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What the living, livid FUCK did they do to me?
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 SkipNChurch |
What the living, livid FUCK did they do to me?
Nov 7 2008, 11:17 PM EST
"Christ it is cold up here. No fire, no heat signature, blanketed down, covered in sage and shit, owl living on top of me, and to beat all, fucking goddamn cold binoculars that need to be used anytime something seen..""Damn wind blowing a good 45mph this evenin' according to gauge in back of cave." "Hell I might be able to use one of those self warming coffee cups and cans of soup before Bobbert gets here.." Snuffling up tight under wool blankets was Slim, one of our little Zhunds. I had picked him from Sam and Heidi's latest litter. He was the "runt". Still at a year, small in stature and cute as a new penny, his nose and big bat ears were my primary guard against Unkle Zed. With wind whipping as typical here on Salusi Butte, we watched old Interstate 82 for action, movement, or indications of potential problems. Damn this was boooOOOoooRing duty to pull straw for. Necessary? That is what I'm told, and trading off with our youngsters lets them know even we "old farts" are willing to pull our slots and rotations. Slims nose shoots up hard into wind, his comical little dog growl, like a windup toy sound, starts in bursts. "Wrrrrrrrrr! GwRrrRRRRRRR!" Little stumpy front leg comes up in point, tail high, he's looking North, uproad. Clicking my handheld twice, alert youngin's on Bridge duty to wake up and pay attention. Slim is ready to go kick some ass. His lead keeps him in, and placing finger on thorat stills his shrill barking. 'Scopes uncapped and looking around, panning across desert cleaned of everything, big rocks, bushes, desert plants, anything on entry to Bridges, there *IS* a cloud of dust coming our way. Radio clicked five times, waiting for response, hear a GPMG open up. It isn't ours, and no tracers yet. Our boys and girls are maing ready on East Bridge. |
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1. "Fatman, Fatman, wwhaats going on up there??"
Nov 7 2008, 11:32 PM EST
"Aww SHIT!!!" Radio left on and high enough that if anyone was within hearing range down butte, we'd be heard. Slim is down on all fours, looks like a little He-Wolf, ready to eat something. I can't see shit with dust and wind whipping across my vantage point here at 600 feet. "Wonderfuckinful". I'm thinking that taking out my old trusty NVG might be of some assistance, hoping BGs are not ready to find electronic signals, nor think to look this high up off freeway. First round of our mines pop off. Built BIG "Bouncing Betties", hoping to disable and kill anything moving. Fifty pounds of industrial ferts and some POL product, mixed, sealed, shot off with some of Mr. Tanner's best. BOooM! BOoooOOOM! BooBOooooOOBOOOOBOOOMM! "FUCK!" Ducking back into my hole, dragging Slim, pissed off enough he is trying to break his lead, world lights up all around North end of Columbia Bridge. THERE are those tracers!! Lights flashing, angry bees and fast moving wisps of angry metal fly up off structure, into air, all marked "To Whom It May Concern!" At this point, radio silence is broken, hear our kids open up with assorted toys and tools of War. As directed by "Fly One" in his armored box on top of South Bridge, the steel structured one, fire is directed by higher powered night vision. Gift of unlimited power from the Columbia River dam, we own the nights. Asked for direction for our guys with big guns, those 50's and the few 'tubes salvaged and rebuilt into working mortars, best I can tell the boys is "Fire a click up from North Bridge, and all over service road to Washington side of dam!" "NOW!" "PlllUUuuNK!" "PooP!" Pluuuuuuup!" could hear individual tubes going off as quickly as our boys would load. Slim screams... I look up right into dead, grey.. |
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2. "Bad place to be!"
Nov 7 2008, 11:46 PM EST
..eyes of Unkle Zed.He's down, below me, and in turn would have to climb a sharp eight foot ridge to get me.. If he had been still human, we would have been dead. Ignoring Slim, his nose, training, had now put both of us into one hellova position. If there is ONE Zed, there is gonna be fifty on this fucking hill side. Who pushed Zed this far? How many? WAIT..! Bet they've been trucked in from the Upper Valley. Heard that SeaTac emptied over mountains into Yakima as Panics hit. Fucking wonderful, Quislings are now using Zed as dead-free shock troops. Holding Slim tight, getting to my buried 1911, suppressed long ago as a toy for my fun time, finally draw it out. "FUCK!" Muttered hard, hammer is down. Chambered round or not? Trying to press check it, hold Slim tight and carefully, doing all but impossible. Fuggit.. Pull hammer back with thumb, aim at nearest Zed, press. "TwooOOOooooOOOPpppPP!" Good sound. Safed, harness on Slim, him tied tight to check pack, mags ready, NVG warmed. Radio downstairs, "Boys you've got a wave of Zed coming around the Butte, numbers unknown, look healthy and moving fast!" One of Unkle's better Band Bots stumbles over downed body, starts to snoffle and sniff around. Slim screams through his muzzle, fucking Zed sees where noise is from, starts to climb up. Got a nice suitcoat on, pants, shoes. He won't be a gimp. Others sense his "look" and begins to follow. fool that I am, figured "just watching" not taking a rifle was prudent. Not... fucking... now...I...do....not. "THWOOooooooOOOOOOK!" Large flash damn near on me. Boys below have hillside plotted, triangulated well. "Fatman, can you bail to South, NOW?!!!" "FUCK I DON'T KNOW!, I CAN'T SEE!" "Sorry Slim..." |
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3. "What an ugly little fuggin' mutt.."
Dec 5 2008, 3:26 PM EST
Hard to find anything redeemable about this little furry bag of wiggles and squeals. Nowhere as big as his brothers, as small as his sisters, and had every backwards trait FEOs mini Zhunds had been bred out of.One floppy ear, other almost upright, bit too deep in chest, too short in length, and funny looking almost green eyes, in a brindle package that made Slim look smaller than he was. No one had called for him at ten weeks, he was last of pups out of Minimiutt's last litter. Alone and looking for a companion, we two seemed made for each other. Little guy fit well within my gear bag, had to shift pistol holster off chest to left side, couldn't draw that one fast, gave pupper a great look out front an to our sides. Not even eight pounds Slim was able to sneak and slide around places first, great little Scouter hund, he'd come back, his eyes and tail very good prognosticator of what was behind wall, rocks, debris. As a pup he made three trips to Boise long before the formal Zhunds were able to with their handlers and Team. Little guy had to have been a supply guy in a past life, or run incinerator on an aircraft carrier. Nothing got by him that was a goodie, useful, or sometimes fun. Slim performed well for ME. Others? He'd look them over and give them the north end of his southgoing dogbutt... Simple trip last week. Take the armored Hino, one with liftgate, three guys and or gals to Portland. Find tires in noted sizes first, then trade for or scrounge up whatever else would fit on. Never loiter, never spend nights, and if trapped, find shelter at one of three known friendly enclaves. "Shoot, only of you must, but do so to ensure survival. We're not counting rounds on Home end." On mostly decent surface road down Interstate to City,noted beauty of Columbia River Gorge, marred slightly by discoloration of human fights, messes left by those... |
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4. Portland interlude...
Dec 5 2008, 3:45 PM EST
..who were here just a few years past during Panics and resulting hot Zwar.Things have cooled down now as Cities *seemed* to have run out of masses of the Undead Again bands, we've not seen more than a few hundred in a group for months now.. Slim BARKS! "What the fuck little guy?" He dances the crazy little dog dance of "I need to go see!!!!" Wake Candice and Rob, let them know to power up and load hard. As we come to as quiet a stop on side of road, her 10x's see a little car on road not mapped. Its gone wrong way on Interstate, thinking **TRAP**. "OK Slim, this is what you do little guy, go sniff.." Open door as far as inside safety chain allows, let Hunder out. Ben, up top in bubble opens port, covers Slim with his FAL, I know anyone within 500 is gonna catch one hurting hard if Slim is accosted... Candy watching, says his ".. his tail still up, not wiggling tho..". As hunder gets close, we watch as something human comes up the back from behind car. FAL coughs as Ben's toy fires at its feet. Ben uses PA system "One for a warning, next move is your last!" Person? Stands fully up, puts hands in air after setting rifle looking device down. Slim walks up to "him" and does the Craxxxxxxy Pup Hi Howareya dance... Candy bails out, Rob follows, I take truck at walking pace forward, worried about snipers and IEDs.. This area has been a no man's land for many years, but not knowing whats happening in City, prudence, slowness, carefully working up is what I demand.. By now Human shows to be female, and contrary, grouchy Brindle Slim is upside down in her arms, and letting she rub his belly. My Team gets there and after a touch of palaver, lower their barrels to low ready. Hino, even a slow low gear gets to her ride quickly. Obvious why she didn't go farther. Two tires on driver's... |
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5. Portland interludeII
Dec 5 2008, 4:09 PM EST
.. stitched up tight and holed to shit all in same time. few strays hit her autos door panels.Little lady falls to ground, Slim falls, squeals and cries as she dumps him on his ass. Assuming something hit her, my guys hit flat and take cover, draggin' her to side of car. Wait, minute, two, five. Nothing else. Either a patient ultra-long range shooter, or "something else. "Something else" turned out to be a through and through hole in her left shoulder, filled with fragments of bone and glass intermixed with drying blood and clothing. "Well fuck, I'm a Medic, but this is something Doc Carey is gonna have to fix.." Out of radio range, and way far out of a quick run to anyone, we toss her in back of truck. Lights on, heat up, and drop down to cut everything off. Body armor, quality, clean under clothing, somewhat well fed, not fat, but not worn hard feed bad wise.. Wound looks dry and hard, she's been living off determination, enough bloods gone to really fuck her up. Sixteen gauge, LR in right arm, NS in left, go to work assesing, finding her lungs and heart clear, pulse fast and thready. Slim simply craws back into Hino's cab, works past gear and ammo, sits on side of her head, licking her ear, and trying to heal her. Taking somewhat warm NS, douch out the wound area, not finding metal good, rolling her up on side some, fill exit with roller and set her down. gonna hope and suspect little to no Cspine damage, she was walking on her own.. **HOPE**. Command Decision time... "Candy, go loot her ride for her gear, and anything we can use. Rob, cover. Moves, shoot it." Her airway isn't bad, but damn I need some O2 for her, like crazy. In truck we've got bigt bottled of compressed atmosphere for tire fills and whatnot while on road. it is all I've got. One bottle, former welder,.... |
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6. RE: Portland interludeII
Dec 5 2008, 4:19 PM EST
.. had gauge. With pressure down to as slight as I need, and a bit of clear hose running something at pressure into her lungs will help..Slim Starts Up... Goes fucking POSTAL... "Fuck little mutt, I'm blind in here, what is WRONG??".. Stand up from my work here to hear the moans and graons of the Undead Again Band... SLAM! Candy runs into back of van, pulls her pistol starts shooting supressed rounds at targets that have to be right at back door. She tosses in a large bag that is pungently smelling, and seemingly full of clothing. Hino starts, hear Rob's voice as he cusses his way to working the shifter. Candy looks up to me, eyes meet, says "He got it on the hand, Zed bitch bit him when he was going to open car door. they were in a cage that is down in that deep part of ditch..." "Shit!" Slim isn't happy, little Hund smells those things he's been trained all his life to hate and fight. Rob stinks of Zed, and I'm thinking Slim can sense the Change happening... Truck works around in the wide Interstate roadway, we're headed back the hours journey to first place we can find a Real Doctor. I ask Rob, "How long buds?" "I don't know, as soon as we're free of these fuckers, I'll get out and take care of It.' "It" Fuck. Like "It" was a bad tooth at a french kissing party, or dirty undies floating in your hotubbing.. "DAMMMMN!" She's doing a bit better with fluids and air. Only thing I can do now is watch her. Candy keeps her little .22 aimed at back of driver's seat back. Slim is all furred up, concerned for his new Human, and pissed over stench of Zed only he can smell.. |
