From his position, Clay could see the fallen figure of a woman laying prone in the tall grass. This had obviously been the recipient of Melanie's silent assault. It was the still upright form of a small boy, stumbling towards Mel in the custom manner of the undead that provoked Clay to act. Melanie was frozen, certainly having seen the infected boy's approach but being hesitant to pull the trigger. Being perched on the fence directly above his unmoving companion, Clay threw himself from its height and directly on the child's small frame. The tiny figure folded violently under the descending weight of Clay, who rolled with the momentum of his fall. After regaining his footing, Clay jumped to his feet and fluidly drew his tomahawk. The broken body of the bantam infected hideously thrashed about, trying to further press its assault on Melanie. Clay strode towards the boy and brought the head of his tomahawk to bear on the diminutive skull, in a vicious downward arc.
Clay yanked the blade from the repulsive form, returning it to his belt.
"... Clay... I'm sorry... I just couldn't..." Melanie started, finding the display before her to be entirely heartbreaking.
Clay too had not been unaffected by the brutal act which had just been committed by his own hand. Although, unlike Melanie, he did in fact realize that these were no longer people. They were undead and regardless of how distasteful the act had been to him, as long as he drew breath he would not let harm come to Melanie.
"They stopped being a boy and his mother, a long time ago Melanie. Now come on. We're almost there. Just two more backyards." Clay said, trying to calm her nerves.
The pair crossed the next two fences without incident, finally reaching the yard of Clay's former home. Of all the properties that she had covertly crossed, his was the most unique. Melanie had never really understood Clay as being the suburban type and her beliefs were only reaffirmed upon seeing it with her own eyes. A wooden frame had been erected at the far perimeter of the yard, having several canoes stacked on it. There was no barbecue or extravagant lawn furniture. Only an old fold up lawn chair, resembling those popular in the nineteen-eighties with a simple plastic table set beside it. Apparently, Clay and Brooke had not been the type to spend time in the privacy of their backyard together.
The suburban home was the stereotypical sort, in having a slightly elevated main floor and a backyard that sat lower than the front. The rear entrance into the house employed a sliding glass door which lead directly into a finished basement.
Clay gripped the door's handle and gave it a small tug. As he suspected, Brooke had left the basement door unlocked, which had been a long time habit of hers.
Clay looked up from the door handle to Melanie. Between the church engulfed in undead and the boy-infected that had nearly attacked her, this journey had taken its toll on her. Without a moment's hesitation, she had volunteered to accompany Clay on an errand which would prove entirely meaningless to anyone other than him.
"Melanie... I'm glad that you came." Clay said, unsure of how to thank her.
Melanie put her hand on the forearm belonging to Clay that gripped the door handle, and gave it a gentle squeeze.
"You were right, Clay. You didn't need me." Melanie replied sombrely.
Clay gently slid the glass door open and quietly entered his previous home. Again removing his tomahawk from its home on his belt, not knowing what to expect inside the house. Without having the opportunity to scout the perimeter of the residence, it was impossible to know what they might encounter inside. For all Clay knew, the front door was wide open and the upper floors were crawling with infected. Discharging firearms inside the home would serve to draw more infected to their position and his shotgun's loud report would leave them with a ringing in their ears for the next few hours.
Melanie followed Clay into the basement. There appeared to be no sign of struggle or infected, but in seeing that Clay was prepared for a potential encounter, Melanie kept the stock of her rifle pressed into her shoulder.
A leather sectional sofa faced a large flatscreen television which had been mounted to the wall. The oversized coffee table was littered with magazines, all geared toward a female audience. The room was well decorated and organized, obviously the main occupant having had been Brooke. To Melanie, Clay didn't seem the type that would live here, which might explain the single lawn chair located outside. It was oddly uncomfortable for her to be inside of Clay's previous home. She had grown attached to him and felt a sense of security even while exposed to the infected, when he was near. Mel felt a knot form in her stomach at the thought of Brooke being found alive and herself being pushed aside.
Melanie quietly shut the door behind her after briefly examining the room. Clay covertly moved through the basement, passing a stairwell leading to the main floor and towards a pair of doors. Melanie moved as quietly as she could, attempting to keep up with him. Clay's time spent hunting in the woods had taught him exactly how to walk quietly, while Melanie had never required such a skill.
The doors were both located on the same wall, with approximately six feet of space between them. Quietly turning the knob belonging to the door on the left, Clay pushed it open revealing an empty laundry room. The smell of fabric softener and detergent spilled from the room, filling Melanie's nostrils.
Clay moved immediately to the next door, repeating what he had done with the first and unveiling a furnace room. Unlike the first, Clay entered the room. Melanie followed, finding a light switch mounted to the wall next to the door. She reached towards it, pressing it's wide button with her fingers. The room remained lit by only the sunlight now seeping in through a window installed close to the ceiling.
Clay stood before an impressively large steel locker. The walls on either side of it having had been lined with shelving. In the dark, Melanie had trouble initially determining what exactly the shelving held. Soon her eyes began to adjust to the room's almost nonexistent lighting and she could see objects beginning to take form. Large fixed blade knives, binoculars, gun oils and rags. The contents of this room had been the first real indicator that Clay had actually lived here and all of it had been inconsiderately tucked away out of sight. Clay reached up, wrapping his fingers around one of the exposed ceiling joists. The utility closet, although located in the basement, did not match the finished interior of the main room.
Melanie watched as Clay inserted a small key into the lock of the gun safe, it having had been hidden atop the joist. He quietly rolled the mechanism over and opened the door. Knowing exactly what she should do, Mel stood behind Clay and opened the bag on his back; withdrawing the second which she had folded up and tucked inside. The two began stuffing both of their bags with everything inside the locker and that which was resting on the shelving, taking no time to examine even a single item. Their packs quickly filled to an almost unbearable weight, being loaded with ammunition, several hand guns and other equipment.
"Okay Mel, that's enough. Neither you, or that bag can handle much more weight." Clay instructed.
Clay grabbed a pair of soft-sided gun cases that had been leaning in a darkened corner, each having a shoulder strap of their own. There were eight long guns to choose from in total, each of which would be well received by any of his companions at the department store. However, with the weight that they were currently struggling with, Clay knew that each additional pound would only further slow their egress from suburb exponentially. He would have to choose wisely. Clay owned two twenty-two caliber rifles, one having optics and bearing a similar resemblance to the one Melanie currently held in her hands. The other having only open sights, would still be an invaluable tool. Clay loaded both guns into their respective cases, handing one to Mel. The two could carry no more, leaving behind several shotguns and centre-fire rifles.
After leaving the utility room, the pair began to slowly ascend the staircase, making an abrupt one-hundred and eighty degree turn halfway up. Each stair creaking with every step under the heavy combined weight of Clay and Mel. Clay cringed at the sound of the moaning lumber, thinking t
hat if any infected be inside the house, they would surely now become alerted to their presence.
The scene displayed on the main floor of the house was vastly different from that which had been encountered in the basement. If Clay didn't know better, he would have assumed that a grenade had detonated on the open concept main floor of the house. The tall shelving which had once served as a bookcase, now laid on its face; the surrounding floor littered with it's previous contents. The kitchen, whose floor was mostly hidden from view by the large central island, was a ridden with the evidence of a chaotic struggle. Everything that had once been so carefully arranged on the counter tops had been scattered throughout the space. Even the small dinning and living rooms had not gone untouched, with a once wall mounted television now hanging from a taught cord and a large oaken table laying on its side.
Clay looked to his left, affording him a clear view to the front door which was closed. Whoever had destroyed the house might still remain inside. Clay stepped out of the stairwell and onto the main floor, moving towards the kitchen. Melanie diverted away from Clay, moving instead towards the living room.
The house was again devoid of anything indicating that Clay had once lived here. Melanie did however find a picture of who she assumed was Brooke, hanging on the wall. A pretty blonde woman stood between an older man and woman, all of whom bore resemblance to one another.
Melanie turned to Clay, about to ask if the girl in the picture was Brooke. She quickly changed her mind upon witnessing Clay staring down at the floor behind the kitchen island. From her perspective, whatever it was that had so grabbed his attention was hidden from her view. Melanie approached Clay, as he lowered his heavy pack and the newly acquired rifle to the white tiled floor.
Even Melanie hadn't expected to find what laid before Clay's feet. Thinking it likely to be Brooke, she hadn't a clue what to think of the clean cut man who was prostrate on the floor in front of Clay; dead. Judging by the trauma that had clearly been the cause of the unknown man's death, it was easy to surmise that the undead had been the cause of his demise. The puzzling part was the man's identity, as well as his business in the house. Another peculiar element surrounding him, was the fact that he wore only a set of boxer briefs.
Melanie had an inclination towards what he was doing in Clay's kitchen and could only assume that Clay had also begun to piece the evidence together. She was cautiously reaching out to Clay, intending to rest a hand on his shoulder when she was violently dragged to the ground from behind; her attacker using a handful of her hair to initiate the brutal attack.
By the time Clay had turned in response to Melanie's scream, her attacker was already on top on her, pummelling Mel with vicious blows to the head and face.
Melanie did her best to cover her face with her arms, in an attempt to shield herself from the onslaught of punches brought on by the figure now straddling her. Even though having striven to ward off the blows, Mel still felt the painful flurry of strikes impacting against her face, head and forearms. One such fist striking her hard on the side of the face, dizzying her in an instant and breaking her guard almost entirely; allowing for several more attacks to land undefended.
Clay rushed to Mel's aide, wrapping an arm around the neck of her attacker and standing the infected to its feet. With all the strength that he could muster, Clay threw the infected aside, allowing him to reposition himself between Mel and her assailant.
If he had known what he would uncover prior to the onset of this mission, Clay would have never undertaken it. Before him stood a version of the woman he had once known as Brooke, naked save for a pair of black lace panties. Although bloody and beaten, presumably from her altercation with the dead man on the floor, she still remained beautiful. He blonde hair caked with dried blood, hiding from view the menacing eyes of an undead.
Clay gave pause for a moment upon recognizing the infected who had in an instant, nearly beaten Mel unconscious. Realizing that this was in fact Brooke, allowed an opening for her immediate counter attack. Brooke's fist swung in a wide hook, slamming against Clay's jaw. Unlike Melanie, Clay was more than capable of absorbing the attack. The impact of the fist spun his head slightly, allowing Clay a glimpse the prostrate Mel. Her arms laying limply at her sides, with blinking eyes and a bloodied face.
Clay became enraged at the sight of Mel, responding to Brooke's attack with his own; driving her dead face hard with a right hook. The force of the attack knocked the infected to her knees. Clay took a hard step forward and slammed his knee into the face of Brooke while she was still grounded, the force of which propelled her hard into the cabinets lining the kitchen. With enough force to have knocked most men unconscious, Clay hadn't expected his now undead girlfriend to so quickly have sprung to her feet.
Brooke threw herself at Clay, pushing him backwards and driving the corner of the granite island counter top, hard into his back. Pain immediately shot through Clay's body in debilitating waves, his legs giving out from underneath of him as a result.
Brooke raised her fist in the air, preparing to do to Clay what she had only moments before done to Mel. Before the blow landed, Brooke crumpled grotesquely to the floor in front of Clay.
Mel had managed to prop herself up against a cabinet and brought her rifle to bear on Brooke.
Clay rolled onto his hands and knees, his back still rife with pain from being pressed so heavily against the unmoving corner of the kitchen island. He agonizingly crawled his way towards Mel. Upon reaching her, Clay painfully rolled himself into a seated position beside her. The pair sat together on the floor, with their backs resting against the cabinetry; both exhausted. Clay wrapped his arm around the wounded Melanie, who in turn nestled her face into his chest, quietly stifling her tears of pain and embarrassment.
Although never having had been in a physical altercation in her life, she still felt shame in having been beaten so. Clay rubbed her shoulder, intending to calm her. The two sat together for some time, resting from the intense activity of the morning.
Clay was first to break the silence.
"Can you travel?" he asked quietly.
Melanie had begun to regain her composure. "Yah... I think so..." she said, her voice quivering.
Clay stood to his feet, groaning while doing so. After turning to stand over Mel, he reached down with both of his hands, offering to assist her to her feet. Melanie placed both of her hands within his, allowing him to pull her upright. The majority of the pain in her face now having subsided, the exception being that brought on by the blow which had nearly knocked her unconscious. Upon dizzily rising to her feet, Mel's balance wavered momentarily.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Clay asked.
"Yah, I'm good." she replied.
Clay gripped her hard by the waist and lifted Melanie into the air, seating her on the counter top they had only seconds before been propped up against.
"Have a seat. I'm going to have a look at the street through the windows. I'm not convinced that you'll be able to haul that pack the entire way back to the car." Clay said.
Leaving Melanie sitting on the counter, Clay began moving from window to window. Peering cautiously through both curtains and blinds, he searched the street for signs of either wandering infected or a means by which they could escape. Several undead were aimlessly wandering the street in front of Clay's home. Although each could be easily dispatched by his tomahawk, Clay was concerned with Melanie's current state should they need to abandon whatever vehicle they would attempt to start.
A school bus which had likely been abandoned during the onset of the outbreak, had been parked crookedly on the side of the road. It sat idly across the street and only a few houses down from where they now stood. Although having had been equipped by Tim with a battery booster, Clay recalled clearly what had been said about industrial sized vehicles and the likelihood that their engines would start without the need of a boost.
Clay leaned against the window frame, staring through it's glass and into the street. Boosting
a car had it's risks. If the car wouldn't start on its own, he would have to lift the hood and supplement the battery. Even that wasn't guaranteed to work and would immediately attract the attention of the infected presently occupying the street. The bus on the other hand would likely start, but there also stood a reasonable chance that it would either be out of gas or missing the keys to the ignition. The engine powering the school bus would be powerful enough that they could drive through any infected barring them from exiting the city. Depending on the condition of Melanie, having now been given some time to rest after her beating; the bus may serve another purpose.
Better Lucky than Good (Records of the Resistance) Page 18
