Skip to content

Fiction – Ruth’s Story #19 – Going Through Zombie Town Seattle

March 2, 2012

At the intersection of 8th and Hubbell Place, there is a pile of wrecked and burnt cars blocking most of the street. I manage to slip through between the light pole and the sidewalk leaving some car paint on a building.

From here, I can see the side of the Seattle Convention Center, a thick haze of smoke hangs over the building. I cannot see the I5 highway from here, but the Convention Center is flame scorched, and damaged in several places.

As I hear more artillery rounds slam into the ground not too far from me, I wonder if the artillery will start shelling the Convention Center too. I am still far too close to the artillery shelling for comfort.

Proceeding north at a snail’s pace I drive along Hubbell Place. The damage and ruin remind me of what is left of the old Rainier Brewery, which was at one time a Tully’s Coffee, so I understand. The fire-gutted remains of the old Rainier Brewery must have set fire to the southbound freeway, and several cars. It looks like a tractor trailer (ok, screw it a lorry!) flipped off the highway into the old brewery.

The Convention Center does not look as awful as the Old Rainier Brewery did, but there is still some significant damage. I cannot be sure, but I think I see armed people walking on top of the Convention Center.

I cannot allow my attention to waiver as I have to watch the road carefully in front of me. While what is happening in the Convention Center may be fascinating, especially the possibility of KCAP-infected cannibals, I need to pay attention to what is going on near me.

Driving north along Hubbell Place would be extremely serene, there are lots of trees and beautifully manicured lawns and flower gardens. All of this beauty marred by several lynched corpses hanging from many trees and the occasional wandering zombie munching on some barely identifiable part of a person. I guess that is zombie take out.

As I travel underneath a few of the corpses hanging like rotting fruit in the trees, some of them move and struggle indicating they are zombies.

Continuing north along Hubbell Place weaving around abandoned and wrecked vehicles, I eventually come to the intersection of Hubbell Place and 9th street. This intersection is as messed-up as the previous intersections, but I manage to slip through the wreckage sacrificing more car paint and my passenger-side door mirror.

Still driving north along Hubbell Place I hit an open spot of roadway, and actually get the little car to almost 30 miles per hour. Suddenly, I have to slam on the brakes to avoid a zombie wandering in the road. This zombie must have been one of the numerous homeless people, as it wears several jackets in layers, at least two pair of pants, and is still pushing a shopping cart that probably contains all its worldly possessions when it was alive.

Homeless zombie is seriously in my way walking down the center of the street. I start to look around to see if I can swerve around homeless zombie, and just as I do I catch rapid movement out of the corner of my right eye.

Several men are running towards my little car now blocked by the slowly tottering homeless zombie. These men, maybe ten or so, wear a variety of clothing, with several that appear to have watched the A Team a few too many times on TV. I pity the fool who chose to attack me.

All these men are armed with a variety of edged and homemade weapons like pieces of pipe, baseball bats with nails driven in the end, and large kitchen knives. I wonder if these men are cannibals and the thought gives me the creeps.

I roll the passenger window down enough that I can point my POF AR15 out the window, hooking the bottom rim of the AAC suppressor on the glass to steady my aim. I tilt the rifle on its side so the ejection port is facing straight down and flip the selector switch to three round burst.

I squeeze the trigger fast three times hearing the familiar thumping of the rifle and the cough of the AAC suppressor. Four of the men drop immediately and another clutches his side and screams like a scalded cat, “the bitch has a machine gun!”

Yes indeed, this bitch does have a machine gun and knows how to use it!

The survivors quickly turn tail and run. The four I dropped appear dead as they do not move other than slight twitches. Screamer boy still clutching his side with both hands is far behind his comrades. As he runs for the safety of the building, I see a vast crowd of zombies emerge from the trees. These zombies are going to intercept him before he makes it to safety. As the screamer disappears into a sea of writhing undead, I contemplate shooting him but decide not to waste a bullet.

As the feasting begins on the wounded screamer, I see a large group of the zombies break away from the zombie pile and head for the four men I just shot. I wonder if zombies possess a sense of smell. Otherwise how would they know whom to eat? Maybe they are just curious.

I slowly start to drive away as the four dead men are quickly buried under hungry zombies. My stomach heaves at the sound of flesh being ripped from bones. At least there is no screaming now that screamer boy either bled out or a zombie ate some vital organ and he finally perished.

As the zombies mill around clutching various bloody trophies they consume with relish, I slowly drive away from the grisly scene. The zombies do not seem too interested in the car. Maybe it does not appear to be something that they could eat so they ignore it.

I also contemplate shooting “homeless zombie” so, they cannot attack someone like this again but, I decide that I have wasted enough time and ammo here. I drop my AR15 back in the passenger seat and roll the passenger window up. I quickly change out the magazine in my rifle for a full one and set the magazine with 20 rounds in it on the passenger seat. I will refill the magazine tonight when I stop.

Homeless zombie proves to be a part of this little escapade as he is doing his best 40 yard dash towards some large apartment complex in front of me called the Seattle Suites. Sounds like a hotel or condo complex. I suppose all these ass holes are from that building.

Concerned about the possibility of another and better planned attack if I drive in front of the Seattle Suites, I decide to take a right onto Union Street. Going down Union Street I take a left on Terry Avenue surprised there are not more wrecked and abandoned cars in the road.

Along Terry Avenue, the buildings all look like Lebanon in 2006. Most are fire damaged, and almost all windows are broken. I wonder what the hell happened out here while I was in the airport.

The lovely trees around the buildings all have several corpses hanging from them. Seattle was once a decidedly green city, but what happened? Did everyone decide a jolly old fashioned lynching was in order? The lynching does not appear to be racially motivated as I see all kinds of dead people (sounds like a punch line for a movie) hanging.

The intersection between Terry Avenue and Hubbell Place is mercifully unobstructed but attempting to merge on to Pike Street is going to be about impossible. Pike Street is solid gridlocked. There is no way barring coming back with a dozer or heavy armored vehicle that I am going to be able to use Pike Street.

Looking at the GPS in the dash, I am not sure Boren Avenue will be any better. My little car is doing great on fuel; I have not even dipped below the full mark. Now I just need to get back on the road moving with a purpose.

A thick haze of smoke hangs over Pike Street. I see there are several burnt cars, but I also smell the unmistakable smell of burnt flesh. The smoke is thick and tangy with definite petroleum after taste. Attempting to squeeze my little car between a light pole and on to the sidewalk, I see another horror.

Several heavily charred corpses dot the roadway and sidewalks along Pike Street wearing a tire around their shoulders. Some of these unfortunate souls still smolder and one or two still have flames dancing around them.

I have not seen this barbarism since Zimbabwe, where they call it necklacing. In Brazil they call necklacing microondas an allusion to the microwave oven. Shoving an old tire over someone, dousing them in diesel or kerosene and setting them on fire was once a common practice in several African nations. Sometimes your killers also lynched you while you were burning.

I hope these were zombies that someone decided to burn with a tire around them. None of the charred bodies are moving, so I am assuming all are truly dead. Not many things, even a KCAP zombie, could survive wearing a flaming tire filled with kerosene or diesel. Tires burn incredibly hot, and the poor person wearing the flaming tire burns for a long time.

  1. BobOK permalink

    Great story!
    Thanks again!!

  2. John permalink

    Great segment. I liked the extra touch of having Ruth tilt the AR’s ejection port down to control the flow of ejected cartridges. Another sign that Ruth is a real operator.

    • If you have ever shot any of the AR15/M16 family of rifles in a vehicle you will learn that the spent brass flies everywhere and rattles around. I learned to tilt my M16 down so my spent brass did not hit the guys in the backseats in the face after bouncing off the roof.

Comments are closed.

%d bloggers like this: