Zombie Apocalypse Fiction – Ruth’s story #87 Start of Moving the Camp to the Abandoned Farm, SHTF and TEOTWAWKI

Shack wakes me with a really good toe-curling snog. Other than Shack’s warm bulk, the first thing that I become aware of is Carol’s moaning.

“They’re goin’ at it again.”

I groan with both mock frustration and real envy for Carol. While my guy might not have woken me with good morning sex, the snog was definitely a step in the correct direction. Shack is improving with each day. He also takes creative criticism well something that I have found lacking in younger male lovers before. I suddenly feel like a dirty old lady.

Shack’s large warm hand slides underneath my thin white cotton wife beater tee-shirt cupping my right nipple. My nipple hardens immediately to his touch. My nipples are very sensitive, especially when I am aroused.

I press into Shack and deepen our good morning snog. I groan into Shack’s mouth suddenly noting that he tastes like minty toothpaste. He also smells like aftershave, which smells very good to me. That revelation combined with Shack’s suddenly too hard grip on my tit causes me to break our kiss.

“Gently Shack! My tit is not a pistol butt which requires a death grip. Believe me; I am not going to take it away from you.”

Rolling to my right side towards Shack, I slide the top layer of the warm ECWS bedroll down in an obvious invitation. Shack despite his youth and inexperience recognizes the offer immediately. He starts to slide in beside me.

Shack’s large calloused left hand starts a languorous slide down my stomach trailing fire down my torso. Despite the cool air inside the tent, I am suddenly warm. Just as Shack’s finger tips reach the top of my smooth mons, Gennady bursts into the tent with a blast of cold air.

“General staff meeting in the mess command tent in 10 minutes.”

Nikola says some creative curses in Russian doubting Gennady’s likely parentage and the rather unlikely manner of both his conception and birth. For my part, I am frustrated that Shack and I will not be making love this morning.

Sure, I know that because of Shack’s youth, 10 minutes is quite possible, but that would possibly leave me hanging. I usually require more buildup. I was just getting warmed to the idea when Gennady, with his blast of cold air and unwelcome news, killed my desire.

Goddamn! Cock blocked by a kid! Shack whips his hand out of my crotch as if I suddenly have a communicable disease. He sits beside me on the cot with his back to me. From his hunched posture I assume that he is attempting to think down his erection. Poor kid must be suffering from a real case of blue balls. Talk about leaving someone hanging!

After some personnel reflection, I also do not want Shack’s first time to be some hurried, quick tussle. I want to take my time and truly make it memorable for the both of us. We have waited this long, so a while longer will not kill us. I just hope that Shack accepts the delay.

I try not to hurt his feelings, but I know that young men who are actively seeking their first sexual encounter can be a prickly minefield. I do not want Shack to think that I am rejecting him, or that I no longer want him. Far from it, actually.

I am also flattered that Shack has chosen me to show his affection and interest. I kneel behind Shack, and kiss the side of his neck.

“It is ok Shack. I do not want a hurried tussle in an old Army cot for your first time. I want to make it memorable for you. You got cleaned up; I want to do the same for you for our first time together.”

I gently rub Shack’s back through his field jacket. I see his LBV, Interceptor vest and M4 lying on the ground between our cot and Carol’s rhythmically moving cot. Shack’s pistol belt lies on top of his vest and belt.

For their part, Nikola and Carol are still actively making love as if they did not hear Gennady. I slide fully out of the ECWS sleeping bag and lightly kiss Shack who is now standing beside the cot. Shack’s large hands once again rest on my bare ass. I am sure that he can feel the goose bumps on my chilled ass cheeks.

“Breakfast is in the mess tent this evening.”

I was wondering why Shack did not bring me breakfast this evening like he usually does. I dress quickly and don my weapons after making sure that they are still loaded. Flopping my k-pot on my head, I pull a cigarette out of the pack in my right chest pocket of my OD green field jacket.

My heavier and much larger Scottevest jacket is in the Dodge truck. If I had to stay outside for any length of time, I would definitely toss my Scottevest jacket over my field jacket.

Thankfully there is little wind this evening. Stepping into the frigid evening air, I light my cigarette with a flick of my old reliable Zippo. Although well-worn, the IDF Maglan symbol on the side of the old battered brass lighter is still visible. I hear Shack shout in the tent behind me.

“Hey! Hornballs! Staff meeting in a few minutes.”

Ducking my head back inside, I see and hear Shack snort at Nikola’s rigid middle finger response.

“Yeah, whatever.”

Shack joins me outside in the frigid early evening. There is frost in all of the shaded areas. A light layer of hail covers all horizontal surfaces. The ground is slick and crunchy under my boots. The frozen pine needles are slick and I have to watch my step less I fall on my ass.

After a quick trip to the reeking latrine, where I finish my cigarette Shack and I quickly trot across the camp to the mess and command tent. Crossing the camp, I note that several tents along with several vehicles are missing.

The cleared areas where once a tent or vehicle sat are clearly defined by the lack of frost on the ground and a small mound of hail around the perimeter. I am still pondering the missing equipment when we enter the warm mess and command tent.

Someone has cranked up the small drum-like wood stove in the center of the tent. The damn hot stove practically glows with heat which I can feel on my face from the doorway. A small stack of crudely cut; scrap pallet wood lies on the ground beside the hot wood stove.

Looking at the rusty nails and staples jutting from the wood I make a mental note to avoid the wood stack. I am not sure the last time I had a Tetanus shot and do not wish to risk infection.

Most of the gray plastic folding tables are filled with various convoy members. Shack and I join the chow line. Each of us takes a slightly worse for wear US Army issue compartmentalized aluminum serving tray. Some things no matter the nationality of the Army never change. Choices this morning are grits or cream of wheat, with two hard-boiled eggs.

“Damn woman, when’s the last time you had eggs!”

Shack seems almost giddy at the prospect of eggs. I am sure that the egg’s protein will benefit the crew. I note that there appears to be three size differences in the eggs. At my quizzical expression, the female cook of Indian descent answers my unspoken question.

“Hardboiled duck, goose and chicken eggs. Scouts found a large abandoned farm not too far from here. Check the egg when you crack it less you get a balut-like surprise.”

I can tell that the woman has lost a lot of weight since the KCAP pandemic broke. She was probably a little chubby but still would have been quite pretty in an exotic way. Despite her obvious fatigue, the Indian woman is still quite beautiful and exotic.

From her reference to a Filipino street food delicacy, I wonder if the woman is of Indian and Filipino descent. Since both races are considered Asian it would be hard to tell her ancestry without asking her.

Since the exotic woman continues to wear the Hindu red dot upon her dark almond hued brow between her arched dark black eyebrows, I suspect that she leans more toward one of her heritages similar to the way I do.

A few years ago while I was working for one of the American alphabet agencies, I spent a very short amount of time on Mindanao helping track Muslim extremists. I am very slightly familiar with the Philippine culture.

For the first time, I note that the exotic woman is wearing perfume of some kind. I have never been this close to her before so perhaps I just never noticed it. Her perfume is a spicy mixture of cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg.

The woman notices my stare and slightly embarrassed I quickly look at the heavily loaded serving table. As I get closer to her the scent of her perfume gets stronger. Or maybe it is her soap that I smell. The cooks are very fortunate that they get to bathe daily for sanitary purposes.

Whatever the woman uses, I wonder if I could borrow some. I also wonder quickly if Shack likes the smell. The woman does smell very good, the spicy aroma cutting through everything else. Or perhaps she has been cooking something all day. But damn that woman smells good!

I should get to know the Indian woman better as her and I have the longest hair in the company. Although she also has the second largest tits in the company, the Indian woman’s are natural I guess by the way they stick out from her chest. Even Carol’s and Sarah’s pregnancy-enhanced tits are not as large as the Indian woman’s.

While the Princess’s tits are much larger, they are also patently fake. Although, she definitely got her money’s worth. I note that Shack is staring at the Indian cook as well. I wonder if he is staring at her large nipples outlined through her solid brown US Army issue tee-shirt. I have never asked Shack if he prefers large or small breasts.

I know that I am oversensitive to the fact that I am very small. I am fortunate that I do not have to wear a bra, but sometimes I wish there were more on my chest to balance my hips. Leonine is how my first male lover, Dovid described me.

Passing the Indian woman breaks my musing. I am given two eggs, which I guess by their size and color are both either chicken or goose. Beside the serving tray full of hard-boiled eggs, there is a large battered stainless steel bowl full of tiny white paper packets. The paper packets contain either iodized salt or finely ground black pepper from various manufacturers.

Grabbing a few of the small white paper packets for my eggs, I get my trusty aluminum canteen cup filled with some piping hot nasty Spruce tip tea. At least my cream of wheat is hot and is something different from the oat meal that we have been eating for weeks.

I pass on the UHT milk as I cannot stomach it. Adding white UHT milk to my hot cereal would make it unpalatable. Finishing my selection for breakfast, I walk forward in the mess tent to sit beside Shack.

After almost everyone has sat and started shoveling food into their mouth, Sam and Jamal rise from the back and walk to the front of the mess tent. Jamal carries his every present aluminum clipboard in one hand an aluminum steaming canteen cup in the other. Sam for his part only carries an aluminum canteen cup.

Jeff his Ruger submachine gun looking incongruous upon his chest slips between the two men to the rear of the tent. Once behind the two men, Jeff opens a small, woodland green camouflaged, three-legged folding canvas stool and plops onto it. Jeff pulls a note pad and a pen out of his pockets and prepares to write.

Jeff has to constantly push the thick, brown US Army regulation BC eye glasses back up his arrow straight nose. Someone should give him a safety strap to retain his glasses upon his nose. The unconscious way that Jeff shoves his glasses back in place reveals to me that he has become accustomed to his glasses sliding down his nose.

Just as Sam opens his mouth to speak, a severely disheveled Carol and Nikola burst into the tent, giggling like naughty schoolchildren. Their clothes awry, the pair quickly grab some food and jump into seats towards the rear of the tent.

Sam harrumphs and starts the briefing.

“As some of you might have heard already, today the Scouts found a large abandoned farm not too far from here. Because of the presence of several livestock animals as well as a large defensible area, Doc and I have decided to move the convoy to this farm and hold it for a few days while we butcher most of the livestock. We then need to preserve the meat for travel.”

Sam pauses to sip some of the shitty Spruce tip tea.

“While I hate having to stop again, there are some benefits to pausing. We need to stockpile fresh meat. We have more mouths to feed now and we need protein as Doc reminds me daily. Fishing and trapping have been productive today, and the sudden bounty is going to require us to remain in place long enough to at least smoke the fish.”

Sam pauses for another sip of tea. “We would be amiss to pass such an opportunity right now. What we need are people that are experienced at butchering large animals and the preservation of meat without refrigeration or freezing. While the weather is damned cold it is not cold enough yet to preserve the fresh meat in a state fit to eat.”

Sam pauses to sip tea again. “We have already moved almost half of the convoy to the new farm. The two sergeant majors are there now coordinating the securing of the property. The farm-house and all of the barns have been burnt to the ground, but a large milking parlor still stands. There are also several horses that Longfeather is attempting to retrieve.”

Sam looks around at the assembled convoy, pausing for dramatic effect. “Tonight we will be moving the remainder of the convoy to the farm. We will travel slow and in small groups. The snow plow has already cleared the path through the abandoned vehicles; we just need to follow the bread crumbs.”

Sam looks around again. “Dismiss yourselves when you are done eating. I want the laundry, cooks and radio moved before midnight. Our heavy ordnance and the Strykers are already at the farm.”

With that Sam, Jamal and Jeff hurriedly walk out of the tent into the cold evening. Shack starts to crack one of his hard-boiled eggs upon the table. I concentrate on eating. I will worry about the rest later.