Semester of the Dead MxM (Staten Krown)

14

I watch in the distance Nixon making a mad dash. He's fast. He told me that he ran a little track in his old life but really didn't have a passion for it. That didn't show in this moment. Maybe because he's running for his life. His feet hit the pavement like weighed down bricks as he pummels forward eyes focused, sweat blinding him so that he's squinting.

Behind him is a swarm. That's what Alaric called them. A swarm of zombies. He said when there were more it was a stampede. I wondered how many he meant. Maybe this was a stampede by now. I sure hoped not though. They are migrating up the hill that leads to supercenter where we went scavenging.

I'm waiting in a brush area isolated from the main road as to not alert the swarm of zombies following him. They have been driven to a bit of a frenzy. It wouldn't mean much if there were just a few of them. Even moving faster, they are clumsy monsters tripping over their own feet and barely able to manage their motor functions. But there is a large group of them, spitting, scratching, snapping at the air hoping that it was really Nixon in their grasp.

"Nixon! Over here," I scream when he gets close enough.

He doesn't hear me but when he gets close enough he sees me waving him down. I grab him and together we make it into the brush area. I'm so thankful that he's OK that I'm kissing him. I'm kissing him everywhere. It doesn't matter I'm tasting sweat at this moment. I'm just so grateful that he's alive.

"You OK?" I ask, "Please tell me you OK?"

"No bites," he states.

I exhale. This giant feeling of dread retreating for just a moment and I'm so happy that I kiss him again. This time it's full tongue. This time it gets almost heated when Nixon kisses me back pushing his tongue back into my mouth and pulling me close so that the sides of my back meld onto his waistline. Maybe it's the adrenaline of it all that gets him hard because his dick rises up onto my stomach at full alertness.

And maybe a part of me wants him right here right now, but there's just so much going on and Nixon wasn't alone when I had left him.

"Where's Alaric?" I ask.

Nixon shakes his head, "He didn't make it."

"Are you serious?"

Nixon sighs. His lower lip rattles as though we are having this discussion in Alaska rather than humid Georgia, "He's gone Sunday."

The words hit me like a ton of bricks. The pain courses through my body numbing me. When I hear the words my first reaction is not to believe them. So I get up, easily, without panicking and start walking back to the roads.

"No. Alaric's fine," I state.

I say as if I'm saying the sky is blue. Or the grass is green. Alaric is fine. I know it. In my soul somewhere deep where all the facts of the universe are buried.

"Where are you going?"

I don't respond. Matter of fact, instead of responding I take off running. I'm not as fast as Nixon. My legs aren't so long. I have an awkward run of a guy who was naturally slim and took exercising completely forgranted. Even in the apocalypse I am not fast enough. Not fast enough to get down the hill and past the swarm.

The swarm notices me. They come at me. I turn to run another way and they are there. No matter where I turn they were there. Maybe I ran the wrong way. Maybe I assumed since they were so clumsy I could just make a run past them.

I was wrong!

I realize how wrong I was when I slip in the mud and I come crashing down face first into the ground with a hard PLOOP! My face hits the ground so hard that I think I've lost a goddam tooth. I lift my head and only see blood.