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ONE

CIPHER

Welcome to Assburbia, population seven (and one cat).

When I’d thought about my future home as a child, a barricaded cul-de-sac in the middle of Rabid Country was never in the cards, but that was exactly what this place had become. Our safe haven. Our home sweet home. We’d rebuilt this compound from the ground up, and I’d be damned if anyone tried to take it from us.

It’d been six weeks since we fled Promised Land, six weeks since I’d wasted Jeremiah the sadist, and Kitten had saved me from certain doom at the hands of that lying snake-oil salesman Brother Larry. The seven of us were safe at last, free from any government interference or whack-ass cult bullshit.

Thanks to Jeremiah’s tricked-out Humvee, we’d made it back to Kitten’s subdivision in the suburbs of Greenville, South Carolina and immediately set about building our newly fortified compound. The Assholes let me take the lead on construction, and we’d worked ‘round the clock to scour the neighborhood for every brick, board, and scrap of metal we could use to act as a barrier between us and the rest of Rabid Country.

Our compound included five houses, two wells, a stretch of field for animals to graze, another for planting crops, and a yard for sports–Macon’s request. In the center of our property was the paved cul-de-sac with a basketball hoop and my own pride-and-joy, a scaffolded wooden watchtower that stood three stories high and was sheltered from the elements by a tin roof. At the top of our lookout were two battery-powered spotlights, mounts for our weapons, and an antenna to capture radio signals, all fashioned by our in-house engineers Gizmo and Wylie. We’d scavenged what gasoline we could from the vehicles in the neighborhood to power our generator but we only used it occasionally, wanting to conserve the gas.

We kept the tower manned at all hours of the day, and everyone took a shift. That was one of Kitten’s rules, that we all contribute to our security because he didn’t want me burning out. We had yet to defend ourselves from raiders, but Rabids still tested our defenses most nights. Groaning and shrieking outside our gates, they shuffled back and forth like the world’s most anemic army before finally giving up and retreating into the surrounding woods before dawn. It was an unsettling experience to witness, but as long as they stayed on their side of the fence, we left them alone. We couldn’t afford to waste our precious ammo.

I had my family, my weapons, and my man by my side. I’d kicked my drug habit (mostly) and had retained three out of four of my limbs in this godforsaken plague. Life could be a lot worse.

Presently, Macon was on duty in the watchtower while Kitten and I lounged under the shade of a southern magnolia tree whose flowers were just starting to bloom. Their sweet, creamy scent floated on the spring air as I napped on a picnic blanket with Kitten working quietly beside me. Drifting in and out of consciousness, I watched Little Miss Purrfect stalk crickets in the tall grass, her favorite pastime when not lounging in the sun or eating the scraps Kitten still fed her under the table.

“I should really figure out how to use my mom’s sewing machine,” Kitten said, squinting at me through his thick eyelashes. He was stitching a big red “A” onto a rectangle of fabric that was to be our community flag. The sun was shining on his brown curls, highlighting the threads of gold in his hair and reminding me of when we first met last summer. Had it been only nine months since then? It felt as though I’d known him my whole life. He’d grown up so much, as tall as me now and broader besides. Even more handsome, which seemed impossible, but more stunning than his physical appearance, was his inner beauty. My guy had a sexy heart.

“I’m sure you could figure it out. What’s the ‘A’ stand for? Anarchy?” I asked, playing dumb.

He shot me a crooked smile. “You know what it’s for. You’re our leader after all, aren’t you?”

“King Asshole?” I teased.

“Some days,” he said with a smirk. I swatted his leg, and he laughed, then placed the end of the thread in his mouth to wet it. My thoughts drifted back to that morning, what he’d done to me with those pretty lips and clever tongue. I’d had to bite my fist to keep from waking the entire house. Kitten had no such reservations about making noise during sex. Because he was hard of hearing or just that shameless, I wasn’t sure. I plucked up a long stem of grass to occupy my mouth. A cigarette would be nice, but I’d kicked that bad habit too. Sigh.

“You going to try your hand at fashion next?” I asked him, recalling the time I’d judged an impromptu Miss America pageant in one of the homes we’d been scavenging–Kitten’s idea–and he’d descended the staircase in some kind of translucent nightie, his first attempt at seducing me.

“Maybe I will. Might be nice to have some new curtains. I’m thinking of redecorating the house a bit,” he said.

While I was focused on keeping our weapons locked and loaded, Kitten was making our house a home. Live, laugh, love and all that corny shit I pretended to despise but secretly loved. I used to think survival was the only thing that mattered in this world, but he’d shown me differently. Small comforts were the ultimate treasure–a warm bath, a cup of hot tea, a full belly, great sex… Kitten had taught me to embrace those gifts rather than to deny myself the pleasure. Life was simply too short to waste them.

And there was no limit to his creativity–cooking, canning, caring for our growing assortment of livestock, and tending to the plants in the garden. He was currently teaching himself first aid from whatever medical books he could find, to become our resident nurse, reading in the evenings by oil lamp and ruining his eyesight despite my warnings. His ambition motivated me to do better, to be better. I was so fucking proud of him.

“Are we finally going to get rid of the Zac Efron poster in your bedroom?” I asked. Not that I minded, but the teenage heartthrob had witnessed a lot of carnal acts between the two of us in the past month or so.

“I was thinking of moving us into my parents’ room. The bed is bigger.” Kitten’s eyebrows knitted together as he waited for my reaction. I knew enough to be careful. The two of us slept in the tiny twin bed in his bedroom, the same one he’d had since he was a child. Gizmo and Wylie shared his brother’s old room across the hall where we’d moved in a second bed because they didn’t like to share. Macon and the girls slept on couches in the den downstairs. No one slept in the master bedroom, and only Kitten was allowed in there to tidy up. Too many bad memories for him of when she was sick and dying. For me too, it was where I’d ended her life. Eventually we’d expand into the other houses, but none of us were ready to leave the nest just yet.

“I’m happy where we are,” I told him. “And I’m perfectly fine with our Lord and Savior Zac Efron watching over us as we sleep, but if you want to move, I’d be good with that too. As long as we’re together.”

“Okay.” He smiled shyly, then went back to sewing, his little, pink tongue poking out the corner of his mouth, too irresistible not to taste. I spat out the grass stem and stole a kiss from him, just a brush of my mouth against his. Kitten set aside his work to pull me closer, gripping my shirt in both his hands and mashing his soft lips to mine. His tongue told me he was angling for more than just a chaste peck, so I crawled on top of him as gracefully as I could manage and smothered him underneath me for a quick make-out sesh. Kitten took advantage of the position to grind his dick against my thigh, not at all subtle about it. I dragged my fingers through his thick curls, tugging a little at the roots so I could peel him off me long enough for us to catch our breath.

“You horny, babe?” I asked.

“Yeah. You’re so handsome. And you smell good too.”

“What do I smell like?”

“Mmmm… gunpowder and smoked meat.”

The gunpowder tended to linger since I was perpetually working with Gizmo to make more bullets. The meat smell was probably from checking our smokehouse where we cured the game we caught in the forest.

“You like that smell?” I asked.

“Yeah, reminds me of how manly you are. So butch.”

I laughed. “That is the smell of a badass. Too bad we can’t bottle it and sell it.”

“Trade it for butter,” Kitten said. Butter, or rather our lack of it, was his current obsession. “What do I smell like?” he asked.

I dragged my nose along his neck, his angular jaw, then pulled down his shirt to follow the ridge of his collar bone. So fresh and so sweet. “Mmm… you smell like springtime and oranges,” I told him before kissing him again. And again. He whimpered between kisses, eyes half-lidded and dark.

“Cipher.”

“Yeah, babe?” I tongued the divot at the hollow of his throat and lapped at his smooth, silky skin, giving him some resistance down below where he was still grinding against me.

“What if someone comes over here?”

“Everyone else is busy doing their own thing. Let me get you off before my shift starts.”

“What about you?” he asked, always so thoughtful.

“Good boys come first.” I reached down and unbuttoned his jean cutoffs, yanking apart the zipper to really dig my hand deep inside. So warm and inviting. Kitten groaned as I rooted around inside his briefs, cupping his balls and grabbing hold of his cock. His soft skin was stretched tight over his thick erection, a nice, girthy handful. He got hard at the drop of a hat–a look, a word, a strong breeze, it never took much. There was already a wet spot on his underwear because my man was juicy too. I’d stroke him for a little while to really get him amped up, then finish him with my mouth as a little treat to myself. Armed with that plan, I’d just gotten all five fingers wrapped around him when my radio crackled to life.

“Cipher, come in.”

Macon and his impeccable timing. He must have known we were together and was probably fucking with us. Asshole.

“Stay right there,” I told Kitten as I sat up and unclipped the radio from my hip without breaking the rhythm of my slow, torturous handjob. Kitten propped himself up on his elbows, still with a dazed look on his face, and rolled his hips in time with the motion while uttering little growls of frustration. “Be good and stay quiet,” I told him, then pushed the talk button on the radio. “What is it?” I snapped at Macon.

“Jesus, testy much?”

“Macon,” I growled.

“Sorry to interrupt whatever’s going on over there , but we’ve got company coming in from the road.”

My hand on Kitten froze as my flight-or-fight instincts kicked in. “Who is it?”

“Looks like military.”

Military? Fuck. We knew they had a base nearby, but we hadn’t come across any of the United Forces yet. We’d made sure to stay off the main roads on our way here, and as soon as we’d arrived, we’d stashed the Humvee out of sight in one of the neighboring garages. We didn’t want any questions about how we’d gotten it or what had happened to its previous owner.

“Are you fucking with me right now, Macon?”

“Definitely not, boss. Two Jeeps are making their way down Shady Oaks Drive to our front entrance. Can’t you hear them?”

The whine of engines finally caught up to me, and I kicked myself for not picking up on it sooner. With his hearing impairment, Kitten needed me to stay sharp for us both.

“Yeah, I hear ‘em. On my way now.” I reluctantly removed my hand from Kitten’s joystick and tucked him back inside his underwear. “How about you head to the garage and hang with Gizmo and Wylie until this is over? I’ll radio the girls and let them know what’s going on.”

“Nope, I’m coming with you,” he said while buttoning up his pants. The look on his face was one that I knew well, stubborn and steadfast, not to be discouraged.

“You sure about that?” I asked.

“One hundred percent sure, boss.”

Boss. We were no longer just boyfriends. He was showing me respect as his leader, King Asshole, a weighty responsibility. I didn’t like putting him in danger, but this was part of the agreement we’d made, to work as a team instead of me going lone wolf in an attempt to protect him and the others. I had to respect his desire to defend me too, so I lumbered to my feet and offered him my hand, taking a moment to pluck a stray stick from his hair.

“There’s no telling what they want, so let’s be careful,” I said. Whether it was to recruit us, or chase us off our land, or to question us about what had gone down in Promised Land, I didn’t plan on giving them anything they could use against us.

“I’ll follow your lead,” he said with somber maturity.

My good little soldier.

“Nice place you got here.”

That was the military’s opener, communicated via megaphone from just outside our locked gates. Despite their conversational tone, I didn’t take it for anything other than what it was, a threat. That their captain appeared to be a woman didn’t make me feel any better about having the United Forces on our doorstep. Their mere presence meant we were in danger.

The woman’s eyes roved over our fence, a mish-mash of material about twelve feet high and topped with broken glass and barbed wire, most of which I wove myself with chicken wire and razor blades. The barricade was a work of art, really.

“I’m Captain Crenshaw with the United Forces,” she said. Her right leg was a prosthetic, same as mine, and there was a long scar that ran along her face and disappeared into the collar of her shapeless green jacket. She looked to be mid- forties and muscular for her age with her graying hair in a short, no-nonsense cut. Before lowering my binoculars, I made note of the M16 slung around her neck. The half-dozen soldiers accompanying her were similarly armed.

At our continued silence, she added, “We have a base 15 miles east of here, halfway to Spartanburg.”

I nodded. The red UF emblem emblazoned on both their Jeeps and their uniform shirts told me as much, unless they’d stolen them and were only posing as military. “What do you want?” I called back, using a megaphone Gizmo and Wylie had fashioned from a plastic funnel and duct tape. I’d tried being polite and respectful of authority in Promised Land, and it hadn’t gotten me very far. I wasn’t about to fake any kind of loyalty or trust in yet another imperial force, the same one who’d stood idly by and watched my friends burn in the fire at The Admiral.

“May we enter?” she asked.

“No,” I answered without consulting Macon or Kitten. We’d agreed on this as a group already. No outsiders, no exceptions.

“You realize we could force the issue,” she called back.

“You could try.”

Her subordinates shifted slightly, looking squirrely, and she raised one hand slightly as if to settle them. The three of us in the watchtower were ready for confrontation, and we had the height advantage, but there were undoubtedly more soldiers where they came from. A shoot-out with the U.S. military was a battle with no winners. The best outcome would be for them to fuck off and forget we even existed.

At my side Kitten reached for his inhaler and took a big gulp. How many more hits did he have on that thing before it ran out of juice? How long before one of my family needed serious medical treatment or surgery? I put the thought away. One problem at a time.

“Those are some big guns you got there, young man,” Crenshaw said to Macon. He held an AR-15 across his chest, and we had another one mounted in the watchtower, presently unmanned.

“Yours too, ma’am,” Macon said with a deferential nod. His respect for authority was genuine, which generally endeared him to these types. Out of all of us, he’d probably make the best soldier. He had the right attitude and he was athletic, not to mention he still had all his natural born limbs.

“Mine were issued by the United States government,” Crenshaw said. “Where’d you get yours?”

“Here and there,” he replied.

“You got ammo for those guns?”

“Don’t answer that,” I said to Macon. We weren’t going to give them an inventory of our weaponry. She could fuck around and find out.

“Respectfully, ma’am, I decline to answer,” Macon said.

She pinched her chin with her forefinger and thumb, digesting that bit of information. “So, how long y’all been out here?” she asked.

“Long enough,” I answered.

“Thinking about settling in?”

“That’s the plan.”

“May we take a look around?”

“No, Captain Crenshaw, you may not enter. Now, what do you want?”

Her mouth set in a hard line as the two of us had a little staring contest that lasted about ten seconds before she turned and said something to one of her subordinates. He pivoted sharply and jogged over to one of the canvas-covered Jeeps, pulled out a large duffle bag, then trotted back and dropped it in front of our wrought iron gate, reminding me of when Little Miss Purrfect left a dead rodent at my bedside, a dubious offering to say the least.

“We brought you something to welcome you to the neighborhood,” Crenshaw called.

Macon touched one finger to his forehead as a gesture of thanks while I contemplated what might be in the bag. What if it was a bomb? Were they going to try and force their way in?

“You sure you won’t open the gates?” Crenshaw asked. “We don’t mean any harm. Maybe we could even help each other out.”

Since when does the United Forces give a shit about civilians?

“No thanks. We’re doing just fine on our own,” I said and kept my more sarcastic thoughts to myself.

Crenshaw nodded once more. “Well, it was good meeting you all. Hope you make the most of this nice weather we’re having. Call on us if you need anything.” She gave us a parting salute, then turned stiffly and walked back toward one of the Jeeps. She had a hitch in her step similar to my own on account of her prosthetic leg. Once Crenshaw was securely inside the Jeep, the remaining soldiers peeled off two at a time to join her. Then they were all crowded back into their vehicles and maneuvering five-point turns outside our gate. I watched them turn off at the end of the road and prayed they’d never return.

“They’ll be back,” Macon said, putting a voice to my worry.

“No doubt about it,” I agreed.

And when they did, we’d need to be ready.