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Zombie apocalypse fiction – Ruth’s Story #207 After the Attack Near Warm Beach, WA #TEOTWAWKI #SHTF #WROL

April 4, 2018

Reaching the snow plow reveals Princess and her daughter, Jenny with Junior in tow running at us. “There’s a fucking missile in the driver’s door touching Rick’s side,” Princess practically shouts at me.

Jenny is weeping quietly Junior’s arm around her. Jenny’s Ithaca still hangs over her back while Junior’s M4 hangs from a single point sling. Running around the snow plow to the driver’s side I see the tail section of a LAW rocket sticking out of the snow plow’s driver’s door.

The Princess suddenly turns a sickly green and dashes into the bushes retching loudly. Jenny runs after her mother saying, “Mom wait up I’ll hold your hair. You know Rick hates it when you get puke in it.”

Faint wisps of smoke rise languidly from the rocket. Everyone is keeping well back from the snow plow. As Sam comes running up I yell at him. “Do we have any fucking EOD trained folks in this unit?”

“Not that I know of why,” Sam asks.

“Because there is a fucking dud LAW rocket that slammed through up-armored snow plow door and it is touching Rick in the side. He’s afraid to move fearing it might set off the warhead of the rocket,” Junior replies.

A few of the Combat Engineers come over and look at the LAW rocket decorated snow plow door. There is a lot of hand gestures and yelling, but finally someone drives the pins out of the door hinges removing the snow plow door.

Walking carefully with the rocket transfixed door they hang it by a chain on a wrecker HEMTT. Rick drives without a door until the midafternoon snack and bio break. After a stop in the bushes beside the road, I lean against the truck cab contemplating my snack options.

Honey and Monster are each attacking a 1943 B-Unit C Ration can with five biscuits, water-soluble coffee, sugar and three pieces of hard candy. I hand Honey and Monster some Australian MRE white plastic vegemite tubs.

I am not yet so starving that I will stoop to eating vegemite. Monster and Honey have no such requirements tearing into the B-3 unit biscuits smeared with vegemite. Despite being over 70 years old the biscuits are still good if only a little stale.

I spread Estonian MRE chicken meat pate on my stale Pilot survival crackers. I am so sick of reconstituted peanut butter. Shack is drinking one of his powdered cappuccino MRE drink mixes.

Shack politely offers me a sip and I decline because I do not really like coffee and hate instant coffee even more. Shack presses again for me to take a sip of the cappuccino. Raising my eyebrows at him and placing my hands on my hips I glare at him. He knows that I fucking hate coffee especially instant. Why the fuck is he pressuring me to drink this shit.

“Trust me try some,” he says offering the brown MRE drink pouch yet again. I take a sip of the cappuccino and it burns all the way down my throat. Coughing with watering eyes I hand the lethal cappuccino drink back to Shack.

“What the fuck did you put in there,” I manage to croak out.

“Oh … just a breakfast shot of Italian 40% alcohol cordiale,” Shack replies nonchalantly.

“Wish you had saved the cordiale for something better as it tastes good but that cappuccino is fucking nasty,” I reply.

Pouring a Spanish MRE powdered vegetable soup mix into my canteen cup, I wait for the immersion water heater plugged into the cigarette lighter to heat the water. Once the water is hot enough I pour it in my canteen cup stirring gently with my brown MRE spoon.

I empty a pair of glass Tabasco MRE hot sauce bottles into my soup tossing the empty bottles into the bushes. Shack sees the hot sauce bottles and offers me some of his zombie apocalypse ghost chili hot sauce called Deader ‘n Dead.

Not sure how zombies and hot sauce go together must have been a marketing trick or something. I know that zombie apocalypse movies, computer games and books were quite popular for a while. I decline Shack’s offer of hot sauce as I like my colon and asshole where they are and don’t wish irreparable harm to my digestive track.

Wrapping my hands around my warm canteen cup I quietly sip Tabasco-laced Spanish vegetable soup. Honey walks up to me and hands me my forgotten SPIW loaded AR15 magazine. “I topped it off Ruth from the ammo box in the truck bed,” she tells me.

“Oh thanks Honey I had forgotten all about this magazine,” I reply. I slip the SPIW-loaded magazine back into my IOTV. I then remember that my AR15 now carries a partially emptied 50-round drum loaded with M855 rounds.

Digging out the brown plastic ammo box from underneath the front bench, I top off my 50-round drum thumbing loose rounds into it until full. I replace the drum on my vest and taking a 20-round M855 loaded magazine slip it into my AR15.

M855

Most Common 5.56 NATO Bullets

During our break, after shoving a quick bite into her mouth Dolcent takes her bicycle out of the bed of the Dodge truck. She rides around the convoy checking on the fuel status of each vehicle. Panting and slightly out of breath Dolcent returns to the truck.

Dolcent updates her fuel status board while munching MRE peanut butter and raspberry jam spread on Pilot crackers. Dolcent heats some water with the immersion heater making some instant coffee in her canteen cup. At least Dolcent does not dump any UHT milk in her coffee.

The convoy continues north for the rest of the day at a blistering 30 MPH.

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