Zombie apocalypse fiction – Ruth’s Story #186 First Day After Leaving Kayak Point #TEOTWAWKI #SHTF #WROL
Leaving Kayak Point driving north, everyone in my truck is in a somber mood. We pass a lake, ringed once with nice houses; all of them are ruined, many gutted by fire. Bloated bodies litter the water, most floating face down.
The ruin of what might have been a very nice neighborhood is shocking. We pass on the outskirts of the ruins. Several bodies are staked to trees, some of them reach out to the convoy as we pass.
“And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.”
“Very funny Shack, really not the time to be quoting the Bible.”
Shack smirks at me. “As an apostate Jew, at least you knew where the quote came from.”
On queue, Honey asks, “Where is that passage found.”
Honey swallows the last of an MRE breakfast muesli. Cramming her brown, American MRE spoon into her mouth, she licks it clean before putting it in her field jacket pocket. The two infected kids are almost continuously eating.
Shack gave Honey one of the numerous, pocket-sized King James Bibles that we find often enough in the rubble. Shack at least saved several Bibles from being used either as fire starter or the pages inside as rolling paper.
“The Book of Revelations 6:8.” Shack says, while helping Honey find the passage in her Bible. All I need right now is a pair of Bible thumping twits in my truck.
Monster, suddenly awake, yanks on Honey’s pant leg. Not taking her eyes from the open Bible in front of her, she reaches into her coat pocket, and hands Monster several MRE snacks. As Monster tears into his snack, I eye-ball Shack over Honey’s head.
Shack shrugs at me. “It helps her read, and gives her something to do.” Shack helps Honey pronounce the difficult words.
Monster finishes the first snack, tossing the wrapper in Honey’s lap while he tears into the next. Before Honey shoves the empty wrapper into the grocery store garbage bag tied to the dash, I read the label.
Monster ate a pear and blueberry fruit bar, taken from one of the older, vintage, dark brown American MREs. After finishing the next snack, a pair of unappetizing-looking bars labeled “chocolate ration” in English, Monster lies down again. Monster is soon asleep on the floor boards at Shack’s and Honey’s feet, tucked against the fire wall above the gear shift.
I would not think that it would be difficult to follow the convoy; after all we leave a lingering cloud of blue-gray smoke belched from all the M35’s and HEMTT’s engines. All of the diesels are burning a witch’s brew of used motor oil, used cooking oil and any other kind of flammable oil we can get our hands on.
I fought to keep all of the CLP, my favorite oil for cleaning and lubricating my weapons, from being dumped into the M35’s fuel tanks. Several little bottles of Rem Oil, got dumped into the M35 tanks. Several aerosol cans of WD-40 and Rem Oil were also used for starting the old M35s.
I always thought that using ether was the way to start reluctant cold diesels. The mechanics tell me that we should never use ether on the diesels as it is not good for the engines.
During the lunch time break, I use the bushes along with Honey. After we get back, the boys go to the bathroom.
“I envy the boys,” Honey says as we are leaning against the idling Dodge truck.
“What do you mean?” I ask wondering what has gotten into her mind now.
“The boys don’t have to drop their pants to pee, or squat.”
“Yes, but can you imagine having something swinging between your legs all the time? I always liked being a woman.”
“Ruth, is that because you are bisexual, so you like both girls and boys?” This is the first time Honey has directly mentioned my sexuality.
“No, not really. I like girl things, and cannot imagine not being a woman. I am bisexual, but it is the whole package that attracts me, not just a nice set of tits or how delicious Shack’s ass looks in those jeans.”
Honey blushes red to the tips of her ears. I open my mouth to speak but get interrupted by one of the Scouts roaring up on his motorcycle. Slamming on the brakes, the Scout slides to a stop beside my truck.
I wish the Scouts would wear helmets, but they tell me that they cannot hear with a helmet on and they restrict their view too much. I guess the lads have worse things to consider, like getting eaten by infected zombies, rather than crashing.
I have seen this boy around camp a few times, but his name escapes me at the moment. He has an old Hi Point 9mm carbine slung on his back. The Hi Point guns are some of the most common that we find. Problem is Hi Points have a proprietary magazine, and those are not as common. Finding a weapon with no magazine is useless.
The Scout’s Hi Point 9mm Luger carbine has been rattle can painted green and brown by someone with more enthusiasm than skill. A red dot optic of some form is clamped to the rail on top of the clunky, heavy carbine. The optic has been spray painted as well, but it looks like it might be one of the old Bushnell, or TruGlow red dots.
The Scout checks ammo, fuel, food and water status in each vehicle noting them down in a battered wire-bound journal. We are ok for now, but with Monster and Honey’s appetite, I am going to need more food in the truck soon.