Jason Frost - Badlands

"He's got a hand pump rigged up to his own well. Plenty of fresh water."

"OK. We fill up the canteens first."

He raised one eyebrow. "I was thinking more along the lines of a bath."

"A bath? Jesus, Eric. Here?"

"Sure here. Maybe you haven't noticed, but your twenty-four-hour deodorant quit working about three months ago. My clothes are soaked through from that cesspool I was swimming in the other night and yours are three pounds heavier from the dirt and sweat. I say we make a campfire outside, heat some water, wash our clothes, and take our first hot bath in months. How's that sound?"

Tracy was surprised. At first, she thought she'd be revolted by the idea. Bathing while the owner's mutilated corpse rotted in a heavy coat of flies and maggots. It seemed horrible. But then again, the idea of hot water, of feeling scrubbed, of clean clothing was intoxicating. She was as excited as she might have been before the quake if she'd just won a million dollar lottery. Priorities change, she reminded herself.

"OK," she said. "Let's get naked."

Outside in the back yard, Eric stood bare-chested next to the tub and poured a bucket of steaming water around Tracy's naked body. The steam swirled into her face.

"Too hot?" he asked.

"No such thing. More, slave, or you shall feel my wrath."

"Without delay, Your Royal Boniness." Eric used one of Tracy's crutches to snag the handle of the second pail and lifted it off the fire. He tested the water with his finger before pouring it over her back.

"Oh God, yes." She leaned her head back to let the last half of the water stream over her short red hair. "I'm starting to think hot water will replace sex."

Eric laughed. "Just remember, nobody heats water the way I do, baby."

Tracy leaned back against the metal tub, closed her eyes, and sighed.

Eric peeled his pants off and dunked them into the clothes tub with Tracy's clothing. The hot water was already brown with dirt.

"No starch in mine," she said.

Eric climbed into the big, metal tub with Tracy, careful not to disturb her bandaged leg which was elevated into a sling he'd rigged over the tub. His body throbbed with gratitude as it felt the hot water wash over it. He dangled his hand over the side, felt the reassurance of his crossbow leaning there. Saw Tracy's.357 resting in the sling with her leg. Now he could relax.

Tracy lifted her good leg up and prodded his chest with her toes. "Look at all those scars. As if someone played tick-tack-toe on your chest."

He leaned forward, placed a finger on her left breast. "What about this?" His finger traced the three-inch scar that arched over her nipple, the result of an unknown sniper in Pasadena.

"Oh yeah? What about this? Looks like the fossil of some snake." She wound her fingertip along the eight-inch scar that twisted across his chest. A fall from a sheer cliff he'd been climbing had left him with two broken ribs and this scar.

He caught her fingers in his fist. "We can waste a lot of time counting scars. Visible and otherwise."

"Yeah." She pulled his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles. Her foot skiied along his body until the arch was snug against his crotch. "Need soaping, mister?"

"We don't have any soap."

"Don't we?" She held up her empty hand, cupped around an imaginary bar of soap. "My favorite brand."

He nodded at her leg. "You'll hurt yourself."

"Only if I'm lucky."

Their hands explored each other lazily, kneading and massaging hard muscles at first. Tracy loved to have him squeezing her muscles, knowing they were firm and sinewy. Her body had chanced so much since the quakes. It had been curvy and thin before, but now it felt different to her. Powerful and practical. Completely within her control. Even the broken leg didn't bother her all that much. Once she would have yelped and whined about it, now she treated it as an adversary, easily conquered.

Eric's body had changed too. He'd been hard and muscular before, but now he was quicker, stronger. His reactions were instantaneous. She could especially feel the difference when they made love. His self-control was absolute. Delightful, rapturous. Sometimes even a little scary.

She let her hand slide along his hard thigh until she had hold of his solid penis. She squeezed slightly, felt the warm blood inside him pulse.

Eric's hand swooped between her legs, raking through her pubic hairs, then dipping into the exposed folds. He rubbed here, tapped there, toyed with her until she was wiggling along the bottom of the tub, thrusting herself onto his hand.

They looked into each other's eyes as they continued. They hardly ever closed their eyes anymore during sex. Instead they studied each other. It was as if they were checking to make sure the person was the same, that the world hadn't changed them too much. Tracy thought of it in terms of the old Invasion of the Body Snatchers, when Kevin McCarthy comes back and kisses Dana Wynter, only to find she'd been taken over while he'd been gone.

"This is going to be difficult," Eric said, sliding closer to her. Water slapped the edges of the tub.

"Necessity is the mother of invention. Start inventing."

Eric reached under her buttocks and lifted her up, sliding his hips directly under her. Slowly he lowered her onto his penis. With one hand, Tracy guided him into her.

Their movements were slow at first, a tender grinding against each other. Tracy's broken leg hurt a little, then the pain was replaced by a tingling of nerves. Sweat from the hot water and activity slicked her face, dripped into her eyes. Her mouth was partially open as she bit her lower lip.

Eric watched her green eyes, the lids heavy yet open. She didn't say anything, didn't try to act sexy. She didn't have to. It was all there in every swivel of her hips, the impish grin, the demanding eyes. He picked up the pace, his hands clamped on her hips as he lifted her slightly and brought her back down again. And again. And again.

He inhaled a lungful of steam mixed with Tracy's own musky scent. Not the scent of a city woman who shopped at Macy's or Bloomingdale's and finished each work day at some Happy Hour. It was the tangy scent of pure energy and desire. When he brought his hips up against hers again he felt his penis reaching even deeper inside. The muscles of her vagina tugged at him, pulled him into her. The pace increased.

Her long nipples rubbed against his chest as they bounced in the water, scars brushing scars. Then the heat began bubbling from somewhere inside him.

"Better come now before you bust my other leg," she said, her eyes fluttering, her face taut with pleasure.

Eric drove into her. She gasped, squeeled, gripped his hair in her fist. He drove into her again. Her eyes closed, her teeth clenched. "Now, damn it," she pleaded. "Now!"

He bucked up while forcing her hips downward. His penis spurted like a lawn sprinkler. They hugged each other close, claws buried in flesh, while they rode out Eric's continued spasms.

They separated, Eric arranging Tracy so that her leg was comfortable. They both leaned back against opposite ends of the tub. Tracy's eyes were closed. She wiped sweat from her face and smiled. Eric stared up into the orange sky.

"Holy Christ!" he said.

Tracy grinned. "Thanks."

"Not you. That. Up there!"

They both stared up at the sky, their mouths slightly open.

Everyone was strapped tightly into their form-fitted seats listening to Bill Weaver's nasal countdown through their helmets.

"Ten, nine, eight…"

Paige Lyons glanced over her shoulder at Dr. Bart Piedmont, who winked at her through his face plate and mouthed the word asshole at Weaver's whine. She laughed and turned back to check the five flight-control computers one more time.