Zombie apocalypse fiction – Ruth’s story #66 Occupying the FEMA camp in Pop Keeny Stadium TEOTWAWKI & SHTF

Walking towards the center of the FEMA camp, I happen to notice that the horde of zombies around the gate has gotten significantly larger. The stadium walls prevent the zombies from gaining entrance, but the gate is the weak point.

The only gate into and out of the stadium is in the north-eastern corner. Two small, wooden tower-like buildings on either side of the gate are modified with the help of a chain saw. The chain saw, wielded by an enthusiastic soldier, opens observation and firing holes in the wooden walls.

The Pop Keeny Stadium’s administrative buildings on the eastern and northern sides are burnt out wrecks. Not sure when those buildings burnt, but their loss as well as the covered bleachers on the eastern side, forced everyone to take shelter in the FEMA tents on the American football field.

The heavy, water filled plastic jersey barriers and thick metal temporary fencing erected by FEMA is sufficient to keep people within the camp and the zombies out, for now. Soldiers ensure the fence is secure and reinforce the fence if necessary. I note the mechanics are running around with a MIG welder and reinforcing the fence where necessary.

With the loss of the outer buildings, the compound is restricted to the dry, crunchy grass of the American football field. While this provides a smaller area to protect and defend, it also limits mobility. It also means that we are almost living on top of each other.

Heading for the center of the FEMA compound, I pass the GAI-DO1B 20mm dual barreled cannon. I noted earlier, that the 20mm cannon and the Quad 50 are both set up and armed pointing at the gate. Backing up the two large cannons is a pair of dual M2 HBs at oblique angles to the gate.

The old Swiss 20mm cannon has been set up in its defense mode with all four tires tucked up stabilizing arms extended. The twin barrels are horizontal to the ground. The rattle of the little kerosene powered generator behind the 20mm cannon must get irritating for the soldiers manning the mount. I suppose the gen set running is no more irritating than the whine of the hydraulics in the ancient gun mount.

I overhear the soldiers manning the 20mm cannon mention that the gun is stoked with high explosive rounds with a tracer every 10 rounds. The three soldiers on the 20mm cannon also mention that the gun mount’s fire control system has been set in the manual mode. The fuse setting mechanism has been calibrated so that the HE rounds will detonate (air burst) just beyond the gate.

I am not sure how effective an old manual air defense 20mm mount is going to be against a horde of zombies. The old Oerlikon GAI mounts were designed to defeat low, slow aircraft below 2,000 meters. If the 20mm mount is in any way similar to the mounts that the IDF possesses, then at 1,000 rounds per minute per barrel, the soldiers are going to run out of 20mm ammo very quickly.

As I continue my short walk, I note that a few M240s, including the one on top of the mechanic’s Hummer, are also manned and ready in case of zombie assault. As we gather, I see one of the Hummers we gained from the FEMA camp has one of the newer M20 dual-barreled 40mm automatic grenade launchers in a pintle mount on top of the roof.

Other than the soldiers that are guarding the FEMA camp in vehicles, on the 20mm cannon, the Quad 50, and all six guard towers, everyone else gathers in the center of the camp near a large fire pit in what used to be the center of the American football field.

The fire pit is flanked by the four large canvas FEMA tents, one to each point of the compass. Aluminum folding chairs are scattered around the fire pit, these are utilized by convoy members. When the chairs are all occupied the rest of the people stand.

Gathering with the rest of the standing convoy soldiers and personnel, I see that the crowd includes a few of the former FEMA camp personnel as well. Most of the FEMA camp personnel are civilian occupants seeking shelter in the camp when the 1%ers took over.

I overheard Doc Jamal and Sam talking about the absence of any kind of medical professional in the camp. I understand from the soldier rumor mill, that almost all of the personnel that the 1%ers and their enablers deemed as “eaters” i.e. – people with no useful skills, were shot or traded to cannibals.

All 16 “doomed” soldiers are unbagged so that they can see what is going on. After a short speech outlining why Sam and Jamal believe that the two separate men are guilty and deserving of death, the two accused are given a minute to speak on their behalf.

I wish I could say that the two accused men spoke mellifluously; exonerating themselves. But both men chose to deny, lie and blame others for their actions. The colonels let the two doomed men speak as long as they desire, both men eventually resorting to threats. Apparently, these two men failed to grasp the concept that words do not necessarily equate actions.

After the two accused men’s lengthy diatribes, the colonels open the floor to any who may wish to speak. There is no time limit given and all it takes is a little encouragement from Sam to get the first person to speak. After the first person speaks, the flood gates open, and suddenly about half of the former FEMA camp detainees are speaking at once.

It takes Sam and some of the other soldiers a few minutes to restore order. For a minute, I feared we might have an angry mob and an old-fashioned lynching. After getting some seriously angry and distraught people calmed, eventually we get one hell of a story of abuse, depravity, and degeneracy that I have ever heard.

The list of activities runs the gamut from drugging teen girls and boys and raping them, selling young boys and girls into sexual servitude, selling people to cannibals, to forcing people to manufacture hazardous drugs like meth with little or no protective gear.

Some of the stories are heart wrenching and very saddening. Families split apart by the greed and avarice of the former soldiers, gangsters and the 1%ers spout their grief. Some of the wailing and tears, remind me of other conflicts.

After the hue and cry die down those grieving are taken away to be comforted as best as they can, a brief conversation ensues between the two colonels. The two men are locked in serious conversation for a few moments before Sam shrugs at Jamal.

Sam pulls his .45 and pronounces both men guilty and are to be summarily executed. Both doomed men start to protest. Before the words are barely out of his mouth, Sam whirls and shoots both men in the head so rapidly the two shots almost sound as one.

Doc Jamal with the Hippocratic Oath cannot take a life, so I understand why Sam executed the two men. Putting away his .45 back in his tanker’s holster, Sam inquires as to the verdict for the remaining 14.

A lengthy and exhausting trial ensues for most of the morning. Somewhere during the trial, a detail is arranged to drag away and bury the two executed former soldiers. I heard a large communal burial pit has been reopened at the southern end of the arena.

A ginormous Caterpillar 325-C excavator is utilized to bury the dead. It is decided that any of our dead, like our fallen soldier, will not be buried in the open communal pit like offal, but will receive a separate dignified burial with honors.

The choking, gagging smell of putrescence emanating from the open communal burial pit is something horrible. The Cat excavator must have stirred up the pit when it buried the executed.

Inside one of the large FEMA trailers, several large, 55 pound buckets of quick lime are located. With great enthusiasm the quick lime is quickly dumped into the pit. The thick layer of quick lime quickly diminishes the smell to a tolerable level.

Now if we could just keep the damn sea gulls, ravens and crows away from the open-pit containing numerous dead bodies. The damn birds take little souvenirs trailing them all over the camp. An interesting sea-gull and crow fight ensues over an eye-ball with attached optic nerve strand.

Neither nasty flying rat wins the prize which ends up dangling like a nasty party favor from one of the FEMA emergency high pressure sodium lighting arrays. Similar globs of who knows what get carried into the surrounding trees outside the stadium, and up into the stadium lights.

I am surprised that the large hardwood trees surrounding the stadium is still standing. In similar situations, any standing tree is cut down for firewood by survivors desperate for warmth and fuel to cook food. Running out of trees, the desperate survivors turn to furniture, abandoned houses, and anything else flammable that might provide warmth and cook food.

The convoy breaks for lunch and for the staff to deliberate on the 14 remaining soldiers. The suspected 14 are left kneeling in the sun with no food or water while the rest of the convoy eats lunches consisting of various MRE entrees.

At least my lunch is not BBQ Spam chunk again. The convoy is allowed a leisure lunch. Debate wages across the tables in the communal command and cantina tent, about the guilt of the 14 poor bastards outside under guard.

As the convoy gathers after lunch outside, I see that two of the guard towers now have soldiers armed with M249 SAWs. I see that the guard towers over the gates now have a large rifle, which unless my guess is off, is an old Barrett M82 with BORS (Barrett Optical Ranging System) optics on top.

The three former female soldiers are unanimously cleared as they are cooks and were enslaved by the 1%ers to cook for the compound. All three women are dressed in dirty, stained old five pocket woodland green BDU pants. Old scuffed black leather combat boots are on their feet.

There is some grumbling that the only reason the three women were not sold or killed is because they are not exactly pretty. Who cares if they are pretty or not – can they cook?

The three women are cut free and fed but not armed. The tallest of the three women is a statuesque black woman, with her hair in neat beaded corn rows. There is some silver in her hair, so I think the African-American woman (I can never tell if they want to be called black or African-American) is a bit older.

The smallest of the three women is a painfully thin, older Asian woman with lots of silver in her hair, who seems very solemn. The Asian woman wears her hair in a tight bun high on her head.

Beside the Asian woman is the third woman, an average height middle-aged woman, who I am guessing by her dark caramel skin and very dark hair, is of Middle Eastern descent. The last woman wears her hair in a long braid that lands between her shoulder blades. I see the poorly healed scar on her right nostril where a piercing must have been ripped out.

The three women are told that they will be given the chance to earn their place within the convoy and must earn the convoy’s trust. Once trust is earned, then the three women will be given arms and enjoy the same status as the other convoy members.

The three women state their acceptance of the terms. When the third woman speaks, I realize my error. She is not of Middle Eastern descent at all, but is Indian, as I detect the telltale accent of a native speaker of Hindi.

For now the three women, since they were cooks in the Army, are assigned to Gabe in the former taco truck where they will assist him cooking and storing meals for the convoy. Because the three women were subjected to sexual abuse and slavery, Gabe is cautioned not to be overly hard on the three women, but to keep an eye on them to make sure they earn their keep.

The three women are escorted away by Gabe and I see him talking to all three women. Some of the convoy soldiers swing by to look at the new additions to the taco truck staff. I hope the four of them can cook together in that taco truck. I see Gabe sitting with the three women engaged in an animated conversation.

The next discussion about another one of the male soldiers interrupts my musings about the cook staff. One of the very tall Caucasian male soldiers was a chemical warfare specialist. He is a recent addition to the camp, claiming to have only been in the camp about a week. Mike the chem tech, is cleared under the same conditions as the three women.

Although Mike did not suffer nearly as badly as the three women, he was forced to make meth at gunpoint for the last week. I hear through the rumor mill that Mike has stashed a Stryker nearby and came to the camp seeking help. For now, Mike is paired with Jamal. I wonder what the developments will be with Mike.

The other 13 soldiers are given a pardon and probation within the convoy. Most of the former soldiers were either Army Corps of Engineers or were Infantry soldiers assigned guard and protection detail in the FEMA camp.

Once the former FEMA camp soldiers earn trust and their place in the convoy, they can become full members and remain or leave the convoy as they choose. Sam and Jamal start assigning the soldiers to convoy crew members and work details, including guard rotation, even though they will not be armed yet.

All guard rotations are in pairs for two hours a night. I draw the 22:00 to balls tonight, lucky me, in tower number three. My partner on my watch tonight will be one of the BMX kids, the young girl, Susan.

For the civilian members of the FEMA camp, some of whom are either too mentally shattered or too physically abused to be of any help to the convoy; Jamal is at a loss what to do with them.

Doc Jamal assisted by Terrance does the best he can for the poor abused souls found in the FEMA camp. It would probably be a kindness to shoot the poor souls and put them out of their misery. Otherwise, the near catatonic abused people from the camp are going to become zombie chow and eventually zombies.

After the finalized disposal of the executed bodies, convoy members are assigned jobs gathering and inventorying supplies. Initial plans are made to roll out tomorrow night, but for now, orders are to collect anything of value.

In the evening, as darkness falls the mechanics shut off one of the fucking ginormous Caterpillar generators to conserve diesel and cut down on zombie attracting noise. The colonels agree with the mechanics that, as much as they would love to bring along the two 2,000 KV tractor-trailer mounted Cat gen sets; they weigh too much (approximately 80,000 pounds each) and eat too much diesel to be worth the cost.

The mechanics that evening manage to get four Army up-armored Hummers running. The first three Hummers are outfitted with a M240 on top in an armored turret. The last Hummer has a single tube TOW-ER missile launcher on top with six spares inside the truck.

An old faded green military surplus trailer with two flat tires is found not too far away buried underneath some rubbish. The trailer becomes the center of attention as it is man-handled out of its hiding spot by brute force.

Inside the old M101A2 ¾ ton trailer, under the aluminum bows of the green canvas cover are nine more TOW-ER missiles. Covering the whole bottom of the trailer in a flat pile is many thousands of rounds of NATO spec 5.56mm XM193A ball ammo in 10-round stripper clips.

A small work detail is dispatched to get one of the mechanics to check the trailer and to get the munitions gathered. I hear through the soldier rumor mill that nearly a million rounds of 5.56mm ammo as well as untold millions of rounds of civilian ammo have been gathered.

While the munitions and other supplies are gathered, a small work detail uses a few of the millions of civilian .22 rim fire ammo to purge the camp of rats be they flying or terrestrial. Since we have so many rim fire weapons and ammo, a few thousand rim fire rounds are used to teach basic firearms safety and use.

I am not sure how many thousands of little pill-sized rim fire rounds the massed horde of zombies absorb, but the sheer number of rounds even manages to kill a few. Through most of the day, work progresses around the camp.

A spare armored turret is pulled off a wrecked Hummer and put on the mechanic’s Hummer, protecting the roof gunner’s M240. The mechanics strip the wrecked Hummer like mad busy bees pulling the engine, transmission, tires and most of the running gear from the wreck before the mechanics call it a night.

An almost uncountable amount of ammunition is found buried around the camp, mostly small arms, but also several Javelins, nine more TOW-ER missiles, crates of grenades of every kind imaginable, and numerous small arms of nearly every caliber.

The guys even found several boxes of .50 AE for the BMX kid with the ginormous golden Desert Eagle. There are other exotic calibers discovered as well and it is decided to bring it all as it makes one of the best trade items available now.

Hidden underneath a large camouflage tarp is a Stryker armored vehicle. The mechanics get it running after a while, and end up having to replace two of the wheels. The Stryker has some large tank-like cannon on top and makes a serious force multiplier for our convoy. If they can get the damn thing working.

The pregnant sister is checked out by Jamal and it appears that although she was thoroughly abused, the leader took decent care of her. She was given an adequate supply of prenatal vitamins and was well fed unlike other FEMA camp members who were kept just above starvation.

The sister is not sure who the father of her child is as she was gang raped shortly after arriving in the camp. Doc Jamal kindly tells her that she is going to have twins and lets her listen to the twin heart beats of her children.

Considering everything she has been through, Sarah the pregnant 17-year-old, seems in pretty good spirits. She is happy to see her brother again, and their reunion is sweet. In this day reuniting family members is a rare event. At least they got Sarah some new clothes so she does not look like a pregnant street whore anymore.

The BMX kids are absolutely stoked, as they have been given the motorcycles and arms from the 1%ers. A few spare motorcycles are disassembled by the mechanics for spares and stowed wherever the hell the spares are going.

The kids tear around the FEMA compound on their new motorcycles, and as darkness falls, it takes some shouting from the colonels to get the kids to settle down. The kids BMX bikes are stored and stacked on the HEMTTs.

I fret watching the kids tear around on the large Harley Davidson motorcycles. The smallest kid reminds me of the Ewok that stole the speeder bike in Return of the Jedi, and could barely handle the damn thing.

The 1%ers were not big on safety gear as it is so uncool, but the colonels promise the kids that unless they wear their BMX safety gear, the colonels will take the motorcycles away. The kids look strange dressed in their bright BMX gear on the big black and chrome motorcycles.

As night falls, a large fire is made in the center of the FEMA camp in the fire pit. Into the fire go the illicit drugs with no medicinal value. Joining the drugs in a flaming death is a large amount of disgusting pornography. I am sure the tamer, more tasteful pornography is kept by some of the guys as women are still in short supply.

With the inclusion of the three former Army cooks, the pregnant sister Sarah, the number of women in the convoy has doubled if you do not count the BMX kids. Nikola and Carol leave the fire early to go to their tent, to spend some quality alone time.

After about an hour, a much disheveled Carol joins me beside the fire. She is beaming and has that glowing “just got the fucking of my life” look. She is also sporting a fucking ginormous sparkler on her left ring finger.

“Nicky found this huge diamond ring in an abandoned jewelry store on the way to the OP a couple of days ago. He snagged it for me.” Carol says before I can ask about the piece of ice on her finger large enough to give the Titanic nightmares.

“I know you cannot eat it, but the platinum diamond ring is very beautiful. He even found one close enough to my size. It was very romantic of him to drop to one knee and give me the ring with his heart. You would not know it but he is a very romantic man. Maybe that is true of all Russian men.”

Carol gets all weepy retelling me of her romantic evening. At least she does not go into a graphic description of their lovemaking. I saw enough of that first night I was with the convoy.

Her last statements come out in a rush, and suddenly she is hugging me. It has been a while since someone has been so close to me. It is kind of awkward and I pat her on the back until she releases me.

“I know you bat for the other team, but I hope you find someone to be happy with.” Carol says after she releases me.

The blank look on my face must have displayed my confusion. Carol tries to explain. “Even though you are gay maybe you can find someone. There has to be another lesbian survivor.” She tries again.

Ah ha, now I understand what Carol is trying to say. In her way, Carol is trying to be nice.

“Carol, I never really considered myself gay or bisexual as Americans like to label me. I fall in love with the person; their gender is inconsequential to me. I have had more male lovers than female, but my most successful and longest relationships have been with another woman. I practice serial monogamy with the person that I am with.”

Carol seems a little confused, but I pat her on the shoulder. “It is Ok Carol, maybe I will find someone. Thank you for caring.”

Carol smiles at me and goes back to her bed after a little bit. I have a cigarette, the last from the pack. I toss the empty pack in the fire, finish my cigarette and go to bed. I have the 05:00 to 07:00 watch in the morning, having received a change in watch earlier from Sam.

Slipping under my bedroll next to a snoring Shack who has the 00:00 to 02:00 watch, I hear Carol and Nikola going at it again. Damn, how many times can that woman say “yes” in a row?