Zombie apocalypse fiction – Ruth’s Story #187 Travelling North & Night at Warm Beach #TEOTWAWKI #SHTF #WROL

After the lunch break, we continue our travel north taking the back roads. Our faithful dump truck snow plow, leads the way crushing aside any cars left in the road. The back roads for the most part are clear, but occasionally a small knot of cars in encountered.

We travel in silence for a while. We eat lunch as we travel eating mostly cold MRE entrees. Honey attempts to eat a minestrone stew MRE, even after dousing it liberally with Tabasco and then something called Shut Up Sauce, it still smelled, looked and had the consistency of vomit.

Even Monster would not eat it. Rescuing the precious brown MRE spoon from the packet, Honey tosses the inedible stew out the window across Shack’s face. The speed and ferocity that Honey tosses the MRE packet out the window startles Shack.

“Fuck! Watch it!”

“Sorry Shack, but there was no way that I could have hit you,” Honey is confident in her skills. I forget sometimes how strong she is and how fast her reflexes are.

Looking at the little slip of a girl, you would not think her strong enough to rip a man’s arm from his body, or lift a man from the ground and then break his spine over her knee.

Honey is already scary in hand to hand combat, as I teach her Krav Maga; she is getting only more deadly.

Shack hands out 24 ounce cans of tepid Coors Light beer. “Who do you think you are? Shack do you think you are Dionysus?”

Shack snorts, “Which one? Shack rattles off: Dionysius Geevarghese, Mar Dionysius I, Dionysius the Philosopher, Patriarch Dionysius II of Constantinople, Patriarch Dionysius I of Constantinople, Dionysius the Wise, Saint Dionysios of Zakynthos, Dionysius I Metropolitan of Moscow, Dionysius Bar-Salibi, Dionysius Exiguus, Dionysius of Milan, or Pope Dionysius?”

“Fucking PK,” I mutter. He grins at me, that lop sided smirk I love so much.

Honey declines as she hates beer, while Monster sucks his down with gusto, burping merrily as he hands the empty can to Honey.

Oy vey! Handing out booze to kids. Although Monster is only about six months old, physically he looks like a two or three-year old kid.

Sipping my luke warm beer, I drive for a while when Honey suddenly breaks the comfortable silence.

“After using the bushes, I overheard the boys saying something that I do not understand.” Honey begins without preamble. “One of the boys asked, ‘What’s the difference between parsley and pussy?’ I don’t understand the answer – one of the boys said ‘No one eats parsley!’”

Shack caught off guard and with a full mouth of beer chokes. Coughing, he spatters beer all over the passenger side dash and window.

Wiping his mouth, Shack choking on beer mutters, “oh, fuck me.” Shack is blushing all the way to his ears. I remember last night Shack buried in my wet flesh, sucking gently on my little man in boat.

What Shack lacks in skill he more than makes up in enthusiasm. Shack is also an excellent listener and is getting much better. I usually have to pry his head from between my legs; otherwise Shack would remain there far past the pleasurable point.

“Ruth you are blushing too,” Honey exclaims. “What did I say? How do you eat pussy? I don’t get it?”

“Uh, Ruth this one is for you, babe.”

“Thank you, Shack but I am not about to explain oral sex to Honey, with Monster’s little ears so near.”

“Oh!” Honey exclaims, her face flaming hot with embarrassment. “That’s what it means!” She drops her head, rummaging in an old air crew flight bag giving Monster some more snacks.

At the end of the day, the convoy stays for the night in an old Christian sea side retreat, called Warm Beach. This large piece of property must have been a very nice place before KCAP and the damn FEMA.

Like it did across the US, FEMA took over large pieces of property establishing camps. This ruined FEMA camp is somewhat less dreary than some of the others we have been in. Our Scouts tear through the place looking for anything of value.

Regrettably, scavengers took anything of value long before we got here. Weapons, food, and any useful medication has long ago disappeared. After the place is searched, camp is organized and tents set up.

Only a few of the buildings survive, most were burnt or destroyed by weather and time. We spread out through the compound, establishing perimeters and guard rotation. Shack and I are lucky as we pull an early guard shift before dark.

We return from our guard rotation finding our tent set up beside our truck. Entering our tent, Carol sits on their side of the tent, feeding little Stiva. As Shack and I drop our gear on our bedroll, I watch Stiva’s chubby little hands wave in the air.

While eating our evening meal of stew with mystery meat in it with gray chunks of what once might have been vegetables, a runner enters the mess tent. The young man runs up to me, “Ruth you are wanted in the comm shack. Nikola says there is something strange on the radio. He hopes you might be able to figure it out.”

Oh, fuck … now what?