She lay there, half covered in the disheveled sheets of our lovemaking, the silken red covers flowing freely over her hips like a waterfall. Her one exposed breast rose like the softly rolling hills of my home, now so far away, where sheep might be seen in the pastures below. The other, hidden somewhat in the golden rivulets of her glossy hair—oh how can I tell her to cut it short! Such impossible beauty is there!—and the corner of the blanket she had pulled up to her chin in her half-waking attempts to fall back to sleep.
I glanced out the window, peaking under the curtain, and watched our enemy, my thoughts running over the last few days. Like a male bird building his nest, I had risked life and limb stealing every luxury I could find and flying it back to my perch—our perch. Ours forever in sacred covenant. King and queen, the survivors of a lost world, and the creators, perhaps, of a new.
She had now no want of jewels. Glass was easy to break, and so much left out on display. Champagne had been a bit more difficult, but I’d found a good stock of it. She had laughed when I popped the cork and the bubbles came pouring out.
She had tried to make her face serious.
“As per regulation, while I’m on duty—” but she couldn’t get through her spiel; not while I was tickling her. So we played through the night, safe, for once in this nightmare turned daydream.
Below, the dark forms of the undead wandered like ants through the streets, nameless, devouring drones bent on consuming all life. Here, life continued. Here, the two of us had taken a stand. Here, the world was renewed.
I glanced over at my wife, who was sitting up now, her mantle of curling gold resting freely about her shoulders, messy from our night of love, and more beautiful for it. She was holding the sheet up to her neck in an instinctual modesty her beneficent breasts fought against. They, wonderful rebels, pressed against the silk, demanding their freedom even from this light confinement. I would free them, I thought, leaving the window and the horrors outside.
“You are under arrest,” she said as I climbed back into bed. “You have the right—” but her lips were too busy to finish the thought. I knew the whole thing anyway. She had read me my rights long ago; I had waived them.
Tale Told 