Skip to content

Zombie apocalypse fiction – Ruth’s Story #165 Leaving the bunker for Baker City and rendezvous with the feral children #TEOTWAWKI #SHTF #WROL

October 4, 2015

To my faithful readers – thank you for being patient with me. Last weekend, did not get a chance to get the next Ruth chapter posted. Below is what I should have posted last Sunday as well as this Sunday’s installment.


Today, Iain and I left the bunker to rendezvous with Flower and the other feral children. Iain rides Joker, his elder Akhal-Teke stallion. I ride Mary-Margaret Elizabeth, one of the older, experienced Akhal-Teke mares.

Following behind Iain and Joker tethered with long lead ropes are Brutus and Constantine, a pair of Iain’s cantankerous mules heavily loaded with gear. On an equally long lead, I guide Lucius Quinctius Cincinnatus, another of Iain’s cantankerous mules. Thankfully, I only have to deal with one mule, because I have my hands full with another horse.

Led by a short lead, so that she walks directly beside my mare, is my new Akhal-Teke filly. Iain gave me my own Akhal-Teke filly – something that I was completely unprepared for. No longer is she nursing from Mary-Margaret, and my filly is just starting to take training.

I have never owned a horse before; Amy was a good horsewoman – I am not. Iain helps me gentle the young filly, and using non-cruel ways Iain will help when it is time to accustom her to a saddle and then me upon her back. He does not believe in cruelly breaking horses – ever.

Also accompanying us is a couple of Iain’s British Black Mouth cur dogs. Cyclops, the old male stays close to us. Cyclops does not get so close to the hooves of the mules, which Iain tells me is how he earned his name. Cyclops is quite friendly coming near for petting and scratching during rest breaks.

Tripod, a pregnant, aptly named, young bitch also travels with us. She is not as friendly as Tripod, remaining just out of touch. Despite her pregnancy and lacking her front left leg, she has no trouble keeping up with the horses and mules. Iain does not know how Tripod lost her leg. Missing a leg does not hinder her very much.

We are not pushing the animals very hard anyway, as there is no reason for a hard drive. The easy pace is easy on my filly as it is her first time off Iain’s property.

We are hoping that this trip along with her mother will help accustom my young filly to working with us. The little filly is still all gangly legs, and bundled energy. She is not used to being tethered to her mother, and it is a learning experience that she needs to understand when it is time to work and when it is play time.

We camp just outside of the ruins of Baker City. As is our usual habit, we camp in a depression along the Powder River. We followed the Powder River almost all of the way into the ruined city.

The Powder River parallels the ruins of old Highway 84, offering plenty of places to water the animals, fish for dinner and perhaps shoot some chukar, quail or deer that might be near the water.

While we could have made it into Baker City in one day, Iain would rather arrive during the earlier part of the day. We have no way of communicating with Flower and the other feral children. We do not wish to surprise anyone. We also have no way of knowing if Flower is still leading the small tribe.

Iain and I feel it is better to camp beside the Powder River and enter the ruins of Baker City in the morning. We are not sure how well the feral children patrol the area around the city. We are certain that once we enter the city, we are in Flower’s territory. Better to enter during the day when visibility is better.

Iain sets some snares for quail and chukar. A fantastic shot from his bow netted us a nice jake wild turkey. I usually prefer my Wild Turkey from a bottle, but these days you cannot be too picky about food. Anything that does not come from a can or that is reconstituted is a boon to our limited diet.

Iain is a master of cooking in the bush. He soon has the young turkey spitted and roasting over a bed of hot coals. Turning the bird occasionally, he heats water for tea.

While the turkey cooks, Iain makes some simple bannock to go with the bird. Using a round, cast iron griddle Iain fries the bannock. Iain tells me that he prefers his bannock more Scottish and less native. He uses baking powder, and a little sugar and salt in his recipe. Iain really likes a lot of raisins in his bannock, but we have none right now.

Iain also likes spreading butter and honey on his hot bannock, which we do have. With our fire below the ridge line in the small river channel, there is less of a chance of someone seeing the fire. I worry about the smoke, but there is almost no wind so it raises straight up.

Iain is also a master of ensuring the fire does not smoke too much or put out too many sparks, things that can attract too much unwanted attention. We only use a fire at night when the smoke cannot be seen easily. At night even if you smell the smoke it is harder to find the direction it is coming from.

After devouring the small turkey, Iain and I each open a small can of spiced peaches. A generous shot of peach schnapps in the peaches gives me a warm glow in my stomach as we prepare for bed. The horses and mules are hobbled, munching grass on the opposite side of the river.

Iain rakes hot stones and coals underneath our bed, covering them with a layer of dirt. The coals and rocks will help warm our bed during the cold night. The heavy, dun-colored canvas cover of our bedroll protects the warm wool and flannel sleeping bags inside.

Tripod and Cyclops lie together in the grass near the foot of our bed keeping each other warm. Iain gives the dogs some dried mutton and venison to eat. For a treat, the dogs each get a nice, long rib bone with some dried sinew and meat attached. After wolfing the dried meat, the dogs settle beside each other gnawing on the raw bones with relish.

After ensuring our weapons are close to hand on the respective sides of our bed, Iain strips naked before crawling in the bed roll. Not as crazy as my lover, I keep on my long-sleeved flannel shirt and an off-white, long-sleeved thermal underwear top. I quickly crawl into our bed roll, diving underneath the covers. Curling against Iain’s shaggy warmth, I try to stop shivering.

Our bed warms quickly with our body heat and the warmth seeping up from the coals and rocks underneath. Resting on my stomach, Iain rubs my back, butt and legs in a familiar way. God what is it with this man and the outdoors?

Something out here makes Iain horny as hell. He wants to jump my bones every time we camp outside the bunker. As any longtime lover should, Iain knows just how to touch me. I am soon ready for Iain who, ever the considerate lover, ensures that I am plenty wet.

Iain is physically, the largest lover I have ever been with and the most conscientious about his size. Sometimes I wish he was a little rougher in bed. I understand that in the past he has hurt lovers with his size, so he is super gentle. In this position, Iain cannot hurt me with his size.

Sometimes in missionary, if Iain shoves my ankles near my ears, he can strike my uterus too hard. Iain is always so apologetic, that I try not to let him realize that he is thrusting too hard and hurting me. In missionary, only after he has come, and is starting to go limp can I take him fully. Doggy style – forget it; he is way too long for balls-deep slamming into me.

Bringing my musings to an end, Iain’s fingertips finds that I am not yet wet enough to his liking. With a blast of cold air, he slides down the bed roll ducking underneath the covers. He lightly kisses my back, the curve of my ass cheeks, and the back of my thighs before his furry face lightly descends on my ass.

I have ridden a horse all day. I do not exactly feel just-out-of-the-shower fresh, but Iain is not put off in the least bit. His large warm hands slide up my legs spreading my legs and lifting my hips slightly. I rest on my shoulders, as Iain takes most of my weight with his arms.

His thick beard tickles my thighs as at first just the tip of his tongue teases me. Delving deeper, he then licks me with broad strokes. Pressing his lips against my sex tightly, he lightly sucks on my labia, while his thumb lightly rubs my clit. Holding his mouth firmly against me his thick tongue snakes its way inside of me, causing me to bury my face in the pillows screaming with my first orgasm.

While recovering from my orgasm, Iain lets me down so that I am lying flat on my stomach. Using his knees he nudges my legs closed, while sliding up my body. The blunt and hard yet pliable tip of his penis nudges against the tight pucker of my anus.

The tip of his penis is wet with pre-come. I momentarily fear he may attempt to slide it up my ass. I lift my hips slightly attempting to redirect Iain’s penis. I have never enjoyed anal sex. Amy was very fond of anal sex, but those are stories for another time.

Lifting my hips a little more, I try again to redirect Iain who is now firmly lodged in my perineum. Iain assists by pushing his penis down. The tip of his penis finds the wet mouth of my vagina. With a groan from both of us he slides to the hilt in one, long easy push.

Resting against my back, Iain brushes my hair from my neck. He rests his weight keeping it off of me with his elbows and knees. His large, warm hands wrap themselves underneath my shoulders, his long fingers wrapping around my clavicles.

He kisses the back of my neck and the side of my face, whispering loving words. His beard is wet and smells like me. He slowly strokes inside of me, keeping me on the edge. I must not be coming enough for him, because he slides both of his hands down my body.

His large, calloused hands slide underneath my belly and into my vagina. Iain is so much taller than me that he reaches my groin easily. One of his hands spread the lips of my vagina while the other hand finds my clit rubbing it in light circles.

Lightly pinned underneath Iain’s weight but not crushed, I come several times before, with a grunt, Iain buries himself inside me. I can feel the hot pulses of his semen as it pumps into me.

Afterwards Iain pulls me to my side, still holding me. He eventually withdraws from me, his flaccid wet penis slipping out of me to lie against my leg. Curled in the warmth of Iain’s arms I fall asleep with him kissing the top of my head.

I awake with a naked, steaming Iain kneeling by my shoulder offering a cup of equally steaming Labrador tea. Iain has a very small fire going enough to heat water for breakfast. After a quick trot to the bushes, Iain hands me a washrag and some hot water to clean up.

Iain knows that I like to bathe the morning after we make love. A quick bird bath satisfies my hygiene desires. Damp and shivering I dress quickly.

Iain splashes naked across the shallow river retrieving the mules and horses. I guess that is Iain’s idea of a bath this morning. Crazy man! That water is fucking cold! Steaming, Iain lies near the fire before donning his own clothing.

We eat our breakfast of instant oatmeal decadently sweetened with some of the last of the brown sugar. Iain is not much for talking during meals. Drinking hot Labrador tea sweetened with some of Iain’s honey, I wipe my tin cup clean with some of the left over bannock from last night.

While cleaning our tin dishes in the river, we give the horses and mules a little grain, with some dry hay in their feed bags. The horses and mules munch while we load our things and prepare to leave camp. The dogs get a mix of dried venison and mutton to gnaw on.

Iain’s bird snares were a bust last night. His ground snares did not much better, only netting us a small ground squirrel, which is fed to the dogs in about two bites.

After making sure that we have erased most of the evidence of our presence along the river, we leave the Powder River behind. I am sure that we will back along the river sometime, but we are careful not to camp in the same spot twice.

Just outside of Baker City along the remains of highway 84, we ride towards a scabrous man driving a large flatbed wagon with truck axles and truck tires. Four coal-black horses pull the man’s wagon which has the bars and general shape of a prison wagon from long ago.

The scabrous man is waving at us – I wonder what the fuck he wants. I notice Iain’s right hand drifts towards the leather chest holster underneath his left arm. His fingers are near the butt of the Super Redhawk .44 magnum revolver.

Comments are closed.

%d bloggers like this: