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Zombie apocalypse fiction – Ruth’s story #137 Killing zombies in the forest #TEOTWAWKI #SHTF #WCS

March 1, 2015

Sam is on the other end of the radio. “Ruth, cease mortar use immediately. Your mortar rounds are falling among friendly forces!” Sam screams at me.

I yell at Junior to stop using the mortar. I have to scream to be heard over the rhythmic chatter of the machine guns. The damned Russians have brought up a SG-43 Goryunov medium machine gun on my left side to compensate for my exposed flank.

The forest is full of zombies. Our mines are expended, and the explosives are quickly getting used up as well. We start lobbing Willie Pete grenades, followed by frag and then smoke grenades. The forest is far too damp for even the WP grenades to cause a fire, but the smoke helps confuse the zombies.

Our lads open up with 40mm grenade launchers while the Russians use theirs. I worry about the expenditure of irreplaceable ammo, but figure that worrying over ammo is pointless if I am dead. One of the men along my wall is shooting an Intratec TEC-9 pistol with the old 32 round magazines that you can only load 30 rounds.

The old TEC-9 pistol is a piece of shit, but its high-capacity and light weight are appreciated. The TEC-9 was never known as a particularly accurate pistol but at this close range its accuracy is sufficient for killing zombies.

We occasionally hear the heavy mortar and the Styker cannon fire behind us. Just as I begin to call in our ammo status, the zombies disappear from the woods. There are a few straggling zombies but the large force of zombies has petered out. I am not sure if that is because we killed so many, or the zombies have wandered off somewhere else.

We have not seen one single non-infected human attacker all day. Over the radio the other wall sections call in. So far only the Adventists beside me are the only ones wiped out. The few zombies that made it inside the wall are quickly killed.

Junior asks about my peroneal strike that shattered the zombie’s leg. Most modern armies teach the peroneal strike in hand to hand combat so I know Shack is familiar with the technique. It is one of the most painful strikes to the body one can suffer but I am not usually strong enough to shatter someone’s leg.

A few days after the battle, Shack and I sneak down by the water. Lying on our clothes, we quietly make love in the grass. Lying beside Shack staring at the clouds, Shack touches my legs gently running his large calloused hands along my thighs. Heat rises in my body at his touch, making me thankful for having a young lover with the stamina of youth.

I caress Shack in a more intimate manner. “You know you have put on a lot of muscle since I have known you,” Shack remarks. He breaks my concentration by speaking so that I take my mouth off of him.

Holding the wet length of him, I ask “Is that what you want to really talk about now?” I gently suck on him again and hear him sigh. I can feel his pulse throbbing in his member. “Uh, no now that you mention it, but I was thinking what Junior said about your peroneal strike. You have gotten much stronger, perhaps more than you have ever been.”

I do not want to talk right now and occupy Shack with other things. We later walk back to camp holding hands. I have noted that we are not the only couple to sneak out of the compound for romantic trysts.

Clean up takes a few days, but we eventually repair the worst of the damage. Our dead are buried, and it could have been worse. We lost 23 souls, including Honey’s baby. The mercenary force led by Shack’s father, fled to the east leaving behind several dead and wounded.

The wounded were snacked on by the zombies before we could get to them and had to be killed. Cleaning up the mess from the merc’s camp, it appears that they left in worse shape than they arrived. Many vehicles were abandoned in their camp, along with a lot of weapons and supplies.

Shack’s father is not among the dead. We are not sure if he is infected, but Shack is troubled by his father’s disappearance. I found Shack leaning over a small pile of items looking at something in his hand.

Placing my hand on Shack’s shoulder I squeeze silently letting him know I am there. He holds up a token. Badly faded and scuffed, I have a hard time reading the round token. “It’s my dad’s eight years sober coin,” Shack explains. “It used to hang from his dog tag chain.”

We eat shrewbread that evening for breakfast, along with leek, potato, sorrel, and parsley soup – supposed to puree soup, but no power to blend it properly. Shack and I get prepared to resume our radio watch. Honey is joining us later if Doc clears her. Honey is still healing after losing her child and an emergency hysterectomy.

If it were not for the fact that Honey is infected, she probably would have died. Her medical condition causes her to heal much faster, so Doc thinks in a few days Honey will be released from hospital. Honey is going nuts confined to bed.

The human body functions as an antenna of sorts, and if you are aware enough to detect what that antenna is receiving you would be surprised what people can figure out. Despite Honey’s convalescence, she has correctly guessed what is going on in the camp.

One of the interesting things that Honey was able to determine is that Doc infected himself while operating on her. We now have three infected individuals in the camp. Doc, Honey and the little monster can communicate with each other in a way that none of us are aware of.

I have not seen the youngest infected person in the camp and was surprised at how much he has grown. His normal brother is still rolling around and barely crawling, while the infected child is already walking at only five months old.

With Honey confined to hospital, the little monster walked across the camp to Honey’s bed. He crawled into the bed with her, and they have been sleeping in hospital together since.

That night we get notice that our much delayed Kayak Point expedition is back on the schedule. I still wonder if we will ever discern who was sending the coded messages. I also wonder what friendly forces was Junior shelling?

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