Records of the Resistance (Book 1): Better Lucky than Good

by Shaun Meehan

  "Mick, while Melanie is distributing the radios, I need you to sort out the ‘little rifles’. Make 'em quiet, just like Mel's. After she picks them up, I need you to take your team and start gathering up essential tools. A drill press, hand tools... Whatever you need to work on guns, fix vehicles or fortify a building. The only catch is, whatever you gather has to fit in a space no larger than a third of the size of the eighteen-wheeler's trailer." Clay said.

  "We'll figure something out." responded Mick.

  "Jamie, I need you to gather all the front line fighters, which includes all the team leaders. Get everyone equipped and ready to fight. When everyone is good to go, load all the remaining gear into the vehicles. Make sure the team leaders are done first so they can get on with their tasks. Tim, take the most mechanically inclined guy you can find and make sure the truck is ready to go. When that's done, I need you to get that bus back into service. We lost the wind shield on our way here, so that'll need replacing. The infected managed to get onto the hood with little trouble, so glass might not be the best idea." continued Clay.

  "Done." Jamie replied simply.

  "The truck's easy, but the bus is a tall order. It will be... It'll drive, but beyond that I can't make any promises." said Tim.

  "Kevin, you've got a big job. But I need it to get done as soon a possible." Clay said, mentally preparing his instructions to the final team leader.

  "You are to supervise the loading of the big truck with all the equipment Mick provides, all of the medical provisions that Corporal Smith gathers, and to ensure that every single person is ready to board the bus at a moments notice. One-third of the truck is to be filled with essential food and supplies, another third with equipment, and the final third is to be converted into a mobile medical ward for the sick." Clay paused for a moment to catch his breath.

  "The conversion of the final third of the trailer is going to be the most difficult, and you're going to have to work it out with Corporal Smith when he's finished at the pharmacy." he continued.

  "I'll take care of it, Clay." Kevin responded assuredly.

  "Sapper O'Conner, how are we for explosives?" Clay asked.

  "You've got enough to make some noise." O'Conner replied with mischievous grin. "Between the ordinance, the barbecue tanks in here, and the gas station across the street, we can do some harm."

  "Good. You and I are going to take care of that. We need to be able to defend the main door, and clear the area around the loading dock." Clay replied.

  "Clay, I may be completely misinterpreting you here, but it sounds like we're planning on leaving." Kevin asked. His tone much more professional than when the meeting had first begun.

  "As of right now, there is no reason for us to leave. We have supplies, water, power and security. I'd just like to be prepared to go should we feel the need to do so, or have no other choice." Clay answered.

  "You all know what to do. Let's get it done." He said with finality.

  *****

  The explosives had become an indispensable component of Clay's design for the defence of the community, and as O'Conner had so eloquently pointed out; they had more than enough to make a little noise. It was known by Clay that the purpose of the explosive perimeter was widely misunderstood by those residing in the giant building that they now called home. Any reasonable person would assume that the ordinance had been placed in such a way so as to be used with the intention of defending the big box store. Clay however, knew that should any number of infected surround the store that they could not realistically contend with, the only option available to him was to evacuate the entire community. Even if they were able to fend off an attack, the noise generated by the defence would only serve to attract more undead to their home. An evacuation of this magnitude was no minor task. Not only would he have to relocate nearly sixty people, but he would have to bring with them everything they would need to reestablish their colony elsewhere. To move everyone and everything would require the use of their recently commandeered school bus, an eighteen wheeler and two military utility vehicles. If he could get the convoy moving, the threat of the vehicles being forced to stop by infected en masse was low. The difficulty in the escape would lie with the vehicles successfully departing from within the store, and positioning the transports between the assault vehicles. The explosives were intended to clear the path, and nothing more.

  Directional mines had been placed in an arc around the truck bay door to clear the immediate area around the exit. Depending on the depth of the infected ranks, a second series of blasts could be detonated. The secondary explosives consisted of barbecue tanks strapped with plastic explosives, which had been scattered throughout the parking lot and would be detonated via remote. Any scattered undead, whether standing or fallen would easily be pushed aside by the massive tractor-trailer. Of the two exits, this was the easiest to accomplish. The trailer had all of it's contents pre-loaded with the exception of it's passengers, all of whom could be loaded within the relative safety of the store. Even the door could be opened automatically from the inside of the truck bay.

  The real challenge lay in the primary exit at the front of the building, where both the bus and the assault vehicles would be loaded. It would be that site which would draw the most attention, given it would be loaded in the openness of the parking lot, albeit directly outside the doors. Explosives had been arranged in a similar fashion as those organized around the truck bay door. The bus would be placed with its rear emergency exit facing the store's main entrance, and have a G-Wagen on each of it's flanks. By positioning the vehicles as close as possible to the doors, they could be boarded with the highest efficiency, and create a smaller area to defend while doing so. The main exit and truck bay explosives would detonate simultaneously. The front line fighters would exit the building and cover the rest of the community with rifles and grenades, until all of the passengers were secured. Ideally, all the passengers would be loaded by the time the abhorrently slow automatic door on the truck bay had reached enough of a height to allow for the truck to pass under it. The vehicles would link up in the parking lot as they made their way toward the road. The largest threat they would face would be an immovable wall of undead preventing them from reaching the road. For that, the solution would lie in the explosives having had been rigged to the gas station across the street from the store. Although all of their vehicles still required refuelling, even after having done so, enough fuel would remain to generate a large enough blast to thin the rear ranks of the horde. With their attackers being thrown off balance by the successive blasts, the convoy should in theory, be able to drive and shoot their way to freedom with relative ease.

  The long dinning table had fallen completely silent as Clay explained the purpose behind all of their preparations. The majority of the community's members had finished eating prior to him beginning his explanation of the day's activity. Clay looked around as he concluded his discourse, recognizing that the days work had taken its toll on everyone. Some wore blank stares on their faces, while others stifled yawns. Still, Clay could sense a feeling of disappointment among those at the table. Many of them had believed that this would be their home for some time to come. Although not having explicitly stated that his intentions were to relocate the colony, the fact that the possibility existed was enough to demoralize the exhausted community.

  "We still have a lot of work ahead of us... This entire plan hinges on the operational status of the vehicles. Vehicles which are presently running on fumes." Clay said, having originally intended on pressing forward and gathering fuel for the vehicles. However, it was quickly becoming evident to him that these people had very little left to give.

  Clay briefly lost his train of thought when the radio which had been brought by Corporal Smith sounded in the background; something that had not happened since the two soldiers had joined them. Smith quietly removed himself from the group to answer its call.

  "However, I think we've all done enough for today, and it might be best fo
r us to rest up." he continued, watching Smith as he conversed over the radio.

  Clay was moments away from finishing his train of thought when he was interrupted again by Smith, who was this time waving his hand in Clay's direction.

  "Excuse me everyone, I need a moment." Clay said as he slowly rose from his chair.

  The unexpected development had an awakening effect on everyone at the table; all of them craning their heads to follow Clay's movement.

  Smith held the receiver out towards Clay as he approached.

  "Clay, it's Captain Lavigne. There's been a development. You'll have to talk fast though, we could lose comms any second." Smith said as Clay curled his fingers around the handset.

  "Clay here, Captain." he said, forgoing formalities for the sake of efficiency.

  "Listen carefully Clay, we don't have much time." crackled Lavigne's voice through the radio.

  “Understood, Captain." replied Clay.

  "We've located the path of the horde, but we've yet to discover their exact location." Lavigne said, his voice absent of any panic yet being clearly hastened.

  "It appears that their direction of travel is leading them in the path of your town." he continued.

  Unbeknownst to him, Clay's facial expressions must have indicated some concern, as the team leaders had abandoned the table and made their way towards Clay and the two soldiers.

  "I appreciate the advanced warning, Captain. I'll keep everyone inside until they pass through town." Clay replied, regaining his composure in an attempt to prevent his leadership team from losing their own.

  "That's not an option Clay." Lavigne warned.

  "The numbers belonging to this horde are so massive that we can't even begin to accurately estimate their strength. It wouldn't be unreasonable to assume that given the population of the big city, they could number up to one-hundred-thousand." he continued.

  Judging by the expressions worn of the faces of his colleagues, it became evident to Clay that Lavigne's words were audible to those who were standing around him.

  "I've taken the liberty of forgoing our own immediate extraction and dispatched the two LAV's to your position. Our friends from the South have been kind enough to lend us a Blackhawk and crew for our own extraction. I wouldn't count on either reaching you in time, so don’t wait for us. Get your people loaded up and get the hell out of town, Clay. This is exactly what the virus was programmed to do...." Lavigne was abruptly cut off and only static followed his words as the transmission died.

  "Captain? Shit, we lost signal." said Clay, handing the receiver over to Corporal Smith.

  A brief pause ensued as everyone who stood around the radio mentally processed Lavigne's message.

  "Corporal Smith. Before we proceed, I need you to explain to me, to the best of your knowledge, what the Captain meant by 'This is exactly what the virus was programmed to do.'" Clay demanded.

  The virus was neither natural, nor was it supernatural. It was man made. Its original design however, varied greatly from its current form. The virus had been engineered as a means to use populations against their governments. It was essentially a concentrated form of "mob mentality" on steroids. The G7 nations had been lacing tear gas canisters with the product, and covertly selling them to countries they deemed as being a threat by means of third party corporations, with whom they shared untraceable ties. Dissension within the populace would be incited via government assets imbedded within the target county. Dissension would lead to anger, anger would lead to protests, and protests would lead to rioting. The use of tear gas as a means to disperse rioters was universal among countries which could afford the agent. A virus was chosen as it could easily spread from person to person, unlike a chemical which would require direct exposure. The infected would become more agitated as their numbers increased. This mob mentality is exactly what made the virus so effective. The virus could slide in under the radar so to speak, until it's numbers had increased enough to potentially topple governments. By the time the human body had developed the required antibodies to fight off the virus, it would already be too late. Too many atrocities would have occurred on both sides to be either forgotten or forgiven and civil war would rage on until inevitably, the government would fall. Either the populace would win on its own, or one of the countries who had engineered the chaos would come to the rescue and appear as though they were a nation of heroes.

  "For fuck sakes..." said Tim, as Corporal Smith paused briefly after explaining all he had known about the virus.

  "From there, we don't know what happened. It had been confirmed in the early days of the outbreak that the virus had mutated. The basic coding of the virus remains. The infected are drawn to one another in an attempt to form large groups. As their numbers increase, so do their individual capabilities. Although their problem solving abilities remain severely diminished, they become a great deal more persistent. They tend to move faster, become more alert, and more actively search for living people to kill." said Smith, clearly coming to a close.

  "And here we are today..." Mel replied absently.

  "And here we are today." repeated the Corporal. "Clay, the Captain is right. We need to move. If their numbers are as strong as he estimates, we don't have the means to stop them."

  Clay remained uncomfortably silent before offering any response to the Corporal.

  "How many times have you done this, Corporal? I mean, encountered large groups of survivors... Before us." he finally asked.

  Smith sighed before answering. "Three times." he replied.

  "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 be
tween 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.