Clay snapped to, the moment he heard Melanie struggling. However, what he saw was the last thing that he had expected. Melanie, having dropped the dry bag, was standing over the first infected whose leg had been broken by Clay's tomahawk. He was struggling to stand upright, despite his limb being incapable of bearing his weight. Their remaining aggressor's attempts to regain his footing were being further impeded by Melanie's repeated strikes to the back of his skull with the butt of the shotgun.
Thunk, Thunk, Thunk!
His head snapped downward with every strike as he tried to posture up. Melanie's attacks were having little to no effect on her assailant, allowing the man to wrap one of his arms around her leg. It would be from this position that he would begin to use her limb to pull himself up from his hands and knees. Melanie began frantically hitting the man until the crack of Clay's tomahawk impacted into his skull, dropping him at her feet. She paused for a moment after he fell, staring down at the body that was finally absent of life. Clay gazed at Melanie from where he had thrown his tomahawk. From roughly ten feet away, the weapon had flipped end over end through the air until burying itself into its target.
The moonlight flooded the road, bathing the gruesome scene in an eerie light, and allowed for Clay to survey the arena and the results of their encounter. The woman whom had been the first to permanently fall, was partially obscured from view by the tall vegetation growing in the ditch. Only her legs were exposed in plain sight, which were now protruding out onto the road. The second to fall was the man laying face down at Clay's feet, who now laid in a pool of his own blood where the gravel met the grass. The third man who was also face down, lay at Melanie's feet with a tomahawk protruding from the top of his head. His arm still curled around Melanie's leg in a way that a passerby might mistake him as having begged for mercy in the moment before his death. Everything was quiet and still; at least for a moment. A moment which was short lived, as Melanie tore her leg from the grasp of the dead man and began to resume her attack. Her renewed rage was being further exacerbated by her emotions. The man's limp body jolted with the impact of every kick and strike from the gun stock. Clay slowly began his approach towards Melanie and as he did so, her anger began shifting toward tears. Clay placed his hand over the trigger guard of the shotgun while Melanie was in mid stroke. She tried to jerk the shotgun back from Clay's grasp but her arms no longer possessed the strength. The spent energy of her failed attempt at escaping the city, coupled with her adrenaline dump, had sapped away all of her energy.
"The gun has a rubber recoil pad... It doesn't make for much of a skull cracker." Clay gently explained.
Melanie finally released her grasp on the shotgun and slumped down onto the road, sobbing with her knees pulled into her chest.
"I knew him. He worked at the grocery store." she cried.
"He was a nice man... Those fucking assholes..." she continued to speak while trying to regain her composure.
Clay was taken aback by her statement.
"Those fucking assholes? Who?" he inquired.
"The ones who..." Melanie began to explain, but was interrupted by the echo of a gunshot in the distance. Then another, and another. The night which only a moment ago was entirely silent, began to light up with life in the form of a hail of gunfire.
"That sounds like it's coming from the farmhouse! Come on!" Melanie said, as she jumped to her feet and took off down the road as fast as her flip-flop adorned feet could carry her.
"Oh fuck... Melanie, WAIT!" Clay shouted, knowing full well that his request would go unheeded.
He picked up his dry bag and threw it over his shoulder. After jerking his tomahawk free from the dead man's skull and slipping it into its leather loop, he took off after Melanie. Although unable to overtake her, he was able to match her pace, even while loaded down as he was by the weight of his equipment. Melanie continued down the road until reaching a break in the cornfield to her right. There, was a long dirt road leading up a hill, which she struggled to negotiate in footwear more suited for the beach than for uneven terrain. Melanie continued determinedly up the hill until finally reaching its crest. The moment that she looked down onto the farm house, she was instantly reminded of the day the infected had started to turn, all over again. She could hear screams and gunfire. More gunfire and yelling. She could hear David's voice as he was desperately attempting to coordinate a defence. She was only a hundred yards away from the house, but she may as well have been in the midst of the battle. By the time that Clay had caught up to her, he was severely winded. However, even though catching his breath, he could still comprehend what was unfolding before his eyes. Clay straightened himself up and put a hand on Melanie's shoulder, whose own were covering her gaping mouth. Her breath quivered as she exhaled, while she struggled to stifle the urge to either scream in heart-broken agony or call out to her companions.
The side of the house to the left of the front door was burning on the second floor. Clay could see the reflection of the fire's light in the tears running down Melanie's face. It danced around, being exaggerated by the refraction as it penetrated the moisture. Clay could hear the screams of the defenders and see the muzzle flashes of their weapons as some of the infected fell. But wherever one dropped, another was there to fill its place in the offensive. The defenders simply couldn't reload fast enough to slow the approach of the horde. Foolishly, the survivors had devised a means to combat the undead with propelled flames. Seemingly, the act had done little more than transform the encroaching undead into flame inducing invaders. Inadvertently, they had set fire to the structure around them.
The entire upper floor of the white, two storey farm house became engulfed in flames. Thick black smoke poured out of each window, in tall dark plumes. The survivors needed to get out or would burn to death, while the infected showed no fear in face of the fire.
Suddenly, a woman burst through a side door that had previously gone unseen by Clay from his position. She was making a run for the wooded area surrounding the house when she was cut off while rounding an outbuilding. Melanie gasped and shuddered, tears rolling down her cheeks as an infected threw the woman to the ground. Her screams were blood curtailing, as several of the undead beat her unmercifully. They circled around her, arms swinging downward on her prone body until her screams abruptly ceased. Clay and Melanie had just heard the woman's life end from where they stood. They continued to beat her lifeless form in unison, her body jolting with every blow. Turning their attention back to the house, they rejoined the rest of the horde, leaving behind only her battered and broken corpse as evidence of what had transpired.
The gunfire slowed. The infected had infiltrated the house, and the fire had begun to spread to the main floor. Many of the undead could be seen still pressing their attack on the building, even while burning. From the structure's interior, a hail of gunfire erupted, then ended as suddenly as it had started. A single shot rang out; the sound of the blast echoing through the night-time air. Clay knew that the final defender of the farmhouse was now dead. The pair watched a moment longer, as the house became fully engulfed in flames. The crackling of the fire, audible even from the hill, was soon accompanied by the crashing of the internal structures of the burning home. The infected appearing to recognize their victory as being complete, began to disperse; ambling off in various directions.
"It's time to go, Melanie. There was nothing we could have done to save them." Clay offered consolingly.
Melanie gave no response in return. She simply observed as her former haven burned and began to collapse on itself; the fire’s light dancing in her eyes. Clay put his arm around her and began to lead away from their vulnerable position atop the hill crest.
Melanie's knees felt like gelatine, requiring her to lean hard against Clay as he lead her by the shoulder. Clay on the other hand was working through substantial mental calculations that would generate only little more then a guess, regarding how to get the pair of them to safety. It was clear to him that Melanie's local
knowledge, while being an asset, was not at his disposal at the moment.
"Melanie? ... Melanie?" Clay spoke in a whisper.
Melanie had survived the initial outbreak and the resulting chaos. She knew in the back of her mind that it was by sheer luck that David had found her hiding in her apartment. She was starving and dehydrated; barely clinging to life. Melanie had been too fearful to venture out of her home. Luckily, David and his group had come across her while looking to increase their stores. David had carried her out of the apartment, by means of a backboard which had been improvised by him and his companions. She woke up two days later in the farm house. They told her that she was safe and that they would take care of her. Melanie had gained courage from the selfless individuals who had surrounded her and began participating in supply runs. Such a horrendous ordeal can often form strong bonds between people, in a very short amount of time. She owed them her life and she had stood by idly, and watched them burn. She was no further ahead now, then when David had first rescued her.
"Melanie, listen to me! I'm going to do my best to get you to safety, but I'm in the dark here. I need to know what direction the river is in!" Clay explained, knowing that with the river being as wide as it was, should they follow it long enough, he may find a small island on it.
Finally, Clay received feedback from Melanie.
"The river runs behind the house." she replied absently.
Clay immediately led Melanie off the long driveway and into the wooded area to its side. Clay had observed while on the crest of the hill, that the house was located in a horseshoe shaped clearing within the woods. Although the night was brightly lit by the clear skies, the woods would be darkened by the forest canopy. They had a chance to make it beyond the burning farm house before the infected crossed the clearing and into the woodlot, provided that they moved quickly.
"Melanie, this is very important. You need to pay attention. Are you listening to me?" Clay asked, attempting to regain her focus.
Melanie was slow to respond, but nodded in the affirmative.
"Alright... Good. Grab a hold of the handle on my pack and whatever you do, DON'T let go! We're getting the hell out of here. But we need to do it fast. Stop when I stop, crouch when I crouch and whatever you do, be quiet!" Clay said, issuing his instructions to Melanie very quickly.
When Clay turned, he felt Melanie grab the handle on his pack. He mounted his shotgun and immediately began pressing forward through the woods. For a while they tripped and stumbled. Even at one point, becoming entangled in the thick vegetation. Luckily, they eventually located a game trail. Though narrow, it was tall enough to allow the pair to utilize it with some degree of comfort. Clay was an experienced woodsman and knew that the trail was likely frequented by the local deer herd, who were using this path to gain access to the cornfield.
"Melanie, are you with me?" he asked quietly, trying to asses her condition.
"Mmmhmm..." Melanie answered, her exhaustion painfully obvious to Clay.
"The farmhouse is to our left and the corn field is to our right. With any luck, this trail at some point in going to bring us within earshot of the river. It's a quiet night, so we'll be able to hear the water from a good distance. We'll be able to find our way from there." Clay said confidently.
"... Clay, I'm tired." she replied, only half listening to him as he spoke.
"I know. Just keep your hand on my pack and it'll be over soon enough." Clay said, trying to sound as reassuring as he could.
They continued down the deer path. The morning dew had begun to settle on the ground and the debris was wet enough to conceal the sound of their movement. The trail was still well used by the local fauna, keeping it relatively clear of anything that might generate noise and betray their position to the undead. As they progressed further along the path, Clay had begun to hear movement coming from the woods to his left. He knew in the back of his mind that the infected must have wandered through the clearing and into the woods. He hoped as hard as he could that Melanie was too tired to notice.
Clay stopped abruptly, causing Melanie to bump into his pack. The sounds emanating from the woods in the direction of the farmhouse were growing close. Very close. He slowly dropped down to one knee and Melanie followed suit, just as she had been instructed. The burning two story home, generated enough light that Clay could begin to see the silhouettes belonging to an uncountable number undead approaching their position.
"Shhhhhh...." Clay breathed out, as quietly as he could.
The figures stumbled and fell as they attempted to traverse through the woods, some of whom becoming entangled in thick vegetation and thrashed about violently until they had freed themselves. The night was quiet, save for the crashing of infected attempting to cross the woodlot. They were surrounded and Clay prayed that this was just an offshoot of the main group and not the entire horde itself. Soon, they began crossing the game trail presently occupied by Melanie and Clay. Up until this point they had been lucky, having none come close enough to detect their presence. However, in the distance Clay observed that one of the infected was ambling straight towards them. He knew that dispatching this one would more than likely lead to attracting the others. His shotgun was certainly out of the question and could essentially be equated to ringing the dinner bell for the rest of the horde. Clay was weighing all of his options, but his time was quickly running short. A few feet was all they needed. They had to go for it. Should his plan fail, he would empty the magazine of his shotgun and they would take their chances making a run for the river.
Clay began slowly inching his way forward, away from the path of the oncoming infected. Without being able to communicate, Melanie was entirely in the dark about Clay's intentions. Her arm was now completely outstretched as a result of Clay moving away from her, leaving Melanie to either follow him or let go. She chose the latter and released her grip from his pack. Clay slowly rotated on the spot, turning to face Melanie while their threat reached a mere twenty yards from her position. He slowly lifted his arm and reached out his hand toward Melanie. She hesitated, but only for a brief moment before taking it in her own. Clay assisted her in maintaining her balance as she slowly crawled towards him. Kneeling before her, once Melanie had managed to close the distance between them, Clay pulled her into him. The pair were now face to face and Melanie was straddling Clay's knees. He lifted his shotgun and rested its receiver on Melanie's shoulder. From this position, he knew he could only fire a single shot before he would have to push Melanie off to cycle the weapon's action. Being entangled with Melanie as he was, Clay could feel her breath on his cheek as the figure stepped into the openness of the game trail. Clay carefully maintained the gun bead's position on the man's head. The infected were not a quiet lot, tearing their way through the bush. It was not the noise of this one that had made Melanie tighten her grip on Clay's wool shirt, but its stench. Their nostrils had become saturated with the putrid smell of charred flesh. It was apparent that this had been one of the infected that had entered the house at some point in the battle. As it crossed the path, the infected stepped into a cone of moonlight, beaming through the darkened forest canopy. Clay became witness to the visual counterpart of the overwhelming odour, as he observed that the man's entire left side had been scorched by the flames; his skin cracked and charred. Even his hair had been removed from his head, further revealing his boiled epidermis. Thankfully, the vision was fleeting as the man continued across the path and into the bush on the other side.
The pair had gone unnoticed. Clay put his hand on the small of Melanie's back, indicating that his intent was to remain as they were for a time. There was still an uncomfortable amount of movement surrounding them, as innumerable undead filtered through the thick forest. As far as Clay was concerned, they were sitting tight until it quieted down. To Melanie, there couldn't be a worse position that she could be in; straddling a man she just met and being surrounded by an imposing number of murderous individuals. However, as they were, they had a very tiny f
oot print which would allow any passing infected a wide berth. She soon accepted this as a suitable alternative to being beaten to death, and relaxed in Clay's grip. Any rest was good rest for Melanie at this point. She began to drift off, leaving several other infected who had stepped dangerously close to the intwined pair, to pass unnoticed by Melanie.
Better Lucky than Good (Records of the Resistance) Page 3
