Dry Storm
Las Vegas. Day 801 since the Day of Z.
The once glorious city of sin, full of neon lights, tourists, wealth, and popular culture stars that might have passed their prime. Last time I was here, I was with him, the man who swept me off my feet, the one I could not keep my hands off of. I was the simple yet flawless, plain yet incomparably beautiful girl by his side, with my hands holding his arms and my immaculate body in his favorite dresses. Now, I am here once again, when it is half buried in sand, but as a warrior woman, code name Slaylenna.
The sun was scorching. The sands were glowing, hot and dry, just like me. The replica Eiffel Tower, the Excalibur Hotel, the MGM Park, all half drowned in sand. There’s barely any walkable paths.
But it doesn’t matter now, it has been over two years since the very first outbreak. And the place is now overrun by zombies and marauders. The latter is the reason I’m here. He has been gone since just about half a year ago.
Marauders took him. He stood in the light with his hands held high after forcing me into a closet. Judging from the intelligence I bought, he might be kept in a base here. A group called “Seeders”. A rare faction made almost entirely of women. Normally I would applaud this much anticipated unity and operation of the oppressed. But unfortunately, for him, I need to go against them.
It’s still bright outside, so I am safe here and there’s very little risk of attracting the attention of the zombies if I don’t go into any buildings. Too bad, I must do so if I am to find him.
I go into a building to my left, a large luxury mall in its previous life, once frequented by socialites and fashionistas. I got my very first LV purse here. He got it for me, which he later insisted I throw away because he saw his fifth secretary carrying a bootleg copy.
The sand cools down when I go into the building through a broken stained glass window. The balcony on the second floor is now effectively the first floor. The shops are still in their original places. Not far from me stands an Hermes shop.
Hermes, I’ve never had enough of their things. So I go in.
The shop is not as empty as I thought. I see scarves, coats, bags and even belts. A lot of boxes are left on the floor, and in the corner of the store, lies a zombified man with only his upper body. He turns his face to me, gurgling and trying to say something. A bullet through his forehead shuts him up. I can’t risk his alerting other zombies, nor can I stand my beauty tainted by his rotten eyes.
His cold hands with half melted flesh were holding a pile of boxes. It appears that he was organizing the shelves in this shop. He was a staff here, even after turning into a zombie. I regret not asking him what’s in season first, but there’s nothing I can do now.
I bring a few coats and dresses with me to the changing room. It’s time to update my attire anyway. You can’t kick zombie or marauder ass looking like a hobo or a pick-me.
I recognize the changing room. He once brought me in here and had his way with me. I lose all the interest I have and just pick a stylish coat before heading deeper into the interconnected buildings.
Some zombies are gathering around a few gambling tables playing roulette. The lights are dim, but I can see them. After years of observation, it appears that some zombies are regaining certain levels of intelligence and memory from before they became zombies. And if these zombies were turned when they were still in Vegas, it’d make sense that they would be doing that.
“Where my pussy at!” Just this moment, a loud screech comes from a corner, immediately followed by footsteps heavier than those of an elephant. I hide in a corner, with my guns and my mini crossbow in hand. “Whe—--re my pussy at!?”
The zombies around roulette tables all stop what they’re doing and start to scurry away. But most of them have messed up legs and as hard as they try they’re not all able to escape. A foul, human shaped zombie with the height of at least five adult women appear. It has much thicker arms and legs proportion wise. And it has a giant gaping mouth, with sharp, crooked sharp teeth inside with three tongues.
Two gambler zombies in shiny suits are caught in the big zombie’s grasp. With a loud gulp, the large zombie swallows them in whole. They say gambling will lead you to a dark hole. It’s never truer than now.
I circle around the area to get away from this giant zombie. Its size makes killing it an arduous and wasteful effort.
I back into an empty hall through some broken glass walls. I walk downstairs into a doorway. This is not just another gambling place, but a theater. And what’s worse, there are zombies sitting in the seats, and a blonde female zombie in a male looking suit performing on the stage.
“Grrr - so - I was dating this really toxic male zombie right - ? Grrr - ” The blonde zombie limped around with one abnormally long leg and one normal leg, while trying to sound soft and lighthearted: “And on our first date, he tried to sneak under the table. Grrr - And I was like: ‘Damn boy, I know my coochie is delish, but you gotta find me some brains first!’ Don’t be a cheapass?” This line brings her some growls and gurgled laughs from the audience.
“Grrr - so then he was like: ‘Grrr - girrrrrl, why you so stingy! Show me some meat!’ And then I was like: ‘Can it, you duck face. My coochie is not for the cheap ass zombies, even for one with that half working dick!’”
“Damn!” “Woo-woo!” The zombie audience cheer. I don’t want to hear this. Not that the jokes aren’t funny, it’s just not the time.
Nonono, the jokes are definitely very funny. I need to tell my girlfriends that. I can’t let this aspiring comedienne be out-eared by a male zombie.
I circle from the back of the theater into another exit, gun in hand. Right outside of this side exit was a narrow walkway, at the end of which is another shop: YSL bags. I used to get three of those per year. One on my birthday, one on Valentine’s Day, and one whenever we have sex for the first time in a year, which is usually the midnight of January 1st.
The bag hanging beside the window is at least five seasons out of fashion. And it’s got a splash of blood on it. There must be no zombies organizing inventory in there.
I was just about to go in and see if there’s anything I’d want from those catalogs I had, when I saw the surveillance camera on a pillar. It’s still working and swinging from side to side. No zombies will be able to handle this.
I pull out my smartphone, use my personal ultrahack to hack into the wireless network used by the camera, break through their firewall and tap into their surveillance feeds. There’s a room full of humans gambling; there’s a room full of people having sex; there’s a room full of people watching the zombie comedienne’s show; and then, there’s a room with a big rose red bed, with a man tied onto it.
It’s him.
I hack the blueprint of this hidden bunker before going in. The room is marked as “Queen’s Pump Room”, and its registered owner is someone called Mama Milker.
I go into the room from the side door. It is indeed him. I can barely see his face, as he is wearing a mask. His hands are tied on the bedposts, as are his legs. His chiseled abs, on the other hand, I can always recognize.
“Why are you here!? Go!” He sees me as well. And he immediately urges me. “GO! If they find you, you’ll be in danger - ”
“Alright my fine specimen! Get ready for pump!” Just this moment, a large woman comes into the room holding a glass container and a large tube. She sees me, then immediately raises her voice: “Who the hell are you!?”
“I am Slaylenna, warrior, battle angel, daughter of Crimson Flame, Killer of Idiotic Zombies and Hackers of All Integrated Systems.” I answer, providing only the first section of my full name and title.
“It’s you! It’s really you!” The large woman takes a few steps back with her eyes widened: “The destroyer of Zombie Squadron, the Incinerator of Marauders, the Savior of Daughters!”
“Yes. That’s me. ” I nod at the large woman: “May I know what you’re doing with this man here?”
“He’s our best specimen.” The large woman hesitates, but decides to tell me the truth. “We are the Seeders. We are the provider of the finest human seeds for all the factions around this area.”
I understand now. But they made a mistake.
“I’m afraid you’re duped.” I shake my head: “He is definitely fine. But - his seeds are no good.”
“Why?”
“Because we used to have sex all the time. And I’m not pregnant.” I answer: “And none of his partners have been pregnant.”
The large woman takes a careful look at him, then me: “Are you sure? How do you prove it?”
“There’s a dark spot down there.” I point at a spot between his legs: “He’d tell you it’s from a bullet, but actually it’s from a metal straw during a fight. It’s still - still kinda of badass but could be a bit of a turn off…”
“Ewww!” The large woman backs off, then turns to me: “Alright, you can have him. It’s one thing to be shooting blanks. It’s another to have a metal straw scar on your butt. He’s yours now! Wait - are you - are you two a thing?”
“Yes.” “No.” His answer collides with mine. He looks at me, confused, and maybe a little hurt.
“We got into - an entanglement. Years ago.” I explain to the large woman.
“Ooof.” The large woman shakes her head: “Nothing worse than an entanglement.” She proceeds to untie him and tell the security guards of this place - all of whom are pleasant ladies with half shaved heads, to let us go.
“Thank you for coming to save me.” He says to me, trying to hold my hand.
I pull back, shaking my head: “I think that’s where our paths diverge from here. You can’t go with me.”
“But - why?” He asks, his voice and his eyes shaking, vibrating with emotion: “We’re finally together! I gave myself up for you!”
The last sentence pisses me off: “Who do you think you are!? I don’t need your saving! You know how I’ve spent all these years? Alone! Eating nothing but preserved food and drinking nothing but tasteless purified water! And trying to find you! And now you’re here, being jerked off by some other woman!”
His mouth moves, words of apology are about to pour out. But I stop him. I reach into my pocket, find a butter knife and hand it to him: “You’re on your own now. We’re through.”
Las Vegas. Day 802 since the Day of Z. The city is glowing, hot and dry, just like me.