Heatwave

Part time model caught in an apocalyptic heatwave, trapped in an apartment block. The heat and strangeness overtakes the residents, turning them into sex crazed freaks

Chapter One

The apartment was small, cramped, even for one. Yet she loved it, her own space, no intrusive siblings, no unexpected callers and neigbors who kept themselves to themselves, life was good, and she enjoyed her own company above most others.
Yet, Annabel was boiling alive, the heat was oppressive, sweat causing the thin white cotton top to cling to her body, outlining every inch of her flesh in a semi-translucent sheath.
Anything that required even the slightest effort forced fresh beads of moisture to spring from her skin and trickle in gleaming rivulets between her breasts, from her brow and beneath her arms. Those efforts included the simplest of things, from walking, to picking up her clothes.
Stripped down to just top and panties she flopped back on her bed, wishing her room would magically clean itself, that the assortment of clothes would teleport themselves from the messy heap on her bedroom floor to the wash bin.
She propped a pillow against the wall, wincing at the effort required, reached over to the nightstand and picked up her phone.
Reversing the camera she stared, critically, at the image on the screen.
With one hand she carefully tousled her mass of reddish coppery curls, spreading them artfully on her pillow, satisfied she smirked to herself, tweaking her nipples so they stood proudly outlined through the damp material.
That’ll get the boys drooling, she thought to herself, maybe some of the girls too!

Finally satisfied she smiled, took the shot and typed the legends – #Too hot for me! #broiledselfie #sweatyboobs.
Then Annabel hit the post button, confident she’d get at least a dozen responses.

Within seconds of hitting the send her phone began to buzz with responses, most were the usual, “Hot here too”, a few of her friends posted bikini pics of themselves at the sides of pools or lakes, there was the usual slew of “hey sexy” or “gorgeous”, to which she simply hit the thumbs up response.
Amidst the calvacade of comments there were the typical depraved replies of graphic sexual fantasy and tawdry objectifications.
Carter, a long-time fan and sexual deviant who she kept on her friend list because his imaginings were well written and had the ability to tittilate her, often coinciding with her own fantasies, had replied in a completely un-Carter-like way.
“Baby, too hot to think, something’s happening, talk soon.”.
Frowning, Annabel replied.
“Hey C, no naughty????”.
No response.
Shower-time, thought Annabel, dismissing him from her thoughts and rising from her bed. She peeled the damp top from her clammy flesh, bending swiftly to drop and step from her underwear.
Setting the thermostat to cold, she gasped aloud as the icy streams struck her, pimpling her skin and causing her to shiver violently, then let out a long sigh as she became accustomed to the chill.
Wrapping a towel over her breasts and down to her knees Anna wrapped a second towel round her dripping hair, enjoying the sensation of feeling invigorated by her icy ablution.
Picking up her phone she flipped open the case and glanced at the screen, she’d missed a call, recieved a text and around 30 more social media notifications.
The text was from Lucy, her friend from their school days, she opened it eagerly.
“Tried to call, miss your face!”
She hit reply,
“Miss yours too xxx”.

After drying herself Anna slid into a pair of simple white briefs, a yellow and white floaty just-above-the Knee floral-print summer dress with a plunging neckline that highlighted her décolletage.
Applying a touch of eyeliner and a crimson lipstick, she lowered the shoulders of her dress, exposing the pert swell of her upper chest, frowning at the cascade of untamed copper that flowed over her left shoulder.
Attacking the unruly mass with a hairbrush finally pleased with the result, she focused the camera of her phone on the full length mirror and took the shot. A smile of pleasure at how the shiffon dress clung to her body, hinting at the dark stain of her areola, her trim waist and outward curve of her hips, played upon her lips.
“New dress, whatcha y’all think?” She typed, then hit the send button.
Once more a frown creased her brow, as the legend “unable to send” flashed across the screen.
Strange, she thought, her internet was usually reliable, clutching the mobile Annabel headed to the router, finding it devoid of lights except the power light.
That too suddenly winked out as the hum of both the refridgerator and aircon ceased, the lights flickered and went dark as an unnatural silence settled on her apartment.

Most of the apartment block was empty, it being a new build, at the first stage in a planned gated community. Those few residents that were usually in-situ were away for the holidays.
A grandiose social project that had offered her the opportunity to pick up a stunning, modern apartment for a fraction of the price of a similar build in the city itself. Eternally thankful that her aunt had tipped her off in the planning stage, she had applied for a residence immediately. Her modest income as a part time model, part time barrista and rising social media star was just as grateful.
In the brochure it offered features such as free wifi, enhanced security systems, back-up generators and communal pool (under construction).
As of now there was only one road from the complex, and that led into the city, but she’d seen the future plans and was excited about the future expansions, mall, leisure complex, parks and streets.

In the gloom Annabel picked her way across the debris of her bedroom floor and threw the curtains wide, squinting as the harsh brightness of the sun blasted into the room.
Outside the construction site was desolate and still, half a mile away, in New Orleans itself, she saw several plumes of black smoke curling their way into the brilliant cerulean sky.
Through the toughened safety glass of her fifth floor window she could just make out the faint banshee wail of sirens.
She started as the generators kicked in, her ameneties kicking back to life, the aircon with a stuttering whine and fridge with a rattle and hum.
Anna jumped again as the security grid over the window rolled into place with a heavy thud and click.
Her phone buzzed in her hand.
“Image sent”.
Grinning at her own fright Annabel strode through to her immaculately tidy lounge, checked the clock and pouted, she had a catalogue shoot in a little over an hour and wondered who she’d have to fuck to get the cover gig this time.
What the hell, she thought, hiking up her dress and slipped the briefs off, selected a pair of strappy yellow sandals, grabbed her handbag and headed for the door.

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