The Resistance

I own nothing! I'm doing this only because I'm addicted to the show.

This is the first fan-fiction I've ever done. Please be gentle with me!

Trix finished double-checking the Glock,inserted a clip, and slid it into the shoulder holster packed with extra ammo. Next, the two combat knives with 10-inch blades went into their thigh-holster sheaths. Finally, she strapped the forearm-mounted crossbow in place on her left arm, making sure plenty of extra bolts were secured in the upper-arm quiver. You could never be too careful, especially now when the stakes were so high. It made her a bit nervous to go without some type of bludgeoning tool, but she wanted her hands free for the other weapons. Besides, she had already found out the hard way that the pistol or the crossbow could double as a bludgeoning weapon if need be.

The leather pants, jacket, and boots she wore felt snug around her arms and legs as she flexed her muscles, mentally feeling for any physical deficiency, anything that might trip her up. Leather was a bit warm for the weather, but it sure came in handy if a walker tried to clamp its jaws on you. Her hands remained bare, though. It was nearly impossible to pull the trigger, reload, and all of that with gloves on.

Finally, she took handfuls from the bucket of mud brought up from the garden this morning and began to smear it into her hair and across her cheeks. When she looked into the mirror, she saw something inhuman, wide eyes peering through the layers, surrounded by wild, blue-dyed hair that stood on end, held in free-fall by the drying clayey mixture.

'A bit over-the-top, but my ancestors would've been proud,' she thought with an inner chuckle.

After all, she was named for the star Bellatrix, which in Latin means "female warrior" and is part of the constellation Orion the Hunter. It's what came of having a father who was an avid astronomy buff. Since the name was an awful mouthful, it had been shortened down to Trix during her childhood. Recently several namesakes had suddenly popped up in popular literature and movies, and she had been glad that she wasn't going to be compared to any of them, thanks to the nickname.

'Not that any of that matters now,' she thought. 'My name could be Mickey Mouse, and it wouldn't matter.'

The idea for the strange get-up came from the historic accounts she had studied in World History in college of Roman soldiers momentarily stunned by the sight of Celtic warriors, painted with mud and blue dye, charging screaming into battle. In some instances, that moment had helped the Celts overcome the much more advanced Roman army. She could understand now why they had done it, besides the temporarily confusion of opponents. The tactic inspired her to charge into a fight against a type of force the world had never seen until now, becoming a Boudicca-type warrior woman in order to do something so unreal, something Trix would never have been able to pull off in her former life. Afterward, she realized that the walkers didn't seem to catch her scent as easily, buried beneath the leather and clay, so she continued to do so.

I won't let you turn around and tell me now I'm much too proud to walk away from something when it's dead...this time baby I'll be bulletproof...

Her heart thumped to the beat of the bass as the song lyrics pounded into her brain through the earphones, effectively blocking any apprehension which might get in the way of following through with the plan. Well, that was true, for the most part at least, as long as she kept everything in check, squelching any inkling of fear before it could bubble to the surface and compromise her. Mental or emotional weakness was a strict no-no in this world where the dead walked and the living became the dead unless they remained strong.

Trix grabbed the scope from the kitchen table on her way out of the back door. After a quick climb up the side of the windmill, she swung the scope to where she had seen the walkers last night and looked through the sight. Sure enough, she could detect movement near the buildings on Main Street. Once they realized they wouldn't find anything-or anyone-to eat, they would move on. Since Trix's house sat on top of a ridge, the walkers wouldn't be likely to make their way up to it, unless the wind carried the smell of her or the animals down far enough for them to catch it. She could just sit tight and wait until they'd gone to hunt elsewhere. But she'd realized early on that she couldn't do that.

'I'd better get moving if this is going to happen today,' she thought. The goat was already tied in the back of the truck along with the containers of diesel fuel and the bag of fertilizer. Trix knew that looking at him would be upsetting, so she refused to allow her eyes to move beyond checking the ropes and supplies, focusing solely on the task at hand. Everything was in place. The Molotov cocktails were in the crate in the front seat, along with a lighter. Her black Avalanche was waiting on Main Street, pointed in the direction of the house with keys ready in the ignition.

Moving faster now, she hopped into the driver's seat of the Chevy, started it up, and sped toward town. 'Too bad this truck will soon be toast, along with the goat, but they have a higher purpose, I guess,' she reasoned. She drove quickly until she got to Main, where she slowed in order to catch the walkers' attention. It didn't take long, as the goat sensed danger and began to bleat miserably. Trix turned the ipod up even louder to cover the sound. There were probably 15-20 walkers following the truck now. Trix sped up a little and turned into the church parking lot at 2nd street. The asphalt showed the burned and gory signs of the several previous ventures she had carried out there before. She turned the truck and braked to a halt carefully. Shutting off the engine, she grabbed the crate, exited through the passenger side door, opposite from the approaching walkers, crouched and ran to duck behind the sheet-metal fenceline at the far edge of the property.

Peering through a small hole, Trix made sure she had escaped notice. All of the walkers appeared to be gathering around the truck, drawn by the goat. She waited for a couple of stragglers to stagger nearer, then lit a Molotov cocktail and threw it over the fence toward the truck bed. It hit a few feet shy of its intended mark, doing nothing more than creating a circle of fire in a three-foot diameter. This caused some of the walkers to begin to back away from the truck.

'Crap! I've gotta practice my throwing aim,' Trix thought, as she quickly lit a second wick and threw again. Once more, the bottle didn't hit the truck directly, but this time the burst of flame was close enough to set one of the diesel containers on fire. The flames burned through the ropes holding the goat in place, and he jumped from the truck bed and ran down the street, singed but uneaten. Just as the walkers began to turn toward where the goat had gone, the flames lit the bag of fertilizer. It exploded into the crowd of walkers, breaking them apart.

Trix could feel the heat and shock of the explosion hit the sheet metal, but the fence held, protecting her. She was glad for the earphones, as she had learned the hard way what the sound of the explosion would do to her eardrums. The first time, without the music, her ears had rung for days.

No time to waste. She needed to round up those who had escaped the flames. Turning, she screamed before she could stop herself as she saw what she could not hear over the music. Eight walkers had come up behind her while she had been facing the other direction.

'There must be a bigger group in town than I thought,' she said to herself as she yanked the earphones out of her ears. The walkers followed as she moved quickly around the fence, back toward the parking lot. The few there that had survived completely unscathed were now also moving toward her thanks to her screams. She was sandwiched in-between the two groups, which were approximately 20 feet away on either side and closing in.

'Think, think, think...Plan? Okay, I'm drawing a blank, so here goes nothing.' Since the range was too close and there were too many for the crossbow to be effective, Trix pulled out the Glock and prepared to fight until she couldn't fight anymore. If she could just put most of them down, maybe she could make it back to the Avalanche a couple of blocks away and get out of there.

She began to fire at the walkers' heads, missing more than she was hitting. She felt herself shaking, beginning to lose control. All of a sudden, she thought she heard a car coming.

'Probably just wishful thinking, as if my knight in shining armor would appear right when I need to be rescued.' Willing herself to continue, she made a shot, taking down another walker, but there were still five closing in. The car pulled down the street, slowing in front of the church, then sped up and turned, screeching, into the parking lot. It was her Avalanche.

'You've got to be kidding,' she thought as the truck skidded to a halt beside her. The driver's door on the other side from where she was popped open, and as Trix dropped the Glock and unsheathed her blades, she was aware that someone was firing a crossbow from the top of the vehicle, dispatching three more walkers as she took out the remaining two with the knives.

Turning a slow circle, arms extended with a blade in each hand, Trix made sure this time that there were no more walkers nearby. Only then did she allow herself to drop into a squat on the pavement, willing herself to stop the violent shaking.

"You okay?" a male voice asked. "That was a close one." The owner of the voice had moved around the car and was holding his hand out to help her up. The sun was directly behind him, casting him in silhouette so that she couldn't see his face.

Song Lyrics: Bulletproof by La Roux