Read Stung (Zombie Gentlemen) Online
Authors: K.A. Merikan
Stung (Zombie Gentlemen)
Stu
ng
A novel by
K.A.
Merikan
Kindle Edition
Acerbi&Villani ltd
Stung
by K.A. Merikan
—
If you want honey, prepare to
get stung
—
October 1907, Honeyhill
Twenty years
into
the Plague
Victor
is a man of delicate sensibilities, not fit to do backbreaking labour on a farm
ran by the mob. Upon arrival in Honeyhill, he decides he needs an anchor, an
alliance with one of the guards, if he wants to survive. That anchor comes in
the form of Crunch, a hunky ex-sailor with a pair of tight leather trousers and
a ruggedly handsome face.
But
from day one, Victor knows he won’t last long with the hard physical work
assigned to him and the torment he suffers at the hands of a sadistic guard. He
needs to run, and his new alliance might prove to be a burden instead of
solace.
If
Crunch wants Honeyhill liberated, he needs to focus on his job, not on
protecting Victor, one of many new arrivals on the farm. Distraction is the
last thing he needs after months of undercover work. But it’s hard not to get
seduced by Victor’s big brown eyes and fingertips that don’t know work.
Hundreds of people depend on Crunch keeping his identity a secret, revealing it
could be fatal for both him and Victor, and a failure of his mission.
Thankfully,
Victor would never be dumb enough to try and escape through a forest that’s
swarming with zombies. Would he?
*
‘Stung’ is a standalone book set
in the universe of ‘Zombie Gentlemen’.
*
Genre:
dystopian homoerotic thriller
POSSIBLE SPOILERS:
Themes:
zombies, prisoner/guard, beekeeping, gore, deception, undercover
agent, captivity, romance, brutality, forced labour camp, murder, farm,
torment, forbidden romance, Victorian
Erotic content:
explicit m/m sexual scenes (including dubious consent)
Length: ~ 50.000 words
This is a work of fiction. Any
resemblance of characters to actual persons, living, dead, or undead, events,
places or names is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be
reproduced or transferred in any form or by any means, without the written
permission of the publisher. Uploading and distribution of this book via the
Internet or via any other means without a permission of the publisher is
illegal and punishable by law.
Text copyright © 2013 K.A. Merikan
All Rights Reserved
Cover design by:
Book Cover Masterclass
http://bookcovermasterclass.com
Cover photo by
Nikos Vasilakis
Used with permission from the
author.
by
K.A. Merikan
The train stopped. Only this time, no one fell on
Victor. He didn’t have to fight his way up to the surface of the crowd that was
squeezed into the cattle wagon beyond its capacity. Blindfolded, with his hands
bound behind his back, he was fighting for his life like a drowning cat, ready
to go beyond all measures to keep his head high so that the foul-smelling
bodies wouldn't choke him. He couldn’t be certain, but judging from the cries
and overheard conversations, some people were less fortunate than him. Only a
few hours into the journey, a man died of a heart attack at the other side of
the wagon, his body now lost on the floor below.
Whenever Victor felt threatened, or his throat
dried so much it hurt, he kept thinking about his most prized possession. It
was his late mother’s engagement ring, which he managed to hide in a small
pouch sewn into the inner side of his shirt by whoever owned the garment
before. As long as he had the ring, he would afford hope.
Victor got to his toes, trying to get his chest
above the tightness of the bodies around him, so that it could expand more,
letting him breathe properly. No use.
Shouting from the outside made Victor swallow. He
had no clue where they were being taken, but it couldn’t be anywhere good. He
couldn’t believe it was happening to
him
! He had plans, a home, nice
clothes that were ripped off him and replaced with some old rags...
Suddenly, the struggle to raise above the others
was gone as the wagon filled with cool air and the crowd moved, carrying Victor
with it. He frantically clutched at the fabric of someone’s skirt, but the
stream of people came to an abrupt stop with a loud bang that made Victor’s
ears ring. The air filled with a new smell, smoky, a bit like fireworks.
He froze with fear, but no one died, and the gun
proved useful in keeping the crowd of prisoners from trampling over each other.
It was all a chaos of limbs and bodies before someone pulled the piece of cloth
off Victor’s eyes, and he was immediately blinded by a flood of light. All the
captives were being rushed out of the wagons with shouting and prodding, so he
kept his gaze down, on the dirty boots of the man walking in front of him. At
least he could breathe properly again. He couldn’t even remember the last time
he smelled pine, and the fresh scent of nature blended into a balm for his
soul. He kept moving, but tried to look around as much as possible, and what
hit him right after the smell, was a constant, sharp buzzing from somewhere
beyond his immediate surroundings. He half expected it to stop, or change tune,
like in the case of all machines he knew, but as their sad cavalcade advanced
along a sun-bathed dirt track, the low tremor in Victor’s ears was a constant
companion.
Once his eyes got used to the bright light, he
started taking in details. They were unloaded at a remote train station in the
woods, or rather, at the end of a track that led to nowhere. As soon as he
realized there were no solid buildings around, his stomach knotted, and he
couldn't stop himself from scanning the broad treeless strip for stray zombies.
Forests, the countryside, were places he always associated with the presence of
the undead, so he tried sliding his hands out of the binds around his wrists,
but the rope wouldn't give. The guard who tied them was certainly proficient at
it. Victor’s head emptied when he noticed the familiar open jaws he had only
seen in the zoo. The terrain was protected by a tall, iron hedge, something
that didn’t seem solid enough to stand between people and carnivorous beasts.
But as there was nothing he could do other than obey men with shotguns, he cast
his gaze down and marched, even though fear kept creeping up his back, urging
him to look out for danger.
As the captives were being herded towards a group
of wooden buildings, Victor couldn’t stop looking to the undead walking between
the trees just over a dozen yards away. His breath hitched, and he stumbled to
the side when one of the monsters crooked its head, trying to bite through the
iron bar. He fell out of the row with a yelp, his back immediately covering in
cold sweat, but the nearest guard didn't tolerate any nonsense and roughly
pushed Victor back in line, straight into a young, shivering woman whose
breasts were uncovered by a torn blouse.
“Watch where you’re going, knobhead!”
“But... there are z--zombies.” Victor tried so
hard not to stutter, but his voice was trembling.
“There’s a metal fence. Are you blind or
somethin’?” The guard sneered at him, patting the big, black shotgun in
warning, a clear sign that weakness would not be tolerated.
Victor’s stomach cramped, and he had to blink to
get his eyes back into focus. Everything seemed far too bright after the dark
days in the wagon. He had no idea where he was. All he knew from the scraps of
conversation he overheard on the train, was that most of the people he was
taken with were indebted to the Dals, a powerful family that ruled a whole
district of Bylondon with an iron fist. It made him want to cry in rage, as he
did nothing that should have earned him a fate such as this.
The sunshine, the delicate rustle of leaves, or
even the fresh autumn air could not console Victor. From a dirt road leading
through the forest, they went on to one that was neater looking, and led along
never ending rows of trees with succulent, red apples pulling the branches down
with their weight.
“New transport!” another guard yelled to someone
at the front and the half naked woman next to Victor broke into a sob, but he
was too stunned to make himself care. This couldn’t be happening to him. He had
money, he had a father who ran a successful business.
Between the trees of the vast orchard, he noticed
a group of people picking the fruit, their thin bodies tanned by the sunlight
that was unnaturally strong for October. To his right, by the edge of the pine
forest was a collection of wooden buildings, some of them two stories high.
There were also sheds, all circled by an additional row of fence, topped with
barbed wire.
Victor rushed to the side of the group, so he
could see more of what awaited them ahead, and the glimpse he got, made his
heart sink. There was a dozen of armed men, some with crossbows, others with
swords or machetes, and none of their faces was even remotely friendly. One
stepped in front of the others. From the way he moved in confident strides,
Victor assumed he was the leader. The man scratched his bald head and took his
time to assess the group with a sneer on his wrinkled face. The grimace
showcased an ugly scar across his bulbous nose.
“Welcome to your new home, or as we call it,
Honeyhill.”
The guards behind him laughed, and Victor could
imagine the place was nothing like the name suggested.
“You have all begrudged the Dal family, and you
are here to pay for it. You will work, you will have food and shelter. Behave
well and you will live, behave badly and you will die,” continued the leader in
a loud and somewhat raspy voice
Victor swallowed. How exactly was his ‘crime’ an
insult? If anything, Frey Dal should have taken it as a compliment. And how
long would he remain here anyway? There had been no trial, no sentence... Did
they really expect him to work in a field like some kind of pleb? He was an
educated man. He should be working on developing his talent, protecting his
voice, but there he was, on the edge of a forest, in a dirty shirt and a pair
of trousers that had been cut off at the knee.
One moment, he was drinking his coffee and reading
the paper, the other, two thugs were dragging him out, and no one rushed over
to his aid!
The introduction wasn't long, but he found out the
leader was supposed to be referred to as 'Mr. Dorset'. It made Victor cringe.
Dorset was no ‘mister’, but he didn’t have to dwell on that as soon, they were
separated into smaller groups, which the guards led into different directions.
At first, the shrinking number of captives didn’t bother Victor much, but at
some point, he noticed that each time a guard chose his team, he was being
overlooked. It was making him wet with cold sweat because he could hardly
predict what those people would do with someone they deemed useless.
“Time for the next shift.” A cheerful, raspy voice
was accompanied by heavy footsteps. Victor stuck his head out, surprised by the
lack of threat in the man's tone. He was desperate for some kind of anchor
amidst the chaos, and whoever it was, provided a shadow of hope for it.
The crossbow at the man’s hip was no less
threatening than the other ones he’d seen so far, but with his big frame, wide
shoulders and a toothy grin, this particular guard could definitely be an
anchor. A heavy, brawny anchor with soft, green eyes that belonged anywhere but
in Honeyhill.
It was the glint of the sun reflecting on the
smooth length of the man's machete that brought Victor back to reality and back
into the row.
Dorset frowned at him and covered his bald head
with a brownish cap. “Yeah, they’re all yours, Crunch.”
Crunch
? What kind of name was that?
Victor bit his lip, straightening up and getting
to his toes in an attempt to look taller and bigger than he was.
Crunch came followed by a group of prisoners. They
were the epitome of tired, with rugged, thin clothes sticking to their bodies.
Slouching, with bloodshot eyes and dry lips, they were pushing wheelbarrows
filled with apples. But Victor’s focus quickly turned back to Crunch as the man
passed his group in a pair of tight, brown leather trousers tucked into well
used boots. Victor's eyes followed the fine arse, but when his gaze crawled up
the guard’s back, now only covered by a tight, dirty undershirt, he realized
that he was being scrutinized as well. Blood ran cold in his veins when he
looked into the man’s clear eyes. From the slightly crooked nose that must had
been broken some time ago and the scar that ran across one of Crunch’s brows,
Victor deduced the man wasn’t one to mess with.
The group of tired men and women was taken over by
another guard, but Crunch didn't seem to notice, keeping up eye contact with
Victor. He wasn't smiling, but Victor's heart skipped a beat then he noticed
the guard licking his upper front teeth, which was the first fucking thing he
understood in this godforsaken place! Victor knew men found him attractive, and
apparently this sod was yet another admirer.
Victor’s mouth stretched into a seductive smile
before he even thought about it, and when he noticed a flicker of growing
interest on the masculine face, it occurred to him that anchoring himself to a
man in charge might be exactly the thing he needed. He let his eyes drift down
for a second before darting a shy yet promising look at Crunch. He sucked his
bottom lip into his mouth and made a show out of it. Just for Crunch.
The man didn’t smile, but he didn’t look away
either. Just when Victor was starting to doubt his initial conclusion about
him, Crunch yawned theatrically and stretched, showing off that big, muscled
body. Victor was tempted to laugh at such blatant peacocking, but he did find
the man very attractive, and the display was a promising sign, so he winked
instead. With his hands still bound behind his back, there wasn’t much he could
do to show interest. The only idea he had was to trace his lips with his tongue
before poking it hard into the inner side of his cheek in the well-known
suggestion of cocksucking. Crunch’s package looked promising in that
department.
The delicious looking guard gave him one more
moment of attention before walking over to Dorset to have a word with him.
Victor's stomach tightened when Crunch gestured towards the group of new
arrivals that included him.
Oh God
, what if the guard understood it all
wrong? What if they beat him? He wouldn’t even be able to defend himself.
All he wanted was to form some kind of alliance
here, maybe get some food because back there, in the train, there were moments
when his head spun from hunger. Since he had been taken two days ago, all he
got was stale water and bread.
All the guards shared a laugh about something
Victor couldn't overhear, but he stood up straight when Crunch started walking
towards him.
“I’m Crunch, you’re coming with me,” he said and
pointed his machete to the way down the track, back to the orchard, like he
intended to use it for cutting a passage through rainforest. He was joined by a
young, blond guard who couldn't be more than twenty.
“You will pick apples. They’re not yours to eat.
No talking. Try anything funny, and you will be punished,” said the second
guard, watching them with angelically blue eyes.
Victor swallowed. What about food? Wouldn’t they
get any? He was too afraid to ask though. A hiss to his left caught his
attention, and when he looked to where it came from, he came face to face with
a thin man with a hawk-like nose and eyes so swollen he looked like a victim of
a beating.
“What did they get you for?”
Victor bit his lip nervously. “Um... I don’t
know... they made a mistake.”
A big man at his other side eyed him up with a
sneer. “Yeah right. Save it.”
“No talking!” Crunch's voice from the back stung
as much as the poke of something hard and cold at his back. He tensed,
squeezing his mouth shut and shied away from the touch. Maybe teasing the man
wasn’t the best idea after all.
Following the blond guard, they entered the vast
orchard. A thin girl walked out from a shed at its border and distributed
baskets without a word. The constant buzzing was still lingering at the back of
Victor's mind, and he looked around to find its source. He frowned at a shining
dome-like structure looming on the top of a nearby hill. Who would have need
for modern architecture in a place such as this? He didn’t have much time to
dwell on it though as the guards herded them deeper between the rows of trees,
past groups of workers who did their job without protest, silent as puppets at
the hands of their masters. They seemed to have come to terms with their fate.
Then again, what could they do in bright daylight against a bunch of men with
weapons and surrounded by a forest full of bloodthirsty undead.
