Zombie Apocalypse Fiction – Ruth’s Story #83 On the road again, destruction by Stryker, and new personnel TEOTWAWKI

I sleep as well as can be expected through the day. Shack wakes me with a lingering kiss and a piping hot aluminum GI issue canteen cup of nasty Spruce tip tea. Sitting up in my bed roll, I grimace at the smell of my body. I am damp with sweat and my body steams in the chilly air.

Exposed to the cool air, my nipples harden underneath my thin white, cotton wife beater style shirt. Due to my Arab heritage I have large devilishly dark aureoles, something that I used to be embarrassed about. Shack does not seem to mind as his eyes are firmly glued to my chest.

My breasts are small, apple sized according to previous lovers, but my nipples are large and tend to stand out when aroused or cold. My first male lover compared my nipples to pencil erasers, but here in America I have often heard the term puffy. Not sure puffy is an apt description when describing my nipples.

Wrapping my hands around the hot aluminum canteen cup, I listen to Shack who still seems to be fascinated with my chest. My ribs are more pronounced now, but I am pleased to see that my stomach has returned to its previous wash board state. Since the cooks seized our last reputable scale I am not sure how much I weigh now, but I bet that I have lost around ten pounds mostly from my hips and ass.

I sip the nasty Spruce tip tea, craving a cigarette.

Shack gives me a quick brief on the day’s events. Beside us, I see that Nikola and Carol and enjoying some mid-trimester morning sex. Carol had mentioned that she has been horny as hell, possibly due to her pregnancy. I remember my youngest sister mentioning unusual robust desire during her pregnancies about the same time.

Because of the cramped conditions of the camp, we politely ignore couples who take any opportunity they can to be together. Carol is as loud as always, and I smirk at Shack as his face turns bright red. Suddenly Carol is muffled, and I turn to see that Nikola has clamped his large mitt over Carol’s mouth to quiet the sounds of her pleasure.

Shack tries, as best as he can, to ignore the amorous couple. From Shack’s brief summary of events and the fact that I was not woken by gun shots, I assume that most everything is acceptable in camp. From the activity outside it sounds as if striking camp has progressed well enough that we should be rolling just before dark.

I dress in my cold, clammy clothes as Shack starts to roll our bedroll and stuffs it into its US Army issue compression sack. We need to pull the cotton sleeping bag liner out and wash it at the next opportunity. I finish dressing noting that Carol and Nikola are also dressing and putting their bedroll away.

Shack and Nikola carry the folded aluminum cots and the stuffed compression sacks to our respective vehicles, stowing them for the day. Fixing our hair Carol and I spend a few minutes helping each other. My hair is still in its tight braid down the center of my back just touching the top of my ass. I touch the top of my braid ensuring that my hair pins are in place again. Carol was impressed with my hair pins the first time I showed her the lethal 10” of fine steel hidden in my hair.

Other than a few escapees, little wispy strands of hair, my hair will do. Carol, on the other hand, has a real mess, and we spend a few minutes fixing her hair to remove the “just goodly fucked” look. The lack of suitable mirrors and hair care products requires a fellow woman to help fix our hair.

While attacking Carol’s hair, I wonder if the new woman in camp has long or short hair. Before Shack left, I meant to ask him about the new arrivals, but he only mentioned it in passing. Shack spent most of the day on guard duty providing security for the Russians as they removed the Anti-Personnel Mines (APMs) from the perimeter of the camp.

Carol’s shaggy, near burnished copper-red hair I manage to get into a decent enough shape that her old Personnel Armor System for Ground Troops (PASGT – pronounced “pass-get”) helmet is firmly and properly attached. I slap on my much smaller Lightweight Helmet (LWH) muttering about helmet hair.

Carol and I test our NVGs noting that our batteries are still viable enough to survive through the night driving. Carol I note is now also carrying a Russian APS pistol in a black nylon thigh holster.

Carol’s M4 and my POF AR15 are both stored in our trucks. I now carry my suppressed B&T MP9 and my pistol at all times. My AAC pistol suppressor rides on my belt in its nylon carrying case. I carry my overloaded LBV to our truck listening to the grenades clipped to it clicking together.

My MP9 rests on the floor in condition one beside the stick shift lever while I drive. I notice that Shack has loaded my ruck into our truck and that everything appears ready to hit the road. It is hailing this morning which is going to make driving slick.

Everything is covered in a light pebbled sheet of white. Despite living in D.C. for many years, I do not have that much experience driving in the snow or on ice. Since we are moving to the far north near the Arctic Circle, I suppose that I had better be getting used to driving on ice and snow.

Sarah is still in labor, and I wonder how she is going to fair as we bump along on the roadway. Getting inside the still cold truck, at Sam’s signal, we start the vehicles to let them warm for a little while. We do not have a surplus of fuel to let the vehicles idle for long. Jumping outside quickly Shack and I ensure that the front axle locking hubs is engaged, just in case I need to use four-wheel drive.

Standing outside in the falling hail, I note that the camp is nearly ready to roll. I light a cigarette while cupping the flame of my lighter in my hands out of habit. It is not yet fully dark, but I still practice light discipline. Shack hates it when I smoke in the truck, so I enjoy the cigarette while I can.

My radio clipped to my LBV resting on the back of my driver’s seat, orders everyone to mount their vehicles. The squawking radio reminds me to turn it off to save the batteries. My cigarette perched in the corner of my mouth, I plug the 12 volt recharging line to my GMRS radio and turn on the rubbish hotwired radio on the truck’s console. I flip the cigarette butt in the woods, exhaling the last of the smoke. Shack climbs in the passenger seat, his M4 resting muzzle down on the floor between his legs.

The convoy now includes two civilian semi-trailer trucks, the old Kenworth pulling the lowboy trailer with the Ontos and the civilian fuel tanker which is an older square nosed Peterbilt. Between the two semi-trailer trucks is a large fire engine red four-wheel drive Chevy passenger van.

The Chevy van is a diesel and appears to have been some kind of sport mobile with an equipment roof rack, a large heavy front bumper with a winch and a plethora of off-road lights. The Chevy van rest on large off-road tires and appears to have been lifted slightly according to Shack.

The Chevy van has also been crudely “up armored” with chain link mesh fencing over the windows and steel plates welded to the body in strategic locations. The steel plates are too thin to stop most military small arms but should provide decent protection against rocks and other bludgeoning weapons.

I cannot see the driver nor the passengers in the Chevy van, but it does appear to be full. My musings on the convoy’s vehicles are interrupted as the Scouts go tearing by on their large bikes. I shudder at the thought of riding a motorcycle in this icy weather.

As the convoy starts to roll out of our old campsite, I get my first look at the Ontos M50 sitting on the lowboy trailer. Since it is covered my several blue tarps as well as a couple of camouflage nets, I can only guess at what it is. From the general shape, I assume that the Ontos is some kind of light tracked vehicle; maybe a light tank or an APC.

The Ontos has six long-barreled cannons, three per side, that from their size and shape I am guessing it to be some kind of AA vehicle. I wonder why Sam would want to spend the resources recovering this beast if it is just an AA platform. Since the KCAP pandemic, we have only seen one aircraft, and that was a helicopter a month or so ago.

The evening progresses well enough that we make some headway along the old highway. The snow plow, with fresh hydraulic fluid and new hoses, is operating much better. We stop for the midnight meal and break just south of a town called Arlington between the ruins of a middle school and a high school. Fuck – who names these towns?

Did they run out of unique names – how many Arlingtons are there I wonder? The Scouts tear apart a nearby burnt out high school, looting it for anything of worth. The remains of the FEMA camps that were once on both of the school grounds were gutted long before we reached it. On the other hand, searching the two ruined schools revealed a wealth of firewood and other combustible materials which are quickly piled on the Princess’s trailer.

I hate to see old text books, school desks, and even the wooden gym flooring ripped out of the middle school for use as firewood, but anything that burns are of premium importance right now. We are surprised somewhat that other scavengers had not already looted the schools, a testament to how fast KCAP ripped through the population here, wiping out the people leaving no survivors who needed to loot for survival.

The activity does attract more than a few zombies from around the area. The high school gym was particularly loaded with zombies that someone had thoughtfully chained inside. That is until one of our young Scouts unwisely cut the chain before checking the inside of the building.

Thankfully, the zombies were packed in the gym and with only one narrow door to exit; the zombies were fairly easy to kill as they escaped. We had the flood of zombies fairly well stemmed carefully shooting the escaped zombies, that is until the Stryker MGS fired a barrage of HE shells into the building.

The avalanche of zombies released from the high school gym was quickly stemmed by the Stryker MGS destruction of the building. With everyone yelling at the MGS crew for not issuing a warning before firing the cannon, pandemonium lasted for a few minutes. Sam put an end to the pandemonium by ending the break.

Back in the truck, I notice that Bill and the civilian tanker are missing from the convoy as well as several Scouts and our last surviving Hummer. During the break before the zombies were turned loose, I did get a chance to get a decent look at the new woman in camp and some of her companions who ride in the red Chevy van.

Jeff was aptly described, but I was not expecting the woman. She is of mixed race, significantly taller than I am, with dark cocoa colored skin and a compact, muscular body. Her bare arms are taught with muscle. Her hips and shoulders are wider than mine. She has straight black hair cut short along her jaw line. A wide flared nose bisects exceptionally light hazel eyes protected by long black lashes.

The woman wears old Vietnam era black leather combat jump boots, black Levi’s bloused into her boots, with a faded black AC/DC rock t-shirt underneath a faded blue Levi’s jean jacket covering a faded gray polar fleece hoodie. A black polar fleece watch cap covers her head. Covering her Levi’s jean jacket is a newer, coyote brown, nylon LBV with built-in front and rear plate carrier pockets and a large hydration pocket on the back. From the bulk of the woman’s LBV, I would bet that she has plates shoved in to the pockets.

I wonder if the woman’s plates are the older Small Arms Protective Insert (SAPI) plates or the newer, Enhanced Small Arms Protective Insert (ESAPI) plates that most of our lads wear in their IBAs.

Stuffed in the pockets of her LBV, she carries two, US Army issue, olive drab M67 frag grenades. Stuffed into the pockets of the four magazine pouches are six black and two flat dark earth color curved AK Magpul PMAG 30 round magazines. The woman’s LBV appears tailor-made for an AK user.

Also clipped to the woman’s LBV is a pair of black, US Army issue, M18 smoke grenades. One of the smoke grenades is red smoke, the other is violet smoke. Sheathed in a regulation, steel tipped, olive drab, Bakelite sheath is an US Marine issue, leather handled KA-BAR fighting knife. The large Marine knife rests on her right shoulder taped vertically; tip up, to her LBV.

The woman carries an AMD-65 in her left hand with the wire stock folded. A green cloth sling with brown leather tips dangles from the rifle. Some kind of Soviet issue red dot sight is mounted to the typical AK left side optics rail. (I make a mental note to myself to ask Nikola later if he recognizes the woman’s optics.) A black, ribbed and curved steel AK magazine juts from below her rifle just behind the forward vertical handgrip.

A long-barreled stainless Ruger GP-101 revolver rides in a black leather flap holster on her left hip. The pistol holster hangs from the black leather, silver studded belt encircling her generous hips. A SOG SEAL Pup knife in a black Kydex sheath hangs on her left hip behind the large pistol.

A pair of double, speed loader holsters for her revolver rides on her right hip just above her pants pocket. Both of the black leather, speed loader pouches and the pistol holster are stamped “Property of CHP” on the snap covers. I bet that the Ruger pistol is a .357 Magnum.

Attached by a fine silver chain to one of the brass buttons on her jacket is an ancient pocket watch. The watch has fine black mechanical hands and a white dial face with gold numbers. Attached to the same fine silver chain as the watch is a small, double-barreled derringer. I could not make out the brand of the derringer but its outline is well-worn in the grime and dirt staining the woman’s jacket.

The mixed race woman would not be considered a classical beauty but with some sleep, a bath and better clothes I could see she was at one time extremely attractive. A zombie apocalypse tends to rip away anything that is not necessary to survival, and vanity is one of the first casualties. I did not get a chance to talk to the woman or her companion shadow, which drives the red Chevy van.

The mixed race woman’s constant companion is a nearly seven-foot tall, rail thin Caucasian that bears the apt nickname “Scarecrow.” Except this scarecrow’s large, balding head is covered by a seemingly permanently affixed, woodland green camouflage boonie hat. Scarecrow has a long and thin, beak-like nose that has obviously been broken more than a few times and poorly set. His misshapen nose separates a pair of deep-set, dark brown eyes that seem to watch everything.

With a long, thin neck and a large, bulging Adam’s apple, I am a little surprised that Scarecrow was not nicknamed “Ichabod” instead. I wonder about the incident or history that caused Scarecrow to receive that moniker.

Shaggy mousy-brown hair touches the collar of Scarecrow’s plaid long sleeve shirt, which is covered, with a faded and poorly patched olive drab M65 US Army field jacket with the liner buttoned inside. The collar of a faded olive drab t-shirt peeks out from underneath his shirt and jacket.

Covering Scarecrow’s field jacket is an olive drab LBV with two olive drab US Army issue M67 fragmentation grenades in the grenade pockets. The tops of eight, black metal L1A1 magazines jut from the mag pockets on his chest. A black nylon, US Army style, pistol web belt encircles Scarecrow’s narrow hips. Slipped through the belt over his right hip is a civilian, brown leather Galco holster carrying a 9 mm Ruger 92R. Four magazines for his pistol hang over his left pants pocket in black nylon single magazine pockets with Velcro closures.

Strapped to Scarecrow’s right thigh, below the Ruger pistol, is a coyote brown nylon SKT Industries holster. The thigh holster carries a battered; pistol gripped Serbu Super Shorty built on a parkerized Mossberg 500. The vertical six shotgun shell carrier is filled with a variety of 2 ¾ and 3 inch 12 gauge shotgun shells, mostly civilian “home defense” double-aught and #4 buckshot.

A fascinating and exceedingly rare shotgun shell, which Scarecrow carries, is the unusual one inch long Aguila buckshot shotgun shells. Scarecrow carries an eclectic collection of shotgun shells in numerous pockets on his person. I have seen, in Scarecrow’s collection, US Army issue green triple-aught buck shot shells, as well as, several clear plastic high brass 2¾ inch shells, labeled “Rhodesian jungle load” whatever the fuck that is.

I know Rhodesia is now called Zimbabwe but I am not sure if they have any jungle down there. I wonder how effective the jungle load is going to be against zombies. The bulging pockets on Scarecrow’s pants hold a variety of loose shotgun shells and 7.62×51 mm NATO shells.

Also hanging from the belt in a civilian black Kydex sheath is a Buck fixed blade field knife. In the right front pants pocket of his five pocket woodland, green camouflage pants is a medium-sized Buck folding knife with two blades. Scarecrow has a habit of using the folding Buck knife to pick at his fungal infected nasty thick yellow fingernails.

Scarecrow’s monstrous feet are clad in battered and faded Vietnam era black leather and olive drab nylon US Army jungle boots with his pants. The tops of his US Army issue olive drab cotton socks poke out the top of the poor blouse job in his pants.

Scarecrow’s large hands with long thin fingers hold a battered, black L1A1 rifle with the carry handle crudely hacked off. Some kind of Picatinny rail has been added to the dust cover on Scarecrow’s rifle. A red dot scope, which looks like an Aimpoint knock off, is attached to the Picatinny rail on his rifle.

I do note that Bill and the civilian fuel tanker truck left during the break accompanied by our lone surviving Hummer and the three fuel tanker HEMTTs. I wonder where they are off to, while the rest of the convoy gets back on the road.

The area around the high school is now fairly well-lit thanks to the burning gym ignited by the HE shells from the Stryker MGS. The fire is going to attract too much attention. The light activates zombies that would have been dormant until sun up, so we need to put some distance between us and the burning building. It is a shame that we could not get the hardwood floors out of that gym as I really want a hot shower tomorrow.

We need to find a place to stop for the day again I think as the convoy starts its laborious path down the crowded two lane highway.