Then, a little after 9pm, her voice came over the airwaves again. It was different this time. There was no humour, no fear, no demands. There was iron in it, a fire-tempered resolve that uttered just two more words into the void before the radio fell silent.
“I’m coming.”
Staring down into the hungry undead that clamoured around the source of her voice, Nate exhaled a long, slow breath.
“God love you, kid,” he whispered. “But I’m not sure I want you to.”
OCTOBER 8th, 2010
FAITH
I don’t know what’s happening, but I know I don’t like it, Freya. I can’t help but feel a little arrogant when I say this apocalypse seems personal, but I can’t ignore the facts. I will start by saying – with a heady amount of relief – that Nate, Mark and Alicia are all back at the lodge, safe and sound. I am so fucking grateful they are okay, but holy shit, what a raging clusterfuck I walked into. It’s about 2am now, and I need to write all this shit down while it’s still in my head. I can’t sleep at the minute anyway because my ribs hurt like a bastard. Maria thinks I might have cracked one or two in my bone-headed rescue. I’ll get all this written down, then I’ll take the prescription strength painkillers to knock me the fuck out so I can sleep. I know I’ll be all fuzzy in the head tomorrow morning from the Tramadol afterglow, so I need to get all this down before I enter the blurry haze of industrial strength pain relief.
After trying the radio every fifteen minutes for like… three hours, I think… I decided I couldn’t wait any longer. If something had happened, I needed to at least see for myself, and I couldn’t wait until morning to do it. It’s getting fucking cold of a night now, and if they were hurt or trapped in some way, they didn’t have the gear to survive a bitterly cold night. If I rolled up the following day and discovered them dead from hypothermia, well, I’d never be able to live with that guilt.
“Erin, what are you doing?” Maria asked, as I began purposefully getting my shit together.
“I’m going to get them.”
“Alone?” Maria’s jaw dropped wide, her gaze disbelieving. “In the dark?”
“There isn’t anyone else,” I shrugged. “If they’re hurt, or need help, then I’m all they’ve got. I’ll have to be enough.”
“You’re enough, flower,” said Norah from the sitting area.
The comment caught me completely by surprise, spoken as it was with such quiet conviction. Charlie was sat beside her playing on the Xbox, Norah with one protective arm wrapped around the kid’s slim shoulders as the handsome little sod snuggled into her. She was keeping his mind from his dad’s absence by sitting with him and have him explain every little aspect of his game to keep him distracted. She looked in my direction, unadulterated support etched into every line of her face and a set to her jaw that said she believed I could do it, that I could bring them home, and holy shit, did that light a fire in my belly. With Norah’s blessing, such unquestionable faith given without hesitation, I could face anything with the soaring confidence of a five-year old in a Batman costume. Fuck all was getting in my way this night and that old Spartan saying rolled through my head.
Come home with your shield, or on it.
I bloody love that woman.
I needed to go with a solid plan though. There were still a couple of petrol/electric hybrids left in the small parking area of the lodge from the gong-banging yoga crowd, including a little Smart car. You know the ones, those stupid little two-seater things that look absolutely ridiculous that people bizarrely choose to own? On purpose? Huh, I hope that wasn’t your car, Freya. I never asked which one was yours.
Well, if it was, what the fuck were you thinking, you mad woman? Not cool, Freya. Not cool.
My intention was to come back with our pickup and if I had to abandon one of the vehicles from our long-fallen yogi brothers and sisters, it was going to be the tiny Twatmobile. Hey, at least it would be dark and anyone living wouldn’t be able to see me dying of shame as I drove that horrible little part-electric go-kart. Shit, I didn’t even want the undead seeing me drive that stupid little thing. I can just imagine zombies pointing and silently laughing at me as I whizz on by in my toy car. Still, at least it would be quiet.
I checked there was enough fuel and charge remaining to get me to the builder’s yard, and a quick test saw it hum into life. It would easily do the five or six miles there and back on the country roads I’d use to get where I needed to go.
Not knowing what I was running into, I had to plan for every eventuality. Maria put together a first aid kit in case someone was hurt, I loaded up extra ammo in case they had burned through their loadout in some form of engagement, chucked in a large bottle of water, and then I did something I had to ask Nate’s forgiveness for later. I went into his room.
I didn’t know what I was going to be driving into and didn’t want to approach the yard with headlights ablaze, so I raided Casa de Nate and rooted around until I found his holy grail.
His precious NVG’s.
It took me about fifteen minutes to figure out how the things worked. For a little while, I must have looked like someone’s technophobe auntie that had just had one of those new-fangled Virtual Reality headsets plonked on their head, thus displaying a spectacular lack of technical acumen. I banged about in his room with the goggles pulled down and light off to check they worked, had a few seconds of slapstick, before switching the light on again so I could piss around some more. Eventually, I figured them out, sized the banding properly for my dainty little skull instead of Nate’s planet head, and was good to go. Loading up a backpack with 5.56, shells for the shotguns carried by Mark and Alicia, and some extra sidearm ammo, I shouldered my own rifle and headed out into the kitchen.
Everyone was there. Norah, Maria, Isaac, Charlie, and my main man, Particles. This time, my homedog didn’t try and harass me into staying. I swear to whatever powers might exist beyond the pale, that pug is in tune with something bigger than us. It’s like he knows I have to do this and isn’t standing – or jauntily hopping and yapping – in my way.
“Go and get our boys and girl,” said Norah, folding me in a hug.
Maria, in her familiar way, brushed a loose lock of hair behind my ear, kissed me on the forehead, and just said, “Be careful.”
Isaac grinned nervously. “Dirty Harriet in the house, eh?” I laughed.
“You’re going to get my dad, right?” Charlie asked from beside Norah.
I went to one knee and held out my fist. “You’re damn right, little brother.”
He grinned, fist bumping me as we rolled back theatrically with our monumental finger explosion, laughed, and then the little dude flung his arms around my neck.
Jesus, I spend half my life tearing up in emotion at the moment, for good or ill, but that promise to Charlie was one I aimed to keep. I wasn’t having one more apocalypse orphan on my watch.
I know I keep banging on about how lucky I am to have met such good people, but I think it’s worth saying as many times as I can. You know, pre-apocalypse, I could count the good people in my life on half a hand. Dean and Maria; that’s it. They’re the only positive people I had in my life. Even when I spent three years at university and went to endless parties, there was only ever a string of temporary acquaintances, casual relationships, and a big circle of people that I just… knew. They weren’t really people I could rely on, or that I trusted, and never really felt anyone truly had my back, or that I could rely on one hundred percent. I guess being brought up in the environment I was raised in, I had trust issues coming out of every orifice. Guys were always looking for an easy lay, and the girls were pretty shallow and pretentious, or intimidated by my “laddish” nature.
What a fucking crock of shit that is, by the way. Talk about gender stereotyping, and by my own gender no less. Way to empower yourselves, ladies. People first, gender comes after. If I want to run on rooftops, climb up drainpipes, throw the beatdown on someone in the ring, or chug a yard of ale and do
a tequila chaser at a party, then I fucking will. It doesn’t matter if I have a cock or not; do the things that ignite a passion in you. If you’re not passionate about anything, if you don’t seek out those things that make you happy, then you’re not living a life. Instead, you’re just enduring a meaningless existence.
Now though, I’ve got a big lodge of people I actually care about, and obviously care about me in return. People that have faith in me, and genuinely care about my wellbeing, and I can’t put into words just how that makes me feel. It doesn’t matter that we’ve only known each other for a couple of months. We’ve been in each other’s pockets for all that time, and everyone has been doing their part, working towards the common good, so time doesn’t mean a damn thing. Our little community has proved that friendship isn’t about how long you’ve known someone. It’s about those people who just come into your life and say, “I’m here for you,” and then prove it. Friends are the family you choose.
You can face anything in front of you if you have the right people standing beside you. Real friends will help you become who you should be - who you want to be - but at the same time, they’ll accept you for who you are right now, just as these people did as I geared up to go and get the rest of our little tribe. These people here? They’re not just new friends anymore. They’re my family now, and the marshmallows in this hot chocolate of life.
Right, after that nugget of philosophical genius – the hot chocolate of life…? Fucking hell, facepalm moment there, Lockey – I should return to my bardic magnificence and try to salvage my linguistic dignity.
I boarded my tiny Twatmobile with my backpack of ammunition and first aid supplies, flipped down the NVG’s, and set on my merry way. It’s really fucking strange driving with those things, with everything coated by that sickly green filter. In the end, I was glad I’d decided to take the Smart car after I’d got underway, as it was small and made it easy to navigate the roads with this new method of perceiving the world.
I drove the whole way without headlights, just using the NVG’s, because I didn’t want to Pied Piper a whole bunch of undead that could create potential obstacles on the way home as they gathered. Coming back, then fuck it, I don’t care because I’d be bringing everyone back hale and healthy. We could just run the route we took the following day to take out any walkers that might start drifting too close to our isolated little hideaway.
It was super eerie driving alone at night, in the near silent hum of the electric car, and I didn’t drive at any kind of speed for a couple of reasons. First, I wasn’t yet confident in how I was judging everything in the infrared spectrum and a crash would butt-fuck my entire rescue plan, potentially leaving me injured or walking home in the dark, so hell to the no on that one. Second, I wanted to run on the quiet electric whine and only kick the petrol engine in if I really needed it.
As you know, Freya, I am not the most patient of individuals, so it took every sinuous thread of my self-control to not press down on the accelerator. Driving so slowly, when consumed with worry for my friends, was absolute torture. The smart thing to do, sure, but oh my God, excruciating on my nerves.
It took me a good twenty-five minutes of careful driving, as I was checking every which way for encroaching undead or asshole survivors. Added to this was the need to approach off the beaten track until I reached the right-hand turn to the road where the yard was located.
For the first two hundred yards, there are rows of small terrace houses either side, their front doors virtually on the pavement, before you pass a small café-diner on the left and a scrap metal place on the right. Right after the diner there’s a left turn which takes you into a small estate of static homes, those little bungalows that old people retire to. Beyond that is another little left turn which leads into a small cluster of industrial units where there is a carpet seller, a garage and tyre place, and other small independent businesses. That little pocket of industrial units backs on to the edge of the large builder’s yard, which is just before the main road goes up a slight incline towards some more little side roads and industrial units.
I stopped as I came towards the end of those darkened houses and swore quietly to myself. Through my infrared filter, I could see a mass of undead idling outside the gate and spilling into it beyond my sight. There was no way I was getting any closer without potentially alerting them, so I reversed quietly back down the road a little way, did a neat parallel park against the kerb, and switched off the engine.
I was fighting a growing panic by this point. Seeing that horde blocking the gate of the yard had my mind spinning towards a dark place, and I was terrified that my three friends had already been added to that mass. I’ve discovered, however, that I’m surprisingly good at only having that brief flicker of fear, before I bite down on it and spit it out for a while. When shit needs to get done, I think I’m surprisingly good at keeping my head on track. Act now, and deal with the emotions later seems to be my way of things.
The only time I’ve failed in that is when you asked me to shoot you, Freya.
Okay, I’m not going back down that road right now. Concentrate on recording events in your own inimitable style, Lockey. You’re a bard, so bard this shit up.
I couldn’t get past the horde in any way, but I had to get into the builder’s yard somehow. My best course of action was to advance on foot, cut into the cluster of business units and go over the fence into the builder’s yard, so that’s exactly what I did.
Holy shit, Freya; that was the scariest two minutes of my life to date, scarier even then when I was running through the woods outside Castle Bancroftstein. Alone, in the silent darkness, a filtered green perspective layered over my sight, heading towards a horde of undead. I had no idea if there were any wandering around the small business park beside it but reasoned any undead would have been drawn by whatever pulled the horde to the builder’s yard, given its proximity. Turns out, thankfully, that reasoning was sound.
On my stalk past the houses though, with the benefit of the NVG’s, I nearly shat myself on multiple occasions. I could see shapes moving in windows, the listless amble of the docile undead, trapped within their homes these past few months. I shudder at the myriad of horror stories that must lie beyond those closed doors, a brief flashback coming to mind of the apartment block and the misery Nate and I unearthed within its confines.
The apocalypse continues to suck.
I cut into the business units without incident, made my way to the metal fence, and was happy to see that the big main office building was pretty much next to it, a gap of maybe ten feet. The metal fence was those long vertical rails bent into a ‘V’ shape with gaps between, so I could confirm that no undead had spilled around the office building into that little space. I was up and over in a blink.
The office building itself was only a big single storey affair, though quite high as it must have had a warehouse in it for tools and such. With its sturdy drainage setup, however, I was up the pipes with my backpack and rifle in no time. Edging up the slanted metal as quietly as I could, I lay on my belly as I reached the apex and peered over into the yard.
I mean, shit. The yard was filled with undead. I know I’m shit at estimating numbers, but there was easily two or three hundred. Where the fuck had they come from? Considering I’d passed so many houses with dead residents still trapped inside, how had a horde assembled in this little arse end of nowhere? I guess we’ll have to ponder that some other time. We’ll also have to accept that some things we’ll never get answers to. Information doesn’t flow freely anymore, and the world is weird and confusing.
Also, the smell that radiated from that mass of undeath was an assault on the senses. Rot and corruption pervaded everything, and I could almost taste it on my tongue, like I’d been licking a rancid corpse. Just awful.
I did, however, almost fucking air punch when I saw Nate, Mark, and Alicia, all perched on top of some double stacked pallets of wrapped bricks. Their little tower was two wide, two deep, and two
high, so the platform was just big enough across the four upper pallets for the three of them to safely sit on, a good fifteen feet from the ground and completely out of reach of the undead. I took out my handset and clicked the mic. I knew everyone else was clustered around a radio back at the lodge, listening.
“Where’s your radio, you bell end?” I said quietly from my perch.
I heard my own voice crackle from below them, smiling as Nate’s granite face cracked into a grin, his eyes like weird discs of light in the NVG’s. That explained it then; the radio was on the yard floor, surrounded by zombies, and they couldn’t get to it. They could hear me though. Scarily, so could the undead, and when I’d spoken, they’d sparked to life and clustered towards the spot where the radio lay. That sight left me cold, but I had a job to do and put that aside to process later.
“Look to your right, Pooh Bear,” I said. “I’m on top of the main office.”
All three faces turned towards me and I stood up, clicking a little flashlight on and off so they could see my position. All three waved, Mark and Alicia hugged – which, let me tell you, was a big thing for Alicia, letting a man’s arms around her – and their relief was palpable. I smiled. Nate’s smile, however, was a little different. It was… smug? Funny. It was like he’d been expecting me all along, and my appearance elicited a little self-satisfied grin that said, “I fucking knew it.”
Made me smile again.
“Hey fellow lodgers,” I whispered for everyone’s benefit into the handset. “You’re live on Big Brother, so please do not swear, and most certainly do not respond at volume because the undead are everywhere right now and I’m in hiding. Give me one very quiet response so I know you can hear me.” I’d turned my handset’s volume right down to minimise the chance of the monsters hearing me up on my perch.
Lockey vs. the Apocalypse | Book 2 | We Will Rise [Adrian's Undead Diary Novel] Page 5
