Zombie apocalypse fiction – Ruth’s Story #158 Attack on the camp at Kayak Point #TEOTWAWKI #SHTF #WROL

Under a hail of bullets, Shack and I dive into the command tent. Most of the minigun fire hits the command tent and the area around it. Landing just inside the command tent’s entrance in a tangle of legs and arms, Shack and I attempt to untangle ourselves. Or rather I attempt freeing myself from Shack who does not move. Frantic I shake Shack.

I hear Shack grunt painfully. I realize there is blood all over my side and hands. Fuck! Shack’s hit. I frantically tear at Shack’s clothing. On the other side of the tent, taking cover behind a woefully inadequate, perforated folding card table, I hear the colonels shouting obscenities.

“I don’t give a fuck if all you have loaded is HE-CVT! Shoot the fucking helo!” Sam screams in the radio.

Low crawling backwards dragging Shack, I try ignoring the bullets striking the shredded tent. One of the cooks, the pretty black one that I never caught her name lies dead on the floor beside the table in a puddle of blood. Near the dead cook lies a dead Scout, shredded by the minigun’s rain of lethal lead.

Reaching the imagined safety of an ABS plastic folding table, I notice that Doc lies over Sam pining him to the ground. There are several holes in Doc’s uniform; his back is soaked in blood.

“Doc, you are hurt.”

He looks over his shoulder at me. “I shielded Sam; thankfully, I heal much faster now than I used to. Probably would have died if it was not for the KCAP infection. KCAP has infected more of my body now. I am still learning what my limits are.”

“Doc that’s nice, but can we focus on the fucking helo shredding our people with a Goddamn minigun. Don’t think I am ungrateful. (Sam looks at me.) Crazy fucker’s moving before I even heard the minigun. Man’s scary fast. He took several rounds for me.” I can barely hear Sam over the fucking scream of the minigun. I hate those fucking things – they sounds as if the universe is ripping apart.

“Doc, Shack’s hurt,” I yell over the din of the minigun and the sudden steady ear and chest shattering, thump, thump, thump of the 105mm MGS Stryker. The steady scream of the minigun abates as the pilot takes evasive action avoiding 105mm shells.

Doc first checks Sam, who nods at him and then low crawls over to Shack. He obviously does not like what he sees as he puckers his lips. A worried frown creases his face.

While Doc checks Shack, with my heart in my mouth, I wait fearing the worse. Over the radio, I hear the Quad-50 state that they are blocked from swinging to engage the helo. The Oerlikon 20mm is blocked as well.

Sam orders both mobile guns to stay in their place. Over the din of the minigun and the 105mm cannon, I hear the occasional pop of small arms fire and screams as 7.62mm bullets hit flesh. There is a brief pause in the steady thump of the 105mm, and then it commences steadily firing again.

Nikola dressed in full combat gear leaps into the tent through a huge tear in the side his Stechkin pistol clutched in one fist. Nikola carries three ballistic shields, the same kind issued to SWAT teams and riot police.

Shielded by three layers of bullet resistant Kevlar and carbon fiber, Sam continues to call for Stingers while the 105mm continues to bang away. One of Rain’s Russian husbands, the one that used to be OMON police arrives carrying more ballistic shields. It takes more time to read these words than it did for the men to erect a small shelter. Rain’s husband has a Stechkin pistol in its red Bakelite holster on his hip.

Once the men erect a small shelter from the hail of bullets, Doc pulls Shack inside of it. I slide in among the men, fearing for Shack. There is really nothing we can do until the helicopter runs out of bullets or gets tired of shooting.

The radio squawks again. The lads have found the Stingers but they are buried at the bottom of the ordnance trailers and will take hours to dig out. Sam says more than a few choice words then orders the lads to seek cover and forget about the Stingers for now.

Looking at Doc, Sam swears that the convoy will not get caught with their pants down again. As Nikola and the other Russian quietly converse in Russian, which I was not privy too, they keep looking at the bottom of the table.

Nikola reaches around the shelter, pulling a small, black plastic box with a flashing LED light on the bottom. Nikola mouths ‘homing beacon’ to Sam and Doc. I see the anger reflected on Sam’s face.

“That fucker planned this,” Sam growls.

“All warfare is based on deception,” Doc says.

“Quoting Sun Tzu does not help me right now Doc,” Sam replies. Indeed, I would not hear so much Sun Tzu until I lived with Iain, another devotee of the ancient Chinese general.

“Sun Tzu said, ‘The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.’”

“Great, now Ruth you are getting into the act as well. Can you guys give the Chinese general a break? He never had to deal with being pinned down by a minigun.” Sam is really pissed.

The sudden steady rip of the minigun is cut off suddenly with an exploding fireball that plummets into the bay illuminating the whole camp. When silence, like an oppressive blanket settles over the camp, I hear slight scattered applause. I guess the 105 finally found its mark.  I hear the shouts of the injured and the dying within the camp.

Doc first checks to make sure that Sam is okay. Then he lifts Shack as if he weighs nothing. The man is preternaturally strong. Shack probably weighs about 180 pounds, all of it muscle. There is no fat on the young man. Despite the heavy burden, Doc leaps with Shack in his arms, clearing the folding table in a single leap.

I frantically trail Doc; desperately trying to keep up with the exceedingly tall man carrying my injured lover.