Better Lucky than Good (Records of the Resistance)

by Meehan, Shaun

  Clay stood, jerking his weapon free and tucking it back into his belt. Melanie was still driving blind with the pedal to the floor, being pinning by the buckled windshield.

  "Slow down Mel, we're free." Clay said, lifting the glass from atop her.

  Melanie sat up, still being unable to see through the cracked and bloodied windshield.

  "Open the doors..." Clay said, having to yell over the loud noise of the massive Diesel engine.

  The side entrance of the bus swung open in response to Melanie yanking a lever to the right of the steering column. Clay tipped the heavy glass towards the short declining stair well, allowing gravity to assist him in removing the glass from the interior of the bus. Toppling end over end down the stairs, the former wind screen disappeared from view entirely as it exited the door.

  Reaching down, Clay grabbed the man who had made entry into the bus by the ankle. Pulling him also towards the stair well, Clay positioned the man at the top of the narrow stairway. After raising his limp form into a rough seated position facing inward atop the stairs, Clay delivered a hard kick to the man's chest sending him tumbling backward along the same path traveled by the windshield.

  Tiredly, Clay threw himself into the long bench seat which was situated across the aisle from Melanie. Clay slid himself backwards, leaning against the inner wall of the bus and lounged tiredly.

  Melanie looked back and forth between Clay and the road, a smile beginning to take form on her lips. A smile that Mel was powerless to prevent. Clay too had started to respond to the curling lips of Melanie with his own.

  "Holy shit... Can you believe that plan actually worked?" Clay said through his widening grin.

  The comment was enough to prompt Melanie into hysterical laughter, being followed quickly by Clay's own. Even over the noise of the road and the wind rushing past their ears, the fresh rescues could hear the hysterics emanating from the front of the bus. Weak and lost, the skeletal passengers looked on in silence at the celebrations of their unknown saviours.

  *****

  It was immediately evident to Clay that Tim and Jamie had been hard at work during his absence, having both G-Wagens repositioned on the road at the rear of the column. Melanie had slowed the bus substantially in an attempt to lessen the dust and debris rising over the hood and into the cab, allowing for Clay to observe the rendezvous point during their approach. Clay, having retrieved a pair of binoculars from the bag containing the equipment which had been collected from his home, now stood at the head of the long vehicle, scouting the area ahead.

  "Slow us down, Mel... I see 'em." Clay said, watching Tim and Jamie step out from the tree line and onto the road.

  Melanie down-shifted the transmission, slowing the bus to almost a crawl for the remaining one-hundred yards between themselves and the reclaimed military equipment. The liberation of the church survivors although successful, had taken its toll on Melanie. Not to mention the events of the day leading up to the rescue. The early rising, the bantam-infected, the beating she had been delivered at the hands of Clay's ex-girlfriend. It was no wonder that Melanie found relief in the thought of reuniting with Tim and Jamie. It meant that everybody would soon be home.

  "Shit!" Clay said suddenly, still peering through the binoculars.

  "What?" Melanie asked, that feeling of relief beginning to vanish.

  "They aren't alone." he replied, trading his binoculars for the shotgun.

  Melanie leaned forward, squinting off in the distance towards Tim and Jamie; both of whom she could plainly see on the edge of the woodlot.

  "Are you sure? I don't see any infected." she said, shaking her head.

  "Stop here, Mel. Not infected... Army." Clay said, stepping down into the stairwell of the bus' exit.

  Melanie slowed the bus further, eventually coming to a complete halt thirty yards from where Tim and Jamie stood.

  "Isn't that a good thing?" Melanie asked before opening the door for Clay, her hand gripping its lever.

  "Not if they're unhappy about us stealing their equipment. Now open this door. If anything goes wrong, you get the hell out of here." Clay said, the finality of his tone indicating that there would be no further discussion.

  Melanie knew better than to argue about the matter further. The grievous manner of Clay's voice was entirely unfamiliar to Melanie. It lead her to believe that despite all of the daunting situations they had faced, it was this moment that would worry him most. Cranking the lever and opening the door, Melanie watched as Clay stepped onto the gravel road.

  Clay attempted to maintain a posture that would appear as non-threatening to the armed men currently camouflaged in the woods behind his friends, notwithstanding the fact that he was armed. Walking casually towards Tim and Jamie, Clay cradled the shotgun in a single hand at his side.

  Stopping a few yards in front of his friends, Clay briefly made eye contact with them but afterward maintained his focus solely on the woods behind them.

  "I'm not entirely sure how to get us out of this one guys..." Clay said with resignation.

  His statement was entirely factual. Clay, who had been fortunate enough to repeatedly recognize a quick solution in the past, was now at a loss. To his surprise both Tim and Jamie began to laugh, drawing Clay's attention from the hidden men in the brush behind them.

  "I'll take that chocolate bar now." Tim said, looking over his shoulder.

  "Just for the record, I voted against this idea, Clay." Jamie said apologetically.

  Clay's focus shifted back towards the woodlot, as twelve men all in full combat dress stood from their concealed positions, leaving him entirely confused.

  "Nah, I'm calling bullshit, man... He still got out of the bus." said the soldier on the far right of the men who had begun to advance towards Clay.

  Tim turned around to face the source of the debate.

  "No fucking way! You heard him. Clay clearly knew you guys were in the woods." replied Tim.

  "You mean to tell me that he saw twelve men, armed to the fucking teeth and ready to kill, and still got off that bus? To do what?" the soldier argued playfully, standing now face to face with Tim.

  The group of soldiers had formed an arc around Clay and his companions; one of the men stepping forward ahead of the others.

  "I don't think it would have mattered even if there were a hundred of us..." the man said, staring hard into the eyes of Clay.

  The debate being had by Tim and the other soldier ceased, the moment the man who addressed Clay had begun to speak.

  "Captain Scott Lavigne." he continued, extending a hand towards Clay.

  Clay's brief moment of hesitation was a result of confusion, but he soon replied by firmly grasping the hand offered by Captain Lavigne.

  "Captain, I have twenty people in that bus back there. All are starving, dehydrated and who knows what else. Any help that you could provide would be appreciated." Clay said, addressing the officer in a manner befitting of his rank.

  Turning slightly to face the bus, Clay motioned with his arm to Mel that she should move the bus, along with it's occupants to his location.

  "Sir, we don't exactly have the facilities to provide care for these rescues..." Clay continued, until he was interrupted by Captain Lavigne.

  "Clay, I've been fully brought up to speed on your situation by your men here. Unfortunately, the fight hasn't been going well for anyone... Not just in this region, but world-wide." said Lavigne.

  This was the last thing that Clay wanted to hear. He had been counting on the success of the military campaign. It had been his light at the end of the tunnel. His reprieve from this unwanted position as the leader of this impromptu effort.

  The disappointment in this new information must have been evident on the face of Clay and Lavigne was quick to continue.

  "We aren't here as liberators. We've been assigned to locate a horde which has been moving through this area. This platoon here was tasked with strong holding the bridge ahead and if the horde could not be contained, th
ey were ordered to blow the bridge to prevent it's crossing. When the horde was spotted outside the perimeter of the city, we were sent to find it's exact whereabouts. That's about the time we found this lost platoon, as well as your people." said Lavigne, elaborating on the reasoning behind their presence.

  "With all of that being said, we still have an ongoing secondary mission..." he continued.

  "The endgame is to preserve the existence of humanity. Something you have done an admiral job of thus far. Our presence is of a non combative nature, so I don't see any harm in lending a hand where we can. I can't forgo our mission to locate the horde but given that our tasking is merely to observe, I'm willing to lend you our medic and engineer for the time being. We'll be passing by your operation to get back to our own, after we locate the horde. We're going to be blowing the bridge and then getting back to our assignment, which should give you at least a day or two to tend your wounded and further fortify your position." continued the Captain.

  "Thank you, Sir." replied Clay, regaining his mental grasp over his composure. Should he appear to lose his control, the good Captain may just change his mind to avoid putting at risk the hands he had promised to lend.

  "In addition... I see no need, nor would it be feasible to collect all of this equipment. It would only impede our own mission's progress and we lack the manpower to utilize it anyway. The G-Wagens are in serviceable condition and ready to travel." Lavigne added, further sweetening the pot.

  Clay felt a brief reprieve from his leadership role, taking orders for a change instead of giving them. He took solace in this new development, learning that there is a bigger picture. That their ragtag group wasn't alone.

  "Smith, O'Conner, upfront." commanded Lavigne.

  Immediately upon the order’s issue, two soldiers broke rank from their comrades and joined Clay and Lavigne.

  "Corporal Smith, my medic. Sapper O'Conner, my engineer." spoke Lavigne, pointing to each man in turn as he introduced them.

  "You two will accompany Clay and his people back to their home. Assist them in anyway you can. Treat him as you would an officer, provided what you're asked does not compromise yourselves or our current mission in any way. We'll maintain radio contact with you as our mission progresses and inform you of your pick up when we are finished here. Understood?" Lavigne spoke commandingly.

  "Seen, Sir." both the men replied in unison.

  It quickly dawned on Clay that it was by no coincidence that these men survived the outbreak. They were a well oiled machine. It was clear that not only did Smith and O'Conner respect Lavigne, but Lavigne respected them in return. They all had roles to play on the field and each did so in an exemplary fashion. Clay found it somewhat inspiring.

  "Corporal, I have a bus full of people that could use your help. You'll find Melanie behind the wheel of the bus. She'll instruct you further from there." Clay said to Corporal Smith, who nodded in response and took off towards the bus.

  "Sapper O'Conner, can you man that C6 on the G-Wagen if I put Tim behind the wheel?" asked Clay, eliciting a positive nod from O’Conner in response

  Clay motioned to Tim with a wave of his hand. Tim and Jamie had been within earshot of the conversation between Clay and Captain Lavigne. Tim grabbed his gear and moved towards the G-Wagen.

  "Jamie, how do you feel about driving me home?" Clay asked, having to speak up over the farewells being shared by the soldiers.

  "You know how to operate that gun?" asked Lavigne, regarding the heavy machine gun mounted to the G-Wagen's turret.

  "I served. It was a long time ago.... But I can handle it." Clay replied as he looked on at the heavy weapon.

  "That explains a lot. Get moving, Clay. You know as well as I do, that it's unwise to linger in the open for too long." the Captain's tone was calm and collected, sounding much like Clay's.

  "Thank you again, Sir." Clay turned his head back to Lavigne and outstretched his hand.

  Lavigne grasped it firmly in response.

  "Take care of my men, Clay." he said as he shook Clay's hand.

  "As if they were my own, Sir." was the first response that came to Clay's mind.

  "Then they'll be just fine." Lavigne replied with a confident grin.

  *****

  Melanie hadn't been privy to the conversation on the road, but had guessed the result had been favourable as they had been motoring towards home for hours. When Corporal Smith had initially boarded the bus, he had made an attempt to tend to Mel before any of the others. She had quickly dismissed the idea, urging him to help the passengers. It wasn't out of some new found nobility. But more so out of anxiety and confusion caused by the absence of Clay. Anxiety and confusion that worsened as Clay's G-Wagen moved to the front of their column and began to lead them on the long trek home.

  Why was he not here with her? Why had he chosen to ride with Jamie instead? Was he disappointed with her in the manner by which the events inside his former home had transpired? Had his opinion of her changed after seeing her defeat at the hands of Brooke? Was he devastated by the loss of Brooke? Or was he mad that she had dispatched his crazy, undead, cheating, bitch of a girlfriend and ultimately saved his life, and the lives of everyone currently in the bus?

  For now, all she could do was watch him from her seat behind the wheel of the bus while a man who was unknown to her walked up and down the aisle, assisting the sickly. His actions were admirable, but he was no Clay. Her mind raced in this fashion throughout their journey home. She watched Clay as much as she watched the road. He stood casually in the turret of the vehicle in front of her. He had donned one of the camouflaged Tac Vests which had been recovered from the site of the lost platoon, which contrasted starkly against his civilian clothing worn underneath it. Clay now sported a full beard. He had by no means come into her life clean shaven, but now his facial hair had come into it's fullness. A fullness which had left Clay frequently scratching at his neck. He wore no hat, but had folded a blue bandana into an improvised headband; its knot centred perfectly on the back of his head. On his face he wore a pair of sunglasses bearing the description of those commonly worn by athletes; their arms tucked securely in his bandana. Whether she liked it or not, the world was very different now. Where many had failed and fallen, a man stood before her who had thrived. What was going through the mind of a man like Clay? What was he thinking right now?

  *****

  Clay slapped the roof of the transport hard with the palm of his hand. Bending over slightly to allow himself a view of Jamie in the driver's seat, he had to yell over the noise of wind and road.

  "Well done, Jamie! Almost home." Clay shouted.

  Jamie offered a thumbs-up over his shoulder in response. He was tired and ready to be home. Having to yell back at Clay just seemed like too much effort.

  Clay returned to watching the sides of the road for any sign of movement. He had tirelessly kept watch throughout the duration of their return trip. He kept watch over almost a full three-hundred and sixty degree view around him, save for directly behind him. In that direction, it pained him to look. The bruised and swollen face of Melanie haunted him. It chased him down the road at high speed, backed by seven tons of steel. Clay was confused by his sudden attachment to Mel. Or was it the sudden realization and recognition of his affection? Had he suppressed his affection for Melanie out of guilt? Because of Brooke? Or was this just some kind of reaction to the stress brought on by their new circumstances? Regardless of the truth behind his feelings, he had failed Mel. She had almost died because of his failure.