22. Ration Day
The Cough Is Loose
Well… I meant to schedule Chapter 22 for the 29th, but apparently my finger had other plans. Surprise! Enjoy the bonus chapter. 😅 Next one is still scheduled for the 30th as planned.
The morning after the big conversation felt heavier than the ones before it. The swamp air hung thick and humid, carrying the constant low chorus of frogs and the damp, earthy smell of rotting vegetation.
I measured the coffee beans with more care than usual, grinding exactly what we would need for the day. No more generous scoops. The manual mill clicked steadily while everyone else moved quietly around camp. The sound was almost meditative, but it couldn’t hide the tension hanging in the heavy air.
When the percolator finally started hissing, I poured careful portions, smaller than what we had been drinking just a week ago. The rich aroma still rose, but it felt restrained now.
Sarah took her cup and stared at it like it had personally betrayed her. “This is it?”
“This is it,” I said. “We’re rationing everything starting today. Smaller portions on food. Coffee gets stretched. No seconds unless someone is actually sick or hurt.”
Tom nodded slowly, but I could see the resignation in his eyes. Mikey looked disappointed but didn’t complain. The kid was tougher than he let on. Raych just gave me a small, understanding nod. She knew this was coming.
I continued, keeping my voice steady. “We’ve still got bullets. Plenty of them. But food is going to be tight until we figure something out. We make what we have last. No waste. Not even a grain of rice.”
The day passed in quiet tension. Smaller meals. Careful sips of coffee. Even the conversation around the fire felt thinner. Sarah kept glancing at the go-boxes like they might magically refill. Mikey tried to act normal but kept looking at the pot every time someone stirred it. The constant drip of water from the cypress trees and the distant splashes reminded us how isolated we truly were.
Later that evening, as I was cleaning the De Buyer, Raych stepped up beside me. The savory smell of the day’s modest rice and beans still lingered in the humid air.
“You know we can’t stay here forever like this, right?” she said quietly. “The swamp hides us, but it’s not feeding us.”
I kept scrubbing the pan. “I know. But out there it’s worse. We’ve seen what’s coming. The Walkers are changing. We’re safer here for now.”
Sarah, who had been listening nearby, spoke up. “Safer… or just delaying the inevitable?”
The words hung in the humid air.
I looked around at my crew, my wife, our chosen family, and felt the weight again. I was leading. I was making the calls. But I could feel the question growing louder every day.
“Every time we go on a supply run,” I said, “we’re going to face Walkers. More of them. Faster ones. It’s not sustainable long-term either.”
Raych gave me a small, knowing look. She understood the bind we were in.
How long could we stay human while slowly starving in our green fortress?
Bougie Apocalypse
A serialized military-flavored post-apocalyptic pulp story about heirloom beans, De Buyer carbon steel skull-crackers, good coffee, and refusing to let the apocalypse win.
#BougieApocalypse #TheCough #StayHuman
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