Better Lucky than Good (Records of the Resistance)

by Meehan, Shaun

  Clay wandered back into the kitchen, where Melanie was in the process of cleaning her face of blood with a damp cloth.

  “Well, you feel up to a little excitement?” Clay asked.

  Melanie straightened up from her hunched over posture in front of the sink.

  “Can you elaborate on what exactly you define as excitement?” she replied, peering slightly over her shoulder towards Clay.

  Clay chuckled sarcastically at Melanie’s hesitation to commit to his cryptic proposition, prior to hearing it’s details.

  “Well, there’s a bus a few houses down the street from here. I’m not sure if it’s got the fuel to travel or if the keys are still in it...” Clay began.

  “Clay, why do we need a bus when a car would do just fine?” Melanie tiredly asked, interrupting Clay while he was still in mid sentence.

  “We, don't need a bus. But the people stuck inside that church we snuck past might.” Clay answered.

  Having previously been powerless to assist her friends who had been besieged in the farmhouse by a horde of undead, Melanie’s vigour began to renew at the prospect of a victory for the living. Melanie spun to face Clay.

  “What do we need to do?” she asked.

  Both Clay and Melanie readied themselves at the front door of the house, preparing to enact their hazardous scheme. Each were systematically tightening the harnesses which secured their bags to their backs, and slinging the newly acquired rifles in their soft-sided cases across their shoulders.

  "I'm going to have a hard time shooting with this rifle across my chest..." Melanie warned.

  "Don't worry about it. Just get the bus started. If you can't get it started, then get off the bus and we're taking off on foot. We've only got one shot at getting this right. When I open the door, move as fast as you can directly towards the bus." Clay said, drawing his tomahawk and tightening his grip around his brass knuckles.

  The moment Melanie nodded, Clay threw the front door open. Melanie was first to exit, running as fast as she could while being weighted down as heavily as she was. Clay kept pace with her, slightly to the rear. The instant they had passed into the street, every wandering infected within hearing distance turned towards them, being alerted by the sound of the door. As they ran, their packs bounced awkwardly on their backs making it difficult to maintain their balance. Clay attempted to calculate the approaching undead as they sprinted towards the bus.

  "The doors are open!" Mel shouted.

  "Get inside and look for the keys!" Clay replied.

  As Melanie attempted to make her entrance into the bus, the rifle slung horizontally across her chest caught on the frame of the door; slamming hard into her body.

  Clay was right behind her, dropping his cargo at their feet and moving to assist Mel with her equipment.

  "Just get inside, I'll toss this shit in after you." he said hurriedly, lifting the strap of the rifle case over her head.

  Melanie lowered her pack to the ground and hopped up the steps and into the drivers seat, followed closely behind by her equipment which was being heaved up the stairs by Clay.

  Melanie landed heavily into the driver’s seat of the bus. "The keys are still in the ignition!" she yelled.

  Clay pitched his own equipment up the steps, leaving him standing with only his choice weapons.

  “Then, what are you waiting for?" Clay asked, turning to face the oncoming undead.

  Having spun just in time to catch an infected at arms length, Clay darted to his right barely avoiding the commencement of its attack. Clay countered by driving his tomahawk into the side of his attackers head, splitting its ear horizontally in two.

  Clay heard the loud Diesel engine of the school bus struggling to turn over behind him, as three more undead fell upon him. Ducking under the attack of the first, Clay quickly returned to his upright posture and grabbed the next closest infected by the shirt. With a quick jerk, he was able to throw the woman off balance and drove his shin into the back of her legs; sending her crashing downward onto her back. With an upward stroke of his edged weapon, his tomahawk cut upward through the chin of the third infected. Although not being a fatal blow, it was enough to stop the dead man in his tracks. Clay freed his tomahawk from the man's jaw by spinning his body a complete three-hundred and sixty degrees. Utilizing his momentum, he instantly followed up his initial strike with a killing blow. His first attacker came at him again, throwing a clumsy punch, aimed poorly at his head. Clay easily leapt safely out of the man's reach and in turn lopped his arm off just below the elbow. Stepping forward and quickly delivered a brass back hand; his attack exposing the man's neck to a strike from his tomahawk. The heavy blow that followed cut deep enough to bite spine, dropping the infected instantly; his head grotesquely attached by only a few inches of muscle tissue. The woman whom he had grounded earlier was only just getting back to her feet, being bent fully over with her palms on the ground. Clay capitalized on the circumstance by driving his tomahawk into the back of her head, the force of the blow driving her face into the pavement.

  To his relief, Clay heard the bus' engine finally start. With his tomahawk deeply imbedded into the back of an undead skull and more infected being alerted to their presence by the loud engine, Clay had little choice but to draw his side arm.

  Quickly emptying the small caliber handgun's magazine into the encroaching group of infected, Clay managed to land enough head shots to slow their approach. With the fall of each undead, he managed to generate a domino effect of sorts with the nearby companions of the killed, tripping over their tumbling comrades. With the emptying of the weapon’s magazine, the slide locked in its open position, indicating to Clay that it was time to move. He stood on the back of the woman's neck, whose head had retained his tomahawk. Jerking it free like a gruesome sword having had been magically entrapped in a stone, Clay bolted from the scene.

  Leaping into the bus, Clay exasperatedly yelled, "Drive!".

  With the crank of a nearby lever, Melanie closed the bus' door behind Clay. The machine jerked and the transmission ground before Melanie eventually found the gear. Clay ejected the magazine of his pistol from its port within the gun's grip, issuing directions to Melanie as he thumbed ammunition back into it.

  In less then two minutes they were speeding towards the church, the amassed horde quickly becoming visible through the wide windshield.

  "Okay Clay, what do you want me to do?" Melanie asked, a hint of panic in her voice as they quickly neared the fleshy blockade.

  Clay placed both of his hands on the back of the seat in front of him, tightening his grip.

  "I want you to speed up." he said calmly.

  The engine revved harder in response to Melanie pressing the accelerator to the floor. It appeared to them as they looked through the windshield, that the infected hadn't even realized their approach until it was too late. Their heads turning as the bus slammed into the flank of the massive horde congregating around the front doors of the church.

  In an instant, the bus which had once harmlessly transported children to school was turned into a seven ton, diesel powered missile. The horde, whose ranks stretched from the front doors of the church to well across the wide street, was effectively cut in two. The heavy machine's high rate of speed and massive weight decimated any undead who were unlucky enough to come into direct contact with it. Those who were not turned into garish piles of torn flesh and shattered bone, were tossed aside and into the air; landing within the dense groups of infected on either side of the bus. For a few seconds, anyone observing within the horde would have felt the rain of shattered and torn bodies crashing down on their heads. The bus' windshield could endure no more punishment, cracking as the severed limbs and torsos unrelentingly pelted it.

  Amidst the repulsive sound of metal contacting meat bag, Melanie heard the voice of Clay yelling, "Brake! HARD!".

  Melanie removed her foot from the accelerator and slammed it back down onto the brake pedal, sending her into the steering wheel as the hug
e machine skidded to a halt.

  "Reverse! Reverse! Drive us right into the doors!" Clay yelled, only after picking himself up off the floor.

  Grinding the gears again, Melanie finally found home with the shifter. The engine revved high again as Melanie began to reverse the bus, wheeling it around in a ninety degree turn. The innumerable cluster of undead receiving further punishment at the hands of Melanie. The slower speed of the bus having a much different, though no less lethal effect on the undead. The suspension swayed and bumped as the infected who weren't fatally struck, were pulled beneath the many wheels of the vehicle. The windows which had only moments prior, afforded the occupants of the bus a full three-hundred and sixty degree view, were quickly becoming painted with gore.

  "Straight! You're headed right for it!" Clay shouted, stumbling his way towards the rear emergency exit of the bus.

  The heavy doors were typical of a cathedral style church, being both taller and wider than the bus. The suspension bounced heavily as Melanie began to reverse up the wide concrete ramping that lead up the church's entrance.

  Clay dove between two seats at the rear of the bus, yelling "IMPACT!" at the top of his lungs.

  The monstrous seven ton machine collided with the thick wooden cathedral doors, splintering them upon contact. Melanie had been hovering her foot above the brake pedal for just this moment, pinning it to the floor the instant she felt the bus smash it's way inside the building.

  For a moment, the scene fell under a blanket of near silence. Clay laid on the floor in the back of the bus, hearing only the raining of splintered wood and the settling of other unknown debris. The chaotic moments which had transpired only seconds before, felt as though they were a distant memory during the quiet.

  The moment however, was short lived. The repulsive sounds of the undead again became audible as the infected in the street enveloped the bus. The massive vehicle swayed from side to side as the weight of the horde pushed against it's flanks.

  "Clay, you okay?" Melanie shouted towards the back of the bus, having to yell over the noise of the horde.

  "Yah, I'm good!" Clay replied.

  "You better hurry! If they get on the hood, this windshield won't keep them out for long!" Melanie said, standing to her feet and retrieving her rifle from under one of the seats.

  Clay raised himself up from the floor of bus and repositioned in front of the rear emergency exit. Grasping the emergency exit release lever, he took a deep breath and jerked it hard. Despite the damage sustained during the crash, it was still operational and the door swung into the interior of the church. Clay drew his side arm from its leg holster and leapt down into the building's foyer.

  Raising his weapon to eye level, Clay began to slowly walk into the main hall of the church.

  "Hello?" Clay shouted.

  Instead of a vocal response to his hail, a scuffling echoed throughout the hollow building. Clay began to consider if he had made a mistake in coming here and that the occupants who had been the focus of the horde outside may have already expired.

  "CLAY! We're running out of time!" screamed Melanie from inside the bus.

  Clay turned back towards the bus, witnessing a sea of arms protruding between its exterior walls and the frame of the church doors.

  "Shit..." Clay said quietly.

  He holstered his pistol in preparation to make a run for the bus before a voice sounded from within the main hall.

  "Wait! Please!" cried out a meek female voice.

  Clay looked over his shoulder towards the long church pews. If he had to guess, Clay would have estimated that around twenty individuals now stood in the rows of seating.

  "It's a good thing we have a bus." Clay said, after turning to face the congregation.

  "We don't have time to waste. Lets go. Leave everything that's not in your possession right now!" he commanded.

  A young woman dressed in the Habit of a nun stepped out from behind one of the pews and began to wave her arms to the people who were moments ago hiding in fear. They began to file out from within the seating, some carried back backs while others made for the bus empty handed.

  Clay lead the group towards the rear entrance of the bus, his pistol aimed out in front of him should any of the undead squeeze their way into the interior of the church. Having to assist every individual into the bus was a time consuming process, yet unavoidable. It occurred to Clay that these paper-thin people moving under their own power, was a miracle unto itself. Clay quickly deduced that most of these people were in no condition to travel and without their timely arrival, would have soon started succumbing to their inevitable demise. Their smell almost rivalled that of the infected, obviously having had been entrapped within the safety of the church for too long without fresh water. Their gaunt faces indicated to Clay that they were slowly starving to death. Clay wondered to himself how much longer they possibly could have survived, or even if they would be capable of enduring the trip home.

  "Now you, sister." Clay said to the young nun, having lifted everyone else into the back of the bus.

  "Clay! We have to go!" Melanie shouted from the front of the vehicle.

  Clay looked down the aisle, seeing Melanie standing with her rifle aimed at the windshield. He quickly wrapped his arms around the nun's waist and lifted her into the bus. The young woman abided his effort and weakly assisted him. After gaining entrance into the bus, she quickly seated herself to the side, allowing for Clay to make entrance. Reaching behind him, Clay grasped the latch to shut the emergency exit, praying in the back of his mind that it would close, despite having sustained the damage that it had. To his relief, the door latched securely and was left in Clay's dust as he moved towards the front of the bus.

  "Alright Mel, everyone's in. Get us out of here!" Clay yelled, scooping up his shotgun from the floor behind the driver’s seat.

  The infected had managed to mount the hood of the bus and had presently begun to beat on the already cracked windshield. The glass flexed inward with each blow, showing its intent to give way to the undead onslaught at any moment.

  Without hesitation, Melanie threw herself into the driver’s seat, and began working the shifter.

  "Everyone, cover your ears!" Clay yelled, turning his head towards the people occupying the seats behind him.

  The machine's engine roared, Melanie having manipulated the transmission more proficiently this time. The bus lurched forward as it pulled itself free from the wide church entrance, sending the infected riding atop the hood crashing into the wind screen.

  In response to the additional weight, the already heavily damaged glass began to succumb; bending inwards and starting to release from within its frame.

  "Crank the wheel and give it everything!" Clay yelled to Mel, mounting his shotgun and bringing it to bear on the buckling glass to his front.

  Melanie did as instructed, the herculean mode of transportation pushing effortlessly through the horde. Upon feeling the front tires drop onto the street from atop the curb, Mel allowed the wheel to straighten out.

  "Get low, Mel! Keep the wheel straight and the pedal down!" Clay yelled.

  Mel leaned forward as best she could, tucking herself behind the wide steering wheel. As if on cue, the windshield finally collapsed; pinning her beneath it. Immediately, the undead on the hood simultaneous attempted entry into the bus. In response to the threat, Clay began unloading his weapon's magazine of it's twelve-gauge contents. Skulls shattered in response to the heavy firepower at such close range, the limp bodies vacant of any life being thrown from their perch on the hood. A single infected remained by the time Clay had ejected his final spent shell onto the floor of the bus. After tossing his shotgun aside, Clay reached forward and grabbed the final infected by the shirt. Assisting its entry by dragging it through the orifice, the infected landed less than gently onto the floor of the bus. The rough landing left the soon to be permanently dead man laying face down on the floor. Clay capitalized on the infected's prostrate position, by mounting it
s back and pinning the man to the floor. Reaching around his own waist, he drew his tomahawk from its position tucked in his belt. Clay dealt a vicious killing blow to the back of his opponents head, the blade sinking deep enough of to penetrate skull and through his face; striking the rubber flooring beneath it.