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“Have another.”
Shane’s eyes shone brightly in the light of the fire, though his voice was calm and steady. Rick knew that the friendly, conciliatory gesture was just an act – like all their interaction was these days. After the confrontation at the public works station, he’d hoped things would get easier. But Shane’s smile had only gotten toothier as it got more frequent. Rick had been expecting some version of a knife in the back as they went out searching together, and he’d gotten no less wary as Shane led them through the darkness to a small, neighboring farm-house and suggested they spend the rest of the night there. Shane had seemed oddly familiar with the place as he asked Rick to light the wood in the fireplace that had conveniently been prepared before the owners fled, and after a fast sweep of the house, had returned with a cardboard box full of preserved food items.
He’d laid it all out in front of Rick, and described their feast seductively. There were canned goods – chili beans, ravioli and tomato soup. There was a load of marshmallows and Twinkies. And not least, several large jars of pickled sausages plus an unopened bottle of ketchup. Food had only been on Rick’s mind inasmuch as they all needed to avoid starvation. But the sight of all this, presented by his old friend in the glowing fire-light, made his mouth water, even as he knew it was all manipulation. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to think of why he ought to refuse. They should bring it all back to the farm to share. It might be poisoned. And he’d never in his life accepted a bribe…
But in the end, he’d desperately wanted to believe that all his suspicions were wrong, and he’d smiled and gestured for Shane to bring it on. He’d fetched cushions from the furniture in the room while Shane sat cross-legged and sharpened long sticks, and then they’d laid down in front of the crackling fire to roast wieners, while pots of soup and open cans heated up in the coals.
They’d both eaten heartily, and for the first time since… whenever, Rick felt full and safe and comfortable. He hadn’t forgotten that in only a few hours they’d have to get up and continue the search, but for now… His stomach was full of ravioli and sausage, and Shane was still his friend. Pretense it was, but it was the best he could have right now, and somehow he was certain that Shane wouldn’t violate this cease-fire.
He was on the brink of sleep when Shane offered him another sausage.
“Thanks, but… I’m done. Seriously.”
He reached down to pat his stomach, demonstrating how satisfied he was.
“I’m sure you can squeeze down this one, too. It’s perfectly cooked.”
Shane picked the sausage off of its stick, and swirled it around in the plate of ketchup. He got up on his hands and knees, holding the slightly charred meat product out, right in Rick’s face. He was still smiling.
Rick’s mind came back on-line. Something was off. Or maybe he was paranoid. He felt his insides clench around the huge meal, and the hairs rise at the back of his neck. He really wasn’t hungry anymore. But refusing seemed impossible. It would be a waste.
He opened his mouth, and took a bite. Shane hummed appreciatively. Rick nodded and chewed, and felt the bite all the way as it traveled down his esophagus. Shane broke the rest of the sausage in two with his fingers, and held another piece out. His fingertips touched Rick’s lips for just a second as he filled Rick’s mouth again. Then he licked his own greasy fingers clean, one by one, as he watched Rick intently. Rick tried not to look away. But the meat was growing in his mouth, and he had to close his eyes to be able to swallow. His mouth had grown dry, and the bite got stuck half-way down, feeling like a boulder inside. He frantically pushed himself up into a sitting position, pressing one hand against his chest and waving the other around in a silent plea for something to wash it down with.
Shane was there immediately, with a steadying hand on his back, holding a cup of soup to his lips. It was warm and thick and salty, but he gulped it down and felt the lump move on into his stomach with relief. The soup kept flowing. He was torn between twisting away from Shane and spilling the soup all over himself, or just down it, indulge, keep up the charade. He swallowed again and again, feeling the decision slip through his fingers as he let himself be carried away by the simplicity of the task he was given, letting all choice be taken from him by Shane’s elaborate scheming. He leaned back against Shane’s arm and reached down to undo his belt buckle and top pants button, sighing deeply. The release of pressure made it easy to get the rest of the soup down. Shane took the empty cup away, moved closer and put his arms around Rick, chest against his back, sneaking his hands up over his stomach, gently stroking it.
“This ain’t nearly enough.” he whispered into the top of Rick’s head.
Next thing, he had the beans and a spoon in his hands, and started feeding Rick those. They were hot and sticky, and coated the inside of his mouth with a sweet, spicy film. He let them slide down, trying not to think about it, maybe that way he could trick his own body to accept the overload. He let his legs fall out to the sides to make more room. He could feel his stomach start to cramp from the pressure of the volume inside. He was getting short of breath. Then the can, too, was empty. He burped loudly, and felt his intestines rumble and twist. Shane wiped the sweat off of his forehead, and stretched out to grab the Twinkies and bring them into easy reach. Rick felt a stab of nausea, as the thought of the artificial, puffy cake made his head spin. They belonged to a time long gone, even long before the dead started walking. He experimentally leaned over on his side, so his stomach could hang out more freely, and Shane accommodated him immediately.
He was fully preoccupied with relaxing around the troublesome load below his ribs, when Shane started unbuttoning his shirt, and his obscene belly was fully exposed. He groaned as Shane began to knead the stretched flesh seriously. The lower line of his ribcage, where his stomach now jutted out, ached, and Shane’s large, rough hands made him feel alternately more contained, and closer to exploding. He could feel acid starting to burn in his chest.
Shane’s hands left him, and picked up one of the Twinkies.
“I believe you know how this goes.”
Rick tried to focus on the pale, yellow roll in front of him. He opened his mouth.
“Wider.”
He gulped, then opened up again, as wide as he could, focusing on stretching his jaw muscles and feeling like his tongue was a weird thing bobbing around on top of his throat.
He could smell the fake vanilla flavor wafting in before it hit him, then his oral cavity was crammed full of the pinnacle of highly processed pastry. The sweetness was jarring and overwhelming. After all, he’d grown accustomed to a diet based on turnips and rodents. Shane kept pushing at it, until it was thoroughly lodged behind his teeth, pushing out his cheeks. He closed his mouth and chewed. The thing collapsed and melted quickly, and he forced himself to swallow again. Then he gaped up once more, greedily, without being told.
Shane kept the Twinkies coming. He lost count of how many he ingested. After a while, he knew they weren’t going to stay put, but he was determined to take this as far as possible – whether it was to prove himself, or go along with Shane, or just screw the universe, he wasn’t sure.
There came a point. A point where, even if he wanted to swallow, his muscles just wouldn’t cooperate. He could feel his face covered in sweat, sugar, saliva and possibly tears. His stomach felt like a huge water balloon – too thin to stably hold its fluid contents. Sweet and spicy was wandering up and down his throat, and he was snorting air through his nose, sure that this mouthful was the one that would end up in his lungs. He twisted off of Shane’s lap and scrambled up on all fours, and still fought against it when a violent stream of barely-digested food shot up and out of him, onto the floor. His eyes were burning, and the bellowing sound of his retching echoed inside his own head as well as the room. It felt like his stomach was tearing apart. Then, after a while, it just felt empty.
That’s when he noticed that Shane was no longer touching him. He looked up, spitting and wiping the slimy strings from his mouth. Shane was sitting opposite him, on his own sofa cushion, holding a sausage over the fire on a stick.
“And you were doing so well.” He shook his head.
“But that won’t do. That won’t do at all.”
He turned his dark and shining eyes to Rick and smiled.
“This’ll be ready in just a minute.”