Blood rushing in my ears, I took my hand away from her mouth, her body limp against mine, and pushed her forwards over the sink, tugging her pants down, her firm arse up in the air as she sunk her arms and head into the bowl for support. Pulling myself free from my underpants, I thrust into her, hard and fast, with no thought for her comfort, only for my own pleasure. Her vagina was deliciously tight despite the hot wetness that was soaking her, and gripping her buttocks so intensely that I could feel my fingernails digging into her skin, I fucked her, pounded into her as deeply as I could go, her feet slipping with the pressure, only my hands and cock keeping her in place.
Within seconds I could feel my orgasm rising, my toes curling, clinging to the tiles, and as she tried to stand up a little, to escape from the pressure, she lifted her head, shifting the angle of penetration. Without slowing my thrust, I pushed her head back down with one hand, holding her there. The moment of domination was too much and the orgasm ripped through me, my jaw clenching as every muscle in me tightened to the breaking point, the waves of pleasure exploding in every cell and synapse, before I collapsed over her, sweating and panting. For a few moments, neither of
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us spoke, and then eventually, as she pushed back slightly to wriggle free of the taps, she peered over her shoulder at me, lucidity back in those pupils. Her breath was still coming fast. “Okay, so you’ve fucked me.” She smiled. “Now take me to bed and fuck me.” And I did.
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Chapter Seventeen
The next few days passed like halcyon days where we almost convinced ourselves that all was going to be okay, and that we could stay forever cocooned in our retreat behind the electric fences, ignoring, or at least pretending to ignore, the comings and goings of the widows on the other side.
Things inside Hanstone Park were pretty good going, all things considered. Whitehead had given us a pretty thorough induction, making sure we all knew the full state of affairs. The slightly paranoid element of my personality thought that maybe a couple of the other men hadn’t been so keen to share all their stocks and supplies, or at least the knowledge of their stocks and supplies, but I still figured they’d realise they could trust us in the end.
True to Whitehead’s word, the electricity had gone off, but we had plenty of petrol for the generators and the food stores were overflowing. It appeared that our civil servants really were fat cats, or aspiring to be, at least. Several chest freezers were packed neatly with a
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variety of cuts of meat, and the chillers held vacuum-packed cheeses and bacon, as well as two vast storerooms filled with catering-sized tins of everything you could imagine.
The only thing that constantly reminded us of our new world was the weather. The thermometers attached to the outside of a couple of the huts confirmed our suspicions that the daytime air was getting hotter, averaging about thirty-four degrees centigrade and creeping up by half a degree per day, and our nights were full of torrential rain and loud claps of thunder. We could only hope that it would level out soon, otherwise the widows would be the least of our problems. Whitehead couldn’t explain it, nor could anyone else. As far as he could tell, the plants weren’t giving out any new elements that could cause a climate change, and no one could see a link between what happened to the women and the weather. Unless they were controlling it, and that wasn’t something I wanted to give much thought to. Just how much power could they have? There was always the bland possibility that it was just a little freak of nature, a hot spell, one of those things. And it had to be said, bland was sometimes appealing. Unlikely, but appealing.
Due to the floods of rainwater, it seemed that after only a few days the plant life was becoming more lush and green, leaves and shoots growing larger and springing up almost out of control. Even in the compound we had seen it, and it hadn’t been long before Chris was out on the riding lawnmower trying to rein it back in under our control. No one complained about the use of petrol, not even Nigel. It was good for things to look as we considered normal, even if they weren’t.
I’d got the hang of the basics in the comms room,
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Daniel being a patient teacher, if not the friendliest of men, and I enjoyed my shifts there. At least there was the possibility of new contact and the knowledge that we weren’t on our own. We’d had contact with a group of men holed up in London, in Paddington Green High Security Police Station, and they in turn had contact with a couple of groups elsewhere, although we hadn’t been able to get through on their frequencies; but we all kept in touch one way or another.
Although we hadn’t yet heard from the facility that Whitehead had come up from, there were a small group of scientists in a centre under the Tower of London of all places. They sounded a little more scared than those in the police station, and my heart would sink when I’d hear them calling through the headphones. We needed positive stuff, not all that negative shit, especially from the kind of people that had caused it all anyway.
From what the London boys in the police station had said, I was glad we hadn’t headed in that direction. The capital’s streets were teeming with widows, and although they’d managed some foraging parties dressed in full riot gear, they’d lost three of their group. They had, however, discovered that mace worked pretty much like an acid on the widows, but the problem was getting close enough to deliver it. They were working on that. I figured that we’d have lasted about a day if we were lucky, if we’d just bowled up in our minibus.
Our contacts for the day had been made by the time I’d gone on shift, and although I’d religiously scanned the dials, it had all remained just quiet static for hours. There was a rumour that there was some kind of colony of children in Scotland, but we hadn’t had any
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confirmation of it, and it sounded too weird for me to buy into. If we found it hard to survive, then I couldn’t see how a bunch of kids could.
I only had an hour or so left to go and boredom was quietly settling in when Dave pushed the door open. I grinned and waved, watching him keep the door open with one foot as he bent to pick up the two mugs he’d put down in order to get inside, carrying them both with the one hand. The door swung shut behind him, and he came forward, putting the drinks down and then picking his own up. I did the same. Despite the heat, the tea was strong and refreshing and just what I needed.
There was no denying that Dave had thinned since his ordeal, but colour was back in his face and his flushed cheeks were covered with a thin film of sweat. Leaning against the desk, he rested his mug against his chest.
“I’ve just finished my first patrol of this place. Big, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “Who did you go with?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Jeff. Not exactly talkative, is he?”
I shook my head. The sense of them and us had remained even though we’d been here nearly a week, and I couldn’t figure it out. I don’t know why they resented us, but they did. Maybe it was to do with the women, but they didn’t seem to treat the men any better, although it had surprised me to see Nigel engaged in the occasional quiet conversation with them in the dorm or canteen.
“None of them are, really. Apart from Whitehead. Not that he could shut up if he tried.” We both smiled.
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Dave sighed. “He’s a crazy man, no doubt about that.”
The scientist’s manic enthusiasm for our situation hadn’t calmed down, and his new big idea was wanting us to go out and get him a widow to experiment on. A live one. One thing that all of the residents were unified on was that none of us were quite ready to figure out how to do that yet. There were too many widows congregating at night, and getting one on its own wasn’t going to be easy. The other thing we agreed on was that if, and it was a big if, we did decide to fetch one in, then it would be a dead one.
I watched Dave, the unnecessary arm of his shirt pulled tight and safety pinned to the opposite side, as he drained his tea. It was amazing to see him up and about and looking so well. He’d had a couple of days after we’d arrived that had been touch and go, and then he’d finally turned the corner and woken up starving, fever-free and lucid. His eyes had even cleared that awful yellowy bloodshot colour and from then he’d gone from strength to strength, and it looked like he was going to be fine. Catching my gaze, he stared back quizzically. “What?”
“Nothing. It’s just good to see you back on form. We were a bit worried about you for a while there.” Picking up the pack of Bensons, I took one for myself and then held it out for him. Grinning, both of us ignoring Rebecca and Jane’s clucking and mothering advice against his engagement with the evil weed, he took one and then leaned forward for a light.
“Thanks.” He exhaled with the pleasure of a longtime smoker. “I was a bit worried myself. Especially knowing it was you lot that were my only hope. Seeing your pale and panicking mug holding onto me didn’t
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really fill me with confidence.” He winked before his expression darkened slightly as he looked into the monitors above my head, even though there was no sign of activity showing up in the silent trees.
“I’m not sure how long I’d last one-armed if I had to go out there.” His voice softened. “But I’ll worry about that when it comes.”
“We’ll be there for you, mate. We haven’t come through all this to leave you at the last. One for all and all that shit.”
He smiled, but I wasn’t sure how much he believed me. “It’s funny-only a month or so ago if I’d had to face the prospect of losing an arm, I’d have been a mass of selfpity. Today, I’m just buzzing with the joy of being alive.” He drew in on his cigarette. “Speaking of the joys of being alive, even I couldn’t help but notice that you and Katie seem to have got a little closer. What’s the story?”
I shrugged. “Not sure there is a story. Not yet at least. Time will tell.”
I wasn’t avoiding talking to him out of embarrassment, I just really wasn’t sure what the hell was going on with Katie and me. The first couple of days had been brilliant. We’d spent pretty much every minute we could together, and although it wasn’t love, it was a pretty good feeling. There was a sense that maybe it could develop into love, given time and nurturing. But then all of a sudden she’d gone quiet on me, withdrawn into herself, and then the previous night I’d found myself back in the dormitory with the other men. She’d said she wanted some time to herself, to think things over and let the reality of what had happened to us all sink in, but I wasn’t buying that. I guessed that maybe she’d just gone off me.
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At first I’d thought she might just be jealous of Jane’s new attachment to Rebecca. The girl seemed fascinated by the woman’s deafness with that open honesty only children have, and I thought perhaps Katie didn’t like that and had kicked me out of her room in order to get Jane to sleep back in with her, but it sounded pretty lame, even in the confines of my own head. I’d tried to talk to her at breakfast, but she’d kept herself pretty busy in conversation with George and I knew what signals I was getting. If I’d said I wasn’t hurt and frustrated then I’d have been lying, but there was nothing I could do about it. And maybe that’s what pissed me off the most.
Dave stubbed his butt out in the ashtray, which had been nearly empty when I’d started my shift but was now looking respectably full. It was amazing how quickly you could get back into the habit again.
He nodded at the radio. “Any more news?”
“No. Not since this morning. I’ve been trying to get hold of that bloke in Manchester, but I’m not getting any comeback. London hasn’t heard from him, either.”
“London” was how we referred to the men in Paddington Green police station and the ones in the Tower of London were simply called “Science.” Not exactly code names, but it made it easier to talk about them, and on a darker note it also stopped us from getting too personal. What if we stopped hearing from them? This way that possible outcome would hopefully be less painful. Or less scary for those of us left.
As it was, I had a hollow feeling inside as I stared at the machinery. Manchester hadn’t been heard from for over a day, and as he was a one man band, I didn’t think any of us held out much hope for his survival.
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“How much longer are you on here for?”
I stretched, leaning back against the seat, and looked at my watch. “Not long. About thirty minutes or so, and then Chris takes over.” I grinned and thought about the long nap I was going to take before my stint on the perimeter and dinner. It seemed that sleep was pretty high on my list of priorities these days. It was for all of us. John had slept twelve hours the first day we’d arrived. They say that shock makes you sleep, and so far that little medical fact was standing up. Although, it had to be said, very few of my sleeps were dreamless. I looked up to see Dave staring back at the screens.
“What are we going to do, Matt?”
“What do you mean?”
“In the long run. What will we do? We can’t exactly stay here forever, can we? We’ll use everything up. Especially the gas. We’ll either run out of supplies or they’ll get in. And what then?”
It was a question that I hadn’t wanted to think about, but that had loitered in the back of my mind waiting for this moment ever since we’d arrived. It was great here. Really good, but it wasn’t any more than a stopgap measure and anyone that thought otherwise was just kidding themselves.
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Chapter Eighteen
The peaceful spell could never have lasted, and it was only two days later that it started to break, the inevitable no longer needing delay. I woke up suddenly in the night, not sure if it was thunder outside or maybe the sound of the door clicking shut that had forced my eyes open from my deep sleep. My heart thumping slightly, I lay there in the dark and listened for anything unusual, but the only noise outside was that of the rain hammering down on the roof of the building. That wasn’t enough to wake me. We’d all got used to that steady noise over the past few days.