Lockey vs. the Apocalypse | Book 1 | No More Heroes [Adrian's Undead Diary Novel]

by Meadows, Carl

  Of course it is.

  Anyway, the owners are the pretty yoga instructor in her forties, Grace, and her husband, Theodore, aka the Toothy Testicle. This pair are fucking off their sweet spiritual tits, fully invested in chakra, and detox, and inner self, and spirit totems, and crystal therapy, and any other holistic bullshit that has no founding in any form of science. Turns out, they’re also savvy as fuck in many ways; every one of these eight raging dickheads paid eight fucking grand each to attend this retreat for a month. Eight thousand English pounds.

  Each!

  As there are eight of them here on the retreat, do the maths.

  Sixty-four thousand quid, for a month of sitting round, doing largely nothing.

  Pair of fucking geniuses.

  That being said, that just makes the other eight more fucking stupid than I originally thought.

  Anyway, this is where shit gets really weird. So, when people come to the retreat, they “cast off the cloak the world forces them to wear in society, and at the Gaia Lodge, emerge as their true self, allowing it to bloom in the sunlight of introspection and self-care.”

  Bullshit aside, what this means is that while they’re at the retreat, they choose their “true” name and that’s how they’re known for their stay.

  Yeah. Uh huh. So, when these fuckers all start introducing themselves, they use their “true” names. Or as I like to think of them, the LARP characters they’re playing who are all universally twats. Only Grace and Theo use their real names.

  Let us begin.

  First, we have Hope and Jericho.

  God this hurts me even writing these names. Be brave, Lockey. Soldier on. You can do this shit. Deep breath.

  So, Hope and Jericho are mid-thirties, no kids (I hope, seeing as how they flounced off to the country for a month), both have high-powered careers from what I can gather that will mean sweet fuck all in the zombie-conquered world. They’re both in finance or something. Absolutely cock all use anymore, basically.

  These two actually make me pretty sad. I’m a self-confessed people-watcher. I find people fascinating, about what drives them, why they do shit, all that jazz. I’ve gotten pretty good at reading people I think, and these two are desperately clinging on to something that isn’t there anymore. They’re both pretending they’ve come here to reconnect; I mean, come on. She chose the name Hope, for fuck’s sake. Jericho… the crumbling of a wall somehow? Who knows? Maybe I’m reading too much into the names. Either way, these two don’t have the love for each other anymore. They’re hanging on till the end of this retreat and then divorce was on the cards for sure.

  I mean, they were clinging to each other right through mine and Nate’s “The Way the World has Changed” PowerPoint presentation, but that’s just from familiarity I reckon. Sad.

  On the flip side to the deeply tragic Hope and Jericho, we have Ariel and Pax.

  Oh sweet Jesus, I don’t know if I can keep introducing people with these names. It just gets worse.

  Ariel and Pax are younger versions of Grace and Theo. Mid-twenties, clearly both from wealthy families as they have no fucking clue how the real world actually works, and they are wholly invested in the “awakened and spiritual existence” they’ve chosen. These mother fuckers will devour any piece of spiritual bullshit on Facebook or YouTube, no doubt. Lick it all up like Particles hits my biscuit crumbs.

  Let’s put it this way, when they introduced themselves, Ariel—and don’t get me wrong, this woman is full on radiantly beautiful with no make-up, absolutely glowing so much I’m insanely jealous of her skin—the first thing this soft-headed dipshit said to me was this.

  “He’s my buffalo, and I’m his little wolf.”

  And then she put her head on his muscular shoulder, blatantly on show through his yoga vest top, and gave a little “aren’t I so lucky?” smile.

  I nearly did a full-blown exorcist on her, right there, projecting a stream of hot bile right into their faces. Mother of all fucking gods, I wanted to punch her in the tit for being such a fairy brain. Pax was a damn good looking guy, took real good care of himself, but when you’ve got all the time in the world to pump iron in the gym and spend a month at a spiritual retreat, any bozo could get that shredded. He’s just as head-over-heels for his spaced out honeybunny as she was for him, too. It was sweet and vomit-inducing at the same time.

  Still, while I liked to look at him, because he did look good, he had this vacuous look in his eyes. I swear if I shouted in his ear, I’d hear a fucking echo.

  These two won’t last one minute alone in the apocalypse. The best this poor pair of dipshits can hope for is a quick death and that zombies chowing down on their pretty corpses will give someone else the chance at life.

  The third couple are a pair of women, Faith and Skye. Now, these two names are less painful to write, because they sound like normal names, and these two hot mamas are invested in the spiritual life, because it’s also their business. Apparently, they do yoga classes, and reiki, and crystal butt-plugs, or whatever else these people do. They run a pretty successful business all told—or did at least before Hurricane Shitstorm hit the world—and they seem to have their heads screwed on tighter than the Little Mermaid and her buffalo at least. They’re very much in love, but it’s more of an adult love than the childish teenage infatuation of Ariel and Pax. (Apparently ‘Pax’ is latin for ‘peaceful’. Sheesh.)

  So now we arrive at the two singles remaining. Freya (oh, let me sit down at the shock that someone chose the Norse goddess of fertility as their spiritual handle) is straight up, drop dead gorgeous. I mean, everyone here is pretty, except for the Fanged Testicle, but Freya is the type of woman that even straight women stop and gawk at. She’s absolutely stunning.

  From what I gather, she’s recently gone through a divorce with some football star, so she’s obviously got money from a settlement because he played for a Premier League team of some form, hence why she can fuck off to a retreat for eight grand for a whole month. She doesn’t live in the real world though. She’s enjoyed a life of privilege for so long that the world being flipped arse-up is going to royally fuck up her shit. This poor woman just can’t survive and she’s as fragile as a cracked china plate; one more knock and she’s going to shatter into little pieces. I’m actually pretty concerned about her mental state.

  The last of the gang is Zion.

  Sigh.

  Now, to look at, this boy is darn pretty. Skin to die for, sculpted like a young Adonis, has these green eyes like polished emeralds. Mouth-wateringly good looking.

  Con. He has a top knot. Of course he does. Blond hair that shines like sunlight reflecting on gold, but its piled atop his head like some furry yellow potato, signifying his dishonourable entry to the Twatty Hall of Fame.

  Honestly, this guy will think just having a mother makes him a feminist, and he bangs on about respecting and empowering women all the time, like it makes him some kind of hero, when in truth equality comes from… well… treating all people equally. It’s like this piece of shit wants a medal because of how he respects women. Every night this dickwad pulls out his guitar (of course he does) to try and impress everyone with his soulful “original” songs about “his feelings”. I think he’s just learned shit from YouTube of obscure folk artists that none of these idiots will ever have heard of.

  Well, Top Knot is clearly here for one reason. He’s trying to get laid. Seriously, the guy hangs around Freya like a bad stench, quoting how much he respects women while simultaneously mansplaining everything to her and treating her like a child that needs everything doing for her. I’m seriously considering feeding him to the zombies outside the gate, just to show everyone the end of the world is real. At least he could be of use as a bad example.

  So, there’s our intrepid party of heroes. Ten absolute fucking whack-a-doodles that are unlikely to survive a single day on their own once the real world pops their little bubble of kale smoothies and rose quartz.

  Namaste, bitches.
/>   12th Entry

  WELCOME TO THE DARK SIDE, WE HAVE ZOMBIES

  So, imagine if you will dear reader, telling ten spiritual people that the world beyond their little bubble of self-love is a wasteland, where the dead have risen to tear apart the living with extreme prejudice. Yeah.

  They looked at us like we were the nutjobs.

  Then no fucking word of a lie, graceful Grace glides across this open-sided dining area to light a little clustered bush and starts wafting it around the room, walking round the place like she’s ringing a bell, but instead just swirling the smoke round from the end of this fiery plant.

  “Um, Grace?” I ventured. “What are you doing?”

  “It’s sage,” offered the Little Mermaid. “It’s to cleanse the area of negative energy.”

  It took me a minute to realise they were being serious, as Grace nodded her agreement with Ariel’s statement. Even Particles looked incredulous, sat on the tabletop in front of me. That bad ass pug looked at Ariel, then turned to look at me. His expression simply said, “what the fuck have you got me into here?”

  “Is this some kind of reality show prank?” asked Top Knot. He was puffing up like a blowfish, three inches from Freya’s side and getting his flex on. “Zombies? Seriously?”

  “Zion… it’s…” I stopped. “Seriously though. Zion? What’s your actual name? I bet it’s something like fucking Nigel isn’t it?”

  That popped his inflating scrotum. The fluffy potato on his head quivered in indignation.

  “Look, whatever you’re calling yourself, the only way to fucking prove this is if you come down to the gate and see for yourself.”

  “The gate?” asked Theo.

  “Right now, my herb-scented lovelies, there are about fifty undead pushing at your front gate, which you all managed to pull in while you were chanting Kum Ba Yah as you slapped those drums like demented monkeys.”

  I think my derogatory depiction of their cleansing mantras was as popular as a whore doing a happy hour deal during Sunday church service.

  “They’re going to have to be cleared,” offered Nate. “Sooner or later, that gate is going to give unless it’s suitably reinforced. As much as I hate to say it, this place is a pretty good base to work out of. I noticed the roof was covered in solar panels; is this place self-sustaining?”

  “Of course,” replied Testicle. Aaargh. Damn it! Theo.

  “What about water?”

  “Artesian wells. Fresh water is drawn through electric pumps charged via the solar panels. It’s all renewable energy here.”

  “Do you have hot water?” There was a little tremor of terrified excitement in my voice.

  Theo nodded. “While the tank is full yes.”

  Sweet Mary, mother of God. Testicle faced or not, I could have banged the back out of that round-faced freak right there and then on the kitchen top. Hot shower. Oh mama.

  “Well, pretty much sells itself then,” murmured Nate grudgingly.

  I gave him my “and you didn’t want to come here” look. He knew what I meant and had the grace to shrug his acknowledged defeat.

  “Erm, this is our home,” ventured Theo nervously. “You can’t just… move in!”

  “Erin, I’m going to need your help,” said Nate, ignoring Theo’s wail. “I need you to take this seriously and not piss your pants like an excited four-year old.”

  Nate gave me a severe look and I knew what he was thinking. I nearly pissed my pants like an excited four-year old.

  “I’ll go and get it.”

  Ten minutes later, I swaggered back into a room filled with enough tension that even a single fart from Particles would have made everyone jump. Nate doesn’t see the need for pointless conversation and as these people were all pretty pointless in his eyes, he’d obviously just stood there like a gargoyle for ten minutes. Brooding.

  Freya had moved. She was stroking Particles, who seemed to be enjoying the attention. Little dog whore, giving it up for the pretty lady. Still, I didn’t mind; as she sat there stroking the little fellow, she seemed a little calmer. Dogs are the best therapist you can have.

  What was hilarious was Top Knot’s look of insane jealousy, made even more perfect by Particles just staring at him while Freya stroked him. I could almost hear the pug’s thoughts.

  Yeah, Freya. Stroke me like that. Right there, baby. Mmm hmm.

  All the while just staring at Zion, getting a kick out of his jealousy.

  Particles didn’t choose the smug life; the smug life chose him.

  Anyway, I sauntered back in with the double-triggered shotgun we lifted from Old McRapey’s dead hand, and all the shells. We had nearly three hundred now, with all the ammo we’d acquired over the past couple of weeks.

  “Let’s do this,” I declared. If I had a cock, I’d have had a boner at that moment. I was way more excited than I should’ve been. I mean, Nate and I were about to go all Bonnie and Clyde on the undead posse coming for our ass, but every one of these fuckers put down was a victory. Plus, I was about to finally get some live time with the shotgun. Kinaesthetic learning, bitches. Learn by doing.

  “Pick your shots, don’t rush, don’t fuck about and aim for the one closest to you every time,” warned Nate. “Wait until they’re close enough that the spread will take them, even if your aim is a little off. Reload on the move as you displace. The benefit of the shotgun is that from close range, you pretty much can’t miss, so aim high and make sure each shell shreds a brainpan.”

  I nodded, serious as chlamydia. Game face on.

  “Wait,” said Theo. “What on earth are you doing?” He looked at the two shotguns in our hands, Nate checking over his like a pro, me trying not to giggle like a schoolgirl as I cracked the break action and popped two shells into the barrels.

  “There are nigh on fifty undead outside the gate,” repeated Nate. “We’re going to clear them, and you hippies are coming to watch.”

  “We are not!” declared Theo indignantly. The others began to voice their support of Theo.

  Nate’s an easy-going guy most of the time. He huffs and puffs a lot and rolls his eyes out loud or shakes his head when I open my mouth, but generally he remains quite neutral.

  I still remember the day I heard him for the first time, when I was strapped to that awful rack in McRapey’s bondage barn, and he warned the dirty old bastard not to go for his gun. His voice went glacial cold and scared the shit out of me because of its simple promise.

  He went there again.

  “Listen to me, you tree-fucking gimps,” he started, no hint of rage, no raised voice. Just cold. So fucking cold. The room froze, nobody daring to even breathe in case they drew his wrath. “Everything and everyone you’ve ever known or loved is gone. Gone. Dead. And if they’re not permanently dead, they’re shambling around, filled with rage for the living, with no concern other than tearing out your innards and adding you to their legion of death. You need to wake the fuck up and see how the world works now and understand what it is you’re up against. So, every single one of you is coming with me and Erin, and we’re going to open your gate and let the undead in, and then this slip of a girl and I are going to give them some buckshot to gargle with. Then I’m going to drive our truck in here and we’re going to sit down, have a meal, and get to know each other a little better. We’re going to be in each other’s pockets for a while.” He stared at each one of them in turn. “Questions?”

  Incredibly, there was one.

  Freya nervously put her hand up and Nate nodded for her to speak.

  “Why let them in?” she asked timidly. “Why not just do it outside the gate?”

  Nate had been prepared for a thoroughly moronic question—as was I in truth—but he softened a little at the surprisingly pertinent query.

  “There is a mass of open space once the gate is opened,” he replied, his voice a little gentler. I guess even that block of granite could see Freya was the most fragile of them all. She clearly had anxiety issues, but by gods, she’d a
lready shown more courage than the rest of them combined. Plus, Particles liked her, and he’s a good judge of character.

  “If we go outside the gate, the space is cramped. Erin and I won’t have room to move a lot and these shotguns need reloading every two shots, so we need time and space to move. If things get out of control, I’ll go to the Glock at my hip, which has a faster rate of fire, but it’s too valuable a weapon and I don’t know when I’ll get a resupply, making it my last resort. Outside it’s just a narrow road with heavy foliage on either side. Erin and I can’t move safely in that space.”

  “Plus, it’s all uphill from the gate to here,” I added. “That’ll slow their shamble a bit more and give us much needed time.”

  Nate cocked an eyebrow in my direction, this time in approval.

  I grinned. “High ground. It’s in all the movies.”

  Again, just another little twitch of a smile. Every one of those feels like a fucking victory.

  Nate nodded. “Okay then. Load whatever pockets you can with shells, bring a box out as a fall back. Erin, I’ll need you to open the gate and scamper back up. You’ll be faster than anyone here.”

  “Her?”

  Oh, Top Knot. You had to do it, didn’t you?

  “I’m right here, potato-head,” I said. “But by all means, if you think you’re faster, be my guest and open the gate for the undead horde. Just make sure you don’t shit your pants and fall over, eh?” I gave him my sweetest, sickliest, most condescending smile. “Why don’t you put a little crystal up your butt to disperse all that negative energy, or wave some sage at them? I’m sure that will keep the demons at bay.”

  “If you weren’t a girl,” he muttered.

  I went from a sassy mouthed piss-taker to a raging ball of fury in a nanosecond.

  “Don’t let me being a girl stop you, Potato Head!” I roared at him.

  Freya’s hand went to her mouth to hide her amusement. Clearly, the top knot was a distinct turn off for her. I like that girl more the longer this goes on.