Chapter 6: Feeding the Apocalypse
The world had been simplified to a single directive: feed her. The mountain of shit cooling on the concourse tile was a testament to the last meal. Now, the silence was a vacuum begging to be filled. Chad moved through the wreckage with a new, singular purpose. His naked skin was streaked with greasy filth and dried serum, his own smell lost beneath hers. He was a scavenger in the ruins of her appetite.
The pretzel kiosk was a smashed skeleton of glass and steel. He rooted through the debris, ignoring the sharp edges. His hands found cold, doughy masses—pretzels flattened by falling debris, now soaked in spilled cheese sauce and rain from the shattered ceiling. He scooped up handfuls, the congealed cheese stringy and cold. He shoved them into a plastic signage panel, making a crude platter.
Next, the melted ice cream. A soft-serve machine lay on its side, a sweet, creamy pool seeped across the floor, mixed with plaster dust and granules of fire-retardant foam. It had the consistency of cold soup. He used another piece of plastic to skim the surface, gathering a pinkish, dirty slurry.
He turned and looked at his task.
Amanda dominated the space. She was no longer in the mall; she was the central atrium. Her body had slumped into a vast, recumbent form, a fleshy mountain range of hips, belly, and breasts. The mall’s second level had collapsed onto her, and she had absorbed it, the rubble forming strange terraces on the slopes of her. Her skin was a map of strain, shiny and taut, crisscrossed with blue veins and the dark, wet lines of fresh fissures. One eye, half-lidded and glassy with pleasure, watched him.
“What’ve you got?” Her voice was a low tremor that shook dust from exposed rebar.
“Pretzels. Ice cream soup,” he called back, his voice small.
“Bring it. I’m fucking starved.”
The climb was an expedition. He started at her ankle, a sloping hill of flesh wider than a car. His bare feet sank into the soft, warm surface. Each step required him to pull his foot free with a soft, sucking sound. The scent of her skin—sweet, salty, profoundly organic—was overwhelming. He climbed past the ruin of her muumuu, now just a few black threads embedded in the flesh of her thigh like geological strata. He used the deeper stretch marks as handholds, his fingers slipping in the perspiration that beaded in the grooves.
Her belly was a continent. It rose before him, a vast, pendulous dome that blotted out the failing light from the broken roof. The navel was a deep, shadowed crater. He traversed its curve, moving with a climber’s careful balance, the plastic platters clutched to his chest. The surface quivered with her breath, a slow, tidal rhythm.
After an arduous climb, he reached the upper plain of her chest. Her breasts were twin fleshy hillocks, veins like rivers on a topographical map. Between them, her collarbone formed a high ridge. And above that, her face.
It was changed. Still hers, but magnified, softened by layers of new fat. Her cheeks were full moons, her lips swollen and chapped. Her breathing gusted over him, warm and smelling of digestive gases and something strangely metallic.
“Took you long enough,” she rumbled, her jaw moving with a sound like grinding stones.
He didn’t answer. He was beyond words. He knelt on the shelf of her sternum, the warmth of her seeping into his knees. He held up a handful of the cold, smashed pretzel and cheese.
Her tongue, pink and massive, slithered out over her lower lip. A drop of saliva the size of a teacup splattered near him. “Feed me.”
He shoved the mess toward her mouth. Her lips parted, and the opening was cavernous, a warm, dark maw. He leaned in, pushing the food past the barrier of her teeth. His arm disappeared to the elbow.
She closed her mouth. Her lips sealed around his forearm. The heat and wetness were incredible. Her tongue, muscular and searching, wrapped around his arm, licking the cheese and salt from his skin. She sucked, gently at first, then with a stronger pull. It wasn’t sexual, but it was deeply intimate, a primal cleaning. With a soft pop, she released his arm. He pulled it back, slick with her saliva.
He heard the swallow. A deep, gulping contraction that traveled down the immense column of her throat, visible through the stretched skin. A corresponding ripple shuddered through the mammoth geography of her body. A soft, fatty tremor rolled from her chest, down the slope of her belly, to her distant hips.
“More,” she commanded.
He worked. Handful after handful. The pretzels. The dirty ice cream slurry. He found a crumpled box of concession-stand candy, melted into a sticky conglomerate of chocolate, caramel, and nuts. He peeled it from the floor and offered it. She took it all, her jaws working with slow, powerful crunches. Each swallow was an event. Each one made her sigh, a gust of satisfied air.
“That’s it,” she moaned. “Put it in me. Make it part of me.”
The growth was audible now. A low, subcutaneous creaking, like a ship’s timbers in a heavy sea. As he fed her the last of the ice cream soup, he saw the skin on her upper arm, already stretched impossibly, distend another inch. A new fissure opened with a sound like tearing canvas, a foot-long split that wept clear, oily fluid.
He was hard. Painfully, absurdly hard. The act of feeding her, of being this close to the raw mechanism of her transformation, was the most potent aphrodisiac imaginable. He was feeding a god, and the god was growing before his eyes.
She saw his erection. Her giant eye blinked slowly. A smirk touched her bloated lips. “You like that, don’t you? Watching me get fatter. Stuffing me like a fucking turkey.”
“Yes,” he breathed.
“You want to fuck me while I’m full of this garbage?”
“God, yes.”
“Then get down there,” she said, her voice dropping to a seismic purr. “Between my tits. Climb into my cleavage and fuck it. I want to feel you squirm while I digest.”
He didn’t need telling twice. He scrambled down from her sternum, sliding on the sweaty skin, until he stood in the deep, warm valley of her cleavage. The space was a hot, humid canyon walled by the immense, soft pressure of her breasts. They rose on either side of him, their sheer weight threatening to close over his head. The scent here was pure her, musky and deep.
He pushed his jeans down, his cock springing free. He pressed himself against the soft, yielding wall of her left breast. The skin was like hot, buttery velvet. He rubbed against it, smearing pre-come on the shiny surface.
“Use your mouth first,” she ordered. “Suck my tit. Get it wet.”
He turned his head and took the dark, areola into his mouth. It was larger than his face. He couldn’t encircle it, but he pressed his open mouth against it, licking and sucking. The taste was salty, faintly sweet. He nibbled at the thickened skin, and she groaned above him, the sound vibrating through the breast in his mouth.
“Yeah. Like that. Now fuck the groove.”
He positioned himself. The space between the two mammoth breasts was a tight, vertical slit. He pushed the head of his cock into the hot, slick channel where they met. The pressure was immense, a soft, smothering embrace from both sides. He thrust, his length sliding through the tight, fleshy passageway. It mimicked a vagina, but was somehow more, the sheer scale and weight creating a friction that was everywhere at once.
“Fuck, that’s good,” she grunted. “You’re so small. You’re like a little worm wriggling in my fat.”
Her words sent a jolt through him. He pumped harder, his hips slapping against the soft undercurve of her breast. The entire world was this hot, moving flesh. He reached up, grabbing handfuls of her breast to anchor himself, his fingers sinking deep into the adipose.
“I’m gonna come,” he panted.
“Do it. Mark me. Spunk on my fat. Let me absorb that too.”
Her permission unleashed him. With a strangled cry, he buried himself as deep as the soft vise would allow and erupted. Jets of semen painted the deep groove, immediately lost in the sweat and oil of her skin. He convulsed, his body held upright only by the supporting pressure of her breasts.
As he came down, trembling, he felt it. A deep, grinding shift from within her, followed by a prolonged, guttural rumble. Digestion. Assimilation. The food he’d just fed her was being processed, converted, and added to the whole.
The effect was immediate and catastrophic.
A wave of expansion rolled through her. The breasts surrounding him surged outward, pressing him tighter, then relaxing as the tissue permanently increased in volume. The cleavage he was fucking became momentarily deeper, then shallower as the breasts swelled outward. Below, her belly, already resting on the crushed remnants of the lower level, began to press downward with new, tremendous weight.
The floor—what was left of it—could not hold.
With a shriek of tearing metal and a thunderous crack of concrete, the section of the mall beneath her lower body gave way. Not just the floor, but the foundation, the parking garage beneath.
Amanda’s immense body lurched downward.
Chad was thrown from his perch, tumbling down the now-sloping mountain of her belly. He landed on the soft, resilient surface of her hip, clutching at the skin as the world dropped.
Her lower half—her ass, her thighs, her swollen calves—plunged through the cratered mall floor into the semi-darkness of the parking garage below. Then it kept going, through the garage floor, into the earth itself, driven by sheer, incomprehensible mass. Dirt, concrete, and rebar compacted beneath her.
Her upper body remained lodged in the shattered shell of the mall’s upper levels, a fleshy cork in a crumbling bottle. Her feet, each one now the size of a shipping container, spread out across the sub-level, then, as the resistance below finally ceased, pushed outward through the exterior walls.
From outside, in the rain-slicked parking lot, the scene was one of biblical absurdity. The mall’s facade exploded outward in a cloud of dust and brick. Not from an explosion, but from a slow, relentless push. Two monstrous, dirty feet emerged, toes the size of sedans, flattening parked cars with soft, metallic crunches. The arches flattened minivans. The heels ground SUVs into the asphalt. Tires popped like firecrackers. Alarms wailed briefly, then were silenced under the spreading, fleshy tide.
She had outgrown the building. She was birthing herself into the open air.
Chad, clinging to her hip, found himself suddenly in the open. Cold night air hit him, mixed with the smell of wet asphalt, gasoline from crushed cars, and the ever-present odor of her. He looked down. Her lower half now occupied the parking lot, a vast island of flesh amidst a sea of automotive wreckage. Her upper half was still framed by the jagged teeth of the mall’s ruined upper floors, like a monstrous infant in a crumbling crib.
Rain began to fall, pattering on her hot skin, mixing with the oily secretions from her fissures. She let out a long, slow sigh of relief, of monumental release.
Her eye found him, a small figure on the cliff of her hip. Her voice, when it came, was quieter, filled with a terrifying wonder.
“I can feel the pavement,” she whispered. “I can feel the whole city under me. It’s… soft.”
She shifted her weight slightly. A three-story office building at the edge of the parking lot, already undermined by the collapse, trembled. Its windows shattered. With a groan, it tilted towards her.
“Get up here, Chad,” she said, her tone leaving no room for anything but obedience. “I’m thirsty. Find me a drink.”
She nodded her head towards the tilted office building. A ruptured main was spewing a geyser of water from its shattered ground floor into the rainy night.
“Bring me that.”
The water tower was a silver bullet against the bruised purple sky. Chad stared at it from his perch on the slope of her hip, the distance feeling both impossible and irrelevant. Everything was irrelevant next to her. The office building's geyser was a pathetic trickle. She needed a reservoir.
"Not that puddle," Amanda murmured, following his gaze. Her voice vibrated through the fat and muscle beneath him. "The big one. The whole thing."
He slid down her side, the journey now familiar—the give of her skin, the sweat that made her surface a treacherous, living geography. The parking lot was a junkyard of her making, steel and glass pancaked beneath her feet and smeared in long, greasy trails from her movement. He jumped the last ten feet, landing in a puddle of oily water and rain.
The city was a ghost town at this edge. Distant sirens wove a constant, panicked melody, but they were background noise to the symphony of her breathing. He jogged, naked and filthy, past the ruins of the mall, his bare feet slapping on wet asphalt. The water tower stood behind a chain-link fence, its legs like massive stilts.
The gate was locked. He shook it, the metal rattle absurdly small in the vast silence she projected. He looked back at her. One gigantic eye watched, patient as a mountain.
"Figure it out," she said, not yelling. The words just arrived, a low frequency in the air.
He climbed. His fingers ached, cold and raw, finding purchase in the diamond-shaped links. He heaved himself over the top, the barbed wire scratching a line across his thigh that beaded blood instantly. He dropped inside and ran to the tower's base.
The access ladder was cold steel. He climbed into the gathering dark, the wind biting his exposed skin. Below and behind him, she filled the world. From here, he could see the full, staggering arc of her body—half-emerged from the mall's corpse, her lower half a flood of flesh consuming the suburban plain. Streetlights were popping on, tiny orange dots that illuminated the sheer, impossible scale of her. A main road vanished under the slow, creeping advance of her thigh.
He reached the top, a small platform encircling the giant tank. A maintenance hatch was secured with a heavy bolt. He strained, his muscles screaming, and it gave with a rusty shriek. The smell of stagnant, chlorinated water wafted out.
He looked down. "How?"
Her laugh was a soft earthquake. "Tip it."
He understood. He braced his shoulder against the cold steel of the tank wall, near the top, and pushed. Nothing. He was a gnat. He hammered at it with his fists, a useless, furious percussion.
"Chad." Her tone was flat. "The legs."
He peered over the platform's edge. The four massive steel legs were bolted into concrete piers. He scrambled back down, snatched a heavy wrench from a fallen maintenance cart, and climbed to where the first leg met the tank's bowl. He jammed the wrench into the bolted joint and threw his weight onto it. He swung like a pendulum, hanging from the tool.
The bolt groaned. Metal shrieked.
A deep, grinding twang echoed through the structure. A stress fracture spiderwebbed through the concrete pier below. He did it again, a frenzy of misplaced leverage. Another twang, higher pitched. The leg buckled.
The tower shuddered. With a final, catastrophic groan of surrendering steel, it listed sideways. It fell not with a crash, but with a slow, graceful, monumental inevitability, directly toward her.
It plunged like a colossal spear into the vast, waiting expanse of her open mouth.
The impact was a wet, metallic crunch-chunk that he felt in his teeth. Her head was knocked back, pressing into the mall's remaining structure, which powdered to dust. Her jaws clamped instinctively around the central cylinder of the tank. Steel crumpled. Water, thousands upon thousands of gallons, erupted into the cavern of her mouth, a flash flood down her throat.
She drank. It wasn't a swallow but a continuous, torrential gulping, a roaring, hollow sound like a drain sucking down the ocean. Her throat distended, a peristaltic tsunami surging down into her core. Her body, already straining at its own seams, received this new inland sea.
The reaction was instantaneous and seismic.
A low moan built in her chest, a sound of pressure approaching rupture. The skin across her abdomen, already glossy and veined, began to bloat. It wasn't a slow expansion. It was an inflation.
The fissures—the ones that wept oily serum—zipped open into canyons. From them burst not fluid, but a warm, blinding steam as her internal temperature spiked. The fat itself seemed to boil, to multiply, to vomit forth more of itself. She swelled upward, rising from the wreckage of the mall, lifting its remnants on her back like a shrug. The pavement around her buckled into concentric waves, swallowing streets, sidewalks, a gas station whose pumps ripped from the concrete with pops of severed lines.
Chad clung to the collapsing tower leg, riding it down as it scraped along the side of her face. He tumbled onto the warm, steaming plain of her cheek. He crawled toward her eye, a lake of wet, stunned brown.
"Amanda!" he screamed into the pores the size of manholes.
Her eye rolled, focusing on him. Her lips, still sealed around the shattered water tower, smiled around the metal. The message was clear. Look. Watch this.
She was growing, and it wasn't just out. It was everywhere.
He scrambled down, toward the base of her neck, where the slope met the terrifying rise of her collarbone. The heat was baking. The steam from her fissures fogged the air, smelling of hot fat and minerals. He needed to be inside it, to feel it, to be part of this catastrophic becoming.
He found a fissure wide enough, a deep, steaming split in the landscape of her shoulder. Slick, warm liquid flowed from it in a constant stream. He didn't hesitate. He shoved his cock into that flowing, heated cleft.
It wasn't a fuck. It was immersion. The flesh was not like a mouth or a vagina; it was hot, yielding fat and connective tissue, a biological slurry that welcomed him with shocking, intimate heat. He thrust into the split, the steam coating his face, the oily fluid making every plunge a slick, easy slide into unbearable warmth.
"YES!" The word wasn't heard; it was felt, a concussive bass note that shook the world. "Fuck my fat! Fuck the split open! Breed my goddamn blubber!"
He hammered into the steaming crevice, his balls slapping against the outer lip of the fissure, which pulsed and rippled with her growth. Each surge of her expansion milked his length. He could see her body changing. The horizon of her hip surged outward, engulfing a distant strip-mall. The church steeples a mile away were suddenly level with her navel. The night sky was filling with her.
He came, roaring, pumping his seed directly into the deep, hot, yielding heart of her growth. The spasm of his orgasm was lost in the vaster convulsion of her body. She was absorbing the water, the metal, the city, him.
He collapsed forward, his torso pressed against the hot, greasy skin, his softening cock still nestled in the fissure. The flesh around it began to gently knit, to adhere, to hold him there. He didn't care.
He looked out. The geography was re-drawing itself in real time. She was a continent, rising. Her head now blotted out the stars. One of her hands, a vast, five-taloned mountain range of flesh, settled over the downtown skyline with a grinding, gentle finality. Windows dimmed forever. Her legs stretched, the ankles alone wider than freeways, flattening neighborhoods into smooth, pressed-earth foundations for her form.
The growth began to slow from a cataclysm to a stately, inevitable progression. The sound was a planet cooling: deep creaks, settling groans, the soft, eternal sigh of her breath moving atmospheric currents.
She was enormous.
A trembling started in her core, different from growth. A familiar, deep, liquid gurgle. It traveled down the infinite pipeline of her intestines. A pressure built near where Chad lay, a planetary shift. The sphincter, now a vast, weathered crater lower on the slope of her backside, began to dilate.
A new mountain began to rise from that crater. Not of flesh. Of processed, condensed, geological-scale waste. It was the size of a skyscraper, extruding slowly, a brown, steaming monolith that would forever stand as a testament to the water tower, to the mall, to all of it.
Chad smiled, a small, peaceful thing on his filthy face. He was pressed against the living, growing skin of a new world. Her voice, when it came, was the wind over a vast, fleshy plain.
"Good boy."