Zombie apocalypse fiction – Ruth’s Story #57 Driving Away from Lyon Creek Waterfront Park SHTF & TEOTWAWKI

God! What a fiasco yesterday was! In hindsight, the Lyon Creek Waterfront Park might have seemed like the ideal place to spend the day was, in all actuality, one of the worse positions we could have chosen.

I still have not decided why the hell I am bothering to keep this journal. The fact that I am writing the journal in the first person surely indicates something about my sanity. I doubt anyone is going to bother to read this damn thing anyway. It would be just my luck that some schmuck of a history professor will get his hands on this journal long after I am gone.

The convoy is moving this evening once again on the 522 highway, but the events of yesterday will haunt all of us for a while. The poor Mercer Island Princess lost one of her twin daughters to a crawler that no one spotted in the park’s tall grass. By the time soldiers got to the little girl in response to her brief blood curdling screams, the legless crawler had its head buried in the little girl’s stomach eating her liver.

The Princess and the soldier that shot both the crawler and the little girl’s corpse had to be sedated by Jamal. The surviving twin girl has been nearly catatonic. The Princess might be a conceited entitled bitch, but that does not mean she should have lost one of her twin daughters in such a horrid manner.

We also lost two soldiers to the fucking ginormous zombie horde that walked out of Lake Washington, but I am getting ahead of myself.

The morning we stopped started out well. We spread the convoy out over enough of the .89 acre park so that we were not terribly crowded.

We were not the first ones to use the park for a camp site; it had obviously once been used as a camp before. We found a generic, green inexpensive, blood-stained six-man tent with ripped and bloody rain fly, several articles of discarded clothes (some bloody) and a few discarded inexpensive and nearly worthless sleeping bags scattered around a large crude fire pit in the center of the park.

Apparently there used to be a wooden walk way out over the water but someone tore it up to use it for firewood. When the easily attainable wood was all burnt, someone with little to no skill (not that I have any either as I have found out) with a dull axe or hatchet hacked down a few of the smaller trees.

The wannabe Paul Bunyan did not understand or care that green trees do not burn well. So there were several pieces of half burnt green wood in the fire pit. We also found the cooked and cracked bones of a couple dogs and several cats, so these people turned on their pets when they got hungry enough.

A square, lightweight blood-soaked green Coleman sleeping bag contained the partially eaten, rotting, maggot-infested right arm of some poor Caucasian bastard. There was a lot of blood in the grass as well around the Coleman sleeping bag.

While we could do little about the bloody grass, the bloodstained clothes, tent, and Coleman sleeping bag with the rotting arm were buried in the latrine, in the bushes on the edge of Lyon Creek.

The park was also littered with trash. Most of the trash consisted of empty tin food cans of every imaginable kind and size, empty plastic water bottles, empty bottles of various kinds of alcohol, and numerous empty beer and wine bottles. A few scattered, empty plastic food containers were labeled as FEMA emergency rations.

Where ever these people went, we had to clean up a lot of their trash by putting it in the latrine with the rest of the waste. We decided against a fire and hoped the trees and brush would shield us from any zombies. Little did we know we were beside one of the largest concentrations of zombies in the Pacific Northwest – Lake Washington.

With two abundant sources of freshwater nearby (Lake Washington and Lyon Creek), showers were rigged up using one of the HEMTTs. We still had enough potable water to use for drinking, but the nonpotable water from the lake and creek could be used for showering and washing clothes. It felt fantastic to rinse off and change clothes.

The park lacked any kind of facilities, so the grounds and edges of the park once verified to be clear of zombies proved adequate for a latrine which we discovered we were not the first to utilize them as such. The clouds of flies around the unburied waste and the smell were enough to encourage a shovel brigade to attempt to cover most of the waste with a layer of dirt.

The shovel brigade did cut the smell and seriously reduced the nuisance fly population. The amount of untreated human waste that must have gone into Lyon Creek and into Lake Washington quickly cooled anyone’s idea of swimming in either body of water.

The information that the excavated holes left by the shovels would be used as latrines was welcome news to all. No sense digging more holes. This is not an Army training exercise where we dig holes for no other purpose than digging holes.

Unfortunately for one of the Mercer Island Princess’s twin daughters, all the noise attracted several zombies. A crawler was one of the first zombies to arrive. Unfortunately, no one noticed the crawler in the grass. The crawler must have been close by in another piece of property.

The crawler had infiltrated the grassy area once assumed to be cleared of zombies which was being used for a path to the latrine by the little girl. Whoever let that little girl go use the latrine without an armed escort killed that girl.

The crawler attacking and killing the little girl prompted another round of clearing the park of zombies. Discovered in the bushes and tall grass, several crawlers were quickly dispatched with shovels and hatchets although a few soldiers resorted to using pistols and rifles. The shooting and activity around the park and the constant vigilance after the little girl was killed meant no one got any real sleep.

About noon just as most of the drivers were starting to get a little sleep a large horde of zombies walked out of Lake Washington. Luckily for me, I was sleeping on the ground beside my little Smart car in the shade of a tarp Shack erected for me to sleep under. When the zombies walked out of Lake Washington, I had my car between them and me.

Jamal said later the bottom of Lake Washington is uncommonly soft and has a deep layer of mud and muck. He likened the zombies to ants in that the zombies will walk into the lake, and get mired in the bottom in the mud and the next zombie will walk over the trapped zombie.

This process of the zombies walking over their fallen in the same way that ants will sacrifice themselves so that the colony can attain a desired goal is creepy. Jamal does not think the zombies coordinate like ants, but the analogy works because he said there must be literally thousands of zombies littering the bottom of Lake Washington.

There were enough zombies across the bottom of the lake that hundreds more zombies walked out of the lake attacking our convoy in the small park. We ended up in a protracted and sustained gun battle with the zombie horde from the lake.

All the gunfire attracted another large horde of zombies from across the highway from the shopping area. Quite a few zombies came out of the Lake Forest Park City Hall building across the highway. These zombies included several Washington State National Guardsmen zombies, some of which were still carrying ammunition and grenades on their body.

Despite killing the occasional National Guardsmen zombie that conveniently was wearing a LBV full of ammo and grenades, our expenditure of ammo and grenades was significant enough to worry the colonels.

Thankfully the soldiers were disciplined and experienced enough that no one panicked and went full rock and roll. Even the boys armed with the SAWs, and the guy with the Negev maintained fire discipline firing short bursts. Thinking of the guy with the Negev I still to need to talk to him.

The convoy decided to perform a fighting withdrawal and ended up leaving a little earlier in the morning than planned. I ended up giving my last loaded M16 magazine to Shack. I used my pistol to keep the damned zombies off our little car on my side while Shack dropped zombies on his side with his M4.

I heard that Gabe has taken over the fajita truck and apparently is a skilled cook, and we have him to thank for the delicious burritos we have been eating. Gabe has two soldiers with him in the fajita truck, and he is happy cooking for us. Gabe said the fajita truck is fully loaded so it should provide food for the convoy for a while.

Considering how much gasoline that stupid fajita truck eats, I hope the food it is providing is worth the gas. The fajita truck, Gabe told everyone yesterday morning, is mostly loaded for what he called Tex-Mex style food.

Since mostly everyone was tired of MREs especially the soldiers who have been eating MREs for a couple of months, the change in the diet has been well received. No fresh vegetables, are going to be a problem, as we progress.

Jamal has been giving everyone a daily multivitamin to take with our first meal attempting to ward off most of the general illnesses and diseases. While I am worried about scurvy, and other common diseases like trench foot and ring worm, I am mostly concerned about the KCAP virus or rather not catching it.

I think we are more in danger from the KCAP virus than we are any other disease at present. Thinking of the present brings me to what is currently happening. Shack has been quiet all morning and has dozed in and out occasionally.

Everyone in the convoy is in a pissy mood. I am in an equally bitchy mood as well since I did not get any caffeine in my favorite form of tea. Shack gave me a Red Bull which I never liked while he slurped on a Mountain Dew.

We hardly got any sleep, and have been guzzling caffeine to try to stay awake. I just drank my second 20 ounce can of Red Bull and Shack is on his third or fourth Mountain Dew. Poor Shack dozed off a few times to jerk awake screaming with his M4 up and ready.

I had to pat him on the shoulder and soothe him with a few “easy there Shack, you are Ok” before he finally settled into a fitful sleep. Shack has been asleep now almost three hours. My eyeballs feel as if they are full of hot sand. You could hide a whole platoon of Delta operators in the bags under my eyes.

There has not been much conversation on the radios. Carol and Nikola behind me is even subdued. Carol is having a rough evening, so maybe her search for a cure for her morning sickness did not work.

Nikola is driving again. I watched a mini argument between them when Nikola attempted to light a cigarette. I guess the smell of a cigarette would not be pleasant with morning sickness.

I have never been pregnant nor do I intend to become pregnant ever, but my half-sister also suffered horribly from morning sickness. Amy’s sister said yoga helped with her morning sickness but then again Amy and her sister were advanced yoginis and were strict Buddhists.

I was never actually that fond of religion, having seen how much evil people do in the name of religion. I also distrust any fanatic, no matter their religion. Although, I have to admit there are some tenements of the Buddhist faith that are appealing.

I terribly miss the yoga with Amy. Starting our morning with nude yoga was something that I had come to cherish. We eventually settled into a morning nude yoga routine. Amy and I would often drive into the city to take a yoga class on the weekends. Amy and I particularly liked Bikram yoga. As a child of the desert, the heat in the Bikram yoga felt perfect to me.

I would have never gotten into yoga if it were not for Amy and her sister, who, by the way, introduced us. I am not exactly old, but I am not that young anymore either. The yoga helped immensely with my flexibility and balance.

Yoga combined with Krav Maga was a formidable combination for agility and balance. Little good yoga and martial arts have done for me recently as I have not managed to get my yoga mat out and stretch.

I seriously need to stretch. Sitting in a hot, cramped car all day is not good for my posture. I used to worry about my ass spreading when I was stuck behind a desk all day. Now I worry about a zombie noshing on my spreading ass as I sit in a car all night.

Shack scares the everliving shit out of me by tapping my arm with a can of warm beer. I was so lost in my own thoughts, that I did not even realize that his snoring had stopped or that he was digging in the cooler behind our seats.

I screamed like a little girl when Shack touched my arm. My nerves are shot. Shack and I had a lovely giggle about my high-pitched screaming. It is good to see Shack laughing again. He has been so silent and moody since yesterday.

Tonight, it is good to see Shack laughing again with some of the other soldiers while we are stopped for the midnight latrine and snack break. I hate to break up Shack’s schmooze with his friends. I know the guys are sad about the two soldiers we lost. Guard duty is never safe in hostile territory, more so during a zombie apocalypse.

Shack and I do our business in the designated latrine area beside the road. Shack has lost his shyness about dropping trou around me which I sort of miss. Still, I see him eyeballing my ass after I do my business, but I do not mind too much to my slight amazement.

I have always had a magnificent ass and a splendid pair of legs, even if they are shorter than I would like. I find myself wondering if Shack is an ass or tits man. I am hoping ass because I do not have much in the tit department. Oh man! Down girl!

Thankfully, Shack is unaware of my musings, and after our latrine break, Shack talks with a couple of the soldiers from the HEMTTs while I lean against the idling Smart car and have a smoke. I cough a little bit as I have not smoked much lately.

Two of the soldiers that Shack is talking with were tasked with restocking everyone’s ammo. During the latrine, and snack break at midnight we also take a few minutes to reload our magazine and take a full tally of how much ammo we burnt yesterday.

As I stuff lot date 2001 Lake City SS109 5.56 NATO green-tipped ammo into my magazines, with an already sore thumb I hear the soldiers murmur around me. Apparently the colonels are not happy about the few thousand rounds we burnt last night.

The few frag grenades that got tossed into the lake did not actually seem to have that much of an impact on the zombies. I am sure the grenade probably killed a few zombies close to it, but it does not have the same effect as on living swimmers.

The grenades tossed into Lake Washington did, however, kill and stun a lot of fish which did distract some of the zombies as they tried to catch and eat the fish. Not enough zombies though were distracted by the grenade-stunned fish to make it a viable attack procedure. The expenditure of irreplaceable grenades was prohibitive.

Shack tossed one of his frag grenades while I did not use any of mine. Shack got a replacement frag grenade, and we both got a full combat load out of 5.56 and 9mm ammo.

While we are stopped, and we can see Shack, and I take a minute to do some housekeeping. We need to clean weapons, but hopefully when we stop in the morning we can get to that.

For now, I get all the loose 9mm and 5.56 empty shells out from under my feet and the pedals of the car. Shack and I toss all the empty ammo containers, empty beer cans and used MRE wrappers on the side of the road.

We also toss the empty tin foil wrappers from Gabe’s excellent burritos out to join the gathering collection of litter. I still feel slightly guilty littering like this, but there is not actually much choice.

As the convoy gets moving again, I touch Shack on the left hand and tell him, “I really need to teach you how to drive a stick.”

Shack looks at me but does not move his hand. “You really think during a zombie apocalypse is the time to teach someone how to drive a stick?”

I shrug at him while we start moving again with the convoy. We are now at the very top, the most northern part of Lake Washington. The colonels said that they hope to stop for the day either just before or just after I405. We start to head away from the lake.