Zombie apocalypse fiction – Ruth’s story #145 On the road to Kayak Point part #2 #TEOTWAWKI #SHTF #WCS

While Doc checks the fallen soldier, I take note of the surrounding area. We are on an old overpass close to the former I-5 interstate. From my place, I can see the remains of the highway. Both sides of the old interstate is choked with abandoned cars facing every which way. The median is lousy with cars too, many of them crumpled together in large mass wreckages.

Abandoned luggage and other personal items are strewn about the two side of the highway. Clothes are strewn about as well, as are several corpses in advance stages of decomp. A couple of mangy dogs wander through the abandoned vehicles disturbing a bunch of noisy black birds.

Quite a few zombies wander among the abandoned vehicles. I am sure that the cars are also loaded with trapped zombies unable to free themselves. I wonder if a hot car kills zombies like pets used to die when left in a car too long. I suppose not, as we have had several zombies survive locked in a car for weeks.

Our laager, despite its rough appearance, provides enough defense that an attacker would lose a significant amount of his force. One of the Scouts near me cradles an ancient, desert tan Feather Industries AT9 carbine with an oil filter suppressor. The thick, red Fram oil filter looks incongruous on the muzzle of the desert tan 9mm Parabellum carbine. I note that the Scout wears an old, OD green SMG harness on which rest five Uzi magazines for the AT9.

If I remember correctly, the old Uzi mags needed a slight modification to work in the old AT9. The old AT9 carbine must be an earlier model, as the newer models accepted Glock magazines. Above the SMG harness, clipped to the Scout’s LBV is the usual convoy grenade load-out. Some large bladed knife hangs from the Scout’s belt in a black Kydex sheath. Beside the big fucking knife is a typical M9 Beretta in an OD green nylon flap holster.

I hear a fervent discussion behind me. While I miss most of what Doc says, I do hear him mention that the fallen soldier has benign positional vertigo. He cannot ride on top of the tank anymore. Sam, with his hands on his hips, grunts and directs another soldier to replace the fallen soldier.

Doc says that benign positional vertigo is not terribly common but can be caused by infection, certain medications, and injury to the head. Looking over Doc’s shoulder, I see him contemplating several clear glass vials. I am able to read a few of the vials as Doc rummages in his black leather bag.

I note vials of Lorcet, Xanax, Soma, and Thorazine. Doc chooses the Thorazine, giving the fallen soldier a few CC with a disposable syringe. After the injection, the soldier’s eyes get that spaced, relaxed look. Doc has a couple of the nearby soldiers carry the fallen soldier into the back of one of the troop carriers. Snapping the used syringe with his fingers, Doc tosses the pieces into the bushes beside the road.

Doc will need to check the kid more when we make camp at Kayak Point, but for now we need to get moving. The Scouts report zombies moving towards our laager, attracted by the noise of the idling engines, and the soldiers talking. Sam orders the laager broken, and we are on the road shortly.

Zombies get close enough to the laager that the snow plow pulps several into bloody, chunky mush in the roadway. Leaving the twitching body parts in the roadway for the crows to pick at, we roll by with the briefest of glances. Seeing the carnage, no matter how many times still makes my stomach heave a little.

I get much queasier as Honey tears opens an Italian powdered cappuccino mix and pours it into another OD green canteen. Trading canteens with LM, she hands him the cappuccino while she takes the empty canteen. Turing around in the seat, Honey opens the beer window (as Shack tells me it is called) grabbing a bottle of water from the pile on top of the tool box in the truck bed.

Slapping the beer window closed Honey twists around and opens the one liter water bottle with her teeth. After filling the orange-smelling canteen with water, she dumps another Italian powdered cappuccino into it. After shaking the canteen, she takes a sip grimacing at what I imagine must be an odd taste of orange bug juice and cappuccino.

Honey pulls several plastic packages of Italian biscotti offering some to Shack and I. I accept as it is the first thing I have eaten this morning. We all tear into the biscotti with relish, the nuts and chocolate a welcome change to the bland food of late. Shack refills my travel mug with more herbal tea.

Sipping hot tea, I drive down the roadway after the colonel’s VW station wagon. We finally receive some heat from the old diesel engine. I crank on the heater attempting to warm my feet, glancing at LM when the blast of warm air hits him.

“He doesn’t mind,” Honey answers my unspoken question, causing me to wonder if maybe she is telepathic.

I suddenly see the colonel’s brake lights flare as Sam slams on the brakes. I see their passenger door fly open. Before Sam has a chance to fully stop the car, like a crazed man, Doc leaps out of the vehicle running into the bushes on the right side of the road. Everyone slams on the brakes as Sam unleashes a torrent of profanity over the radio. Now we are fercockt!

The radio becomes clogged with units asking if we are going to laager, and those that saw Doc leap into the bushes like a tall pale, gray gazelle asking what is happening. Two Scouts, led by Longfeather, try to follow Doc on foot, but they quickly lose sight of him. Continuing leaping through the fucking thick blackberry bushes like a pale-gray gazelle, Doc quickly vanishes. Du farkirtst mir di yorn!

Doc is far too fast. He is able to shove through the damn black berry bushes with little care. While the damage to his uniform might be repaired, Doc heals so fast that the punctures and tears from the thorns heal before he takes more than a few steps.

“What the fuck is he doing?” Shack mutters aloud, voicing I am sure, all of our thoughts.

“Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, the third time – it’s enemy action,” Shack mutters quoting Ian Fleming.

Shack has been on a James Bond spree lately, reading all the old Ian Fleming books which the Scouts found somewhere. Before KCAP, I bet Shack had never as much read a book that he was not required to for school.