“Everything but the gas cans. We'll get those tomorrow. This takes priority." he answered.
"You still haven't told me what 'this' is yet..." Melanie stated.
"It's... Complicated. Let me get to work. Do you remember where the grocery aisle is?" Clay asked.
Melanie thought for a moment, silently attempting to recollect the path which they had taken.
"Yes." she answered.
"Okay. Well... I'm not trying to sound like a complete asshole or anything, but do you think you could come up with something for us to eat? We can cook with the camp stove." Clay said apologetically.
"Alright." she answered. Melanie disliked cooking. However, she knew she had to continue to contribute to the pair's efforts.
"Take the shotgun with you. If you can manage it, just run as fast as you can and avoid using the shotgun unless you absolutely must. Come back here and we'll sort out whatever is following you, together." Clay instructed.
Melanie nodded, and with that she was off. Clay began laying out the components which they had just gathered. He started by preparing the filter and lubricating the flat end with a generic lubricant he had grabbed from the hardware department. Then, carefully, he proceeded to use the tap, intent on cutting threads into an existing hole located on the bottom of the filter. Twisting the tap, then backing it out. Lubricating the tap, then twisting it again. He knew that he had only a few chances to get this right. There weren't very many of these filters on the shelf. After he was satisfied, he did his best to wipe the filter clean of oil. Then using one of the display hooks to hang the filter, Clay carefully painted it matt black with the spray paint he had previously procured. The next task was going to be a one shot deal and Clay took a moment to calm his nerves before moving forward. The completion of this tool could mean life or death for both himself and Melanie. Using the multitool that he kept on his belt, he taped the front sight out of the barrel belonging to the twenty-two caliber rifle. Clay soaked the rifle’s muzzle with the lubricant and picked up the die. This was it. He took a deep breath and performed a similar process with the die as he had done with the filter. However, it differed as threads were now being cut into the outside of the barrel's muzzle, as opposed to the inside of the bore. When he had finished, Clay carefully inspected the freshly cut, shiny metal.
"All done?" Melanie asked, approaching Clay from behind.
She had returned with a bag of dehydrated rice, sweet and sour sauce in a cylindric glass jar, and a small jug of water.
"Not sure yet. We won't find out much until the paint is dry." Clay replied.
After laying the rifle on the floor, Clay wiped his hands off on his pants. The two had squared away a bed for the night in the home decor department. Their packs were leaning up against the bed, while Mel had begun rummaging through the dry bag in search of Clay's camp stove.
"So, it's not much... But it'll be hot." Melanie said in regard to the food.
"Anything is better than nothing." Clay said, sitting down in front of the rifle with his back against the bed.
Clay began installing the rifle’s optics which he had scavenged from the outfitter, while Melanie had begun to boil water. The two sat in mutual silence while they worked on their respective tasks. By the time Clay had finished mounting the rifle's sight, Melanie was dishing out the rehydrated rice into a set of tiny plastic bowls that she had retrieved from Clay’s bag. While they ate in silence, Clay thought back to the shitty camp food he had eaten for the past month. He hadn't had a good meal for just over four weeks now and wondered if he ever would again. However, as far as this meal was concerned, Melanie was correct. It was hot and the rice would provide them with enough energy for the following day.
After the meal had been devoured by the pair's mutual effort, Melanie moved toward cleaning up the cookware, but was cut off by Clay.
"No, no... I have another job for you. You cooked, so I'll clean. But while I clean, I need you to load the magazines for the rifle." Clay said.
He sat down next to Melanie and placed a box of twenty-two rimfire ammunition and five magazines in front of her. She picked up one of the magazines and began turning it over in her hands, inspecting it curiously.
"I've never held a gun clip before..." Melanie said, without taking her eyes of the magazine she held in front of her.
"It's not a clip. This isn't Hollywood and you're not a shitty musician. It's a rifle magazine. If you want to shorten it, calling it a 'mag' is entirely appropriate. A clip is completely different then a box magazine." Clay interrupted.
Melanie sat there with a sort of stunned look on her face. Clay actually sounded serious...
Clay smiled and nudged her with his elbow. He began demonstrating how to properly load a box magazine to Melanie, who copied exactly what Clay was doing. Once he was satisfied that she could competently load them, he left her and began to sort out the dishes.
"I'm done." Mel said, breaking the mutual silence which they had both been participating in while finishing their assignments. "Now what?"
"The filter is on that rack over there. Can you grab it?" Clay asked, nodding towards the fuel filter that he had hung on a peg prior to painting it, and returned to the repacking of the cookware.
Melanie carefully grabbed the filter and looked at it in her hands; ensuring its paint was fully dry. Clay now had the rifle and held his hand out expectantly towards Mel, wanting the filter.
"Alright, Clay. I'm lost. What exactly have you been working on, that is so important?" she asked.
Clay offered no response initially and began threading the fuel filter onto the muzzle of the rifle. He bent down and scooped a magazine up off the floor when he had finished.
"I saw this done in a video I watched on the internet once..." he said, as he inserted the magazine into the rifle's loading port located in front of the trigger guard.
"What? I'm not entirely sure what that is, but it looks like something I saw once in an action movie. That was a lot of work for something that you saw on the internet. It's probably not even going to work!" Melanie chided.
"I think you should stand behind me... Just incase you're right." Clay said, drawing back the rifles cocking lug. When it was fully drawn, he released the mechanism and it slammed forward with a SHUCK.
Melanie moved behind Clay as he shouldered the rifle.
"You're going to kill one of us with this stupid idea..." Mel said, as she tucked herself behind him.
Clay had already directed his head lamp which he had laid on the floor, down the aisle he was facing. He too had his doubts. This was just too easy. But, considering how formidable of a weapon that this slight rifle could become if he could suppress it, the payoff would be enormous.
Clay took a few deep breaths, then exhaled slightly. He began squeezing the trigger and grip with his entire hand. The rifle hadn't been zeroed yet, but he focused the crosshairs on a box containing tableware that had been illuminated by his headlamp.
He maintained his focus and continued to gently squeeze until...
SHUCK! PING!
A round zipped down range and the action cycled. The tiny projectile having hit something which had been composed of metal.
"Holy shit!" Clay said excitedly.
"What?" Melanie asked.
"It worked! It actually worked!" Clay said, laughing for few seconds afterwards.
"Did you even fire it?" Mel prodded.
"Yah! Didn't you hear it? The rifle action cycled!" he exclaimed.
"Woooow... You're pretty proud of yourself aren't you?" Melanie ribbed.
Clay placed the crosshairs back onto the box of tableware and began squeezing the trigger as fast as he could, until the magazine was empty…
SHUCK SHUCK SHUCK SHUCK SHUCK SHUCK SHUCK SHUCK SHUCK, P-P-P-P-P-P-P-P-PING!
Melanie had been watching this time and became equally impressed with Clay's contraption. Even while standing directly behind him, the only sound audible to her was the sliding of the metal components insid
e the rifle and a quiet popping caused by the bullet breaking the sound barrier, which was only slightly louder then the first.
"Alright, it works... But are you sure that those little bullets can even kill an infected? Aren't bullets typically... A lot bigger? Just look at the size of your shotgun shells!" Mel said.
"Those shotgun shells are filled with tiny projectiles that are about the same size as a twenty-two caliber bullet. The difference being, a shotgun throws a pattern of shot and a rifle shoots a bullet precisely." Clay explained.
"If you shoot a man in the head with this, he's going to drop. With this thing, we can shoot all we want, without worrying about drawing the attention of every infected within earshot." Clay continued, beaming over his own success.
"I see..." Melanie said. Beginning to understand why he was so excited about his little project.
Clay stepped aside and held the rifle out to Melanie.
"No, I don't know how to shoot." she said hesitantly, taking a step back.
"Well, you're going to have to learn... Because this is yours now." Clay said with a smile, pressing the rifle's receiver gently into her chest.
*****
Shooting wasn't nearly as difficult as Mel had initially expected it to be. Keeping in mind that the targets which she had been practicing on were all relatively close. However, Clay had instructed her to keep all of her shots between twenty-five and forty yards. He explained that in keeping her shots anywhere between those two distances, she wouldn't be required to compensate for the natural arc of the projectile. Clay had been a good teacher. Melanie was becoming increasingly confident in her ability to hit what she was aiming at with the little rifle.
"Firing the rifle accurately at these close ranges is the easy part, Mel." Clay said.
"What do you mean? What's the hard part than?" she asked.
"Remember back on the road? Before the farm house? The man who grabbed your leg... You said that you knew him from the grocery store." he answered.
Melanie didn't respond. The gruesome image of he acquaintance, forever burned into her memory.
"Mel, these used to be people. People that you used to know. You might not recognize them from a distance, but through the scope on that rifle you just might find that they used to be your neighbour, or your friend.” Clay explained.
"Is that why it was so easy for you? You didn't know them?" Melanie asked.
"It was easy because I chose to focus on the living. The living right now consists of you and me. For all we know, the infected can't be helped and even if they could, that wouldn't change a thing. Because at that moment, a life was on the line." Clay said.
Mel was considering Clay's words, when she was interrupted by a thumping sound that resonated throughout the gigantic building. The two stood silently for a moment, listening intently to the hollow echo of the pounding.
"By the sounds of that, I'm pretty sure that I have an idea of what happened to the occupants of the cars outside..." Clay said.
He moved to his pack and drew his tomahawk from its loop and slipped his fingers into his brass knuckles.
"Well? Think you can handle that rifle?" he asked.
Melanie nodded while loading a fresh magazine into the weapon. The pair began weaving through the aisles, with Clay in the lead. Mel and Clay followed the noise together, until the two came to a door whose sign read, ‘Employees Only’, written across it.
"Well... We know that there are at least three of them and that none of them know how to use a door knob..." Clay said.
"So, what's the plan?" Melanie asked nervously.
"Kneel down at the edge of that aisle, just like we practiced. I'm going to walk over to that door and open it. Hopefully when I open it, they don't rush out. I'm going to try and occupy the first two that come through, ideally allowing you to drop the third as it tries to get through the doorway." Clay explained.
"And if they rush through the door?" Mel asked.
"The idea is that I'm there to bottleneck the doorway. If you stay to the right side of this aisle and I stay to the left side of the door, you should have an opening. I have to push that door to open it unfortunately, so give me a chance to step back before you put your finger on the trigger. Understand?" Clay instructed.
"Clay, I'm not sure if this is a good..." Mel started, but was interrupted by Clay.
"Mel... This isn't going to be easy. I know that there are a million places that you'd rather be right now, with a million other people, doing a million other things. But you can't be there." Clay said, in an attempt to steel her nerves.
Melanie nodded in resignation and moved to the end of the aisle directly to the right of Clay, just as he had instructed. Kneeling down, she shouldered the rifle, just as Clay had taught her. Clay laid his head lamp on the floor to illuminate the area in front of them, affording Mel the ability to see as she peered through the rifle scope and relaxed her body, allowing the crosshairs to hover just to the right of the door.
Clay approached the door. With his tomahawk at the ready in his right hand, he grasped the door knob with his left, the brass rings sliding harshly across the metal. Clay took a deep breath. He had trouble freeing his mind of the thought that if Melanie couldn't do this, then at some point they would likely both die. If she failed to do this right now, then they would likely both be killed tonight.
Clay twisted the knob and threw his shoulder into the door. From her position Melanie saw a pair of hands thrust outward through the open doorway and Clay swinging his tomahawk downward onto something concealed by the veil of darkness.
Clay's attack had struck home and the blade bit deep into the skull of the infected who had reached out to him. Clay tried to jerk the tomahawk out of the man's cranium, but instead drug him out through the door way. The infected fell forward across the entrance of the room, taking Clay's tomahawk with him and having it remain in his brow. Clay pushed the door fully open, attempting to step out of the room as he had planned. However, in stepping back to allow Mel a shot, his heel had caught on the body of the fallen infected, causing him to tumble backwards onto the floor.
A second infected rushed through the door after Clay, who also tripped over the freshly fallen corpse. His trajectory placing him directly on top of Clay.
"CLAY!" Mel shouted in a panic.
A third infected stepped into the doorway in an attempt to also reach Clay. Melanie knew that this was her chance. Watching Clay fall backwards reminded her of his words about maintaining her focus on the living. A brief moment of hesitation was all that had kept her from shooting the man who was now on top of Clay, and she was not about to let that happen again.
As the infected, who had been a woman prior to the outbreak, stepped into the lit doorway, Melanie brought the rifle to bear on her; resting the scope's crosshairs just above her nose. Melanie squeezed her hand into a fist, putting even pressure on the trigger. She didn't hear the rifle go off, but saw the woman drop where she stood in the doorway. Without thinking, Mel stood and began briskly walking down the aisle towards Clay, who was currently struggling with the man on top of him. As she moved, she kept her rifle shouldered and her eye through the sight, just as she had seen Clay do with his shotgun. Mel did her best to hold the crosshairs where she anticipated the man's head would be if Clay managed to push his attacker's upper body upright.
"Push his head up, Clay!" she shouted.
Clay was pushing his palm into the man's upper chest, trying to generate some space between himself and the undead whose breath Clay could feel on his face. The infected had a strong grip on Clay's Shirt. With every grunt and snarl the man let out, Clay would respond to by driving his elbow across his jaw in an attempt to break his grip. After a couple of elbows to the infected man's face, Clay managed to hit him hard enough to separate himself. His attacker's nose collapsed and blood poured down onto Clay's face and chest. Clay pushed the man hard and managed to bring his knee up to his chest, placing his foot into his opponent's stomach. Clay extended his le
g, forcing the infected to its feet.
Better Lucky than Good (Records of the Resistance) Page 6