Caution: This Action/Adventure Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Romantic, Post Apocalypse, Safe Sex, Masturbation, Petting, Exhibitionism,
Desc: Action/Adventure Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Virulent spores caused by man bring civilization as we know it to a screeching halt. A loner becomes a leader. This is not a sex story per se. Most sex is suggestive only.
DAY ONE, NEAR GOLDEN, COLORADO, MORNING
Marc Haines slowly opened his eyes, peering up at the same old ceiling with the same old slowly revolving fan. It was still coated with winter dust, and more than a few 'dust bunnies'. In a way, it was sort of funny. It didn't matter whether he pulled the chain one time, or four times, the fan just kept on slowly revolving. He'd pretty well gotten used to it. He was well experienced in electronics as well as electrical wiring. It just didn't seem worth the effort to take the damn thing apart; or to take it down, repackage it, drive 62 miles to the Cheapmart on the western outskirts of Denver, and then drive back. So, for the last four years, it had just revolved slowly: spring, summer, fall and winter.
Well, spring was just a month away, and he could darn well wait until then to dust it off. A man of habit, he cleaned the cabin top to bottom twice a year, spring and fall. After six years, it made no never mind to him that it was never on a specific date. However, almost unfailingly, it was an outside temperature of fifty degrees that kick started the cleaning. That temperature was warm enough just to wear a light jacket. It wasn't cold enough to have to wear one of his sheepskin and fleece lined overcoats.
It wasn't until he threw his legs off the bed, and his feet hit the cold floor, that current reality smacked him upside the head.
'Shit, ' he thought, 'I should be dead, like all them others.'
The world had gotten sick and started dying, after the 'golden snow' had blanketed the mountainous areas in the West and East. The golden hued rain had drenched the lower altitudes and latitudes of the U.S. He had heard, after he came down sick with whatever it was, that it was worldwide. Every government was denying responsibility as to it being a chemical warfare agent that had been developed and released by mistake or accident.
Forgetting his thermal socks, he cold-hopped over to the radio. After turning the radio on to a preset oldies station, he immediately hopped over the cold floor to turn on the over-sized plasma TV. He had bought it, just two months ago, to watch The Discovery Channel, The History Channel, and A&E. He flipped the remote to the T.V., just as he realized that the only thing coming from the radio was hissing. Waiting a couple of seconds more, the T.V. flicked to life. The screen was immediately filled with the black and white flecks called 'snow'. He flipped to the next channel and only the stations call letters and station I.D. were showing. The next channel more hissing and snow.
Marc slowly walked back to one of the couches, ignoring his cold feet and sat down. Thoughts raced through his brain. He almost passed out before realizing that he was holding his breath in his nervous reaction to the fact that there might no longer be any radio or TV broadcasts.
'Shit! Am I the only one left alive? What the hell do I do now? Somebody else has to be alive. I can't be the only person living. If I am alive; then, logically speaking, someone else has to be alive, also, ' he thought.
He quickly flipped thru the standard broadcast channels finding several that were playing movies, but none of the news stations like CNN and Fox were operating nor were any of the situational comedies or live host shows. Then he flipped through a number of the satellite channels. Again, some movies and documentaries were playing, but none of the live specialty programs for home repair, cooking, decorating, or related were on.
Marc then realized that what he was seeing must be playing over and over again on loop. Apparently any number of stations instead of shutting down had just loaded up a loop and was running it on continuous loop mode. Well, at least no more Oprah and that Dr. whatever his name was. If it was true for TV, the same thing had probably been done at a number of the radio stations.
Reaching up to scratch his face, he encountered a heavy growth.
"Jeeze! How long have I been sick? This is several days' worth of beard."
Marc then turned and headed over to his office/computer room, which also held his coin collection displays.
Reaching up by the doorway, he flipped on the first two of the four switches on the plate. Recessed lights mounted near the ceiling came on, as well as his computer, printer, scanner, camera set up, desktop lighting and stereo. The other two switches were for the air conditioning and for his coin display cases.
Sitting down, he quickly typed in his password, 'toofrigginold'. The computer promptly booted, and he looked down at the date display. It read, 07:47:13; 2008.03.15.
"Shit," he mumbled, "I've been out for four days."
That was when the thirst hit. Marc practically ran to the kitchen sink. Turning the cold tap on full, he cocked his head under the spigot. Thirstily, he gulped down water.
Seemingly, he was not able to quench his thirst. However, knowing he would shortly be throwing the water back up, he reluctantly stopped drinking. Slowly backing away from the sink, he tried to make sense of the almost desperate thirst, but could not. Like everything else that morning, nothing made sense
With that thought in mind, Marc decided just to go about his daily routine. He had already forgotten about checking the radio stations.
He walked over to the oversized propane fired stove/grill combination. He turned two of the burners on. On the one on low, for the bacon, he threw a black flat-bottomed 12" iron skillet. The other burner, on medium, was for coffee. Filling the blue porcelain coffee pot with water and adding fresh ground coffee; he started thinking about a plan of action for the day.
Shit, shower, and shave to start with and then definitely finish cooking and eating breakfast. His stomach was making growling noises as he realized his demanding hunger. Well, after four days, it certainly wasn't surprising.
The next thing to do was to see how long it would take to get the old '55 Chevy truck started. He needed to go down the mountain, and into Golden, to see if any one else was alive.
Before he even got to the bathroom, the smell off his long johns reached his nose and he started laughing.
"Shit, I stink," he said.
He laughed all the harder as he realized that almost every thought he'd had that day had been prefaced with the word 'Shit'. It was really shaping up to be 'one of those days'. He just hoped that by the end of the day he would not be referring to his first day back alive as "Shit day." This thought set him off laughing, again.
Turning on the hot water, he stuck his hand out, testing the temperature. Soon enough, the water did turn warm, and then hot. He added cold water and got the temperature to his liking. Stripping off his long johns, Marc noticed that the hair on his legs seemed darker. There were not as many gray hairs as there should be. It was only a quick thought in his head. It was filed away in that section of that brain that is labeled 'Maybe I Will Remember It, and Maybe I Won't.' Most doctors, psychologists, and sociologists would claim that no such area existed, but Marc knew differently. Throughout his life, the infamous CRS (Can't Remember Shit) syndrome was definitely a part of his character and personality. Earlier in life, he had recognized this for what it was. Some things in life were not particularly important to him. Why should he try to remember or really to take notice of matter or things he considered trivial?
However, this memory had barely made the file bin, when it was summoned back with an immediate urgency. Upon getting the shampoo, he put a small portion in his one hand and placed the shampoo back on the holder rack. His hands went to his hair to start shampooing. Immediately they encountered thicker, longer strands, plus hair where there shouldn't be any.
Marc flung back the curtain and stepped out, dripping water. He looked in the mirror and couldn't believe what he saw. He had a nearly full head of hair. His eyebrows were no longer twisted and gnarled, and his face looked at least ten years younger than his current 63 years of age.
It had only been the last four or five years that he had started going bald. When it had, it had hit with a vengeance. It had stripped the front four inches of his hair back from his forehead to nothing, and then another inch or so on either side of the foremost hair.
In disbelief, he ran his hands through his newly regained hair, and realized that there was no dandruff either. Maybe it was too soon to be afflicted once again with his nemesis: 'Dandruff'. It had plagued him since he was twelve. A wry smile crossed his face at that thought.
Stepping back from the mirror, he began taking stock of himself. Most of his paunch was gone, as well as the love handles around his waist. His chest had also regained some of the musculature it had once had.
"Not bad, not bad at all," he mumbled. "Maybe some good has come out of this god-awful plague. I am not going to 'look this gift horse in the mouth', that's sure. I wonder what else has changed."
Retaking stock of himself, he realized that he only had small aches in his lower back, instead of the sharp pains and throbs that normally accompanied him when sitting or standing up in the morning. Mostly after he sat up, got up, sat down, or stood; even while walking or trotting. The sharp pains would ease away to dull aches and throbs, after several minutes of activity, only to return if he was still for any length of time.
"Enough of this self admiration, time to finish my shower," he said firmly.
Marc had just finished his shower and had slipped into his old floppy sandals, when his nostrils detected something burning. Grabbing his terrycloth and thermal robe, he had just made it out of the bathroom doorway, when the 'whoop, whoop, whoop' of the outdoor loud speakers were initiated by one of the smoke detectors. Smoke was billowing out of the offset kitchen area, and the smell of burnt bacon assailed his nose. He hurried to the stove. Grabbing one of several thermal hot pads, he set the skillet directly into the sink.
'Shit, not again! This day is just not my day, ' he thought.
He flipped a switch over by the kitchen door, silencing the Klaxon-like sirens. In the silence, he heard something or multiple some things, scratching at his front door. Then came several yelps and barks. The barks sounded somewhat urgent.
As he approached the door, the yelps got louder. They sounded faster together, and there were more of them. Marc looked out the 2" by 6" view slot, which held 1-3/16" thick Solar Gray B.R. glass. His eyes were immediately drawn to a pack of dogs, which were running full tilt towards his cabin.
Not even pausing to think about it, Marc reached down and grabbed the model .270 Savage rifle he always kept propped next to the door. He pulled the door open, and stepped outside, knocking the half screen/half solid door to his left. He levered the first shell into the chamber and started firing, levering each shell as fast as he could. Just that quickly, three dogs were down and dead, one was badly wounded, one was limping, and the last two were running flat out to get away. He again took one step forward. He levered another shell in, took careful aim, and killed the badly wounded dog.
"One thing I don't need, is a pack of wild dogs running loose, and maybe catching me when I'm going out to one of the sheds or into the old mine shaft," he mumbled to himself.
He had found the old mineshaft in a small cul de sac behind the house.
As he turned to go back into the house, he almost tripped over a medium size short hair dog, that apparently had been standing out on the porch... barking? growling? chortling? the whole time.
"I thought I heard more than one dog. I wonder where the rest are?"
Before he got his answer, the shorthaired dog flew off the porch and headed for the left side of the field in front of the house. As he watched the dog, he noticed its brown spotted and speckled coat, and he said to himself, "I think that is a Basenji, What the heck is that kind of dog doing around here? Maybe that's why I didn't really hear him bark."
Further thought reminded him that the breed's 'bark' almost sounded like a laugh or chortling sound. Now he knew for sure that it was a Basenji. As he watched the dog, another shape came loping out of the brush at the edge of eastern stand of pine trees. "My, that dog is running funny, looks almost like he's crippled. By God, he is crippled! And that is no dog, it is a wolf!"
Not believing what he was seeing, he was further astounded when the Basenji run right up to the wolf, and started prancing around and licking the wolf's ears and muzzle.
All of a sudden, two more dogs ran by him and off the porch. He realized from their brushing by him, that when he had thrown open the screen door, they must have run by him and into the house. Looking at them running towards the crippled wolf, he saw that one was a German Shepherd the other a Golden Retriever, and that both were female.
Looking at the Basenji, he now saw that it was also female. The wolf was male. He wondered what would happen when those two dogs reached the cavorting Basenji and the wolf. He didn't have much time to wonder about it, because they both started licking, barking, and dodging away from the wolf as the Basenji was doing. After lunging and playing with the wolf for a few minutes, all three dogs started heading back for the cabin. The wolf stopped almost at once. The three dogs starting barking and running in circles. They sat down on their haunches about twenty feet in front of the wolf. The wolf looked nervous, and finally hobbled up to them. Immediately, all three did the same routine again. They finally got him up to about fifty feet of the house, and the wolf would not budge. He lay down instead and licked his wounded, and as Marc could now see, bloody paw.
Marc went back into the house and saw the dusty paw prints on the waxed wooden floor. This confirmed his thoughts on what had happened earlier, two of the dogs had rushed inside and the Basenji had stayed outside growling at that pack of dogs that Marc had killed.
Walking back outside, he looked at the lower outside solid half of the screen door. It was obvious from the myriad scratch marks, that what he had heard earlier was not the first time that dogs had scratched at the door.
"I wonder why they were scratching at my door? Surely they could have been at any number of different houses along this stretch of mountain road. And what the hell is the wolf doing with them? That's a stupid question; they were hungry and started looking for somebody to feed them. But what about the wolf? How did the wolf get hurt? Who found the wolf first? Bet the Basenji did."
The more he thought about it, the fewer answers he got. Marc glanced over to the old metal glider love seat and saw a pile of burlap bags all bunched up. The burlap bags had been on the rear porch with ten others before he had gotten sick. He walked over and sorted through them and sure enough, one of the bags had dried blood on it. "So, the wolf has been up on the porch, even with the heavy human male scent all around. I bet that at some time, this wolf has been around humans or was a pet. Well, maybe, not a pet as he is awful scraggly looking. To heck with it, I'm hungry and nobody is going to feed me."
With that thought in mind Marc went back into the house, closing both doors, to prepare his way overdue breakfast. However, before he got to the kitchen, the phone started ringing. Marc lunged over the couch grabbing at the phone, wanting desperately to hear a voice on the other end of the line. "Hello... Hello..." Click. "Son of a bitch! What asshole dialed this number and then just hung up? Shit, what else can go wrong this day? Screw it, I'm cooking breakfast and then I'll get dressed."
Marc walked over to sink and scrapped out most of the burnt bacon. Reaching under the sink he opened a used coffee tin that contained sand and pumice. Shaking a small amount in the cast iron skillet, he used his fingers on the pumice and sand to scrub the remnants of the burnt bacon out. He never had liked the soap taste that always seemed to be left over in the skillet when he tried using dish washing liquid to clean it. The old 'in the field' method of sand and his own contribution of pumice worked better, and left no taste.
Opening the refrigerator, he took out the rest of the bacon and noticed the huge Porterhouse steak from many days before that was now a dark, dark brown almost black lump of meat.
Grinning to himself, he thought this would make one helluva breakfast for the dogs and the wolf. He quickly cut the meat up into one inch sized chunks. Then he placed the meat into a colander and went out to the front porch. All three dogs and the wolf were lying on the burlaps. The three dogs immediately came to him, smelling the meat, but the wolf just looked up and began growling. Ignoring the wolf, Marc dropped some meat in front of each of the dogs, one by one. This way they wouldn't be fighting over the meat.
He threw four of five hunks in front of the wolf. The three dogs started towards the meat, and then just sat down on their haunches. The wolf made the small crawl over to the meat, which wasn't that far away, and swallowed the pieces whole. He glared at Marc the whole time.
Marc gave the wolf a two-finger 'cub-scout' salute and said, "Why thank you Mr. Human. That was, verily, a tasty meal."
Marc laughed, turned, and walked back into the house chuckling all the way.
An hour later Marc had eaten, washed the breakfast dishes, and had gotten dressed. While dressing, he noticed that he had to cinch his belt in to the last hole. Even that was loose.
"Well, I see now that I'm going to have to go into town and get clothes, food for myself; and also for those mutts. I'm tired of thinking 'dogs' and 'wolf'. From now on, they are just 'mutts'," he said.
"Looks like I got me a family again," he added with a grin.
Edited by TeNderLoin