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The Henshaw Boys
(© Ben R. Busse)

Page 3

Whatever they needed they took—vehicles, weapons, food and alcohol. It was all there for the taking. Christmas in May, everyone! Three pieces of ID? Fuck you! What’s my credit score? Fuck you!

When everyone was fleeing the cities, the Henshaw boys were looting it empty.

As for the dead, they were a piece of cake. Only an idiot got bit by one. As long as you could run, shoot or climb, you would never get hurt.

Within a month, they were all living high off the hog. They secured the top floor suite of a downtown office building with an underground garage. They blocked all the stairwell access doors so none of those things could get to the top floor. They loaded the suite with everything they could find.

The army left all sorts of abandoned equipment on the city streets—rifles and explosives all for the taking. Now, if anyone tried to take their shit, they would be ready for them. But no one ever came for them.

For the first year it was fun. Driving the most expensive cars they could find and driving them as fast as they could. My driver’s license officer? Fuck you, it was suspended five years ago.

Every now and then, they saw people driving through the city. They mostly just watched them. These survivors didn’t seem like they were looking to make new friends. Occasionally, they would see large caravans of bikers travelling through town. They made sure they kept out of sight of them. As dumb as the Henshaw boys were, they knew the bikers weren’t on a recruitment drive. Well, maybe they would be if they were the Henshaw girls.

They did make contact with a few survivors though. Most were paranoid and creepy. One guy they met was named Steiner. They ran into him siphoning gas from a tractor. He drove an old bullet-scarred armored car.

Steiner always wanted to trade for military hardware. For three-thousand rounds of fifty-cal armor piercers, he traded them a brand new Harley-Davidson motorcycle. For forty pounds of C4 explosives, he traded them a solar generator. But there was never any friendly chit chat with him. He just traded and left. He never talked about himself or what he saw outside of the city. Whenever they needed to get in contact with him, they would use a CB radio. They were always careful what they said, because they never knew who was listening.

After a couple of years, things started getting dull for the Henshaw boys. The lack of female companionship was the worst. No amount of porno could ever take the place of the real thing. But where could they get the real thing? There were no more strip clubs, whore houses or chunky girls who use to live down the street that never said no. The few female survivors they occasionally saw weren’t worth a second look or they were so well guarded by their men that approach was impossible without someone getting shot.

Then one day they saw them—two of the hottest women they had seen in a long time, driving a pickup truck. They followed them to a looted out food bank in the commercial district.

Phil and Craig drove into the parking lot to ask them if they needed any help. Big mistake. The two women immediately opened fire on them. Instead of waiting around to get shot, they drove out of there as fast as they could. The two cousins realized that dinner and a blowjob was out of the question.

For the next year and a half they watched different groups of women coming in and out of town, getting supplies. All of them were fit and good looking. They were always heavily armed and never with any men.

The boys decided they must belong to a community of hot lesbos. But the Henshaw boys couldn’t stop thinking about them. It took about a month of careful surveillance, but they were finally able to follow them, without being seen, to their compound.

There were fifteen of them living in a gated residential community about twenty-five miles outside of town. Few zombies were anywhere near their compound. The Henshaw boys watched them with their binoculars all day long. There wasn’t a man in sight, just a bunch of hot women with assault rifles. They also noticed that there were sentry posts on all sides of the community.

[ Continue to page 4 ]

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Genre:Living Dead
Type:Medium length story
Rating:7.78 / 10
Rated By:72 users
Comments: 5 users
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