and did anything to his precious Maya. And with the men more fearful of Mickey, they'd probably side with the wrong Wilkerson if it came to it. It pissed him off, but Job knew how to pick his battles.
Isaiah shrugged. "For you maybe. We've been…working on it."
And that got Job's attention. Some of the boys had mentioned seeing someone out in the fields late at night. A few reports even mentioned seeing some of the big fat fuckers there too. If it was true, and it was Isaiah behind it…lord knows Job needed to stay on his good side.
"That so? Care to share?"
Isaiah laughed. He did that a lot, like everything was amusing. Hell, maybe to him, everything was. Fucking psychopath. "Let's just say that this could be a…mutually beneficial endeavor."
Job considered it. He'd been gunning to take out Maya's group for a while. They had supplies up there, a farm for God's sake that would go a long way towards feeding Job's own crew. And of course, the women. Isaiah could do all the work and Job could reap the spoils, and keep his name clean. Mickey would be none the wiser.
Isaiah picked at his nails as if bored. "We only want the women. You can have whatever shitty supplies they have."
Job glanced towards his frowning men. Fact was, women were a scarce commodity. The ones at the house weren't exactly nice, and Job could admit, that was partly his fault. He had picked the best for himself, leaving the older, less desirable women for the other men. And his most recent bed warmer, what was her name? The young one. She just never stopped crying when he was trying to fuck her. He'd lost his temper, he owed up to it. But really, could he be blamed? All he wanted was some sex and she got all weepy and shit. It had just been a little smack, more like a tap, just to remind her who was boss. So she lost some teeth, wasn't like she needed them. Now the men were muttering about him ruining yet another bed-warmer and the women scurried around him like mice. And where was Mickey when Job needed him? Off fucking gallivanting around town with his dick out.
"Fair enough, but I want one or two," Job said. He needed to make his crew happy somehow. Pussy was an easy enough way to win back some of his boys support. "'Aint got much ourselves up at the house."
Job hadn't been dealing with Isaiah for long. First couple times they exchanged ammo and food, then a woman for guns, then a few more women Job found holed up in a house downtown for more guns. Never men. Those Job either brought into his own crew, or put down where he found them. He wondered vaguely what Mickey would think of that. Despite his temper, Mickey had always had a weirdly rigid set of morals. He'd beat a guy, sure, but only to a certain point. Job was the one who finished things.
But Mickey wasn't here. So fuck him.
Isaiah nodded. "That can be arranged. After."
Job didn't know what the hell after meant, but he could imagine. He'd seen the dead eyed women who trailed after Isaiah's crew once or twice. Mickey wouldn't wanna touch Maya with a ten foot pole after Isaiah had his fun with her.
But Job had some ideas.
He stuck out his hand with a grin. "You got yourself a deal."
Two days had passed since Maya ran out on the group. They passed uneventfully, and Maya stayed busy helping with various tasks. The barn needed repairing so the outpost traps would work, boards needed re-hammering, and the garden needed tending. She caught Lily shooting her worried looks every now and then, but for the most part it felt like things were back to normal. A few hoards came shuffling through but Maya took care of them with her truck, and when she was out in the field gathering the last lot of fruit, a random rifle bullet had found its way through a screamers head as it came up behind her.
She had smiled in the shot's direction, knowing Mickey was out there. It was too soon to meet again, her group still suspicious, but it put her at ease that Mickey had been serious about sticking together.
On the morning of the third day, Maya was glancing at an old calendar on the wall. One of the women, Danica, Maya bet, had been keeping track, carefully marking down the days with a red pen. It was then Maya realized it was her birthday.
It seemed like such an insignificant thing. She made the mistake of mentioning it to Danica in passing, thanking her for keeping track of the days, and before she knew it Lily was blabbing it all over the radio.
"Anyone out scavenging look for party streamers," the girl was saying as Maya walked into the comm room. "Oh oh, and candles! Like, a hundred of them maybe."
"Give me that!" Maya wrestled for the radio but for a small scrawny girl, Lily was strong. "Ignore that! I don't want any streamers! Jesus, Lil, just how old do you think I am?"
"Old as balls," Lily said gleefully, and groaning, Maya realized the radio was still on. "Come on people, let's throw an awesome birthday party for our fearless leader."
Maya admitted defeat, standing back and crossing her arms. "I thought we all agreed Marcus was more the leading type."
"Sure," Lily shrugged. "He's like…our mayor. But you're our go-to woman, the true power behind the politician."
Maya made a face. "I'm really not sure if that's a compliment or insult."
The radio crackled. "Did someone say birthday?" Patrick asked, sounding far too enthusiastic. "I think we've got the ingredients to make a simple cake."
"Sweet!" Lily pumped the air. "Yeah Patrick, turns out Maya's turning fifty so we're gonna-"
"You little brat!" Maya managed to wrestle the radio away, ignoring Lily's peals of laughter. "Patrick, don't bother. I don't want a fuss and for god's sake I'm not turning fifty."
"Roger that, one big five oh party coming right up," Tyler piped up instead, the sound tinny and far away. "You're lookin' good to be pushing ol' Doc's age, Maya."
Maya groaned, slapping her forehead as Lily just laughed harder. "I hate you all."
"Love you too, Mama Bear," Deliliah answered instead of the other two. Just as Maya was about to drop the radio, another voice came over the line, disgruntled but familiar.
"I'll have you all know that fifty is a perfectly respectable age," Doc Hanson grumbled, and Lily was laughing so hard tears were leaking down her cheeks. "But in any case, Happy Birthday, Maya."
"Thanks," Maya sighed. "As an apology Doc, feel free to come over. I think Lily hasn't been taking her meds. She's going to need LOTS of needles. Poking. Everywhere."
Lily squealed, grabbing for the radio. "She's lying! No needles!"
It was Maya's turn to laugh, holding the radio high above Lily's head. Maybe a party wouldn't be a bad idea, the farmhouse defenses were solid, and a bit of downtime would be good for everyone.
Even if it meant Maya had to sacrifice some of her pride as a fifty year old woman.
That evening, the farmhouse was alive with laughing, drinking and merrymaking. Patrick had managed to find a stash of whiskey in one of the old farmhouses, and all those eager enough (and not on guard duty) indulged. Maya wasn't one of them, though she did sip from her own cup the concoction Lily had made up for those who didn't want to drink; some sort of a fruit punch made from flat 7up and Fanta. They didn't risk any music but it seemed they didn't need it; Leah was dancing to only a tune she could hear, Gage hanging off one arm and brandishing a bottle in the other.
Maya had even been surprised to find a box dropped off at the front gate. Inside were a few things, a couple cans of corn, some blankets. A hastily scribbled note wished her a happy birthday, and Maya recognized Sam's apology for what it was. She made a note to swing by his enclave soon with a care package of her own. She owed him that much at least.
The night air was chilly. Autumn would be upon them in a few weeks, then winter. Maya stood on the porch, looking up at the night sky contemplatively. Up in the watchtower Marcus leaned on the railing, a dark shape outlined by the light of the moon.
A loud burst of laughter from the house made Maya smile, and she padded down the porch steps in bare feet. For the party everyone had tried to dress up, but Maya had stuck with a too baggy t-shirt and her pilfered shorts. A ratty old blanket was around her shoulders, and she gripped it closed against her chest with one hand, a drink in the other. The grass was cold against her feet, but Maya relished the feeling, scrunching her toes into the dirt.
"We attracting anything?" she called out. Marcus shifted, not taking his eyes off the fields beyond on the farmhouse.
"Nope. So you just enjoy tonight. You've earned it!"
Maya raised her plastic cup to him. "Aye aye, Mister Mayor."
Instead of wandering back inside, Maya ambled through the gardens, enjoying the stillness. Finishing her drink, she left the cup sitting on the porch railing, trailing her now free hand through the growing plants. The garden had grown quickly in the hotter summer days, and they'd have some more vegetables ready for preserving soon. Patrick was already excited.
She moved past the garden towards the storage shed. The door was shut but she could hear movement within, and curious, Maya cocked an ear.
Ah. She knew what those sounds were.
Feeling mischievous, she banged on the door. "I hope you're using protection in there, kids!"
There was an embarrassed giggle, and a very loud snort. "Alright, Mom!"
Maya rolled her eyes with a smile. So Leah had found herself a new bed friend. She just hoped this fling would last longer than her last one. She and Gage had had a thing for a while, and it had been messy when they broke things off.
Maya moved off, checking the fences as she walked. There was no harm in being alert, after all. She reached the back-gate that led to the orchard and peered between the bars. The orchard was zomb free for once, which put her at ease.
She turned, ready to head back inside, when a flash of movement caught her eye.
Maya froze, hand going to her empty belt automatically. She had left her weapons inside and for a moment she cursed her stupidity. She remained still, barely moving as she peered out into the darkness. For a second she thought she must have been mistaken, but after a beat, she saw it again.
Her blood froze.
It had scuttled up a tree, but at the lack of movement came slinking back down, snuffling the air. Most of the front of its face had either rotted away, or been blown out by a shotgun, leaving behind a bloody oozing crater. In the moonlight its tattered skin seemed translucent, black veins bulging along its back as it crouched on all fours.
A feral.
It knew she was nearby, but the injury to its face was limiting it from finding her. Maya held her breath as it moved closer, knuckles bloodless where she gripped the blanket around her shoulders.
Marcus couldn't see it from his position. And if she called out, it would be over the fence and on her in a second. She could run, but it would follow her inside the compound. And with so many roofs to hide on, it could do some serious damage.
The best way to defeat a feral was get it somewhere open. Maya had been particularly fond of running them over with her truck, but she had been fortunate to only encounter one or two.
One so close to the farmhouse was bad. Ferals usually stayed close to town, where they had more places to find a high advantage point and hole up during the day. If they were beginning to move away from the town it must mean food was becoming scarce.
For once, Maya didn't have a plan. She stood there, stricken, watching it move closer. It was sniffing the air with what was left of its ruined nose, but still didn't seem to have picked up on her yet. Cautiously, she took a slow step back.
"Maya!" The shout came from behind her, loud and joyous and completely unaware. Maya's heart dropped as the feral raised its head. Danica came lurching up behind Maya, grinning goofily. "What are you doing out her-"
The feral screeched.
Maya spun on her heel, reaching for Danica. The woman's eyes were wide, staring beyond Maya at what was undoubtedly bounding towards them both. Instead of pushing her away, Maya grabbed a hold of Danica's arm, pulling her forward and down onto the grass. Forcefully Maya rolled them both back towards the fence.
Her reasoning worked; the feral had jumped the fence aiming for where Danica had stood. It twisted as they rolled out of reach, landing awkwardly on the grass.
Maya had just enough time to get up onto her knees, and then it was on her. She brought her arms up to defend her head and it dug bloody trenches into her forearms with its broken nails. Maya cried out and it pressed in, snapping broken teeth in her face.
She got her injured arm up, jabbing her forearm up against its throat to keep it from biting her. It had pushed her over onto her back when it lunged, but she had managed to get her knees up, jamming them into the creature's concave chest.
Fetid drool and bloody foam dribbled from its mouth, smearing sticky trails across her arms and face. Maya kept her mouth shut, trying to breathe as shallowly as possible to avoid the terrible stench. A claw dug into her shoulder and she grunted, her muscles screaming in agony as she struggled to keep the feral at bay.
Danica was screaming hysterically. Maya saw her in the corner of her vision, and almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Danica was brandishing a shovel, slamming it down across the feral's head and shoulders. It was about as effective as a fly bumping into an elephant.
The feral paid no attention to Danica, staring down at Maya. Ferals had always creeped Maya out, because unlike the other zombs, Maya could swear that she saw intelligence in those black dead eyes. Nothing like the human intelligence it must have once possessed when alive, but something animal. A predator capable of outsmarting prey.
And Maya felt very much like prey.
Danica was alternating between screaming, and babbling. She was obviously drunk, and with sinking dread, Maya realized most of the others were as well. It didn't bode well for a speedy rescue.
"It's her fucking birthday you animal!" the woman was yelling, as if that would somehow convince the feral to go away. "Fuck off!"
Gritting her teeth, Maya felt her arms and legs trembling under the strain. Loud alarmed voices told her that the others had heard and were coming, but it was doubtful anyone would dare shooting with Maya so close.
"Get my axe!" she managed to bellow, twisting her head away as the feral lunged. "My axe! My fucking axe!"
Danica dropped the shovel, running. Marcus came into view, breathing hard and face grim. He had a shotgun in his hands.
"Push it's head up!" he bellowed over the feral's screeches. "And I'll blow it to fucking kingdom come!"
Maya gasped as it raked a hand down her side, shredding her shirt and drawing blood. "You'll shoot my arm off!"
The feral twisted suddenly, rearing back. Surprised, Maya's arm flailed in the space it had left. A shotgun blast boomed far too close to her and the feral yowled. Marcus had missed the head, catching it in the shoulder instead. Bits of decaying meat showered down on Maya, but she didn't have time to be grossed out.
Quicker than Marcus could fire again, the feral grabbed Maya, nails digging painfully into her already shredded shoulder, and leapt.
Maya screamed, feeling her bare feet scrape painfully over the top of the fence as she was dragged over it, the whole world tilting and spinning. It landed, and Maya jarred her hip against the grass. The claws left her shoulder, only for a rotting arm to wind around her waist hoisting her up. She dangled like a puppet as the feral got to its feet, running out into the orchard.
This can't be my life, Maya thought numbly, watching the grasses whiz by beneath her. Abducted by a zombie on my birthday.
Ferals were fast, but that was on all fours. On two, it moved slower, and with Maya dangling from its arm, slower still. Maya could hear the others opening the gate and pouring through. She hoped they had the sense of mind to take one of the cars, the only place the feral could run would be a field, and there they at least had the chance of running it down.
And just what the hell was it even doing? She'd never seen a zomb just carry someone off before. Then again, it made a sick kind of sense. Any animal would take its prey somewhere safer and more quiet to eat.
"Oh no," Maya muttered angrily, kicking out as hard as she could and writhing in its grip. "I am not fast food, buddy!"
The feral ignored her. The grip around her waist was surprisingly strong, and Maya feared that struggling too hard might make it squeeze her harder. She had no idea if that would hurt the baby inside her or not, but this really wasn't the time to find out.
It cleared the orchard in bounds, turning off the dirt road to cut into the fields. Maya's heart was in her mouth as it crested the hill, loping out into the field as if it hadn't a care in the world. If it got past the fields out into the swamp the group wouldn't be able to follow easily, it could be miles away by the time they got through it. And if the feral got her into the town then she was as good as dead. It could drag her into any little hidey hole and with no weapons, she'd be an easy kill.
Behind them, Maya could see some members of her group break through the trees. They looked impossibly small, and Maya realized the feral was moving much faster across the flat ground than she had anticipated.
It banked a sudden right, easily vaulting over a fence. Maya craned her face to try and see what direction they were headed, and gasped.
Zombs littered the field. Dozens of them. The blackened carcass of an airplane rose to their left, the field around it charred and blackened from its crash. Maya had seen it from a distance but hadn't wandered over here herself, the zombie density kept her well away.
And now she was going straight into it.
Most didn't pay the feral much attention, continuing their mindless shuffling. A few turned blank faces towards her, moving close, but the feral moved by with only a few disgruntled growls. If Maya had been more scientifically minded she might have thought it interesting how the zombs seemed to defer to the feral as dominant, but as it was, she was too busy panicking.
It was heading for the abandoned industrial estate. Maya had been there once or twice to help out an enclave that was dead now, but it was a good place for a feral nest.
And a good place for her to die horribly.
Maya struggled, earning herself an irritated growl in response. It was a miracle the creature hadn't bitten her yet, but she was scratched up enough that if she didn't take care of her wounds soon, she could very well get a bad blood infection.
An old shack appeared on the horizon, and Maya knew she needed to act now, or die. Summoning what energy she had left, she twisted, grabbing at the feral's face from behind. It was an odd angle, but she managed it, jamming her fingers as hard as she could into its eyes, thumbs braced against its temples.
She felt them pop, globules of jelly-like slime slipping down her hands.
The feral screamed, releasing her to claw uselessly at its face.
Maya fell on her knees, and was immediately scrambling away. It was undignified, a parody of the feral's own running gait, but she got up to a decent enough speed that she had at least made it to the shack's steps before the feral was back on her.
She rolled as it grabbed at her back, and it slammed into the rotting wooden steps. The railings were cracked and falling apart. Maya thanked whatever deity that would listen, as one of the hefty wooden railings splintered off when she pulled it.
The end was jagged, and with a loud yell, Maya rammed it into the feral's side as it turned, searching for her with gushing holes where its eyes had been. The rotting skin gave easily, ribs snapping like paper beneath Maya's adrenaline fueled shove.
She pulled it free, black blood pouring out across the steps, splashing against her cut up feet. It twitched, yowling piteously, and Maya raised the wood up over her head.
"Just fucking die!" she yelled.
She brought it down on the feral's head, and it obliged her, the scream in its throat abruptly cut off.
Shards of skull and bits of brain matter splattered against her bare legs. Exhausted, Maya dropped down onto the top porch, the bit of wood falling from her hands. Splinters were embedded in her palms, her arms cut up, her feet smarting, her shoulder bleeding, everything hurt but…she was still alive.
Maya breathed heavily, cupping her stomach with a trembling hand. It calmed her somewhat, and she stroked her aching palm across her belly. She peered down at herself, convinced her stomach wasn't as flat as it once had been. The thought made her feel a little better. "You better be okay in there."
She glanced out over the field. Zombs were shuffling her way, drawn by the commotion. She needed to move.
Wincing, she stood. Her feet protested, but Maya ignored them, hobbling slowly but surely away from the shack. There was a road down the dirt path, she knew. It would take longer to get back to the farmhouse, but if she was lucky the others would be in a car looking for her. Cutting back the way she came was impossible, not with the amount of zombs and her with no weapon and injured.
No, she'd have to walk.
"Happy fucking birthday to me," she muttered.