Horror and Science Fiction

Beggars Can't Be Choosers

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Artwork by Monica Maples

Bobby Nesbit knew it was all over, utterly and irreversibly over.  It had been three weeks since the last National Guard patrol and the streets of Denver were now deserted, save the occasional tattered band of marauders who still had the strength to loot, and their numbers were dwindling rapidly as the virus continued to take its toll.  One thing about the last resurgence of the plague, though: at least now it was safe to walk the streets again.  Those who were still alive were too sick to cause much harm.

But Robert Nesbit III, Attorney at Law, was nothing if not lucky.  Sometimes he could hardly believe just how lucky he really was.  Not only was he apparently immune to the virus that had wiped out millions upon millions, but here he was with the last healthy female in the city -- in the whole world for all he knew -- and she was all his. 

She sat across the table from him.  A little black silk dress hanging shapelessly from her skeletal shoulders, plunging low to reveal -- nothing.  No cleavage, no softly rising mounds of powdery female flesh that so intrigued the male of the species.  She was horse-faced and buck-toothed, the kind of girl he would have teased relentlessly in his youth.  Her ill-applied makeup did little to improve her looks.  A smear of red lipstick made her jagged lips look like an open wound.  He sincerely doubted anything short of plastic surgery could do much to make her passable.  Okay, so maybe his luck wasn’t that great.

In the old world he wouldn't have given her a first look, let alone a second.  And given a choice he wouldn't be sitting in an abandoned restaurant in the heart of a dead city trying to get in the pants of the ugliest girl he'd ever seen in his life.  However, being a realist, he knew his choices were limited.  Beggars can't be choosers, Daddy always said, and in this brave new world you take what you can get. 

She was no beauty, that was for sure, but she was clean.  In the three weeks he'd known her he'd seen no signs of boils or cankers, the first signs of the disease.  He knew from experience that if she were going to get it she would be showing symptoms by now. 

He smiled across the table.  How is the wine, Darling?  His voice was silky and smooth.

It's okay, she mumbled, toying with her glass.  She looked at him with gray eyes set in a gray face framed by gray hair. 

He strained to keep his smile.  I'm glad you like it.  And your steak?

Good, she said, turning her attention to the line of broken windows facing the street.

Steak is not easy to come by, you know, he said.  Most of the meat's spoiled now.  Power's gone everywhere now.  I've spent the last three days rummaging through every stinking supermarket and restaurant in the city to prepare this meal for you.  We may never eat like this again.  He took her hand.  Sweetheart, I just wanted this night to be special, something we could remember the rest of our lives.

She didn't even turn to look at him.  You shouldn't have gone to all that trouble, she said.

He leaned forward, touching her cheek softly, trying to capture her attention.  She turned slowly to look at him, her expression blank, her gray eyes dull and lifeless.

Darling, he said softly.  I don't think you realize the situation we're in.  It's been three months since the plague hit.  Everyone is dead or dying except you and me.  We're all there is, babe, so you better get used to it.  Like it or not, you and I are going to spend the rest of our lives together.

She turned her attention back to the window.  A single gun shot echoed down Larimer Street from far away in the ruined city.  We're not totally alone, she said.  Someone's out there.

Monsters and sickos, that's all that's left, he said.  They'll be dead soon.  There's nobody like us.

You know, he said.  Clean.  Healthy.  Uncontaminated.  We're it, the last of the Mohicans.  We were just lucky we found each other, you know?  What if I hadn't stumbled across you that day in the park?  What do you think would have happened to you if they found you?

I'm just saying there's somebody else out there, that's all.

His patience was reaching an end.  He'd wined her and dined her and tried to be the gentleman and it hadn't gotten him anywhere.  How much more was he supposed to take?

He stood a little too quickly, toppling his wine glass.  So what are you saying?  You think you can do better out there?  Go ahead and try.  See how well you'd do.  You know what they'd do to you, don't you?  He leaned over the table, pinning her in with his arms, his face inches from hers.  They'd eat you!  First they'd rape you, then they'd eat you!  I've seen it happen!  I saw them get a girl once.  It wasn't pretty, let me tell you.  You want to know the worst of it?  She wasn't even dead when they started chewing on her!  Millions of years of evolution and what have they become?  Animals!  We're back to where we started.  Except for you and me.  He stood, waving an arm in a sweeping gesture toward the door.   So, my darling little Wilma, if I'm not good enough for you then by all means, help yourself!

She finally turned to look at him, her face a gray mask.   Now, Paul, she said, don't be angry...

Bobby! he yelled.  For crying out loud, my name is Bobby!   Robert Nesbit the Third! and I'm the last healthy man on the face of the earth and you, God help me, are the last healthy woman. 

He wasn't reaching her, wasn't getting through.  Time for a more subtle approach.  Don't you see? he sat beside her, taking her bony hands in his.  If the human race is to survive it's going to be up to us.  There is no one else.  I'm Adam and you're Eve.  We're it, kiddo.  Beggars can't be choosers.

So where's the serpent? she giggled.  If we're Adam and Eve, there has to be a serpent.

He dropped her hands and walked to the broken windows looking out over the empty streets of Denver's once fashionable LoDo.  He closed his eyes and tried to revive the old city in his mind but it was no use.  He opened his eyes.  Gone were the throngs of weekend revelers, the booze, the drugs, the sex.  The fun.  Sometimes it was all he could do to keep from crying. 

A hot breeze wafted through the broken glass, carrying the stench of a million rotting corpses.  An ad for an internet company on the side of a burned out RTD bus proclaimed in bold letters The future is now!  He laughed.  Yeah, welcome to the future.

Come finish your dinner, she called. 

I could take you, you know.  He said without turning.  I could force you.  Who's going to stop me, huh?  Who's going to stop me from taking you right here and now?  I could make you my slave.

She stood beside him, placing a small hand, bird-like, on his shoulder in the first sign of affection she'd ever shown him.  You can't force yourself on me, she said sweetly, like a mother to her little boy.  We both know that.  Because if you did you'd never know when it was coming -- the knife in your back as you slept, or the rat poison in your supper.  She looked up at him, her face stern and hard now, the sweetness gone from her voice.  You need me.  You need me to be with you for the rest of your life.  You need me beside you when you get lonely.  You need me to hold you when you get frightened.  You need me to soothe you when you cry.  You need me to listen when you talk.  You need me to be your friend, your lover, your mommy!  Oh, you need me, Bobby!  You can't survive without me.

She turned away quickly, her dress twirling around toothpick legs.  She grinned at him coquettishly over a shoulder.  I'm the only fertile field in which to plant your little seeds, she laughed.

He felt like screaming.  She was right.  Of course she was right.  But that hardly made the situation any less difficult.  She was his last and only chance of survival and she knew it.  Back in the Old World -- back when he had been Robert Nesbit, Attorney at Law, back when he could have female comfort anytime he wanted -- she wouldn't even have been a blip on his radar, but here she was dictating to him!

I am Eve!  She laughed wildly and right then and there he knew she was mad.  So this is hell, he thought.  Stuck with the last girl on Earth and she's a lunatic.  Dear God in heaven, why?  What did I do to deserve this?  It's so unfair.  He'd tried to live a good life.  Hadn't he given legal aid -- pro-bono, mind you -- to the poor?  And he'd never killed anybody, never stole anything.  Why so harsh a sentence?

She was dancing now, undulating across the floor, sliding her hands up and down her stick figure frame in what he guessed was supposed to be a seductive gesture.  It was all he could do not to laugh, to join her in her madness.

She smiled and wiggled a finger at him.  Come here, big boy, she said in a voice somewhere between Marilyn Monroe and Pee Wee Herman.  Come see what Mamma's got for her good boy!

He took her hips in his hands, swaying back and forth, matching the rhythms of music only she could hear.  She pulled him close, rubbing her pelvis against him suggestively.  The urge to procreate, to continue the species, to spread his genes, was overwhelming.  It would be tough, but if he closed his eyes and thought of someone else maybe he could fool his body into arousal.

Do you want me? she whispered.  Do you want my body?

Yes! Oh yes! he said, eyes squeezed shut, images of Tyra Banks and the Victoria's Secret models dancing in his head.  Oh yes!

She drew his lips down to hers, almost breaking the illusion.  It was like kissing a corpse.  Her thin lips were cold and unresponsive.  He concentrated on supermodels in Wonder Bras and silken panties. 

He backed her against the table, clearing off the remnants of their dinner with a quick pull of the table cloth, sending plates and silverware clattering to the floor.  He picked her up like a rag doll and laid her across the table.  He hiked up her dress.

No, she whispered.  Not here. Not now.

Why not?  No one is watching, he reasoned.  In his mind Tyra was reaching up to undo her Wonder Bra.

No, she said forcefully.  Not like this.  Our first time should be special.

She wiggled out from under him.  Tyra and the girls disappeared in a puff of frustration.

Shhh, she placed a single knobby finger against his lips.  My place.  Follow me.

She took him by the hand and led him through the ruined streets of lower downtown Denver past abandoned cars and their rotting drivers to her building on Blake Street.  There she led him up five flights of stairs to her loft. 

The apartment had been tastefully decorated at one time by someone with a sense of style, someone with refinement.  Her personal additions to the decor were obvious and overdone: Whatever items she'd found that had struck her fancy were now arranged haphazardly throughout the loft with no effort at maintaining any sense of theme or style.

Do you like it? she asked expectantly, reminding him of a little girl showing her daddy a piece of paper scribbled with crayon.

It's lovely, he assured her.  Simply lovely.

I did it all myself!  She twirled, arms swinging out from her sides, a skeletal ballerina with a horse's face.

He closed his eyes and tried to revive Tyra and the girls.

Come here, you, she whispered.

He put Victoria's secret on hold and followed her to the back of the loft.

My bedroom, she giggled conspiratorially, running her hands up and down his chest.  Go on in and make yourself comfortable, if you know what I mean.  She winked and opened the door slowly.

The room was dark and smelled funny.  He stepped in and blinked stupidly in the dark.  An unusually solid sounding 'clunk' from the door behind him told him she had closed him in.  He heard soft rustling sounds coming from the darkness.  He groped in his pocket for his lighter and with a flick of his thumb the room was filled with yellow light.  The walls and floor were covered with gore and excrement.  The bodies of half a dozen men in various stages of decomposition and dismemberment lay about the room.  A pair of hungry eyes glared at him from the filth encrusted face of the sole survivor.  The man dropped the thighbone he had been chewing on, his nostrils flaring at the scent of fresh meat.

Bobby turned to the door but it was locked.  He pounded his fists against steel plates.  Let me out!  For God's sake, Wilma!  Let me out!

Wilma stood outside the locked door and smiled, placing the key safely down her brassiere, where no man would ever find it.  She listened with satisfaction to the screams coming from inside and walked slowly down the hall to Mother's room. 

Momma? she whispered.  I brought another boy home, Momma.  That makes eight!  She smiled triumphantly.  And you said I couldn't get a man if I was the last girl on Earth!

The rotting corpse on the bed grinned back at her in silent approval as Bobby Nesbit's screams slowly faded.

The End