A Man of the Modern Era

I am become, without choice, a modern kind of guy though I'm over fifty. I recall the heady days of JFK and his Camelot, when all seemed right with the world. As a kid back then, I had a head full of pie-in-the-sky ideals; everything seemed magical. I later watched men walk on the moon live-as-it-happened, with Walter Cronkite on TV gushing about the greatness of another uniquely-American achievement.

That's when there was a world to speak of. Not quite such a thing any more.

We grew up expecting Soviet nuclear devastation at any minute. Then the Sovs crashed, and we had peace in our time. Well, that's what we thought but, as usual, we lied to ourselves and to each other. Sad, really, how Man always finds it as easy and commonplace to fly into space as he would kill his own brother to steal his brother's land.

I don't know--maybe God finally got tired of us for all our idiocy. Who can blame Him? If possessing a smidge of His kind of foreknowledge, I'd have zapped us the instant we learned to master fire. I'm a lifelong cynic, though, so never mind that last.

He kept waiting, letting us build both great cities and multi-megaton nuclear bombs to level every one of them five times over. Then last year, maybe to let us know we finally pissed Him off, He hit us with six comets. As penned by an author wiser than me: "Beware the wrath of a patient man."

Choose your nationality and pick your enemy, if you're still of that meaningless bent. Earth is fried so none of that matters any more. It's no longer, "Are you a Jew; or a Mexican; or an African; or maybe a gringo?" Now, someone will outright kill you if you're not part of his crew.

So I shoot first if I'm spotted. Good thing I carry an M-14 and two Colt .45 autoloaders, with a shitload of ammo for all. My rifle rounds can penetrate thirty feet of scrub to kill a target and likely ice the thug following him. They can even cut through a foot-wide tree to grease the hoodlum behind it. They're also great for taking down a buck when I have chance at one.

The first comet, a long misshapen orb eight city blocks wide and almost as thick, slashed central Europe. It struck at a shallow angle near Monaco and kept going like the Energizer Bunny all the way to Lithuania. Because it moved at 36,000 miles an hour, heat of its atmospheric entry vaporized aircraft within twelve miles of its trajectory. Shock waves smashed down everything between Moscow and Dublin, and from the Sahara to the North Pole. Greater than the Grand Canyon, that chasm is a new sea after taking in the excess from melted Arctic ice--which probably kept the Himalayas from being Earth's last remaining land mass.

The one that landed in Siberia put an end to Russia as even Russians knew it, and pretty much turned China and the rest of Asia into a flaming cauldron. Another one clobbered South America, setting the rain forests on fire. After more than a year, much of those lands are probably still burning. That's why we few survivors often need to wear goggles and filter masks for the soot that keeps falling from the sky. Even falling snow is brown. We didn't get a nuclear winter like some predicted in the 1980s, but the sky has remained dim and overcast ever since.

The other three comets hit water but they were relatively small. That's like saying terminal brain cancer is 'relatively small' compared to a sudden massive heart attack. The tsunamis washed away what remained of Britain and every other island on the planet. All the continents flooded for hundreds of miles inland, finishing off entire coastal countries. I'm sure no ships at sea survived, including America's mighty aircraft carriers. If anyone wants to bother remaking our flag, we would be back to having thirteen stars on it.

Then came the plague...

We don't know, and maybe never will, if the comets brought the rest of that devastation to Earth or if it was some dormant bug at last set free. No life other than human is afflicted, so the animal population is growing at an incredible rate. I haven't seen any six-legged mutant jackrabbits the size of a Volkswagon, but dogs are treacherous. Unable to survive against their ravenous larger cousins, toy and other small breeds are now extinct. The beasts I encounter are half-again heavier than they used to be, maybe also with a dash of wolf in the mix. What we used to call housecats are bigger, too, and crazed as rabid bobcats. Maybe they, too, have interbred.

The plague hit people differently. A 'mild' case at first seemed like the flu. But people's lungs filled so fast with fluid they died in about a day for being no longer able to breathe on their own. A severe case occurred when a person simply started to dissolve, like with leprosy as not even the Bible describes. That took six hours.

Some, like me, are immune from plague for whatever reason. Not everyone is resistant to stupidity, however, with children being the most obvious cases in point. In vampire lore, it's not a good idea to 'turn' children and set them loose. I see why.

About ninety-three percent of the remaining adults died from plague while near half those younger than eighteen survived. Of that last, I estimate three-quarters are dead either by misadventure or because they were murdered. Adult men--and especially women, believe it or not--are now fully free to indulge their most demented sexual fantasies with unwitting victims they can finesse or, barring that, outright capture. You'd shit to know how many times I (sometimes cruelly) executed a woman who just orgasmed after torturing some little kid to death, with me always arriving too fucking late to be a hero. Women are NOT always the 'gentler sex' by any measure. In my experience, they're the more depraved when let loose. Because of them, I have buried many tiny broken bodies and stumbled through lame graveside prayers I don't know how to make eloquent.

The smart, surviving kids also know all this. They have seen too many friends and siblings die because of some predator (human or animal), or by daring stupid things--like a twelve-year-old trying to drive a car sixty miles an hour around a tight curve and losing control. I saw only the aftermath, with the car's speedometer stuck forever at its final reading of that instant of impact.

There are other incidents of idiocy to be expected when few adults are around to teach basic physics and overriding reality--like a kid using a bed sheet to try parachuting from the roof of a school building. Or, which seems all too common, kids building a ramp on one roof and daring friends to make a bicycle jump to the next roof fifty feet away.

Can you say 'splat'?

Then there are the stoner teens who thought it would be just fucking dandy to experiment at getting high by mixing pills from an abandoned drug store. I don't know which smells worse--their hardened vomit or their rotting corpses.

Those smart kids of earlier mention, those true survivors, also know to stay out of sight. But happenstance has its own inevitable way; the kid will eventually be spotted.

That's how I met Danielle.

What kind of 21st Century name is 'Danielle'? The only woman I know with that name was mother of a girl in my Kindergarten class back in 1963. If she's alive, she's probably ninety. What about modern sexy names like Britney or Courtney? But I digress...

I found Danielle while aiming to raid a grocery store about a mile from home. I and surely others picked clean both the grocer and derelict deli nearest my place. So I had to range wider.

Approaching the store, I heard a boy sing, "Come out, come out, wherever you aaaaarrrre!"

Snickering that I heard told there were at least three others with him. So I went for cover.

"Gotcha!"

I heard a girl scream, followed by a din of heavy cans falling and the shattering of glass. Then the sound of slapping bare feet.

Danielle jumped through a broken-out window and bolted to her right. I was tucked down in a clump of overgrown bushes about fifty feet away. Four ragtag boys followed her, chasing fast as they could. I estimated their ages between thirteen and fifteen, the oldest kid in the lead and closing on the girl as she ran hell-bent across the parking lot. Danielle looked to be about eleven.

With nonchalance as if sipping lemonade on a lazy Sunday afternoon, I flipped my rifle to full auto and wiped out the three boys trailing their leader. What my bullets can do is horrifying.

Boss-boy reached the girl and grabbed her, but a single shot at his feet forced his pause. He stood too close to her for me to take more direct action--like killing him on the spot. If they were all friends playing together, I'd have let them alone. But I know, by experience and instinct in this ugly world, the scream of a frightened girl. The boys hoped to capture Danielle to make her a fucktoy, her miserable life thereafter lasting long as they willed to let her live.

"Piss off, old man!" the pipsqueak warned, drawing a big knife and pointing it at me when I came from cover. "This ain't nunna yer bizniss! I'll fuckin' gut ya!"

Seems no one ever told the punk it's stupid to menace with a knife when your opponent has a high-power auto-loading military rifle. Laughing, I locked the bayonet I also carry to the muzzle. The M6 blade is six and a half inches long. If the pipsqueak wanted to spar with cold steel, I could put my M14 on 'safe' and still ruin his day.

The girl broke loose, and that's when I fired from my hip. It was a lucky shot, really, since I'm not expert with guns. The boy's left leg below the knee all but flew away, and he collapsed in a splash of blood. I never before heard anyone scream like he did. The punk wailed so bad his intended victim paused to watch what might come next.

Face-shooting that punk even with one of my pistols might ricochet the bullet off the macadam when it exited his skull, maybe into me or Danielle (I didn't know her name at the time). Gutting him with my bayonet would be messy, splattering me with blood and further horrifying the girl. Using the only neat and clean option I had, far as such can somehow be 'neat and clean', I crushed his throat with a hard smash of the butt of my rifle to put paid to the repulsive affair.

Except for his quiet choking, he died in silence.

"Please don't hurt me!" the girl cried, seeming too exhausted to run. She fell to her knees and covered her head with her arms.

"I won't hurt you," I promised, approaching and peeling off my backpack. Stopping about ten feet away, I slapped a fresh magazine of twenty rounds into my rifle and opened the satchel, offering her a can of Ravioli. "You hungry? I have plastic forks, too. Let me find one..."

Keeping my rifle ready, because girls roam in packs like do boys and are just as deadly in their numbers, ferocity, and weapons, I finally found a fork. But Danielle had already gobbled the entire can and was licking her fingers.

So I tossed her another can.

To make a long story short (too late, I know), we raided the store for what we could carry. Danielle found a duffel bag in the office, which let us bring home more than what we could stuff into our backpacks. We also took the few T-shirts and football jerseys that happened to remain in the stock room, so Danielle could wear better than the dirty tatters that barely covered her. Plus, someone had left behind a pair of sneakers two sizes too large for her, but at least she wouldn't have to roam barefoot for a while.

Danielle stands shy of five feet and is slender, likely in part for lack of decent food for more than a year. If she somehow weighs ninety pounds soaking wet it's going to take a lot of water. She has black hair halfway down her back, cut in ragged bangs over her forehead.

The kid is really cute. She's also bright, so with a little training she will one day be able to better survive just fine on her own.

"I'm scared," Danielle whispered after we went to bed. We had washed with soap and filtered rainwater I collected from the last storm, then eaten a relatively decent meal of beef jerky (the only 'real' meat I had) and powdered eggs cooked on my camping stove. I also served powdered milk and powdered mashed potatoes. Too bad no one ever came up with powdered butter.

I had Danielle take the couch while I would sleep on the floor of the small apartment I don't want to abandon. It's been home a long time, so I'm quite attached to it. Good thing it has a fireplace. The luxury cost a premium when I rented the space, but it now pays a handsome dividend no one could have anticipated. Especially when there's no longer a landlord to require rent.

"You're safe," I assured. "We're on the third floor. The door is steel and it's locked."

"Can I come sleep by you?"

"Okay, sure."

Because nights are cool for all that soot in the air, we both had sheets to cover us. I wear a T-shirt and scrub pants when I sleep. Not a fashion statement, to be sure, but I'm comfortable.

When Danielle slipped under the sheet with me, I realized she wore nothing except underpants despite the faint chilliness. Cuddling close with her back against my chest, she pulled my arm over her waist. Then she started playing "This Little Piggie" with my fingers.

"You have rough palms," Danielle noted. "Not soft like my grandma's."

"That's 'cause I chop a lot of wood for the fireplace for winter," I said, leaving out the added fact I have used a shovel more times than I want to count to bury brutalized, murdered children.

"I like it. You seem like a tough guy."

"I'm just an average Joe."

"With a big loud gun!"

"Somebody's gotta protect you."

Giggling, and with my hand still in the soft clasp of both hers, Danielle guided my fingertips slow over her chest. My first instinct was to pull away, but her skin felt so soft and silky I didn't want to stop. In this awful world, pleasant sensations are hard to come by. Even my own skin sometimes feels like sandpaper after I wash with the sooty rainwater I can capture, no matter the filtering I use to make it cleaner. I won't dare pet the hair of a buck I just culled so I could eat a few more days, because that would make it so personal I'd never shoot a deer again. I saved animals when the world used to exist--stopping at pet shelters to make an anonymous cash donation; or feeding stray cats; or buying an occasional loaf of bread or bag of seed for little birds in the park.

Next thing I knew, Danielle was circling my calloused palm over one of her nipples. The bud felt erect and tight, the muscle beneath her velvety skin delightfully firm. She snuggled closer as she used my hand for a play toy.

Without thought, I started kissing and suckling her neck.

"Mmmmmm!" Danielle cooed.

Spreading my fingers, I massaged both her nipples while nibbling across her shoulder. If not for what she began, I'd never have touched her. Danielle won't tell her true age for some reason, but she promises she's 'legal'.

Whatever the fuck that means, nowadays. If the world and all its laws still existed, I'd have escaped the budding encounter three seconds after Danielle started the play; she looks like she never graduated middle school. But there's little left of the world I once knew, and all its laws have gone into history and maybe even to hell.

"That feels so nice!" Danielle whispered. "Pinch me?"

I gently kneaded one of her nipples between my thumb and forefinger.

"Tighter!"

When I squeezed more firmly, Danielle rolled her hips. She began rubbing between her squeezed thighs, over her panties.

Trying to hide my engaged lust, I crossed my legs and pushed back my hardened cock between them. Rapists abound nowadays, and I'm too conservative and (hopefully) decent enough to not be counted among them. Danielle is super-mega-thermonuclear cute, but she looks so young!

After some moments of roaming her silky body as she guided me--going almost insane trying to keep my own lust in check and with her masturbating--Danielle suddenly stopped. With some sense of relief, I figured that was the end of it. "I don't want to cum too soon," she breathed.

"You've had orgasms before?" I asked.

"Like I told you, I'm legal. Besides, I've been playing with myself since I was eight."

"Are you still a virgin?"

"Just shut up and snuggle me closer."

I did, and the play resumed. Danielle's hand guided mine all over, pressing me time and again to pinch and tug her nipples. I also kept kissing her, finally reaching her mouth. For a while I would just peck her soft lips, expecting she might freak if I tried to French with her.

Instead, I wound up the one to be shocked when Danielle wrapped both her arms tight around my neck and shoved her sweet tongue into my greedy mouth. The kiss lasted...I don't know how long. I found it a little terrifying, with me trying to strike some balance between the belief she's way so underage for sex that I really should stop but also that I didn't fucking care.

"Why don't you take off your shirt?" Danielle suggested.

"Umm..." I delayed.

Danielle breathed an irritated sigh. When I sat up to peel off my tee, she moved fast to yank down the waist of my scrub pants and take my cock into her mouth. I flopped back, my long-deprived hardness being sucked like no woman before ever managed. At first I figured it simply had been so long that any blowjob no matter how inexperienced would feel great. In seconds, though, I realized I'm dealing with an expert. Danielle also knows how to tease a man's balls just right, and is aware of that sensitive place behind them.

On the edge in moments, I tugged her long dark hair to stop her. I didn't want to cum too soon, either, if I was going to let myself cum at all. I still wanted to know what she meant by 'legal'.

"What's wrong?" Danielle asked.

"I'm going to cum," I answered.

"That's the idea, Big Daddy. What--you don't like girls?"

"I like girls plenty, but you look so..."

"I keep telling you--I'm legal. Besides, there are no more laws or any cops left to enforce them even if I'm not."

"How did you get so good at that?" I wondered, trying to glean some clue about the secretive girl. "And you're really damned good!"

"You don't much like mystery, do you?" Danielle sighed. "Very well: I got good by years of giving regular blowjobs to my older brother and three of his friends."

"When did that start? Your brother should have pro..."

"I made the first move. We were all in the basement one day after swimming, talking about sex. I pulled the shorts off one boy and went at him. My brother tried to stop me, but I didn't need or want his so-called protection. Every time he let go after pulling me away, I went right back so he finally gave up. He wouldn't let me touch him even though I tried after finishing his friends, but I later won his surrender after mom and dad went to bed."

"How old were you? How old were they?"

"I got invited to lots of slumber parties my last few years in grade school," Danielle dodged. "I'm really good with pussy, too. We girls experimented together a lot back then."

"I guess that answers my question about you being a virgin," I laughed.

"No boy ever fucked me, and I never came with one because I was too shy. Instead, I would go masturbate for an hour after finishing with them. I don't count the girls and the things we did, even though I would easily cum when we played. So, yeah, I guess your question is answered."

"Are you still too shy to cum with me?"

"Doesn't masturbating in front of you and stopping before I cum too soon give you a hint?"

Sitting up, I pulled off Danielle's panties and gripped her hips to bring her with me when I lay back down. Giggling, she straddled my head. I ran my tongue along her slit when she took my cock into her mouth, her shiver at my caress making me smile. I had felt her panties to be rather moist when I stripped them away, revealing how turned on our play had made her.