Young Writers Society

Farm Invasion

Zombie Days ficlet // Rated for boy!kissing.

[for Sam, because I can has zombies.]

Marshall shivered. He was in a cage, in the back of Louisa Martrum’s barn. There was a man in fatigues near the door that was opened just enough for a shaft of light to pass through. Marshall stared at the large gun the man had holstered on his hip. He absently wondered how far he could get before he pulled his gun. Even with all the restless energy Marshall had pent up in his system, he doubted he make it very far before he took a bullet or two to the back of his skull. Would he even make it outside? Probably not.

His legs twitched and he stretched upwards, though not to his full height; the damn cage he had been shoved into wasn’t tall enough.

He heard a sniffle and turned to look to where Trudy and Sara were huddled together. In the half-light, he couldn’t quite tell where one started and the other began. He was glad they were comforting each other; he didn’t think he’d be much use.

Rage boiled in his gut and extended out to his fingertips. His head throbbed and he was so full of frustration hat his fingers threatened to pry the bars apart, if only for something to do.

He looked at the man by the door again. With the force, he had displayed earlier, Marshall doubted that he could take him on even if somehow he could get the gun away from him.

Yet, again, his thoughts had come full circle. Even if he got the gun away from the man, the man wasn’t alone, the rest of the men in army fatigues waiting just outside would be alerted, and, then, well, then, Marshall would be just an excuse for some lame target practice. He had seen their faces, smeared black like some sort of war paint. Whoever they were, U.S. Army, rogue militia or some crazy cult, it didn’t matter; he had known from the look in their eyes that they wouldn’t think twice about killing some high school punk who was interrupting their fun.

Marshall drew a deep breath and turned away from the man with the gun near the barn door and back to Trudy and Sara. He couldn’t speak. His mouth was so dry. Swallowing twice, he finally got his voice to work and his mouth to move. “You okay?”

He heard one of them sob, and then a sniffle. Sara spoke, “Yeah. I think…I think so.”

Thank God for small mercies.

Marshall sighed and slumped back against cage. The bars dug into his back, more pinpoints of pain to grimace against.

The barn smelled like leather, saddle soap, and manure. Much like the county fair. Though Marshall had not been to one since he was very little, the experience had been imprinted into his brain: it’s very own fingerprint; he was pathologically afraid of fairs. It would not have been so daunting if there was just a little more light, and he could see exactly what else the men had shoved in the barn with them.

When Marshall raised his hand to wipe his nose, he saw the dirt that had collected under his now torn fingernails and the scum that was smeared across his knuckles and palm.

Marshall closed his eyes, unnerved by the way his hands dark with dirt seemed to fade into the darkness of the barn. Flashes of the day flickered across the inside of his eyelids.

That morning at Louisa Martrum’s farm had been pretty much the same as the last few mornings they had spent in it: an all over gray feeling had settled into their bones, permeated by the knowledge that they had survived something they probably shouldn’t have. Marshall had made breakfast. Eggs on toast. Though the toast was bare; there was no butter or marjoram left. He rationed out the eggs, too; only a half dozen left.

After breakfast came the big bang; the moment that changed everything.

Marshall had turned from where he and Trudy were washing dishes towards the origin of the sound; it was like the beginning on a storm, only it wasn’t a rolling thunder.

Tanks and jeeps, en mass, were encroaching on the farmhouse: a large dark snake, following the long, flat road that ended at the edge of the house porch.

Sara who had been laying on her stomach in the front room, blinking the right eye then the left over and over again, staring into the static on the ancient TV set, gave a shout.

“We’re saved!”

Trudy dropped the dish she was washing into the soapy water below and gasped at the sight of the caravan approaching the farm.

It was like an explosion had taken place. Trudy and Sara were shrieking and laughing and jumping up and down, clasping each other’s hands as they did so. It all felt very surreal to Marshall. It was if he was a spectator detached from his own reflexes and reactions. He watched on as his friends reveled in the sight of their would-be saviors. Marshall was in too shaken to do anything else.

Marshall was frozen when the men had descended with their vicious war paint and imposed martial law on Louisa Martrum’s farm, taking them hostage.

That was this morning. So full of hope, Trudy and Sara been, and now they were huddled in fear and apprehension of their fate. Him, well, the shock of the morning had just turned to anger.

Marshall caught the movement of the sentry guard and watched as the man straightened up to his full height. An arm stretched out to push the barn door open an inch or two.

Marshall was so intent on trying to figure out what the voices were actually saying that when Trudy put her hand on his arm, he jumped.

When he looked back to Trudy to apologize, she ignored him, her blue eyes fixed on the guard at the door.

“What are they saying?”

Marshall shook his head and turned his attention back to the commotion at the barn door. He couldn’t quite make out what was being said, but he isolated at least two voices. A man’s, low and firm, and a woman’s: sharp, clearly angry, as if she was being put off. The conversation ended quickly. Then the sentry saluted whoever was on the other side of the door.

Marshall tried to straighten from his slouch. His eyes fixed on the door, he watched as a man in uniform stepped through. The man eased into the room, placid expression focused on the cage and those inside it. Each movement was purposeful, each step direct; the man wasted no extra effort in walking. His reseeding hair-line was visible and Marshall measured they were probably the same height, though currently he seemed to tower above them all.

Behind the man was the most beautiful sight he had seen, Dylan Frazier and Brian Merrit sauntering through the door: alive and smiling.

Marshall’s eyes were focused on Brian, who looked everything like a savoir, in the worn jeans and brown, bomber jacket. He was wearing Ray-Ban sunglasses, and he was tan. Marshall couldn’t remember him ever looking so good.

Marshall barely noticed the squirrelly man with hedgehog hair who darted behind or the excited chatter their entrance had spurred in Sara and Trudy.

When the three stopped a few feet from the cage, Brian and Dylan removed their sunglasses. Marshall let out the breath he was holding and fixed his eyes on Brian’s brown ones. Brian smiled at and he felt his world tilt for the better, his heartbeat picking up speed.

The man in charge turned to face Dylan.

“These are the ones we found. Any of them the one’s you looking for?” The man’s voice was gruff. Marshall felt the burn as the man’s eyes passed over him.

“Yes, sir.” Dylan pulled a piece of paper, which looked like a 3” by 5” index card, out of her jean’s pocket and handed it to the man.

He was silent as he looked at the card. Marshall looked to Brian again who was still smiling. His heart skipped a beat. Marshall frowned, confused at his own reaction; he couldn’t remember ever acting this way. It was probably because Brian was here, safe, nothing more. There was now tangible evidence that freedom could be attained. That, he reasoned, was all that was behind his quickening heart beat and gooey insides. Marshall looked to Dylan. Nothing. Apparently, his heart found her most uninteresting.

And, scrunched down in the cage in Louisa Martrum’s barn, hoping like hell that he hadn’t been infected by the undead, Marshall had the most bizarre thought: what would it be like to kiss Brian Merritt.

Marshall shook his head trying to shake those thoughts loose, determined to listen closely to the conversation. That stray thought was just a fluke; he figured it was just part of the weird few weeks he had been having. A zombie invasion seemed to mess up his thoughts like nobody’s business.

The man in charge looked up at Dylan, one eyebrow slanted upwards. “The Senator, eh?”

Dylan shrugged her shoulders. When she spoke, her voice was lazy, making the words sound unimportant: “A friend of a friend, so to speak.”

The man who had chased Dylan and Brian into the room spoke for the first time, his voice frenzied and high, like that of a squeaky toy. “Commander, sir. We have to keep these kids quarantined. We can’t let them out at the risk of infection or coming in contact with the infected.”

Dylan spoke, “They’re not infected. Look at them. Okay, well, Marshall’s looking particularly zombie-like at the moment, but trust me, he’s hasn’t crossed over to the undead side…yet.”

“You don’t know that.” The doctor’s voice erupted even more piercing than before.

Marshall looked back at Brian, and he felt a warm feeling swirl around inside of him. Brian had come to rescue him. Well, Dylan, probably helped some, but still Brian was here. He hadn’t known he had felt so strongly about him and dismissed it. The thrill at being found thrummed in his fingers, and he felt the need to busy them with something.

The man in charge was speaking again, looked down his sharp nose at the doctor. “Dr. Baumrell, I have to agree with Ms. Frazier. It has been over twenty-four hours, the chances either of our detainees have been infected is slim to none. Plus, this goes over even my own head.” He flashed the card Dylan had handed him.

The doctor squeaked when he read the pass and what was written on it, not to mention the very large, important signature in read ink.

Dylan snorted at the doctor’s reaction, and then spoke. “Guess that means my security clearance trumps yours.”

Dylan turned to Brian. “Feeling special yet, Watson.”

Marshall felt himself smile despite his situation when Brian laughed. “Feeling especially elementary, my dear Holmes.”

Dylan swatted Brian in the arm. "Hey, that's my line."

The doctor adjusted the large, square glasses that were perched on his nose, and slicked back his greasy, graying hair. He opened his mouth again, raising his voice in an attempt to sound authoritative. “We still have to run tests.”

Dylan smirked and then winked at Brian. The doctor was ignored.

“You only have one pass, you realize.” The commander was speaking again.

Dylan snatched the paper back and dangled it from her fingertips.

She slanted her head towards Marshall. “He’s leaving with us.”

“Hey! What about us?” Trudy shouted from behind Marshall and for the first time since Brian and Dylan had arrived did Marshall thought perhaps he was going to be left in the cage. If one of the girls was safe, he would feel much more relieved. He could survive the cage longer. He breathed a sigh of relief, no doubt they would take Sara or Trudy now. Oh he would have loved to be rescued.

He was confused, but excited when Dylan spoke again. “Sorry, Trudy, one pass. And, we drew lots on you guys earlier.”

The man in charge flashed a crooked smile at Trudy. “No harm will come to you, as long as you haven’t been infected.”

Marshall heard Trudy sigh: “Oh.”

“Private Grange.” The commander ordered.

The sentry from the door stood at attention. “Yes, sir.”

“Unlock this cage, soldier and let the boy out.”

“Yes, sir.”

The guard marched over to the cage, and pulled out a long antique key. After a few seconds of turning the key in the lock, there was a click, and the door swung open.

Marshall bent and managed to limbo through the open entryway. He sighed happily as he stretched to his full height, spine popping as he did so. He heard the click of cage being locked behind him feeling happy but guilty that the girls were being left behind. Maybe they’d be safer here, under lock and key surrounded by men and machine guns.

Marshall had another inane thought: what if Dylan and Brian had been bitten, infected? What if he was a hop, skip, and a jump away from the lion’s den? He squashed that idea. Surely, if they had been infected they would be here to spirit him away.

“Back to your post, Private. Doctor, if you wouldn’t mind…” The commander gestured towards the door as he spoke.

“I…I…”

Marshall drowned out the shrill voice of Doctor Baumrell as the doctor and the commander exited the barn, focused as he was on his saviors. Dylan had stepped up to the cage and was speaking with Trudy and Sara. He thought he heard Dylan telling them that she was sorry, again, they only gave her one security pass, and they hadn’t known they had escaped town with Marshall. He thought he heard her say at one point that she had already promised to pick him up.

Marshall was looked at Brian who hadn’t said a word, and was now shifting from one foot to the other. A shaft of light struck the side of Brian’s face and Marshall had another inane thought: were Brian’s lips as soft as they looked? They sure looked to be. Marshall shivered this had to be one of those stray thought brought on by the end of the world schema they had all been apart of.

He had never, ever thought about a guy that way. He liked girls; he liked Trudy. She was warm and soft and she tasted liked cinnamon. But the more, he looked at Brian, the more his brain seemed to be convinced that of what he really wanted; that all he need to do was to reach out and grab it.

Brian seemed to stop his vacillating, and stepped forward. Marshall watched slightly confused as Brian approached. It was if he was separated from his body.

Marshall couldn’t seem to get his voice to work. His throat clenched up, his lips were dry, and his tongue seemed permanently stuck to the roof of his mouth.

Brian spoke first, “Hey, you.”

This close, Marshall could see the flecks of blue that speckled Brian’s brown eyes, and the dimpled indents in his cheeks, and the freckles on his nose.

Brian just stood there, so close to Marshall, he could breathe him in: gasoline oil and salt, and something Marshall could only describe as ‘Brian’. Brian seemed to be peering at Marshall as if he expected some answer back.

Finally, as if he was rejoined his body, Marshall seemed to get back control of his own faculties. “I never…”

But before he could continue his thought, it was forgotten. Brian grinned at him, and he felt a warm hand curl up around his neck. Marshall closed in eyes and leaned into the touch. In that moment, with his eyes shut, Marshall felt Brian pressed his lips to his. That fluttery, gooey, warm feeling that had started in his gut was now whirling through his body, and his skin was tingling from where Brian was touching his bare skin. Marshall felt inextricably happy though it was tinged with confusion.

Then, without even realizing it was happening the kiss changed from a mere peck to something more as suddenly his tongue was fighting Brian’s for space in his mouth, and breathing didn’t seem like such a priority anymore.

A frizzle of heat caught Marshall by surprise, and he pulled back.

He blinked and looked down at Brian, whose lips were wet and perfect, and was about to ask him what was going on, but Brian just slipped a warm, comforting hand in his and reached up on his tiptoes to whisper in Marshall’s ear. “Never say never.”

Marshall knew he had the biggest, goofiest smile on his face, but it didn’t seem to matter; Brian Merritt kissed him and it was good.