Assumed Dead, page 15
“I’ll show you after breakfast.”
Chapter Nineteen
R.J. walked into the rec room in the afternoon, wearing outdoor gear.
“Everybody outside,” he said. “Time for more training.”
There were several groans and complaints of “But we did it this morning.”
“Firearms training,” R.J. said.
“Where’s Matt?” Louise asked. “He’d better not be trying to get out of it.”
“He’s outside,” R.J. said. “He’s been helping me out. Get your coats on and be out in the south yard in ten minutes.”
“Any idea what Matt’s been helping him with?” Louse asked Peter as they all crammed into the long, narrow drying room and donned coats, hats, gloves, and boots.
“He wouldn’t say.” For the past few days Matt had been disappearing into the workshop with R.J. for a couple of hours every day. One time Matt and R.J. had taken the ATVs down to the beach half a mile away and come back with sacks full of sand in the trailers. Matt had returned from these sessions looking grim and welcomed the distraction of Peter’s lips and hands and cock.
“We’re about to find out.” Louise put a woolen hat on, her long hair streaming out of the back of it, and followed the others as they trooped out into the yard.
R.J. and Matt were out there already, standing amid a crowd. Dotted around the yard were people-sized dummies and targets. The targets were mere flat screens—thin wooden frames with burlap stretched across them. The dummies were more elaborate mannequins, made of sacking stuffed with the sand Matt and R.J. had brought from the beach. All were painted crudely with faces and sketched-in clothing in their bodies. Some of them were child-sized. Peter caught Matt’s eye, and Matt grimaced and looked away. He seemed almost ashamed.
The group stood looking at the dummies and targets in a nervous silence. Like the reality of what they’d face on the mainland had hit home. Most of them hadn’t seen the zombies from the wrecked boat. These crude dummies didn’t even come close to having the same effect. But everyone here was smart and imaginative enough to turn them in their minds into the real thing.
“You all know how to use the rifles,” R.J. said. “And I’ll teach you how to use the two handguns we have. When we go ashore, we’ll find more weapons so everyone has a rifle and handgun each. We don’t know for sure how it’s going to be there, but the people we’ve been in contact with report enough zombies still around that we have to be ready to fight them. They form into packs, apparently, so we have to be ready to meet a large group of them.”
“That pack behavior is interesting,” Crawford said. “Can they have a perception of being more effective in a group and actively seek others like them? Or is it a survival of the human need for the company of others?”
“Perhaps we can have a discussion about that later,” R.J. said. “Today, let’s talk about killing them. Or rather, stopping them. Since they’re already dead.”
“And don’t underestimate the effect of the smell of that,” Jay said. “They really stink.” She’d been there the day one of them nearly got Matt, at the Norwegian station. Peter’s blood ran cold, as he remembered seeing Matt brought back injured. Later R.J. had asked Peter if he was certain Matt had no bite marks on him, and Peter hated to think what R.J. would have done if Matt had been bitten. He glanced over at Matt, who might not have been here if that zombie had gotten to him faster. Peter gritted his teeth. Okay. He hated guns. He’d treated too many innocents with gunshot wounds in the ER. But they were not going to be shooting innocents. This had to be done.
“You have to go for the head,” R.J. said. He put an arm around one of the burlap zombies and patted its fake chest. “I was trained to aim for the center of mass. There’s a better chance of hitting a target there. But in this case, that would be nothing but a waste of time and ammunition. It would barely slow them down. You have to go for the head. That’s hard, but we have at least got the advantage that they don’t move as fast as the living and they don’t even try to duck. It’s not quite shooting fish in a barrel, but it’s not like shooting at a crowd of humans. Because if you fire on humans, the ones who aren’t hit will probably run away. These things will keep on coming.”
The group stirred nervously at his words. Peter wondered how many people ashore had been well armed, good shots, but had in the end been overwhelmed because they couldn’t shoot enough zombies fast enough to stop them coming.
“That’s when the whole ‘running the fuck away’ strategy comes into play,” R.J. said. “Excuse my language, ladies.”
The rifles were familiar enough. The handguns… The only time Peter had held one was when he’d found it tucked in the waistband of a shot-up kid on the gurney in front of him. A gangbanger, the cops called him. But a shot-up kid to Peter. Peter hated handguns more than any other weapon. When R.J. held one out to him for his turn with it, he hesitated.
“C’mon, Doc,” R.J. said. “I appreciate your feelings about these things—”
“I highly doubt that,” Peter said. Matt came up to his side, though he didn’t speak, simply stood there, offering the support of his presence.
“It isn’t only for your own protection,” R.J. said. “It’s for the whole group.”
Matt moved a bit closer so the others, busy with their practice, couldn’t hear. “You’ve taken care of us all this time. This is one way you’ll take care of us in the future.”
Peter swallowed and reached out for the gun. Matt placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezed it reassuringly. Peter closed his hand around the grip. The worst part was how the thing just…fit. Like it loved to be in a hand. It didn’t feel too heavy when R.J. let go and Peter took the full weight of it. Though it had solidity and heft and would doubtless start to feel pretty heavy if held out for long enough.
R.J. showed him the best stance and how to support his wrist with his other hand, military style.
“All of that’s great if you have time to get into the stance and aim,” R.J. said after Peter fired off a few shots at some tin-can targets also set up. “But I’ll bet a lot of the time we’re talking point shooting—that is having to react fast to a threat that appears suddenly.” He looked around at the group, firing on the targets, some with good stances and excellent accuracy, but Peter guessed what he was thinking.
“In situations like that, people are scared, and their accuracy goes way down.”
R.J. nodded. “Exactly right. Shooting at a target is one thing. But shooting at a person, zombie or alive, is a whole other thing. Shoot that target, Doc, now.”
He pointed at one nearby. Four feet tall, its face that of a girl.
Peter hesitated. He couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t a person; it was a stupid sack full of sand with a cartoonish face painted on it. But his brain turned it into a girl. He wished he had less imagination. He thrust that image away and fired. The target fell over and started oozing sand from an entry and exit wound in its head.
“Good shot,” R.J. said. “But you hesitated.”
“Yes.”
“Then that’s what we have to work on with you.”
* * * *
Matt found Peter brooding on his bed after the weapons training session. R.J. had called it firearms, but that had only been part of it. They’d moved on to axes and cleavers later. He was still getting over seeing Chandra run screaming at the dummy he’d named Bert and taking its head clean off with a long-handled ax. The weight of the ax spun her around, and he was surprised she could lift it, never mind swing it. But he remembered what Peter had said about her being stronger than she looked. When they went ashore, Matt thought he’d stick close to her.
“You okay?” he asked Peter, who barely acknowledged him when he came in.
Peter sighed and rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Just…thinking.”
Matt came over and sat by him on the edge of the bed.
“The firearms stuff upset you. I could tell. I guess you’ve seen so many victims in your work. Kids and everything.”
“Yeah, that upset me. You even made kid-sized dummies.”
Matt grimaced. “I know. But it’s what we’ll see. Children won’t have been spared. I think…I think we have to see it as mercy killing. They’re not people anymore. I know I wouldn’t want to be left that way. I wouldn’t want to see anyone I cared about left that way. It’s mercy.”
Peter took his hand. “I don’t know if that’s true. Are they suffering? The person inside is dead. Gone. There’s no personality or consciousness there. Mercy killing is to end suffering. All doctors, with a dying patient, someone terminally ill, in pain…” He trailed off, then swallowed hard and spoke again. “Sometimes they even ask for it. Sometimes the doctor gives a higher dose of morphine than is needed. To…ease the path. That’s mercy.”
Matt squeezed his hand. “We can’t know that no part of the person’s mind survives. It’s their brain, and bits of it must still be working if they’re walking around. We can’t know if some part of them that knows who they are and what’s happening to them isn’t still in there. In which case, yes, it’s mercy to put them out of their misery.”
“I keep thinking about what would happen if I found Harrison…like that.” He shuddered. “Could I pull the trigger on him? Or if it happened to you. If that one at the Norwegian station had bitten you.”
“Peter, I promise that if I’m still capable of it, I’d do it myself. You don’t have to worry about that.”
Harrison, though. He was talking about finding Harrison. Since they were unlikely to run into the guy in Moosonee, then it had at least crossed Peter’s mind to go looking for him. Matt couldn’t blame him for that, could he? If Matt somehow got back in New Zealand, he knew he would go looking for his parents. Only the impossibility of ever getting there made him accept he’d never see them again. In a way that was for the best, because in his mind, his little fantasy world, they were safe at their isolated sheep station, living on mutton and lamb and missing their boy, but alive. Reality might be different, but he’d never know.
He moved to get up, but Peter kept hold of his hand. “Matt, wait. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned Harrison.”
“It’s okay. You can talk to me about anything you like. I want you to talk to me.” He didn’t want any secrets between them. He wanted to know every part of Peter.
“But I am sorry.” Peter let go and rested both hands on Matt’s hips. Matt turned around to face him, bent down to kiss him as Peter turned his face up to Matt. As they kissed, Peter reached under Matt’s sweater, found the zip of his jeans, began to undo it.
Oh yes. Yes, please. It might be an attempt to distract Matt from any fears he might have about the mention of Harrison. Or an attempt to atone for that mention. But Matt didn’t care what it was for. Anytime Peter wanted to touch him, make him come, he was up for it.
He was up for it right now. Or at least quickly, once Peter reached in and stroked his cock. It hardened rapidly, filling Peter’s hand. Matt wanted it to fill something else, but fucking wasn’t on the agenda. That had become more a nighttime activity for them. Peter eased the hard cock out, wary of the teeth of the zip. Matt, getting hot, pulled his sweater off and undid a few buttons of his shirt to improve access. His cock stood out stiff and pink, a little of its fluffy nest of light-brown hair peeking out of the jeans.
Peter rested his hands on Matt’s hips again and bent forward to slide his lips over the head of the cock, down the hot shaft, engulfing it in warmth. Matt groaned and rested one hand on Peter’s head. He resisted the urge to pull him closer. Peter knew what he was doing. He didn’t suck on it like a Popsicle. He did all kinds of delightful things with his tongue, driving Matt crazy with lust. Matt stroked his hair. It was long enough to run fingers through. They were all due the monthly haircut. Matt’s was turning into a shaggy mop. So it was good to be able to do this before Peter went back to the number-one allover crop.
Matt had enough nails left after the dummy building with R.J. to rake them softly over Peter’s scalp, making him jump and then squirm. He liked that. His scalp seemed very sensitive. Matt watched him move one hand down to rub himself through his pants. So Matt would be getting a mouthful in a minute. His mouth watered at the prospect. The prospect of sucking Peter off drove him faster toward his climax. He ground his hips at Peter, who bobbed his head, faster and faster, sucking harder, less teasing, more in earnest. Matt was transfixed, watching his cock slide in and out of Peter’s beautiful mouth.
“Oh fuck,” he moaned. With his free hand he gripped the shoulder of Peter’s shirt, twisting the fabric in his fist. “So good, Peter, so good. Fuck!” He muffled the last exclamation against his shoulder, because otherwise he’d have yelled loud enough to be heard in Moosonee as he came. It was so good, so hot, so perfect…too much. He pulled back, and Peter let him out carefully. Matt stood over him, hands on his shoulders, panting, trying not to put too much weight on Peter, who looked up at him. He was still stroking himself slowly, waiting for Matt to be ready, to recover. His eyes were so beautiful. A million threads of brown of every shade, intermingled with highlights of amber and gold.
“I love you,” Matt whispered.
“I love you too, Matt.” He never sounded quite as sincere as Matt might have hoped. Always had an edge that suggested he said it only to please Matt. That it didn’t mean quite the same as what Matt said.
He never said it first.
Chapter Twenty
“It’s real.”
Every member of the group crammed into the radio room held his or her breath as Abby from the air force base spoke to them. Her voice was over a thousand miles distant, but they all heard the awe in it.
“Our recon party came back,” she went on. “They’d all had the vaccine, and they showed the rest of us. It works. Zombies ignore them. The rest of us have taken the vaccine too.”
“Were there any adverse reactions?” Peter asked.
“A couple of people had mild flu symptoms for a couple of days. But those went away, and they’re fine. We’d captured a zombie, and we can dance around it shouting, ‘Come and get me,’ and it takes no more notice than it would of a tree.”
“So what now for you guys?” R.J. asked. “Are you going to this Vaccine City, wherever it is?”
“We’re discussing it. We’re a large group to move, and people feel quite attached to our base. Feel safe here. It will take some planning.”
“Can you tell us where this Vaccine City is?” R.J. asked.
“No. We don’t have the coordinates yet. We have to radio them when we decide to go, and they’ll tell us.”
“This is amazing news, Abby,” R.J. said. “We wish you folks well. Maybe we’ll all meet up soon.”
“I hope so. Signing off, you guys. We’re real busy here. Call me again if you need to know more.”
R.J. signed off and shut down the radio. He looked around at the group crowding behind him, half of them talking nineteen to the dozen to one another and the other half silent and thoughtful.
“Let’s take this to the rec room,” he said.
They reconvened there in a few minutes, nobody bothering about tea or anything.
“So it’s real,” R.J. said. “Assuming we trust Abby as a reliable source, and I do, then it’s real.”
“And we’ve heard the same story from other contacts,” Jay pointed out. “About the vaccine men.”
“None of whom have had the vaccine themselves, though,” Peter pointed out. He had to sound a note of caution, but he believed too that Abby and her group were a reliable source. They’d spoken to several other people there in the past. Abby at least wasn’t a crazy person with a radio pretending to be part of a large group.
“We’ve all had plenty of time to think since the last meeting,” R.J. said. “We’ve only been waiting for this confirmation. We have it, so let’s vote. Do we stay here, or do we contact Moosonee and ask for a ride?”
“Couldn’t we maybe think about it for another night?” Brooks asked. “You know, sleep on it.”
“We’ve all had plenty of time to sleep on it. I assume you’ve all thought through which way you’d vote in the event Abby told us it’s real. Why wait?”
“Deciding hypothetically what you’d do is different from the reality, Mr. Russell,” Crawford said. “However, I agree with you. We have to make a choice, so why wait even one night?”
“Are we doing a secret ballot?” Matt asked. When he got some glares, he raised his hands defensively. “Hey, it’s the heart of democracy. That’s what they taught me at school.”
“Mr. Warner is right,” Crawford said. R.J. looked ready to object, but then he shrugged.
“Okay, fine. A secret ballot.”
“I’ll make the ballot papers,” Louise said. “Someone find us something to use as a ballot box.”
“We’ll do it in one hour,” Crawford said. A concession to those who wanted to think more about it. “Come back here then, and we’ll do it.”
“I catch anyone trying to influence anyone else’s vote, I’ll kick their ass,” R.J. said, garnering frowns of disapproval. He apparently didn’t care. “And keep to yourself which way you want to vote. If we’re going to do this by the rules, then we do it by all the rules.”
Peter filled in the hour by working in the infirmary. He was pretty sure how the result of the ballot would go, so he had to start looking at what medical supplies he could carry out of here. They would have more supplies in Moosonee. He’d have to speak to whoever was in charge of their medical facilities there, see what they had. After they got there, he’d have to put together a medical kit for their journey across country to find these vaccine guys and then…
“Peter.” Matt was at the door. “Can I come in? Am I disturbing you?”
“Come in. No, you’re not disturbing me. Have a seat.” Matt didn’t. He wandered around the room, sometimes picking things up at random before putting them down again. Peter watched him, waited.
Chapter Nineteen
R.J. walked into the rec room in the afternoon, wearing outdoor gear.
“Everybody outside,” he said. “Time for more training.”
There were several groans and complaints of “But we did it this morning.”
“Firearms training,” R.J. said.
“Where’s Matt?” Louise asked. “He’d better not be trying to get out of it.”
“He’s outside,” R.J. said. “He’s been helping me out. Get your coats on and be out in the south yard in ten minutes.”
“Any idea what Matt’s been helping him with?” Louse asked Peter as they all crammed into the long, narrow drying room and donned coats, hats, gloves, and boots.
“He wouldn’t say.” For the past few days Matt had been disappearing into the workshop with R.J. for a couple of hours every day. One time Matt and R.J. had taken the ATVs down to the beach half a mile away and come back with sacks full of sand in the trailers. Matt had returned from these sessions looking grim and welcomed the distraction of Peter’s lips and hands and cock.
“We’re about to find out.” Louise put a woolen hat on, her long hair streaming out of the back of it, and followed the others as they trooped out into the yard.
R.J. and Matt were out there already, standing amid a crowd. Dotted around the yard were people-sized dummies and targets. The targets were mere flat screens—thin wooden frames with burlap stretched across them. The dummies were more elaborate mannequins, made of sacking stuffed with the sand Matt and R.J. had brought from the beach. All were painted crudely with faces and sketched-in clothing in their bodies. Some of them were child-sized. Peter caught Matt’s eye, and Matt grimaced and looked away. He seemed almost ashamed.
The group stood looking at the dummies and targets in a nervous silence. Like the reality of what they’d face on the mainland had hit home. Most of them hadn’t seen the zombies from the wrecked boat. These crude dummies didn’t even come close to having the same effect. But everyone here was smart and imaginative enough to turn them in their minds into the real thing.
“You all know how to use the rifles,” R.J. said. “And I’ll teach you how to use the two handguns we have. When we go ashore, we’ll find more weapons so everyone has a rifle and handgun each. We don’t know for sure how it’s going to be there, but the people we’ve been in contact with report enough zombies still around that we have to be ready to fight them. They form into packs, apparently, so we have to be ready to meet a large group of them.”
“That pack behavior is interesting,” Crawford said. “Can they have a perception of being more effective in a group and actively seek others like them? Or is it a survival of the human need for the company of others?”
“Perhaps we can have a discussion about that later,” R.J. said. “Today, let’s talk about killing them. Or rather, stopping them. Since they’re already dead.”
“And don’t underestimate the effect of the smell of that,” Jay said. “They really stink.” She’d been there the day one of them nearly got Matt, at the Norwegian station. Peter’s blood ran cold, as he remembered seeing Matt brought back injured. Later R.J. had asked Peter if he was certain Matt had no bite marks on him, and Peter hated to think what R.J. would have done if Matt had been bitten. He glanced over at Matt, who might not have been here if that zombie had gotten to him faster. Peter gritted his teeth. Okay. He hated guns. He’d treated too many innocents with gunshot wounds in the ER. But they were not going to be shooting innocents. This had to be done.
“You have to go for the head,” R.J. said. He put an arm around one of the burlap zombies and patted its fake chest. “I was trained to aim for the center of mass. There’s a better chance of hitting a target there. But in this case, that would be nothing but a waste of time and ammunition. It would barely slow them down. You have to go for the head. That’s hard, but we have at least got the advantage that they don’t move as fast as the living and they don’t even try to duck. It’s not quite shooting fish in a barrel, but it’s not like shooting at a crowd of humans. Because if you fire on humans, the ones who aren’t hit will probably run away. These things will keep on coming.”
The group stirred nervously at his words. Peter wondered how many people ashore had been well armed, good shots, but had in the end been overwhelmed because they couldn’t shoot enough zombies fast enough to stop them coming.
“That’s when the whole ‘running the fuck away’ strategy comes into play,” R.J. said. “Excuse my language, ladies.”
The rifles were familiar enough. The handguns… The only time Peter had held one was when he’d found it tucked in the waistband of a shot-up kid on the gurney in front of him. A gangbanger, the cops called him. But a shot-up kid to Peter. Peter hated handguns more than any other weapon. When R.J. held one out to him for his turn with it, he hesitated.
“C’mon, Doc,” R.J. said. “I appreciate your feelings about these things—”
“I highly doubt that,” Peter said. Matt came up to his side, though he didn’t speak, simply stood there, offering the support of his presence.
“It isn’t only for your own protection,” R.J. said. “It’s for the whole group.”
Matt moved a bit closer so the others, busy with their practice, couldn’t hear. “You’ve taken care of us all this time. This is one way you’ll take care of us in the future.”
Peter swallowed and reached out for the gun. Matt placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezed it reassuringly. Peter closed his hand around the grip. The worst part was how the thing just…fit. Like it loved to be in a hand. It didn’t feel too heavy when R.J. let go and Peter took the full weight of it. Though it had solidity and heft and would doubtless start to feel pretty heavy if held out for long enough.
R.J. showed him the best stance and how to support his wrist with his other hand, military style.
“All of that’s great if you have time to get into the stance and aim,” R.J. said after Peter fired off a few shots at some tin-can targets also set up. “But I’ll bet a lot of the time we’re talking point shooting—that is having to react fast to a threat that appears suddenly.” He looked around at the group, firing on the targets, some with good stances and excellent accuracy, but Peter guessed what he was thinking.
“In situations like that, people are scared, and their accuracy goes way down.”
R.J. nodded. “Exactly right. Shooting at a target is one thing. But shooting at a person, zombie or alive, is a whole other thing. Shoot that target, Doc, now.”
He pointed at one nearby. Four feet tall, its face that of a girl.
Peter hesitated. He couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t a person; it was a stupid sack full of sand with a cartoonish face painted on it. But his brain turned it into a girl. He wished he had less imagination. He thrust that image away and fired. The target fell over and started oozing sand from an entry and exit wound in its head.
“Good shot,” R.J. said. “But you hesitated.”
“Yes.”
“Then that’s what we have to work on with you.”
* * * *
Matt found Peter brooding on his bed after the weapons training session. R.J. had called it firearms, but that had only been part of it. They’d moved on to axes and cleavers later. He was still getting over seeing Chandra run screaming at the dummy he’d named Bert and taking its head clean off with a long-handled ax. The weight of the ax spun her around, and he was surprised she could lift it, never mind swing it. But he remembered what Peter had said about her being stronger than she looked. When they went ashore, Matt thought he’d stick close to her.
“You okay?” he asked Peter, who barely acknowledged him when he came in.
Peter sighed and rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Just…thinking.”
Matt came over and sat by him on the edge of the bed.
“The firearms stuff upset you. I could tell. I guess you’ve seen so many victims in your work. Kids and everything.”
“Yeah, that upset me. You even made kid-sized dummies.”
Matt grimaced. “I know. But it’s what we’ll see. Children won’t have been spared. I think…I think we have to see it as mercy killing. They’re not people anymore. I know I wouldn’t want to be left that way. I wouldn’t want to see anyone I cared about left that way. It’s mercy.”
Peter took his hand. “I don’t know if that’s true. Are they suffering? The person inside is dead. Gone. There’s no personality or consciousness there. Mercy killing is to end suffering. All doctors, with a dying patient, someone terminally ill, in pain…” He trailed off, then swallowed hard and spoke again. “Sometimes they even ask for it. Sometimes the doctor gives a higher dose of morphine than is needed. To…ease the path. That’s mercy.”
Matt squeezed his hand. “We can’t know that no part of the person’s mind survives. It’s their brain, and bits of it must still be working if they’re walking around. We can’t know if some part of them that knows who they are and what’s happening to them isn’t still in there. In which case, yes, it’s mercy to put them out of their misery.”
“I keep thinking about what would happen if I found Harrison…like that.” He shuddered. “Could I pull the trigger on him? Or if it happened to you. If that one at the Norwegian station had bitten you.”
“Peter, I promise that if I’m still capable of it, I’d do it myself. You don’t have to worry about that.”
Harrison, though. He was talking about finding Harrison. Since they were unlikely to run into the guy in Moosonee, then it had at least crossed Peter’s mind to go looking for him. Matt couldn’t blame him for that, could he? If Matt somehow got back in New Zealand, he knew he would go looking for his parents. Only the impossibility of ever getting there made him accept he’d never see them again. In a way that was for the best, because in his mind, his little fantasy world, they were safe at their isolated sheep station, living on mutton and lamb and missing their boy, but alive. Reality might be different, but he’d never know.
He moved to get up, but Peter kept hold of his hand. “Matt, wait. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned Harrison.”
“It’s okay. You can talk to me about anything you like. I want you to talk to me.” He didn’t want any secrets between them. He wanted to know every part of Peter.
“But I am sorry.” Peter let go and rested both hands on Matt’s hips. Matt turned around to face him, bent down to kiss him as Peter turned his face up to Matt. As they kissed, Peter reached under Matt’s sweater, found the zip of his jeans, began to undo it.
Oh yes. Yes, please. It might be an attempt to distract Matt from any fears he might have about the mention of Harrison. Or an attempt to atone for that mention. But Matt didn’t care what it was for. Anytime Peter wanted to touch him, make him come, he was up for it.
He was up for it right now. Or at least quickly, once Peter reached in and stroked his cock. It hardened rapidly, filling Peter’s hand. Matt wanted it to fill something else, but fucking wasn’t on the agenda. That had become more a nighttime activity for them. Peter eased the hard cock out, wary of the teeth of the zip. Matt, getting hot, pulled his sweater off and undid a few buttons of his shirt to improve access. His cock stood out stiff and pink, a little of its fluffy nest of light-brown hair peeking out of the jeans.
Peter rested his hands on Matt’s hips again and bent forward to slide his lips over the head of the cock, down the hot shaft, engulfing it in warmth. Matt groaned and rested one hand on Peter’s head. He resisted the urge to pull him closer. Peter knew what he was doing. He didn’t suck on it like a Popsicle. He did all kinds of delightful things with his tongue, driving Matt crazy with lust. Matt stroked his hair. It was long enough to run fingers through. They were all due the monthly haircut. Matt’s was turning into a shaggy mop. So it was good to be able to do this before Peter went back to the number-one allover crop.
Matt had enough nails left after the dummy building with R.J. to rake them softly over Peter’s scalp, making him jump and then squirm. He liked that. His scalp seemed very sensitive. Matt watched him move one hand down to rub himself through his pants. So Matt would be getting a mouthful in a minute. His mouth watered at the prospect. The prospect of sucking Peter off drove him faster toward his climax. He ground his hips at Peter, who bobbed his head, faster and faster, sucking harder, less teasing, more in earnest. Matt was transfixed, watching his cock slide in and out of Peter’s beautiful mouth.
“Oh fuck,” he moaned. With his free hand he gripped the shoulder of Peter’s shirt, twisting the fabric in his fist. “So good, Peter, so good. Fuck!” He muffled the last exclamation against his shoulder, because otherwise he’d have yelled loud enough to be heard in Moosonee as he came. It was so good, so hot, so perfect…too much. He pulled back, and Peter let him out carefully. Matt stood over him, hands on his shoulders, panting, trying not to put too much weight on Peter, who looked up at him. He was still stroking himself slowly, waiting for Matt to be ready, to recover. His eyes were so beautiful. A million threads of brown of every shade, intermingled with highlights of amber and gold.
“I love you,” Matt whispered.
“I love you too, Matt.” He never sounded quite as sincere as Matt might have hoped. Always had an edge that suggested he said it only to please Matt. That it didn’t mean quite the same as what Matt said.
He never said it first.
Chapter Twenty
“It’s real.”
Every member of the group crammed into the radio room held his or her breath as Abby from the air force base spoke to them. Her voice was over a thousand miles distant, but they all heard the awe in it.
“Our recon party came back,” she went on. “They’d all had the vaccine, and they showed the rest of us. It works. Zombies ignore them. The rest of us have taken the vaccine too.”
“Were there any adverse reactions?” Peter asked.
“A couple of people had mild flu symptoms for a couple of days. But those went away, and they’re fine. We’d captured a zombie, and we can dance around it shouting, ‘Come and get me,’ and it takes no more notice than it would of a tree.”
“So what now for you guys?” R.J. asked. “Are you going to this Vaccine City, wherever it is?”
“We’re discussing it. We’re a large group to move, and people feel quite attached to our base. Feel safe here. It will take some planning.”
“Can you tell us where this Vaccine City is?” R.J. asked.
“No. We don’t have the coordinates yet. We have to radio them when we decide to go, and they’ll tell us.”
“This is amazing news, Abby,” R.J. said. “We wish you folks well. Maybe we’ll all meet up soon.”
“I hope so. Signing off, you guys. We’re real busy here. Call me again if you need to know more.”
R.J. signed off and shut down the radio. He looked around at the group crowding behind him, half of them talking nineteen to the dozen to one another and the other half silent and thoughtful.
“Let’s take this to the rec room,” he said.
They reconvened there in a few minutes, nobody bothering about tea or anything.
“So it’s real,” R.J. said. “Assuming we trust Abby as a reliable source, and I do, then it’s real.”
“And we’ve heard the same story from other contacts,” Jay pointed out. “About the vaccine men.”
“None of whom have had the vaccine themselves, though,” Peter pointed out. He had to sound a note of caution, but he believed too that Abby and her group were a reliable source. They’d spoken to several other people there in the past. Abby at least wasn’t a crazy person with a radio pretending to be part of a large group.
“We’ve all had plenty of time to think since the last meeting,” R.J. said. “We’ve only been waiting for this confirmation. We have it, so let’s vote. Do we stay here, or do we contact Moosonee and ask for a ride?”
“Couldn’t we maybe think about it for another night?” Brooks asked. “You know, sleep on it.”
“We’ve all had plenty of time to sleep on it. I assume you’ve all thought through which way you’d vote in the event Abby told us it’s real. Why wait?”
“Deciding hypothetically what you’d do is different from the reality, Mr. Russell,” Crawford said. “However, I agree with you. We have to make a choice, so why wait even one night?”
“Are we doing a secret ballot?” Matt asked. When he got some glares, he raised his hands defensively. “Hey, it’s the heart of democracy. That’s what they taught me at school.”
“Mr. Warner is right,” Crawford said. R.J. looked ready to object, but then he shrugged.
“Okay, fine. A secret ballot.”
“I’ll make the ballot papers,” Louise said. “Someone find us something to use as a ballot box.”
“We’ll do it in one hour,” Crawford said. A concession to those who wanted to think more about it. “Come back here then, and we’ll do it.”
“I catch anyone trying to influence anyone else’s vote, I’ll kick their ass,” R.J. said, garnering frowns of disapproval. He apparently didn’t care. “And keep to yourself which way you want to vote. If we’re going to do this by the rules, then we do it by all the rules.”
Peter filled in the hour by working in the infirmary. He was pretty sure how the result of the ballot would go, so he had to start looking at what medical supplies he could carry out of here. They would have more supplies in Moosonee. He’d have to speak to whoever was in charge of their medical facilities there, see what they had. After they got there, he’d have to put together a medical kit for their journey across country to find these vaccine guys and then…
“Peter.” Matt was at the door. “Can I come in? Am I disturbing you?”
“Come in. No, you’re not disturbing me. Have a seat.” Matt didn’t. He wandered around the room, sometimes picking things up at random before putting them down again. Peter watched him, waited.
