Getting By
Chapter 1

Copyright© 2007 by Shakes Peer2B

Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1 - The terrorists finally got a bio-weapon and released it in Western countries. They didn't count on it spreading so fast or killing so effectively. When the dust settles there is only a very small percentage of the human population remaining. This is the story of one group, led by Gavin Thompson, on a mission to resurrect humanity. This story begins the 'Post-Sickness' saga. Read it first.

Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Fa/Fa   Rape   Science Fiction   Post Apocalypse   DomSub   Rough   Light Bond   Oral Sex   Anal Sex   Sex Toys  

I didn't know, when I first recovered from the sickness, that the world had gone to hell in a handbasket. The electricity was still on in my apartment, and I staggered to the fridge and got some leftovers, heated them in the microwave, and sat down in front of the TV to eat.

As I sat there in my underwear, gnawing on a chicken leg, I used the remote to turn the box on, only to find some public service notice filling the screen. Annoyed, I changed channels - to find a similar notice. One channel after another I flipped through only to discover that they were all the same.

Disgusted, I almost turned the thing off, but something told me I should probably read the notice, first.

That was when I learned that I was one of the few survivors of whatever disease had knocked me down with that fever. That wasn't good.

I walked slowly back to my bedroom, trying not to pass out, and grabbed my cell phone.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I began calling every number in my phone's memory. No answer on any of them. Crap! Was I the ONLY survivor? Probably not, but there couldn't be very damned many!

I noticed the light blinking on my answering machine so I pushed the playback button.

"Gavin?" Melinda's voice sounded weak and strained, "Oh Gavin, please be there! I - I've got the sickness sweetheart, and I don't think I'm going to make it. If you get this, please call me on my cell phone. I love you!"

I punched up her speed dial number, over and over again. The time stamp on the message was two days ago. No answer now. Nor was there any answer at her mother's or her sister's. What a hell of a time to have to visit relatives in Chicago!

I was too weak to do anything about it yet, but as I lay there on the sweat-soaked sheets, I knew I had to do something pretty quick.

Three days it took to get me back on my feet for most of the day. I figured if I took it easy, I'd be able to go a bit longer each day. For those three days, I thought and schemed and planned as best I could for what I knew and what I couldn't know, and every day, I tried Melinda's numbers again. Every day, I got the same result. I resisted, hoping against hope, the temptation to throw the cell phone through the window.

When I finally felt up to getting on with my life, I knew where I wanted to go first. My bicycle threaded its way across town, dodging cars that had simply stopped, or worse, crashed. I kept wanting to stop and help the occupants, and had to constantly remind myself that there was nothing I could do for them. Crossing the causeway to Mare Island, I was almost overwhelmed by the eerie silence. Never, in all my years in Vallejo, had I heard the lapping of waves on the pilings of the Mare Island causeway, simply because there was always too much traffic and other activity. Today, the only unnatural sound was my bike.

The Army Reserve Transportation depot was locked up tight as a drum, but a padlock is no match for a tire iron and, with no one around to stop me, I broke in. My first stop was the motor pool. The lock on the office door was no harder than the one on the gate, but the one on the key cabinet was a little tougher. I wound up tearing the cabinet doors off their hinges, instead.

I had no idea which keys I needed, but I grabbed a handful and walked to the biggest truck on the lot - an M900, 5 ton 6x6. The seventh key slipped in and turned. The engine caught after only a few turns of the starter and rumbled easily at idle after a few roars as I worked the accelerator. I left it in Neutral with the brake on and tossed my mountain bike into the bed.

It had been a while since I had driven anything this big, so it jerked and bounced a bit as I got it moving. To my gratification, the tanks read full, and I left it idling as I pulled up in front of the building that housed the weapons locker.

M16s were plentiful, as was the ammo for them, so I took several armloads and as much ammunition as I could find. Same with .45s and their ammo. I looked longingly at the machine guns, and after a mental coin toss loaded a 7.62mm machine gun and several boxes of belts. Hedging my bets, I also picked up a SAW. Some hand-grenades, claymores, and flak jackets rounded out my 'purchases.' As an afterthought, I picked up a few Ka-bars, strapping one of the knives around me with a web belt. Just in case, I loaded one of the M16A4s and a 9mm sidearm and took them into the cab of the truck with me.

The covered bed of the truck was nowhere near full, and that was just as well. I had a few more stops to make.

Back across the causeway, I turned right onto Mare Island way and followed it around to Sonoma Blvd, where I turned right. A couple of blocks up I turned onto Bennet and, instead of wasting time with the tire iron, just drove the truck through the gate into the lot. There wasn't much there that I wanted that I hadn't already picked up from the Army, but I backed up to a HMMV and hitched it to the rear of the truck. A quick search, and I came away with a few shoulder-fired rocket launchers and a set of detailed topographical maps of California and its surroundings. Those would come in handy for what I intended.

Having completed my major purchases, I made one more stop at my apartment and picked up the duffel bag that contained the few clothes and personal effects that I wanted to take with me.

A quick tour of the major parts of Vallejo turned up no other survivors, until I hit the intersection of Broadway and Sereno, where a woman in a nurse's scrubs flagged me down.

I stopped, and looking carefully around, helped her into the cab. She was a pretty Filipina in her twenties, and when she finished sobbing and thanking me, I discovered her name was Corazon.

"I tried to help them, but they all died!" she sobbed over and over. "Then I got sick, and when my fever broke, everyone was dead! Even the doctors!"

"I know, Cora," I tried to console her. "There aren't many of us left at all. You're the first one I've seen in Vallejo."

"What will we do?!" she wailed into my shoulder.

"Well, the first thing you need to do is pull yourself together," I said. "With no one left in authority, there will be some who will turn to violence to get what they want. My plan is to gather together as many like-minded people as I can and find a safe place where we can start over. I'd like you to go with me, if you want to."

"I have to go home. I have to see if my I can find my husband and my daughter!"

"Where do you live?"

It was only a few blocks away, and I locked up the truck in the middle of the street and followed her inside, just in case. They were dead in the living room. The little girl had apparently died in his arms before he, too, succumbed. It was several minutes before I could get her to calm down and pack a bag. Jeans, jackets, even scrubs - all utilitarian clothing.

Partly to keep her mind busy, and partly because we would need the supplies, I drove back to the Kaiser hospital where she had worked and had Cora round up all the medical gear that could be used in the absence of electricity. It was hard on her, again seeing the doctors and nurses that she had known lying dead there, but she stuck it out. She didn't know as many of the people at the Sutter Solano Medical Center when we stopped there, but it was still a struggle for her. Strangely, fighting the emotions evoked by seeing dead co-workers and acquaintances seemed to take her mind off the loss of her family, if only for a while

At the Raley's on Broadway, I ignored the stuff on the shelves and in the coolers and rummaged around the back, using the supermarket's hand truck to load box after box of canned meat and vegetables, rice, beans, dehydrated potatoes, flour, sugar, salt, and anything else that looked like it might have a reasonable shelf life, as well as several cases of bottled water. Cora, still fighting tears, rifled the Pharmacy, coming away with antibiotics, bandages, and as much other first aid stuff as possible, all thrown into industial strength garbage bags.

By the time we returned to the cab, her eyes were dry and there was a determined look on her face. That was about as good as I could hope for, in these trying circumstances, and I gave her a quick, friendly hug.

Carl's sports emporium provided us with camping gear and water purification equipment. I ignored the propane powered stuff. I might be able to scrounge the fuel for a while, but it would eventually run out, and I figured Mother Nature would provide us with what we needed for cooking and heating.

I did load up on hunting bows and arrows, then, on a whim, took a couple of crossbows and the bolts for them.

With a mental apology to Carl's ghost, I started the truck, now almost half full, and headed off toward the exit of the empty parking lot, the map with my planned route out of the Bay Area marked in hi-liter and clipped to the dash

Over the noise of the engine, I thought I heard a voice, so I let off of the accelerator. Sure enough, somewhere, a thin, reedy voice was calling. I looked around and saw nothing. Clipping the holster of the loaded 9mm to my web belt, I grabbed the M16, turned off the ignition and motioned for Cora to stay where she was. I stepped down, looking cautiously around, M16 at the ready. I saw nothing on my side of the truck, and instead of walking around, bent over and duck-walked under the bed, rolling out the other side.

She was armed, but the revolver shook in her frail hand so badly that she couldn't have hit me if she pulled the trigger from five feet away.

"You... you put all that stuff back!" she scolded, standing there in a stained robe, looking like I must have looked three days before. "That's my father's store and you haven't paid for any of that!"

I lowered the muzzle of the M16 and walked slowly up to her. She fainted before I got there, and I had to grab her and ease her to the ground until I could get a better grip on her and carry her and the huge Ruger .44 to the cab of the truck. She couldn't have been more than 13, and the disease had ravaged her already frail body. She smelled awful, but if she had gotten this far, I figured she'd survive. Cora gave her water and coaxed her to eat some canned fruit as I went back outside.

A quick check revealed the door on the side of the building that she'd come out of. A staircase led up to a nice little apartment above the store. A man and woman lay side by side on a bed in one room, both dead long enough that they were beginning to stink. The girl's room was down the hall, and I could see where she had puked and hadn't had the energy to clean it up.

I rummaged through the closet and drawers and put every pair of jeans and every shirt that looked like it might last a while in a garbage bag. I hesitated over the flimsy underwear, then went ahead and added it. It might not last long, but a period of still feeling civilized might help her adapt. As an afterthought, I added the teddy bear from the sweat-stained bed.

She was sleeping peacefully in Cora's lap when I returned to the cab. The young nurse stroked her sweat-soaked hair, and gazed sadly at her young face.

"She is too young to have to face such a thing!" The tears, this time, were for the girl in her lap, and it gave me hope that she would have something to occupy her mind besides the loss of her own family.

I drove slowly through the surface streets, out of necessity and to watch for signs of other survivors. At one intersection, I stopped to watch as, about a block away, a guy in a leather jacket leaned through the window of a derelict car and came out with a shiny necklace in his hand, grinning like he'd just hit the jackpot.

No, I decided, HIS genes didn't need to be perpetuated. If the guy thought the most important thing for him to do at this point in his life was to steal jewelry from the dead, his elevator wasn't going all the way up, and I had enough on my hands. When he noticed me and started to point a handgun in my direction, I sprinkled him with chips of lead and asphalt by firing a short burst at his feet from the M16. He and the gun disappeared in the other direction.

Beside me, the girl and Cora were staring wide-eyed, as if seeing me for the first time.

"Sorry about your dad's store, miss," I told the girl, as I continued my route out of town, "but believe me, it's better I get this stuff than the likes of that guy, okay?"

"Where are you taking me?" she cried. "I've got to get back! My Mom and Dad are sick! I'm the only one who can take care of them!"

"You're mom and dad didn't make it, honey," Cora said as softly as she could over the roar of the diesel.

"Didn't make it?" the girl's eyes, uncomprehending, darted back and forth between us. "Of course they made it! We just had a little flu, is all. I made it. They must have, too!"

On a hunch, I reached behind the seat and pulled out the teddy bear. "I know it's hard to accept, sweetheart, but you and I and Cora, here, are the lucky ones. Hardly anyone survived."

To my surprise, as she hugged the teddy bear, she seemed to be thinking about that, instead of going into a panic over it. As I suspected, the freeway was clogged with stalled cars and RVs, some abandoned, most still occupied. The smell was horrible. I had to bull my way across the Benicia bridge by pushing cars out of the way with the truck's bumper. It couldn't be helped. The truck wasn't amphibious. The railing gave way a couple of times and cars fell into the strait or dangled precariously from the edge.

It took more than an hour to get across, then onto the shoulder and down the ramp to Marina Vista. I had to edge along the shoulder on Marina vista until I passed the road through the Shell refinery that led to Pacheco Blvd. From that point, most of the would-be escapees hadn't known enough about the surface streets to take the route I intended, and getting to the other side of Martinez was relatively easy.

Once on Alhambra, things started getting sticky again. The closer we got to Highway 4, the worse the congestion got. I was tempted to try going over the tops of the stalled cars, but thought better of it. If the truck got stuck, I had no idea how I'd get it off or find a replacement, so I stayed with the old tried and true method of nosing vehicles aside into yards and parking lots.

Once past Highway 4, we had fairly easy going, especially when I cut west and found Reliez Valley Road. Under normal circumstances, it was not a road that would accept a rig this size, especially towing the Hummer, but nobody complained, and there were many fewer cars to move out of the way until we got back to Pleasant Hill road.

Again, we had to shoulder cars out of the way to get through.

Cora and the girl had been talking, off and on, but I could not spare any attention for what little I could hear of their conversation over the roar of the engine. The girl finished her water asked for another and I finally realized she must be starving, though she had eaten the peaches that Cora fed her earlier

"There's some canned food and stuff behind the seat, there, uh... ?"

I don't know what she and Cora talked about, but the young Filipina must have said the right things because the girl smiled. Her smile was brilliant, and transformed her entire appearance from that of a bedraggled waif to a somewhat unkempt tomboy, off on an adventure.

"Crystal, with a 'C, '" she told me, extending a fragile hand. "Crystal Adams."

"Um, Gavin, Crystal," I replied, taken by the sudden transformation, "Gavin Thompson. Pleased to meet you, and I guess you've met Corazon Mendoza."

We all shook hands briefly, and I returned my attention to the road while Crystal and Cora rummaged around, until Crystal came out with a can. It was a pop-top, which was why it was in the cab, but once it was opened, Crystal looked helplessly for something else.

Guessing at her need, I pulled out one of the clumsy all-in-one fold-up utensil kits I'd stolen from her father's store, and she gratefully unfolded the spoon. I was suprised that what she had chosen was the beef stew.

She grimaced at the cold greasiness of the mess, but finished every bite, then looked over at me sheepishly.

"Protein," she said apologetically.

I grinned. Crystal was one smart cookie, and though her body might be a little frail, there was nothing wrong with her mind.

Looking at her and Corazon, I realized that a bond had formed between them, and it warmed my heart. Together, they could weather their losses more easily than alone, and there were going to be too many struggles ahead for them to spend too much time on grief.

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