I will once again flag this as NSFW (Not Suitable For Work). Sam is a very creative writer – Simon




“I am hungry Paige. What’s to eat, zombie brains?” Charles joked.
“Are you a prophet?” she asked, as she motioned for him to sit at her kitchen table.

Uh oh, he thought, but was saved by his cell phone going off.

“Go ahead, don’t mind me. The reception is better outside. When you come in, the food will be ready,” she said.

Charles did as he was told and had a conversation with Gary Harte about how much the publisher was going gaga over Charles’ nude in the USA collage and couldn’t wait for more.

“They think it’s going to be a bona fide hit Charles,” Gary gushed. “Thank that shrink of yours. Maybe getting writer’s block was meant to be.”

“I don’t relish writer’s block for any writer, regardless of the outcome,” Charles said.

“Don’t fuck up Charles Craig Curtis,” Gary warned.

“I can’t fuck it up, the signing and reading were cancelled on account of crabs,” Charles said.

“You have a weird imagination, Charles,” Gary said.

“I’ll tell you when I get back. Right now, I have to eat a zombie,” Charles said as he ended the call. What Charles didn’t know is the effect of what he just said would do to his agent’s imagination.

“My god,” Gary said to his empty office, “he is eating out some girl who just lies there. Is there no stopping his appetite?”

Charles returned to the kitchen and Paige asked him if everything was ok.

“Why do we always assume when someone gets a phone call that it is bad news?” Charles asked her.

“Most of the time, it is,” Paige said. “At least in my world.”


“I have been lucky. Lately, most of my calls I can handle,” Charles said.

“Because you can afford to now,” Paige said.

“I can’t argue with that,” Charles said. “Is the food ready?”

Paige motioned for Charles to sit at the kitchen table.

Charles pulled up a chair and stared at what Paige had made him. “What is this?” he asked, surprised that he wasn’t getting a meal fit for a famous writer, who was out of a book club signing and due to have a lot of sex with the cook for the rest of the weekend.

“A cannibal sandwich. Your original guess wasn’t that far off,” she said with a laugh.

“What is it made of?”

“Food that is nutritious, easy to find, easy to make, and even easier to digest. Incredible stuff to help your body stay lean when you have watch how much is being eaten,” Paige said.

“When the world comes to an end, I want you around to be in charge of rationing the food,” Charles said sarcastically.

“When the world comes to an end, there probably will be no one around to ration food with,” Paige said.

“Good point. May I?”

She nodded.

He picked up the cannibal sandwich and looked at it as if he were inspecting an antique that he didn’t want to drop. He also wanted to know a little more about it, before he ate it.

“Done inspecting?” Paige asked. “You said you were hungry, take a bite.”

Charles put the plate down and peeled back the pita bread that was covering the ingredients. All Paige had done, is taken a thin slice of plain white pita bread and folded it in half over the mixture.

“What is that?” Charles asked. “And if I am going to bite it, what do I wash it down with?”

Paige pointed to a small shot glass that was filled to the top with a clear liquid.



“What’s that?” Charles asked.

“What’s with all the questions, you writing a book or something?” Paige said sarcastically.

“I like to know what I am eating and drinking,” Charles said. Boy, could I have knocked that question out of the box a few days ago, he mused.

“Do you, or just what I am serving?” Paige said.

Busted, Charles thought.

“You do not strike me as a man who reads what ingredients are in the foods he buys or eats at a restaurant. Well, I am — that’s why you’re getting what you are getting. Chow down!” she ordered.

“I will. Just please tell me what I’m eating,” Charles said.

“Well, you’re not eating MSG, maltodextrin, high fructose corn syrup or anything sprayed with insecticides or injected with growth hormones,” Paige pointed out.

No wonder Anne Snowe is in such great shape, Charles thought. “MSG is the stuff that the Chinese put in their food that makes me want to take a nap right after I eat it, right?”

“No, American Chinese restaurants do that. I shudder to think what is being put in food on mainland China,” Paige said.

“Okay. So big agriculture is a lot like big publishing. All they care about is money,” Charles said.

“Shut up, and take a bite of your cannibal sandwich. All natural, raw, red meat, an organic purple onion, and organic ketchup, of course, on homemade pita bread,” Paige said with a smile.

Charles took a bite and was surprised that it actually tasted pretty good; of course, being the son of two great chefs, he knew that ketchup rather it be organic or not, could hide anything.

“What do you think?” Paige asked.

“Not bad. Not bad at all. You eat this every day?”

“Just for lunch,” Paige said, as she picked up her sandwich and chowed it down. She then picked up the shot glass closest to her and raised it to Charles. “To the book


signing that isn’t happening.” She threw the shot into her mouth, then shook her head and shoulders and muttered something that Charles had seen a million times.

“Shots seem to have that effect on everyone.” He downed his shot and tensed up a lot worse than he had ever done, despite the many shots of liquor he had consumed over the years.

Paige smiled. “Guess I should have warned you what type of alcohol was in there.”

“Guess so,” Charles spit out sarcastically. “So what just lit my insides on fire?”

“Pure grain alcohol and distilled rainwater,” Paige said. “I distill the water myself.”

“I’m going to leave a trail of breadcrumbs when I leave here Sunday that starts here and goes all the way to my place so when I need to survive, I won’t lose my way back here,” Charles said.

“So, are you saying you want to play Hansel and Gretel when we screw tonight? A little role playing,” Paige said with a wink.

“I was thinking about playing two people holed up in a survival bunker with nothing to do but fuck, fuck, fuck,” Charles said.

“I like your scene better. But first, let’s take the horse to its new owner,” Paige said.

Charles followed her to the barn.

“Charles, do me a favor wait over by the truck and trailer. She doesn’t like strangers,” Paige said of the horse that she was leading out of the barn.

Charles was amazed at the beauty of the horse. “Can I pet it?” he pleaded.

“Let me walk her around and get her anxieties out. Horses need a little movement to calm down after being cooped up in the barn stall,” Paige said, as she walked the magnificent looking beast to the corral.

“Ah, horse sense, right?!” Charles yelled out.

“That was terrible,” Paige called back.

“I agree, but I couldn’t help myself. What is her name?”

“Holly. Let me walk her one more time around and then slowly walk over here,” Paige said.

Charles watched Paige lead Holly around and then slowly walked over to them both.


Paige motioned for Charles to enter the corral, which Charles did.

“Go ahead, and hold your hands out so she can smell you,” Paige said.

Charles did, and Holly started swishing her tail. “She wags her tail like my dog,” Charles pointed out.

“Pet her nose and scratch her ears and rub the top of her head, just like it is your dog. I’m going to get her a treat, and you’re going to give it to her,” Paige said.

So, Charles went about petting and rubbing and scratching the beautiful creature as Paige instructed, and like Max, Holly craved more petting, rubbing and scratching.

Paige came into the corral and handed Charles a few good old fashioned sugar cubes.

“You’re feeding Holly something like that!” Charles said very sarcastically.

“Holly is a horse, she deserves to be spoiled, especially with how much money I made off her,” Paige said proudly.

She instructed Charles how to hold the sugar cubes so Holly wouldn’t bite his hand. This made Charles nervous.

“You just fired a handgun… rather badly, I think you can do it,” encouraged Paige.

Charles held the sugar cubes for Holly as Paige had instructed. He shut his eyes and felt Holly eat the cubes in a very gentle way.

He opened his eyes and told Paige that Holly took food out of his hand a lot easier than Max did.

“Try an apple,” she said, as she tossed him a red apple. I’m going to get the trailer ready for her. “She loves apples.”

Charles repeated his performance, right down to keeping his eyes shut, when he held the apple out for Holly.

Charles instantly heard the crunching sound of the apple in Holly’s mouth and opened his eyes; he swore that the horse was smiling at him why she munched away.

“Good girl,” Charles said, as he petted her affectionately.   “I can see why you like these animals, Paige,” Charles shouted.

“What are you shouting for?” she jokingly asked him, as she was standing right behind him.

Charles recoiled when he heard the first syllable from Paige’s mouth.


“Shit, that scared me,” he said.

“I can do a lot of things,” she said with a sly smile. “Climb into the cab and I’ll load her up.”

Charles did and found himself actually looking forward to the drive and the talk about zombies.

It’s a nice change of pace. Will help with my creativity, he thought, as he watched Paige get in behind the wheel.

“You really know horses, too,” Charles said.

“And if I had to, I could butcher one and live off it for a long time,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone that caught Charles off-guard. She started the engine and slowly started driving the truck with trailer.

At least she isn’t starting out like in that Humvee, he thought.

“That’s kind of disgusting knowing you would kill Holly for food,” Charles said.

“It might come down to that and you’d better be prepared. Speaking of ‘prepared,’ let me tell you what I have prepared to get ready for the zombies’ arrival,” Paige said.

Charles cringed.

“I have trapped and eaten a bat, a rabbit, and a squirrel,” she said proudly.

“What did bat taste like?” Charles asked, after he made an icky face.

“What sauce I cooked it in. It was a wild mushroom sauce with some butter. Tasted like chicken,” Paige said.

Oh boy, Charles thought. “How come you didn’t try a chipmunk?”

“Too hard to catch and too small to waste your time on, unless, of course, that’s the only game in town! Enough with the mammals. On to reptiles I have trapped and eaten!”

“You’re kidding me. This is a great story you have made up. You’re poking fun at my wildly successful book where animals are prominent,” Charles said.

“Not at all,” she said.   “As a matter of fact, you left out reptiles in your book,” she pointed out.

“On purpose — they give me the heebie jeebies,” Charles said. “Sometimes I think I fear reptiles more than heights.”


“I have eaten a lizard, a turtle, and, of course, a snake.”

“Yuck,” he spat out. “That’s disgusting.”

“Disgusting is what your body will look like when you can’t go to the local supermarket to purchase your daily intake of poison otherwise known as processed foods. Then again, there will be no place to buy food. Maybe barter food, but not buy,” she warned.

“You are serious about all this?”

“Like a fucking serious heart attack; by the way, if you eat a lot of reptiles and insects you will never suffer a heart attack. No artery clogging components with them,” she said, as she stopped the truck at a four-way stop. “God, how I hate four-ways,” she muttered.

“Insects?!” an amazed Charles asked.

Paige shook her head and looked to make sure that it was safe to go through. It was and she did. “Want to hear which ones?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“We all have choices,” Paige said seriously.

“That’s the first thing I agree with you on, since you started to rub my face in surviving a nuclear war,” Charles said.

Paige frowned.   She really enjoyed being prepared for any disaster that she thought was imminent.

“First of all, you have to catch the insects. Look under rocks, leaves, tree bark and places like that. You don’t eat the pretty ones, because they are poisonous,” she lectured.

“Funny that the good looking ones will kill,” Charles said. I wonder if insects have a word for femme fatale?

“Not just in the insect world, either. You have to toss out the ones that don’t look right, either,” she pointed out.

“What insect looks right?”

“Remove their wings and legs. Grind em up into a paste or boil them and sprinkle on the food you are preparing. I’ve eaten grasshoppers, bees, wasps, ants and crickets.


But do you know which the best bug to eat is? The one that gives one the best protein?”

“I’m dying to know!”

“You will die if you don’t know,” she warned him. “A worm. Easy to find,” Paige said.

“Easy for you to say,” Charles said.

“Listen, in the game of survival you have to toss out what you are used to and replace with this key phrase,” she said.

“Don’t eat worms!” he said sarcastically.

“Replace unacceptable with acceptable,” she said.

“I’d rather cut out red meat, but not red wine,” Charles said laughing.

“That reminds me, when the shit hits the fan, make sure you have a lot of booze in your house,” she said.

“But, of course,” Charles said. “I’ll drink myself to death. What a way to go. Can I make my worms taste like cheese and crackers?”

“Be serious, please! Not just wine. Stock beer and alcohol, too. Know why?”

“I’m sure you will tell me.”

“Alcohol is the best bartering tool around,” she informed him.

“I thought money was and always will be,” Charles said, suddenly much more interested in talking about booze, money, and bartering than eating insects.

“You can’t eat money or coins or even gold for that matter,” she pointed out.

“But we can eat worms!” Charles shouted.

“Now you’re getting it. The booze you use to trade for ammunition or a flashlight or even worms,” she said.

Why is she starting to make sense? Charles mused. “Okay. I get it. I get it.”

“No, you don’t, Charles. I hope by the time this weekend is over that you will,” she said.

“How long till we get to where we have to take Holly?”

“About an hour.”


“So, educate me on these zombies of yours,” Charles said.

“Do you think history repeats itself?” Paige asked him.

“I’m not a philosopher nor am I a historian, Paige,” Charles said innocently.

“Bull shit,” she spat out as she slowed the truck and trailer down as they were coming to a winding road. She also peered up through the windshield at the sky. “I don’t like the looks of the sky.”

“Why, it looks like it’s going to be a great looking evening,” Charles said.

“It’s too red for this time of the day and this time of the year,” she said.

“So you learned to become a weatherperson, too?”

“Amongst other things. But you are so full of shit about being blissfully ignorant of history. I read your book, and I know what your subliminal message was. For crying out loud, Charles, it is the Animal Farm of our day!” she boasted.

Wow, he thought. She’s taking me apart worse than some of the critics.

“I like that phrase ‘blissfully ignorant.’ Can I borrow it?” Charles asked Paige.

“Use it, just don’t live it.”

“Just a simple explanation for us members of the blissfully ignorant society, please,” Charles begged.

“Okay. Okay. The zombies I keep talking about are not the movie or TV zombies that your creative mind is conjuring up. They are part of that ‘blissfully ignorant society’ that you just mentioned that doesn’t see the greatest depression of all time coming,” she said.

“You mean not seen since the great depression,” Charles corrected her.

“Good god, you have bought into that main stream media and political party propaganda! We are already in that!” she shouted. You don’t see it because you have money.”

“Now,” he corrected her.

“And I hope you are keeping it in a safe, not that it will be worth anything when the debt bomb detonates,” she said.

“Aha!” a real answer she has given me. “I know about debt and it is not good. The first


thing my accountant told me was to pay off the debt and try to keep it that way.” Charles said.

“Have you?”

“Yes, I can afford to!” he boasted.

“Well, the world governments used to be able to afford it, and now they can’t; so they beg, borrow, and steal, and now there is no more money to loot. So guess what happens when governments run out of money?” she asked him.

“War, of course,” he guessed.

“Maybe, but war costs too much,” she said.

“I’ll say. Bodies aren’t cheap no matter what their race, color or creed,” Charles declared.

“Oh no, my friend — costs too much money. So until they are ready there will not be a war… yet. That’s where my zombies come into play,” she said.

“I’m a little lost,” Charles admitted.

“They want to keep it that way,” Paige said.

“Who?” Charles asked.

“The usual suspects. Big multi-national corporations, big unions, big media, and of course, all the politicians that they buy and sell. But the worst is, and always will be, the big banks that dominate everything,” Paige said.

“So once again, no matter how rich I become, I’m nothing more than a soap bubble floating into the vastness of the unknown,” Charles said.

“Hey, with that last comment about being a ‘soap bubble’ you are a philosopher,” Paige said.

“After what you have said, I’m not much of anything. None of us are,” Charles said.

“We are if we survive the zombies,” she said.

“You must tell me, NOW!” Charles demanded.

“I will. But remember, you must pass it on to others who you think will do the right thing. People will survive and they need to know what to do,” Paige said.

“They always do,” replied Charles.


“Know what to do or just survive?” she asked.

“Survive,” Charles said.

“Okay. Here we go. There are many people on the government dole, more than those that have their snouts in the trough. I’m talking about the millions on food stamps. The millions on welfare. The millions on social security. The millions on disability payments. The millions getting free housing. The millions getting their cell phones paid for. The millions getting all their stuff from us, but thinking it is the government doing its moral obligation to give them something for nothing,” Paige said.

“Aren’t you counting the same people who receive a welfare check and food stamps twice?” Charles asked.

“Exactly! Think how dependent they are on the government as opposed to the person who deals with just getting a social security check,” Paige pointed out.

“Good point,” Charles said.

“Now, let us move to the people who are dependent upon the government for a check, but we don’t see them as dependent upon the government as we see the ones I just mentioned,” Paige said.

“Fire away,” Charles said.

“Government workers, teachers, firefighters, cops, clerks, judges, elected politicians, bureaucrats, cabinet members, members of the military, even the president are dependent upon the taxpayers for their overblown salary and pensions. Who do you think they are going to pay first — themselves or the welfare types?”

“You pose a very interesting question, but I think I am not going to like the answer,” Charles said.

“Of course you’re not. So when the money runs out and it will run out, where are the welfare recipients going to go for food, shelter, and clothing, Charles?” Paige asked with a sneer.

“Yeah, but won’t the cops and military protect the common citizen? After all, we’re paying their salaries.” Charles said.

“For a while, yes. But as everything crumbles bit by bit, they will fall back and leave the common citizens on their own. They in turn have to be ready to fight the zombies,” Paige said.

“Not a pretty picture, but vividly spelled out,” Charles said disgustedly.


“But revenge will be sweet, my friend.”

“How’s that?” Charles asked.

“The ones who are left to fend for their own will not only defeat the zombies but go after the government types that abandoned them with relish and start all over again. If you thought the French Revolution was bloody, wait till you see the debt revolution fought. But like anything else in history a new beginning will be better than the old ending,” Paige said, with a hint of optimism in her voice.

“I hope you’re wrong. My mom always warned me that the second revolution is always worse than the one it proceeded.”

“Mama Bernard has a good point. But I am not wrong. Hey, we’re almost to the place,” Paige said, as she pointed to a sign that read: ‘Spitz Farms.’

“What kind of name is ‘Spitz’?” Charles asked his driver.

“A last name.”

“Are you being sarcastic?” Charles asked her.

“Very,” she replied “It’s a German name. Be nice — he is not only spending a lot of money on Holly, he is my mentor in learning the survival game.”

“Have you slept with him?” Charles asked.

“But, of course. It’s good business. It’s good for learning survival tactics, and he is a good lay for an old man,” Paige said.

“Sounds like you’re batting a thousand, Paige.”

“Not until we have our moment,” she corrected him.

“I like that,” Charles said.

The truck and its two inhabitants, and the trailer and its lone inhabitant worked its way up and around the long driveway to the entrance of the farm. Charles found himself eager to meet Paige’s mentor and was happy he wasn’t the least bit jealous.

Well, if he shoots a gun better than me, I will be, he mused, as his jaw dropped when he saw the size of the estate that he expected to be a horse farm like Paige’s.

It looked like something from the antebellum south.

Later, after their weekend was over, Paige explained to Charles that the Spitz’ traced


their family line back to the confederacy, and that this Spitz modeled his estate after one he had seen in the history books.

Charles never learned Spitz’s first name, and neither Spitz nor Paige mentioned it, so Charles didn’t care. He called him ‘Spitz,’ too, during their short time together.

Spitz was out on his front porch dressed in a cowboy hat, army fatigue pants, alligator cowboy boots, a white button down shirt rolled up to the elbows, and smoking a corn cob pipe.

“Been a long time since I’ve seen something like that,” Charles exclaimed.

“I bet. He’s a real original.” Paige said with glee.

“I’m sure he is. I was talking about his pipe.”

Paige rolled her eyes at him, jumped down out of the truck and sprinted into the arms of Spitz.

“My favorite horse raiser,” Spitz, said as he pushed Paige back and looked her over. “You look stunning!”

Paige blushed.

“Who’s that riding shotgun?” Spitz asked.

“Charles Curtis, Sir,” Charles said as he extended his hand. “I like your pipe.”

“The famous writer? My grandchildren loved your last book,” Spitz said as he shook Charles’ hand vigorously.

This guy has to be about ten years older than me, and does he have a grip, Charles thought, as he extracted himself from the hard squeeze that Spitz had on him.

“I forgot you’re a writer. You need that hand,” Spitz said with a grin.

A few days ago I would have wanted you to squeeze the life out of that hand, Charles mused.

“He’s not in our fraternity, is he?” Spitz said to Paige.

“Not yet,” she said.

“Too bad,” Spitz said with a light scorn. “If you stay a while I can teach you a thing or two about survival.”


“As long as I don’t have to shoot anything or eat an insect, I’ll be an apt pupil,” Charles said.

“I’ll get Holly and put her in the barn,” Paige said.

“Apt pupil. I like that,” Spitz said. “Follow me.”

Charles walked behind Spitz, and they covered a hundred yards or so before they reached a tree line.

“Stop,” Spitz said.

Charles stopped.

“Know where we are?” he asked Charles.

“Sure. Your spread,” Charles said, thinking that Spitz probably loved the term ‘spread.’

“Moron. We are at the beginning of a small forest. Now, if you were stuck in a forest like this and there was no fresh drinking water to be found how would you survive?”

Now Charles wanted to say things like ‘I would walk out, get in a car, and drive to the store’ or ‘get me one of these sticks shaped like a y and hope it discovers it for me’, but being a guest he played it safe, because his parents brought him up correctly.

“Hope for rain?” Charles guessed.

“Better than praying, because Charles there ain’t a god around when it comes down to survival of the fittest. In a way, you’re right. It’s about water, but not rain. It’s about dew,” Spitz said.

“I know you can live a lot longer without food than water,” Charles said.

“Very good,” Spitz said. “I’m going to give you one quickie lesson, and then you and Paige can take off. But be careful when you’re driving back, a bad storm is coming. I can feel it.”

Charles looked up at the sky and didn’t see a cloud. He ignored the remark, and motioned for Spitz to educate him on finding water in a forest where there is none.

“Finding water is your most important goal. Did you know despite the acid rain produced by industries from around the world, that rainwater everywhere is drinkable,” Spitz said.

“I thought we weaned ourselves off acid rain during the Clinton administration,” Charles said. “Wasn’t that Al Gore’s big environmental push?”


Spitz rolled his eyes; he knew he had an amateur in his presence.

“Okay, you’re stuck in the forest, and you have nothing but the clothes on your back and shoes on your feet, which I might say are not very becoming of a proper Bostonian,” Spitz said as he checked out Charles’ attire. “Anyway, before the sun comes up, take off your shoes, keep your socks on, and walk on the dew until your socks are soaking wet. Then, you take your socks off, and ring them out into your dispenser, and start all over again before the dew dissipates. Simple, right?”

“Everyone who knows me knows I am not proper. Just ask Paige. So, on top of being an expert on surviving, you are also a clothes critic?” Charles asked. “Furthermore, when the zombies come, clothing will not be high on my list, but how to make water out of dew on my socks will be,” he said sarcastically.

“Why, yes. Do not dress flashy. Also, never draw any attention to yourself that everything is okay in your own home during zombie time, or your place will be high on ‘to conquer’ list,” Spitz pointed out.

“That makes a lot of sense to you, but not to me,” Charles said.

“I mean it, Charles. Can I call you Charles?” Spitz suddenly asked Charles.

“You already did. By the way, what is your first name?” Charles asked.

“Colonel,” Spitz said as he puffed out his chest.

“Your parents named you after an army rank?” Charles asked.

“No. I was a Colonel in the army. Remember what I said about not drawing attention to yourself when the zombies come. That is why I’m telling you not to dress or behave flashy when it happens. I think you might be one of those types who would not only go out of his way to help others but would draw attention to yourself, because you like to be noticed,” Spitz said.

“Only with women!” Paige cried out.

Both men laughed and they heard Paige chuckle.

“I will not give my flashy first name. But everything else flashy is out, including my beloved cowboy hat,” Spitz said.

“What was that?” Charles asked.

“I miss my damn cowboy hat. But I haven’t given up my love for southern rock,” Spitz said with a smile. By the way Charles, you know what happens to the people, who help other people out during zombie time, don’t you?” Spitz asked Charles.


Charles shook his head.

“They get burnt and it isn’t always by fire. My great-grandfather had a saying that he handed down to the other male Spitz’s. He used to say ‘you know what happened to pioneers don’t you? They got scalped!’” Spitz said, very loud and clear.

“I get your point,” Charles said, rubbing the top of his head.

“Be prepared, don’t be scared is my motto,” Spitz said.

“Everyone else can afford to be blissfully ignorant. We can’t,” Paige said to Charles and Spitz.

“Good girl,” Spitz said. “Better get going. The rain is going to come down in torrents.”

Charles held out his hand and Spitz walked over and grasped it.

“Not a bad squeeze for a writer,” Spitz said with a laugh.

“I write with my left hand,” Charles lied, as he climbed into the passenger side of the truck.

He watched Paige and Spitz embrace.

Good for them, he thought. They have each other to protect from the zombies.

Paige climbed in, and they drove to the end of the long driveway in silence. It seemed that neither one wanted to break the silence. But Charles being Charles, he decided to do so, because he was finding the entire survival craze fascinating; so interesting, that he had already written himself a note to make a survival collage for the book. He even texted Gary about it while he watched Paige and Spitz hug. He didn’t get a reply, but expected to see a positive one from his agent.

“So, he is your mentor because he taught you about zombies, buys your horses and sometimes you fuck him?” Charles asked Paige.

“Notice how light the truck is without Holly in the trailer?” Paige responded.

“Aha! Ducking my question,” Charles said.

“Nope, ignoring it,” she said’ with a glare into the rearview mirror that she knew Charles could see.

“Now, don’t get angry with me, Paige, I was just making small talk. Despite the lack of questions about books and writing, it has been a very interesting trip,” Charles said.



“The trip hasn’t even started,” Paige said with a wink.

“I can’t tell the difference about the trailer with or without Holly in it,” Charles confessed.

Paige laughed, and the both of them talked about old times, old friends and the new ideas that Paige had been converted to. Charles was skeptical of the coming of the zombies, but didn’t let Paige catch on.

After all, he still had a fuckfest planned with her.

“And nothing is worse than a women who gives you sympathy sex,” Charles had once told Gary.

“What is that?”

“You get the body, but you don’t get the mind and soul. The woman lets you fuck her but her mind is a million miles away for whatever reason,” Charles stated.

“And women can come up with reasons galore,” Gary said.

“I’m sure that men can, too,” but I haven’t been on the receiving end of any sympathy sex from any man,” Charles said.

“Would you?” Gary asked.

“I let you know if it ever happens,” Charles found himself saying.

“Are you serious?” Gary asked.

“Keeping my options open.” Charles said.

Gary couldn’t tell if Charles was kidding or not.

Funny thing, neither could Charles.

Maybe it had to do with his writer’s block from hell.

If you missed the earlier Chapters you can find them here.

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