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Spankings in Zombieland - Chapter 1
🕑 Added 2021-02-17 16:47:27 +0000 UTCJuno
Juno wraps the gauze once, twice, then three times around the wound. God, I hate basements, she thinks to herself, tearing the bandage with her teeth and pressing it in place. She thinks she might actually see betterif she closes her eyes, here.
Of course, most places are this dark at night, ever since the Collapse. At 19, Juno is just barely old enough to remember when she could flick a switch and this entire hallway would be flooded with fluorescents light. Every nook and cranny suddenly, immediately visible, the long bare bulbs reflecting off the tile. It was a creepy school basement then, too, but now…
Now there’s a different type of dark. A dark that lasts.
I fucking hate basements, she thinks again before slamming shut the locker door she just accidentally shouldered into. The metal clang is the only sound she’s heard aside from her breathing since she came down here, and now the silence is weightier than before. Her breathing seems louder, more insistant. She’s sucking hot air into her lungs in gulps, and the sweat pours off of her face and arms so much that her dirty-blonde side-bangs are plastered to her damp forehead, and she can feel rivulets of sweat running down her back and tricking into her ass crack. There’s no ventilation to speak of, and a concrete basement like this one keeps all of the heat from every long summer day.
But not of the light, though. Not even the summer starlight makes its way down here, where the windows are two caked with dust to see through and every doorway leads to another staircase.
So Juno sighs, and the air is muggy in her lungs. She straightens her back and reaches out her fingers again, this time trailing them gently and far out in front of her, so she doesn’t run into a locker door again. That was really stupid. This is all really stupid. Not the first time she’s had that thought, and it won’t be the last. As far as Juno is concerned, that’s basically a mantra these days. Later on, back at the camp, Froggy will confirm it for her. She might even get spanked for wandering off again – God knows it wouldn’t be the first time she’d been spanked for “being a dumb-ass.” Juno doesn’t care, though. If Homer can learn how to sleep with one eye open, she can learn how to sleep on her stomach.
At last, her fingertips trace to the end of the lockers, and she gasps softly as, for a split second, they graze nothing but air, and Juno is lost, suspended, in the perfect darkness, before her fingers make contact again with the wall. End of the lockers means that she must be close. When she closes her eyes, she can still picture the doorway, the fogged glass with the room number embossed. She closes them now, trying to let the memory guide her, all of her senses straining now to gauge the space.
Just then, her fingers touch a door frame. Aha! she thinks, smirking triumphantly. Guess I actually CAN see better down here when I’ve got my eyes closed! She fumbles for the door knob, her hand hitting it with a loud clack, and when she grabs it she can feel it shake, loosened by the years. Instinctively, she feels her back pocket for bobby pins, but there’s no need: the door swings open at a light touch, and she’s greeted with an acrid smell that makes her wrinkle her nose.
Last time she and the rest of the Doomsbury Squad were down here, they’d been attacked and almost overtaken by Hoppers, an entire family (or maybe faculty) of them. It had been all that Bobbi-Ross could do to fire rounds blindly, hoping to care them. Luckily, she’d hit some kind of chemistry set in one of the cabinets, and it started hissing and sparking and stinking like hell. Bad smells never bother hoppers, but the sounds did, and the series of resounding pops was enough to discombobulate the lot of them so that Juno and the others could get out in time and slam the door behind them. Seems that was the last time the door was opened, because the smell has stayed.
Juno coughs into her bare arm and pulls her shirt over her nose. There’s a haze stinging her eyes, even squinting, and she’s sure it’s something she shouldn’t be breathing. Just another reason this is stupid, she thinks. She coughs again. She’s beginning to think she might actually deserve that spanking back at camp, as much as she hates to admit it – and won’t.
Her midriff knocks up against something, and there’s a scraping sound that almost causes her to cry out, before she realizes it’s only a desk. She closes her eyes again, trying to recreate the layout of the room in her mind. When there was light down here, it was sunlight through opens windows at the back. The desks were arranged in rows of four – no, five. Four rows deep. There’s a stone counter at the front of the room in front of the black board – she can feel the edge of it now, it just brushed against her fingers – and the sheet-metal cabinet Bobbi-Ross sprayed with bullets is further back.
Juno remembers exactly where she was when those firecrackers-or-whatever started going of: she was hunkered down beneath one of the desks in the front row, nose to the floor, butt in the air. She can even remember the way her undies were riding up that day, and the sudden lightness she felt when the flashlight clattered to the ground behind her.
Which is why Juno is here, in an abandoned basement even though she hates basements, risking a spanking even though she hates spankings. In the heat of the moment, Juno didn’t have time to pick up her flashlight – it rolled across the linoleum and wound up in the second row. Taking the time to grab it might have been the difference between their narrow escape and something far, far worse.
But damned if that flashlight wouldn’t have been worth it. Fully aluminum, friction-grip handle, and heavy enough to turn a Hopper’s head around with a good enough whack, that flashlight has been sorely, sorely missed. Ever since she lost it here she’s been looking for a replacement, and she’s come up empty. They just don’t make them like they used to. How many times had her dad told her that when she was growing up, camping out with him and her siblings in the RV, roasting weenies on a campstove from the 1980s? She’d always thought he was full of it.
That flashlight, though. That flashlight is one of a –
clink
Juno freezes in her tracks, her foot still raised. She can hear a low metallic sound: the flashlight rolling across the floor. “Fuck yes!” she shouts, unable to contain her excitement. She reaches forward, grunting and panting with the effort of slapping her hand against the bare floor – C’mon, c’mon, it was just here – an finally her hand touches something cold and smooth. “Fuck yes!” she repeats. She lifts the item carefully, as though she were the claw in an arcade machine, then claps it solidly into her open hand. It’s her flashlight, no mistake! She feels the familiar grip, and it calms her. She presses the cold metal to her head and actually moans aloud, the cold touch is such a relief that it makes her shiver with delight. Then, still keeping her eyes closed (since it makes no difference either way), she fondles the flashlight until she feels a curved switch, and she slowly depresses her thumb.
“Moment of truth…” she says to herself.
She opens her eyes and the switch clicks. A rush of white light springs forth, as though it were there all along, and the world is illuminated! Tables and chairs and patterned linoleum rush into view, and the world suddenly has walls and a ceiling again. The light is so powerful that Juno has to squint, and still the rays glint at the corner of her eyes.
“Oh, fuck yes!” she repeats for a third time. She swings the flashlight to her right –
And sees the Hopper standing in the doorway, looking at her with that same, befuddled look they always have, its eyes reflecting purple in the flashlight’s beam.
“Oh, fuck no,” she declares, just an instant before the Hopper shrieks and bolts forward for her, its jaw wide and its bare chest heaving. Thinking fast, Juno kicks one of the desks so it skittered to a halt between them, and the Hopper jacknifes itself on the desk’s edge. They aren’t known for their quick reaction times, the Hoppers, but they are known to recover quickly. Before even catching it’s breath, the Hopper is standing up again, reaching with both arms. Juno hauls back and closes her eyes, letting her spatial instincts guide her arm in a broad, sweeping arc.
CLUNK
The flashlight connects with the Hoppers skull, interrupting it mid scream, and the leaden thwumpthat follows might be the sound of it hitting the floor, but Juno doesn’t stick around to see. She rushes out of the room with the flashlight still over her shoulder from the follow-through, slamming into the doorway as she goes, then sprinting full out down the hall. Her footsteps echo and her pulse throbs in her temple, but even the sound of her frantic breathing is drowned out by the Hoppers resurging scream.
She tilts the flashlight crazily in front of her, and the instant the beam falls on the staircase she puts her head down and runs as though she meant to beat the light itself. She takes the steps four at a time and hits the push bar of the doubledoors going full speed, knocking the wind out of her, but the fresh air feels so good as it hits her face and fills her chest that her strides get even longer and she starts to laugh, a shrieking laugh that’s swallowed by the night, and she doesn’t stop running all the way to camp.
*
THWHACK!
“Ngah!” Juno’s head pitches back and her eyes go wide as yet another hard swat from the strap cuts across her bare and blushing heinie. She stamps her foot in the dirt before flattening her palms again on the tailgate again. “Thirteen! Goddammit, I already said I was sorry! She’s standing with her hands on the side of their pick-up truck, her legs spread shoulder-width, and her camo around her ankles. No matter how much she’d been expecting it, feeling the air against her bare backside during a Squad spanking would never be something she could get used to. Not to mention the spanks themselves…
Froggy steps back to survey her work by the light of the fire, chewing on her thumbnail and stretching out her long legs, her steel-toe boots angled out by her pigeon-footed feet. “I know you said it, I’m just making sure you feel it,” she says coolly, swishes the leather strap to and fro again. “Arch your back out again, butt out, you know how it’s done.”
“Yeah, I know how it’s—“ THWACK! – “ohhhhhOOAHmigodthatfuckinghurtsfourTEEN!” She pants and drops her head between her outstretched arms. She can hear the cracking fire and can feel the warmth of it behind her, but that’s nothing compared with the blasting heat crossing both her pale butt cheeks in a broadening crimson stripe. Her face is hot again, not because of the air, but rather because she can feel five pairs of eyes on her reddening bottom, and she can hear Rudolph snickering from one of the campchairs by the fire pit. “Fuck off, Rudolph!” she shouts, just barely managing to keep the welling tears out of her voice. “How many more?”
Froggy pauses before answering. She turns to Bobbi-Ross, who is watching from the passenger seat of the pick-up with her chin resting on her arms. “Hey, Bobbi,” she says. Bobbi-Ross looks up at her with sleepy green eyes, looking as though she’d been only half listening to someone’s small talk. “How many did I give Juno for being a dumb-ass last time?”
“Well, let’s see,” Bobbi-Ross begins to count on her fingers. “If I recall, it was 15 for losing the road map back in Burbank, and it was 25 for that thing with the birds.”
Juno can’t help her voice cracking as she exclaims, still breathing hard, “Waitwaitwait! The thing with the birds wasn’t being a dumbass, you said I was being a smartass!” She looks back with a triumphant smile. “The road map thing was being a dumbass.”
Froggy purses her thick lips and crosses her arms, as though considering this. “Hm,” she says. “I suppose you’re right. Going price was 15 before…” She turns in a semi-circle and steps away before swiveling around again. “With that said,” she drawls, “It seems clear enough to me that 15 stripes on your lily-white behind wasn’t enough to dissuade you from being a dumb-ass again, which means we’re going to need to up the dosage.” She rolls up her sleeves. “30!”
The onlookers titter. Bobbi-Ross lifts her hand to her mouth in the universal sign for Oh, damn! Juno starts to wail in protest but Froggy cuts her off.
“And if you evergo running off from camp on your own to find something as stupid as a god-damn flashlight one more time, I’ll double it again! Might even triple it! Your dumb-ass won’t be sitting right for months! So shut up and stick your butt out, you’ve got 17 left.”
Even Juno, miserable as she is, knows better than to argue with Froggy when her voice has thattone. She sniffs and obeys, clenching her eyes shut and bracing her already-tender butt.
THWACK!
A flock of birds lifts off altogether from the nearby evergreens as Juno’s scream echos through the cool and silent starry night.
