Clay was momentarily entranced, the sounds of the horde fading into nothing. He no longer heard the wind, or the shrieking undead. He no longer felt the warmth of the sun on his face, nor the weight of his equipment bearing down on his shoulders. Clay didn't hear the approach of the Blackhawk, or the scream of the engines as its pilot swung its tail around and presenting the gunner a clear view of the roof's access door from behind Clay. He payed no mind to the dust and gravel being thrown violently into the air as a result of the helicopter's prop wash. The whine of the mini-gun spooling up went unheard by Clay, as he took a step towards the infected who was being pushed through the doorway by those behind it.
The mini-gun fizzled and whirred, spewing a stream of fiery lead into the doorway, at four-thousand rounds per minute. The frame folded under such intense fire, tracer rounds bouncing into the air as they ricocheted off of the steel.
Using his forearm, Clay shielded his face from the gravel and concrete that now pelted his body as the mini-gun tore the rooftop to shreds.
Clay looked behind him, finally acknowledging the imposing presence of the aircraft and recognizing the face of Captain Lavigne peering through the large side door; his hand outstretched towards Clay. Replacing his weapons, Clay bent down and scooped up his rifle as the Blackhawk pilot lowered the machine to a hover just above the rooftop.
The door gunner ceased his fire, allowing Clay to run safely toward the hovering Blackhawk. He ran, half bent and shielding his eyes from the twirling debris. Reaching the bay door, Clay flung out his hand and into that of Captain Lavigne who with the help of another soldier dragged him into the confines of the Blackhawk.
"Today, is not your day!" Lavigne yelled into Clay's ear, while slapping him on the back.
"You ready, Private?!" Lavigne yelled over his shoulder.
"Good to go, Sir!” came a response from behind Clay.
"Watch this!" Lavigne yelled again into Clay's ear.
The pilot lifted the Blackhawk into the air, slowly crawling forward. An arm protruded over Clay's shoulder, its hand holding a bundle of plastic explosives. Lavigne grabbed them, holding the package to his chest until the pilot expertly guided the helicopter over top of the large propane cylinder. Previously, it had been used by the big box store to fill the tanks belonging to customers. Now, it would serve a different purpose. Lavigne casually tossed the explosive package out of the large door, having it land within close proximity of the two story cylinder.
"Alright, get us out of here." Lavigne yelled over his shoulder to the pilot, who nodded in response.
Clay could feel the powerful engines roar to life in response to the pilot throttling the collective. The building became smaller and smaller, as the distance between Clay and his former refuge increased. Slowly, he began to fathom what had just happened; it having felt like a dream as it occurred. Lavigne looked over his shoulder again, nodding in response to a signal from the pilot which had gone unseen by Clay. Lavigne pointed his arm out in the direction of the big box store, indicating to Clay that he should watch.
Clay's eyes locked onto the store just as Lavigne activated the remote. A fireball rose silently in the air, flinging flaming debris along with it. It was a sight to behold. The detonation was so violent, Clay believed he had seen the shockwave pulsate outward from the blast. Seconds later, the sound of the explosion hit Clay's ears. He hadn't realized that he wore a grin on his face until Lavigne hit him in the back, while laughing triumphantly.
Lavigne regained his composure and pressed his headset hard into his ear with his palm, trying to muffle the sound of the Blackhawk. Clay watched Lavigne as he carried on a conversation that went unheard by him over the engine noise. Lavigne nodded, finishing his conversation.
Inching toward Clay, the Captain placed his hand on his shoulder and leaned towards his ear. "The convoy isn't out of the woods yet. We're going to escort them outside of the horde's reach." he shouted.
Clay nodded and watched as the soldiers readied their weapons and moved to the edge of the doors. Clay slid himself out of the way, working himself towards the gunner and patting him on the shoulder. The man turned slightly to acknowledge Clay, who responded by pointing to the opposing door gun which remained unmanned. The gunner nodded, unlatching his tether from the door frame. The man slid across the interior of the helicopter and loosened a lever which had held the gun firm and prevented it from flopping around.
"You only have sixty-seconds of ammunition before the gun runs dry, so make 'em count!" the man yelled in a thick southern accent.
Clay nodded in thanks and positioned himself behind the gun. Putting his hands on the weapon's mechanism, Clay tested the articulation of the gun; familiarizing himself with how it would move in his hands. When he was comfortable, Clay looked up from the weapon and in his peripheral vision caught the Captain watching him. Lavigne slid himself up to the edge of the door and with his arm held firm against his chest, offered Clay a thumbs up and a smile.
The helicopter dipped slightly and levelled off just metres above the treetops lining the road on both sides. The Blackhawk sped towards the rear of the convoy, in pursuit as it drove along the narrow road.
LAV. LAV. G-Wagen. Truck. Bus. G-Wagen. Clay mentally listed each of the vehicles from back to front, encouraged by the fact that they were all present. At first glance, the convoy looked as though it were already free from trouble. That was until the Blackhawk whirled to the head of the column. All weapons were firing into the wooded shoulders of the road, as the undead attempted to spill out and halt the convoy's escape. The pilot guided the helicopter along the road until he had positioned it ahead of the column.
It took a moment for Clay to recognize the threat, but upon doing so, it immediately occurred to him that they had arrived just in time. Through the trees, infected could be seen ambling towards the road ahead of the convoy. Although moving at a steady pace, eventually the vehicles would endure more damage than they could sustain and would quit amidst a sea of undead.
Clay heard the door gunner opposite himself, open fire first. The soldiers lining the doors followed his lead and hot rounds began pounding into the earth below them. Looking slightly ahead, Clay positioned the weapon where he believed it would deliver its high rate payload along the edge of the tree line. Squeezing the dual trigger, the weapon suddenly spun to life, buzzing loudly as it spewed round after round into the tree tops. Clay's placement was slightly off mark and by using the blazing tracers, he walked the projectiles onto the edge of the tree line. An incalculable stream of spent casings poured from the chute protruding from the side of the gun.
From the lead vehicle, the sight was impressive to say the least as the burning projectiles tore the tree tops to pieces and the sky released a torrent of hollow brass; jingling melodically as they struck pavement. Jamie watched as limbs fell to the earth and small trees were cut down. Where an army once stood, now only pulverized soil and dust remained. The timely intervention by the aircraft, held the swarm of infected at bay just long enough to allow for the convoy to escape envelopment. Undead beyond number, spilled onto the road from both flanks, as the final LAV sped beyond their domain.
The experienced gunner's weapon ran dry first, followed shortly by Clay's own. A brief moment of panic washed over Clay, as his barrels continued to spin but ceased to fire. That was until he had realized that no one else was shooting. Turning his head toward the soldiers, Clay observed that all were celebrating. Some even exchanging high-fives and laughing. They were in the clear and speeding toward far off safety.
Lavigne's voice penetrated the noise of the engines from behind Clay's shoulder. "Take us back a bit. I think someone needs to say ‘hello’... Let his people know he made it." Lavigne spoke into his radio, this time having made sure that Clay had heard him.
Melanie gripped the steering wheel tight, with tears still damp on her face. She had done what Clay had wanted her to do, but that knowledge made the act no less painful. Kevin stood beside her, staring up
at the belly of the Blackhawk as it eased into position in front of the bus. He watched as the helicopter gently banked to the left, exposing some of it's occupants to his sight.
Kevin squeezed Mel's shoulder hard and lowered himself to a crouch beside her. Melanie looked back and forth between Kevin and the road, as he stared at her with a smile on his lips.
"What?" Melanie asked, the fact that she had been crying still plainly evident in her voice.
"Look." was all that Kevin said, as he pointed up towards the Blackhawk.
Melanie looked from Kevin to the road, then from the road to the helicopter. She wasn't exactly sure what she was supposed to be looking at… Until she saw him. In plain sight, Clay sat with his arm casually resting along the bulk of the mini-gun.
She released her grip on the steering wheel, the bus gently leaning to the left as she place her hands over her gaping mouth.
"Melanie!" Kevin scolded, releasing her shoulder and grabbing the wheel.
Mel didn't even hear him, as the tears again began to run down her cheeks. Her eyes met Clay's own. Eyes that she had only moments before believed she would never look into again.
Clay felt a hand gripping his shoulder. A hand belonging to Captain Lavigne.
"Okay?" he shouted.
Clay nodded in response, appreciating the act which Lavigne had just coordinated. Lavigne leaned back and spoke into the radio. This time his voice fizzling through the comms inside each of the vehicles.
"Okay, everyone. Good work. See you at home." he said as the Blackhawk lifted higher into the air.
Melanie wrapped her shaking hands around the steering wheel, laughing and crying simultaneously. "He's alive..." she heard Kevin say.
"Clay's alive! He made it!" Kevin turned and shouted towards the occupants of the bus. "He made it!"
The cheering and clapping in response to Kevin's proclamation broke Melanie's heart, as she sped towards her reunion.
CHAPTER NINE
Day 9. 37 Days Post Infection
Their celebrations although appreciated, were almost unbearable to Clay. Melanie had hardly let him leave her sight since they had been reunited, and had never ceased apologizing; vowing to never abandon him again. Lindsay was almost as bad, having thanked him repeatedly for saving Tim, rather than leaving him behind inside the truck bay. He got it. Clay understood why they felt the need. It simply wasn't necessary.
Currently, they were seated in a conference room of sorts after having had been relocated the day before to the old barracks. The place previously had served as some kind of museum and tourist attraction. With him were his team leaders, Mel, Jamie, Tim, Mick, Kevin and Lindsay, as well as Captain Lavigne, Corporal Smith and a Sergeant who was unknown to him. Each of them sitting around a long rectangular table, in strikingly comfortable ergonomic chairs.
Clay heard the mechanism of the door unlatch, as an older gentleman accompanied by an entourage entered the room.
"Room!" ordered Captain Lavigne as he and his men came to attention in immediate response to the ranking officer's entrance.
The three soldiers remained as such, while the civilians sat awkwardly in their seats; unsure of how they should react.
"At ease, gentleman." the officer responded. "Have a seat."
The man sat, filling the vacant seat at the head of the table. Clearing his throat, he fiddled with some paperwork which he had carried until everyone had seated themselves.
"First of all, I'd like to congratulate you all. Making it here, I understand, was no small feat. So... well done." the man said casually.
"I am Major Collins. To my knowledge, I am the highest remaining ranking officer, and thus it falls to me to organize the resistance efforts in the country. This facility is the first of its kind. Its purpose is to serve as both a refuge, and a point from which we will conduct our attacks on the infected. While we lost a great deal of military forces during the outbreak, you all have proven that a civilian effort combined with military assistance can be an effective tool in combating the infected and maintaining the existence of humanity." the Major paused, looking around the table.
Clay sheepishly raised his hand, knowing that the Major had likely intended that questions be answered when he had finished.
"Yes?" the Major asked, looking at Clay.
"Sir, does this mean that the government has been dissolved and the military has taken command?" he asked.
The Major cleared his throat again. "The government has been dissolved not because we have taken command, but because of their role in the development of this situation." he answered.
"We have no intention of running a military dictatorship. The proposed model is that of joint government between the military, and the survivors who are relocated to facilities such as this one. This site has been designated as 'Civilian Operated Resistance Point One', or CORP One for short. Here will be installed a military officer, along with a civilian officer of the resistance; both of whom will share an equal rank." the Major offered a brief pause again, but not so brief so as to allow for anymore questions.
"From here we can preserve both humanity, and conduct operations to restore order, gather supplies, and defend our nuclear facilities. All of which are top priorities if mankind should continue. We intend on erecting other sites mirroring this one as more communities of survivors surface within the country's cities." concluded the Major. This time pausing long enough to allow questions.
This time it was Tim who raised his hand.
"Go ahead." said the Major to Tim.
“So, who are we supposed to be reporting to then?" Tim asked, his tone bordering on belligerence. Tim was clearly not thrilled by the prospect of receiving orders from someone other than Clay.
The Major's facial expressions let on to the fact that Tim's tone was unappreciated, given his rank.
The Major opened the file which he had rested on the table in front of him. "Captain Lavigne here has been designated as the Military Liaison of CORP One… And your Resistance Liaison is..." the Major paused, flipping through the papers in front of him.
"Captain Lavigne. It appears your tenure as CORP One's ML is already off to a bad start. Your report appears to be incomplete..." the Major said arrogantly as he shifted his gaze toward the Captain.
Instead of offering a response, Lavigne turned his eyes towards Melanie.
Melanie sat up in her chair. "Captain Clayton Gabriel Michaels." she said.
Clay's head swivelled towards Melanie, a confused look plastered across his face.
"What? I went through your wallet last night... Hey! You refused to tell me when I asked." was all she offered in response to the look now being given to her by Clay.
"Very well, then. Your RL is Captain Michaels." answered the Major. "Good luck, gentlemen.”
About the Author
Shaun Meehan currently resides in his home town of St. Thomas, Ontario with his wife and their two sons. An avid outdoorsman, he spends much of his time afield paddling a canoe, as well as hunting and fishing. Shaun has been a longtime fan of the horror and thriller genre, and at times, uses his outdoors experience to influence his writing.
Any comments regarding his work are appreciated, and Shaun can be reached through the following methods.
Twitter: @zombifiedauthor
Email: [email protected]
Facebook: www.facebook.com/shaunmeehanauthor
Website: www.shaun-meehan.com
Better Lucky than Good (Records of the Resistance) Page 25
