Better Lucky than Good (Records of the Resistance) Read Online Free Page A

threats.  

    Clay flung himself towards the woman. Using his momentum to his great advantage over her unsure footing on the edge of the road, Clay drove his boot into her lower body; propelling her backward into the ditch and hard onto the already fallen man.  

    The infected behind her swung a stiff arm horizontally, as if it were a meaty club, towards the head of Clay. Ducking underneath of it, he delivered his tomahawk hard into the side of the man’s leg, just below the knee. The head of the weapon sunk home and buried deep into the bone before breaking the limb and sending him tumbling to the gravel. Out of his peripheral vision, Clay could see that the woman had successfully clambered up the ditch, and now stood directly beside him. Clay swung his tomahawk horizontally, hard across his body; the broad edge of the blade burying itself into her face just above the eye. She fell to her knees, the blade locking tightly into the bones of her face. His third opponent was only moments from cresting the ditch. Clay choked up on the handle just below the head of the tomahawk and slammed his boot into the woman's face, beneath the stuck blade. The tomahawk popped free, accompanied by a gruesome sound and releasing a splash of moon illuminated gore and blood into the air. The woman flopped backwards and slid partially into the ditch. The wet grass aided her upper body as it slithered down the incline. Her legs extended, but the friction between them and the gravel prevented her from sinking into the ditch completely. By the time Clay had regained his footing from freeing his tomahawk, the second man had set foot on the road. He twisted back his shoulders as if winding up to swing his arm out, giving Clay the opportunity to get inside of his potential attacker. Grabbing the man by the collar of his shirt and palming the head of his tomahawk, Clay began to deliver devastating punches to the man's face. With every punch, the blade drove deeper and deeper into the infected man's features. Clay could hear the cracking and crumpling of bone and flesh as he was being speckled with blood and chunks of tissue. The man struggled wildly against Clay's grip, even landing a few heavy blows of his own with his fists and forearms. The undead attacker could only stand Clay's fury for a moment and his knees soon buckled. Clay, releasing his grasp, stepped aside and let the man collapse to the ground; falling face first into the gravel. Blood began forming a pool around the fallen man's upper body and head, almost immediately after he had come to rest.  

    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