Records of the Resistance (Book 1): Better Lucky than Good

by Shaun Meehan

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Day 8, 36 Days Post Infection

  The four remained as silent sentries while the members of Tim's team came and went, filling their cans and heading back to the vehicles as one day gently melted into the next. Captain Lavigne had sounded completely confident in the certainty of the horde landing in their laps. Clay mentally wondered if he had been acting overly cautious. They had been posted at the gas station for hours now, without a single sighting of an infected. Given the officer's past experience, having encountered three newly formed communities all of whom had fallen, Clay entirely understood his erring on the side of caution. Lavigne’s assumption begged the question. Had the horde turned slightly, being drawn towards another of the satellite towns dotting the landscape surrounding the big city? Were they further away than Lavigne had anticipated? Clay's thoughts had begun to cloud over as fatigue started to grip his mental facilities.

  A low growl began to emanate deep from within Chance's chest, drawing Clay back from the sleepy void. Both Melanie and Jamie shifted uncomfortably on the asphalt, the grime of the road audibly crunching under their bodies as they repositioned themselves.

  The early rising of the summer sun had begun to escalate, as the setting became awash in a dim, greyish illumination. From the direction of big city, dark silhouettes were unveiled by the waning night sky. How the hell had they gotten so close? The looming prospect of the eventual arrival of the horde had seemed like only a distant possibility to Clay. As if all of their efforts had been done in preparation for something that would never occur. Now, they were here.

  "Take 'em, as soon as they're in range." whispered Clay.

  Only a moment had passed before he heard the sliding of the action belonging to Mel's little rifle and witnessed one of the encroaching infected fall to the ground. The undead were not nearly as tightly ranked as Clay had anticipated, which served to bolster his confidence in their escape. Mel's rifle sounded again and again; infected crumpling to the hard pavement with every shot until her magazine was empty. The moment Mel had exhausted her rifle, Jamie resumed the outpouring of the meagre lead projectiles in her stead with astounding accuracy.

  Clay soon realized that this endeavour was fast becoming a losing effort, as every infected that fell was almost immediately replaced by another. Clay watched as each infected killed was stepped over by the one behind it, completely unfazed by the corpse under its feet. It wouldn't be long before the two would run out of ammunition and the gas station was completely engulfed in undead.

  Tim, who had been continually accompanied by other volunteers, rolled up to the gas station with a wheel barrow on his own this time. His pace had quickened from previous trips, as he fumbled with the caps on the gas cans and hurriedly set them on the pavement next to the pumps.

  "How we doin’, Tim?" Clay asked over his shoulder, the subtle sounds of the little rifles becoming drowned out by those produced by the approaching undead.

  "We aren't full, but we have plenty... CLAY!" Tim's tone quickly switched from hastened to panicked.

  Clay spun to face Tim and saw that the infected had managed to wheel around the gas station, loosely surrounding it. Before Tim could lift his hammer from within the wheelbarrow, Clay felt the tug of Chance's leash in his hand and set free the massive canine.

  Chance leapt over the wheelbarrow and slammed into the chest of the nearest infected just as it had closed to within arm's length of Tim. The powerful animal recovering ahead of its opponent, immediately went to work; ripping and tearing at the head and neck of the undead.

  Drawing his tomahawk, Clay moved to intercept the next attacker who was on it's way towards Tim.

  "Get the gas, then get the hell outta here!" he ordered, driving his weapon into the face of the infected.

  Tim heeded Clay, and immediately went to work on filling the jerry cans.

  Jamie and Mel could no longer alternate their fire as they had been. The gas station was on the precipice of being over run and both rifles were now firing together in an attempt to stymie the undead advance. With the increase in rate of fire, came the piling of undead before the shooters. Mel and Jamie bounced from target to target, their crosshairs remaining static for only a second before discharging their weapons. The closer the infected encroached, the easier a target they became. The act had a natural cycle. The shooters dropping their attackers one after another in quick succession, staving off their advance only until they had to reload. It was then that the unstoppable force would gain ground, only to be slowed again as the shooting resumed.

  "Last mag, Clay!" yelled Jamie as he jammed a palm sized magazine into the rifle's port. There remained no need to be quiet anymore. The infected were already here.

  Clay ducked under the arms of another opponent and counter attacked with a bone crushing, brass reinforced uppercut; sending it backwards. Clay felt the hands of another infected gripping his shirt from behind him, just as his frontal opponent had regained its balance and pressed forward. Driving his elbow into the hip of the infected who had grabbed him, Clay managed to break the grip of his rear attacker.

  From behind him, Clay heard the crash of dog against man, as Chance again entered the fray and drug the infected to the pavement. Upon his release, he flung himself towards the undead whose jaw now rested at an unnatural angle, having had been broken by Clay’s initial attack. Brushing aside the man's reach with his forearm, Clay swung his blade in a wide arc; burying it into the side of his opponent's skull. The dead man toppled to the asphalt, almost taking Clay along with him.

  "I'm done, I'm done!" Clay heard Tim yell, as he firmly planted a boot on the throat of the man, and wretched his tomahawk free.

  Clay slid his melee weapon into the loop which had been positioned at his lower back and drew his pistol from its thigh holster.

  "Jamie, Mel, get moving!" yelled Clay, just as the undead closed to within a few meters of their position.

  Raising his pistol and supporting it with both of his hands, Clay began a slow backwards walk towards the big box store. The tiny handgun began popping with each step, as Clay took well aimed shots at the head's of the advancing undead.

  "Chance, come on!" he yelled, as his magazine emptied and the slide of the pistol locked rearward.

  The others were already well ahead of Clay, having followed the commands which they had been given.

  "You guys keep going, I'll catch up." Melanie said as she turned back toward the gas station.

  After taking a knee for additional support, Mel shouldered her rifle. There remained only a few rounds in her magazine and Clay needed each one to find its mark.

  Clay slipped his pistol back into its holster as the infected continued to gain ground on him. Reaching around his back intending to draw his tomahawk, Clay's reaction to their proximity was interrupted when the closest undead fell face first onto the asphalt. Knowing exactly what a good opportunity was when he saw one, he grabbed Chance by the leash and turned; running to catch up with his comrades. By the time Clay had reached Mel, her magazine had emptied.

  "Let's go!" he said, helping Mel to her feet with his free hand.

  Clay pulled the tiny two way radio from a pocket in his vest. "Kevin, get everyone moving!" he panted as the two ran towards the store.

  "Already on it, Clay!" crackled Kevin's reply.

  The horde had already spilled into the parking lot and were closing fast on the truck bay at the side of the building. However, the confrontation at the gas station slightly having impeded the undead advance, would allow them some time to board the bus. The sight of the oncoming infected was both awesome and terrifying. The loose and scatter formation had given way to tightly packed ranks, resembling a military drill demonstration. Like a slow moving tidal wave they advanced towards the building, the end of their necrotic march seeming boundless. The wave appeared determined to crash against the building that had once been their refuge. A building that stood a good chance of becoming their tomb.

  By the time C
lay and Melanie had reached the vehicles, the front line fighters had already formed a perimeter around them. All had donned their vests and were armed with the scavenged military arms. Kevin and Lindsay stood at the rear of the bus, along with Smith and O'Conner. The four were currently assisting the outflow of people from the building to enter the bus.

  "That's a lot of infected, Clay..." Kevin said nervously, while lifting a small child into the transport.

  "I know, Kev." Clay replied. "How's the truck coming along?” he asked to Corporal Smith, while positioning Chance behind the bus.

  "All loaded up. Tim's already in the cab. They're on your time, Clay." he replied.

  Clay wrapped his arms around Chance and lifted him into the emergency exit of the bus. Kevin already had Clay's rifle in his hands, ready for his return.

  "How this plan going to play out, Clay? They've completely blocked us in." Kevin stated, handing him his rifle.

  "Smith, O’Conner, can you guys man the guns on the G-Wagens? I need guys up there who can clear those weapons if they stop firing." Clay asked.

  Both men nodded in response and took off for the vehicles.

  “Mel, get in the bus and get it started. We don't have much time, so be ready to move when I say so." Clay continued.

  Melanie touched Clay's chest with her palm and looked into his eyes. Now was not the time for lingering pauses and elongated good-byes, and Mel respected that. However, facing such terrible odds, she couldn't leave him without saying goodbye. They might not have another chance. Clay gently placed his hand on top of Melanie's.

  "Go." was all he said. The luxury of time being far removed from their situation.

  Melanie turned and disappeared around the bus with Lindsay in tow. The final passengers had been loaded and only the front line fighters remained on the asphalt of the parking lot.

  The stages of the evacuation were unfolding faster than Clay had anticipated. It felt like only minutes had passed since he was falling asleep at the quiet gas station and now they would soon depart from the store all together. Clay was struggling to keep up with the fluidity of the situation, as it shifted from phase to phase. It was becoming clear to him why so many had failed before.

  Clay and Kevin joined the rest of the fighting men and women in their loose arc around the vehicles, purposely placing themselves at the head of the formation. All they could do was wait for the slow advance of the undead to reach their explosive perimeter. Both figuratively and literally, the community faced death, as it marched towards them. Clay's thoughts meandered yet again, towards the farm house and the night he had met Melanie. The screams of the buildings occupants, as they were either brutally beaten, or burned to death. Clay remembered the sombre sound of that final gunshot, as the flaming structure's last remaining occupant took their own life. Who of these people would be the last remaining? Would they end their own existence to escape the pain of death? Or would they make the infected population pay dearly until their final breath?

  The sun had fully crested the horizon, bathing Clay in a warming light. Reaching around his head, he removed his sunglasses which he had donned backwards; their arms having been securely tucked in his folded and tied bandana.

  Looking from side to side, it occurred to Clay that these weren't the people in the farm house. These were survivors. They had no desire to barricade themselves inside a secluded building in a futile attempt to wait out the world's new circumstances. Standing around him were people who agreed without protestation, to fight back rather than hide. Escape did not equate to a loss, but survival to victory.

  Clay placed his sunglasses over his eyes and wrapped his fingers around his weapons cocking lug. The spring loaded action snapped back with a metallic thump, as the weapons bolt slid a round from the magazine and into the chamber. Around him sounded a cacophony of matching sounds as everyone followed suit with Clay.

  The front rank of the horde broke from the main body, quickening its pace towards the vehicles. Smith had been right, in that the behaviour of the infected was dictated by the strength of their numbers.

  "Rifles only!" Clay yelled as he took a knee. "We have to wait until the main body reaches the explosives!"

  Clay shouldered his rifle and peered through it's optics. The echo of the rifle being fired, bounced off the massive building and stung his ears. Regardless, his shot hit the mark and one of the infected belonging to the loose formation fell on its face.

  An orchestra of rifle fire ensued. Some bearers were better marksman than others, but their implementation was no less than how Clay had intended it to be. The loose formation of advancing infected was slowly being picked apart by the controlled rifle fire. The large magazines, being emptied by a semi-automatic rifle action meant that any missed shots could be followed up quickly by another. The horde's approach was met with a continuous volley of accurate fire. Comparatively, the two experienced gunners atop the G-Wagen's turrets could have easily levelled this oncoming wave. Clay's orders had been understood by the soldiers manning them, as their heavy ammunition was finite and would be better served as a means to punch vehicle wide holes in the horde to aide in their escape. Although not able to defeat their numbers in this fashion, it would buy Clay enough time for the main body to position itself within his explosive perimeter.

  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.