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Zombie apocalypse fiction – Ruth’s story #149 After Much Delay – Arriving at Kayak Point, Finally #TEOTWAWKI #SHTF #WROL

May 24, 2015

Traveling closer to Kayak Point, we see increased signs of unrest. I am not familiar with this area, but it looks like it was sparsely populated before KCAP hit. The road is very hilly, with dips and swells. I laugh as Shack twists his tongue in knots attempting to pronounce some of the names of the roads we pass. I learn later from Brenda that most of the names are taken from the local Native American tribes.

Honey and LM continue to eat as we drive. With the roadway mostly clear, our convoy actually reaches a whopping 40 miles an hour. I gratefully shift into fourth gear, as Honey cracks open another MRE, this one a rare Estonian.

The only reason I know the nondescript white plastic covered box is an Estonian MRE is because someone thoughtfully labeled it in English. Honey continues eating. I cannot read or speak Estonian, and it appears that Honey does not either.

“Christ kid, how much shit you gonna’ eat,” Shack mutters from his side of the cab.

The Estonian MRE Honey is furiously digging into does not seem as sparse as one would expect. She makes a horrid face after tasting something that smells like garlic-infused pâté. LM chortles as Honey shudders making a horrid face after tasting some of the pale gray, lumpy pâté.

Honey flings the opened container of pâté past Shack’s nose, some of the foul-smelling stuff striking him in the face which amuses LM to no end. Listening to LM near tears laughing on the floor brings a smile to my face. The pâté must be fairly horrid as Shack furiously scrubs at his face with his shemagh trying to get the nasty stuff off.

“Shit! Just hand me the nasty crap and I will toss it outa’ the cab. Don’t fucking do that again!”

Shack is visibly angry. His rare display of temper causes LM to bust out laughing again which considering the situation is pretty funny. Even I start giggling, LM’s laughter is infectious. After a moment even Shack cracks a smile, despite the splatter of nasty pâté on his LBV.

“Doc told me that KCAP does something to the adrenal glands. Because LM and I are still growing, our caloric intake need is very high.” Honey mentions this little tidbit while she cracks opens another mystery can of potted meat from the Estonian MRE.

I distinctly smell fish, as Honey shovels little smoked, oil dripping silver fish into her mouth with a white plastic fork. She eats some of the fish and then hands the rest to LM who digs into it with relish.

“LM and I are always hungry. Doc is hungry a lot more too, but not as often as us because we are still growing. We know, that with KCAP, death is followed by transformation. KCAP improves and hardens the host, improving KCAP’s chances of spreading. I am not sure that LM and I want to find out what happens if we starve to death. The hunger pains are horrible. I get the strongest urges to eat anything. If I got hungry enough, I fear I might attack someone.”

At this proclamation, Shack looks at her wide-eyed. I see his right arm moving, I wonder if he is loosening his Serbu in its holster on his right leg.

Honey takes a deep breath after this spat of information. Sipping from her canteen, she rummages around in the Estonian MRE again. As she digs, Honey continues to talk.

“He can’t talk yet, but I get very strong mental images from LM. Doc did a KCAP blood count on us. LM has three times more KCAP viral bodies than I do. But with him, because he inherited KCAP from his father, he is closer to the other infected than I am. LM is going to have to be very careful, because if he gains more KCAP viral bodies, it may kill him or push him into near madness with hunger.”

Honey falls silent for a minute as Shack and I look down at LM sitting on the floor board, eagerly licking the empty can of smoked fish. Honey triumphantly finds a pair of small clear plastic packages of crackers. Handing one of the packages of crackers to LM, she sighs.

“I suppose the crackers were for eating with the fish.” She burps lightly. “Excuse me.”

Honey rummages in her pockets for a minute. Finding some small packets of US Army MRE jelly in brown plastic squeeze tubes, she bites the corner off a brown tube of jelly. She hands the open tube of jelly to LM along with another plastic sleeve of crackers.

Opening her own tube of jelly she squirts jelly on her crackers. I distinctly smell grape jelly, one of my least favorite flavors of jelly.

We ride in silence for a while, listening to Honey and LM munch. I am still full from lunch, but am thankful for the cool can of Budweiser that Shack hands to me. I feel some guilt drinking alcohol while driving, but it is not like I am getting drunk from one beer.

We stop briefly and I see some activity ahead. Shack takes Honey with him and goes to investigate. A few minutes later they return.

“What was that?” I ask as they climb back in the cab. I put the old Dodge back in gear, noting that the engine is running a bit on the warm side. I turn the heater up removing more heat from the engine.

Shack and I roll our windows all the way down to let the excess heat out of the cab which is stuffy enough with four people in it. Shack opens the beer window letting a cool draft blow through the cab.

“Some asshole up ahead was lying in the center of the road. Stupid fucker must have been desperate for a drink because he drank paint thinner. What was left of him was dragging itself across the road; the empty tin can of paint thinner still clutched in his fist. Paint thinner zombie could hear but not see. Was pretty simple to smack ‘em in the back of the head with an e-tool.”

Shack takes a long swig from his canteen.

“Randy and Sutton followed paint thinner zombie’s trail. They came back with several cans of paint thinner and some other flammable liquid shit, such as acetone. Gonna’ pour it in the HEMTT tanker. Thin out that nasty used motor oil shit we’ve been burning.”

Now that the convoy is moving again, the temperature of the old Dodge diesel stops climbing alarmingly towards the red. The engine temperature returns to normal as we drive easing my concerns. I closely watch the engine temperature from now on.

We have been going downhill for a while now, so I hope we are getting close to Kayak Point. We pass a sign, or rather what is left of it, for the Kayak Point golf course. Remembering our last experiences on a golf course I do not wish to explore this one.

Crucified to the sign with jagged pieces of rusty re-bar, the moaning infected person reinforces my wish to avoid the Kayak Point golf course. Pinned on its back, in an awkward position the hapless infected as we pass it attempts to reach towards us, as if begging for mercy.

The naked, emaciated infected corpse is horribly burnt, its sex unidentifiable. Draped over the low, hip-high, fire-scorched concrete sign the burnt infected shakes its head and snaps its teeth at us. The convoy slows as we pass the unfortunate creature.

A muffled shot cracks from the rear of the convoy. The pinned infected’s head snaps back spraying a fountain of gore. I would later learn that it was one of Rain’s Russian husbands that put the unfortunate infected out of its misery with an ancient Mosin Nagant rifle with a large, black Wix oil filter on the muzzle.

I am not sure about Doc, but Honey and LM do not seem all that disturbed by the death of the infected. Honey smears reconstituted peanut butter on MRE crackers. She follows the smear of PB with a healthy squirt of “honey” from a brown plastic MRE squeeze tube.

Honey gives LM, Shack and even I (despite how much I despise reconst peanut butter) a few of the gooey dripping, smeared crackers. All of us munch the awful crackers covered with gritty, oily peanut butter dripping with fake honey silent with our thoughts.

After a full stop at the end of the road, we cross another highway, turning down a steep grade. Passing a white steel pole gate, where the colonels direct construction of pillboxes and gun emplacements we finally enter Kayak Point.

Behind the colonel’s station wagon I see a sign welcoming us to Kayak Point, a Snohomish County park. The colonels direct everyone, with the exception of the construction crew and the first team manning the gate defenses to drive down towards the beach.

It feels good to enter Kayak Point.

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2 Comments
  1. medicine man permalink

    Good job my Northern friend!! I like the way that you brought Honey’s explanation of her and LM as KCAP kids and a bit of how the virus works on those who are helpless victims of it. I was a bit worried about LM but from your descriptions of his way of enjoying life, I hope he won’t go overboard.
    We have been enjoying some “kinda” cool mornings up till around 1:00 P.M. then it gets hot.
    Take care,
    M.M.

    • Sorry for the delay in response – been hectic here. It has been far too dry and cool here. Looks as if we might have a cool but drier than normal summer.

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