Zombie apocalypse fiction – Ruth’s story #54 Up, Up and Away On the Road Again With All My Friends SHTF & TEOTWAWKI
“What the fuck, Shack at least let me wake up completely before you piss on me and say it is raining,” I mumble at him. “So what am I not going to like,” I ask him sitting up to pull my boots on.
“Ani yiv-at lecha ba beitsim,” I mutter under my breath. I usually swear in Hebrew since it is my primary language, although there are some choice words in English, Yiddish, Farsi and Arabic. Speaking several languages gives me a wide repertoire of swear words.
Yuck, my mouth feels like a mangy goat slept in it and left a surprise. My teeth feel like sandpaper, and my tongue feels furry. I need some personal hygiene assault time.
“We are surrounded by one of the largest zombie hordes we have seen since the outbreak. Apparently we attracted a large amount of zombies that slowly shuffled along following our convoy. The zombies converged on the warehouse while we slept.”
“So have there been any suggestions as to getting out of this mess?”
“Well, Ruth there have been some ideas tossed around over our breakfast of MREs, but so far none that guarantees our exit safely.”
“Such as,” I ask as I stand and pull on my jacket. It is cool inside the dimly lit warehouse. Looking around the interior, I see guys stowing gear and getting ready to move during the night.
“High explosives, using the 20 mike mike and the Quad 50, a few of the LAW rockets, attempting to drive through the zombies, and creating a diversion to attract the zombies away.”
“How long was I out Shack?”
“You got a solid six,” he tells me with a shrug.
I see a small folding table with a roll-up wooden slat top on top of which rests my Jet Boil cooking apparatus set up for making coffee.
“Been drinking coffee, Shack?”
“Fuck no. I prefer Mountain Dew or Red Bull for my caffeine, thanks any way. That was set up by Carol, but then the smell of the coffee made her ill and she ran for the latrine holding her hands over her mouth.”
“Morning sickness is a bitch. Shack, I hate coffee too. Any chance I can get some tea?”
“Ask Jamal, he prefers tea as well,” Shack says as I walk away towards the latrine following my nose to guide me. I pull my little Sure Fire flashlight out of my jacket pocket to make sure I do not step in someone else’s deposit.
Doing my business behind some large boxes that someone thoughtfully set up, I finish and start to walk back. I almost crash into Shack as I leave the latrine area.
I am a little pissed off Carol was digging in my stuff. That Jet Boil set up is nice, and I do not have a lot of fuel for it. Walking angrily I almost ran over Shack who grabs my shoulder with one hand while keeping a steaming cup from splashing on me with the other hand.
“Easy there Ruth. Nick had some tea bags so I got you set up. Carol had not dropped the coffee in the pot, but it is full of hot water although I snagged some for my hot chocolate. Carol was just trying to help.”
I guess Shack is getting to know me well enough by now to realize that I was pissed. I was never a morning person anyway. I need a smoke and a pot of very strong green or my preference, black tea. No one should talk to me before noon because I can be a real bitch in the morning.
Thinking of tea, coffee, and morning makes me think of Amy. I hope she made it to safety. I still wonder if I should not have remained with her rather than attempt to answer my country’s call for help.
I realize that I am still standing in Shack’s arms. Although he may be only 17, he is a good head taller than me and is in the prime of his life. Shack is solid, warm and as I am painfully aware, very masculine. Shack is also very comfortable holding me. It has been a long time since someone has held me. Resting a moment under Shack’s arm, pressed against his Interceptor vest is very nice and feels safe.
I can smell Shack’s hot chocolate on his breath, and do not even mind his BO because I am sure I stink too. When one stinks you should not call attention to the fact that someone else stinks too.
“Thanks Shack I appreciate it,” I tell him as I disengage from beneath his arm with some surprising reluctance.
“They’re having a meeting of the minds at the colonel’s car,” Shack says as we walk back towards my little car. With this new info, I take a detour.
As I walk up to the gathering around the colonel’s VW station wagon, I walk into the tail end of a conversation.
“… we only have a few claymores, even less thermite grenades, but plenty of Duct Tape. While it may be a good idea to eradicate the closest zombies, it will not clear a path with certainty plus use up what few claymores and thermite grenades we possess.”
“I don’t believe there is any certainty of clearing a path through the zombies,” someone says, but I failed to see whom.
Sam sighs with exasperation, “there is only one exit from this building, and it is occupied by a huge horde of undead that is pressing against the side of the building. That horde out there makes the Seattle WTO protest crowds look like an amateur attempt.”
“So how about we go through the side of the building,” I mention causing everyone to turn and look at me.
“This is a flimsy sheet metal shack on wooden and steel posts. If we cut two of the steel posts on the side, we could clear enough room for the snow plow and HEMTTs to slam through the sheet metal siding. You do have metal-cutting equipment, do you not?”
Sam looks at me for a moment, then chuckles. “We were all so focused on going out the doors, we never even thought of cutting a hole. Get the Arcair exothermic torches out and cut the two girders at the base in the far corner. We’re gonna need to get a man lift up and running so the boys can cut the top of the girders as well.”
Several men run off, and a flurry of activity descends on the corner of the warehouse. Soldiers move any flammable materials from the corner and two soldiers dressed in silver fire-resistant suits dragging cables descend on the girders.
Soon the familiar loud hissing of exothermic torches and a pair of huge shower of sparks illuminates the interior of the warehouse. The exothermic torches quickly and noisily slice through the large steel girders. The light of the torches illuminates the clouds of smoke rising towards the ceiling.
“Is the roof gonna collapse when they yank those girder pieces out,” Shack asks me in a hushed whisper, as we watch the cutting finish. Soldiers drag cables to winches to yank the cut pieces out of the wall.
“Yes, Shack, it might, but I am hoping that the roof is so light that the opposite girder will be able to take the weight long enough for us to get out of the warehouse.”
With a mighty wrenching yank, two of the HEMTTs rips the cut girder pieces out of the wall. With a resounding groan, the roof of the warehouse groans causing us all to look up.