Better Lucky than Good (Records of the Resistance)

by Meehan, Shaun

  Clay hit the magazine release without removing the stock of the rifle from his shoulder, catching the empty magazine in his palm. In a single motion Clay drew another magazine from a pocket in his vest, while replacing it with the one he had just emptied. Sliding the fresh magazine into it's corresponding port in the bottom of the rifle’s receiver, Clay depressed the bolt release; another round being chambered as he resumed his fire. It wouldn't be long before Clay would trigger the explosives, and they would be free. The closer the horde drew, the more effective their fire became. Lifeless bodies fell to the pavement one after another, their undead comrades being force to step or stumble over the corpses.

  "Almost there!" Clay yelled as loud as he could, trying to inform everyone uniformly over the sound of the gun fire.

  The ground had quickly become littered with spent brass casings, filling the gaps between the shooters with ever growing piles. The tactic had worked as intended and the group was able to repel the loose ranks, while the main force positioned itself toward the explosive line of defence. Success however, came with a price as they were quickly running low on ammunition. Clay accounted for this, ensuring that fresh magazines awaited everyone in their assigned vehicles. All that would be required was to empty their vests of the spent magazines and refill their pockets with new ones.

  It had felt like an eternity, but the time was now at hand. The unstoppable advance of the undead had centred itself over the improvised mine field. The tight rows of infected had now encroached so close to the vehicles that the fighters could make out the features of their faces. What had appeared before them as a single organism, now showed itself to be an innumerable gathering of individuals. Clay stood in recognition, signalling the shooters to cease their fire.

  "Cover! Cover!" Clay yelled as the firing stopped in almost complete unison.

  Abandoning the ring of brass, everyone ran for their predesignated vehicles. Both O'Conner and Smith ducked down inside the relative safety of the cabs, protecting their ears from the blast and their bodies from the fragmentation. Throwing himself into the passenger's seat of what would be the lead vehicle, determined as such due to it's massive fifty-caliber machine gun; Clay stabbed at the dashboard with his hand, searching for the remote detonator.

  Clay grabbed the radio with his free hand, his voice crackling through the interior of every vehicle. "Det, in three... Two... One..." he calmly spoke into the handset.

  Anticipation hung thick in the interior of every vehicle as their occupants waited with stilled breath for the blast that would ensue; ultimately paving the way to their freedom.

  The sights and sounds that filled the silent interiors of the transports, was equally terrifying and awe inspiring. The directional mines blasted outwards toward the face of the horde, levelling any who were exposed. From within the tightly packed ranks of the horde, erupted the detonation of the plastic explosives which had been augmented by propane filled barbecue tanks. Thick black smoke jetted up from within the large body, as dozens of detonations blew from within the heart of the undead army. Bodies and limbs were sent tumbling through the air, landing on the heads of those who went unaffected by the violent explosions. However, it was the blast rising from the gas station that rocked the vehicles. A massive, blazing fireball curled into the air as a result of its combustible contents. Thousands of undead were thrown to the ground by the concussive wave that followed the blast. Those who weren't entirely obliterated, were thrown what could be estimated as high as a hundred feet into the air; their flaming body's dropping into the thick ranks. Although shielded inside the vehicle, Clay felt the shockwave thump against his chest as the G-Wagen rocked from side to side.

  A brief moment of calm ensued as everyone struggled to recover from the shockwave. Clay looked over the scene set out before him. The tight formation that had once presented itself was now scattered and broken. It's members struggling to stand with missing limbs or broken backs. Many were engulfed in flames, resuming their approach as the burning fat dripped from their bodies. Although having resulted in an impressive number of casualties, an uncountable figure still remained before them.

  "Alright Tim, get moving." Clay commanded instinctually through the radio, still not having fully recovered. "Everyone else get ready to go. We move as soon as the truck has pulled out... Good luck."

  It should have only taken a minute or so before the truck was visible in the parking lot. Clay impatiently waited as he watched the undead reform their ranks, and resume their press toward the big box store.

  “What the fuck was taking so long?” he wondered aloud.

  "The door's stuck! It only lifted halfway! The blast must have knocked out the building's power!" Tim's frantic voice squawked over the comms.

  Clay's head slumped forward as he released a sigh of defeat.

  "Fuck! Clay they're coming in through the bottom of the door! Just go! We've had it." Tim spoke again, as gunfire sounded through the speaker.

  Clay looked out the passenger window, finding Lindsay in the bus. She was screaming. Kevin stood strong, holding her back from the doors of the bus and forcing her back into her seat. Her daughter, confused by the reaction of her mother had begun to cry hysterically. Clay turned his head and looked to Melanie, whose eyes had already begun to search for his own. The two held their gaze for a moment, before Melanie began to subtly shake her head as if she were in the midst of reading his mind. Clay knew what he had to do. The cost of a single man could pay that of many. Clay's eyes shifted to Kevin's, who was also staring at Clay. Looking to Melanie and then back to Kevin, he passed on his sombre instructions. Believing to understand his intent, Kevin nodded in response.

  "Sit tight, Tim. I'm coming to you. Everyone else... The plan still stands. When you see the truck, you get the hell out of here!" Clay spoke into the radio before hanging it up on the dashboard.

  Clay pushed the door open, exiting the vehicle. The smell of gasoline and burning flesh filling his nostrils as he shut the door behind him.

  "You sure you know what you're doing?" Smith asked from atop the G-Wagen, having remanned the turret.

  "Just get them out of here." Clay replied.

  Clay turned back to the bus. Melanie had vacated her position at its helm, panic stricken. Kevin rushed towards Mel as she screamed in protestation, fighting frantically against him as he barred her exit. She pounded her fists into his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. Clay continued to watch as she struggled to push herself free from Kevin's grasp, being unable to wedge herself loose as Kevin forced her back into the driver's seat. Melanie's cries followed him until he had entered back into the store.

  Clay's boots thumped heavily as he ran through the building's interior. Although the door was automatic, he remembered seeing a chain hanging from its motor. Its purpose being to manually open the door, should the electric motor ever cease to operate. Although out of the reach of Tim, who was inside the truck bay and currently occupied with the infected presently infiltrating the building; Clay could easily operate the mechanism from the safety afforded by the raised dock.

  Clay slowed his pace when he heard the frantic yells of Tim, echoing through the warehouse. Shouldering his rifle and slowing his run to a walk, Clay could see the trailer backed up against the dock. Some of the infected who had crawled their way under the bay door and surrounded the truck, had found the stairs leading up to the dock.

  Clay fired his rifle repeatedly as he made his way to the chain hanging from beneath the door's motor. The rounds driving into the chest’s of the undead, forcing them backward. Clay felt the exterior wall as he backed into it, coming to a stop. Once static, two shots was all it took and the infected tumbled backwards down the stairs; their bodies riddled with bullet holes from his approaching fire.

  Clay released his rifle, leaving it to hang from his neck and shoulder by its sling as he grasped the chain. A railing was all that stood between him and the cab of the truck. The height of the dock placed him at eye level with the occu
pants of the cab.

  Tim had leaned over his passenger, to yell through the window at Clay. "What are you going to do?" he shouted over the banging of the undead trying to board the truck.

  "Drive, as soon as you can fit!" Clay replied.

  "Yah I get that, but how the hell are you going to get in here?" Tim continued to shout.

  Clay began to raise the door. "If I let go of this chain, the door drops. Get the fuck out of here, Tim!" he yelled, pulling frantically on the chain.

  Tim paused briefly, before shaking his head; furious at the turn of events, but trusting that Clay did this without having any other option.

  *****

  Melanie sat in the driver's seat, gripping the steering wheel and sobbing uncontrollably while Kevin stood behind her, grasping her shoulders consolingly.

  The horde had almost entirely regrouped and was in the process of closing around the vehicles.

  "Make a decision, man! We can't wait forever!" Corporal Smith yelled at Kevin through the bus' open window.

  "I... I don't know what to do! Can we even push through them?" Kevin stammered, looking back and forth between the Corporal and the meaty walls closing around them.

  "Doubtful, but I'd rather die..." Smith began, but was interrupted mid speech by a distant THUMP THUMP THUMP!

  THUMP THUMP THUMP, THUMP THUMP.

  "It's the LAV's!" Smith screamed, pointing off in the direction of the road, which was to be their point of escape.

  The deep thumping stemmed from the firing of each of their twenty-five millimetre chain guns. The heavy armour piercing rounds driving deep into the reformed ranks of the horde, as lines of infected tumbled along the trajectory of the massive munitions. The sheer size of their projectiles almost negated the necessity of a headshot. ‘THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!’ sounded one gun after the next, obliterating any soft target touched by the rounds.

  Foolishly, the rear ranks of the horde turned to face the two additional threats; beginning to separate from the rest of the horde. The LAV's responded in turn, as a crew member from each vehicle stood up from the top hatch and manned their turret mounted general purpose machine guns. Lines of bright tracers burning with magnesium streamed into the undead who advanced on the LAV's positions. The effect the two guns had on the slow moving, tightly formed undead was a sight to behold; their ranks being cut down where they stood and tracers soaring high into the air as they bounced off the asphalt.

  Unanimously a cheer erupted from all of the vehicles, who were encircled by what was once a necrotic wall. Everyone with the exception of Melanie, who sat silently; her face streaked with tears and her hands gripping the steering wheel. Out of the corner of his eye, Smith saw the truck pushing hard against the undead attempting to bar its path. Clay had done it. It was time to move.

  "There's the truck, let’s move!" Smith yelled to Kevin.

  Melanie despised herself with all of her heart as she put the bus into drive. She was leaving Clay behind to die a painful and horrible death. But in the back of her mind, she knew that this is exactly what Clay would want her to do. The moment her foot touched the gas pedal, her tears resumed, and she was powerless to stop them.

  O'Conner and Smith implemented their turret mounted guns as if they were a pair of can openers. The Corporal's fifty-caliber weapon literally tearing infected limb from limb as the pair carved a vehicle wide hole into the ranks of the horde.

  *****

  Clay released the chain, allowing the weight of the door to carry it onto the head’s of the infected who were flooding into the truck bay.

  Stripping a pair of grenades from his vest, he pulled the pins and threw them over the rail into the packed truck bay. Their spoons released with a subtle ‘ping’, and tumbled through the air as the grenades landed hollowly on the floor. Clay dropped to the concrete, shielding himself from the blast. For the second time today, he felt a shockwave thump into his chest; the loud report of the explosives almost deafening him in the enclosed space.

  He knew he had no chance of reaching the vehicles. Clay had made it clear that they were not to wait. Pushing himself up off the floor, he broke into a run. Not for the front doors in a futile attempt to escape, but for the stairs leading to the roof. In the wake of the vehicles’ departure from the main entrance, infected had begun flooding the store interior. Clay knew he was finished the moment he stepped out of the G-Wagen. He had no second thoughts about his choice to sacrifice his own life for those of the community... For Melanie. At this point all he desired was to witness with his own eyes, that they had made their escape. That they were free from the certain death carried to their doorstep by the horde.

  The sound of Clay's steps rang through the store's interior as he ran up the steel stairs leading to the roof. The weight of his equipment began to feel heavier with every step, as he propelled himself up one stair after the next. Clay pinned his hanging rifle to his chest to prevent it from painfully bouncing against his knees as he ran, while using his other hand to pull his weight along the hand rail.

  Clay flung the door open, feeling the warmth of the sun against his face as he exited onto the roof. His feet crunched loudly against the gravel as he ran towards the edge of the building. Clay's chest heaved deeply and his lungs burned as he pushed himself harder; intent on gaining the satisfaction of knowing that his people were making their way to safety.

  Corporal Smith's voice could be heard over the roar of the undead army, who presented itself before him as far as his eyes could see. Clay heard the thumping of the big guns belonging to the LAV's, signalling their arrival, and the ripping of the G-Wagen turrets.

  Clay doubled over, exhausted upon reaching the edge of the rooftop. He had made it. Clay watched as the column linked up, fighting it's way through the tight ranks of the horde. From his perch, he could see the muzzle’s of rifles poking through the open windows of the bus, as it’s occupants fired into the crowd. Struggling to regain his breath, he watched as O'Conner ceased his firing. Their gazes met, even from such a far distance. O'Conner offered to Clay a brief salute as the column drove between the two LAV's. Standing himself upright as he slowly regained his breath, he watched as the two LAV's ceased to fire their heavy guns and turned to follow the retreating column. Clay had done it. They were all safe, save for himself. The sound of the fleeing column was quickly drowned out by that produced by the endless infected who had invaded the town.

  Clay considered his options. He could shoot himself and end the ordeal right now. He could pull the pin on a grenade when his pursuers flooded the rooftop. He could try to shoot his way out, until he finally ran out of ammunition.

  The grotesque sounds of his hunters began to pour out through the open, access door. Clay knew they were almost upon him, as the hollow ringing of the stairwell echoed into the open air. Instead of panic, Clay found himself overcome with a sense of calm; a sense of closure. Few people in history had the luxury of deciding how they would exit this existence. Dying slowly in a hospital bed, had always been a deeply rooted fear in the psyche of Clay. He greatly preferred being here, even if it meant that death would come looking for him sooner than he'd like.

  Clay turned towards the door, smiling as it came into view. He took a few short steps toward it, stripping himself of his rifle and laying it at his feet. He had decided how he wanted to die and he had decided that he would take as many of them with him as he could. Clay reached behind his back, drawing his tomahawk from its loop and gripping it tightly. On the chest of his vest had been sewn a sheath which held his knife. Clay wrapped his fingers around its handle and popped the snap securing it in place using his thumb. Slowly, he drew the knife from its home. Clay stood, his feet firmly planted; awaiting the outpouring of infected from the narrow doorway. He had been in this position before, once upon a time he recalled, as the first of the infected had arrived at the door. It paused briefly, scanning the rooftop for the location of its quarry. The man's gaze locked onto Clay's position; their eye's meeting. Clay recalled the bear
in the woods and how their eyes had met in similar fashion. However, unlike those of the bear that had held life within them, those which belonged to the undead before him held inside their stare, the essence of death. Death which would soon befall Clay. But not before the undead challenging him presently.