Kyle enjoys a romantic evening at home — for SCREAMS.
|At last! After a dozen failed attempts, tonight Kyle would finally get Sandy into the sack. Ever since she was taken on at the accounting firm where he worked in IT, he'd dreamed of this. She was toying with her red hair, twirling it around her manicured fingers, leaning close while speaking, and her hand rested on his thigh. He brushed a lock of his own blond hair from his eyes and pretended to laugh at a joke that wasn't funny. All the time, his real focus was on the ample cleavage revealed by her low cut dress. One more margarita, then he'd suggest they abandon the sofa and take this upstairs. This was the best house party he'd ever hosted.
Dave, a burly guy also from their office, appeared beside the sofa. “Hey, Kyle. Isn't that your door bell?”
Over the loud music, it was difficult to tell, but Kyle thought he could hear the bell. Damn. Dave was right. Why had he even invited this sucker? “No,” he lied. “You must be mistaken.”
Sandy squeezed his thigh. “Hon, I think he's right. I can hear it too.”
With a groan, Kyle struggled to his feet. He pushed through the crowd in his living room to reach the hallway and opened his front door. Nobody was there, but he gasped at what he saw.
His hillside home overlooked Arnette's town center. In the middle of the main street, a plume of fire funneled into the night sky. Surrounding that were more flashing blue lights than he'd ever seen.
“Wow!” said Sandy, joining him. “Looks like every firetruck from here to Houston.”
“Who's that?” she asked, pointing down his driveway.
Somebody was sitting on the sidewalk and leaning against his mailbox. With the scene in the town below and in the darkness here, he hadn't noticed. He jogged across his yard. It was one of his friends from the Country-Western Dance Club, Steve.
“H-Hi, Kyle.” He blinked, his eyes unfocused. “I c-came for your party.”
Kyle crouched down and helped Steve to stand. “Man, what happened to you?”
“Don't know.” He pointed toward the neighboring house. “A little old lady.”
Kyle scratched his head. “Mrs. Culpepper?”
“I don't know her name, but she bit me.”
Steve showed Kyle his hand. Teeth marks proved that something had bit Steve. Certainly not Mrs. Culpepper, who was over eighty and a Baptist. Maybe her Rottweiler.
At the door, Sandy examined Steve's hand. “This looks bad.” She glanced at Kyle. “Have you got antiseptic cream and band aids?”
“Er… there's a first aid box in the bathroom upstairs.”
“Great.” She led Steve inside and upstairs.”
Kyle's heart sank. He'd imagined her climbing those steps tonight, but his scenario had been different. He sighed and wandered back into the living room.
Mary Jane approached, a frown on her freckled forehead. She was another friend from dancing. With her angelic face and golden curls, she was the prettiest girl he knew. Out of his league, so he'd never tried anything amorous. Tonight she looked stunning in a white mini-dress that showed off her shapely tanned legs to perfection.
“Was that Steve?”
“Got bitten by the neighbor's dog. Sandy's taken him upstairs to patch him up.”
“Oh dear! I'll go see if I can help.”
Kyle watched as another sexy babe headed upstairs. A mental image of a threesome between Steve, Sandy, and Mary Jane flashed through his mind. Lucky Steve!
Kyle wasn't inclined to talk to anybody in the crowded living room. He headed into his kitchen where he found Dave, helping himself to a beer from the fridge.
“Want one?” asked Dave, as if they were his beers.
“Why not.” Kyle sat at the table.
Dave joined him. “Wow. You know lots of hot girls.”
Kyle squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to visualize punching Dave. He couldn't get out of his head the fact that if Dave didn't have such great hearing, he'd most likely be upstairs now making whoopee with Sandy.
“Did you hear that?” asked Dave.
He opened his eyes. “What now?”
“I think someone's screaming upstairs.”
He banged his beer down on the table and shot to his feet. “Sandy!” He pushed through the living room, then ascended the stairs two at a time. Sandy stood in the bathroom doorway, holding a towel to her neck and sobbing.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Steve bit me!”
Kyle blinked. “He bit you?”
She removed the towel and showed him an oval pattern of teeth marks on her neck.
“Where is he now?”
She pointed at Kyle's bedroom door. “He dragged Mary Jane in there.”
As if on cue, Mary Jane cried out.
He squeezed Sandy's arm. “Hon, you go downstairs and wait. I'll deal with Steve.”
As she fled downstairs, he opened the landing cupboard and took out his baseball bat. Good job he kept his sports equipment here. He didn't know what was going on with Steve, but he wasn't taking any chances. His heart pounded as he approached the closed door. Holding the bat in his right hand, he cautiously opened the door with his left and peeked inside.
Steve had pinned Mary Jane down on Kyle's bed 69 style. The pervert's head was lodged between her legs, doing God knows what under her dress. He was snarling insanely, and she was crying.
“Get off her, you bastard!” he cried and raised his bat.
Steve released Mary Jane, jumped off the bed, and growled. Kyle swung the bat. Steve ducked, then ran from the room howling like a wolf. Kyle made to follow.
“Don't leave me alone!” cried Mary Jane.
“Oh, okay,” said Kyle, breathing hard.
“You're my hero.”
Mary Jane sat on the edge of the bed, apparently not so shaken by her ordeal after all. She patted the mattress beside her. “Come, sit with me.”
Her dress was torn, and her under-wired bra poked out like an adolescent boy's wet dream. He tentatively obeyed her instructions.
“Hold me,” she said.
He snaked one arm around her.
She shivered as if suffering from hypothermia, so he pulled her closer, feeling her soft breast squash against his chest, inhaling the candy store aroma of her scent. In spite of the circumstances, his manhood stood to attention, ready for duty.
To his shock, he felt her hand slip inside his T-shirt at the back. Her long fingernails slowly worked their way up his spine, which tingled. She paused at the top near his neck, then dug in her nails and scratched.
“Ow!” He took a sharp intake of breath. “You really need to trim your nails.”
“Sorry,” she whispered. “Are you mad?”
“Er… no.” He swallowed. “How could I ever be mad at you?”
“Good.” She giggled. “Then fuck me.”
“You heard!” She pushed him back onto the bed and straddled him.
Kyle was taken completely by surprise, but this wasn't an opportunity he wanted to miss. How much had Mary Jane had to drink?
She grinned and hitched up the bottom of her dress to reveal a pair of Pokémon panties. Clearly, she hadn't expected to get lucky. Then something else caught his attention. Near the top of her thigh, just below Pikachu's butt, was a ring of teeth marks.
“Hey,” he said. “Steve bit you.”
“Oh, I didn't notice.”
“Doesn't it hurt?”
“Not one bit. Now, less talking more fucking.”
He couldn't imagine how that painful-looking bite didn't sting, but if she wasn't going to complain, he certainly wasn't. Not when he was about to get laid.
A thunderous bang shook his whole house, and the floor near his bed exploded upwards. Dust and wood splinters flew through the air. The stench of spent cordite filled the room. He pushed Mary Jane aside and examined the new hole in his floor.
“What the hell's going on?” he mumbled.
“Who cares?” said Mary Jane and pouted. “I've noticed you watch when I wiggle my ass at the club. Don't you want to get into my pants?”
This was possibly the hardest decision he'd ever make in his life. Stay here and make sweet love to Mary Jane, possibly getting shot through the bed by some drunken idiot downstairs with a shotgun, or go downstairs and deal with the problem. Could a shotgun round penetrate both the floor and his mattress?
“Oh, shoot!” He took a deep breath. “Wait here. I'll be right back.”
He darted down the stairs, hoping that whoever brought a shotgun had fired it accidentally and wasn't some madman on a murderous rampage. Entering the living room, he stumbled to a halt. All his guests had disappeared, clearly frightened by the gunfire, and in their place stood a particularly ugly woman in her forties, wearing army uniform and holding a shotgun. She pointed her weapon his direction.
He raised his hands. “P-p-please, don't shoot. My wallet is in my back pocket. Take whatever you want.”
“Your keys,” she said, glancing around as if expecting enemy soldiers to burst through the window or the kitchen door any second. “Where's your car keys.”
“In the jar beside the front door.”
“Have you been bit?”
“The zombies. Did they getcha?”
This soldier must have watched one too many episodes of The Walking Dead. “N-No. Nobody bit me.”
“Good. Come with me if you want to live.”
He thought about saying no, but the way she held her shotgun suggested that she might use it if he did. She followed him through into the hallway, where he fished the keys from the jar himself.
Outside, he halted in his steps and gaped at the town below. The fire had spread, and over half the town blazed like the furnaces of Hell. “What the…?”
“It's the apocalypse,” said the soldier, then gestured toward his old Chevy truck with her gun. “You drive.”
The sound of smashing glass caught his attention. He spun around and looked up to see Mary Jane hanging from his broken bedroom window, her arms badly cut, blood pouring from the wounds. Had she just punched through the pane?
“Kyle, come back!” she cried. “I want to fuck you!”
The solder raised her shotgun and fired. Half of Mary Jane's head disappeared in a spray of blood, bone, and brain.
Kyle glared at the soldier. “What are you doing, you insane bitch?”
“She was infected,” said the soldier, speaking as calmly as if she'd just swallowed a dozen diazepam tablets. She gestured to the truck. “Now, get in and drive, or I'll shoot you.”
He did as ordered. He might not believe her crazy talk about zombies, but he didn't want to suffer Mary Jane's fate. Following the soldier's instructions, he turned right at the end of his street and then headed out toward the Texan wilderness. He only hoped he wouldn't wind up in some shallow grave.
As they passed the town limits sign, the soldier slumped into the passenger seat. Kyle examined her. She was much younger than he'd first thought.
“Hey, you got a name, soldier?”
She smiled. “Sarah. And thanks for getting me outta there.”
“You're welcome, Sarah.”
Had he thought she was ugly? Sarah wasn't ugly at all. In fact, with those impressive muscles, he bet she was awesome in the sack. He licked his lips. Yes, she was tasty. In fact, being in such close proximity to her, inhaling that intoxicating blend of boot polish and her stale sweat, made him feel randy. Though it wasn't something he normally did in the bedroom, something perverse came into his mind that he'd like to try with Sarah. He'd love to bite her.
WORD COUNT: 2000