Zombie apocalypse fiction – Ruth’s Story #159 Aftermath of the attack on Kayak Point #TEOTWAWKI #SHTF #WROL

I wait nervously while Doc, assisted by Honey operates on Shack. After what seemed like an eternity, Doc dressed in bloody scrubs emerges from the surgery suite. He is followed by Honey wheeling Shack on a gurney.

Doc looks at me. I am sure that he can read the worry on my face. “Shack has a sucking chest wound, three broken ribs, a broken clavicle and a shattered scapula. He made it through surgery, but is still unconscious. I pieced his left scapula back together as best I could but he is going to have some lingering pain and may lose some movement in his left shoulder. He asked for you several times.”

Placing a Black and Mild cheroot between his lips, Doc steps outside to smoke. Doc’s silhouette is lit against the tent when he lights his cheroot.

Honey reenters the front “waiting room” of the medical tent. “He’s awake. He’s loopy from the pain meds, but he’s asking for you,” she says to me.

Blinded by tears, before Honey even finishes speaking, I rip through the canvas door separating the waiting room from the recovery area. Diving to my knees, I clutch Shack’s uninjured hand.

His eyes watery and hazy with pain and medication, Shack looks at me. I see no recognition on his face. “Who are you,” he asks looking at me blankly.

My hopes dashed, I start crying again, dropping my head on Shack’s torso. “Easy babe, ok … sorry bad joke,” he says with a chuckle patting me on the back of the head.

Whipping my head up, I fight the momentary temptation to slap him silly. The anger must have reflected in my face as Shack holds his right hand up, palm towards me. “Easy … easy Ruth, I was joking.”

“Doc listed your injuries, I am worried about you,” I tell him.

“Yeah, well any acrobatic stunt sex is out for a while, but I like it when you are on top anyway.” He chuckles at my blushing red face.

“You are beautiful when you blush.”

I am not used to be calling beautiful by my lovers. Adept, strong and athletic – certainly, but not beautiful. The moment passes as I grip Shack’s hand again.

“I still do not know your middle name,” I tell him kissing him lightly on the lips.

“I don’t have one; Meshach Rogers is enough of a mouthful. What’s your middle name?” He cocks his head at me.

“Elizabeth, but I rarely use it. I prefer to just put ‘E’ down.”

Shack sucks air through his teeth, his eyes clench shut. Honey as if by magic, appears with a hypodermic needle filled with a clear serum.

“Doc said pain meds and Versed would be wearing off about now. When I give him this Buprenorphine, it might put him to sleep for a bit, which would be good for him.”

I watch Shack’s eyes cloud as the pain medicine hits him. He drifts off to sleep. Honey still kneeling beside Shack on the opposite side of his regulation cot, looks at me.

“You’re lucky you know that, Ruth. He was worried that you had been hurt as well. Shack wouldn’t let Doc put him under until we assured him that you were uninjured.”

Honey gets up and drops the used needle in a sharps disposal. “Doc considered infecting Shack as it might be the only way he recovers fully from his injuries. Doc’s talking to Sam now while doing the SIR (Soldier Injury Report). Doc wanted you to think about infecting Shack.”

“Honey’s correct Ruth, we should consider whether or not to infect Shack if he does not get better. Would you consider infecting him with a highly intelligent virus that hardens and heals the host increasing the viruses’ chances of survival?” I did not realize that Doc reentered the hospital accompanied by Longfeather.

“I chose not to infect myself with KCAP,” Longfeather says. I rarely hear the old Apache speak. “Doc chose infection, accepting the changes to his body. I could not live with myself if I did. When I run out of Metformin, I will join my ancestors as a whole man.”

“Would you choose infection over death, Ruth?” Doc asks through a mouthful of tough John Wayne bar. I notice that he has already eaten three MRE John Wayne bars as I see the shredded wrappers sticking out of his left BDU pants pocket. The top of a Russian IRP (Individual Ration Pack) sticks out of the top of his right BDU pants leg pocket.

Doc chugs a cool bottle of Fat Tire Amber Ale, and pulls another bottle out of his BDU blouse pocket. Using his front teeth, Doc pops the bottle cap off of the bottle of beer. He pulls another John Wayne bar from his pocket.

“I am not sure Doc. Hungry much?”

“The caloric load of maintaining the body with KCAP infection is significant. When we infected are injured, that caloric demand goes up significantly. We infected benefit from near instantaneous healing. An injury that would take someone, normally a week or so to heal we heal in minutes. That rate of healing comes with a very high cost. I believe it is sheer hunger, and drive for any source of protein that causes infected attacks on people.”

Doc chugs more beer. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Doc tosses the bottle in the trash. Tearing the OD green plastic John Wayne bar package open with his teeth, Doc takes a large bite of the dark chocolate and peanut butter bar. Doc continues talking through his food.

“KCAP floods the body with gonadotropins. Coupled with KCAP hyper stimulating the adrenal gland fueling both growth and aggression. Somehow, KCAP hijacks the RNA polymerase messengers, hyper stimulating the pituitary gland releasing a flood of hormones. Pituitary gland hyper stimulation is one reason why Honey and LM – for their age, have gotten so tall. If Honey continues to grow she will stand around six-foot or so.”

Doc pauses mid diatribe. He pulls out another MRE packet. This bar is an Italian MRE muesli chocolate bar; he rips the tan-colored plastic open with his teeth. Cramming half of the dry muesli bar into his mouth, Doc continues his KCAP monologue.

“LM if his growth rate holds steady, will easily stand seven feet or taller. KCAP dumps an incredible amount of an undocumented immunosuppressant that has defied classification. KCAP also does something to the body’s ability to absorb vitamin D and iron; but there is not enough completed research. Heavy KCAP infection causes loss of the frontal lobe and loss of reasoning. KCAP also enlarges and activates the dormant vomeronasal organ (VNO) in humans, bettering their sense of smell. If you haven’t noticed the flehmen response before in the infected – that is why.”

A Scout, wet to the waist enters carrying an International Ordnance MP2 9mm submachine gun. The lad talks to Longfeather quietly. Longfeather nods at the wet lad and he leaves.

“Search of the Blackhawk helo wreckage revealed less than 100 rounds of 7.62 NATO, co-pilot and gunner died instantly. Pilot drowned pinned in the wreckage, his head less than an inch from the surface.” Longfeather was going to say something else, but is interrupted by shouting outside.

Out of a weapons cabinet, Honey pulls out an ancient, original M3 grease gun – not an M3A1. She slams a magazine home loading the M3. Honey tosses an OD green canvas bandolier holding five grease gun magazines over her shoulder. The old American grease gun is very common in Israel. An original, unaltered M3 grease gun is very rare.

“I will watch Shack and make sure nothing happens to him,” Honey says to me. She places her fingers in her mouth producing a long, shrill whistle. A few seconds later, LM trots in carrying an old Beretta 92FS Inox and a SAR-21 bullpup.

The rifle is nearly as tall as LM. The SAR-21, made by Singapore Technologies is an ok bull pup weapon; its main problem is its proprietary mags.

LM drops the weapons at Honey’s feet and leaves momentarily. He returns dragging a brown canvas knap sack bulging with magazines for the SAR-21 and boxes of PMC Bronze 45 ACP ammo.

Honey looks at me and nods. “We got this,” she says.

From the same weapons cabinet, Doc grabs his LBV tossing it over his BDU blouse. He grabs an H&K UMP in 45ACP. While Doc’s back is to me, I notice that his BDU pockets bulge with MRE snacks.

Honey remains behind guarding the hospital, and more importantly to me – Shack. I am not sure how I feel about an armed LM. Thankfully, I am still dressed from yesterday’s supply run, so my AR15 hangs on my back.

While running across the park and on to the beach, another Scout joins us carrying a battered H&K 416 with an H&K M320 40mm grenade launcher mounted under the barrel. “You’re not gonna believe this – the fucking cannibals attacked us,” he says to no one in particular.

On the beach, we come upon a grisly sight – one that caused many gathered to toss their supper on the beach. Behind a small bluff, where it could not be seen from the camp, is a scene I have longed wish to forget.

Spit roasted on a jagged piece of rebar hanging over a fire pit are the bloody, butchered remains of a small child.