"Soup is good," Roe says. 

It's a bit tedious, going in and out, but he's left behind the small bag he brought with him from the pharmacy and now he has a bowl of soup in his hands and food that isn't expired candy or bugs or human viscera is a relief. 

He grins, skewering a potato with his fork. "I haven't had a potato in ages."

"I was alone too, you know."

Roe looks up at that. 

"Maybe a lot of us were," he says. "I think my parents died." 

He's not sure how he'll feel once the camp wakes up. Two other people is a lot, and a whole crowd will be even worse to deal with. 

But that's a problem for future Roe.

Victor settles by the fire with a groan. He takes a bowl and eats with enthusiasm. 

"How do you have all this stuff?" 

"Farming communities all up and down the western half of the state," he says. "S'where most of the people like us went. It's not pleasant, but they're the ones who can deal with the zombies. The city interior here is for manufacturing, doing the best we can."

They frown. 

"Sometimes the Feds'll bring supply drops. I think they want us all to die though, so they can drop bombs on everything, instead of just the perimeter bombardments." 

"Bombs??"

Victor and Alan look at each other. Even Alan, for all their time spent down in the sewers, knew. Roe really was alone, and it wasn't as though the perimeter was actually that close to the city. 

They'd just announced it one day over the radios and said this is what is going to happen. 

"We're cut off from the world," they say. They explain it as best as they can. 

They don't admit why they have a better understanding than most. Only Dr. M really knows all the details on that.

Roe is quieter than either of them have seen. 

"What do we do here?" he asks. "What's the point?" 

"We survive," Alan says. "We have fun. We guard those survivors that don't want to or can't leave because they're considered infected just for being inside the perimeter. There's stuff to do." 

"I'm a virgin," Roe says. 

He feels less urgency, now, but also like this is the only thing he finds interesting at the moment. 

Does he admit that he's jerked off with fingernails digging into the open bite wound that never quite heals? Absolutely not. 

"Do you want us to do something about that?" 

"Don't bring me into this."

"No worries." 

"Soon," Roe says. His eyes are shining in the firelight. "You're pretty."

"Thanks!" 

Theyre being a little duplicitous here--they have an idea of what Dr. M's about to do in his own tent--but they don't feel bad.

"Follow me. We can leave M out here to his thoughts."

Roe really enjoys following, it turns out, especially as Alan half shrugs out of the tatty labcoat, revealing an equally freckled back. 

Fire light and zombie night vision combine to make things exciting. 

Victor isn't entirely sure what they're planning, but he needs to get out of here before he breaks and follows after them and--

He grinds that train of thought to a halt. He's going to go back to his tent, and behave himself.

The the tent is more utilitarian than Alan's, save for a well-stocked and well-loved bookcase. There's the impression that it's the surviving fragment of a vast collection.

Victor strips down to boxers and lies down on his cot. This makes the wound on his neck easy to access.

Roe has small fingers. Not freakishly so, but he's smaller than Alan or Victor and his hands correspond. They'd slip into the wound easily, reach deep inside and hit where the flesh is raw and not rotten. Something stops the rot before it gets too deep, and his fingers could find that point, explore it, make the still living nerves sing with pain. 

Victor digs his fingers as deep into the wound on his sternum as they'll go, and lets out a little moan of pleasure as his cock stiffens in response. He palms at the bulge in his boxers, not doing anything else for the moment. 

The walls of the tent are not soundproof. There's a reason they put the revenants far away from the camp, and it's not this, but being overheard only by the people who might want to join in is a heady bonus. 

Roe shucks his (admittedly bloody) clothing the moment he enters the tent, revealing small breasts. He is certainly a trans man. 

He imagines the hand he wraps around his dick belongs to Roe, freezes, switches the mental picture to Alan, doesn't feel much better about it but keeps going. 

Alan seems less interested in Roe's body than in kissing him, wrapping themselves around his smaller form and pulling him onto the bed.

He should be at an age where it takes a while for his cock to get interested in the proceedings, but something about what he is now has changed that. 

It's already thickening under his fingers, little shocks of pleasure traveling up his body under his ministrations.