The Zed Files Trilogy (Book 1): The Hanging Tree by David Andrew Wright

tosses her pants in the corner on top of her sweater.  She has been barefoot since my arrival.  She drops her underwear down, off and over in one step.  “Well,” she says turning to face me, “I’m unarmed as you can see.”
    A nerve in the head of my dick twitches as it starts to grow.  Everything in my head says not to do this.  Every red flag jumps in warning. 
    I begin unlacing my boots. 
    “Of course,” she continues, “I don’t need a gun to kill people, apparently.  All I have to do is leave a gate open in this shitty- excuse-for-a-world that we have and then everybody dies.”
    She disappears into the back room for a minute.  I stop unlacing and reach for my .45.  She comes back out holding two towels.  She sees the .45 and tosses me one of the towels.  “I don’t suppose I can blame you.”  She roots through a bucket filled with soaps and shampoos.  “You don’t want to get your gun rusty.  Bring that big knife thing if it makes you feel better.  I don’t give a shit anymore.”
    She sits down in the chair opposite of me and picks at a hang nail.  I can smell her body mixed with the horrible rose scent of the burning candle.  I lay the .45 down and go back to work on my boots.  “A hot shower is pretty extravagant these days.”  I stand and start to remove my pants.
    She looks up from her fingernails.  “You don’t seem to be afraid of me.”
    “Who said I’m not afraid of you?” I say and toss the cleaver on the table.
    “Not very afraid anyway,” she says and goes back to studying her fingernails.  “Most men wouldn’t be out here right now.  They probably would have killed me by now.”
    “Most men,” I say as I drop my drawers, “are dead.  Or dead-ish.  I, on the other hand, am very alive.  Or alive-ish.  And I figure I’m gonna die sooner rather than later.  So I figure be’n scared of stuff is kind of a waste of time these days.”  I slide off my filthy underwear.  My erection salutes her in the candlelight. “So if I’m gonna get killed, I might as well get killed by some psycho in mid-coitus as by anyone or anything else.”  I pick up my towel and the cleaver.  “Ready.”
    She looks at the cleaver.  “You just said being scared is a waste of time.”
    “Well,” I say and smile, “I guess I still believe in safe sex.”
    She smiles a twisted half crying smile at me in the light of the flame.  It softens her features and makes me forget that I plan on killing her out here away from the others.
    “Have it your way,” she says.  She takes the candle and lights a lantern before walking out the front door.  She has a slight sway in her walk now.  It pulls on the invisible leash wrapped tightly around my dick.
    The side of the building is tiled with pipes and knobs crudely attached to the wall. A corrugated tin roof provides shelter from the rain.  Empty wires run between the rafters; plastic curtains would have hung here.  She hangs the lantern from a wire and turns on the water.  She tests it with her hand to get the temperature right.  Her towel goes over another wire and she stands under the gravity feed shower with her face under the water. 
    I hang my towel up next to hers and move behind her.  I still have the cleaver in my hand.  I look around for where to put it.  Nothing and nowhere seems right.  She pulls her hair out of her pony tail then regroups it back into a bunch and holds it high behind her exposing her neck.  I step behind her and place my hand on her shoulder.  She remains standing with her back to me and her hair lifted in one hand.  My thumb traces the muscles in her shoulder.  Her body relaxes slightly and leans back towards me.
    I could kill her and then fuck her.  It’d be easier that way.  But I know what she wants.  And I don’t like her enough to give it to her.
    I run my hand up her neck and take hold of the wad of hair in her hand.  I pull her head backwards.  Her feet remain in place.