BOUGIE APOCALYPSE
A daily 1950s pulp-style serial
Chapter 7: Beans And Bullets
First real scrap since the cough got loose … AR-15’s speak louder than words
We shoot the Walkers… then we go back to the beans.
The fire was low and steady, just the way I liked it.
Percolator hissed on the Coleman stove, coffee bubbling dark and strong. Ham and beans simmered in the big pot beside it, the smell cutting clean through the thick swamp night.
I sat on a stump, Wilson Combat 1911 holstered tight on my hip, watching the treeline. Percolator catching the firelight, my hair still a bit damp from the day’s sweat. It reminded me of all the years I spent at Fort Stewart long ago.
Raych was off to the side, making sure bedding was set up.
Tom poked at the fire with a stick. Sarah kept one eye on Mikey, who was trying very hard to look like he wasn’t scared. The boy was twelve and learning fast.
“Beans almost ready?” Mikey asked, voice small.
“Five minutes,” Raych answered, never taking her eyes off the dark. “Civilization waits for no one, but it sure as hell waits for proper beans.”
I chuckled. Old habits. Even out here in the panhandle swamp, with the world coughing itself to death, I still made coffee and guarded the pot like it mattered. Because it did.
After we ate, everybody bedded down for the night.
I was on watch, Sarah sitting nearby, said she couldn’t sleep. I could understand that, I was all nerves and tension right now, felt like that first time in combat. Almost.
I heard a branch snap — too heavy for a gator, too deliberate for wind. Then the low, wet moans started. A lot of them.
“Bad guys inbound,” I whispered, already bringing my Ruger AR-556 up. “Wake the others. Quietly.”
Sarah moved fast. Seconds later Raych, Tom, and Mikey were up and ready. Tom was holding a well worn shotgun I hadn’t realized he had. Quick mental note, “inventory Tom’s truck and gear” and then back to the business at hand.
10 or so Walkers came shuffling out of the mist like something from a nightmare — more than we’d seen at once since the Cough started.
“Steady,” I said, voice low and calm. “Controlled pairs. Make every round count. We work as a team.”
Raych took the left flank with her Daniel Defense M4, ready to go to work. Tom was on my right with his shotgun. Sarah and Mikey stayed tight behind us.
The first volley cracked the night. My Ruger barked twice, shifted to the next, barked again. Raych’s rifle joined in perfect rhythm. Tom’s old shotgun boomed like thunder, cutting down two Walkers that got too close.
It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t cinematic. It was ugly, loud, and terrifying. But we stayed calm. We stayed together.
When the last Walker dropped, the swamp fell silent except for the ringing in our ears and the heavy breathing of five people who had just fought as a crew for the first time.
I lowered my rifle and did a quick After Action Review out loud. “Good spacing. Good fire discipline. Nobody panicked. Sarah and Mikey, you stayed clear of the shooters. That’s how we stay alive.”
Raych gave me that small fierce smile, sweat on her freckled face. “that was pretty good.”
Tom wiped down the shotgun with a rag, hands steady despite the adrenaline. “First time I’ve pulled the trigger in anger since Desert Storm.” I looked over at him, seeing what I’d missed at first, the eyes told the tale of course.
Sarah checked on Mikey, who looked pale but determined. The kid had stayed calm and followed every command.
I looked around the little circle — all of us still breathing, still human, still refusing to become savages.
“Coffee,” I said. “Then we police brass and drag the bodies. With gloves on. Civilization will not be rushed.”
The percolator went back on the Coleman stove. The ham and beans got reheated. Combat makes you hungry.
We had just survived our first real fight together.
And for the first time, it felt like we might actually have a chance.
Raych gave that small fierce smile again, freckles dancing in the firelight. “World didn’t end tonight.”
I took a sip of coffee, then spooned out a bowl of ham and beans.
“Damn right it didn’t. Pass the hot sauce.”
Bougie Apocalypse
A daily serial about heirloom beans, carbon steel skull-crackers, and refusing to let the apocalypse win.
#BougieApocalypse #BeansAndBullets #TheCough #StayHuman
Jack Harlan’s adventures continue right here for now, but the official home for the whole Bougie Apocalypse series is moving.
Come find us at JackHarlanStories.com and BougieApocalypse.com — same beans, same bullets, same stubborn civilization.