Better Lucky than Good (Records of the Resistance) (29 page)

"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.
 

"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 occupants 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.