“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday to A-nne, happy birthday to you!” the boys sing for me, and I laugh and blow out the candle stuck in the middle of the slab of Spam.
“Did you make a wish?” Malcolm asks.
“I did,” I say, my heated gaze meeting his with a smile.
I’m sixteen now. I never expected this to be my sixteenth birthday: trapped inside someone else’s house while the zombie apocalypse exploded around the world. My parents were shitty, but I still believed that there would be cake, and presents, my first car. A party with pretty dresses, balloons, and dancing. I expected Steph to be there, and she’d more than likely slip vodka into the punch bowl. I expected my parents to briefly show up and act like they gave a damn for one day. I never expected this.
I burst out crying, and Dean scowls at Malcolm and orders him to move the stupid Spam cake away from me. Then his arms are around me as he holds me close. I cry more because of his closeness, because I want these arms to be Malcolm’s or my dad’s or Steph’s—anyone’s but Dean’s. He kisses the top of my head and I cry harder.
“I told you this was a stupid idea,” he hisses at Malcolm.
I force myself out of his grip. “No, no, it’s fine, it’s great. It just makes things seem so much more real, you know. It’s just, this wasn’t how I expected my sixteenth birthday to be.” I look at them both. “I expected to be sharing it with my best friend, my family, and instead…” My words drown out and they both nod in understanding. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I think it just got a little overwhelming.”
I move toward the Spam cake and take the knife, cutting into it and carving it into three pieces. I place a piece on each plate and hand them to the boys with a smile and a sniffle. Malcolm takes it, eating the Spam in one mouthful. Dean takes a little longer, making sure to give extra time on giving Malcolm an evil look.
I can feel it in the air: things have shifted. Between me and Dean, me and Malcolm, and between Dean and Malcolm. As if me reaching sixteen has changed the whole dynamic of the group. Both men seem more possessive now, as if I’m a prize to be had. Their stares have become more focused on me and each other, as they both make it clear what they want. The whole thing makes me even more nervous, but there’s no way out of this. I haven’t left this house since this whole thing started. Three months we’ve been here. Food and water are running short now, gas is nearly non-existent, and winter is coming. I can’t leave here if I want to survive, yet I’m deeply frightened at the thought of staying, too.
*
I clear up from the little birthday party, cleaning the plates as best I can by wiping them off with a slightly damp cloth. We can’t afford to waste any water now, but we also don’t want to let any food on plates and silverware rot and go bad. Dean says we need to start eating directly from the cans now so we don’t have to worry about washing plates and things. Malcolm says we need to go on a supply run into town before winter really hits and we run out of everything. I agree with both boys. It’s already getting cold, and we’re already rationing food and water so much. At this rate we’ll never make it through winter. We gave up a month or so ago on any help coming. There has been neither sight nor sound of the army or government coming to help in any way. Malcolm makes weekly trips to the outskirts of town to see if there’s any change, to see if any help has arrived, but there never is.
As nighttime falls, I crawl into bed. We sleep in the little house under the house now; it’s too dangerous to sleep above ground. One night we woke to find three zombies breaking through the windows to get in at us. So now the windows are boarded up and we stay downstairs. Each morning both boys go out and kill any zombies that have turned up in the night. We have our little routine now, and it works.
I hear Dean’s breathing slow and gradually get louder before he begins to snore. I slide quietly out from under my covers. I creep past his bed and up the stairs, opening the door as soundlessly as possible. Malcolm is waiting for me in the living room, his body an outlined shadow in the dark. I move toward him, and his arms reach out to find me. They wrap around me immediately, his mouth finding mine instinctually.
He kisses me deeply, pulling me down onto the sofa with him, his hard body pressed against mine as his tongue invades my mouth. My hands cling to him, pulling at his clothes as his hands palm my breasts hungrily. We separate after a moment, both of us gasping for breath.
“Are you okay?” he whispers against my neck, invading the small space between my ear and throat with gentle kisses and making me sigh.
“Uh-huh,” I murmur, my hands finding the soft skin underneath his T-shirt and running my nails up it. He hisses and moves back to my mouth, kissing me harder.
He stands up and pulls his T-shirt off, letting it fall to the side, and I do the same with mine. He lays me down on the sofa and climbs on top of me, kisses the small crevice between my breasts and then each peak as he frees my breasts from their bra. I gasp as he bites my nipple, and I grind my hips against him, wanting the friction of him. We’ve been waiting for this moment alone together for weeks, and I am completely ready for him.
“Are you sure?” he whispers against my mouth.
I pull away and stare into his face, only seeing the outline of his jaw and nose. “I am,” I say with certainty.
And I am sure. So sure. I’ve wanted this since we first met, but wanted to wait—had to wait. I needed to keep one final promise to my parents. I promised them I’d keep my virginity until after I turned sixteen, and for some reason it’s been important to me to do that. Malcolm doesn’t need any more persuasion, and he stands and reaches down, pulling me up into his arms and carrying me out of the room and up the stairs. He takes me to one of the bedrooms and gently lays me on the bed.
His fingers quickly unbutton my jeans and slide them down my legs, stealing my panties at the same time. And then he does the same with his, and lets his boxers fall to his ankles. I gasp at the size of him. It’s not that I’ve never seen a penis before—I have. I kept my virginity but not my virtue. But he’s huge, and I shiver in both excitement and fear. He reaches down and gets something from his jeans, and I blush when I see him slide a condom down himself.
I’m so glad that I can see him up here, the light of the moon shining in through the window and giving more definition to his features and body.
“You sure?” he asks once more, looking nervously at me. He’s been waiting for this for weeks too, and he’s been patient enough to wait and not pressure me.
I smile up at him and nod. He climbs on top of me, pushing my legs apart and kisses me as he eases himself inside. I gasp against his mouth at the slow intrusion of him as he eases into me and then back out. His kisses are heated and strong as he pushes his tongue inside my mouth and moves it against mine. My hands clasp at his back, digging my nails down it as his thrusts get less gentle and slow and become more forceful and urgent.
I wrap my legs around his waist as he speeds up. He presses one hand against the headboard of the bed to stop it from banging and waking up Dean. He pushes himself all the way inside of me and then pulls all the way back out before repeating the torturous pleasure once again. My body has adjusted to his size; the initial sting from his first intrusion is gone, and leaves me with a dull ache in my lower belly and heat blossoming down below. I bite down on my lip to stop the cry of pleasure escaping as his thrusts become more and more urgent, the quiet creak of the bed and low thump of it against the wall only urging us on quicker. He closes his eyes as he thrusts into me sharply and I let out a short cry of both pleasure and pain as he buries himself deep inside me before collapsing on top of me.
He breathes heavily against my neck and I pant as tingles continue to run over my body in rivers. He eventually looks down at me and smiles, pressing a kiss against my mouth again.
“You okay?” he asks between pants.
“Yeah, I think,” I say, hissing when he pulls out of me. It stings and my body feels empty now that he’s not inside me. “We need to tell him now.”
Malcolm leans on his side, resting up on one elbow, and nods. “Yeah, I know. We’ll do it tomorrow.”
I bite down on my lip, both pleased to get it out of the way so I don’t have to suffer Dean’s advances any longer, and Malcolm and I can be together, and nervous because I never know how Dean is going to react to anything.
I sit up and look around for my clothes. “I need to get back downstairs in case he wakes,” I mumble and climb off the bed.
Malcolm stands up and fumbles around with the condom for a moment before searching for his own clothes. I slide my panties up my thighs, but when I tug them into place I realize how sore I am. I look at my fingers and see that they are dark with blood.
“Everything okay?” Malcolm says walking to the doorway.
“Yeah, just my virginity,” I say, gesturing to the blood with embarrassment.
“Oh,” he replies with a small grin.
We walk back down the stairs where we finish dressing, finding our T-shirts in a heap on the floor, and then I kiss him goodnight and slip back down the stairs and into bed. Dean isn’t snoring anymore, but he doesn’t make a sound as I enter and his breathing is still deep and labored.
I stare into the darkness around me, a chill of fear humming through my body but a smile on my face. How could I be smiling at a time like this? At the end of days when all I knew and loved was now zombie chow? I should feel bad. I should feel depressed or something, but I don’t. Does that make me a bad person, I wonder, or is it all perfectly normal?
I ponder these thoughts as I fall asleep.
I crouch down low below the kitchen window, the low
thump thump thump
on the boarded up windows and doors sending my heart into overdrive.
“There’s so many of them,” I whisper to Malcolm.
“How many?”
“Too many!” I yell-whisper back.
Dean scowls at me and I try to rein in my freaking out. He shuffles over to me, crouching close and then quickly stands to look out the window. The growls outside increase and he bobs back down and out of view again. The banging intensifies and he curses.
“She’s right, there’s way too many of them. We need to get down below and hope they get bored and leave.”
“Bored?” Malcolm says incredulously.
“Distracted then, whatever. We need to get down below. Grab anything you think you might need, as long as you can get it easily, and let’s go.” Dean keeps low and moves around the kitchen, grabbing various things.
Malcolm catches my eye. “You okay?” he whispers, checking behind him that Dean isn’t close enough to hear. I nod and he offers me a small smile.
We gather what we can from our crappy vantage point, moving around the house and keeping as quiet as possible. I go down into the underground house first while the boys continue to pass supplies down to me. I don’t like the thought of staying down here, but right now we don’t have a choice. It’s the safest place for us to stay. There must be over fifty of the zombies out in the yard, and there’s no way we can fight them off to clear them away. Dean was right in that we need to stay down here until they move on. Something will distract them sooner or later—if they don’t get in first, anyway.
Malcolm and Dean come down the stairs, locking the metal door behind them, and then we’re trapped. The silence descends around us—well, not silence, since we can still hear the incessant banging and moaning from the zombies outside, but trapped in this little underground house, the awkwardness between us three is evident.
“Are you okay, Anne?”
I look up sharply at Dean, his voice cutting the air like a hot knife through butter. His look is menacing and I immediately regret that we didn’t try to make a run for it. I nod and look away, not being able to look him in the eye in case he sees through my lies.
“What about you, Malcolm?”
I look up through my lashes, my hair falling around my face. Dean is staring at Malcolm, who seems to be more than aware of the tone in Dean’s voice.
“Sure, man. As good as can be expected.” He shrugs and glances over to me.
“Should I fix us something to eat?” I ask, standing, needing something to do besides sit here and feel awkward and afraid. I go toward the little kitchen without waiting for a reply from either boy. I’m not even hungry, and when I get to the small space that is the makeshift kitchen I realize that I can’t waste any of the food by making something to eat that no one wants. We have no idea how long we’ll be down here. It could be an hour, it could be days. Either way, we need to ration.
I hear yelling coming from the other room, and rush back to see what’s going on but immediately wish that I hadn’t. Dean and Malcolm are fighting, and from the evil glare coming from Dean it can only mean that Malcolm has come clean about our relationship.
I stand in the doorway, not knowing how to stop them or what to say. It turns out I don’t need to say or do anything as Malcolm’s arm rears back and hits Dean in the face. The poor boy flies backwards through the air and lands on his back with a groan. Blood explodes from his nose and he passes out as his head hits the concrete floor.
“Dean!” I yell and run to him, crouching down to lift his head on to my knee. “Dean, wake up.”
“Keep the noise down, they’ll hear us,” Malcolm says, coming back up to standing. He dusts himself off, gingerly touching his split lip. “He’ll be fine,” he says and sits down heavily on his bed.
“You don’t know that,” I hiss at him angrily, tapping the side of Dean’s face to try and wake him up. “You could have killed him, you idiot.” I glare at Malcolm. “Then we would be trapped down here with a zombie!” I add on to make him understand my frustration.
“I told you, he’ll be fine. It’s what boys do: we fight—or most boys do, unless you’re this little nerd.” He chuckles.
I stare at him incredulously. “Who are you?”
He rolls his eyes and scoffs at me. “Don’t act so innocent. This is all your fault. You played us both against one another—you’ve done so for months now.”
“What? I have done no such thing.” I gape at him in horror.
“Sure you have. You wanted someone to keep you safe, and you played us both. Now I’m not complaining. I like you, and I’m glad that I won.” He grins and heads to the kitchen.
I place Dean’s head gently back on the ground and follow after Malcolm.
“What are you talking about? You won? Like, I’m some damn prize?” I yell at his back.
Malcolm turns to face me. “Please, don’t flatter yourself. This wasn’t even about you. It was about me and him, and him always thinking he was better than me. Well look who won this round, look who won the girl. Who’s the loser now, huh?” He laughs and I clutch at my stomach in horror.
“I was a bet? To see if you could get something that he wanted? How could you do this? I thought you liked me.” My voice hits a new level, going from angry to wailing within seconds.
“Keep your noise down, it wasn’t a bet, not really. I do like you, but it was about proving to that little punk who’s in charge around here. He’s always thought he was better than me, put me down in front of our family. He was the brains and I was the thick brawn as far as he was concerned. Asshole had everyone believing the same thing too.” He smirks at me. “Didn’t see this one coming, did he? Who’s the smart one now?”
I swing my arm back to slap him across his face, but Malcolm grabs my wrist and stops me. My body shakes with anger, and if looks could kill, he would be dead.
“I can’t believe you would do this to me,” I whisper instead. “You used me.”
I burst out crying and run back into the other room. Dean is just waking up. He clutches his head and scrambles up to sit on his bed. He glares at me, his top lip rising in an angry snarl. I go to him, but he puts a hand up to stop me.
“Stay away from me,” he says quietly.
“Dean, don’t be like that. It’s not what you think.” Tears continue to pour down my cheeks and I wipe them away with the back of my hand. “I thought he liked me.”
“
I
liked you,” he says and looks away from me.
“I know, but I just didn’t feel that way about you. I’m so sorry, Dean.” I take a step toward him again, but he lies down on his bed facing away from me.
I go and sit on my own bed, staring around the room sadly. Malcolm comes back in eventually. He doesn’t smile or speak to me. Instead he lies down on his bed and munches on a cereal bar.
The full force of the situation hits me then: Malcolm doesn’t want me. Dean doesn’t want me. I can’t fight or survive on my own and winter is coming. What if they decide to kick me out? What if they use me as bait? The tears flow faster and harder, my sobbing getting louder.
What have I done?
I think pitifully.