Zombie apocalypse fiction – Ruth’s Story #163 Life On Kayak Point #TEOTWAWKI #SHTF #WROL

Honey skids to a stop tossing dirt and pine needles against my boots. “What’s wrong, Ruth?” Honey has a blank look on her face. As if I do not suspect what new she is about to impart. I must have scowled at her, because her face suddenly registers shock.

“Oh, you thought me running up to you was bad news. I am sorry. I was in a hurry because I don’t want our breakfast gettin’ cold.”

I sniff and wipe my eyes, trying to hide my embarrassment. Thankfully, Honey ignores my tears and plunges ahead.

Honey pulls a pair of apple-cinnamon, instant oatmeal packs from underneath her coat. Filled with hot water, the instant oatmeal packages were pulled from a Swedish 24-hour Military Ration Pack (MRP). (I know the oatmeal is from a Swedish MRP because it reads ‘Swedish MRP 24-hour pack’ printed in English in neat black, block letters on the side of the oatmeal packets.)

“It should be ready now,” Honey says handing me one of the oatmeal packages. As we walk, Honey pulls her brown plastic US MRE spoon from her LBV digging into the hot oatmeal with relish.

“Shack is fine. I checked on him this morning. He is being force-fed by Doc, because the dope makes him lose his appetite. Doc threatened either Shack eat the food or Doc would use the other opening to the human digestive tract to make sure Shack gets enough calories to heal.”

Honey spoons more hot oatmeal in her mouth. Talking through the food in her mouth, Honey continues her tale of Shack’s woe.

“Poor Shack, you should have seen his face when Doc threatened to cram some odd-ball rice and sweet and sour pork combination bowl of stuff from a Japanese Self Defense Force (JSDF) MRP. I don’t know if Shack likes Asian food, but I don’t think he wants it crammed up his ass.”

Still shoveling hot oatmeal in to her mouth with her MRE spoon, Honey chuckles at her own joke. Pulling my own brown MRE spoon, I dig into my oatmeal as well. The oatmeal is not bad, being neither too sweet or two plain with just the right touch of cinnamon without being overpowering.

“Hey remember that injured looter you and Shack brought in?”

Honey continues after I nod my head. “He survived the surgery during which Doc removed his bad leg. Doc thinks that if he survives the next few days, and infection doesn’t kill him, he might make it. Doc’s worried the looter might have chipped a few teeth. Doc didn’t use any anesthetic on the poor bastard when he chopped of his leg at the hip. He is not giving the poor bastard any pain meds either. Oh, and he had this shoved down his tighty whities.”

Honey holds out a little stainless, semiauto mouse gun with black plastic grips. I take the pistol from her. Inspecting the small pistol I realize that I am not familiar with this particular brand.

The little pistol is nearly the same size as my hand. For a woman, I do not have a particularly large hand which means this pistol is quite small. The little pistol is a Seecamp chambered in .32 ACP. I am not familiar with Seecamp pistols at all but I am aware of the caliber, and consider it woefully underpowered.

The little Seecamp pistol would not be my first choice of pistol even for a backup, but it is better than nothing. I am not sure how much .32 ACP ammo we have as it was a rather rare cartridge even before KCAP.

I hand the little pistol back to Honey butt first as I assume it is loaded. Pistols such as the Seecamp do not have a manual safety, so I am sure to keep my fingers far from the trigger. Honey tucks the little Seecamp back in her coat pocket as we walk into the command tent.

Honey and I grab seats towards the back of the tent, which fills rapidly with people from all of the groups represented at Kayak Point. The tribal members are easy to spot as are the infected. Everyone is well armed, but not overly hostile although I do notice some tension in the room.

Honey hands me our much-abused plaid colored Thermos, as she munches on MRE snacks from God-knows-what ration package. “God, child do you ever stop eating, other than when you sleep,” I mutter under my breath as I pour hot tea from the Thermos.

Through a mouth full of dry roasted peanuts, Honey answers. Damn, I forgot about the infected and their damn hearing.

“Doc says us infected have somewhere around 30% more oxygen in our blood which helps us digest food faster than normal people. Doc also says that one of the first changes the KCAP virus engineers in the human body is greater flow of blood to the lungs and stomach. KCAP enlarges and strengthens our heart. This increases the amount of blood pumped per heartbeat and the forcefulness of the heartbeat. Our hearts also beat faster.”

I hand Honey a cup of tea which momentarily disturbs her diatribe. “Those infected as adults have slightly less aerobic capacity, but Doc feels that those of us infected before maturity could develop even larger lungs and hearts. Doc thinks that if LM and I do develop larger lungs and hearts, our aerobic capacity could be as much as twice that of a non-infected person.”

Doc and Sam walk in the tent. Without preamble Sam opens the meeting. “We’re evacuating Kayak Point.”  Oh, shit.