Copyright (c) 2014,   madvlad.  ALL Rights Reserved

Date of first publication in Mr Double's Palisade :
Monday, April 14, 2014

This story may be downloaded by Palisade members uniquely for their private use, and 
may not be distributed for profit or posted to newsgroups or other websites.  Mr Double 
may be contacted by emailing mrdouble@mrdouble.com.


A Palisade Author story from MrDouble's archive, 
Filename: apocaly2.txt
http://www.mrdouble.com




story_codes: MMM+/g(7/8), non-cons, CAUTION

story_intro: A band of salvagers discover an abandoned government facility whose supplies may be untapped. Of course, there's always a threat of the walking dead lurking inside, but they come prepared, using an unfortunate little girl to walk point as she's had to do before.


story_language: English




Apocalypse Road: Old Habits

Written by madvlad


	The End, when it came, would have created some memorable moments on the NFL's annual highlights video had it not been for the untimely demise of nearly everyone at NFL headquarters. One such example was the Raiders-Jets game hosted in Meadowlands complex in New Jersey.

	A year earlier, such a game would not have existed in late February. But the NFL's recent expansion of the season to twenty-four games (with the obligatory bye weeks) meant that the regular season extended into early March. After the expanded playoffs, the Super Bowl was to conclude by the end of April. On this week, teams were clinching playoff berths but the hapless New York team had long since been eliminated from any contention.

	Earlier in the week, a peculiar strain of the zombie virus mad manifested itself on board the Raiders' team flight from Oakland the Friday before the game. At first, there was nothing noticeable except for several people complaining of sinus issues and the game proceeded as usual.

	Just before play began, there was a minute of silence called for to honor the late president and Congress, all of whom had perished during the previous week's zombie hearings. After the stadium experienced record beer sales during said minute, the opening kick-off started the action.

	The Raiders opened up early and often against the Jets, leading 28-0 by the close of the first quarter. Within minutes into the second half, the virus morphed and the Oakland players and staff quickly transformed. As they were wearing helmets with face masks, the Raiders on the field posed little threat, simply staggering mindlessly around the field.

	Seeing this, the Jets capitalized; mounting a furious comeback in the remaining three quarters. Aiding New York were repeated penalties called against Oakland for a multitude of sideline infractions as the coaches and back-up players began devouring officials and other crewmembers. In the end, though, the Jets came up short when a potential game-winning field goal sailed wide and the New York kicker was eaten by two helmetless special-teams players in Raider silver and black.

	The game was at the top of the cycle that night on ESPN. However, the panel discussion went off-topic shortly into the coverage when a retired running back suddenly bit a chunk of flesh from the shoulder of a former coach. The Sports Center anchor sought to steer the subject from the blood and screaming on the set back to the Raiders-Jets game, but he was ultimately dragged down and gnawed by a newly deceased camera operator.

	Although the Adkins Research Center had never been on any official government list, rumors had it that had been a front for some government project. Ten years later, the rumors said that there were vast stores of supplies to be found inside the complex. Of course, there were a great many myths about many places, but as one particular group was near the former town of Mill Point, Iowa, they decided to investigate.

	"What kind of research did they do there?" Giles asked the leader, Doyle.

	"Dunno. Pick a story - hell, it might even be true."

	"Lansky in KC says they were researching 'sexual anomalies in the human psyche'," Caruso mentioned.

	"Lansky walks around with a hard-on 24/7, for chrissakes," Doyle shot back. "He's gooney-shit for anything about sex."

	"Yeah, I know," Caruso said. "But he was dead-serious about this, though. He wasn't on one of his drooling 'oo boy, sex' rants. He was more interesting in getting Elander to front an expedition to see what's in there. If the feds had been using the place for other shit, you never know what might be in there."

	"Yeah, like meat rotting on and off the bone," Doyle snorted. "But fuck it. We're nearly there anyway, so we'll see if we strike gold."

	By nine a.m., they were inside the gates, looking at the glass and chrome exterior of the institute. Mill Point was, like many towns, dead. There were a few zombies to be seen, but they were easy head shots from a safe distance as the crew rode through the suburban streets in the early morning. Giles found a map in a security office and pointed out the property boundaries.

	"Plenty of woods, some cabins, even a goddamn lake," he said, tapping the diagram of security patrol routes. We're looking at about forty square miles."

	"And it is - was - a government front," Tasker called from a computer he had re-booted using a solar-charged power pack. "I can tell by the firmware codes on here and..." the man trailed off as he punched keys in rapid succession. "Pay dirt! There's more building underground than above."

	"It's five floors," Caruso pointed out.

	"Above ground," Tasker shot back. "And another eight below. The database isn't specific, but there are references to DEFCON 1 stores - that means 'end of the world' and everything we need to rebuild it."

	"And no one's busted in for ten years?" Giles asked skeptically.

	Tasker shrugged.

	"I don't know if they did or not, but not enough to make it well-known," he said. "According to this, all doors were opened for access when they had to clear out, but there were no closure codes. That means the shit must have hit the fan here pretty hard and there's got to still be a ton of stuff in there even if they pulled some out to evacuate."

	"It would have been guarded, sure as shit, if someone found it," Doyle mused. "You say the doors are open?"

	"Yeah."

	"Okay," Doyle said to the others. "We go in, one floor at a time. Make sure you're lights are good 'cause we're not gonna have the daylight coming in."

	The main door yawned open into a foyer of some sort on the first sub-level. Beams of LED light pierced the inkiness but Doyle wasn't satisfied.

	"No tellin' if some Z's shuffled their way in," he muttered. "We need some bait."

	Next to him, Caruso motioned and a small figure was shoved toward them.

	"Time to earn your meals," Caruso said to the figure.

	She was eight years old; they knew that much from when her father had joined the group when she was only four. Two months later, the father got bitten in a machine shop outside of Terre Haute and they were left with the kid.

	The men were hard-core profiteers, sometimes raiding small enclaves or caravans, but mostly found their wares by scavenging. As empty buildings often meant walking dead inhabitants, they had taken to using the girl as bait to lure them before giving them second deaths with bullets to the head.

	Four years later, they were surprised the kid had lasted this long. No one could remember her real name as they always called her Bait. Had any of them cared to ask her, she would have been at a loss to recall her real name, too.

	Caruso yanked the girl's ratty dress off, leaving her nude except for the sneakers which were surprisingly bright and new after they were found under some trash and liberated from a ransacked Wal Mart. No one was sure if zombies could smell, but stripping the kid might help attract them if they could. And if they could only see her, what zombie could resist some tender young meat, right?

	Bait's brown hair hung in long tangles and her dark eyes were bleak as the rope was tied around her waist. If zombies approached her, the men could yank her out in a hurry before opening fire. It resulted in plenty of scrapes and bruises, but she had so far avoided any teeth, which was the key to staying on this side of the food chain.

	Caruso was about to push her forward when Doyle grabbed her wrist. Spitting onto his fingers, he rubbed her hairless quim, working a dirty, rough-nailed finger inside while the girl moaned uncomfortably. Doyle bore down on Bait's clit with his thumb while he hooked and stabbed with his finger inside the child's tight recess. Eventually, Bait's sex responded to the stimulus as it always did, lubricating itself despite her revulsion.

	"Yeah, I'll bet the Z's will smell that if any of 'em are around," Doyle hissed with a sadistic grin. "And if this place is as good advertised, we'll celebrate with a little party. Now git!"

	Caruso grabbed one of Bait's buttocks as she started forward, giving it a sharp twist.

	"Don't worry," he chuckled. "We've got your pretty little ass covered."

	Clutching a flashlight, the girl shuffled forward, swinging the light about while Doyle and Caruso trained their automatic rifles inside. The other six men were at the ready behind them.

	A year ago, the men had found another use for Bait after they had gone too long without a town brothel or one of those traveling bordello caravans. She didn't understand at first why Doyle tore her dress and panties off and hung her by her tied wrists from a thick tree branch. She was never treated all that well but this was beyond the normal swatting she received when she did something wrong.

	She became even more confused when Doyle took some grease from the meat they had cooked and smeared it onto her tiny mons and even into her slit. Roughly pulling Bait's legs apart, he yanked her onto his erect prick. Bait screamed, hoping he'd understand that the thing of his was much too big to go inside her.

	But her error was driven home ruthlessly as her small entrance tore and her hymen ruptured. Doyle pounded his way into the seven year-old's virgin snatch, ignoring her endless wails as he savagely pleasured himself with her. Bait's eyes rolled back and she nearly fainted as her helpless cuntlet was tenderized by the man's throbbing cock. Her thighs hurt where the man gripped them, but it was nothing compared to the searing jolts she felt every time he thrust into her little body.

	With a sharp grunt, Doyle came; laughing at the girl's terrified expression as his boiling jism flooded her plundered twat. After he pulled out, Bait looked down at her ravaged pussy, sobbing at the red and white horror as it drained from her tiny pussy and all over her legs.

	"I got her nice and slick for you now, boys," Doyle laughed as he picked retrieved his whiskey bottle.

	Giles was next and she pleaded as he pulled her legs apart and pushed his prick against her bald and bloody little mound.

	"Why?" she cried. "Why?"

	"Because you have a tight little cunt," he sneered just before he plowed into her burning hole.

	The seven year-old's pussy was very tight indeed and the repeated rapes kept it very slippery. Bait screamed until she was hoarse and it never did her any good.

	She was spared from this the next night but the following evening Doyle roughly threw her face-first to the ground. Pulling her to her knees while her face was still buried in the dirt, Doyle flipped her dress up over her back. Her panties were gone, never having been replaced since her initial gang rape.

	The little girl's buttocks were pearly white and smooth to the touch. Doyle's calloused hands scraped them as he brusquely kneaded her ass.

	"You got some prime ass meat, Bait." He breathed in her ear. "And we're getting hungry while that itty bitty snatch of yours heals."

	Bait shuddered as she felt more grease in her virgin area. She tried not to scream but her effort was short-lived as her asshole was forced open and more hard cock was forced into her backside. The little girl's knees and elbows chafed on the ground as she was anally raped for hours, each man finishing with a hot gush that further soiled her guts. When they were through, they returned to the fire, leaving the dazed child with her bruised buttocks, stretched and reddened entrance, and bleeding rectum.

	Over the next year, she had grown accustomed to the rapes when the men had the urge. At least she learned that she would survive them, no matter how horrible. Every time she was used as bait, however, she knew she had one foot in the grave.

	Bait could only see broken furniture tossed in piles as she made her way through. She was at the far door in the first room when she turned to look at the men framed in the other doorway.

	"Nothing," she called.

	There was no need to stay quiet as her purpose was to attract any walking dead. Doyle raised his hand and the eight men entered the room.

	"We'll get set there and then send Bait into the next room," Doyle announced as they approached the girl. I want to...what the fuck? Weapons up!"

	The piles of furniture suddenly moved, sending parts of chairs and tables and desks onto the men. Lurching figures moved in from behind the tumbling debris. As the melee continued, Bait stood frozen, listening to the shouts punctuated by gunfire.

	Some of the zombies went down, but there were too many of them at close quarters as they fell upon the men, tearing at them with their hands and teeth. The screams bubbled away, replaced by the sounds of wet rendering and chomping of flesh. The fallen flashlights and lanterns skewed beams of light in different angles, lending a bizarre, avant garde touch to the bloody feast.

	When the last of the meat was gone, the zombies turned to look at the one remaining living soul in the room. Bait's flashlight was pointing at them as they approached. Absently, she noted how all of them were wearing the tattered remains of identical, greenish clothing.

	The flashlight fell from her fingers and she turned, fumbling for the doorknob. It was difficult with her sweaty hands but she finally found purchase and started to turn it when a pair of cold hands grabbed her by the shoulders. Bait screamed and fell to the floor, temporarily escaping the zombie's hold. She was on her hands and knees and tried to crawl away when the hands took hold by the waist this time.

	Bait's throat grew thick as she heard the walking dead shuffle close around her. There were no more screams left, only quiet sobbing as she anticipated the stab of rotting teeth all over her body. The zombie behind her made a gurgling sound as he pulled her hips up a little farther, reminding Bait of how she had been often and cruelly used before.

	Something cold and hard prodded the soft mound of her pussy from behind. She was still wet from Doyle's forced finger work and felt sick as she felt the thing dig between the fleshy folds of her twat and slowly push into her channel. The other zombies remained motionless as the first one sawed his cock in and out of the warm, snug hole of the little girl.

	Weeping profusely, Bait endured her coupling with the living dead man, helpless to stop this newest violation. She had no concept of time, only the slow rhythm of the thing inside of her. But the cock seemed to grow thicker and warmer as it slid through her tiny pussy, making the zombie moan. Bait thought she would faint as the thing ejaculated hotly inside of her just like those of Doyle and the others.

	The zombie moved away and another took his place, sinking his cold cock into the eight year-old's living, breathing body. Like the first, this one's penis gradually grew larger and warmer before planting more jism inside the quivering little girl. The third creature swept his hand over her cunny mound, drawing the slime from its predecessors up to Bait's anus. She knew what it meant and squeezed her eyes closed as the icy prick descended into her bottom where the cycle was repeated.

	The hours passed with a countless number of living dead copulating with the child. Bait did not struggle, letting them all take her without resistance. Dully, she realized that she was not hurting as the zombies moved slowly (even carefully?) without tearing her orifices like the men used to do every time.

	She was waiting for the next one, but nothing was happening until she heard the door open - the same one she had tried to escape though. In the light of the fallen flashlights and lanterns, Bait saw the zombies standing still, watching her. One of them grunted and jerked his hand at the open door. Stiffly, she rose and walked through, feeling their collective, slimy issue oozing from her little holes.

	Two rooms later, Bait had to shield her eyes from the late afternoon sun when a door leading outside was opened. The building was built on a hill and on this sloped side the first basement level had a small access to the outside. An empty office cart was parked outside and a zombie pulled it in as Bait watched in confusion.

	All she had known of zombies were of them mindlessly wandering, only focusing enough to feed when an unfortunate person came too close. But they had never injured her during sex and they were showing her the way out. Another zombie shuffled outside pushing a different cart piled high with some of the stores the men had dreamed about. It was a haphazard collection - a machete, a ream of copier paper, a case of energy drinks, flower seeds, beef jerky, canned goods, spoons, a flare pistol, and so on.

	She was still staring at the cart when the zombies disappeared back inside the building. Another motion caught her attention and Bait was surprised to see a group of about a dozen children approaching her. She became acutely aware of her nakedness and the fluids dripping from her, but the children didn't seem very surprised. Some were her age, a few were younger and some were older - perhaps as old as eleven or twelve.

	"Did you just arrive?" asked a red-haired girl whose tiny breasts were just beginning to poke out against the thin t-shirt she wore.

	Bait nodded.

	A little boy of about six pointed to her pussy and said, "The green men did her."

	"Wow, you did it with all of them?" a blonde girl about Bait's age asked.

	"Yes," Bait replied meekly.

	"Usually, a bunch of us come together so it doesn't take as long," the redhead said. "My name's Sarah. What's yours?"

	"Bait."

	"That's a funny name," said the six year-old boy, but without any cruelty in his voice.

	"I think it's a nice name," opined a girl about his age.

	"Well, they obviously like you," Sarah remarked at the cart of goods that another boy began to push down the path.

	Sarah plucked a large man's jacket from the lower shelf of the cart and gave it to Bait to put on.

	"We'll get you something that fits better when we get back."

	"What's all that for?" Bait asked.

	"Supplies," Sarah explained. "They're not very good at putting together anything that makes sense, but we get enough stuff to put everything together. Food, seeds, clothes, medical stuff - you name it. Books if you can read - or you can learn. That's important because we need to learn all we can about everything. Also things like solar power packs and video players are all over. We've even got weapons and some of the older kids can hunt animals."

	"I don't understand any of this," Bait said as they approached a cluster of cabins. "The men who had me talked about the old government keeping stuff here if something bad ever happened. But why are you here?"

	A girl of about sixteen with a very pregnant belly and carrying a tray of food came out from one of the cabins and greeted the group. She sat down at a picnic table with Sarah and Bait. A pitcher of water was already there and she poured while Sarah introduced her as Emily.

	"Some of the older ones like Emily were sent here when The End happened. She can explain it more."

	Emily picked up the monolog.

	"The grown-ups didn't last long because all of the inmates here had changed. Were there adults with you?"

	When Bait nodded, Emily told her she was sorry for her loss.

	"Don't be," Bait said shortly.

	Emily and Sarah exchanged knowing looks - Bait wasn't the first ill-used child to arrive here. Emily continued.

	"The inmates  - the guys in the green outfits - were all pedophiles and were part of some psychological treatment that also masked the big emergency storage dump here. At first, they would only stare at us, which was pretty damned scary since we saw what they could do. Then, well, the sex stuff started. But they weren't eating us and we quickly understood what it took to survive. Some of them found the storage places left open when some of the first people took stuff and left.

	We live outside the main building in these cabins and some other buildings here. They have the main building and the stores. This huge area is fenced off except for the broken front gates. But anyone coming in has to go through the main building and you know what that means. So we're pretty safe here.

	About once a week, some of us go in there and let them do their thing. Then they give us a cart-load of stuff. I know it's kind of gross but it's a system that works. And you get used to it in a way. Besides, we hear a lot of stories on the ham radios, which are big now like they used to be long before The End happened and the internet died. It's better in here."

	"Uh, something else that happened," Bait said slowly "When...right before they squirted...they weren't cold anymore when they were in...in me."

	"I know," Emily mused. "It's like they are almost alive again for a few minutes."

	Bait looked at Emily's stomach and pointed.

	"Did they...?"

	"Oh no!" Emily laughed. "They don't become that alive. At least I don't think so. Anyway, I'm too old for them now. This one is from Mike - he's eighteen and one of us. He and some others are out hunting."

	"Wow," was all Bait could think to say.

	"This will be our group's third baby," Emily said as she proudly patted her swollen midsection. "But come on - let's find some clothes for you and get you cleaned up."

	Bait got up from the table with the others. As she followed Emily and Sarah, she looked back at the main building in the distance, knowing her nightmarish slavery to the poachers was finally over. Now she had to come to grips with the creatures who were her new captors and benefactors. She didn't know what to think, except that maybe it was time to pick a new name for herself.




madvlad@mrdouble.com
http://www.mrdouble.bz/htm/authors/madvlad.htm





















This story is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.


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