Better Lucky than Good (Records of the Resistance) (2 page)

Clay glared towards the man while raising his hands up in front of his face, keeping his fingers loose and not quite formed into fists. The man was slightly larger than him, but Clay remained confident in the outcome of this potential confrontation, considering that he was armed and his opponent appeared to be drunk. However, the closer the man got to Clay, the more he noticed how peculiar he man appeared. Having a skin tone lacking pigment and an expression void of emotion, he resembled more closely the shell of a human rather than a living man.

"Listen up... It's in your best interest to stop right there and take a seat, so we can figure all this out." Clay warned in a stern voice.

But the man kept coming, undeterred by his warning. Even reaching for Clay, apparently determined to grab him by the neck. Clay became further unnerved by his attacker's appearance as the man's stiff arms honed in on his collar. Taught greyish skin covered boney framed hands, whose long fingers were tipped with poorly groomed nails. The close inspection of the man was disturbing enough to spur Clay into action.
 

Clay swung his arms outward from the centre of his body, his forearms coming into contact with those belonging to his opponent, and parted them with ease. Clay stiffly planted his feet and slammed his palms into the chest of his aggressor as hard as he could, sending the man stumbling backwards and resulting in a hard fall to the concrete. Clay, although of average size, was deceptively strong. His work and recreation were filled with heavy labour and he had always taken care of himself. Clay was instantly caught off guard by the manner in which the man had fallen. His assailant hadn't even so much as attempted to prevent his own falling, inevitably amplifying his severe descent. Even so, the man slowly righted himself and stood back up to face Clay.
 

"Look! I don't know what the fuck's going on here, but I'm more then happy to roll the dice on this with you!” Clay said, with a little more aggression behind his second warning.

The man resumed his advance toward Clay, who in turn tightened his grip around his brass knuckles and took a solid step forward. The moment his foot was firmly planted, he propelled himself onward and kicked his foot straight out and into the man's midsection. Prior to his troubled teenage years, Clay had been a Karate and Judo student. While far from the capabilities of a professional fighter, he could easily hold his own against an untrained and slightly larger man. His past martial arts training coupled with a few years spent in the military, meant that his combative instincts while having gone dormant, remained formidable. The man immediately doubled over, bending slightly at the knees in response to the blow. This time, Clay's attacker had been able to catch his fall by palming the ground in front of him. Clay immediately recognized that his window was now open and quickly closed the distance. The brawler in him took over upon seeing the back of the man's sweater exposed. Grabbing a handful of it with his left hand, Clay jerked the man's shirt over his head; granting him control of his attacker's upper body. Clay's opponent immediately began to struggle in an attempt to free himself from his own clothing, pulling and yanking; intent on returning to his upright posture.

"Well, buddy, you've certainly earned a few!" Clay exclaimed aloud, through his clenched jaw.
 

Using his opponent's shirt to keep him bent over, Clay began driving brass accentuated uppercuts into the man's upper body. The whole time remaining fully aware that with a stiff punch to his attacker’s skull while being armed as he was, could inadvertently produce a depressed fracture and kill the man. Murder wasn't something that Clay was prepared to face the consequences for. Hell, he was just a victim of circumstances; wrong place, wrong time. Or in the woman's case, Clay was in exactly the right place, at the right time.

By the fourth punch, Clay felt the man's collarbone collapse and heard the accompanying crack that went along with it. Yet the man still continued to struggle in an attempt to free himself from his clothing, being seemingly oblivious to the break.

"Give it up already!" Clay spat through gritted teeth, while struggling to maintain control of his aggressor.

But the man continued to pull, now being almost entirely loose. Clay managed a single heavy right hook into his side before he freed himself, stumbling backwards upon being released from his sweater. To Clay's surprise, the jogger straightened up and came at him again. Clay was certain that he had broken the man's collarbone and knew it was very likely that at least one rib had been fractured. Clay was baffled by his opponent's ability to shrug off the heavy blows which he had been dealt. Clay, having ceased his attack due to his confusion regarding the man's inhuman fortitude, afforded his opponent the opportunity to again press his assault. Clay responded by ducking low and throwing a hard left hook into the man's body. In doing so, Clay stepped forward at an angle to his opponent's right side, moving under his attacker's arms. After having repositioned himself to the man's flank and straightening up, Clay threw a heavy right hook directly into the side of his assailant's skull. The sound that followed was one that Clay had truly never imagined he would hear. A loud crack, followed by what could be likened to throwing a handful of thick mud against a brick wall. The moment Clay felt the man's skull collapse against his brass lined fist, he knew the fight was over. His attacker fell sideways and away from him, as if Clay had just pressed an invisible off switch. His finished opponent's only remaining movement being a by-product of him stepping hard into his attack and propelling the man sideways.

Clay looked slightly over his shoulder and down at his fallen attacker. His fingers began to loosen around his weapon. Clay was quickly coming to the realization that the brawl had just gone too far. The man was clearly dead and in the unlikelihood that there was any brain activity left, it would soon cease due to the hemorrhaging going on inside of his skull. Clay stood in place, frozen; contemplating the consequences that he assumed he would face as a result of coming to the aid of the woman. While his mind reeled from what had just transpired, deep in his psyche remained all of the strange occurrences that had hounded him during his trip home, even all the way to this very moment. Clay pressed the heels of his palms into his face, digging them hard into his eyes.

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" Clay shouted. "Why the fuck did I just do that?"

Clay slid his hands up his face and ran his fingers through his hair, beginning to dizzily walk back towards his SUV. He had always figured that given the right circumstances he could take a life, and the defence of another human being certainly qualified. A thought which was of no consolation to him now.

The woman whom Clay had saved, had already slipped out of the SUV and was presently charging towards him.

"Come on! Is there gas in this thing? We have to go! More will have heard us and it won't be long before they get here!" she spoke frantically, grabbing Clay by the shirt.

"What the fuck are you talking about? That guy is dead! We can't just leave. We have to call the police. If I run, it's my ass and I just did you a favour. You aren't going anywhere until the cops get here!" Clay replied, frustrated that she was so unwilling to understand his situation.

She stood before him, dumbfounded for a moment by his words. Looking back at the SUV with the canoe on its roof, and then back again at Clay. The woman was obviously no idiot and had begun to quickly piece it all together in her mind.

"I'm Melanie. Melanie Brenner." Her tone had suddenly changed. It had gone from panicked and hurried, to calm and assuring. Having survival instincts of her own, she knew that if she stood any chance of making it back to the farm house, Clay was it.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Clay..." he replied quietly while rubbing his face with his palms.

"Clay? Clay what?" she prodded, intent on dragging him from the depths of his mind and back into reality.

Clay took a deep breath and exhaled. He looked back at her and replied, "Just Clay."

Although Melanie's voice was calm, her eyes were constantly scanning the distance. Clay could easily discern that she was still very anxious about something.

"How long have you been gone, Clay?" Melanie asked.

"Four weeks." he replied.

"A lot has changed in the four weeks since you've last been home, Clay. I'm sure you're confused and I know what you're thinking. I was there myself only a few weeks ago. But right now, you have to trust me. I know some place safe; a place where a few of us have been hiding. We have food... And water..." Melanie was working hard to convince him. She needed him right now and at this moment, even if he didn't realize it, Clay needed her too.

Clay's stomach was empty. He had hardly eaten anything all day. He had just ended a man's existence and all he could think about was food. Maybe it had something to do with the thought of eating shitty prison food for the remainder of what could hardly be described as a life.

Melanie could tell she had him thinking now.
 

"I can explain all that I know on the way. It isn't much. But it will help you understand... At least until we get home." she offered.

"But for now, all I have time to say is that man, wasn't a man at all anymore.” Melanie continued while looking towards Clay's now deceased opponent.

Clay wasn't sure what to make of the events which had just unfolded. However, he was certain that the town’s current state, clashed with his no so distant memories. The cellular problems, the non-existent traffic during the drive home, the gas station, and certainly this situation that he now found himself in. Clay had never felt more confused before in his entire life. Oddly, what Melanie had said seemed to have struck a cord within him. That man was by no means, a man as Clay had known any to be.

Clay opened the hatch of his SUV with his key fob. Melanie watched as he began dragging his belongings to the edge of the bed. Clay opened a long duffle bag and withdrew his shotgun and shell belt, reminiscent of those commonly seen in action movies. Afterwards, he threw his dry bag over his shoulders and onto his back. Melanie noted how large the pack was, but also how well Clay carried it. The weathered duffle was now almost entirely empty, save for one thing. Clay reached into the bag and grasped a familiar handle.
 

His tomahawk had travelled the province with him. Clay had on one occasion been breaking up wood away from his camp, which was where he had foolishly left his shotgun. He had heard the bear's movement before he saw the animal. Clay could vividly recall looking up, only to realize that he was now closer than any man would ever want to be to a bear while standing eye to eye with one. Drawing his knife with his left hand and grasping his tomahawk in his right, he stood showing no fear in spite of what could potentially transpire between the two of them. Their eyes met, if only for a brief moment. The gaze of the bear held within it, an indescribable life and consciousness. The bear simply turned and walked away peacefully, seeing much of the same from its own perspective.
 

Clay would need his tomahawk now, more than ever. Still wearing his brass knuckles, he slipped his tomahawk into a leather loop which had been strung around one of the shoulder straps of his dry bag. Picking his shotgun up off the edge of the bed and closing the trunk, Clay turned to Melanie.
 

"You better not be fucking me over here. I just saved your life from that asshole, so I expect some honesty." Clay said while sliding round after round into the tube magazine of his shotgun until it was full; cycling the action upon completion.

*****

"So you mean to tell me that they aren't really alive, but they aren't really dead?" Clay asked incredulously.

“Yup." Melanie replied nonchalantly.

"And they aren't zombies, but you have no better word to explain what they are?" Clay asked as he continued to try to understand what exactly Melanie was talking about.

"Pretty much..." Melanie replied, really not having anything definitive to tell him.

"For a while, there was still a television broadcast. It mostly advised people to stay indoors, avoid contact, so on and so on. But it eventually stopped." she continued.

The pair were walking quietly along a dirt road into the country side. They had been on foot now for a few hours and the sun had long since set. Along the way, Melanie had explained to Clay that she had not ventured into the town alone, but along with some of those that she had been living with since the outbreak. They had gone on an expedition into the town in search of supplies. The group had amassed enough to last several weeks, but had done so only after completing a number of similar supply runs. A man named David, who was the individual leading their group had enough foresight to realize that they were unlikely to be the only people left, and that there would be others who also were scavenging. Any supplies that remained within the town would soon be depleted. It was during their last supply run that Melanie had become separated from the rest of her party. She went on to explain to Clay that while the infected were easily handled in small numbers, it was when they formed a horde that they became dangerous. To avoid this scenario, her group had formulated a set of standard operating procedures which were designed to prevent attracting the attention of the infected and if confrontation was unavoidable, then how to evade a horde. In this case, the group was forced to split up and flee in separate directions, with the intention of breaking up the gathering undead and therefore increasing their chances of an escape. Everyone that she had been in hiding with was local to the town, so they all knew their way around and how to get back to the farm house where they had been staying. Ultimately the group's greatest fear was being followed back to their hideout and having the horde arrive unexpectedly on their door step. Unfortunately for Melanie, she was unable to escape her pursuers entirely, having encountered small groups and individuals of infected repeatedly. That was until she had found Clay.