"We've got to find some food," Frank said taking another sip of water as he steered with one hand, watching the headlights slice through the trees as they continued south through winding roads. While cigarettes were a terrific appetite suppressant, he could only overlook the incessant grumbling in his stomach for so long.

"How can you even think about food after seeing that fucking thing back there? I'm still reeling. I mean, even I lost my appetite."

"I was trying to forget about him."

"Was it even a 'him?'"

"I don't know. I just assume anything that completely disgusting has got to be a guy. Things that horrible just naturally take on a vague masculine quality for me."

"Well... that's not a very positive way to think about your gender."

"It is what it is. Men are gross."

"Can't argue," Jane said.

They'd been driving for a little while, Frank at the wheel, putting enough distance between them and that charred thing to feel semi-comfortable enough to joke about it. Jane looked out the window blindly, clearly snared in her own thoughts.

That zombie had painted a pretty grim picture of what she had to look forward to.

Frank had been thinking the same thing but didn't want to say anything.

After a brief silence during which Jane looked intensely contemplative as she chewed on her lip staples, she turned to Frank.

"You know, zombies don't always look the way they do in the movies. I mean, look at me for example. I'm not some oozing, limping monster. I feel great in fact. I think I do, at least. I guess I do. But still, even that guy back there, he looked like he could barely move. It must have taken all his effort to attack us. I mean, he didn't even have the strength to pull himself out of the fire."

"Well, as far as I can tell, they're all just... dying. I mean—they died and now they're just getting around to rotting. Once they ran out of food they started falling apart." Frank shrugged.

"In the movies they make the change look instantaneous. One second you're a normal guy in Oxfords then you get bitten and suddenly you're in tattered rags, sunken cheeks, bloodshot eyes, moaning and stumbling around—the whole thing." She crossed her arms. "It's a little misleading."

"Well..."

"What? I don't look like that." Jane swiveled in her seat, defensively.

"No."

"Then what?"

"It's just the... you know, feasting on the flesh of the living thing."

"That's not the point." She crossed her arms. "And I haven't even done that yet."

"I'm just saying the movies aren't entirely misleading."

"Okay fine. But I'm talking about the way they look. They don't have to look all puss-y and disgusting."

"Did you say pussy?" Frank sputtered.

"Puss-ee. Like dripping puss. Secreting."

"Ugh, stop." Frank shuddered as he recalled all the puss-y pussies he'd seen back in Cheney.

"I'm just saying zombies don't have to look like that—all bloated and gross."

Frank felt the words, not at first, clang against his teeth. He swallowed them back. "No. They don't." Frank looked for the pack of Chesterfields. "Have you seen the-"

Jane grabbed them from the glove box and handed them over. Frank eyed the smokes, enjoying the fact that she was anticipating his cravings.

"How about the-"

She lit the lighter for him. He put a smoke in his mouth and leaned toward the flame.

"Thanks," he said out of the corner of his mouth.

"Do I look bloated to you?"

"No," he answered pinching up one side of his face as if to say, What an absurd question.

"No, I mean dead bloated. Do I look dead bloated?" She pulled up her scrubs-shirt and placed her hands, fingers splayed, across her flat stomach. In the dim lights from the dash, he glimpsed soft ridges and slopes, dark shadows at her hipbones. "I mean, you thought I was a model," she said.

"No, you don't look dead bloated. You don't look any kind of bloated."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm sure. You look... good."

She turned, looking at him quizzically. She narrowed her eyes but grinned. "I was serious about you trying to kiss me again. No funny business."

"No, ma' lady...I am a fuckin' gentleman and have no interest in eating my own testicles, bruised as they may be."

She laughed.

The night was dense and clean. Several months with no pollution to speak of had left the air light and sweet to the taste. Even in the darkness, in the wash of the headlights, the trees looked almost artificially green. The world was healing.

After a few hours they switched off driving.

Frank had been toiling with his hangover and fatigue, having reached the I'm-losing-control-of-my-reflexes stage. After rolling up onto the center median for the fifth time, Jane insisted she take over.

Jane didn't get tired.

Occasionally, they'd stop so Frank could empty his bladder, and Jane could drink some blood. Then they'd be back on their way.

South.

Frank had arranged a little "bed" area in the backseat where he'd curl up, cramped and constantly having to readjust to avoid the seatbelt grinding into his ribs. It wasn't the most comfortable situation but at least they wouldn't lose any travel time by stopping to spend the night in some dusty road-side town. Not that they'd had any destination or timeframe in mind.

Jane wanted to lure humans but as Frank had assumed, there hadn't been any humans to lure. The little Podunk towns they happened upon were completely deserted apart from the odd shuffling zombie looking for a quiet place to expire. They'd scavenge the gas stations and mini marts, collecting what little food they could find for Frank and Jane would be left delicately sipping her IV bags, rationing as best she could, listening intently to their surroundings for any signs of life.

Jane figured, at some point, they'd have to get off the backroads and find a bigger city with a hospital—somewhere she could collect some more blood. Reluctantly, Frank agreed.

After a few more days out on the road, her supply was getting dangerously low. Not that Jane's appearance was suffering in any way. She looked the same. Frank was taking careful notice.

He'd glance over at her from time to time as they cruised down some parched, empty road and wish things could be different.

Which would always remind him he hadn't jerked off in a while.

Frank was finding it very difficult to not think of Jane as a regular woman... and not a dead woman. He'd often daydream lurid scenarios as he stared out the side window at the passing scenery, only to realize he'd developed a pulsating erection which ached to be set free, squirming and pushing against his zipper. He'd awkwardly readjust, glancing out the corner of his eyes to see if Jane had noticed. He needed to find the time and a secure place to release the pressure, but options were limited.

They eventually found an urgent care place in one of the medium sized towns they drove through. After parking and crushing the skulls of a few roaming zombie in the lot, they ventured inside. Frank mused on the fact that the tire iron had never been used to change a tire but still proved rather useful in demolishing zombie craniums and opening locked drawers... and cutting chins.

The urgent care facility had been totally destroyed—though for the life of him, Frank couldn't figure out why. Of all the places to ransack and loot... an urgent care facility? He could understand people looking for medicine or narcotics and such, but did they really have to destroy the waiting room? Slash the cushions on the chairs, smash computers and desks, overturn plants, leaving the whole place in total disarray? It was all so tumultuous and scrambled, leaving Frank feeling very unsettled.

"You want to stack some stuff? Or sweep or anything?" Jane asked, watching Frank tense up as they crunched through the trashed office.

"I kinda do," he admitted.

"Well, knock yourself out, I'm gonna look for blood."

"Yep. Got it."

As Jane edged around a toppled desk to get toward the back of the building, Frank brushed a little path clear with his feet then caught a whiff of himself. He was very thankful that Jane had no sense of smell, but his odor was starting to lean into repulsive territory, even for him. He needed a shower. Fortunately, Jane had had the foresight to grab a stack of Frank's clothes before she'd absconded with him. He had enough black tee-shirts and underwear to last for a little while so long as his natural musk didn't taint them beyond repair.

A shower would be nice. And a great time to rub one out.

He gave up righting overturned chairs and stacking magazines to take a quick tour through the building. Clinics had showers, he imagined. In a locker room type area—or for patients that needed to get cleaned up—or doctors pulling graveyard shifts.

Jane was in the back somewhere, apparently pushing aside downed cabinets which shrieked loudly on the floor as she searched for her blood bags while Frank went from room to room hoping to see a tiled enclosure.

They both came up empty handed and rejoined in the waiting room.

Jane looked at the detritus still littering the room. "Not much progress, huh?"

"I got distracted. Decided to look for a shower."

"Need to rub one out?"

"What? Ha, ha." Frank felt his cheeks flush.

"There's a metal hose thing back there with a nozzle on the end of it. For cleaning dishes or corpses or something. I didn't see if it was working."

"Wow, those are two wildly different purposes," Frank said.

"Well, I don't know what they used it for. The room was all fucked up, there was no way to tell. Point is, they've got something you could clean your filthy body with."

"Filthy?"

"I assume," she said. "Look, you can go wash your balls or whatever, I'm going back to the car to have a little blood. There's a convenience store a few buildings down. I'll try to find some snacks and smokes and booze—everything a growing boy needs."

Jane turned and headed for the front door.

"Thanks," he said. "If the water is working, I might be a minute," Frank said after her.

"Take your time," she waved over her shoulder.

Frank felt a sudden surge of excitement even though Jane had totally called him out. It didn't matter, she wouldn't know for sure. All he knew is he was going to masturbate which at that moment, seemed like the best thing in the world.

Frank ventured back through the demolished clinic to the back room where he'd heard Jane futzing about. He spotted the metal-ringed hose hanging from a retractable rubber cord attached to the ceiling near the back wall. It hovered over an enormous metal sink which was filled with random rubble and garbage. He checked the nozzle, looking at the crusted calcium stains and pulled the handle, soaking the front of his shirt and pants. He released the handle and stood aghast.

Holy shit! Running water!

He was sure it was just whatever was left in the pipes, but it might be enough to do the trick. Before getting down to the real business at hand, he figured he might as well try to scrub off the layer of grime that made his skin look ashy and old.

He cleared out the basin, stacking the broken jars and miscellaneous papers in a neat pile on the counter. He found a stopper, plugged up the drain and let the water run. It was freezing cold and the pressure was steadily dwindling but he managed to get enough to do the old whore's-bath routine. With about six inches of frigid water sloshing at the bottom, the nozzle sputtered and died.

He disrobed and folded his clothes, placing them on a chair nearby. With an old rag he found under the sink, he washed in the icy water—dipping it in and slapping it against the goose bumps rising all over his body. His skin was red, raw and tightening from the cold by the end of it, but for the first time in a while, he actually felt relatively clean.

And by the looks of things, his penis was feeling pretty good too. The cold water notwithstanding, his little buddy began to tremble and elongate.

Oh, how he wished he had some pornographic materials. It always worked better with a visual aide. He remembered stacking the magazines in the front lobby and hurriedly rushed down the hall, covering his growing, flapping penis with his hands. He could see the open rear hatch of the 4 Runner as he carefully peered through the broken front windows of the clinic. Jane was probably sitting back there sipping one of her blood bags. It looked like the coast was clear. He grabbed the stack of magazines and scampered back to the rear of the building.

It wasn't porn but fashion magazines offered enough bare skin to get his juices flowing, he hoped.

Time to get to work.

He found a spread with scantily clad, rail-thin models in mid-strut, sideling down a runway. That would do nicely. He was rock hard within seconds, quivering with anticipation. His hand felt smooth after his bath as it wrapped tenderly around his girth. Unintentionally, he pictured Jane's face on one of the models, which sent a shiver of delight up his spine as he continued to stroke. She looked gorgeous, completely made up, hair wafting behind her determined and confident stride. Her clothes melted away in his mind, revealing perfect handful-sized breasts and a silky-smooth, completely bald pubis.

He was getting close. He felt his asshole contract and the glorious rise of his oncoming orgasm creep up the back of his legs, gaining momentum on its way to his cock.

He was totally immersed in his churning, heady euphoria as he felt his erection twitch and expand against his grip, ready to release. Which is why he didn't hear the sound of the soiled nurse shoes, softly pad across the floor behind him. It wasn't until he heard the shoe's owner roughly bump against a steel examination table that he turned around, expecting to see Jane's confused, horrified face staring back at him as he spurted semen onto her scrubs.

But it wasn't Jane.

It was a nearly disintegrated zombie.

Most of the skin from its upper half had fallen away or hung in straggly strips off of dehydrated muscles and exposed bone. The face was gone—nothing left but scraps of peeling skin and subdermal tissue, which dropped to the floor like melted chocolate with each clumsy step.

Frank screamed, shocking himself with the ear-splitting register his voice achieved, and stumbled back, losing his footing and tumbling onto his naked back on the dirty floor. His penis was staring into his face and spit a long stringy rope of pearly cum onto his tensed stomach.

The zombie lurched forward, exposed tendons contracting as it snapped its jaws. Frank scrambled back, sliding on the papers and trash on the floor just as the creature fell forward, landing hard and juicy on Frank's lower body. Frank's still ejaculating penis pumped his seed into the zombie's open stomach cavity.

It was squishy in there but ice cold.

The thing's teeth were clacking as it sought to tear into Frank's chest, its feeble, ineffective hands, flopping on the floor. Frank grabbed its head in both of his hands, holding it just in front of where the ears would have been and squeezed with all his strength. The skull cracked and shifted under the pressure, then collapsed fully, crushed between Frank's palms. Its eyes oozed out like grapes in rancid yogurt, to dangle over decimated orbital bones. Whatever soupy goop had been inside its head was seeping onto Frank's chest and sliming between his fingers.

He pushed the limp body away and sat up, now completely covered in gore, dirt and jizz.

Fuck.

He slung dark purple sludge off his hands as he got back to his feet. He looked down at his now flaccid and withering penis. It too was coated in zombie pus and dripped on the floor. He looked back at the sink, at the murky water at the bottom of the basin. He turned and kicked the zombie in the side.

"Fuckin' thing!"

"Everything alright?" Jane asked, standing in the doorway. "I thought I heard a little girl screaming a minute ago."

"Jesus!" Frank jumped, slamming back into the metal basin, he smacked his spattered hands over his nakedness, punching his balls in the process. "Ow."

"Whoa, slow down." She looked at the mess on the floor, at his clothes folded neatly, at the open Vogue on the countertop. "Looks like you... uh... got this handled. So... I'll just head back out to the car while you get... cleaned up." She grinned.

"Okay!" Frank blurted, a little too loudly. He felt paralyzed, wishing Jane would just go away. But she lingered, patting a hand against the door jam, drumming her fingers on the wood.

"You didn't get bit, did you?"

"No!" he said. Still too loud.

"Water must have been cold, huh?" she smiled and then disappeared around the corner back up the hallway.

Frank exhaled for the first time in what felt like hours. He removed his hands from his crotch and looked at his wilted, shriveled dick. It appeared to be retreating into his body for fear of dying from embarrassment.

"Goddamnit," he said to the ceiling.