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“Oh fuck that’s good.” A man moaned, fingers dropping down to tangle in the black hair of the person kneeling in front of him. “Yeah, shit Ky. Just like that.” He managed to hold on just a bit longer before he came with a loud moan, completely forgetting where he was in the moment. He let his head fall back against the post he was leaning on and took a drag of his cigarette. When he opened his eyes again, he wasn’t greeted by the gorgeous sight of black hair, brown eyes, and lips swollen from spending so long wrapped around his cock, but by a swarm of undead racing toward him. They had been drawn in by his moans.

“Oh fuck. Scatter!” He zipped his pants and was off like a shot in seconds. The still-lit cigarette landed on the other’s hand, burning it.

“Fucking shit!” The man, just shy of 20 years old, swore as his hand was burned and shook away the ashes. It was far from the worst injury he’d had, but the pain was nothing to the fear he felt when he turned around to find out why his friend had run. He let out a high-pitch scream at the sight of dozens of zombies running toward him and raced off in the direction he thought was the entrance to the settlement, but his sense of direction was skewed. He bolted through the high gate of a nearby ranch, kicking the door shut behind him, but, in his haste, didn’t check to see if it latched. He ran through the ranch, past cows and horses, and took shelter in a stable. He climbed up to the hay loft and hid, trying to avoid even breathing too loud.

As the hours passed, he grew tired and eventually fell asleep. He was awoken to a bright light shining in his eyes and he screamed again.

“Relax boy. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” The light shifted and an older man looked down at him. The man glared at him. “Ya get yerself chased last night?” he asked with a heavy drawl. At the answering nod, the old man took a deep breath. “Well count yerself lucky. Can’t say the same for my dang calf. Didn’t shut the dang gate behind ya.”

“I-I’m sorry. There were so many of them.” The old man waved him off though.

“Killin’ livestock lands ya a pretty hefty sentence. We’re talkin’ jail time, boy. Luckily for you, I ain’t got time for that. I’ll make ya a deal. Help me out and I won’t go to the cops.” The boy nodded enthusiastically.

“Sure yeah. Whatever you say, just please don’t send me to jail.”

“What’s yer name, boy?”

“Kylee – er, Kyle. Kyle Price.”

“Nice to meet ya, Kyle. Now I’ve got a real specific job I need done. I got a package comin’ in out in the city. Need ya to fetch it for me.”

“S-Sure, but the city is hundreds of miles away.”

“Ya ain’t gonna do it alone, boy. My son will go with ya. Meet back here tomorrow morning, bright an’ early and I’ll send y’all on yer way.” Kylee nodded and dropped down from the loft. He hightailed it back to the settlement.