Clay looked back in the direction of Melanie's escape and was unable to see her any longer.
"Now! Let's go! Go!" Clay shouted to his companions.
The fighting men immediately began to disengage from their battle with the infected. Kevin led the group along the cedar row, in pursuit of Melanie and the newly freed refugees. Clay had lingered a moment, ensuring that everyone had made their escape, but had soon caught up to the others.
"Kevin, do you remember where to go?" Clay struggled to shout, panting to regain his breath.
"Yah! I'm good!" by the sound of Kevin's voice, he was reaching his limit as well.
"Slow down, then. We're too far ahead!" Clay replied.
The entire group slowed to a walk, all of them looking over their shoulders at the infected as they made an attempt to gain ground on the men's escape.
One of the men, who was unknown to Clay began to address him as they walked.
"Man, I sure hope you know what you're doing. We've been stuck in there for the better part of a month. Now that we have a chance to finally get the fuck out, we're going to stand here like a bunch of idiots and let them catch up to..." the man cut his own sentence short the moment he saw one of the infected tumble to the ground.
"Keep walking." Clay said calmly. "They're in range of Mel now..."
"Wait a second. Are we bait?" another man chimed in.
"Quiet down!" Kevin interrupted. "We can't allow any infected to follow us."
"Then why the hell didn't we just finish them off back there?" the man prodded.
"We made enough noise to attract every infected from here to the next town over. It's best that if any of them head our way, that our last known position be back there at the apartment building. Not to mention that we had lingered there long enough and we needed to get everyone to the tracks before more infected started to pile up on us." Clay explained.
The group had reached the ditch that ran along the railroad tracks and could now see Melanie. She had been laying prone on the crest of the ditch, with her rifle resting atop her pack. The combatants began to cross the depression, reuniting with their families. They were finally free of the three story walk-up. Kevin quickly embraced his wife and son, but soon after began walking the length of the rails, getting everyone ready to travel. His young son beaming at superhero his father had become.
Clay squatted down next to Mel and looked back at what was left of the horde that had been previously blockading the apartment's residents for the past four weeks. Only a single infected remained standing, leaving behind a trail of fallen undead; the remnants of the party's pursuers.
"Mel... After you finish him, I need you at the front of the column. We need to get back." he said to Melanie.
Melanie had placed Clay's shotgun horizontally underneath her, should she find the need to rise and relocate to another position in a hurry. He reached down, grabbing the gun's stock and slid it out from underneath of her. Standing up, Clay turned and crossed the ditch, hearing her rifle's action cycle one last time.
*****
Clay had instructed Melanie to stay approximately thirty yards ahead of the column. She had expressed some discomfort with the idea, but Clay had eased her thoughts by explaining to her that any infected in the area would likely hear the column and focus their attention on them and not her. All that was required of her was to lead the group and attempt to spot any potential threats along their path. Kevin, although desperately wanting to be with his family had been placed at the head of the column and was to focus on Melanie. He was to maintain a safe distance from her and alert the column, should she issue any warnings. At the column's rear, Clay had positioned two of the armed men who fought alongside him at the apartment building. It would be their task to give aide to anyone who should lag behind the rest of the column, as it was paramount that everyone stay together during the trek to their new home.
Clay was working his way up the column, assessing injuries and ensuring everyone was in traveling condition. The residents of the apartment building were all carrying bags, which were obviously heavily weighted. Although he was unhappy about its necessity, those who were not capable of fending off any potential infected were required to carry the provisions which had been brought along. Clay needed those who could fight, to be ready to intercept any potential attackers the moment they surfaced.
Clay kept his conversations with the people both brief and quiet, trying to ascertain their condition as efficiently as possible. He fell into step along side an older gentleman who he approximated to be around sixty years old. While being of small stature, the man wore a greying moustache on his face and a full head of matching hair.
"You good?" Clay asked, while trying to remain quiet.
"Yes. Thank you. Thank you, so much." the man replied. His gratitude for being rescued, genuine in his voice.
"Good. If you need a hand with anything, just let me know. We're almost to the store." Clay smiled and began to quicken his pace, attempting to reach the next person.
"Wait. I have something that might be of interest to you." the man said, trying to regain Clay's attention.
"Oh? And what's that?" Clay slowed, matching the column’s speed to place himself abreast with the man.
"The man in the building who owned all the guns... He had asked me to make him something a long while back." the old man explained.
"I made it for him, exactly as he had described. At the time, I had no idea what it was. That was until I saw that woman's rifle." the man continued, nodding in Melanie's direction.
"Her rifle?" Clay said, becoming increasingly curious.
The moustached man opened the duffle that he had been carrying as they walked. He peered down inside of it, his eyes darting from the bag, to the tracks, then back to the bag; attempting to stay in line with the rest of the column while he swirled his hand around inside the duffle.
"You see, I was a machinist... Oh, finally... Here it is." the man interrupted himself the moment his hand met with what he had been digging for.
The old man produced from the duffle, a leg holster containing a pistol and handed it to Clay.
"A pistol?" Clay asked, taking the firearm.
"No, no, not just a pistol. Hold on, I'm not done." the man said, reaching back into his duffle bag.
"Wear that holster. I'll find it... I know it's in here." he continued to stammer.
Clay struggled to strap the holster to his leg as he walked, stumbling across the stones that were lining each side of the tracks. Just as he had managed to finally secure the buckles, Clay straightened to see the old man with his arm extended towards him. Holding in his hand was what appeared to be a black tube of about six inches in length. Clay accepted the tube and began turning it over in his hands in an attempt to discern its purpose. It took only a moment before Clay believed he had established what exactly the item was. He reached down, putting his hand onto the holster. After feeling the snap which had been securing the pistol in place and releasing it, Clay drew the pistol.
The stamping on the side of the weapon revealed that it was chambered for twenty-two caliber ammunition; a favourite among target shooters for many of the same reasons held by those who enjoyed shooting twenty-two caliber rifles. However, this pistol had a few slight modifications which only served to reinforce Clay's initial conclusions regarding the purpose of the tube. The barrel had been replaced with one which was slightly more elongated, having threads cut into its muzzle, and protruding slightly beyond the slide. Clay took the pipe that he now recognized as a suppressor and threaded it onto the pistol's barrel.
"This is... A pretty invaluable tool considering our situation. Are you sure that you want me to have this?" Clay asked, shocked by what he now held in his hands.
"After what I've seen of you today, there are no hands that I would rather see that weapon in." he replied.
"Peterson was crazier than a shit-house-rat... He was one of those paranoid, preparing for the end of the world types. Not like
it did him any good. He was infected and never got a chance to see the apocalypse." the old man continued.
"Not like he would have made much of a leader anyway... You on the other hand..." the man's words drifted into silence before he had finished his sentence.
"What's your name?" Clay asked.
"Just call me, Mick. Everyone in town already does." he replied.
"Well Mick, you stay safe. I have a feeling that we're going to be working together quite a bit in the days to come." Clay said, his gratitude evident in his voice.
Clay left the man with a smile and a nod and began to make his way along the remainder of the column. He counted thirty-three in total, including children of which there were seven, varying in age between four and sixteen. Through his interactions with the people, Clay had learned that most of those who had taken shelter there had originally not resided in the building but had instead sought refuge there. The residents had been hiding in a building which had been holding infected in the majority of its individual dwellings. Fortunately for them, the undead had proven that they had lacked the cognitive ability to turn door knobs. These conditions had generated such a high degree of stress, coupled with the unlikely chance of a rescue as time passed further, resulting in the population of the building suffering two suicides. Every night had been a torturous experience, listening to the howling and the banging of the undead contained within the neighbouring dwellings. This only further served to demoralize those who remained alive. Clay had not accounted for such occurrences having taken place among the people, and had rather expected a boost in their morale upon rescue. The coming days would require that these people assist in the fortification of the department store. A task which none of them were likely capable of in their current state of mind. Hiding and making an attempt to wait out the infected was not an option. The likelihood of the world ever returning to it's previous state before the outbreak during the lifetime of these people, was almost entirely improbable. Patience would only serve to aid in starvation, depression, and their eventual overtaking by a horde.
Clay would have to look to certain individuals such as Kevin and Mick, to be leaders among these people and any others who would later join their group.
"How's your family?" Clay asked Kevin, as he reached his position in the convoy.
"They're hanging in there. I can't thank you enough Clay." Kevin replied, saying after a short pause.
"I've been thanked a hundred times already, Kevin. I really don't know what to say other than you're welcome, which seems a little inadequate." Clay replied.
"I have to be honest with you, Clay. After I looked down from the balconies at the infected who were blocking our escape, I truly believed that we weren't going to make it. I only continued because I would rather have died trying to get my family to safety, then live in this shitty situation without them." Kevin's display of disappointment in himself was easily evident to Clay.
Clay recalled his thinking of similar thoughts, only moments before the attack. He had taken solace in the fact that should his plan fail, than at least he would be free from the days to come. Days which he was certain would gradually worsen as supplies began to run low. However, Clay had not let such a negative perspective on their situation garner any kind of foothold in his mind. Success depended on confidence. Confidence which he would display now in hopes that it would become infectious and inspire Kevin, who he would further require in the days to come.
"We had a good plan, Kevin. Look... This isn't a cheesy Hollywood movie that we're living in here. We can employ tactics and weaponry, which are two things that the infected are incapable of doing." Clay said after taking a moment to generate a response to offer Kevin.
"That's true..." Kevin replied, not sounding wholly convinced by Clay.
"Kevin, our biggest threat is a large horde. Much larger than the one we just faced. Which we did without suffering a single casualty, only a few minor injuries." Clay continued.
"Clay, I know. I just don't understand how we can continue living anything resembling a life with things the way they are." Kevin said, obviously feeling disheartened.
"I can't tell you much about where we're going to be in a year from now, Kevin. But what I can tell you, is that eventually summer is going to turn to fall, and fall will turn to winter. The store still has electricity and with that comes heat." Clay said.
"So the plan is to turn the store into our new home?" Kevin asked.
"At least for the short term future, yes. We're going to fortify it and do our best with what is left of the summer, to increase our stores." Clay replied.
"And if a horde shows up?" Kevin asked, having begun to sound more confident in Clay's idea.
"By staying on the offensive and engaging the infected before they reach the store, we can prevent a horde from developing... Or at the very least, have some warning of its approach prior to its arrival." Clay answered.
"Clay... You've gotten us this far in only a few days. You gave me back my family, using a plan that I thought was totally absurd. But it worked. I may not always believe in an idea's chances of success... But if your priority is keeping these people safe, then I'm happy to believe in you..." Kevin said.
"Wow... That sounded pretty lame." Clay said with a smile, slapping Kevin on the back.
"Shut up..." Kevin replied while laughing.
Just as the two had finished their conversation, Melanie had stopped in her tracks. She had turned to the group with her hand raised in the air, signalling that the column should stop moving forward.
"Wow, something's up..." Kevin said, motioning towards Melanie.
"Head down the line and get everyone to take a knee. Keep them calm and quiet." Clay said, his tone remaining collected, yet still carrying a sense of urgency.
"Here we go again..." Kevin said, before running along the line, passing on Clay's instructions.
Clay began to walk cautiously towards Melanie's position, his pace dictated by the need to remain quiet. He began to pat himself down, ensuring that his tomahawk was securely tucked into his belt. After slipping his hand back into his brass knuckles and adjusting his shotgun which had been slung across his back, Clay drew the pistol from the holster located on his leg.
"What have we got, Mel?" he asked, the moment he had reached her position.
"There's something on the other side of the ditch. I can say that I'm certain that I heard movement, but I'm not sure what it was. It's not moving anymore." Melanie said, using the barrel of her shouldered rifle to indicated the direction from which the sound had emanated.
Although the town was in development, elements of the old rural hamlet that it had once been, were still evident. The tracks were flanked on each side by a ditch which had thick, overgrown vegetation that was taller than a man, running along it's sides; forming a secluded tunnel that essentially divided the town into two halves. The tunnel allowed for the group to travel unseen, provided that they could remain quiet. However, with a column this large and with most of those within it carrying heavy loads, noise discipline was almost non-existent. Clay stood alongside Melanie, having gripped his pistol in both of his hands and raising it to eye level. He peered down the weapon's sights, attempting to discern what exactly had garnered Melanie's attention.
Kevin had done well at forwarding Clay's instruction of maintaining silence in the column. The quiet was unsettling to those anxiously waiting in the column. Clay had begun to wonder if all that Melanie had heard was a bird flitting through the foliage, until the vegetation twenty feet to the front of Melanie and himself began to explode with movement. Clay counted five infected thrashing about, entangling themselves as they tried to force their way through the vegetation that was barring them from reaching the tracks.
Better Lucky than Good (Records of the Resistance) Page 10