Skip to content

Zombie apocalypse fiction – Ruth’s Story #172 One More Night In Baker City #TEOTWAWKI #SHTF #WROL

May 2, 2016

I am not sure quite what set Iain off, but if he needs help he will yell. I notice that he left his rifle in the wagon next to red-head.

Since it is late afternoon, there is no sense in pushing on; we will reach Flower’s tribe tomorrow morning. With much urging, I get red-head out of the wagon and have her help me walk the team into the overgrown grass in front of what once might have been an office building.

The bare cement face of the old building will provide cover for our backs and give us shelter. Unfortunately, the building also limits our escape options, so we will have to be careful.

Sheltered by the wagon and the large building, I set up camp with some minimal help from red-head. I get the team hobbled, and munching on the grass, but Mary-Margaret and Lucius appear preoccupied with where Iain went.

I get a small fire going sheltered by the building. From the black char marks on the building it is not the first time a fire has been made here. I keep the fire small, worried that either the smoke or the light might attract attention.

As darkness falls, I heat water for MREs and make some shepherd’s purse tea for menstruation. My time of the month is soon and I have found that the shepherd’s purse helps with my cramps. I set aside Iain’s dandelion root coffee.

I have never liked coffee, and like dandelion root coffee even less. Red-head and I eat in silence. After supper I dispose of our MRE wrappers in the fire, and police our campsite as best as I can.

I lay out four claymore mines in a semicircular pattern facing away from our campsite. About 50 meters before the claymores, I set shotgun shell antipersonnel mines with the shells aimed horizontally.

Laying out our bedroll, I climb in fully clothed. Red-head joins me underneath the covers. I lay against the cold wall of the concrete building the fire to my left within easy reach. I have enough fire wood and other trash collected while setting up the mines to keep the fire burning all night.

I do not want too much of a fire, but enough to keep red-head and I warm, without giving away our position. A large dead birch tree in the center of the small grassy area provided a lot of the sticks I am burning.

It is a shame that the birch tree is dead as Iain likes tapping birch trees for water and sap. Oh well the wood burns well, and as the night settles in with red-head snoring beside me I prepare for a long boring night.

My Galil I lay on top of my blankets between my legs, while my pistol lies beside me on my belt. I cannot sleep with my belt on, so I took it off. I have a 60-round Pmag inserted in my rifle, and four 30-round magazines lie beside me.

My Galil mags are loaded with alternating FMJ, hollow point and soft-point 69-grain ammo. Every fourth round is a steel-cored, green-tipped penetrator. I have two mags of nothing but 77-grain, tungsten-cored penetrators in my pack.

I hate the term “armor-piercing” as these small rounds are not really armor-piercing, but were made to penetrate old Kevlar body armor. Short of a bunch of zombies, raiders, or worse, I feel that we are sufficiently armed.

Boredom quickly sets in. With red-head snoring softly beside me, I wish for something to keep my mind active. There is no caffeine, and any kind of delicious green tea is but a memory. I start playing mind games to keep me awake while I watch and wait for Iain to return.

With nothing else to do around the bunker, Iain has gotten me reading just about every book he has in his extensive library. Thankfully, his library is real paper and not electronic, as most of it would have been worthless.

In my pack, I have a well-read, paperback omnibus of Poul Anderson’s Operation Chaos. I wish I had a “Tarnkappen” from Anderson’s books – it would have come in handy so many times when I wanted to disappear.

I hear something rustling in the grass. I watch the animals ears turn towards the sound but they do not make any noise. I realize that the wind is blowing in the wrong direction (from our backs) and that the animals cannot smell what is coming towards us through the weeds.

Flipping the safety off on my Galil, I reach out to shake red-head awake.

Comments are closed.

%d bloggers like this: