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Zombie apocalypse fiction – Ruth’s Story #192 Still On the Road Between Warm Beach & Anacortes, WA #TEOTWAWKI #SHTF #WROL

February 4, 2018

Looking over some of my earlier chapters, I believe that most of my posts were TL:DR for most people. I will try a few shorter chapters and gauge what the readers what from there. Thank you for being patient and waiting until the new chapter.

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From the bushes a flurry of brightly colored paint balls hit the hoods and windows of our vehicles. Following the furious paintball attack six Ghillie suited individuals stand up in the bushes.

All six amorphous blobs remove their head coverings revealing five white males and one black male.

Walking up beside me Shack nonchalantly asks, “Honey, did you happen to notice that all their Ghillie suits are optimized for the dense conifer forests of the Pacific Northwest?”

“Honey, since when the fuck do you call me honey?”

Shack smirks at me with that lopsided grin I love so much. “Really, we have six unknowns stand up in the bushes within knife fighting range, and you are more concerned with what term of endearment I use for you?”

“Sorry, just didn’t expect six assholes so close and then you throw me off by calling me honey. I thought we agreed not to use that word. Since it is what we named Honey who is sitting in the idling truck behind us probably listening to every word we say.”

“You bet I can hear you, but I don’t care if Shack calls you honey, it’s kinda sweet,” Honey remarks from the cab of the Dodge truck.

Behind me Honey sits on the toolbox which the auxiliary fuel tank in the truck bed wraps around. She is busily squish-mixing an MRE packet an MRE flameless heater lies smoking on the tank top beside her. Finished mixing the MRE entrée, she slides it into the heater and then shoves the whole thing back into the cardboard MRE container for warming.

On the floorboards of the truck, through the open passenger door, I see Monster busily shoveling another MRE pouch of food into his greedy mouth. Those two, they probably eat around five to six thousand calories a day. Honey tosses three tiny MRE issue Tabasco bottles in the bushes.

Looking back at the excitement I see the Colonel talking to the sneaky fuckers in Ghillie suits. The men paled noticeably, acting nervous when Doc walks up to them. So the men recognize an infected person.

After speaking briefly with the Colonel and Doc, the six men dash back into the bushes returning shortly with packs. One of the Ghillie-suited men gently leads a shell shocked woman carrying a small child towards the front of the convoy. The Colonel spread the newcomers through the convoy. I notice that each truck the newcomers join is well staffed with senior combat experienced troops.

As the black man jogs past me, I recognize his rank markings. “Color sergeant, what brought you here,” I ask. The sergeant carries a British-issue L85A2 with the L123A2 UGL 40mm grenade launcher attached.

“You are so far the only person to properly address me by rank,” he says to me in a thick British accent.

Not much more than a head taller than me, the black sergeant’s arms are corded with smooth muscle. Pointing at the sergeant’s grenade launcher I ask, “How many rounds you got for that sergeant?”

“Two HE, one buck, one HE incendiary frag, and one thermobaric. Lass, I doubt your colonel is going to be handing the lads and I any ammo terribly soon.” He eyes me critically. I can practically hear the wheels grinding in his head.

“Israeli, correct?”

I nod my head. “Lass what brought you to the colonies?”

“Love; I fell in love with a woman while she was backpacking through Israel. I followed her home and been here since. What about you sergeant?”

“I was here on personnel exchange attached to the 5th Special Forces Group on JBLM. Was only two weeks here, before the shite fell apart. I hope my mum made it, but I doubt it, Lancaster was bad I heard. Wish I would have stayed with my SAS like a good lad.”

The sergeant and I talk for a few more minutes until the convoy is ready to move again. The sergeant leaves with a friendly wave heading towards the rear finding his ride.

Climbing in the truck I glance at the gauges making sure nothing went to shite with the vehicle while it idled for an hour or so. With effortless grace Honey slides through the rear beer window into the middle of the bench seat.

Shack jumps in slamming his door. He thumps his rifle onto the floor earning a look from Monster whose foot is beside it.

“You sure talked to him a long time,” Shack says.

“He is rather handsome there are not that many black guys in the convoy,” Honey remarks.

“Jealous Shack?”~

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