Stung (Zombie Gentlemen) (10 page)

He clenched his eyes in fear, trying to back off
as much as possible. “The right kind of man... wouldn’t be doing this,” he
rasped. The stench of rot was making him nauseous.

“How long have you known him for?” Iron Teeth dug
his fingers into Victor's collarbone, making him flinch at the sudden flash of
pain.

“Whom? Mr. Crunch?” Victor peeked at the zombie
and a shiver went down his body at the sight of its mindless eyes. The constant
buzzing fluctuated around him, turning his legs into jelly.

“Who else, idiot?” Sharpe growled and reached for
a long, sleek rifle from his back.

“Since I came to the camp! A few days!” Victor
sunk to his knees, clutching at Sharpe’s belt. He didn’t dare look him in the
eyes, so he focused on the buckle instead. Blood drained from his face when he
noticed that the engraving on the plate pictured a headless woman. “Please, let
me go!” The adrenaline was pumping so hard in his veins, it made the pain in
his hand disappear. The clattering of the zombies’ teeth behind him had him
shaking. Sharpe’s gloved fingers forced him to look up.

“So how do you know what kind of man he is, huh?”
Sharpe raised his eyebrows and slid the end of the rifle against Victor’s
cheek. “You have no idea what he is capable of.”

The cold metal set Victor’s skin on fire. He
squeezed his eyes shut, breaking into a terrified sob. “I’m telling the truth!”

“Crunch, learnin’ to sing? You’re insultin’ me!”
Sharpe growled and pulled away, just to reach for a bucket smelling of gore. “I
think you need to see how hungry this field is.”

“No! Please, sir,” rasped Victor, forcing himself
to breathe. His whole body was hurting. “I’m not lying! He has a lady friend
back in the city! He wants to impress her!” He lost all control over the tone
of his voice.

“Oh yeah? What did he tell you about that ‘lady
friend’?” Sharpe sounded sceptical at best as he moved the end of the rifle
over Victor’s lips.

“That she’s beautiful! Not much,” he whined,
trying not to let his tears spill, even though his whole body was trembling.
What if Iron Teeth fired that rifle into his face?

“You will feed Mr. Hands here. He looks hungry.”
The cold rifle dug into Victor's lips, pushing past them, and the living corpse
nearby gurgled as if to confirm. Victor winced as the metal scraped the edge of
his teeth. Too shocked to protest, he just looked at Sharpe, feeling wetness
trail down his cheeks. And where was Crunch when he actually needed his
protection?

“Are you feedin’ it, talkin’, or do you want me to
shoot?” Sharpe’s voice was just like his teeth - inhuman.

Victor yelled into the barrel, all fidgety with
panic. He would talk. Of course he would talk! He wasn’t sure if the metallic
taste in his mouth was just the rifle, or if it was his gums bleeding. He
backed off, dropping the gun from his mouth and gave Sharpe an intense look.
“He even took my mother’s engagement ring for this woman!” he cried. If Iron
Teeth really wanted information, he would take his time to check it out, and
the bluff did seem to work, as Sharpe pulled the rifle away and gave Victor a
glare.

“Oh yeah? What kind of ring was it?”

Victor let out a strangled sob, but nodded to
acknowledge the command to talk. “Gold, a bit like a laurel crown... with a
ruby...” His breath hitched and he bit his lip to stop the urge to cry louder.
He was in pieces. All he wanted was to get away from this monstrous man. He
wanted to tell Crunch... no, he didn’t want to tell him. They shouldn’t be
seeing one another at all when they were being watched. He didn’t want to end
up in a situation like this ever again! He needed to get away and he would do
it today if the rest of the group agreed.

“I suppose it won’t be of any use to you anymore.”
Sharpe hauled Victor away from the zombie. A tension Victor didn’t realize was
gripping his body suddenly left him, and he slumped to the ground like a rag
doll. He wiped his tears away with his hand only to realize it was the injured
one. He could taste copper again.

“I suppose I don’t have to tell you this little
meetin’ was between us only?” Sharpe put the rifle on his back, but it came
like from another word as the buzz around Victor became more agitated again. He
pulled up his shirt, desperate to quickly wipe the blood away, but when
something brushed against his bare stomach, he pushed the fabric down, closing
a hairy, buzzing, ball of legs and wings under his shirt.

Pain seared through his whole body at the sting.
He wanted to scream, but there was not enough air left in his lungs, and with a
gurgle, he fell into the dirt, knocking over the bucket. Through the veil of
blurred vision, he saw clamping jaws, but it was all fading away like the sun
on the horizon. In the pulp of gore that spilled out of the feeding bucket,
there was a solid shape. Victor squeezed his eyes shut only to open them again.
A severed human foot was the last thing he saw.

Chapter
7

Crunch hid the drugs he got from his informers in
a small trunk under the bed as soon as he got them and today, once again, he
checked if the tin was still there, untouched. The stress of his mission,
Sharpe trying to replace him as a supervising guard, and the unexpected
explosion of sex in the past few days got him all edgy and snappy. He couldn’t
rest in any other way than being with Victor, and the mere thought of failing
in the last days before taking over the camp made him wish he didn’t have to
sleep. Just in case.

He scratched his head and picked up a list of the
supplies the camp needed to order from Bylondon. This piece of paper was the
reason for Sharpe's constant sniffing around Crunch's feet. He didn't just want
the superiority over the hungry, overworked prisoners. What he wanted was the
respect of his comrades and an important job that wouldn't be entrusted to just
any man. So far, it hadn't been granted to him. No wonder he was crawling up
the walls. But instead of putting in the work and being efficient, he preferred
to try and find dirt on other guards. All Crunch could hope for was that it
would all end soon.

He put on his leather jacket, as the weather took
a sudden change for the worse today, and he walked out straight into the
drizzle. He managed to put Victor on the henhouse duty, so he wouldn’t soak and
get pneumonia like all those poor souls working in the orchard. It got several
people so far, and he wouldn’t risk it with that boy.

He ran straight to the small cottage occupied by
mister Dorset, the governor of Honeyhill, and his closest companions. It was
the only house in the camp that wasn’t made of wood and therefore, was far more
comfortable than the other lodgings available to guards. He walked right in,
looking into the living room, but all he saw were two sleeping men. One dozed
off in an armchair by the fire, while the other covered himself with a naked
woman with whom he was laying on the sofa.

Crunch cursed beneath his breath and walked
through the simple but cozy room, to knock on the door of Dorset’s bedroom. Why
would he fucking tell Crunch he needed the list of required supplies as fast as
possible, just to have guests hours later? Fucking knobhead.

“Getin!” called the governor from behind the door.
Crunch didn’t even flinch when he entered, only to discover Dorset in bed with
his sort-of-wife, as he called her. The girl was sleeping, her dirty feet sticking
out from under the duvet to stare at him.

As much as he wanted it not to, it did make him
think of Victor. Was it the same way between them?

“Mornin’ Mr. Dorset!”

“Mornin’, Crunch. Good thing ya didn’t come ova
fifteen minits ago!” The man laughed, touching his bald head with pride, as if
he wanted to stress he still could fuck. Good for him. He probably only had a
few more fucks left before he gets killed. Who knew, maybe Crunch would even
have a chance to do it himself? The killing, not the fucking.

“Oh yeah?” Crunch laughed and winked. “Maybe I
should have!”

Dorset waved his hand. “Gimme the list. I‘m not
sharin’ ‘er.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Crunch quickly laughed it off and
walked up to the huge bed, obviously stolen from some nearby mansion. He passed
him the piece of paper. “Here ya go, sir.” Dorset loved to be addressed with
overt respect and sucking up to his bloated ego was something that got Crunch
so high in the first place. Too bad the aftertaste was always so bitter.

He was grateful for being dismissed and sped down
to the henhouse. The small jar of honey he carried in the jacked kept bumping
into his rib with each stride. He couldn’t wait to sneak Victor out for an hour
or two. Crunch could have him lick the honey off his fingers. Or his cock. Or he
could be licking it off Victor if the lad agreed to share.

He sped to the huge henhouse, brushing the wetness
out of his short hair as soon as he had a roof over his head. Even here, the
air was cool and wet, though much heavier than outside. He looked at a thin man
who was feeding the clucking chickens by a feeder, and walked down the long
wall in order to find Victor. And a guard who could release him into Crunch's
care. That lad had the smoothest skin. As if he hadn’t worked a day in his
life, which was probably close to the truth.

He picked up his pace when he saw a familiar,
broad-shouldered figure ahead. “Hi, Tony.” He gave the other guard a lazy wave.

The man nodded at him. “Mornin’.”

“Lookin’ for that canary boy. He ‘ere?”

Tony shrugged. “Ah, no, they gave him another job.
Was too clumsy for the eggs today. What do you need him for?”

Crunch drew in a sharp breath, surprised by the
question. “I got an idea for this... thing. Could use ‘is skill in it. Where is
the useless thing now?”

“No clue. One of the guys just took him away.”
Tony fished an apple out of his pocket and bit into it with a loud cracking
noise. That for some reason made Crunch think of Victor’s nose being broken. It
gave him the most unsettling feeling.

“I ‘ope he’s...” Crunch chewed on his words for a
while, taking the time to get out his pipe and tobacco. “Who took ‘im?”

Tony sighed, closing his eyes to think. “Ah...
might have been Jones... I didn’t really look at his face, and he had one of
those rain cloaks. One of those poor buggers who work outside.”

“Canary’s gonna get his feathers wet.” Crunch
chuckled though all he wanted was to go and get Victor out of the rain and into
his trousers. But that would be too suspicious. He had to wait till evening.

With a sigh, he touched the honey pot through the
leather of his jacket.

“And you?” Tony shrugged. “Shouldn’t you be
wearing a cloak for the patrol?”

Crunch intended to take Victor to the watchtower
again, so he decided to skip the uncomfortable garment. It was a strange thing
to do, and he needed to take Tony’s thoughts off it.

“Yeah, but the weather’s shit. Gonna ‘ave a smoke
first. Ya want some?” He grinned at the other guard and already knew the answer
would be ‘yes’.

***

The rain stopped early in the afternoon, but the
air remained quite cool, which made Crunch worried for the prisoners who were
forced to work in their wet clothes no doubt. By the time he got off duty, the
workers were being led to their lodgings, some of them stopping for their
shower. Each barrack had theirs three times a week, which was surprisingly
generous. Crunch assumed Dorset wasn’t keen on his men getting lice or other
parasites from the workers.

He made his way towards the facilities, which were
showers only by name. It was in fact just a row of five hoses pouring cold
water over the person below, without any privacy whatsoever, but since the
sexes were separated at all times, it wasn't much of a problem. A far cry from
the guards’ steam room.

He whistled, trying to appear casual, but the
moment he saw Victor, he was like a tiger pouncing on its prey. He sped up, his
eyes fixed on the hunched form. Victor wasn’t talking to anyone as he stood in
the queue, hugging his arms around himself to keep the cold at bay. All Crunch
wanted was to pull him underneath his cloak and hug him close. Victor must have
had some terrible job today, as there was a bloodied rag on his hand. Poor lad
hurt himself.

As he approached, Victor finally noticed him, but
when he looked up, there was something very odd in his face. His expression was
hard to decipher, but a far cry from the polite smiles Crunch was used to
receive from him in public. Now, with his brows furrowed and mouth tightly
shut, Victor looked less than welcoming. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

It made Crunch stop for half a step, but then
walked up closer. All he said was, “Come with me.”

Victor’s gaze dropped. His face was grimed with
some kind of dust and so was his hair. Could he be angry with Crunch for
allowing the transfer to a shitty job?

“I’d rather not.”

Something clenched in Crunch’s gut. Just
yesterday, Victor told him he would like to go with him to Bylondon, and now he
didn't even want to go anywhere? Could this be how he really felt all along?
Victor’s words were barely audible, but Crunch noticed the other prisoners
stepping away. He knew he had to give them a taste of what they anticipated was
the punishment for defying a guard.

“Do I look like I care?” he growled and grabbed
Victor’s arm, though he hated himself for it and wanted nothing more than to
crawl into bed alone and hide. Had Victor lied? Did he not want the sex?

The arm in his grip was stiff like a naked bone,
but Victor didn’t fight him and followed, with his head hanging low enough for
the chestnut hair to obscure most of his face from Crunch’s view. Crunch nodded
at Jones and Sharpe who supervised the showers and led Victor away, making sure
the process looked rougher than it actually was.

In a perfect world, he would have given the poor
shivering mess his coat, but it wasn’t an option. Without a word, he guided
Victor back to the henhouse, so at least they weren’t standing in the cold. The
grim, wooden building was now completely dark and empty.

The lad was dead silent except for the hitching
breath that sounded like a child trying to play a trumpet. The cold seemed to
get to him. In the shadows of the henhouse, Crunch couldn’t see Victor’s face
that well as they walked between the piles of sacks containing seed.

When they eventually stopped, deep in the supply
room, the silence was still biting into Crunch, more viciously with every
second.

“That’s fine!” he said in the end, a lot louder
than he intended. “I won’t bother ya. I just... couldn’t walk away in front of
the others.” After yet another sigh, Crunch fished out the honey out of his
pocket and pushed it into Victor’s healthy hand. The fantasy of having it
licked off his own cock was fading away.

Victor made a small, incoherent move, clutching
the small jar like it was the most important thing in the world and of course,
it was. It was food. “I didn’t want to be disrespectful.” He pushed the
bandaged hand under his armpit, still keeping his head low.

“It’s fine.” Crunch mumbled and leaned against the
wall. He could already imagine this would be an excruciating ten minutes.

“No, it’s not.” Victor gave a shuddery breath,
lifting his head to look at him. The white of his eyes stood out in the dark.
So did the colour of his teeth and for a moment, Crunch got the impression he
saw something out of place, but was quick to dismiss it. “I’m sorry.”

“No need. Told ya, I’ll feed ya anyway.” Crunch
meant it, but couldn’t help the scowl on his face. He didn’t remember the last
time he felt so humiliated. And by someone whose life depended on him. Victor
needed so much help, yet still preferred to reject him. Crunch craved smashing
his fist into someone's face.

Victor dropped his gaze again, bringing the honey
jar close to his chest. “We shouldn't have started sneaking around. People are
talking,” he mumbled.

“Sayin’ what?”

“That it’s strange you keep taking me away. It’s
been a mistake.” Victor cleared his throat and dug his foot into the floor,
shuffling dirt with the sole of his sandal.

Crunch clenched his fists, biting the inside of
his mouth, so he wouldn’t scream. “Sorry, it won’t ‘appen again,” he whispered
through clenched teeth. His jaws tensed up so hard it hurt.

Victor made a strange, choked sound, and he
brought the jar up to his nose, as if he could smell the honey through the
glass.

“You know I’m as unhappy as you are, right? It’s
just... I can’t be in this position, with my whole barrack talking.”

Crunch wanted to say ‘I sure hope yar as unhappy’,
but he bit his tongue. He got as much of Victor as he could gobble up in a few
days, and he didn’t have the right to complain.

“No worries, I won’t bother ya. Hide the ‘oney. We
can go back.”

Victor cleared his throat and opened his mouth,
but whatever it was he was going to say, he changed his mind. He shoved the
honey into the pocket of his trousers with a blank expression.

“Go on.” Crunch sighed and gently pushed him
forward, but took the chance to stroke his back a few times. If he could at
least dry Victor’s clothes, so that the lad wouldn’t freeze at night...

Victor didn’t flinch. If anything, he leaned into
the touch. Maybe he wasn’t lying, maybe he was telling the truth about being
scared of his mates, but it didn’t make Crunch’s mood any better. They would
part in a few days, and he’d never get to touch him again. Crunch supposed he
got too excited about the lad anyway, since he knew from the start the affair
wouldn’t last long. At least he got a taste of a guy that he could never dream
of bedding back in London. It only bothered him how much he liked it. What if
the craving for someone like Victor lingered?

None of them said a thing on the way back, but he
supposed Victor was happy to still get a shower before dinner.

***

Victor curled up under his blanket, glad that his
bunkmate hasn’t shown up yet. The guy was smelly, and Victor still didn’t even
know his name. The only word he ever said to Victor was ‘move’. The honey jar
warmed up against his thigh, as he couldn’t decide whether he should eat its
contents or not. It would be nourishing, but after witnessing how it was made
today, he wasn’t certain if he wanted it that much. Especially that he didn’t
feel like he deserved it. Crunch was clearly disappointed, but kept his word,
and it made Victor feel like a cheat. If the world was fair, the honey would
taste bitter, because that’s what he felt about the situation. On the other
hand, he couldn’t let Crunch get too attached to him if he wanted to flee, and
it wasn’t like he could tell him about what Sharpe did. After the torment of
the day before, Victor couldn’t sleep at all, afraid Iron Teeth would come to
him at night and jam that cold barrel into his mouth again, breaking another
tooth. The swollen lump left by the bee sting was still tender and
occasionally, he experienced bouts of nausea he was told were the result of the
poison. Especially back in the dome, when he had to actually deal with the bees
again. This time at least, he got to wear the protective uniform.