IT WAS so hot you could stick a chicken in the trunk of your car and two hours later it would be parboiled to perfection. I would have passed out from the heat, but the mere thought of having to pick myself up off the ground later was too much to bear. A few moments before, I had peeled off my shirt. Now I was seriously considering ripping off my baggy cargo shorts too. Sweat burned my eyes. I took a moment to wipe my brow with a sodden forearm, which did no good whatsoever. With a monumental sigh, I took a firmer grip on the shovel and proceeded to dig the goddamn grave a little deeper.


And while I was at it, I thought I might as well make the hole a bit longer too. The last visitor who’d discovered our little corner of paradise had been a tall sucker. He had probably been a real hunk back in the good old days. Not now, of course. Now he was just ugly. And tall and beefy and smelly and cranky and harder to kill because of his size. Just my luck. If left to rot beside the front porch where I had knocked his brains out earlier with a claw hammer, he would have stunk up the place in no time flat. Especially in this heat.


I don’t know why we couldn’t have our lives threatened by a nice midget now and then. Or a third-grader. Or maybe some feeble ninety-two-year-old grandmother with a walker. But no. All our homicidal visitors looked like lumberjacks. Even the girly visitors were brawny and mean. Back before the world went to shit, those girly visitors must have been cranky motorcycle chicks with leather boots and spiky hairdos, who never got laid because they were just too damned ugly, which I suppose would go a long way toward explaining their nasty attitudes now that they were, for all intents and purposes, as dead as mackerels.


I use the word “visitors” loosely, you understand. It’s just I have a real hard time admitting, even now, after the past two months of dealing with them, that what I had just banged on the head with a hammer on the front porch—rather like driving home a railroad spike—and was now trying to bury underneath the front lawn before it started to reek to high heaven, was actually a fucking zombie. One of thousands. Maybe millions. In the city. In the country. In the world. Yep. You heard me. Zombies. Just like in those annoying old horror movies. Only now they had climbed down off the silver screen and were trying to kill us in real life. And that was really annoying, don’t think it wasn’t.


Actually, when I use the word “zombies” to describe these murderous poopheads, it is more of a euphemism than anything else. They aren’t real zombies, you understand. They didn’t claw their way up out of the grave. And they don’t infect you when they bite you either. The world hasn’t gone that screwy. No, these are just people. Sort of. People who used to be our friends and neighbors. Like the guy down the street who mows his grass every Saturday whether it needs it or not, or the florist on the corner who always waves hello when you walk by, or your kid’s first-grade teacher who says she’s sorry she stood your kid in a corner for two hours but good lord that kid’s annoying. People like that. Just ordinary people. But now, of course—well, now, they’re something else.


I should also add that when I use the word “dead” to describe these creatures, that is pretty much a euphemism too. Don’t ask me what it’s a euphemism for. Because these guys sure as hell aren’t alive. They just aren’t quite dead either.


But boy, are they mean. And driven. We assume they’re trying to kill us so they can eat us, but thank God that theory hasn’t been tested yet. If I could have my druthers, I’d rather not test it.


I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Charlie Pickett. That good looking guy lying over there in the hammock, as naked as a jaybird and acting like he’s asleep, is Bobby. Bobby Greene. Bobby’s my lover. We’ve been lovers for about three years now. And a happy three years it was, too, until a couple of months ago when the zombies started showing up.

我想我还做一下自我介绍。我叫 Charlie Pickett。那个光着身子躺在吊床上装睡的帅哥叫Bobby,Bobby Greene。他是我爱人,我们的稳定快乐的恋情保持了三年,直到几个月前丧尸开始出现。

And it isn’t only zombie people Bobby and I have to worry about now. When I say the world went to shit, I mean the whole planet. Now there are zombie bugs and zombie Chihuahuas and zombie grizzly bears and zombie cows and zombies of every size and shape and species imaginable. And if that isn’t enough, we have to deal with the screwy weather. One day it’s freezing, the next day it’s a scorcher, the day after is one continuous lightning storm, and the day after that there’s a tornado whizzing past your head. Jeez, you never know how to dress in the morning. Or what will be trying to kill you before the day is over.


I suppose you’re wondering why Bobby and I aren’t zombies ourselves. Well now, there you have me. Bobby and I have talked this over countless times in the past two months. It seems to us that if God was going to push the reset button and start all over from scratch to repopulate the world with people a little more in line with His own sensibilities—in other words, nice people, as opposed to the bungholes and politicians he had been filling it up with lately—to our way of thinking, surely God would plan ahead and not try to repopulate the joint with a couple of gay guys like me and Bobby. You see what I’m saying? Admittedly, we’re nice enough and all that, but there’s not much chance of building up a new world order with homosexuals, seeing as how homosexuals can’t breed. Not with each other, at any rate. Although, God knows we try often enough.


Plus, as far as we know, Bobby and I are the only two people left standing. We are, in toto, the only non-zombie beings we have seen. Can you believe that? We used to be known as gay people, Bobby and I, but now I guess we’re just people. Or survivors. Or remnants of a civilization. I don’t much care for the sound of that. Anyway, there’s not much need for labels when it’s just you and your lover and a couple of million zombies running around.


Here’s what happened.


A couple of months ago, we woke up one morning in each other’s arms, just like we normally do. Bobby and I have always been snuggly sleepers. We were jarred awake by the screeching of a car alarm outside our two-bedroom San Diego apartment. That car alarm just went on and on and on. Finally, after an exasperating twenty minutes of trying to stuff our pillows in our ears, we tugged on some clothes and stumbled outside to investigate. And lo and behold, that’s when we discovered we were the only two people left. Anywhere. The streets were empty. No hum of traffic or lawn mowers, no rumbling of skateboards, no distant thumping of car radios pounding out rap or golden oldies. Nothing.


And while we were standing on the street corner rubbing our eyes and wondering where everybody had gone, the power went out. What was silent before, except for that damned car alarm screeching across the neighborhood, had become dead silent. Stone silent. And then, five seconds after the power went out, the car alarm stopped screaming.


We’ve not heard another sound since that moment from another living soul that we did not make ourselves.


There had been some talk about massive sunspots before the day of the car alarm, but we’re not sure if that was the cause for everyone disappearing or not. Don’t see how it could be, really. Suffice it to say, they were simply gone. Vanished. Every single person, everywhere. And no bodies were left behind.


Bobby and I were alone. And with no electricity, no TV, no radio, no telephones, no traffic noises, no milling throngs of humanity rushing off to work on that eerie Tuesday morning, the silence was absolutely deafening. And creepy.


But enough about God unplugging and depopulating the world.


In the meantime, the goddamn grave still needed digging, and since it was my turn to dig and bury and Bobby’s turn to nap and look sexy, here I was still slaving away with the blasted shovel and occasionally leering at Bobby’s gorgeous nakedness over there in the hammock. He knew I was watching too. He had his strong, bare legs splayed wide and an arm dangling over the side of the hammock, exposing one beautiful fuzzy armpit and a neatly muscled bicep. He was trailing his fingers back and forth in the grass as he lazily swung there in the nonexistent breeze. Every now and then, I was almost sure I could see one of Bobby’s eyes peek open just to make sure I was watching. When he thought I might be, he nonchalantly readjusted his dick as if by accident. But it was no accident. And if he didn’t stop it soon, I was going to start mistaking the shovel handle for my own dick. One was getting to be just about as hard as the other, if you get my drift, and since it isn’t exactly rocket science, I’m sure you do.


It was late afternoon. Maybe four o’clock or so. Since it was summer, and this was California, the sun was still high in the sky. High and hot. Hotter than usual, of course, since the world had taken a screwy turn for the worse as far as weather went too. I figure the temperature was at about 110. It was humid as hell because two days ago it was snowing. That’s right. Snowing. In San Diego. And as of this morning, the blazing sun began turning that snow into steam. For a while you could actually hear it sizzling on the street like bacon grease popping in a red-hot skillet. Digging the grave, and simmering in my own juices, I was starting to feel like that parboiled chicken I mentioned earlier.


Bobby had a full-fledged hard-on now. He was watching me from the hammock and idly stroking himself at the same time, one hand gripping his cock, the other hand tucked behind his head. He was smiling, no longer feigning sleep. Now he just looked mischievous. God, he was gorgeous.


“Need some help?” he called out.


“No,” I said, rubbing my own crotch now. I loosened my belt and eased my shorts down past my knees, watching Bobby all the while I did it just to see what his reaction would be. The open air felt wonderful rustling the hair on my balls, almost like one of Bobby’s gentle caresses. Or the way it felt when he nuzzled me there with his nose. “But it looks like you might need some assistance,” I added with a smile.


I gave my thickening dick a good shake and a nice long stroke, just to make it stand up proud. Bobby whistled softly. “Bring that over here into the shade where I can get at it,” he said.


Then I managed to get a grip on something besides myself. Namely, the situation. I reluctantly tugged my shorts back up and tucked Charlie Junior away for another time. Charlie Junior wasn’t happy about it either, I don’t mind telling you. Neither was I.


“Let me get this Neanderthal underground first. He’s already starting to stink up the place.”


Bobby gave a monumental sigh and dropped his dick too. Being the gentleman that he is, he hauled his ass up out of that hammock and came over to help. He was still stark naked, of course, and he was still a beauty to look at, don’t think he wasn’t, but to be honest, I didn’t mind putting off sex for a while if it meant I would get some help planting this latest visitor. I did take a moment to bend over and give Bobby’s boner a gentle squeeze and a kiss on the top of its firm little head, just by way of saying hello. The crystal drop of precome glistening there tasted delicious. Bobby heaved up a pretty big moan of discontent when I stopped what I was doing, but it was planting season, dammit. There was work to be done. So after we got the sex out of our heads, we went back to grave digging.


After ten minutes of shoveling and sweating and bitching about the heat, our hard-ons were history.


When the grave was at a satisfactory depth and width and length, we each took a leg of you-know-who, dragged our visitor to the edge of the hole, and with our naked feet, tipped the bastard in. He landed flat on his back with a thud that sounded pretty doggone eternal, if you know what I mean. Yessir. He was home for good. The creep.


It took Bobby and me another thirty minutes to cover the guy up. When we were finished, we were just about done in. We flung our shovels across the lawn and headed for the backyard of this magnificent San Diego property we’d commandeered a few weeks earlier, and which must have cost several mil back in the days when that stuff mattered.


Behind the mansion was an Olympic-size pool. Since Bobby was still naked, all I had to do was drop my cargo shorts to put myself in the same condition, and hand-in-hand, we cannonballed into the deep end of the pool with a humongous splash. The water was damn near hot from the sun, but still it felt fabulous.


For the first time that day, I came to the conclusion that maybe I wouldn’t really die of heatstroke, after all.


The pool had not been cleaned for quite a while, since there was no longer electricity anywhere in the city, or pool boys either, for that matter. Not live ones, anyway. As I floated there in the still water, splashing leaves away from my face, Bobby swam up behind me and pulled me into his arms. He nibbled at the back of my neck while his hands reached around to stroke my stomach. His fingers traveled a wee bit south and twiddled with my pubic hair as I tilted my head back to nuzzle his cheek.


“I love you,” he said into my ear, and with a giggle, he pulled me beneath the surface.


“Glug, glug, glug, glug,” I answered, trying not to drown.


We laughed and roughhoused and grappled with each other as we spun around in circles beneath the water, first him on top, then me on top, then him again, then me, like a couple of frenzied crocodiles rolling over and over, tenderizing their dinner. Arms and legs flailing, Bobby’s naked body felt wonderful squirming next to mine. His arms strong. His flesh hot and firm and heavenly.


The water was glorious. Our hard-ons came back to life in about six heartbeats. It was great being twenty-five and being in love and being perpetually horny. I was pretty sure Bobby felt the same way, since he was also twenty-five. God knows he was perpetually horny. Even with the world fizzling out around us, nothing could have been finer than being naked and in love on this steamy California evening.


Well, that and the fact we weren’t zombies. That was pretty much a plus too.


I wondered how long we would be able to keep it that way.


BEFORE that disastrous Tuesday morning when everything changed, I was a waiter at Mr. A’s, an upscale restaurant perched atop a high-rise office building just up the hill from downtown San Diego. Mr. A’s had a reputation for offering its customers a resplendent view of the city and an even greater reputation for overcharging them to the hilt for the opportunity to take advantage of said view. The joint was a bastion of snootiness: the food exquisite, the service spectacular, the prices astronomical, and as if all that wasn’t pissy enough, you couldn’t get in without a tie. If you don’t mind my saying so, being a waiter there was rather a plum job. I made more in tips in a year than a cousin of mine who lives in Kansas City made teaching school. Of course, she’s probably dead now. Or zombified. Who knows? Anyway, as I was saying, I had a good job and I was perfectly satisfied with my measly little existence. Being happily entrenched in a loving relationship with Bobby played no small part in that satisfaction.


Bobby was considerably less enamored of his own place in the business world than I was with mine. On that eventful Tuesday morning when God took the world and stood it on its head, Bobby was earning his keep by holding down two jobs. Neither job was what you would call stellar. He was a dog walker in the evening and a San Diego Zoo snack bar clerk during the day. As he continually pointed out in his sweetly self-deprecating way, he was not exactly on the fast track to having his mug plastered across the cover of CEO Magazine. But even with all that, I think I can safely say he was, on the whole, satisfied with his life. And I like to think being happily entrenched in a loving relationship with me played no small part in that satisfaction.


Simply put, we were nuts about each other.


If I had any lingering doubts about that belief, the feel of Bobby’s stiff dick whapping me in the leg as we wrestled around in the pool and washed away the day’s miseries would have pretty well cleared it up. And if even that wasn’t enough to demonstrate the fact that we loved each other, the stiff he helped me plant in the front yard was surely more than enough to prove it. Bobby didn’t have to help me at all, you know. I had the watch. It was my turn to do the grunt work of slaughtering zombies and sticking them underground if one should happen along. Bobby just lent a hand because he loves me. That thought made my heart swell up. Rather like my dick at the moment. Only bigger, of course. And with less drippage.


Bobby and I were a team. Period. We had been a team before the world fell apart, and we were even more of a team now. As a matter of fact, now we were the only team.


Ain’t love grand?


IN REPOSE, when he’s sleeping or pretending to sleep, Bobby looks a bit like a very young and very innocent Brad Pitt. In other words, handsome and sexy as hell. Blue-eyed. Trim, athletic body. Gorgeous round ass. Strong, fuzzy legs. Not much hair on the upper body, aside from a little trail of peach fuzz that travels down from his belly button until it’s lost in a swirl of blond pubic hair that surrounds a substantial, and remarkably lovely and uncut, piece of man meat. Well, you know. You had a glimpse of it earlier, when he was stroking it in the hammock. Nice, huh?


Currently Bobby’s sun-lightened hair was too long and usually dangled in his eyes. I didn’t mind. I loved the way it made him look. Wind-blown and perfect. Like a god. Of course, Bobby continually bitched that his locks could be so much more casually poofed if we just had electricity for five minutes a day. Lord, he missed his blow dryer.


As for myself, I’m afraid I’m a little less than godlike. Still, I’m not exactly disgusting to look at. A head taller than Bobby, I have the slim build of a long-distance runner. Long legs. Lean torso. In fact, up until about two months ago, I used to jog religiously. But that was back when the world expected that sort of thing from young gay males. Nowadays, I just dig graves to stay in shape. Or run for my life. Works like a charm too. Both of them.


My hair is dark, my eyes are brown, my skin is a little darker than Bobby’s. My body is almost hairless, except for a healthy patch of pubic hair surrounding my dick, which, in case you’re wondering, is neatly circumcised. Bobby tells me I resemble Brendan Fraser. Back when there was a Brendan Fraser. In fact, last year for a Halloween party, I donned a teeny loincloth and running shoes, while Bobby slipped into a pair of baggy blue jeans, and nothing else, after decorating himself with a few clever dabs of makeup to simulate scrapes and contusions and a horrendous black eye. He was portraying good old Brad in Fight Club, you see, and I was Brendan Fraser in George of the Jungle. We made quite the couple that night. Walked off with “Most Original Costumes” and “Most Adorable Couple.” Later, with his head under my loincloth and his blue jeans flung across a shower rod in our host’s upstairs bathroom, we had a vigorous and most memorable bout of celebratory sex. Aah. Fond memories all around.


God, I love movies. Or used to. It’s one of the things I miss most about living without electricity. Bobby misses his blow dryer, and I miss my DVD player. I also miss the cappuccino machine in the Starbucks around the corner from where we used to live. But don’t get me started on that. We did try hooking up a gas-powered generator shortly after the world went dark, but since neither of us is mechanically inclined, we damn near blew ourselves up. Now, rather than trying to make electricity, we just bitch about not having it. We’re healthier for it too. But I mustn’t complain. At least I still have Bobby. And even without movies and poofy hair and four-dollar shots of caffeine, Bobby and I still have sex. Every chance we get, in fact.


Rather like this very moment.


Our hands were all over each other as we splashed around in the pool.


You would think after I had just murdered and buried someone (or something) I wouldn’t be in the mood for fooling around. It’s a funny thing. Weeks ago, after about the third or fourth time we took a hammer to a visitor’s head, Bobby and I both agreed it didn’t bother us at all. We looked on it as taking out the trash. Only with a bit more violence and a lot more stress and mess.


I stopped thinking about visitors when Bobby hoisted me into the air and plopped me down on the edge of the pool with my legs still dangling in the water. Bobby floated there between my knees, stroking my thighs and hugging my ass and burrowing his nose into my crotch. My cock was poking straight up like a fence post and bonking him in the head, and Bobby was under it licking and nibbling away at my nuts. My toes curled and I started trembling in anticipation. God, Bobby was a good boy.


He smiled when he felt me trembling, and with one hand reaching up to caress my chest, he gripped my rigid cock with his other hand and tilted it toward his mouth. In less time than it takes to tell about it, my dick was totally enveloped by those satiny lips, his hot tongue stroking and circling and teasing me, as the heat of his mouth carried me away to that place where all you can do is close your eyes and pray the sensations will never stop.


Bobby stared up into my face as he savored my dick, grinning at my look of ecstasy, tweaking my nipples now and then or bringing his free hand down to cup my swollen balls. His legs clamped onto one of mine like a vise and he started humping away at my shin under the water.


I steered his mouth back over my dick and lay back onto the apron of the pool, my hips moving to the rhythm of his lips circling me, sucking me, taking me closer and closer to climax with every passing second and every worshipping stroke. I knew I should be reciprocating, but God, I was in such heaven I couldn’t move. Except for my dick and my hips. They were moving plenty.


Bobby was still humping my leg and I was getting that “uh-oh, I’m getting close” feeling, when Bobby let out a gasp, and even under the water I could feel his hot come shooting across my leg.


That’s all it took.


My own come erupted out of me like a spray of fireworks, splattering Bobby’s throat, ricocheting off the roof of his mouth, slipping and sliding down his gullet. He pulled away for a moment to take a desperate breath of air and my come spurted across his face and into his hair. He laughed and brought his mouth back down to finish the job properly.

我的精液像烟花一样喷出来,溅射在Bobby的喉咙上,从他的上颚反弹开来,顺着他的食道滑下去。 他扭过头去,绝望地吸了一口气,我的精液从他的脸上喷到他的头发上。 他大笑,把嘴巴放回去,好好地把活干完。

My hips were arched, my butt cheeks so tightly clamped together, I thought I’d get a muscle cramp and be crippled for life, or else a diamond was going to pop out of my ass, one or the other, and as the last drops of semen shot from my cock and into that heavenly hot receptacle, which was still eagerly and hungrily sucking away for all it was worth, I gave a final thrust upward and collapsed back with a groan of contentment onto the hot concrete.


Bobby gently played his hands across my stomach as his mouth continued to taste and suckle and coax until I could feel my cock soften and slide from between his lips. With a sigh of contentment, Bobby pushed his nose into my groin and just lay there like that, floating in the water between my legs. He still gave my shin an occasional hump as he continued to breathe in the scent of me, still relishing the taste of my come inside his mouth, still letting that secretive little smile twist the corners of his mouth.

鲍比轻轻地用手抚摸着我的肚子,他的嘴一直在品尝、吮吸、哄骗着我,直到我感觉到我的老二变软,从他的嘴唇间滑出。 鲍比满足地叹了口气,把鼻子探进我的腹股沟,就那样躺在那儿,在我两腿之间的水上漂浮着。 他继续闻着我的味道勃起并磨蹭我的小腿,还在享受着我进入他嘴里的味道,让那神秘的微笑挂在嘴角。

I knew from long experience this was Bobby’s favorite part of sex. The aftermath. The gentle unwinding. The snuggling and savoring of juices. The remembering.

根据我的长期经验,我知道这是鲍比在性爱中最喜欢的环节。 余波、 温柔的放松、依偎、品尝汁液。 回忆。

I reached down to stroke his hair as he buried his nose between my balls.


He kissed me there. Sweetly. Like you might kiss a favorite aunt on the cheek. Then Bobby’s tongue came out and licked away an errant drop of come. You usually don’t do that to aunts. Favorites or otherwise. At least not in my family. Back when I had a family.

他非常甜蜜的吻我那儿,就像亲吻一个最喜欢的阿姨的脸颊。 然后博比伸出舌头舔掉了一滴渗出的的液体——你通常不会对阿姨做这样的事情,不管是喜欢的还是不喜欢的。至少在我的家庭里是这样。 我是说当我还有家庭的时候。

When the sun began to pound down on us a bit more cruelly than either of us liked, Bobby pulled his face out of my crotch and looked up across the expanse of my tummy and chest and asked with a contented sigh, “You ready for dinner?”

当太阳开始愈发残酷地照射到我们身上时,鲍比从我的裤裆那里抬起头来,越过我的肚子和胸膛看我,满足地叹了口气,问道: “准备好吃晚饭了吗? ”

I touched his cheek and was about to say “Sure,” when we were suddenly interrupted by what sounded like a snarling, spitting, slavering creature from hell. Don’t you hate those? Bobby and I jumped about two feet straight up into the air. The damn thing came at us like a Mack truck, barreling through the backdoor from somewhere inside the house. Its toenails clattered madly on the wooden deck, then changed to a higher clattery pitch when they hit the concrete surrounding the pool. From there, the animal leapt into the air and headed straight for us, slobbers flying every which way, a thin trail of runny poop squirting out its back end with every bark and growl and snap and snarl. Yuk. Suddenly I wasn’t so hot on the dinner idea. Assuming we lived that long.

我摸了摸他的脸颊,正要说“当然可以”时,突然被一个听起来像是来自地狱的咆哮、吐痰、流口水的生物的声音打断了。 你能不讨厌这些吗? 鲍比和我直接跳了大约两英尺高。 那该死的东西从房子里的某个地方穿过后门,像一辆麦克卡车一样向我们冲过来。 它的爪子在木饰平台板上摩擦发出疯狂的咔哒咔哒的声音,踩在游泳池周围的混凝土时,又变成了调更高的咔哒咔哒。 从那个地方,这只动物跃上空中,径直向我们飞来,到处都是口水,伴随着它的每一声吠叫、咆哮、猛咬和龇牙都有一条稀粪从它的尾部喷出。 恶心。 突然之间,我对晚餐不再那么热切了。 假设我们还能活到晚餐时间。

God only knows where the beast came from. We had been in the mansion for two weeks and, trust me, if we had noticed any slavering hounds from hell lingering in the cupboards or under the stairs, we would have vacated the joint before now.


Of course, this wasn’t your typical hound from hell. In fact, for all the enthusiasm it was demonstrating, it was actually a pretty pathetic example. Seeing as how it was so cute and all. Or probably was once. It had been (in life) a French poodle. And a small French poodle, at that. A white one. There was still a tinge of pink about its haunches where the mistress (or gay-as-hell master) had had the unfortunate animal dipped in food coloring, or whatever the hell it is rich people use to humiliate their poor beasts and turn them various colors of the rainbow. A pink bow was still knotted between its ears. It hung there bloodied and limp. A rhinestone collar dangled around the animal’s neck with colored gems that glimmered and sparkled in the sunlight. Under its chin, the sparklies spelled out the word MIMI.


Funny. Except for the remnants of red toenail polish and that stupid collar and that pathetically filthy bow, she didn’t look like a Mimi. Her eyeballs were bloodshot, with goop running down from the corners like you see on dogs that have one foot in the grave and the other three on banana peels. Her coat was matted with globs of some sort of vile substance, like maybe she had been rolling around in the refuse pile at the local butcher shop and feeding on the intestinal rejects.


My first instinct was to laugh. But that didn’t last long.


What Mimi lacked in size, she more than made up for in attitude. And she did seem to have an inordinate number of pointy yellow teeth snapping away in that cute little homicidal face, so I thought it prudent to scurry back into the pool with Bobby to get away from the creature.

虽然咪咪体型很小,但她的态度足以弥补这一缺憾。 而且她那张可爱的杀人小脸上确实长着数不清的尖尖的黄牙,不停地咬着,所以我觉得和鲍比一起冲回到泳池里好躲开那个生物是明智的选择。

Bobby and I dogpaddled into deeper water, safely away from the edge. And we didn’t dawdle about it either.

鲍比和我一起划进了更深的水里,安全地离开了边缘。 我们也没有浪费时间。

“It’s just one thing after another, isn’t it?” Bobby wryly commented. “Now insane poodles are trying to kill us.” His eyes were still bright and his cheeks still flushed from sex. Or maybe it was from Mimi’s sudden, heart-stopping appearance. Who the hell knew?

“事情一件接着一件,不是吗? ” 鲍比挖苦道。 “现在疯狂的贵宾犬想要杀死我们。” 他的眼睛仍然明亮,他的脸颊仍然因为性而发红。 又或者可能是因为咪咪的样子实在是能让人心脏骤停。 谁他妈知道?

“Should I kill it?” I asked.


Bobby looked at me like a palm tree had just sprouted out of my forehead. “Well, of course you should kill it! I’ll wait here. Do hurry.”


Hmm. I looked down at myself drifting there in the water, naked, soaking wet, and about as unarmed as a person can get. And it wasn’t the first time I had found myself in this predicament.

嗯。 我低头看着自己,漂浮在水中,全身赤裸,浑身湿透,手无寸铁。 这并不是我第一次发现自己陷入这种困境。

“How many times have I told you, Robert Randolph Greene, we need to get ourselves a gun?”

“罗伯特 · 伦道夫 · 格林,我跟你说过多少次了,我们需要搞把枪? ”

Bobby groaned as he treaded water, like I had already mentioned this a thousand times before, which indeed I had. “I hate guns,” he declared, also for the thousandth time. “One of us will end up accidentally shooting himself in the foot, then he’ll die a slow miserable death from blood poisoning because there aren’t any doctors around, in case you hadn’t noticed, and then the other one will be left all alone in a world full of fucking zombies. Is that what you want?”

博比一边踩水一边咕哝抱怨着,就像我之前已经提过了无数次似的(我确实这样)。 “我讨厌枪,”他也第一千次重申。 “我们中的一个一定会意外地射中自己的脚然后慢慢地死于血液中毒,友情提醒以防你没注意到,因为周围没有任何医生。然后另一个会孤零零地留在一个充满他妈的僵尸的世界里。 这就是你想要的吗? ”

I felt the urge to get huffy. “Well, compared to the possibility of being eaten by a zombie-ass poodle, getting shot in the foot doesn’t actually sound so bad. At least it’s butch!”

我感到一种要发脾气的冲动。 “相对于被丧尸贵宾吃掉的可能性,脚部中弹的死法听起来并不是那么糟糕。 至少它是爷们儿的! ”

“Butch smutch. What if I’m the one who gets shot and you end up having to masturbate all by your lonesome for the rest of your life because I’m not there to carry the weary load?” He stuck his face into my neck and cooed apologetically, “Not that I mind carrying that weary load, precious.” Then he looked me in the eye again and nailed me with a steely glare. If we hadn’t been floundering in the water, he would probably have been impatiently tapping his foot with his fists stuck on his hips like Mrs. Butterworth. Did I mention that Bobby is a wee bit effeminate at times? “Well, Charles Millburn Pickett?” he annoyingly persisted. “How would you like that? Solo sex for the rest of your life! And no more blow jobs!”

“男子汉斯马奇。 如果我是那个中枪的人,而你却因为我不在而孤独地一辈子只能打飞机,那该怎么办? ” 他把脸贴在我的脖子上,略带歉意地说: “宝贝,我并不介意背负着这么沉重的包袱。” 然后他又看着我的眼睛,用钢铁般的目光盯着我。 如果我们没有在水里挣扎,他可能会像巴特沃思太太一样,拳头扶在屁股上,不耐烦地用脚打拍子。 我有没有说过鲍比有时候有点娘娘腔? “嗯,查尔斯 · 米尔本 · 皮克特? ” 他不厌其烦地坚持。 “你觉得怎么样? 在你的余生中只有左手相伴! 再也没有人给你口了! ”

I tried not to grin. “Okay. You’ve proved your point. And please don’t use my middle name again. You promised you wouldn’t, you know.”

我尽量不露齿假笑。 “好吧。 你已经阐明了你的观点。 请不要再喊我的中间名了。 你答应过我不会的,你知道的。”

He tried to look contrite, but it wasn’t very convincing. “Sorry. Forgot.”

他试图表现出忏悔的样子,但是没有什么说服力。 “对不起, 忘了。”

I gazed across the water at Mimi, spitting and snarling and pooping and shaking her bling and looking like she was about to dive headfirst into the pool like a pissed-off Greg Louganis throwing an Olympic-sized fruit snit. “So how do we kill this bitch? I’d like to get out of the pool sometime today. I’m starting to prune.”

我隔着水凝视着咪咪,她不停地吐口水、咆哮、喷粪,抖动着她的装饰,看起来就像一个生气的格雷格 · 洛加尼斯扔一个奥运会标准大小的水果蛋糕一样,正准备头朝下跳进游泳池。 “那么我们怎么才能杀死这个碧池呢? 我想在今天的某个时候离开游泳池。 我开始脱水了。”

Bobby rolled his eyes. “God, it’s always something with you. Help me dig this grave. I want a gun. I’m starting to prune. Don’t stop, I’m going to come.” Here he relented. “Well, okay. I begged for that last one.”

博比翻了个白眼。 “天哪,你总是出状况。 帮我挖这个坟墓。 我要一把枪。 我开始脱水了。 不要停,我就要到了。” 在这一点上,他让步了。 “好吧,好吧。 最后一个是我求着要的。”

“You sure did.” I smiled and felt a stirring in my crotch. Boy, that didn’t take long.

“你确实做到了。” 我微笑着,感觉到胯部有一股骚动。 好家伙,才没过多久呢。

It seemed awfully quiet all of a sudden. I tried to push sex out of my mind as I looked over once again at the demon dog. Mimi seemed to have lost her train of thought. She was sitting at the edge of the pool licking her snatch. With all the horrible stuff that had been shooting out of her back end, from a health perspective at least, she should have probably rethought that urge. On the other hand, she was already dead. What’s it going to do—kill her?

突然之间,一切都显得异常安静。 我试图把性从我的脑海中赶走,因为我又一次看了看那只恶魔狗。 咪咪似乎失去了她的思路。 她坐在池边舔着她的小弟弟。 至少从健康的角度来看,有那么多可怕的东西从她的后脑勺喷射出来,她可能应该重新考虑一下那种冲动。 另一方面,她已经死了。 它能做什么? 杀了她吗?

“If you had saved an arm from that guy you buried earlier, or a foot, we could have used it to play fetch, and while Mimi was fetching the body part, we could have made a run for the house.”


“Sorry. Didn’t think. I’ll saw something off the next one.”

“对不起。 没想到。 下一次我会提前预知的。”

Bobby tsked. “You always say that, but you never do.”


Mimi gave herself a good shake and stopped licking her zombified twat long enough to look around and see where she was. She appeared to have forgotten. Zombies are pretty stupid. All of them. Bugs, people, pussycats, dogs. Bobby and I had noticed that right off the bat. It didn’t make killing them any easier, but it did make outwitting them a breeze. Even for us. And we weren’t exactly Mensa material.

咪咪甩了甩自己,然后不再舔那个丧尸化的阴道,仔细地看看周围好确认自己在哪里。 她似乎忘记了。 丧尸都是相当愚蠢的。 所有的一切。 虫子、人、猫、狗。 博比和我一开始就注意到了这一点。 这并没有让杀死他们变得更容易,但的确让智取他们变得轻而易举——即使是对我们这种显然不是门萨的料的人来说。

Finally, Mimi’s gaze drifted out across the pool to where our two heads were poking up out of the water. She took in the sight of us, blinked, squirted another bit of crap onto the edge of the pool as sort of an afterthought, and dove right in after us. As she sailed through the air, her ugly yellow teeth were snapping like those wind-up dentures kids play with. Snap-snap-snap-snap. A no-nonsense snarl rumbled like thunder in her throat. She seemed to have regained her sense of purpose. It’s always disheartening when zombies do that.

最后,咪咪的目光扫过游泳池,看到我们两个的头探出水面。 她看着我们,眨了眨眼睛,又不假思索往池边喷了一点屎,然后就跟在我们后面跳进池子。 当她在空中飞行时,她丑陋的黄色牙齿像孩子们玩耍的发条假牙一样啪啪作响。 咔哒-咔哒-咔哒-咔哒。 咆哮像雷声一样在她喉咙里隆隆作响。 她似乎又恢复了使命感。 丧尸这样做时总是令人沮丧。

Bobby and I were halfway to the other side of the pool before Mimi hit the water. And we didn’t get there with any sense of panache either. Nothing like terror to get your ass moving.

在咪咪掉进水里之前,我和鲍比已经快到游泳池的另一边了。 我们到达那里也没有任何炫耀的感觉。 没有什么比恐惧更能让你动起来了。

We scrambled over the edge of the pool, screaming like little girls, water flying everywhere, dicks and assholes pointing off in every direction imaginable, bare feet slapping the flagstones as we hightailed it to the house hand in hand.


We flew through the patio doors, slammed them shut behind us, and turned to see what had happened to our tormentor.


The pool was empty.


All that was left of Mimi, the demon poodle from hell, was a trail of little wet doggy footprints heading off toward the cabana.


“She’s had a stressful day,” Bobby commented. “Maybe she’s off to browse a gay romance novel while nursing a banana daiquiri and unwinding in the Jacuzzi. Girls love that shit.”


“Hope she drowns,” I said.


Bobby tsked again. “Well, my goodness, aren’t you the grump today.”


# 英耽


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