Colonel Flagstaff, a tall and muscular man in his early forties with a chiseled chin and the war-hardened demeanor of a man who has seen a lot of gruesome death, walked into the morgue that stormy August evening. A bolt of lightning blazed the basement window a brilliant yellow, in stark contrast to the eye-numbing glow of the room's fluorescent lights. He surveyed, yet again, as he had so many times before, a scene of blood and death before him.

Fladstaff'd been interrupted during dinner by a phone call from a Detective Ronald Jenkins, his local liaison with the BFPD in their endless war against the zombies.

"There's been a incident," Jenkins had said. "You might want to head over to the morgue as soon as possible. I'll meet you there."

The place was already teeming with cops when he arrived, and a bloody corpse was laying in the corner. Half its face was missing. Flagstaff assessed the situation: a gurney covered in blood, more pooled on the floor underneath it, a trail leading to the body.

"Colonel," Jenkins said by way of greetings when the officer walked in the room, waving him over to the body and shooing away some of the cops so that the colonel could get a closer look. The victim was an overweight adult male in his thirties or fourties. It was hard to tell exactly how old he was, with his face mostly gone, and what was left of it looking more like hamburger fresh from the grinder than anything remotely human.

Oddly, the deceased's pants and underwear were at his ankles. That didn't fit the profile.

"Who's the victim?" Flagstaff asked the detective.

"Assistant coroner," Jenkins answered. "Johnson is his name. Or was"

Flagstaff nodded grimly. "And the perp?"

"A girl." The detective looked down at a notepad in his hands. "Jessica Malbury, nine years old."

"Shit, nine years old?" Flagstaff couldn’t help feeling that this was a little personal; after all, his youngest daughter was nine years old herself. "Any idea how she got infected?"

The detective grimly shook his head. "Nope. The admission report says she had no visible wounds. She'd been dead for a couple hours, so the assumption was that she'd died of natural causes, and they brought her here for an autopsy. That's our standard protocol."

Flagstaff nodded. He was well aware of the standard protocol. "Well, she caught it from someone. We must have a walker out there that we're unaware of."

"Yeah," Jenkins said. "Now we got two."

Flagstaff nodded grimly again. "Any idea why his pants are around his ankles?" Flagstaff asked, gesturing in the direction of the deceased’s unclothed lower torso. "That's a new one to me."

Jenkins didn't say anything, but nodded in the direction of a tube of sex lube lying on the floor opposite the gurney. The colonel hadn't noticed it during his initial visual inspection. Must be getting old, he thought to himself. Should have seen that, first thing.

"So you're telling me…” the colonel said, pausing as he wrapped his mind around the meaning of the tube of sex lube, “...that the fucker was having sex with a dead nine-year-old girl?"

Jenkins nodded and shook his head, nearly simultaneously. “That’s my assessment.”

"And she reanimated in the middle of it and bit his face off."

"Seems to be the case," the detective said.

"Jesus Christ. It's like holy justice or something."

"Or unholy justice."

"And now we got a nine-year-old reanimate who doesn't have any visible wounds, out there wandering the streets."

"Yep."

Flagstaff stared down at the dead man with his pants around his legs. "It's like Sodom and Gomorrah, you know? The sins of the people bringing down God's wrath."

Jenkins didn't say anything, just stood there looking at the dead man with the hamburger face.

"Better get him strapped down before he reanimates," Flagstaff told the detective. "Do we have any pictures of her? We need a thousand posters and a team out plastering the city with 'em. Get me some photos and I'll have my staff on it right away."

"You got it," Jenkins said. He barked some orders at the uniforms, who started wrapping straps around the dead man's arms and legs.

"I assume somebody's gonna ID the body before you burn him?"

"His wife's on the way down here now."

"Get his pants pulled up before she gets here. She doesn't need to know what he was doing when he had his face chewed off."

Boris Mikelincoff, unemployed dock worker and part-time Uber driver, stumbled out of the door of the Rock Island Bar and Grill around one in the morning. He had to steady himself on a lightpole and blink a few times in response to the illumination of the nighttime darkness by a dozen national guard trucks pulling up and unloading hundreds of soldiers. One of the soldiers jogged over to him and handed him a piece of paper.

"Zombie alert," the soldier said. "Keep an eye out for this one, okay?"

Boris nodded, his mind dumbed by too many shots of whiskey to entirely grasp the urgency in the soldier's voice.

"You drunk, buddy?" the soldier asked him. "Get a cab or something. Don't wander the streets tonight. Bad shit's going down."

The soldier walked away and Boris stuffed the alert in his pocket without looking at it, then weaved and bobbed his way down Central Ave. in the general direction of his house.

When he turned down Tenth Street, leaving the distractions of the avenue behind him, he spied a person standing in the dark of a doorway. If he'd had his wits about him, he would have remembered the zombie alert and would have at least crossed the street. But it didn't occur to him now. There were always drunks and whores in the doorways on Tenth Street near his apartment building. This didn't strike him as any different than any other time.

Until he saw her.

She was wearing next to nothing. What is that, a hospital gown? Maybe a little dress. She was shivering from the cold of the evening, a summer storm having blow the heat of the day away. She was just a kid. Didn't look like she was a day over nine.

He'd seen plenty of underage whores on Tenth Street. It was a go-to location for old men in search of teenage action. But he'd never seen one this young before.

And he liked 'em young. As young as he could get.

"Whatcha chargin', sweetheart?" he asked her, looking around at the same time to see if her pimp was watching. No pimp that he could see.  That's good. He rather not have to pay if he could get away with it.

She didn't answer, just stayed hidden in the shadows of the doorway.

"You're not selling tonight, baby? Not even to a guy who needs you bad? What's the deal, did you run away from home?" A little smile appeared on Boris's bloated pock-marked face. A nine-year-old runaway. This is gonna be lots of fun.

"Hey," he said, "need a place to stay tonight? I got a spare couch."

She just looked at him, didn't say a word.

"Com'on, darling," he said, reaching a hand out to her. "You look like you're starving. I got some frozen pizza back home."

The girl reached her hand out to his. His heart started pounding at the possibilities that lay before him.

She didn't say anything at all as they walked the last half-block to his apartment. She seemed to have something of a limp, which annoyed Boris greatly since he was impatient to get her to home before any of them damn national guard assholes or some other nosey fucker spotted him with his little runaway.

Eventually they got to his building, and he practically dragged the girl up the stairs. He unlocked his door as quick as he could and pushed her in before any of his goddamned neighbors saw them in the hallway. Then he locked and chained the door behind them. He flipped on the light switch and got his first good look at the little girl.

Oh, man, what a prize she was! Pale, skinny, prepubescent, long limbed and slender-hipped. His ideal body type. His cock grew to twice its size just from staring at the little thing with her stringy blond hair and her big blue eyes. The hair was matted and snarly, and she didn't smell all that good. She'd look a hell of a lot nicer after a meal and a hot bath, that's for sure. There'd be time enough for that later, if she's nice and cooperative. If she puts up a fight, she ain't getting nothing but ride out of town in the trunk of his car.

"What's your name, little girl?" he asked her.

She just looked at him and didn't say a thing. He noticed that her eyes looked a little cloudy and she was having a hard time focusing. Maybe she's on drugs? She must be. This is getting better by the second!

"What's your name?" he asked her again, and when she didn't answer, he got a little angry. "Fuck, girl, don't you know how to speak? Say something, I wanna hear your voice. I bet you have a pretty voice."

She still didn't say a thing.

"Alright, then," he said. He reached a hand out and wrapped it around her skinny neck and squeezed. Hard. "Here's how it's going to be, bitch. We're gonna go in my bedroom and I'm gonna take all your clothes off and I'm gonna fuck you. And when I'm done, guess what? I'm going to fuck you again."

She just looked at him, expressionless. He let go of her neck and grabbed her arm and pulled it up and behind her back, then pushed her into his bedroom. He shoved her face-first against the wall, one hand hard on her neck, holding her in place, and the other pulling up her dress and down her panties.

"Pretty little ass, bitch," he said as he pulled his rock-hard dick out of his pants. "It's gonna be fun to fuck." He positioned his thick blotchy cockhead at the sweet pink puckered opening to her bowels and with one solid thrust of his hips, began to sodomize her. He was impressed by how passive the little thing was while he fucked her ass. She didn't make a peep the whole time. When he finished, exploding semen into her intestines, he pushed her to the floor and ordered her not to move an inch, then went to get a bottle of whiskey.

When he returned, hitting the bottle straight as he walked in the room, she was still just lying on the floor in a crumpled heap where he'd left her.

He liked this girl. She did what she was told.

While he continued to hit on the bottle, he stripped her dress off, turned her over onto her back, spread her legs open. She was like a little rag doll, this one.

He grabbed his camera from his dresser top and started taking pictures. She sure looked nice, white as a ghost, skinny as a rail, little pink nipples on a flat chest, tiny hairless slit between her legs.

He took one last swig off his bottle, then stood up and stripped naked himself. She didn't resist at all when he shoved his cock into that little slit. She was nice and tight, that's for damned sure, but he was pissed off to discover that she wasn't a virgin.

"Who fucked you before me, bitch? Did your daddy fuck you?" He leaned over, spitting the words in her face as he started fucking her, hard. Really hard.

She lifted her head as he spat at her and snapped her teeth.

"What the fuck, bitch?" he said, sitting up with his cock still buried deep inside her. "Did you just try to bite me?"

She snapped her teeth again.

"Ooo! I like a feisty girl. I was beginning to worry that you didn't have any fight in you. And you're lucky. You're not the first girl that's tried to bite me, so I'm well-prepared."

He climbed off the girl and opened up a dresser drawer and pulled out a ball gag. He straddled her bare chest, his big cock sticking up in front of her face, as he leaned over to strap the gag onto her. She snapped her teeth right at his cockhead. "Careful there, little bitch," he said. "The last time a girl bit my cock, things didn't turn out well for her." His point was moot, though, the gag now in place.

He mounted her again and went back to fucking her, kissing her all over her adorable little ball-gagged face at the same time. "You are a nice fuck!" he whispered to her as he kissed her pretty little ear. "Even if your daddy did already fuck you, I swear to god you're tightest fuck I've ever had."

She just lay there with her cloudy blue eyes staring off into space as he finished. He moaned and shouted and came, emptying his load into her tiny pussy. When he was done, he climbed off of her, and she lay there unresponsive while he took a few more pictures, his cum leaking out of her tiny slit.

He passed out in the chair, sitting in front of her with the whiskey bottle in his hand. When he came to a couple hours later, she was still lying on the floor, like she hadn't moved an inch, her big blue eyes wide open and staring off into the distance. He needed to pee. He stood up and walked over to her. He knelt above her face, and she just looked blankly up at him while he urinated on her.

"Man, girl," he said when he'd finished relieving himself, "you're a piece of work, aren't you? You don't put up a lick of resistance. Now if you promise me you won't bite, I'll take that ball gag off and you can give me a blow job. How's that sound, darling?"

"Mmmmgggh," the girl said behind the gag.

"Oh! You're gonna talk now?"

She nodded.

"Good. I wanna hear your voice." He unhooked the ball gag. "Now what were you trying to say, darlin'?"

"I promise I won't bite," the little girl said.

Colonel Flagstaff looked around the room. Other than a ball gag lying on the floor and the rank odor of urine filling the air, nothing looked particularly out of place. Just a sadly messy bedroom in a sadly messy apartment, like a million others in this god-forsaken town.

"His sister called us when he hadn't answered his phone for three days," Detective Jenkins explained to him. "When she said the last time anyone saw him was the night that the assistant coroner died, we got interested. That was around one AM. He was drunk and leaving a local bar."

Flagstaff nodded.

"This place is crawling with kiddy porn," one of the uniforms that was there with Jenkins said as he rummaged through a box. "Look at all these videos. This guy was one sick fucker."

"Young girls seems to have been his thing," the detective said.

Flagstaff nodded. "How do we know our zombie girl was here?"

"Photographic evidence," the cop said. "He took hundreds of pictures of her." He picked up a camera that sitting on a side table and pulled up a picture, a sweet-looking little girl, buck naked with a ball gag strapped around her head.

"He was smart enough to gag her, I guess," the colonel said, shaking his head with a look of disgust on his face.

"Nah, not that smart. Check out this video." The cop pulled up a video on the camera.

"Now suck my cock little bitch!" a man's voice said, as he slid his dickhead in between her wide-open lips.

"That stupid fuck put his cock in her mouth," Flagstaff said. "Amazing."

"Yep," the cop said.

"Shit!" the man's voice on the video suddenly shouted, ringing tinny from the camera's little speaker. "Did you just bite me? Goddamn it, bitch!" Colonel Flagstaff watched the camera's screen as the man slapped the girl across the face. "Fuck, I'm bleeding!" He slapped her again.

"You can turn it off now," the colonel said. "I've seen enough."

After the cop hit the pause button, they all just stood in silence for a moment.

"Time for another all-points bulletin I guess," Flagstaff finally said. Jenkins nodded. "You know, if it weren't for the public health crisis, I'd have no problem at all with this girl hunting down these goddamned pedophiles and giving them exactly what they deserve."

"Amen," the other men in the room said.

"Got a live one, Colonel," Detective Plunkett's voice came through his phone the next evening.

"I'm on my way."

This time, it was a nice condo on the twentieth floor of one of those new highrises downtown. Everything seemed perfectly normal to Flagstaff as he was ushered by a uniform into the livingroom, the lights of the skyscrapers outside the wall-sized window illuminating sparse, Scandinavian minimalist decor. But when the cop showed him into the bedroom, the scene was entirely different. Two men, one in his mid-thirties sitting against a wall, naked, his arms handcuffed behind him and his ankles strapped together while two medics carefully checked him over. The other one was dead, naked too, laying on the floor with his chest and neck covered in bite marks. His arms and legs were strapped down tight.

Jenkins greeted the coronel. "This one seems to have survived the attack unscathed," he said, nodding at the man that was still alive. "The other one, well, you can see how he's faring."

"Yep." The Colonel knelt in front of the living one. "So, you two were raping a nine-year-old, were you?" he asked him.

The man looked at him with blood-shot, tear-stained eyes. "It wasn't rape, dude, believe me."

"You're telling me a zombie came on to you? What kinda bullshit is that?"

"I know it sounds crazy. But yeah, that's exactly what happened. We were just minding our own business, you know? We were just walking back here to Johnny's place after throwing some darts down at the local."

"Johnny?"

The man nodded in the direction of the dead body.

"Keep going."

"All the sudden this girl walks right up to us. And she's like 'You looking for a good time?' Me and Johnny were like, 'Nah.' We don't do the whore thing, you know? So we just brushed her aside. We said something like, 'You gotta go home to your mom and dad, little girl, don't be turning tricks out here.' But she looked real hungry, you know? Like she really needed some dick."

"Of course she looked hungry, she's a fucking zombie. This didn't occur to you morons?"

The guy shook his head. "She didn't look like a zombie, believe me. At least not like any zombie I've ever seen before. She looked real good."

"I'm so sick of you fucking pedophiles," Colonel Flagstaff spat at him.

"It's not like that, I swear. You don't get it."

"I guess not. Keep going, asshole."

"Well, she answers, like, she swears she isn't a prostitute or nothing, says she's just looking for something to eat and'll show us a good time in return. So Johnny just looks at me and shrugs his shoulders, and I look back at him and do the same. I mean, you know, why not? May as well go along with the idea, see where it ends up." He hung his head, staring at the floor. "I know what you're thinking," he said. "But it ain't like that. I've never even thought about a kid girl before. Not one this young."

"Normal guys don't fuck nine-year-olds," Flagstaff said.

The guy let out a sigh and shook his head. "I know what you mean, man. But you haven't met this girl. She's..."

"She's what?"

"I don't know how to describe it, dude. She's hot as hell."

"Bullshit." Colonel Flagstaff, thinking for the moment of his own nine-year-old daughter, was overcome with a desire to punch the asshole in the face.

"No man, I swear. Johnny and me, we're not hard up for women, okay? We don't have any problem scoring, believe me. But this girl, she's a real charmer. She charmed the pants right off of us."

"Yeah, so I notice. And you never suspected that she was a zombie?"

"No. I mean, now that I look back on it I remember thinking that she had that distant look in her eye, and she was awfully skinny and pale, and she didn't walk so good. Didn't smell so good, neither. But I mean, you know, we figured she was a runaway, right? That's gotta be just normal stuff for a runaway, right?"

"And you didn't think there was anything wrong with fucking a nine-year-old runaway."

The man shook his head again. "She was just so hot. She wanted dick so bad. We weren't gonna turn her down, you know?"

"No, I don't know."

"Well, don't judge us until you been there, okay?"

Flagstaff fought off the continuing desire to punch him in the face. "So what transpired once you got back here?"

"We went straight to the bedroom and we were all naked in a heartbeat. I took first go at her, fucked her from behind. She was a good fuck, dude, holy shit."

"I don't want to know the details."

The guy shook his head and continued like he hadn't heard the colonel. "She was so damn tight! And she was wet and hot, and so fucking ripe, she was just slamming her ass back on me over and over. It was unbelievable. I've never had sex this good."

"I said I didn't want to know..."

"I came so fucking hard, Jesus H., it was unbelievable. I must've pumped ten shots into that little cunt."

"Get to the part where your friend gets mauled."

"I'm just telling you, dude. I never would have thought sex with a zombie would be like this."

"I don't think it is. I think you're a pedophile and you enjoyed raping a nine-year-old girl."

The guy shook his head. "Anyway, so when I was done, Johnny lay down on the bed and girl climbed on top of him. She rode him for a long time, man. It was a beautiful thing to behold."

"You're a sick fuck."

"No, man, it was really something."

There was a noise, something like a groan, from the dead body lying strapped nearby. Its head lolled back and forth.

"Looks like the poor shit is reanimating, Detective," a uniform said.

Jenkins took his revolver out of his holster and set the barrel against the dead man's forehead and blew his brains out the backside. "That ought to keep him quiet for a while," he said.

Colonel Flagstaff turned back to the one that was still alive. "Keep going."

The man stared wide-eyed at his buddy’s brains splattered across the freshly painted off-white bedroom wall, then turned his head, leaned over, and retched. He looked back up at Flagstaff, unable to wipe the excess bile from his chin, what with his hands cuffed behind his back. "I don't know, where was I?" he gurgled.

"You were telling me about how this dick got mauled."

The man took a deep breath. "Yeah, okay. Well, I got pretty turned on, watching how that little thing fucked Johnny, you know?"

"No, I don't know."

The guy looked at Flagstaff. "You are a sanctimonious shit, aren't you? You don't get it, dude. Anyway, I figured, the bitch had another hole back there for me to use, right? May as well take advantage of it."

"You fucked her in the fucking ass?"

"Believe me, she didn't mind. You woulda thought she's been double-teamed her whole life and enjoying every minute of it."

"She probably has been, by sick motherfuckers like you and your buddy Johnny over there." They both looked over at the bleeding corpse with half his head blown off.

"Anyway,” the dude said, clearly trying to avoid vomiting again, “Johnny was having a good time, moaning and shit, you know? And so was the girl. I swear, she was screaming and I was pretty sure both of them were cumming at this point, and I was about to shoot my shit in her ass, too. So it took me a little while to figure out what was going on. I let loose inside her, and that's when I realized that she was biting him. I mean, seriously taking bites out of him! At first I was like, goddamn, she's some kind of freaky sadist or something, and Johnny was screaming now and thrashing around underneath us. And I was just like, Fuck! And I jumped off the bed, and the girl climbed off Johnny and came at me. By now I understood what the fuck was going on and I ducked into the bathroom and locked the door. She banged on it for a while. I was worried she was going to break the goddamned door down, she was beating on it so hard. Body-slamming it, I think. But eventually, I guess she just left. So, you know, I came out of the bathroom and there was Johnny, dead. That's when I called the cops."

The colonel stood up and looked over at Detective Jenkins. "I think we got a big problem on our hands," he said.

Jenkins nodded. "There's a lot of sick fucks in this town that want to screw a nine-year-old. We're gonna have a lot of walkers."

"Yep." Flagstaff looked down at the one that was still alive. "I'm going to call up my hazmed squad and take this guy into custody. We don't know whether the disease is sexually transmitted, but ya gotta figure, anal sex? He's probably gonna turn at some point."

"Am I gonna die?" the man asked in a desperate voice.

"I hope the fuck so, you sick pedophile fucker," Flagstaff said. "But don't worry, I'll be there to blow your brains out when the time comes."

"Lawrence, et al," Dr. Amberton told Colonel Flagstaff between bites of blue cheese-and-rosemary infused chopped spare rib hamburger at a restaurant near the airport a couple days later, "suggest in The Journal of Public Health that, in addition to flesh and brain matter, semen may be another bodily substance that can be used to sustain a reaminate. They were writing about the possibility of maintaining reanimates in captivity."

"Semen," Colonel Flagstaff said matter-of-factly, nodding in understanding.

"Yes. It would explain the behavior of your young reanimate. I'm not aware of any reanimate that we've ever known that is physically capable of attracting living human males, so it's something that's never been noted in the field."

"So you think she craves sex, just like she craves flesh?"

"It's a possibility. It would explain some of her behaviors. We do know that hormones in semen are absorbed through the vaginal wall directly into the bloodstream; this is why women often orgasm after the man ejaculates. It seems logical that the vital essence contained in semen may be absorbed by the female reanimate in the same way. Lawrence suggests that this may be a more efficient method of sustaining a reanimate than consuming flesh, and also that it is possible that semen contains a high concentration of the vital essence that a reanimate requires, and may be more efficient in this way as well. Your case seems to provide evidence of his hypothesis. I’ll have to ring him, he’ll be interested."

"Okay, so, what about this sicko I've got in custody? You think he's going to catch it, even though he managed to not get bit?"

"The mechanism of transmission is not fully understood," the doctor said. "But female to male transmission during sexual intercourse is highly unlikely."

"Even anal sex?" the colonel asked.

"Yes, the male is most likely safe, even in the case of sodomy. If he had open sores, wounds of some sort, or herpes, I'd be a bit more concerned. But as it stands, I can say with certainty that he will not be infected."

"That's too bad," the colonel said. "I was looking forward to the opportunity to blow his head off."

"You do realize, Colonel Flagstaff, that it is perfectly normal for males to be attracted to young females, yes? Ritter, et al, in an article in Human Sexuality, argue that..."

"I don't want to hear about it. Fucking a nine-year-old is as sick as it gets."

"Consider also her craving," the doctor continued, "and what influence this must have on a man's sexual desires. We are animals, after all, colonel. We can't fight off what our bodies tell us. I'm sure you've felt the siren call of a woman in heat."

"We are not animals. We have a higher calling than that."

The doctor looked at him for a moment. "I understand that you are a religious man. I am as well. I agree with you about our higher calling, but I also believe that the Creator gave us our desires, and for good reason."

"Our desires are the work of Satan," the colonel spat. "I've seen the Devil at work, when humans become unhinged from their better nature. I saw it on the battlefield, in the roadside bombs in Iraq. And I see it every day in the blank stares of the reanimates. Our desires will bring our downfall and destruction, just as they did to Lot's countrymen in the Bible."

"But we are also called to show mercy, are we not?" The doctor asked.

"Jesus never met a reanimate. Nor a pedophile."

The doctor raised his eyebrows at the colonel, but said no more on the subject.

"Well, thank you for the enlightening discussion, doctor," Flagstaff said as he waived his credit card in the direction of their waitress. "I'm not sure it really helps me get any closer to stopping the little zombie, but it was illuminating."

"Understanding the motivation for reanimate behavior always helps," the doctor said. "In this case, the solution seems obvious to me."

"Oh?"

"Yes. You simply need bait."

"Bait?"

The doctor nodded. "A man virile enough to attract her attention, but that you trust to be able to resist her cravings."

Flagstaff nodded. He now fully understood his next course of action. There was only one man in the world he trusted for a mission such as this.

Reconn. That is the soldier’s first task. With an instinct for urban warfare honed as a platoon commander for two tours in Iraq, Colonel Flagstaff stood in the shadows of an alleyway downtown, near the last known whereabouts of the zombie girl. He was alert, his attention full, observing every sound and every movement around him, every hiss of stray cats fighting, every fallen leaf whisking by in the wind.

He’d been in position for hours now. Lesser men, even many of the soldiers he’d commanded, would have given up long ago, gone home to their warm beds and their wive’s comfort. But not Flagstaff. He knew that this mission required patience, perseverance. He had to find out what he was up against, and the only way to do that was to wait her out.

Finally, around 2 AM, the zombie girl finally made her presence known. Well, actually, it was the blood-curdling wail of her victim, echoing through the downtown canyons from the riverfront, that made her presence known. Gripping his pistol in its holster around his chest, Flagstaff left his blind and walked stealthily through the streets in the direction of the noise. Hidden in the shadows of a bush near the riverfront, he finally saw her. He finally saw Jessica Malbury, zombie, nine-year-old angel of death, instrument of God’s vengeful wrath upon the sick pedophiles in this miserable town.

She actually did look like an angel, to be honest, when he first saw her. She was on her knees, a pose that would easily have been mistaken for penetance but for the body of her most recent victim lying in front of her. She was wearing a white dress. It looked like a first communion dress, long sleeves, frilly skirt. The top of the dress was torn rudely open; the bastard had probably raped her, and tore her dress in the process. Although she was a good hundred yards away from Flagstaff, and the light from the street lamp above her was dim, he could see her bared chest. He could see her nipples, pink, swollen, just rising from her flat bosom. The sight of her undeveloped breasts caused blood to surge to his cock, momentarily confusing and horrifying him. No, he said to himself. No! he silently cried to the heavens. Not me! I am not a pedophile! I am not attracted to her!

Still unaware of his presence, the zombie girl leaned down to her victim. In the dim light, Flagstaff could not see what she was doing, but it soon became perfectly obvious, when she lifted her head. Her angelic face, her prepubescent chest, was now smeared dark with blood, and strings of entrails hung from her mouth. Flagstaff overcame whatever emotions, both of disgust and of attraction, that filled his mind. He quietly withdrew his revolver from its holster, aimed the barrel at her head, and pulled the trigger.

The colonel was an expert shot. There’s little chance that he would have missed, even at this distance. And yet, the bullet flew past its mark, into the night. Had he flinched, at the last moment? He must have. But why? He’d killed a dozen men, or more, in the streets and fields of warzones around the world. He’d blow the brains out of a hundred zombies. Why would he have flinched, now?

The zombie girl was gone in an instant after the shot was fired. Disappeared, into the shadows, into the river perhaps. God only knows where, but she was gone. Disgusted with himself, Flagstaff walked to the body that lay, belly torn open, guts spewed bloodily about the river bank. He heard the man groan, then leveled his pistol at the fucker’s forehead and blew his brains out. Then he called in his clean-up crew.

It was past 5 AM when Flagstaff finally crawled into bed next to his wife. But he couldn’t sleep. The vision of the zombie angel, with her shirt torn open, kept dancing through his head.

"Hey mister," Colonel Flagstaff heard a little voice say from the shadows of an alley as he walked down Central Ave. in the midnight darkness the next evening. He stopped dead in his tracks and reached inside his jacket to the grip of his service revolver.

"Jessica?" he said into the shadows.

The young girl emerged from behind a dumpster. A lump formed in Flagstaff’s throat as he realized that she looked a great deal like his own precious daughter, his own angel, dear little Heather; like her, the zombie girl had long blond hair that flowed around her shoulders, bright blue eyes, long thin limbs. In another world, in a better world, he would have taken this poor thing home and cared for her like one of his own children. The thought caused him to momentarily loosen his grip on his revolver. But then he remembered his reaction, when he saw her bared chest the night before; even if he were able to take her home, even if it was a better world and the circumstances were been different, would he have been able to care for her like a child? Or would he have raped her, just like the countless men of this city who raped her and suffered their deserving fate as a result?

Before he’d left on this day’s mission, he briefly considered whether his reaction the night before had rendered him incapable of carrying out his duties. He could assign the role of “bait” to one of his soldiers, a female soldier, perhaps. Or Peterson, he was gay, maybe he’d be able to resist her? But he had ultimately decided that no, this would never work. If Flagstaff was charmed by her, anyone would be. Flagstaff, the most morally upright man, the most loyal husband in the world. If he couldn’t do this, then no one else could. And he could do this. He would do this. He owed it to himself, to his wife, to the world. Even to his Lord.

There in the midnight darkness, the zombie girl walked towards him with a fawn-like step, an uncertain wobble as if she were a newborn just learning to steady herself. Her face was narrow, cheeks hollow with the look of death. Her eyes were cold. Undead. Her mouth hung slightly open, dirty teeth showing in the light of a nearby streetlamp. Breath came in raspy uneven gulps.

She wore a white blouse and a pleated blue-and-green tartan skirt, little frilly socks and black patent leather pumps. Flagstaff wondered where she'd stolen the clothing, and if she'd dressed like a schoolgirl on purpose. He had to admit, it looked alluring on her, even more alluring than the first communion dress she wore the day before.

"Jessica?" he asked again.

"Hey mister," she was her answer. If she recognized her name, she gave no hint of it. Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. Lovely, even, in a way. "Looking for a good time?" she asked.

He felt his cock twitch involuntarily in his pants. He didn't like the feeling, and before it could twitch again, he steeled himself like only a man with the experience of two tours of Iraq and a year and a half of cold-hearted zombie killing could have. He pulled his revolver from its holster. He aimed it at her forehead.

"I can show you a good time, Daddy," she whispered, still taking her fawn-like steps towards him, entirely unfazed by the gun. "I can be your dream come true."

The sound of her quiet voice calling him “Daddy” had exactly the effect on him that was intended. She just looked so much like his own beautiful daughter! Thoughts, deep repressed thoughts hidden away in the dark corners of his brain, suddenly rushed to the surface, and he could feel his cock getting hard. He could already feel it taking over for his brain. He knew he should just blow this zombie girl away right now, it was the only possible response to all of this. But he couldn't pull the trigger. He'd never had this sort of indecision before. He was a soldier, goddamn it. He was here on a mission!

She was right in front of him now. She reached up and put the cool fingertips of one hand on his cheek. "I need you, Daddy," she said softly.

He lowered the barrel of his gun. "Jessica," he managed to eke out, after swallowing hard. "You're just a kid..."

"Everybody says that I'm the tightest fuck they've ever had," she whispered. "I want to give you the tightest fuck you've ever had, Daddy."

He was breathing hard. His body was awash in hormones, causing his heart rate to spike and flooding his cock with blood. He'd never been this hard in his life. It took every ounce of willpower that he had to not throw her on the ground and fuck her right then and there. I'm a better man than this, he thought to himself. I'm a warrior. I’m God's warrior. I have to do this.

His hand shaking, he managed to raise the pistol to her forehead again, the cold steel right against her pasty undead skin.

"Jessica," he said to her. "You know you're a zombie, right?"

"A zombie?" Her cool fingertips stroked his cheek.

"Yeah. A reanimate. Undead."

"Undead?" Her distant whispering voice sounded confused.

"I'm here to kill you. I mean, kill you again."

"I don't want to die," she said. He couldn’t tell if this was real, if it was actually based on a real emotion, a real fear of death, or if it was just part of the zombie girl’s well-rehearsed game of seduction.

He felt his willpower waver. For a moment he imagined that it was his own daughter, beautiful little Heather, begging him for her life. I can't do this, he realized. I'm not the right man for this mission after all. He stepped back and reholstered his gun. Even though his body was still awash in hormones, he had control of himself now. He had a plan.

"Jessica, I know what you need," he said.

"So do I, Daddy. I need you. I need your big thick hot cock slamming in my tight little baby pussy."

He shook his head, not simply to reject her advances, but also to clear his mind of the thoughts of her, and of his own sweet darling daughter Heather, that were flooding his sight, making him nearly blind with lust. Steady yourself, Flagstaff. You’re a soldier.

"Come with me, Jessica," he said.

Fifteen minutes later, they'd checked into one of the seedier hotels off Central Ave. The clerk raised his eyebrows at Flagstaff, but didn't raise any objection. While the colonel was glad to not have an argument with the guy, he could've throttled him for not at least saying something, for God’s sake. A man shows up at your seedy hotel with a nine-year-old girl and you don't even say anything? What the fuck is wrong with this city?

In their room, he sat Jessica down on the bed and told her to stay put. He grabbed a plastic cup and went into the bathroom. He emerged again a couple minutes later with the cup in hand, a small pool of cloudy white fluid at the bottom.

"Here," he said, handing the cup to her. "Drink this."

Jessica lifted the cup to her lips. Strangely, Flagstaff felt his cock twitch to life again as he watched his thick viscous semen cream slowly slide down the side of the cup and into the little girl's mouth. When she'd drained the cum into her mouth, she sat there with her lips slightly open and upturned into a little smile, her eyes still cloudy and unfocused, but twinkling as if in a dream. He could see his cum pooled on her tongue. His cock twitched again as he watched her swallow.

She tipped the cup up and licked at its inside with her tongue. Then she looked at him with pleading eyes. "More? Please?"

Flagstaff took the cup from her. "I'll see what I can do."  

"Can I watch?" she whispered. "Please?"

His heart skipped at her request. He began to say, “No, of course you can’t!” But before the words formed, he stopped himself. He knew, even then, that his cock was thinking for him now. Nonetheless, he was unable to override it. He hadn’t willpower enough now. And so he dropped his pants and began stroking, aiming into the cup. The girl sat forward, watching.

"It's so big," she whispered.

"You shouldn't say stuff like that, Jessica," Flagstaff said, finally getting control of himself again. "You shouldn't be watching me. You're just a little girl." She ignored him, just kept staring. With military-like efficiency, he milked himself, squirting a few decent shots into the cup. Jessica reached out excitedly, took the cup from his hand, tipped it to her mouth, and drank it down. She did this so quickly that he didn't even have time to pull his pants up. He just just stood there, gape-mouthed, watching her happily drink his cum. Once again, he felt his now-bare cock twitch as he watched her lick hungrily at the remains in the glass. She looked up at him again. Her cheeks were flush now, her blue eyes bright and focused. She reached her hand out to his half-hard cock and started stroking it, holding the cup out with her other hand.

"Woah'" he said, stepping back, away from her. "That's not..." he stammered, "I don't want you to... I... I don't think I've got any left in me right now."

"Please?" she said, looking up at him. "You can fuck me, Daddy, you know I'll let you."

She looked so beautiful now, so alive. The hormones were rushing through his body again, spiking dramatically when she called him "Daddy." A vision of his own daughter flooded through his brain at that moment, beautiful nine-year-old Heather. What would he do if she said those words to him? Would he be able to resist her?

Uncontrollably, he advanced on the little girl. She smiled, a sweet little smile, not self-assured, but hopeful. She lifted her schoolgirl skirt and showed him her panties, a little pair of pink Hello Kitty underwear. She pulled off her panties, and he was climbing onto the bed when his intellectual faculties finally broke through the animalistic hormones.

He stopped himself. "You should get some sleep, Jessica," he said as he stood. "I gotta figure out what we're gonna do." He pulled his pants back on and sat down on the couch, while the girl whimpered with disappointment and lay down on the bed, her skirt up around her waist, her legs spread, the Hello Kitty panties ringed around one ankle and her little bald pussy a shock of glistening pink.

Colonel Flagstaff sat with his head in his hands and contemplated the situation before him. He knew now that he couldn't possibly kill the her. The words of the doctor rang through his brain: mercy. He felt nothing but mercy, and fatherly concern, for the little zombie girl now. But if he doesn't kill her, what then? He could take her back to the base and keep her in a holding cell; they'd done this to the first couple of reanimates that they'd captured, a few years back. That didn't turn out well. He shuttered even now to think of it, how the zombies had howled and moaned, and the doctors had put themselves at grave risk in an attempt to help them. One of the doctors got infected, too, then begged Colonel Flagstaff to put a bullet in his head. He did. It didn't matter, the poor fucker had still reanimated even with half his head blown off.

It'd be different now, though, right? He knows how to help the girl now. He would just feed her his semen. It's simple. But he knew it wasn't that simple. He knew that there'd be all kinds of people who'd object to that plan, everybody all the way up to the goddamned president. People who wouldn't understand how a father feels about his daughter. They'd call him a sicko, and run him out of town. Out of the country. And the girl would be subjected to endless tests, and would suffer horribly, until someone finally put her out of her misery. It would be better to end it now. With that thought, he reached inside his jacket for his revolver again.

She was asleep now, breathing peacefully and looking like a beautiful angel. He aimed the barrel of the gun at her head. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves.

But he couldn't do it. The vision of his own sweet daughter kept dancing in his brain. He couldn't bring himself to kill something as precious and lovely as this.

So, he realized, he can't kill her, and he can't let her go, and he can't lock her up on the base. That left him with only one option. He had to take her home with him and raise her like his own child. He could feed her his semen every day. God knows his wife didn't have any need for it, he hadn't even had any pussy from her in at least a month now. Seriously, if he was just going to relieve himself into a kleenix, may as well do it into a cup and let the zombie girl drink it. His wife would understand, right? Maybe. Probably. She was a good woman. She understood mercy, even if she hadn't been showing his cock much mercy lately.

He looked at the girl, lying spread open on his bed as she slept, her eyes closed and her mouth open slightly as she inhaled gentle, peaceful breaths. His eyes wandered over her delicate body, landing on that beautiful little slit between her legs, that little shock of pink. He felt the surge of hormones again. You know, he thought to himself, my wife might not give me much pussy, but I could have all the pussy I ever dreamed of. The tightest pussy I've ever fucked in my life, that’s what the girl had said, right here at my disposal. Every day. Free use.

He was rock hard again, his balls fully charged, as he stood and dropped his pants. He walked over to the bed and carefully plucked her little pink Hello Kitty panties from her ankle. He crumpled them into a ball. He leaned over her, and her eyes opened, bright and blue, and he stuffed the panties into her mouth.

"I'm sorry, Jessica," he said. "I need to make sure you don't bite me."

She nodded, understanding, accepting.

He climbed on top of her small thin body. His heart was pounding as he slipped his thick throbbing cockhead into her tiny opening.

"Ooh baby," he moaned in response to the tight hotness of her girlpuss. "Oh my sweet daughter! My little Heather!" Shit, did he just call her "Heather?" Was he thinking of his own little daughter as he fucked the zombie girl? Somewhere in the deep recesses of his intellectual brain he knew this was wrong, terribly wrong, but he did care. He didn't care anymore about things like right and wrong, sin and saintliness; his body was flooded with base, sinful hormones and he drove hard into the girl's hot little hole. "Take it, Heather!" he shouted. "Take all of your daddy's cock!"

"Mmmmgggh," the zombie girl moaned through her panty gag. "Mummmgh! Mummmgh!"

He laid his large powerful frame down entirely on her. She was tiny underneath him. He held her beneath him and rammed his cock repeatedly into the furthest depth that her little sex could offer until he couldn't take another second of it and he felt the surge of wonderful orgasm, all the pent-up anxiety of the last few days, of the last few years, of his entire life, rifling down his cock and exploding out of him and into her. Catharsis. Ecstasy. Release. He gave it all away, all his burdens and stress and unhappiness, in a profound act of mercy; him merciful to her as he gave the zombie girl his life-sustaining seed; her merciful to him as she unburdened him of a life of need and want, as she fulfilled his deepest unknown fantasies.

He lay on top of her, panting in a supreme glow of post-coital happiness. He was amazed to find that he didn't feel any guilt. Not the least little bit. His cock twitched through the final throes of bliss, and then he pulled out of her. She made a little noise through her panty gag, and her blue eyes sparkled with merriment.

Oddly, his cock didn't soften. It remained as rigid as he had ever felt it before. Emboldened by this unexpected reaction, he grabbed the girl by the hip and flipped her over, onto her belly. Kneeling behind her, he spread her ass cheeks open and admired her little pink anus. It had been years since he'd fucked a woman in the ass, not since he was in college. His wife never gave him the pleasure.

The girl moaned in her gag as he pushed his cockhead into her little sphincter. Holy shit, this was by far the tightest thing he'd ever fucked! Hormones surged again as he violated her with all his might. As he ass-fucked his sweet little daughter.

She fell asleep like that, on her belly, blue-and-green pleated tartan schoolgirl skirt up around her waist above her bare, narrow ass. He handcuffed her wrist to the bedpost, just in case, before he pulled her Hello Kitty panties out of her mouth. He knew she'd understand why he handcuffed her, but she didn't even notice. She was already sound asleep, breathing peacefully. He lay on the couch and fell asleep himself, the sleep of a very satisfied man.

He had her take a bath the next morning. It was certainly the first bath she'd had since she reanimated, and she needed it terribly. When she emerged, she looked like an angel from heaven, pale skin pink, eyes bright, a smile on her sweet face. The bath had done wonders for her, and so had his semen. She looked like a different girl now.

He hadn't seen her naked yet, and it was a delight to behold. The morning sun shone through the window of the dank hotel room, bathing her in a heavenly glow. Little pink nipples stood up softly, rising just slightly above her flat white chest; her hips were so narrow above her long spindly legs that they seemed to not exist at all. And her little pussy, her little pale baby pussy, looked so innocent and virginal, though he knew it had been violated many times, even by him not twelve hours ago.

She held her panties in one hand. Smiling at him, she crumpled them into a ball and stuffed them in her mouth, then climbed on to the bed and knelt, falling down to her elbows with her naked ass up in the air.

Epilogue

Flagstaff knocked on the door to his basement bedroom before he unlocked the chains. He hated locking the girl up like this, but she understood. She was a very understanding girl.

"Are you gonna fuck me, Daddy?" she asked him as he walked into the room. She was wearing a frilly little pink nightie. She knew it was his favorite, and she liked to put it on when she knew he was coming to play.

"Yes, I am, sweetheart," he said.

She smiled at him, then reached over to her bedside table and picked up a ball gag that was lying there. She wrapped its leather strap around her neck and latched the buckle. Before she lifted the ball to her mouth, she said, "Do you wanna use my front hole or my back hole today, Daddy?"

Flagstaff's wife had proven remarkably accepting of the new member of their family. Her big concern wasn't the sex; having a free use girl handy for her husband's insatiable sexual appetite worked out entirely in her favor. Once he'd been able to assure her that their family would be safe, even though they had a reanimate living in their basement, she'd actually grown fond of the zombie girl's demure demeanor. She didn't have to ask Jessica twice to do the dishes or sweep the stairs! That was a nice feature in a housemate. And the ever-present ball gag that she insisted the girl wear when she wasn't in the basement under lock-and-key prevented any back-talk that most girls her age were tempted to give. So that part of this story works out alright in the end.

Colonel Flagstaff had never told his superiors, nor Detective Jenkins or the other cops on the zombie task force, what he kept in his basement. They wouldn't have approved. He and his men had managed to track down and neutralize all the reanimates that the zombie girl had created in her early days, and any associated ancillary reanimates that they had created, which earned him a medal or two and a promotion, and the matter was little more than a small blip in the history of the war against the zombies. Officially, Jessica was still listed as an active walking reanimate, whereabouts unknown, but that was three years ago now. Mostly, people had forgotten all about the little lolita zombie that had once frightened all the women, and excited all the men, of this fair city.

He smiled at her question--"Do you wanna use my front hole or my back hole today, Daddy?"--as he watched the nine-year-old fit her ball gag into place. In fact, she was three years older now, but she hadn't aged a day. Aging is for the living; the undead remain forever the age they were when they reanimated, though their body corrupts with the effects of death unless they are able to find vital sustenance to maintain it. And with the good doctor Amberton's aid, Flagstaff and his zombie girl had found just the sustenance that she required, and they administered it at least twice a day.

"Your back hole today," he answered her. She smiled as best she could behind her gag, bright baby blue nine-year-old eyes shining. She lifted her nightie, pulled off her pink and white panties covered in little hearts, and turned around on her knees and elbows. Flagstaff knelt behind his free use lolita zombie and sunk his thick cockhead into her tight warm anus and fucked her until he once again gave her his nourishing seed.