Nothing happened during my watch in the pitch-black labs. No lights returned. Snores from my crew. Only distant squeals from lab rats. Phone flashlight fizzled out fast amid the stench. I slumped beside Charlène. Her head lolled back, chest rising soft. Anonymity hit hard – strangers in hell, city dying.
Crack. Sharp bang jolted me. Eyes blind in dark. Monkey squealed nearby. Karl whispered, ‘What the fuck?’ Grabbed the shotgun. Shadows at five doors. Exit sign glowed faint. Louder thuds. From emergency stairs.
The Stopover
Charlène stirred. ‘Someone’s coming.’ We armed up. Hache for Karl. Bangs on door. Then explosion. Door shattered. Blinding white floodlights. Figures in bulky suits, helmets, assault rifles aimed. ‘Drop weapons! Hands up!’
Monkey bolted into light. Blinked hard. Astronauts with torches. Voice boomed from speaker. Karl dropped axe. I ditched shotgun. Doc Harper yelled, ‘We’re clean!’ Bullets ripped her legs, gut. She crumpled.
‘Cease fire!’ Leader barked. I shouted, ‘Not zombies!’ They swept labs. Captain Ramberg scanned us. Charlène ID’d as cop. They secured. Harper carted off bleeding. Us three herded through wrecked hospital to massive truck on warzone forecourt.
Inside, blood draws, scans. Cleared. Stripped to undies in sterile bubble. Like airport lounge from hell – impersonal glow, hum of vents. Rested hours. Charlène’s body divine in bra, panties hugging hips. Curled in my arms. Her warmth, scent cut chaos. Fingers traced her thigh. Eyes locked. No names needed. World ending. Fuck it.
Interrogated later through plastic. Told our tale. They spilled: quarantine, curfew, failed cures. Chimp key intel. Thought of Emmanuelle cuffed back home. Transferred to lighter-armored ambulance. Soldiers stiff in suits. Streets dead. Sudden kid dash, nude zombie chase. Swerve. Crash.
The Transit
Wreck flipped. Bodies crushed front – Karl, drivers mangled gore. Pinned tight with Charlène, legs twisted, her curves mashed against me. Sweat slick. Pain throbbed. She groaned awake. Kissed hard. Tongues desperate. Hands ripped undies aside. Fucked raw right there – urgent thrusts amid twisted metal. Her moans drowned sirens. Nails dug back. Came gasping, adrenaline spike. Quick, filthy release before hell.
Glass shards rained. Grabbed pistols, cut strap for SMG. Blasted rear window. Out into moonlit street. Corpses strewn. Distant orgy groans. Charlène schooled me on guns. Uniform torn sexy. Kissed again, tasting salt.
Kid scream. Rescued Mélanie from zombie. Shots shredded it. Hugged her terror. Zombies lurked hedges. Ran blocks. Spotted Harley down. Keys in. Kick-started beast. Three-up squeeze. Zombies chased. Gunned it.
Hospital empty slaughter. Sirens wailed. Evac north or station. Bombing in 25. Gridlock north. U-turned. Gare packed. Bailed east. Barricade blocked. Charlène hosed truck. Boom. Flames gaped hole. Zigzagged inferno. Passed. Detonation flashed city cinders.
Stopped hilltop. Watched smoke rise. Mélanie screamed, bit. Infected wound. Tossed her off mid-wheelie. Charlène wept. Rode east, her arms tight round me. Horizon swallowed flames. One-night fire in ruins. Keys tossed metaphor. Road called.