Crimson Tide

Shout-out to "The Horny Dead" by kin1041 for inspiring this story

Fort Hollow: originally known as Fort Hollow Point - not because of the bullet, because of the location - this secluded base in the valley had originally been a training camp for all kinds of military: Army, Navy, Air ****, you name it. Heaven knows how a heavily fortified location such as this had been overrun, but by now it didn’t matter: Fort Hollow was just like the rest of this world, a teeming mass of bright red flesh, writhing and convulsing in orgasmic bliss.

Even now you could see it as you spied with your monocular: crimson corpses dressed in fatigues and living out faded memories of their former lives, patrolling the perimeter, filing paperwork, and scanning empty screens for intel that wasn’t there - all while fucking each other’s brains out. Privates sharing romantic trysts over and over in the barracks like they had done a thousand times when they were alive, a sergeant bending an officer over her terminal as she mindlessly typed in inputs, garish breaches of protocol so gross and lewd they’d make a hooker blush...

You tore your eyes away and sighed. The Citadel had been a nightmare place, but the rest of the world wasn’t much better.

...Just then, however, the crinkle of a candy wrapper rustled in your ear.

A Tootsie Roll appeared in the corner of your eye: an offering, to you.

Following the hand up to its owner who had (somehow) snuck up on you, smooth, creamy white skin glided up her arm and disappeared into a cute white sundress made apocalyptic-chic by weathered dirt and tattering. Faded black letters were spray-painted on, the words “I’M A BOY” daring you to glance down and check - you really wouldn’t have been able to tell if you hadn’t been told. An adorable young woman with dyed pink hair in a pair of twin tails looked off into the forest behind her, totally unaware of who exactly she was offering a candy. A big pair of goggles rested on her forehead, a toolbelt wrapped all the way around her waist, and a pair of leather thigh-high boots stopped just where the hem of her dress began, lending her the air of “daddy’s little grease monkey”.

“So I finished checking out my half of the forest, and there aren’t any fuckers in this place for a good mile at least.” Her filthy tongue contrasted with her bubbly voice as she nibbled on a Tootsie Roll of her own. “You know how it is: the Tide washes through, fucks everything to ****, then whatever’s left behind fucks itself silly ‘til the end of time. Why do anything else, unless there’s a nice, sexy human to turn nearby?”

You took the sweet before she could realize her mistake. Your gaze lingered on the black and white labeling; you felt the textured wax paper of the wrapper, and a wave of nostalgia washed over you. It really had been a long time since you’d had one of these, hadn’t it?

In fact, it had been a long time since you’d tried human food at all...

“That plan finally formulatin’ in the ol’ noggin yet? You know if you’re ****, one of us could volunteer to strip and parade-“

The girl finally looked down, and froze.

You unwrapped the candy, and popped it in your mouth.

The girl’s bright blue eyes beheld your mortal form where you sat here on the forest floor – or should you say, your very undead form. Your face was pretty enough, despite your purple skin, white hair, and silver eyes - a face partially hidden by glossy black streaks of an unnatural substance framing it like tiger stripes. The substance didn’t stop there, though, crawling down the back of your neck and into the ragged, dusty black cloak that hid the rest of your body and splayed out across the fallen leaves.

And now this creature - this horrifying sign of the apocalypse, even worse than your average zed - was closing her eyes and relishing the taste of the not-quite licorice candy, sighing as her childhood returned to her for a fleeting moment.

The girl’s terror was slowly replaced by confusion.

“Did you... like that?”

...You nodded.

She stepped back, a double take of epic proportions landing her flat on her ass in an eruption of sticks and leaves. Standing, she’d been just tall enough to look down at you, but sitting really emphasized the difference in your size.

“You - you replied!” She crawled over to you, fear completely forgotten, granting you an unintended view of her modest B-cup cleavage in that cheeky little sundress. “You can speak? What’s your name!? Oh wow, this is insane... hey, why are you purple?”

All you could offer her was a sorry expression, as if to say “I wish I could say”.

Reaching up out of your cloak, a hand clad as if in a black, clawed gauntlet pulled the neck of your cloak down. In addition to revealing a valley of your own purple cleavage framed in shiny black goo, it displayed an old scar of a horrible gash that stretched all the way across your neck, just above your clavicle.

“...Oh.”

You put your cloak back in place, then pulled something out with your other hand: a tarot card.

“...Oh?”

The rough texture of the card made it feel old in the girl’s hands. On the front, drawn in rather simple, scratchy lines, the vague idea of a woman with a sword striking up at hordes shone in a radiant light, the silhouettes of large, mysterious figures watching from above.

And at the bottom, just beneath the woman, the word “Nemesis”.

“Ok, that is badass.”

Just then, you had another idea. Rustling beneath your cloak, you pulled something else out: a worn scrap of paper with scratchy charcoal lettering.

---

No voice, sorry.

I’m looking for the nearest settlement, and can you tell me it’s troubles?

I’d like to make a good impression.

---

The girl pondered the message.

“You... probably didn’t prepare this message specifically for me, right?”

You shook your head.

“Right. You had no idea I’d be here. So then... you just give it to anybody? Everybody?”

You nodded.

“Well the nearest settlement is-“

You shook your head.

She furrowed her brow – super cute, by the way – frustrated, but intrigued. It seemed she had a thing for puzzles, so you let her figure it out.

Glancing in the direction of Fort Hollow, that’s when she snapped her fingers.

“The danger zone! You’re already here to help the town!”

You smiled. The girl pumped her fist a little in celebration.

“Oh, by the way: my name is-“

“Ana?” A woman’s voice echoed from the forest, interrupting this little moment your were sharing. “Anaelle, is that you-”

A woman in about her 40s stumbled into the clearing, then she too froze just as Ana had.

A mane of dirty blonde hair framed almost her entire silhouette, capturing her heart-shaped face and thicc, curvy body swaddled in a thick cream sweater. “Sweater puppies” didn’t even begin to describe her prodigious bosom, though, milk-truck mammaries straining the fabric and only held at bay by the hem of a cropped leather bomber jacket zipped about halfway up. A pair of simple mom jeans still had you begging inside that she’d turn around and show that ass, and various kits, pouches, and packs hung from her belt - most prominent of which had a familiar red cross to identify her as a medic.

Her sturdy leather work boots snapped a twig, breaking her out of her reverie.

“H-honey, what’s going on?”

“Mom!” The girl said excitedly.

Oh shit.

Luckily Anaelle was standing up now, otherwise this woman would have stumbled upon an even stranger scene: her daughter on hands and knees before you, the short skirt of her dress flipped up to show her panties. You shook that image from your mind, and focused on the present.

“Mom, it talks! Well, kind of.”

“Honey, uh... come back to mommy, will you? That’s all very nice, but...”

“But what?” She gave her mother an innocent look. “I’ve been talking with her for a while; she’s totally harmless. Look!”

She touched your cheek, to which you gave her an amused and curious look.

“Anaelle!”

Ana flinched. Her mother instantly regretted the outburst, but gave her daughter a pleading look anyway.

“...Please.”

Ana glanced back at you, unsure. You nodded in understanding.

She stood up straight, then slipped over to her mother’s side.

Momma, meanwhile, was perplexed as she took her baby back into her arms: you’d never moved an inch, even after her knee-jerk reaction. You were a zombie, but you were just... sitting there. Calmly.

But then, something caught your scent. A pungent odor wafted into your nostrils, so powerful you almost brought a hand up to your nose.

“Miriam, Anaelle, stand back: I’ve got this.”

The owner of this naturally sexy, sultry voice stepped out from the foliage: clad in a red tabard with black military tactical armor underneath, she almost seemed something like a knight or a priestess at first glance. Long auburn hair was braided down on one side of her head so the rest would sweep to one side and fall down her shoulder in wavy locks, contrasted by a pair of shockingly teal eyes, and she had the tan skin of a woman who may or may not have spent a long time tanning in the sun.

A myriad of guns and military tactical equipment was strapped to her body, but the practical nature of her kit could only do so much to hide her ample chest, wide, wide hips, and long, long legs – a bombshell in modern day armor.

“Sarai! Sarai, it’s ok!-“

A valiant attempt, Ana, but too little too late. The closer the woman got, the stronger the warding stench from whatever she held in her hand, until finally you couldn’t take it: the tiger stripes around your face moved instinctually, jittering like spiders and crawling together to form a smooth, armored faceplate.

Sarai moved on instinct, too, unleashing whatever it was in a dull thudding boom.

Well the smell was no longer a problem, but now there was a searing pain: your entire body was on fire, and if not for the strange black ectoplasm that covered you beneath your cloak, it probably would have felt like standing naked dunked in gasoline, lit by a burning match.

You looked down, undead eyes seeing through the black armor that covered them now: a venomous reddish-orange ooze bubbled on your “skin”.

“Sarai... that was a Psycho Popper, right?” Anaelle asked, unable to take her eyes off of you.

The woman nodded.

“Then why isn’t it dead?”

Soon enough, it began to slough off, an insoluble mixture of amber-and-black hissing and boiling on the forest floor.

The woman looked up at you again, and now she saw you in a new light. Awe and fear together, as if gazing upon an angel or a demon. The next words she spoke were as if her breath had been taken away.

“What... are you?”

“Look guys, when did this suddenly become a party?” Anaelle asked, baffled. “Last I knew, Jazz and I were scouting the forest while you guys set up camp.”

There was a fourth one? You began to pay more attention to your surroundings, scanning the forest with your eyes and ears.

“Well I just... started worrying about you, dear, so I came out here as soon as I was done, to check up on you.” Miriam replied.

Sarai was still looking at you, the “Psycho Popper” - some kind of modified party popper with remnants of that noxious substance - still fuming with vapors in her hand.

“I... had a strange feeling, not long after you left. I suppose we were both right to follow our instincts.”

“Says you!” Ana retorted, hands on her tiny hips. “Maybe if I’d had a chance to finish talking with the super zombie, I’d have been able to introduce everyone – without wasting a Psycho Popper!”

There.

The subtlest shift of a shadow; the quietest crunch of a fallen leaf.

Clang!

“Fuck!” Ana jumped.

Shiny black irises stared deep into your soul, burning with a cold hatred you had never seen before. Lances of pain shot through your arms as you held them in front of you, your shadowy foe’s keen pair of machetes lodged into each one. Normally your undead armor would protect you, strange black substance hardening on impact and deflecting hard steel... but that Psycho Popper had left you weak, a new layer as fresh as a newborn trying it’s best, but only half as effective.

The woman didn’t say a word: she simply stamped her foot into your chest and pushed, leaping away and dislodging her blades.

You got a good look at your opponent: tall and slender, with the wiry musculature of a ballerina, a sleek black bodysuit looked painted onto her dainty curves from the neck down. Tattered black fabric hung around her shoulders, and even more hung from her waist, flowing in the wind like Jolly Rogers. Gliding up the chocolate skin of her lithe neck, her jet black hair was messy and tousled around her head, before ending in a long, thick braid that snaked all the way down her back and to her ankles.

You didn’t want to fight, but it looked like you had ****. You reached up and unclasped your cloak, revealing your tall, amazonian body rippling with lean, strong muscles and clearly defined eight-pack abs. Your exotic purple skin was mostly covered by shiny black goo that only accentuated every curve, and while your hefty globes weren’t quite as big as Sarai’s bodacious boobies, nor your hips quite as wide, everything was perfectly proportioned - sculpted as if by the gods for making both war and love.

“Enough!”

Anaelle stepped boldly between you, holding her hands up to halt you.

“Will everybody please just stop trying to kill each other for one fucking second!? The louder you get, the more likely it is that the zombie horde will fucking hear us!”

You couldn’t take your eyes off your opponent, but she herself risked a glance over your shoulder: no doubt, Fort Hollow was a sobering reminder of the danger you were all in if you weren’t careful.

The assassin lowered her blades - for now. Ana sighed in relief.

“…Everyone, this is Nemesis the friendly zombie- No, shut up!”

Ana pointed a finger at Jazz to stop her: she shut her mouth, but not without a searing glare in Ana’s direction.

“Nemesis, these are my friends. Sarai Rian:”

At this point, Sarai was looking down at the spent husk of the Psycho Popper in her hand, reaching for a biohazard bag from among her things and safely tucking it away. She looked up at the sound of her name, and gave a curt nod.

“Former military comms officer, and our current tactics and demolitions specialist.”

“You just met Jazz, a.k.a. Jasmine Price: martial arts expert turned... martial arts expert.”

Jazz was staring at your arms, drawing your attention to the little crimson rivers that ran down and trickled from your fingers.

“Does it hurt?”

“I hope so.”

“Ahem!” Ana continued. “And this is my mom, Miriam Alder! She used to be a nurse / EMT, which has proven really, really fucking useful in the apocalypse.”

Miriam waved timidly, her... everything jiggling just a little in a very pleasing way. She was visibly relieved when she saw Ana start making her way back to her and out of the line of fire.

“Oh and I've got a few Engineering degrees, but in the apocalypse that just means I fix shit. But hey, it pays the bills. I’m also the sexiest and the smartest, undisputed, so if you’re already in love then I won’t get mad-”

“Ana.” Miriam warned.

“Right, flirting with a zombie...” Ana gave a fake-mortified expression to brush it off. “Guess I just can’t turn it off, huh?”

“So... what next?”