As he walked across mostly barren streets, Jim ruminated on his current situation. The corpses left behind by the plague had mostly been either cleaned up or rotted into nothing. Used to be you could hardly pass a region without seeing dead bodies mid-coitus; a twisted mockery of the miracle of life, people dead in the process of creating a new life. It was the fucking plague after all.

Nobody knew who coined the term, but once it was coined, the term stuck. The Fucking Plague, a double meaning, both fucking as a term of expressing frustration or exasperation, and fucking as in sex, hit years ago, and the world hadn’t been fully rebuilt yet. Humanity still lived predominantly in quarantine zones, fearing another outbreak.

The plague itself was pretty easy to identify. Similar to the dancing plague of 1518, except instead of dancing, people were, well, fucking. It was the Fucking Plague after all. People engaging in a twisted orgy of death as their bodies and hearts gave out. Sometimes, people would even fuck themselves on the body they had been fucking before it gave out.

Jim wasn’t immune, but that wasn’t why he was outside the quarantine zones. Quite the opposite. Rather, he was an asymptomatic carrier, completely ostracized from what was left of civilized society, but still able, and expected to assist, typically making deliveries between outposts. Not that Jim particularly cared. His first experience with the plague was someone trying to chase him down and infect him, forcefully. He still had nightmares about the hit spray of blood splashing across his face as he smashed the face of his would-be rapist into a brick. Then later on the sight of people fucking themselves to death, and some even some fucking corpses had kind of ruined sex for him.

But that was years ago. More than a decade ago at this point, Jim served as a courier and guide, bringing people and supplies between outposts and quarantine zones. Every so often you could find the remains of a group who opted to live outside the QZs and got infected. More so now since people made the mistake of thinking that everyone who carried the plague was dead, and therefore the plague itself could not spread. Except that it could spread through animals; animals you ate or got attacked by.

Jim’s most common companion during this time was a mule he didn’t give a name. It was just ‘the mule'. He didn’t feel like getting attached. The mule wasn’t a pet, it was a cargo animal.

Jim was about a quarter day’s walk from his destination. The cargo on the mule was vitamins, a slang catch-all for any necessity, such as food, toiletries, sometimes even vitamins. Most QZs couldn’t make everything they needed, so trade was useful, and ACs were the method of transport. He trekked through empty and overgrown roadways until he reached HL17; most places didn’t have names anymore. He banged on the wall, trying to attract the attention of the guard on duty.

“This is Jim, got a shipment of vitamins from CS12.”

“Jimmy!” the voice from the other side of the wall said. Jim recognized the voice as Steven, one of the older guards, and one of a very few people who didn’t treat ACs as little more than vectors for the plague. “Sounds good, now we actually have an interesting situation for you, and if you don’t mind sitting tight in ISO for a while, we can tell you.”

ISO, short for isolation, the only part of QZs Jim saw any of. He hated it, feeling like a lab monkey or a criminal while the safe ‘normal’ people spoke at him from behind plexiglass. However, the promise of an interesting situation piqued his curiosity just enough that he agreed.

The door to the QZ slid open and people in hazmat suits ushered Jim into one of the ISO rooms. On his way in, he saw that one of the other rooms had another person in it, but he didn’t get a good enough look at the person to be sure of anything.

He sat down in the room, stretched out across a hard mattress and waited until some people were visible behind the glass.

“James Vinson, asymptomatic carrier, voluntary courier,” an older man read from outside the glass, “sounds correct?”

“I go by Jim, but yeah, gave myself up right away as an AC,” Jim said.

“Not many willingly do that, even fewer take the brand to mark it.” The brand referred to a facial tattoo ACs got to show they were an AC. It didn’t have to be anything specific, just something marking you as ‘other'. Jim’s was on the left side of his face, a black splatter design. The brand was visible enough that it could be easily seen from almost any angle but small enough that it didn’t obscure the entirety of his features. One could still get a good look at him and see his world-weary face.

“Anyway,” continued the old man from behind the glass, “we recently got a group of refugees for CN09. Turned out one is an AC, willing to take the brand and leave as well. I’m hoping that you can take it under your wing. The AC doesn’t have the experience you have. I’m afraid the AC will die if it goes out alone.”

The AC; it; a noticeable dehumanization of asymptomatic carriers, and one of the reasons Jim didn’t care much for being around people. He hid his anger under a placid mask of indifference.

“Yeah, I can do that. He branded already and good to go?” Jim said his voice a bit sore from not having spoken so much in a while.

“It has the brand, yes. It will bring you the vitamins for, I believe CW14, but double-check that.”

God, Jim hated the dehumanization. It, like because they were born different in a manner imperceptible had it not been for the Fucking Plague. Though, in a way that seems indicative of all forms of biases.

“How was he detected?” Jim asked.

“CE42 got hit when someone took in a stray dog that was infected. A few people got bitten right off the bat, one of whom is our AC. Ask to see its scars if you feel up to it. The scar is clean and treated if that’s what you were wondering next.”

Jim wondered why they would treat AC’s wounds; usually they would just be killed. Fuck did he just refer to a person as an AC? Too much time around ‘normal’ people he guessed.

“It’s getting dark. You can spend the night here if you so choose. The AC we’re asking to take with you wants to sleep in tonight one last time. I imagine it won’t have a decent mattress for months, if not the rest of its life.”

Jim slept fairly well that night. No better or worse than he did on his own, and woke up late. Without the sun to wake him up outside, it was difficult to get a sense of when he should rise. But rise he did, and ate a half-decent meal, courtesy of the QZ of course, in the ISO room, and left waiting for his new traveling companion.

When his fellow AC walked into view, Jim nearly fainted at the sight.

Jim hadn’t seen a woman revealing as much skin as she was in years. Hell, it wasn’t even much skin, but seeing bare arms and a bare neck felt like being given an erotic strip by Helen of Troy. She had a facial tattoo, on the right side of her face a handprint, fingers splayed with her right eye between the ring and pinky fingers. The tattoo was fresh, only a few days old by the look of it, and not particularly well done. Then again, who gave a damn about ensuring artistry on a brand?

She was carrying two hefty packs over her shoulder and seemed to be struggling under the weight. Jim rushed forward and grabbed the packs off her shoulder. They were heavy, he assumed the vitamins he was set to bring. He slung the packs onto the mule and introduced himself.

“I’m Jim. It’s been a while since I met a fellow AC, usually we’re pretty spread out.”

“Hayley,” she said and they shook hands. “This whole thing has been kind of a nightmare for me. Two weeks ago I was like everyone else, and God the stench-”

“I know. I remember better than most. Anyone else in your QZ make it okay?” Jim tried calming her, memories psychotic fuck-fest the plague could bring are not pleasant.

“About half, people I’ll never see again I guess.”

“I can show you the ropes, but we’re burning daylight. We should get a move on to,” Jim checked the vitamins on the mule’s back, “fuck, PN12, we’ll need to make stops on the way for supplies. PN12 is at least a week away.”

“I never understood the names we give things. PN, CE, HL all that stuff. What does it mean?”

Jim smiled sadly, “They refer to various locations, PN stands for ‘pacific north,’ CE for ‘central east,’ and ‘HL’ for 'heartland'. It’ll make sense eventually. As for where the numbers come from, I don’t know, they aren’t sequential. I think they’re kind of arbitrary to sound cool.”

Hayley, the mule, and Jim started towards PN12. During the trip; Hayley told Jim the story at her QZ. She said it happened only in the course of a few hours; a dog came in through a small gap in the wall and bit someone mid-coitus. The spread from there was almost immediate. The other person got infected too, and the dog managed to bite two more people before someone snapped its neck. She showed Jim the bite mark on her arm and scratches on her flank, and Jim said she was lucky the bite wound didn’t get infected.

Hayley pressed Jim for his story, and he told her. He explained that the pattern of his brand was inspired by the splatter, and the days creeping through cities looking for uninfected.

They bonded over shared experiences. Laughed and even made jokes about the whole situation. It felt good for both of them to laugh, even over the most morbid of subjects.

The fifth night, they passed through a city and took shelter inside an abandoned apartment building. When Jim traveled in the woods, he tended to sleep outside on the dirt, but city streets made him uneasy. As absurd as it sounded, he found it spooky to be in an abandoned city outside at night, and sleeping on concrete is not pleasant, even when compared to sleeping rough.

“Hey Jim,” Hayley asked late into the night, “are you awake?”

“Hmm? Yeah, what’s going on?” Jim asked.

“Something’s been bothering me since I found out I was immune, or asymptomatic,” Hayley bit her lip in the darkness.

“Shoot, I’ll tell you if I can,” Jim said barely moving from his position in a sleeping bag.

“Well, uhm,” Hayley stammered.

“Spit it out,” Jim said.

“Sex,” Hayley spat out, “I’ve been wondering about sex,” she spoke quickly and nervously.

“You can’t fuck anyone, you’ll infect them. I’d have cut my own dick off but I’d probably die, or at the very least not be able to see where I’m pissing anymore and that’s almost as bad,” Jim joked, growing a little uncomfortable at the situation.

“But,” Hayley said pensively, “what about someone who is infected?”

“You mean a victim? It’s a bad idea, you might not be able to get away, might get hurt,” Jim said, he knew where Hayley was going but his nerves were getting to him, like a virgin on prom night.

“But, what about another person who is immune?” Hayley asked.

“Nobody’s immune,” Jim said flatly.

“Who’s asymptomatic I mean. It’s hard to get used to saying that,” Hayley replied.

“Just say AC, but honestly, I don’t know,” Jim said, “It’s possible that since we carry the plague with us, there won’t be any negative side effects, but if the plague is God’s wrath like some of the crazy preachers say, it might cause a super strain or something, make the plague airborne and kill us all.” Jim knew that was silly, he was an atheist, but he had not had sex in over a decade, and sleeping next to a pretty woman was making him nervous.

“Do, you wanna try?” Hayley barely whispered.

“I uh, I don’t have a condom,” the last excuse anyone could reasonably use, but Jim said it anyway, almost as a reflex. He (along with every other asymptomatic carrier) was sterilized when he got his brand.

“I was sterilized along with the brand,” Hayley had turned to face Jim, but now sat up and gazed at him. She put a hand over his chest, feeling his heartbeat. It felt like it would beat out of his chest, and his jaw went slightly slack.

Jim swallowed hard before Hayley pressed her lips gently against Jim’s. She wrapped her arms around him and he trembled, extremely apprehensive about the kiss at first but slowly reciprocated, as Hayley’s tongue entered his mouth.

That was one thing about the Fucking Plague. There was never any kissing; oral, anal and vaginal fucking were all fair game, but infected never kissed. Perhaps kissing is a signal of affection or intimacy, while infected appeared to only seek a base animalistic carnal pleasure.

Jim, still trembling, pushed himself to a seated position and wrapped his arms around Hayley, careful not to touch her still sensitive tattoo. They broke the kiss, and Jim remained slack-jawed.

“Be careful taking off your shirt, otherwise it might rub against the brand,” Jim said. A foolish statement to be sure, but even though he had (mostly) stopped trembling; he still was acting like a virgin on prom night.

Hayley seemed to pick up on this, and at first, thought to tease him, but thought against it. “Thanks, I almost forgot.” She didn’t. Despite the lax restrictions on hygiene while trekking, she had changed her clothes, and even bathed once. That was a mistake; she nearly caught hypothermia from the cold water. Jim would have warned her had he known about it.

Hayley took off her shirt revealing a blue sports-bra, her breasts on the smaller side, but perky and firm. Rather than arousal, Jim’s first thought was that she was probably thankful for smaller breasts, given that now she would have to spend a good amount of time walking and traveling, and the extra pounds of glandular and adipose tissue would have served no purpose other than to be bothersome.

Hayley, realizing that Jim was still in a bit of a stupor, gripped the hem of his shirt began lifting it. Jim, still feeling mildly disoriented as memories of sex as a pleasurable act occurring between consenting adults fought against what he saw in the worst days of the plague. He still managed to lift his arms up, showing his bare chest.

The years of travel had taken a toll on Jim’s body. He had slimmed down but developed a large amount of lean muscle, and had prematurely aged. Beyond that, he scars from being attacked by animals and infected, as well as more generic traveling mishaps related to overestimating his physical abilities, and more than a few trips through barbed wire.

“Will I get scars like you?” Hayley asked in a low hushed voice.

“Uhm probably not, most of the-“

Hayley interrupted his babbling with by gently pressing her lips against his. Jim managed to take the hint and stopped talking and reciprocated the kiss. He was largely incompetent due to having not kissed in years. He tenderly caressed Hayley’s breasts during the kiss, almost like a child stroking a small animal.

“This is an awkward position to try to take my pants off,” Jim stammered after breaking the kiss, “and it might be better to put something softer beneath us, maybe compile the sleeping bags together?” At this point, even he was aware of how silly he was behaving, yet his nerves prevented him from stopping, this caused a cognitive dissonance developing into a mild headache.

“Good, idea,” Hayley was beginning to get frustrated with Jim’s behavior, but masked it well. While Jim stood up to remove his pants, she turned onto her back, raised her hips up to lower her pants and panties. She tossed her discarded clothing to the side, landing in a messy heap. Her pussy hair had been trimmed before she became ostracized and had started growing back unevenly. She almost felt self-conscious about it but put the thoughts out of her mind.

Jim was completely unshaved. He only had a straight razor for his face and never bothered with anything below the neck. His cock was at half-mast, not quite fully prepared, as though it had forgotten how to be aroused.

He gripped his cock as he sat back down, moving towards Hayley, both of them naked. He gently massaged his cock to life and took her into his arms for a kiss.

Hayley sighed in relief and pleasure as Jim guided his cock into her throbbing pussy. Foreplay felt mildly unnecessary at this point.

Jim looked down at her, missionary position, again juxtaposed from the plague. Typically, the positions were more animalistic; people were taken from behind and largely impersonal, while looking into each other’s eyes again implied intimacy and affection two factors completely foreign to people infected by the plague.

Jim moaned slightly under his breath. “I forgot what this could feel like,” he said in a hushed tone, as he slowly worked his hips in a rhythmic motion. The warmth and moisture emanating from Hayley’s pussy felt simultaneously foreign, and yet perfectly correct, in harmony with nature.

After a few minutes of gentle thrusting, Hayley began bucking her hips, trying to urge Jim to move faster but slowed down after just a few thrusts. She wanted this to last and move slow, rather than be over too quickly. Besides, they both wanted this experience to be as different from the fucking experienced by victims of the plague. This was the process of making love, not fucking; a desire to feel a connection with a person and a sense of intimacy as opposed to raw animalistic fucking.

That is not to say Jim and Hayley were in love. They only knew each other for about a week. Perhaps it would develop into love at some point, but for now, the raw pleasure of cock in pussy and pussy on cock, and the sound of bodies slapping together, along with the feeling of connection and intimacy of someone in a shared unpleasant situation.

Jim paused a moment, still inside Hayley. “I think I’m about to cum, how do you want to,“ he stammered, “like I can pull out and wait a minute to come down or-”

“No, just finish” Hayley insisted, to which Jim nodded.

He resumed thrusting his hips as a surge of warmth and pleasure spread out of his cock and he came deep inside her pussy.

He managed a few more piston-like thrusts before his cock went flaccid after expending himself. After he withdrew his cock and moved over trying to catch his breath, Hayley reached down to her pussy to begin playing with it, mixing her pussy juices and Jim’s cock juice inside her. The pace with her hand quickened, and she used her thumb to play with her clit, while her index and middle finger darted in and out of her wet pussy. He moans increased in intensity as she moved her other hand to start flicking and pinching her nipples.

“Do, do you want-“ Jim struggled to finish his sentence, wondering what he should do and feeling mildly embarrassed for cumming what he perceived as quickly before his partner finished as well. It felt, rude to stop when only one participant was satisfied.

“Just focus on getting hard again so we can get to round two,” Hayley gasped between moans of pleasure from her hand. After a few minutes with her hand in her pussy moving so quickly it was almost a blur she arched her back and lout out a last pleasurable moan before collapsing back in a sweating panting pile.

Suddenly, she reached over and grabbed Jim’s cock, and began furiously stroking it back to life, while pleading for round two.