Flesh (Flesh 1)

He was nowhere near as immune to it as he would have liked. Which pissed him off.

And she wore his t-shirt, having gasped words along the lines of “God”, “yes”, and “Daniel” before slipping into it.

“What’s wrong, Finn?”

His. Shirt.

“We’ve, aah …” He took a nice deep breath, focused on the essentials. Things besides what was going on beneath his shirt and inside his head. “We’ve got trouble.”

“Again.”

“Again,” Finn agreed.

She shook the big guy's arm. “Smoke. Wake up, Daniel. They’re lighting more fires.”

“Ah, man.” Daniel rolled onto his back and stretched. He real y was big. Civilian or no, taking him on hand-to-hand for her was not the best idea. Tempting as it was. Better to woo her away. “We were out of beer anyway. It’s time to move along, kids.”

Finn turned his back on the love nest to get his shit together. It also gave him a chance to get his temper back under control. Not that those two were messing around, not taking the threat seriously. The man donned his pants while Al made a dash to the spindly clothesline.

“Finn, your stuff’s dry too,” she announced.

He turned in time to catch the flash of ass as she stepped into black cotton panties. Oh yeah, the swift revelation of the long line of her back as she tugged his shirt off over her head. Breathing didn’t matter and blinking was right out. Anger slipped from his immediate reach in the face of this.

Strangely enough, once removed, he wanted the shirt straight back on her.

Ali fished about for her bra, found it and slipped the straps up her arms. Dark blonde hair fel over her shoulders, sliding across bare skin. Porn had nothing on this.

He needed to get laid.

Pity about the chances.

“Great.” He joined her by the laundry, started dragging on his own clothes before she noticed anything was up. Not that she ever did seem to notice. Living in close quarters with strangers brought politeness to an art form.

The roar of a motorbike gunning up the street had them both jumping. He simply hid it better.

“Fuckers,” the big guy muttered, bending over the sink to drink from the tap.

“Yep,” said Finn.

“So.” Dan clapped his hands together, rubbed. “Who’s up for playing another round of hide and seek?”

Hours later, summer showers had messed with the bonfire tactics. Unfortunately, the vigilant bastards patrolled the streets, making it hard to move far or fast.

The noise of the motorbikes kept the infected stirred up. They’d shamble out looking for action, and the bastards provided it.

Whittling down the zombie population of the surrounding area kept the bastards distracted at least. Important to note, petrol was plentiful, but their ammo had to be running low the way they went for maximum effect.

Al, Dan and Finn managed to waste the morning skulking four blocks through the ongoing drizzle. A patrol had them seeking cover inside a rusted garden shed. They rested amongst the garden tools and towers of empty plastic pots. The place smelt of damp earth and fertilizer.

Dan shut his eyes, legs spread out in front of him, and his back to one rickety wall. There was nothing from him for a long time, care of the painkil ers Al had all but stuffed down his throat. The man obviously needed the sleep after his busy night and war wounds.

Yes indeed. A very f**king busy night.

Behind them lay the river and before them suburbia soon petered out. Acres of sparse bushland and the occasional farm or homestead ahead. Acres of next to no cover with few roads, even if they could bypass the bastards. Options dwindled.

It didn’t help his pissy mood. Close to being cornered. Dan injured. Still no sign of winning the woman. And the woman had been suspiciously quiet all day. Al rarely met his eyes. He had no idea what was going on, nor did they have time for it, given the situation.

“Al?” He turned his head sufficiently to put her in his line of vision. The pistol Dan had put in her hands the day before sat close by. A higher caliber than he would have preferred, but then again, a .22 wasn’t going to get the job done. “Come over here and bring your gun.”

She blinked. “Why?”

“Because you aren’t as proficient with it as you should be. You need to practice.” He crooked a finger and beckoned. “Come on.”

There followed a wary glance, but she did as directed. Al shuffled over on her knees, weapon in hand. No mind at all to where it pointed. Finn caught her wrist in one hand. Her smooth skin and fine bones felt perfect in his grip. Images of her restrained for their mutual pleasure flooded his mind. It took him a moment to remember the gun. “The safety had better be on. Turn around. I need to be behind you.”

“Sorry.”

Once she faced the wal , he knelt behind her, put his arms around her and covered her hands with his own. Knowing it was bound to unnerve her. Knowing part of this was just a good excuse to rub up against her.

Pitiful, but true.

The whites of her eyes flashed as she glanced at him over her shoulder. Her ponytail brushed against his face. It could have been his imagination, but she seemed to smell of laundry soap and sex, the most bizarre combination ever. It shouldn’t have worked but, of course, it did. She had his dick’s total and immediate attention, proving he could wear his hand out all he wanted. Wouldn’t help.

“Relax.” He lifted one of her hands off the butt of the pistol, checked the safety was on, then released the clip and set it aside. Tasks he could do in his sleep, perfect for keeping his mind occupied no matter how good she smelt. He couldn’t stop breathing her in. It was all about sex, or the lack thereof, not her in particular. An important fact to remember.

“Okay, keep both hands on the gun. Grip it like you’re holding a bird. Firmly enough that it’s not going to get away from you, loose enough that you’re not going to hurt it.”

“Alright.” The frown line above her nose deepened. Her slender fingers realigned beneath his. “Like this?”

“That’s good.” Finn held his hands up, made the peace sign then stuck a finger in the middle. “This is what you’re after, line up your front sight center between the two at the back. Raise the muzzle. You’re pointing low.”

Al adjusted her aim.

Finn brushed aside a piece of her hair tickling his nose, tucked it behind her ear. He resisted the urge to rub it between his fingers, to feel it and sniff it. Yet his hand lingered. He breathed in deep. Again. Finding words got hard. “Good, good. Don’t forget to breathe.”