Storm Survivors - 1. Storm Survivors

The intermittent rain had begun late the previous evening. As Jessie eased the skiff away from the dock, there had been no sunrise to enjoy―gray clouds blanketed the sky. Heading out on the Guana River, the young man kept glancing towards the west, where the darkness above him appeared to expand with each passing minute. His furrowed brow hinted at the growing apprehension the Texan was experiencing; this one was going to be a big one. The frequency of periods with precipitation and gusting winds steadily increased, as he used the fishing net to retrieve each catch. An hour or so after setting out, Jessie decided it was best he remove himself from the path of the intensifying storm. It was time to return to the environmental station building which had become home to him, Lars, and Aitor over the previous year.

Fifteen months before, Allah’s Revenge had spread throughout the world, decimating humanity in a matter of weeks. Left behind were isolated pockets of population, in a virtual communications blackout. Short wave radio had allowed the three men to make contact with small communities scattered around the planet, but there was no longer a weather forecasting organization to warn of approaching systems. It was mostly guesswork now.

Aitor had salvaged a top-of-the-line aneroid barometer from the same place he had obtained his communication equipment. Yesterday it had shown a drop in pressure which presaged the approaching front. Not knowing how long they might be forced to rely on their inventory of canned food, the two older men had suggested an early fishing trip. Well aware the river’s agitated waters would make it easy to catch enough for a couple of meals.

Jessie realized he was smiling, as he secured the small boat to the wooden pylons rising from bottom of the river. If there was time, they would come back and pull it out of the water; for now, tight lines would prevent it from striking the landing platform. His smile spoke of the safety he felt being around the two men he called his partners. They had rescued him over a year ago, after he had injured his leg while hunting in the mountains of North Carolina. They nursed him back to health, and became the rocks upon which he had built a new life.

Pulling out the recessed handle, he dragged the cooler holding the morning’s catch behind him. The rackety-rack of the wheels crossing the wooden planks could barely be heard. The wind had picked up speed again, and its howling masked most sounds. Jessie hurried towards the side door of the complex, turned the handle, and stepped out of the murky light into murky darkness. All lights had been turned off, he knew the move was an effort to save electric juice. Powered by batteries which were charged by the sun, it might be days before they could be reenergized.

“What you bring us, Jessie?” asked Lars, wiping his face and chest with a towel. The tall Swede had taken to clipping his dirty blond chest hairs closely over the summer, complaining of the Florida heat and humidity, but he hadn’t done so during the past couple of weeks―for the first time in months it was longer than stubble. Just enough to capture drops of water from the rainstorm, or capture perspiration drips. Jessie thought how much easier he had it being completely smooth; water just slid off the hard planes of his body.

“Hooked a couple of redfish and got us a mess of blue crabs,” replied Jessie. “I’ll clean the fish during the next band of calm. We can cook it during a subsequent one, and store it in the cooling unit all ready to eat.”

“That’s smart. We’ll have to bring in the grill soon, though. Can’t have it outside for a squall to toss it around.”

“Where’s Aitor?”

“He should be back soon. He went to store the truck in the garage, double-check the tankers, and make sure the overhead gates were secured.”

Aitor was Lars’ husband. The two men had been backpacking in Canada when the chimera virus was released. After their time in the wild, they returned to civilization to find Banff depopulated, and the stench of decomposing bodies permeating the air. Once they’d figured out what had taken place, they didn’t waste time bemoaning their losses, they set about planning their survival. Getting to a place with warmer climate was a priority; they plotted a course towards the southeast, and had run into Jessie in what had been the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. The younger man felt lucky they’d stumbled onto him when they did.

Over their time together, the two Europeans had provided the emotional support and physical comfort which today allowed Jessie to smile in the midst of an approaching storm. Once in Florida, they had spent most of the time turning the environmental station into a secure compound, and scavenging for supplies. They had converted the old gas station, located at the entrance to the short road leading to their place, into a workshop. It was also used as their fuel depot; they had parked two tanker trucks behind the structure. One was full of diesel, the other one gasoline.

The side entrance opened again. A humid draft blew in, as Aitor stood framed by the opening. His dark body hair plastered to his body. “Give me a hand, guys. Wind’s picking up. We need to bring the grill inside.”

Jessie rushed to hold the metal door so the Spaniard could wrestle the bulky cooking unit into the room. “I was going to clean and cook the fish I caught. I was waiting for a little break in the rain.”

“I don’t think we’ll have one for a while. It looks like a solid curtain of water dropped from the sky, closing off the rest of the world. I’ll help you clean them when we do get an opportunity. But we’ll cook inside afterwards,” replied the swarthy man.

“Here,” said Lars throwing his partner a towel. “Strip and dry yourself. I think we’re as ready as we’re going to be. I emptied out the front room except for the couch. We can snuggle and watch the storm approach.”

“Approach?” asked Aitor undoing the top button of his shorts and allowing them to drop. He ran the towel over his groin, before bending over to dry his legs. “I think there’s no more approaching. It’s here.”

The large space, in the center of the middle wing of the complex, had housed exhibits when the men had stumbled into the place. They’d converted it into their main living area, furnishing it with comfortable furniture where they could relax. It now stood empty, except for a large, leather covered sofa, facing the impact resistant glass wall. Lars had spread a soft cotton blanket over it, and the three naked men took their usual spots once they were all dry―Jessie on his back, with his head on Lars’ lap, and his feet on Aitor’s thighs.

Before he could settle down entirely, the younger guy’s head snapped upwards; Mother Nature had cracked the blackout with a bright flash of light. The loud rumble of thunder was heard a fraction of a second later.

“Fuck!” shouted Jessie, before dropping his upper body back down.

“Ouch!” replied Lars. “Watch your head! You just slammed it on my dick!”

“Ooops, sorry, Daddy.” Jessie turned slightly and placed a quick kiss on the tip of the older man’s cock. ”There, all better now.”

Aitor chuckled as he stood and walked towards the glass wall. “This is definitely a hurricane. Wind was over sixty knots before, and it looks stronger now.” He had to speak up to be heard over the continuing thunder. “Lightning all over the place. That big one must have hit real close. There was barely any time lag between the light and the sound.”

“Get back here,” called out Jessie as he turned on his side, grabbed hold of Lars’ hand, and pulled it around his prone body. He placed it on his stomach and held it there, intertwining their fingers. “I don’t like you standing that close to the windows.”

“We’re fine,” replied Aitor, retracing his steps. Moving back towards his partners. His naked body back lit by the now constant bursts of white light. “How about I get this close?” He dropped to his knees between Lars’ outstretched legs, placed his hands on them, and leaned down to kiss Jessie on the lips.

“Oh geez,” exclaimed Lars watching his lovers kiss. “You guys are giving me a boner. Let’s go to bed. Not much else to do right now anyway.”

“Forget the bed,” said Jessie, rolling off the couch. He broke his fall with a hand, turned on his back, and held his arms out to the two men. “Let’s fuck here, with the thunderstorms raging outside. It’ll be exciting!”

Silhouetted against the flashes from the violent tempest, the three allowed their passion to take over. They rearranged their sweaty bodies into a myriad of configurations, kissing, licking, and groping each other in wild abandon. No matter how loud they moaned and gasped, no sound could be heard above the howling wind. At times, it sounded as if a freight train was running barely outside the building.

Perspiration made them slippery, making it easy to slide on the polished concrete floor. It wasn’t long until Jessie found himself on his back, his long legs resting on the Swede’s broad shoulders, the other man sitting on his face. The penetration was by now painless, a familiar and welcome invasion. As Aitor and Lars furiously kissed above him, Jessie felt himself lose control―he ejaculated without touching himself. Moments later, his body was flooded at both ends.

• • •

Approaching midnight, while the three men slept on the hard floor, the eye of the hurricane must have passed over them. The eerie silence caused them to awaken, slip on shoes, and wander outside to investigate. They strolled down the access road, kicking aside downed coconuts and small branches, until they reached the intersection of the road running parallel to the beach. A quick glance at the service station, satisfied them the overhead rolling doors had so far held, and the two tanker trucks hadn’t moved. Being in the center of the hurricane, the sky was mostly clear, the moon provided sufficient light to see around them.

They knew once the eye passed and they were hit by the back wall of rain, there might be some coastal flooding. They scampered over the asphalt ribbon, headed towards the dunes, leaving footprints on the thin, damp layer of sand covering the roadway. Jessie ran in front, scrambled up the dune, and took off running again after taking a quick look towards the ocean. The beach was considerably narrower than usual, the soft waves lapping at the grasses growing at the foot of the mounds.

“Hurry,” yelled Jessie over his shoulder. ”We gotta help.”

Lars and Aitor followed quickly, cresting the dune moments after their friend’s shout. They didn’t stop running, headed towards the dark shape laying on the shore. It was a capsized boat, a sailing vessel with a broken mast. They could see a person, wearing a fluorescent orange life jacket, walking backwards towards them. As they neared, they realized it was a woman, her long blonde hair matted to her back. She was pulling someone by the back of the vest the person wore.

“Help!” she screamed as Jessie reached her side. “Please… help.”

“It’s going to be okay,” said the young man. He held onto the woman who’d almost fallen when one of her legs buckled. “You’re safe. My friends will carry him back. You can let go of him.” He gently removed her hand from her companion’s jacket, helping her take a step backwards, as Aitor and Lars skidded to a stop in front of them and dropped to their knees.

“He hit his head,” said the woman pointing at the man at their feet.

“He’s breathing well and his pulse is not too high,” replied Lars holding his hand to the man’s neck. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. Jessie, take her home and start some water boiling. We need to warm them up.”

“What’s your name ma’am?” asked Aitor, looking up at the woman.

“I’m Sarah. And that’s my husband, Kirk. Thank you for helping us, I thought we were going to die.”

Jessie looked at her, tears streaking down her face, and gently nudged her towards the dunes. “You’ll both be fine. Welcome to Guana Station.”