Survival of the Fittest

The horizon shimmered through the heat haze rising from
the scorched earth. The sky itself was a myriad of hues reflecting the
patchwork colours of the ragged, charred rocks below.

Who knew how long ago it was when Man fell from Grace? He
didn’t and his mother hadn’t; she had told him tales of the wonderful world of
‘Modern Man’ with his fancy ‘puters and flying machines. He had seen the
remains of ‘puters and could not fathom what they had been used for; he had
even crawled around inside one of the supposed flying machines and had known
that it was just a myth. The large metal contraption was too heavy to push even
with its four wheels on each corner; it didn’t even have wings like the few
flying animals he occasionally saw and even more rarely was able to catch and
eat.

He looked down from the hilltop at the scattering of
ruins in the valley below. There might be good foraging within the broken down
buildings or some small animals to catch. A polluted stream oozed its way down
a gully in the bare orange streaked rock; hits of sulphur assaulted his nose as
bubbles lazily burst on the surface of the blackened liquid. He carefully
traversed along the side of the gully, careful not to slip into the fetid brook
till he was at the nearest point to the ruins. He stuck his head above the top
of the bank and scanned the area with a cracked spyglass. The fractured image
showed the only movement to be a tumbleweed caught in the skeletal remains of a
large two legged animal. It may have been a human once but it appeared to have grown
a long tail and had very short arms when it was alive. He lifted the small
crossbow dangling from his belt and climbed up slowly making his way across the
last expanse of fractured rock.

He began to feel nervous as he entered the maze of walls
and for a few moments gripped the spring loaded weapon tighter. Psycher he thought to himself. His
mother had told him that the ‘outfall’ had caused the wild aberrations in all
the animals and that only the strongest mutants could survive; the strongest
and those whose aberrations could be used. A
useful h’abberation will make you strong; a useless one will make you dead

he heard her whisper in his head. He began to sweat as he felt the alien mind
trying to spook him. He knew they were luring him in and knew better than to
try to fight the compulsion. Better to be ready for when they sprung their trap
and hope that their over-confidence would be their undoing.

He moved through the warren of buildings, keeping his
back to the walls; ears alert for any tell-tale sounds. He peered into the
gloomy interior of a ruin, the front was wide open with the odd strip of rusted
metal hanging from the surround; he recognised it as a possible source of tools
or weapons or the tin eggs that Man had seemed so fond off before he fell.
Sometimes the food held within was miraculously still edible; just! He
swivelled around rapidly sure that the Psycher was behind him.

Too late he realised the fear was fake as he felt a sharp
point press into his back. “Dro’ t’ wapon” a guttural voice told him. He paused
for just a second, locking the firing trigger before letting the crossbow drop
and bounce on its tether against his leg. A grunt from behind him as his
stalker watched the weapon hang almost in reach of his arms. He ‘pulsed’ his
sweat glands as the blade against his back shifted and a flash of metal beside
his thigh let the weapon drop to the ground. He felt the Psycher’s mind invade
his as his fear ramped up a further notch.

“Hands un head” came the order from behind him. He
obliged as he felt a hand paw its way around his waist and then up his back and
then down his legs. His pack was pulled from his shoulders and thrown to the
ground. Two knives, a slingshot and a cosh joined his crossbow and pack at his
feet. “Turna round”

He turned to see his captor for the first time. He still
wasn’t sure what sex they were beneath the multi-coloured menagerie of assembled
rags. The face and head was wrapped in a filthy black bandage while the eyes
were concealed behind small dark goggles. It was at least a head shorter than
him as he looked at his own darkened reflection looking back at him from the
goggles; a sharp looking blade pressed into his sternum. The other hand began
to search his chest and around his neck; throwing his hat down onto the ground
before frisking his arms. Two more blades joined the arsenal on the ground. The
point of the blade dug through his clothing as his captor knelt down sliding
their hand up and down his legs. A further shiv was removed from his right
boot.

The Psycher stood up and moved slightly back relieving some
of the pressure on his chest appearing to look him up and down. His foe
absent-mindedly rubbed their gloved finger over the area of their covered jaw.
He felt its mind worming through his and then his captor tilted their head to
one side and looked down to his crotch and back up to his face. “Y‘orny?” the
masked figure asked incredulously. The timbre of the voice had risen slightly
and he hoped he was facing a female; he preferred them though he’d happily
‘seduce’ a male and just rob them of any useful provisions afterwards.

He shrugged his shoulders as much as he could with his
hands still on his head. The figure in front of him pulled the wrapping away
from their face and dropped the goggles around their neck to reveal an elfin
featured woman. Her skin was almost leather like and weather beaten; she was
maybe twenty years of age. Her silver iris’s blazed out into his eyes and he
dropped his mental defences allowing her to roam freely through his thoughts.
“Y’ are…y’ horny!” she exclaimed. She pressed the blade harder to his sternum
pulling of her other glove with her teeth and reached forward pressing her hand
into his crotch feeling his swollen member through the layers of cloth. She
shifted her small hand upwards feeling the length and thickness as he let out a
little moan. “Feelz good…” he nodded unsure whether it was a statement or a
question; “… cannae trust ya?”

He removed his hands slowly from his head; her hands flew
up to his neck, flesh and metal pressed into his skin as her eyes burned
fiercely. Her bare hand grasped his sweating flesh, contact he thought. His own peculiar mutation had already been
working upon her by smell alone, now he knew the end was inevitable. He held
his arms outwards and twisted his wrists forwards. Two metal spikes flew out
from beneath his cuffs. Her eyes blazed brighter as they flicked back and forth
and he felt a touch of her own fear slide into his thoughts. Carefully he
raised his arms back over his head and pulled the spikes free of their springs
dropping them to the rubble strewn floor with all the other weapons. Her grip
loosened somewhat and the blade eased of his flesh leaving a red welt across
his Adam’s apple.

“Trust me, ya…” he said hoarsely. He smiled at his
captor and she smiled back revealing a fairly healthy set of teeth. Only four
obviously missing; very strong for someone of her age he thought. He began to
unthread the wire that fastened his makeshift tunic as she backed off into the
ruined building from where she had silently emerged. He followed her into the
darker interior dropping his top to the floor with the heavy thud of makeshift
wooden armour secreted in the lining. She still held the knife in front of her
but had begun to unravel the last of the filthy bandages from her head.

“Ya fuck good, I might not make you dead” she said.

“Ya fuck good, I might not make you manna!” he replied
with a grin.

Her eyes dropped to his chest as he pulled his dirty
undershirt up and over his head as she shook her matted hair free from the last
wrappings and began to unhook the side of her top. “Might hafta eat you a
little…” she said as she watched him unknot the rope holding up his pants
“might hafta eat you a lot maybe…”

She glanced behind her and sat down on a large upturned
scuffed white metal box; she laid the knife beside her and pulled her jacket
from under her left arm and across her chest. He stood before her and shucked
off one boot and then the other revealing socks that were more holes than sock.
His eyes locked on her chest as she pulled a ripped vest over her head. Her
breasts were full and soft with two very hard nipples atop them. He knelt down
between her feet and leaned forward lifting her bosoms in each hand and dipping
his mouth to suck hard on her left nipple. Her hands went to his lank hair and
knotted themselves into it pulling him hard onto her chest.

He sucked hard on the small nub of flesh while squeezing
her other breast; the chemicals in his sweat seeping into her skin. He could
feel her heart quicken beneath her ample tits as he lowered his right hand to
her trousers fumbling at the rusty buckle. She groaned loudly as he stretched
her nipple between her teeth and slipped his hand inside her clothing and down
to the soft yielding flesh beneath. He slipped a finger along her hot wet cleft
curling it up inside; her pussy clenched around his invading finger as she
pressed his head roughly into her chest. With every second his digit slipped in
and out the transfer of mutated sweat continued, her heartbeat raced unaware
that this nomad was in effect drugging her. In less than a minute her
undergarments were soaked with her juices.

She arched her spine backwards as her pussy clamped
viciously on his finger and her orgasm overtook her reverberating all through
her body. He felt her mind flow over and through his own as her rapture peaked.
His hard cock quivered in harmony and he had to fight back the urge to
ejaculate. She shuddered for a few more seconds before her hands began tearing
at their clothing freeing his cock to the cool air within the ruin. She shoved
him backwards his finger slipping from her cleft and looked down at his thick
cock standing upright below her. “Mutate I like lots” she growled and held it
firmly in her small fist sliding the bulbous head back and forth over her
dripping cunt lips.

She looked straight into his eyes, her own burning
savagely as wave after wave of lust slammed through his mind. She dropped down
hard onto him, his erection sliding deep inside her till the head hit the top
of her pussy to the sounds of them both grunting hoarsely. Her hands landed on
his shoulders, the nails scratching his flesh as she forced herself up and down
on his cock. The rough broken tiles beneath him dug into his back as he lifted
his hips to meet hers.

The raw waves of animalistic lust continued to flood his
brain as her pussy rippled and pulsed around him. The vague thought that he had
never met a Psycher with such an immense power slipped from his mind as he
erupted within her shooting wad after wad of his cum deep into the neck of her
womb as she convulsed around him. Both of their screams echoed around the long
deserted town.

She passed out collapsing on top of him; his muscles
groaned from the violent exertion and he had to concentrate in not joining her
in her slumber. He gently rolled her off himself and began to pull his clothing
back on, re-inserting his weaponry as he went. He looked over the large white
box she had sat on and spotted some salvage. Tin eggs he thought to himself. He stocked up his pack with the
most intact ones and stacked the remainder beside the sleeping form of the
Psycher. “Gotta look outfa t’ childa” he muttered to himself.

Her hand grasped his ankle as he re-tethered his
crossbow; he looked down into the softly glowing eyes “Y’ fucka good… fucka
s’more?”

He smiled at her as her hand crept down her dirt streaked
stomach to slide along her puffy red pussy. “Nah… me walkabout… you care f’
childa!”

A look of puzzlement crossed her face. “Y’ with childa
nowtime! Its name Legion… my name Legion… we are many…it me! Y’ lovit
alltime!”

He stepped out of the ruin looking back at the woman already
softly stroking her belly, the Psycher knowing what he said was true and
perhaps with the scale of her powers able to sense the tiny seed within her.
“Meek ‘herit the earth… nah… Legion ‘herit the earth!” he said to the
mother-to-be.

 

The
End (
of life as we know it)?

____________________________

Well, dear Avid Reader…

…when I was but a wee lad the first book that grabbed me by the ‘imagineering balls’ was part of the school curriculum. Of course like the rest of my class I groaned when it was handed out but in less than a week I had finished the book and was searching for others by the author. The book was ‘The Chrysalids’ by John Wyndham. Some of you may know of it but you all have probably heard of  ‘The Day of the Triffids’. He was very much a devotee of the ‘what-if’ scenario where a little detail can alter the greater scheme of things.

Of course setting a story post-armageddon allows a lot of literary license and here I have taken more than enough liberties with it. So how does one survive a radio-active hell hole? I gave him pheremones (always handy) and twisting the genetic code a little I gave him a complete set of dominant genes. Of course there are nods in there to some of the best apocalyptic stories, Planet of the Apes and Mad Max to name but two.

So the end of the world by the simple expedient of always siring identical copies of oneself who obviously go on to do the same…very slow but somewhat inevitable.

As ever, I hope you enjoyed it.

FtF

~ by ftfagos on July 20, 2011.

2 Responses to “Survival of the Fittest”

  1. Legion? LOL!!!

    This I think is the first time I have read this one and had a better understanding of it. Milton would be proud I think of this.

  2. […] Apocalypse anyone…? […]

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

 
%d bloggers like this: