Better Lucky than Good (Records of the Resistance) (28 page)

"Any how many are still alive?" Clay asked.

"... None..." the Corporal hesitantly answered.

The blank stares on the faces of his team leaders spoke more than words ever could. They were scared. Clay was losing the confidence of his leadership team, all of whom he would need if they stood any chance of escaping.

*****

The only remaining obstacle barring their path to escape was the absence of fuel in the tanks of the vehicles which would serve as their transportation out of town. The solution to their woes was a mere two hundred yards away, but it might as well have been a mile. Without knowing the exact location of the horde, which stood to reason was currently plodding it's way in the general direction of the big box store, Clay was hesitant to simply drive each of the vehicles across the street to the gas station. Should the horde be close enough by to hear the roar of the load diesel engines, their entire operation might fold before they had even boarded the vehicles. While being reasonably armed, they were by no means capable of fighting infected whose numbers so greatly dwarfed their own. However, they could fight their way out of the area.
 

Kevin had been right in his earlier statement about the community not being composed of soldiers, but people. People who had worked tirelessly all day and now required sleep. Should they be needed to defend themselves, they would need rest. Although he would have rather loaded everyone into their designated transports as they were being fuelled, the act might serve to incite panic which would further hamper his efforts to help his people recuperate. The wounded on the other hand were presently being loaded by Corporal Smith, with the assistance of a few volunteers.

The community had four "little rifles" all of which had been modified in a similar, albeit improved fashion as Mel's original. Although Clay was resourceful, Mick was a skilled and experienced craftsman, who was quickly becoming indispensable.
 

Clay had positioned Mel and Jamie at the gas station, both of whom were armed with the devastatingly effective rim fires, while two other front line fighters remained at the main entrance of the big box store, armed in a similar fashion. Disabling the lights of the gas station had been their primary objective once they had reached the pumps, shrouding them in almost complete darkness. With most of the city having had been shut down, the ambient light of the night sky's stars and moon was all that lit the street.
 

Tim and Kevin, along with a few members who were physically capable, had been moving back and forth between the big box store and the gas station. They were using fridge carts, wheelbarrows, and countless Jerry cans, all having had been liberated from the store's inventory to silently fill the stomachs of their hungry vehicles. It was a time consuming process that wracked their nerves further with every passing minute. Despite the impracticality of the maneuver, it was proving itself successful under the cover of darkness. The two G-Wagens had already been filled and the bus and tractor-trailer had been well underway for some time now. All without a single infected being spotted, and in complete silence.

Presently, Clay was crouched beside Mel who was vigilantly looking off in the distance in an attempt to spot any incoming infected. Clay had armed himself with only his pistol and close combat weapons, being fully confident in the shooting abilities of Melanie and Jamie. Chance sat next to Clay, fully alert. He had been given a thick leather collar and a short lead of matching description. He was unsure of how Chance would react to any approaching infected, but it was worth the risk. Clay had been a lover of dogs all his life, but had never had the opportunity to have a canine companion of his own. Being fully aware of the advantages provided by an alert canine, and Chance's previous behaviour at the lumber yard, Clay was confident in the dog's predictability.

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 Clay 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.