The Rooster (Erotic Apocalyptic Thriller) by Richard Peters

 
A Brave New World
     
    “Any other great ideas, hotshot?” I could
still hear my partner’s terrified whisper even over all the
moaning. The crazies weren’t usually too active during the day.
Hell, might as well call them what everyone else does: the zombies
were docile in the daytime. Maybe the sun hurts their engorged
pupils or maybe they’ve become cold-blooded. Don’t know and don’t
care. I’m sure scientists squirreled away in a bunker somewhere are
probing such questions, but that doesn’t do me any good.
    I stole another glance over the ledge and
scanned the highway below. We’d only seen a pair of cannibals
meandering about when we slipped through this morning. Now, though,
hundreds of those shuffling, bloodthirsty beasts packed the broad
boulevard. We were both well-armed. In post-apocalyptic southern
Texas, guns and ammo were easy enough to get a hold of. Hell, we
even had a few real machine guns, salvaged from overrun Army units,
stashed at the camp. But those were a last ditch resort. Gunshots
bring these killers running from miles away. For every one you
killed, twenty more howled their way to the party. The best
defense, really the only thing that had kept us alive all these
months, was stealth. That and always staying on the move.
    Neither one was a good option here. No
chance in hell of sneaking across that open area and getting back
to camp. Likewise, slinking a mile or so down the road to skirt
this hot spot would leave us in the open after dark. About the
worst thing that could possibly happen to you in this new world.
Beside me, Dixon couldn’t quit whining. “I told you I heard a
fucking truck earlier. We should have extracted then. Not hung
around a second longer.”
    He was a good guy to have around most of the
time. As a hobby hunter back in the old world, he was also a damn
fine shot, unlike me. Also unlike me, he had a girl back at base he
was anxious to see again. If the ache to rush through the crowd,
guns blazing, was tempting for me, it must have been torture for
him. With our rucksacks stuffed with goodies, get back to a hero’s
homecoming as quick as possible. I forced down the urge. “Too late
now, man. Look, we just need to bed down here and move out in the
morning. Whoever stirred them up will be gone, one way or the
other, by tomorrow.”
    Dixon was more nervous than usual. Waving
his .45 around the whole time, his laughter was a little too
forced. “Yeah, I guess you’re right, John. Those morons won’t last
long. Man, I swear to God, these little scavenger hunts into town
just aren’t worth it anymore.” He scanned the deserted roof for
non-existent threats one more time. “Never thought I’d kill or get
killed fighting over Doritos and expired medicine. I just wish we
could run off north somewhere. Deep in the woods or plains,
whatever. Like those secure compounds you always hear about. Start
over and stop clinging to the past.”
    I shrugged off my overloaded rucksack. Maybe
he had a point, but hell if I’d admit it. I didn’t know the first
thing about farming. My city-boy butt wouldn’t be too useful there.
But here, in this world, I was a legend in the group. A big wig.
One of the few foragers that could reliably get you whatever you
wanted from town. What value would I have away from this deadly
goody-box of a metropolis?
    “You’ll be part of that history you want to
abandon if we don’t bunker down soon. We’ve got less than an hour
of daylight left. You get the shelter halves up and I’ll barricade
the stairwell door. Maybe we’ll celebrate our haul by cracking open
a box of Pop Tarts for dinner.” Lust ached in my heart and even
Dixon grinned, despite the near panic on his face. Giving up the
old sugar addiction was one of the hardest parts of the end of the
world.
    While Dixon got busy I did what I could to
tuck us in. In a chain of events that I preferred not to think
about, but would explain all the dark stains on the roof, someone
once shot