The Cabin on The Blue Ch. 02

Over the next few days, John cajoled her into spending large periods of time in bed. His arousal at the thought of her naked, relaxed, and waiting for him spurred him to challenge himself during his workday. Then, when he returned home, he felt as though he had really earned a lovely reward.

That afternoon, John smiled as he showered, scrubbing off the dirt and grime of the field. He had spent the morning tending a patch of terraced crops - harvesting, weeding, and doing a round of succession planting. Next, he'd gone to the river. He'd retrieved a fish from one trap, woven a new one, and repaired a fishing weir. Afterwards, John had returned to the cabin. He stored most of the harvested produce in the pantry, while leaving out a number of choice items for Rachel to see. Then he had cleaned the fresh fish, wrapped it, and added it to the freezer before putting on a kettle of hot water and showering.

Work, shower, sex, lunch. John lathered up his hair, grinning. He didn't bother to keep the towel after he'd dried himself, crossing the threshold to the bedroom nude.

"Hi," Rachel said, flushing as he approached. The book she had been reading fell to the bed, forgotten. He was already getting hard, and her eyes were drawn to his stiffening cock. It was rather hard to avoid looking at, in truth. It was unfair how beautifully masculine he was. John would have been considered a catch by many women even before the world had regressed to primitive times; he was the consummate classic provider and protector.

Rachel could scarcely imagine a better partner for the current landscape.

Hunting, farming, fishing, foraging - expert level: check

Intelligent, experienced and savvy: check

Physically fit: CHECK

Bonuses:

Tough, but not overly hardened.

Eye candy.

Bedroom skills.

She bit her lip to keep from giggling at her mental list, covering her mouth with her hand as a last resort. No one wanted anyone in their group who would gasp for breath within a few miles, so if you saw someone fat or old with a group of young, fit people, it was guaranteed that that person had a value - doctors, cooks, knowledge of the terrain. Still, there was a difference between 'healthy' and 'flawlessly muscular', and John's work-hardened physique would be a welcome addition to any group focused on survival. He was generous, hard-working, and knowledgeable, about many useful things...

Rachel gradually forced her eyes up to his face, and John was smirking at her. "I'm very happy that you washed up into my front yard," he said suddenly.

"Funny. I was just thinking about how lucky I was." Her breath caught in her throat at the expression on his face, a striking blend of lust and affection. He'd been different with her lately. It seemed as though John had begun making love to her, a thought that both thrilled and terrified her.

He leaned against the door jamb. "I finished the work at the river," John drawled, looking her over slowly as he talked. "And planting and netting the terrace. I managed to get to most of the crop there before the local wildlife did."

Rachel raised her eyebrows. He'd told her that the terrace would probably take an entire day of work. "It sounds like you had a very busy and productive morning."

John nodded his agreement. "I'm motivated to do more with you here. Doing things for myself has become routine. It's nice to have someone else to look after."

She held her hand out to him. "It's nice to be looked after," she confessed, almost inaudible.

"I'm so glad you're here," he murmured, taking her hand and crossing the narrow distance that divided them. Rachel pulled him close as he slid onto the bed, wrapping her arms around his neck and shoulders. She kissed him deeply, pouting briefly as he pulled away. John kissed his way down her neck as he moved to settle in between her legs on his knees. His upper body hovered above her, and he moved his lips to trail down the soft outer curves of her breasts. "I brought back-" John stopped, taken unaware by Rachel grasping his cock at its base and guiding him to her hot entrance. She was very, very wet.

"I've been waiting for you," she murmured into his ear, wrapping her legs around his hips and pulling herself up to force him in. Rachel moaned, wriggling her hips to get him well inserted, then groaning when she couldn't get him in as deeply as she wanted right away. She locked her legs around him, rocking back and forth. Rachel's assertiveness was exciting. John braced his weight on his forearms, still kneeling, momentarily enjoying the feel of her working her way up his thick rod. "John," she whined prettily, clutching at him.

"My turn," he intoned, shifting his hips to drive down into her. She gasped.

"Oh...John," she mumbled, gasping and whimpering as he took over. He nudged forward farther. Rachel shuddered, letting out a low, ladylike howl of sorts as she began to orgasm. John moved her legs, pressing his weight on top of her and driving her down into the mattress with his thrusts.

"Fuck," he grunted, "you're so tight." After several days of unrelenting practice, he had figured out how to maneuver himself through Rachel's vice-like grip. John sucked in his breath, gripping one of her thighs to spread her open, then pumped himself into her while she bucked and cried out. Once buried in her, he held on until she had finished, his deeper presence giving her a stronger orgasm.

She whimpered, her hands gripping at him as he began to move. John stared down at her for a long while, giving her slow, deep strokes and soaking up her expressions of bliss until he allowed her to draw him down closer. Rachel wrapped her arms and legs around him, and John rested his head on her shoulder, their bodies rhythmically rocking together. She sighed with contentment. "....John," she moaned softly, running her fingers through his hair. John groaned, and suddenly his pace faltered, then increased. Rachel turned his face back to hers as he struggled to speak. "I'm gonna cum," he said into her mouth as she kissed him.

Rachel's tight cunt throbbed and gripped him as she trembled and moaned beneath his weight. "Mmmhmm, I'm cumming now," she managed just before her body went rigid. It was the final touch of stimuli for John, who followed shortly afterwards, pounding his essence deep within her.

After a quick shower, Rachel peeked out into the kitchen. "Wow," she said, exclaiming over the artfully arranged pile of just harvested crops.

"I was trying to tell you about it earlier," John pouted playfully, "but I was interrupted." He filled two tea balls with dried herbs and set them a saucer on the counter.

"How did you get all this stuff?" She tapped one of the pumpkins on the table. "You didn't have time to ride all the way to the pumpkin patch today." Her eyebrows furrowed. "When you mentioned the terrace, did you mean the same terrace you showed me? Near the yellow farmhouse?" He nodded, wearing a proud expression.

How did he find the energy? Rachel wondered if he had been accomplishing more while working alone recently than they had most days working together. The terraced area took up the side of a small hill, a space that had belonged to a neighboring farmhouse. She had been fascinated by the efficient design.

Rachel was mildly annoyed that he hadn't mentioned where or how far away he was going; he had probably assumed that telling her he was taking the radio was sufficient, as he didn't carry it when working on the island. And, he had mentioned taking a horse, specifically, Lillian. "That's...a lot of work for one morning."

"Well," he said modestly, "that area is more self sufficient than not these days." Rachel tilted her head at him, one eyebrow raised. Maintaining such spaces required hard work, even if the place had been farmed for years. He shrugged, turning serious. "It's not that hard. It's well cultivated land, and I'm experienced. Keeping watch over all these various patches with their variety of crops has worked out pretty well so far. There have been a few incidents of blights and pests in the region, but I've still been able to grow far more than I need. I've had surplus, enough to store and use for traps and bait, and feeding the livestock. The chickens will eat anything, but the horses like some variety - we've got to put two of those pumpkins aside for them, by the way," he noted. "And, of course, the options keep the dinner table from being boring. Don't forget - I was living off of bread and stew before you got here. I might have died from boredom if I didn't have a good amount of ingredients to rotate through."

Rachel snickered, tossing her hair out of her face. She took two mugs down from the cabinet, then made tea for both of them.

She set down the steaming beverages, and an amused grin crept across her face. "When we left Reagan City, we found a delivery truck. It was loaded with canned corn. Not peas and corn, or garlic corn. Just plain sweetcorn. Dozens of cans of corn and nothing else. We camped there for a few nights and when we left, the eight of us all loaded up our packs with the stuff. We didn't even clear half of it. It was something that we talked about around the fire at night for ages - did we steal from someone? Was it left there for whoever might need it? Did an employee just ditch the truck and it was written off in a dusty ledger somewhere? I still wonder sometimes, but there were lots of things like that." She shook her head and began to look over the pile of produce. "We rationed those suckers for the next two months, if you can believe it."

He made a face of mock disgust.

"It was hardly the road trip of our dreams either." she replied, flicking a towel at him. "But we were still somewhat near civilization. We got a fair amount from...well, Beth used to call them 'lazy gardens'." Rachel giggled. "And we caught fish and birds from time to time. It was still early for us; we didn't have a lot of experience yet. So the corn was a godsend."

John titled his head at her. "...Lazy gardens?"

"Yeah." Rachel nodded, momentarily lost in thought. "It's a bitchy name. But we were happy to have them." She picked out two pumpkins and placed them in front of him for approval. He nodded. "Little planters in windowsills. Big pots on patios. Raised beds, if we were really lucky. Strawberries, spinach, dwarf citrus, basil. The sorts of things that rich old women used to have their gardeners take care of and make their cooks harvest for dinner so they could tell their friends that they grew their own organic greens or peas or what have you. It wasn't until we got farther away from the city that we started to find full gardens. It was mostly grass and flowers near Reagan, with the occasional fruit tree or something." She shrugged. "We were very nomadic. Trying find some place safe... Every little bit helped. We stretched everything out into soup. There were lots of corn-based soups during that time. " Rachel went back to sorting. There were multiple varieties of pumpkins and other squash, and she was getting excited about the potential. Also, there was something very sexy about John bringing home such a bounty. "This is really great, John....there's so much for me to work with..." She rubbed her hands together, grinning to herself.

John drank from his mug, studying his companion while she examined the produce, mumbling recipe ideas. She was happy, relaxed and in an effusive mood. John loved listening to Rachel talk. In particular, her experiences of life on the road were fascinating - if frequently tinged with horror - and it wasn't often that she shared them. It was even rarer for her to do so sober.

John felt almost sheltered. His experiences during the same time had been a completely different sort of horrifying. After the medical tents and the battlefield, John had had very little contact with other people - which had been how he had wanted it. Seemingly endless cycles of procedures, such as stitches, amputations, setting broken bones, often without anesthesia, and the screams of the dying had left him craving the comforts of solitude.

He just hadn't expected it to last so long.

Upon his return to Blue County, John had ridden around the countryside, looking for remaining residents and familiar faces - only to discover that everyone was gone, their homes showing signs of foul play, gardens raided and razed. He occupied himself doing basic repairs on houses and maintenance on crops, hoping that some of his neighbors would return - and have something to return to.

The only people that he saw during those trips were strangers - footsore nomads, families and groups, clearly traveling with a destination in mind. Those people he avoided completely. He wanted no responsibility for their fates, and had no interest in anyone's turmoil.

He made an exception when he found the group of children camped out in the remains of the burned out farmhouse. John introduced himself, staying mounted upon Basil just in case things weren't as they seemed.

There were seven of them. The oldest was a tan, dirty-blonde girl of about twelve or thirteen. She was twirling a fire-hardened spear in an expert, yet deceptively casual manner. "You can call me....Wendy," she told him, hands on her hips as she straightened to her full height. The girl was a budding beanpole. "What do you want?"

She was the boldest; the others stood behind her, staring up at him with large, distrustful eyes. A boy of about eight held a wicked-looking knife at his side, his eyes wary and fierce as he pushed a small girl behind him. In the corner, a boy sat next to the fire, plucking two small birds in his lap.

They were all thin and raggedly clothed, ranging from approximately six to ten years of age. The group had only a few bags of belongings between them, but carried a variety of weapons. Several of the children wore items of clothing that had been constructed from curtains and blankets.

"Wendy?" John asked, an eyebrow raised. "And these?" He motioned towards the others huddled behind her. "Your lost children?"

She shrugged, tossing the spear into the air and catching it. "That's good enough."

Using slow, cautious movements, John had reached into his daypack and tossed them some supplies - half a loaf of day old bread, a packet of venison jerky, and two bottles of water. The youngest children scrambled for it, but the others pulled them back, still staring up at John with suspicion. "I don't want anything from you," John had declared. He settled back into his saddle and stroked Basil's mane, awaiting their next move.

Eventually after a whispered conference they decided to take the risk of consuming the offered provisions.

"There are safer places around here," John had suggested, watching the children divide the food. "I could show you-"

"We're not going anyplace with you," Wendy interrupted, crossing her arms across her chest, "so don't even bother to try it." He assumed she spoke for the group, as they all remained silent, throwing him wary glances even as they wolfed down the food.

"Alright. I could give you directions to some places."

"So you can lead us to your friends or something?" She had shaken her head. A child with short hair, an androgynous appearance, and several small javelins tucked under one arm pressed a chunk of bread and a strip of jerky into Wendy's hand. "No way, Mister."

John had nodded. "I just want to help."

"Well, thanks for the food," Wendy had replied firmly.

He had dropped a number of additional supplies for them before riding back home - including the rest of the food in his backpack, a thin blanket, and the basic first aid kit he kept in his saddlebag. The following day, he had returned to check on them, bearing a fresh load of supplies, but they were long gone. He was relieved to see that they had taken the other items he had left for them. John considered tracking them down, but decided against it; from the way they had acted, they seemed likely to panic if they saw him following them.

He still thought about 'Wendy' and her brood. He wondered if he knew anyone who was still alive. He wondered if there were any other living people at all and what they might be doing. He had wondered if he would ever see another person again....

When he looked up, she was staring at him, one eyebrow raised.

"What were you just thinking about?"

He exhaled. "People, I guess."

"Living? Or...?" She let the word hang in the air.

"I don't know," John answered after a pause. "That's what I thinking about."

"The people who are just...gone," Rachel said knowingly. "Yeah, I've got a lot of those. I pile them up," she added, her voice catching.

"Anyone who's alive has piled them up, Rachel." John's voice was quiet and sympathetic. "It's a horrible limbo, not knowing one way or the other. For us, anyway."

"Well," Rachel said, "If they're alive, it's limbo for them too."

"I've never thought of it like that." He exhaled, a guilty sigh. "Well, shit."

She returned a sage nod. "Beth and Emma were hard...but at least I have reason to think that they're safe. The last time they saw me, I was heading out onto the road again. But at least we got to hug each other goodbye." She stared into space, drumming her fingers on the table. "And here I am again. I don't know what's happened to Verre, or Samid, Abby and Dave, Guadalupe - not to mention the kids. And Cat is pregnant. Or she was." Rachel said, frowning. "I mean that she should have had the baby by now." She added vehemently, setting her jaw. "Or babies. We were taking bets, especially once she told us that her mother was a twin..." Rachel moved to the sink, staring off into the distance as she washed her hands. "I don't know if I'm ever going to see any of them again." She looked around for something to do with her hands, and decided upon making a new loaf of bread. The starter needing feeding, anyway. "Did I ever tell you about the house with the blackberry briar and the pond?"

John shook his head. "Was it near here?"

"No, this was quite a while ago." Rachel replied. She pulled the glass bowl of dough out of the fridge, then took down measuring cups and flour from the cabinets. "About a year and a half after we left the city, we were foraging when we found a little spot. We were a decent sized group, around a dozen, I think. About half of us from the group that left Reagan, but we'd all been travelling together for months by then - including Emma. Our group had changed a lot since we'd started out - deaths, departures, additions, even two births. Both successful." Rachel shot him a proud grin as she filled a measuring cup with water. "I even got to help with one of the deliveries."

John raised his eyebrows, impressed. "I can't imagine it was easy dealing with newborn babies out on the road like that."

"Ha! The younger they were, the easier," Rachel laughed, working on the dough. "There were four little ones in our group at that point. The babies spent most of the day asleep or nursing. It was the three year old and the six year old that were always getting into shit." She paused, wrinkling her brow. "Uh, were was I?"

"Your group was wandering and you found a place," he prompted her.

"Right," she said, raising her cup of tea at him. "It was late summer, I think. We had lost track of the days and months by then. Anyway, it was just starting to get really cool at night, and we were way out in the sticks. We hadn't found any indoor shelter for a while so we had been sleeping curled up around a fire. Rationing everything, looking for whatever we could find. Emma found this insanely long briar of blackberries. We were picking it clean, flushing out the occasional rabbit when we stumbled across this little cottage hidden behind a fence. The fence wasn't that tall, but the briar had been growing wild over it for some time; the place had been abandoned for a while. It had two bedrooms the size of closets and the propane tank was dry, but the windows and doors were well sealed and there was a water pump right in the front yard." She closed her eyes and allowed herself a tiny smile as she recalled the details. "It had a stone patio with a fire pit, a huge pond - it was practically a lake - and a tiny little garden. Or it had been, but without maintenance it had grown wild. Mostly herbs, but there were a few other things. And there were these little patches of wild onions and ramps growing around the house."