Zombie apocalypse fiction – Ruth’s Story #162 Day After Cannibal Attack #TEOTWAWKI #SHTF #WROL

A sudden burst of activity against my back followed by a cold blast of air awakens me from a deep sleep. Goose bumps erupt on my suddenly exposed naked flesh once warmed by Honey’s body.

Opening my eyes, the first thing I see is Junior standing beside my cot eyes wide with fright. The covers pooling around her waist Honey kneels against me, her right hand resting on the side of my left breast. The second thing I see is Honey’s left hand holding a US Army M9 bayonet, blade wickedly honed to a razor’s edge underneath the corner of Junior’s left jawbone.

The point of the M9 bayonet touches the tip of Junior’s left ear. The knife blade bobs with the movement of Junior’s Adam apple as he swallows. A thin line of red blood drips from the edge of the knife against Junior’s neck.

Junior holds both hands, fingers splayed, palms up towards Honey and I. A tense moment passes when I was sure that Honey would slice Junior’s neck. Honey removes the blade from Junior’s neck and rests on her haunches. She does nothing to cover her nakedness while she bends over replacing the bayonet in its sheath on her belt on the floor beside our cot.

Dabbing at his neck with his hand, Junior turns bright red when he realizes that he is staring at Honey and I. My breasts are still exposed my nipples harden in the cool air. Honey had just bent over and presented her ass to Junior. I notice that Honey’s nipples hardened in the cool air as well.

“Well, Junior did you come to stare at Honey and I naked or was there some purpose for you almost getting your throat slit?”

My question seems to startle Junior who blushes a furious shade of red again. He mumbles something, possibly distracted by Honey still naked, remains kneeling beside me. Honey’s left hands rests on my hip while her right hand once again rests against the side of my left breast. I wonder if her touch is intentional or accidental.

“Ruth, you’d better get up.” Junior mumbles the words the first time horribly enough that I have him repeat what he said.

My first thought is of Shack. Alarmed, I leap from the bed almost knocking Honey from the cot. Honey using the momentum from my unintentional shove back flips, landing on her feet. Honey dresses on her side of the cot.

After shoving Junior out-of-the-way, I frantically dress on my side of the cot. Belatedly as I dress I realize that I can still feel the touch of Honey’s pencil eraser hard nipples against my back. I still can also feel the ghost image of her hand against my left breast.

I push the thoughts of Honey touching me aside as I concentrate on dressing. When I sit on the cot tying my boots, I bombard Junior with rapid-fire questions about Shack. Junior waits until I exhausted my barrage of questions and sighs.

“There is a staff meeting in the command tent in about 30 minutes. I don’t know about Shack – ask Doc at the staff meeting.” Junior dabs at his neck as he is still bleeding slightly. Having delivered his message, Junior leaves quickly.

“I’ll check on Shack for you,” Honey offers as she finishes dressing. Carrying her old M3 grease gun with the bandolier of magazines over her shoulder, she ducks out of the tent. While the tent flap was open, I noticed that it is raining lightly outside.

Walking alone with my thoughts I absent mindedly pass an occupied park bench. I am almost past the park bench when I realize that I have not seen a park bench in quite some time. Junior and the Princess’s daughter are busy loading a pile of M16 magazines while sitting on the park bench. The couple sits on the park bench made of recycled plastic. Only reason that the park bench survived is because it cannot be burnt.

Junior and his girlfriend are busy loading empty M16 magazines from a wooden crate. Filling a second wooden crate with full magazines, the pair has a good rhythm going, filling magazines with little wasted effort.

Both Junior and his girl (damn I forgot her name again) are using commercial 20-round loaders quickly filling magazines. I notice that neither is being particularly careful of what type or manufacturer of ammo they drop in the loader and then shove in the magazine.

I notice a mixture of FMJs, hollow points, and soft points filling the magazines. I think to myself that I am glad that I filled my own magazines. This eclectic collection of ammo is not something I would want to run through my gun.

Three open 50 caliber ammo cans lie between the pair on the bench filled with a mixture of loose military 5.56mm and commercial .223 Remington ammo. I visit with Junior and his girlfriend for a little while. I do not ask, but as I walk away, I wonder how they fucked up to get stuck with that shit detail.

After a latrine stop, I head for the chow hall. Grabbing some Flying Dragon tea bags from an Estonian Individual Combat Ration, I grab a decently clean cup and make a very strong cup of tea. I pass on the rye bread and goose liver pâté offered for breakfast. God knows what ration pack that shit came out of.

I am sure as hell not hungry enough to eat pâté – yet. Sipping hot tea and wishing for a drop of honey to sweeten it, I walk towards the command tent. I wrap my cold hands around the warmth of the tea-cup enjoying the heat as it seeps into my skin.

I am pleasantly surprised to pass Sarah and Gennady on their way to the chow tent. The couple finally made it into camp. We quickly catch up and I am saddened to learn that they lost their child, LM’s brother to an upper respiratory infection, probably pneumonia.

My platitudes for the bereaved couple sound false and flat to my ears. How do you comfort someone who has suffered so much when they lose their child?

Before I reach the command tent, I notice Honey running towards me. She is running as only the infected can run – like a goddamned rocket of doom.

My stomach plummets and I begin to cry.