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

by Meadows, Carl

  “Come on, you pin-dicked little gym-bunny!” I handed the shotgun to Nate, who took it without comment, as I got all British Kung Fu on spunk-trumpet. “Come on you fucker! Let’s have you!” I beckoned him on, affecting a Liam Gallagher cock-swagger as I sauntered towards him. “I will rip your fucking ears off and stick them in your fucking colon so you can hear me kicking your ass round the field! You’ll be trying to pick your pretty white teeth off the kitchen floor with broken fingers!”

  Get me drunk, or get me mad, and I’m the biggest scally in town. I was like Brookside on PCP. I was going full scouse, the tiny slivers of my Liverpool accent that existed now bloomed to full life in near berserk rage as I dropped my final challenge.

  “You’re about ten seconds away from the most embarrassing moment of your life, so make your choice, Top Knot; sit the fuck down or come the fuck on!”

  Senses overwhelmed by my spit-flying onslaught, he sat down, stunned. That piece of shit has never had a real fight in his privileged existence and my entire life has been one giant slugfest. Thinks he can intimidate me because I’m a five-six girl? Fuck you buddy; there’s more man in every one of my turds than in your whole fucking body.

  Nate didn’t even bother hiding his pleasure as he handed the shotgun back to me.

  “That’ll do, kid,” he grinned. “That’ll do.”

  13th Entry

  NOT A TED TALK, A NATE TALK

  I could feel the hunger on the other side of the gate. Chilling stuff, as they pressed inexorably against the wood. The gate itself only had a small latch to open it, but it had two deadbolt style metal bars that dropped into holes straight down. Thankfully, both of those were in place and the primary reason the gate hadn’t folded inwards.

  I sucked in a few deep breaths, every bit of good sense and logic screaming inside my head. I mean, here I was, a mob of slavering undead inches away and separated from me by a perfectly good gate, and I was going to open said portal and let them in. On purpose. I should have been shitting myself and raging against such a dumb move, but I was all-in now. My chips were in the middle and I was standing waiting for the river card to turn. All or nothing.

  I unhooked one of the bars. At the same time, I also flicked up the little central latch, immediately springing back into a roll and coming up to my feet. One half of the gate swung inwards and the undead began to spill into the enclave. Hitting the afterburners, I sprinted up to where Nate waited. He tossed the shotgun to me as I neared and I snatched it out of the air, spinning and getting the stock against my shoulder in readiness.

  At the sight of the blood-soaked dead swarming through the gate, the hippies started losing their mind as their new reality revealed itself in all its glorious gore. The horde carried the full assortment of wounds, from torn throats, missing chunks of flesh from arms and shoulders, bloody blue loops of intestine dragging in the dirt below them; whatever horror your mind can conjure, it was there. There was no mistaking this bedraggled, shambling horde of death for a reality show prank. There was no chance physical makeup could imitate the obvious ragged state this group was in, and the yoga bunch knew it. I heard someone throwing up amid all the witless jabbering and squealing.

  “A little quiet,” ordered Nate, his voice as soft as stone. He didn’t even look away from the horde.

  That tone is like a whip of ice when he uses it, and he doesn’t even really try, it’s just there. It smacks you in the face and turns your bowels to water and that, dear reader, is what real authority sounds like. The hippies went from jabbering lunatics to muted squeals in a snap.

  There was only one alpha in this pack.

  I chanced a quick glance in their direction, finding Particles cradled in Freya’s arms and nodded.

  “Okay,” murmured Nate. “This is real, Erin. No fucking about. No getting cocky. This is real life and death now, hear me?”

  I almost gave some smart-mouthed quip, but bit down on it. The hippies needed this lesson, needed to see shit was very real and very dangerous, so I just gave Nate a nod and he grunted his approval.

  And so, it began.

  Jesus, now that it’s all over, I feel like I’ve been punched in the shoulder and chest repeatedly by Mike Tyson. Every kick of the shotgun was like a hammer to the same spot, but Nate’s lessons paid off. When I put my mind to it, I’m actually a decent shooter, I think. I followed all his advice, aimed a little high to make sure I blasted the head, and I started dropping them.

  Nate and I moved wide of each other across the crest of the hill that the lodge sat on, splitting the swarm to thin them out so they didn’t come as one rolling mass of hate and hunger. There were a few rectal clenches when I didn’t reload smoothly and a zed got too close for comfort, but none of them got close enough to do that lip-peeling snarl when they suddenly get an extra burst of speed. That shit frightens the fucking life out of me when they do that, because you get a glimpse of whatever it is driving them, and whatever that thing is, it’s fucking dark. Hatred incarnate. Eesh.

  It was a long morning and starting to get warm as the sun rose, but with a solid plan and solid execution, Nate and I pulled it off. In truth, I was fucking proud of myself. I know I can be a bit of a dick at times and add a little colour and swagger into my reciting of history; after all, who wants to read a boring textbook, when they can have some comedy drama instead?

  But still, it felt good to really do something. It was a tiny drop in the zombie ocean, but for that one morning, it felt like Nate and I took back a little of our world, even if it was only a yoga lodge.

  Lockey and Nate, forty-three, zombies, zero.

  When we got down to the last one, Nate called a halt. The hill leading up to the lodge resembled the bloody remains of a battlefield, with ruined corpses and pools of blood and brain scattered everywhere. My chest and shoulder were numb and just a patch of pain, and my ears had a constant whine from the repeated thunder of the boomstick so close to them. Jesus, I’ve said it before, but movies don’t prepare you for how damn loud gunfire really is. No wonder they wear ear-protection on ranges. My entire head felt like a bell that had been rung by a bunch of monks on amphetamines.

  “Why are you stopping?” came the cracked shriek of one of the women. “There’s still one left!”

  I couldn’t tell who it was, simply because it was so distorted through the ringing. I think it might have been the Little Mermaid, or Unamazing Grace. Don’t know.

  Nate put down the shotgun and drew the biggest fucking knife I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s always strapped to his leg, but this was the first time I’d actually seen him draw it. This bitch was full Crocodile Dundee “this is a knife” size; shiny, sharp with razor-like serrations and a curve on one side of the blade leading to a wicked point.

  “None of you have firearms, so if you’re in the shit, you need to learn how to deal with a walker.”

  Nate moved into the eyeline of the final undead, drawing it to him like bait on a hook, knife held loose, but steady. He talked as he gave his lesson.

  “Just as they get near, they increase in pace,” he said. “You’ll see the moment. They’ll look at you like the source of all their misery, with such hatred it’ll make your guts twist.”

  Accurate.

  As the zombie neared, everyone saw that baring of teeth, that clawing of hands and slight burst of acceleration as it switched to predator mode from its relatively docile shamble. Nate smoothly stepped aside and let it soar past him.

  “They’re only good in a straight line, so if you can, don’t back away as they’ll just follow you. Sidestep; change the angle. Ninety degrees to whatever way the monster is facing, and it will save your life.”

  He drew it again, displaying the ninety-degree method once more, though this time, he kicked its legs from under it. The zombie slammed face first into the earth and Nate shocked everyone by placing a knee between its shoulder blades, trapping it beneath his muscular frame. Grabbing a fistful of the creature’s hair, he pulled the head back
so everyone could see the glassy, milky eyes and the silent snarl of hatred. Every one of the yoga bunch looked at him with abject horror.

  “These things only die if you ravage the brain,” he said, all calm as if this was some university lecture in the pretty gardens of Oxford. “The skull is immense protection, so if you find yourself unable to smash their heads in with something heavy, like an axe, or a hammer, and you can only get a smaller weapon, then these are your three options.”

  He pointed with the tip of his mutant knife to the base of the skull.

  “Go under and up, if you have something suitably sharp with the length. If not, then your best bet is through the ear, or the eye. You could get to the brain with something as simple as a screwdriver, or a sharp kitchen knife. The eye is your best option though, as it’s an easier target than the ear.” He chatted away like there wasn’t a silent, slavering zombie beneath him, desperately trying to reach back and claw at him, but he was no amateur. The zombie was entirely in his power.

  “Straight in, no messing, no hesitation.” He made sure they were all looking, no matter the expressions of trauma etched into their pretty faces, then rammed the blade into the monster’s right eye. It punched through the soft tissue and cracked the orbital bone, such was the force he struck with, and the width of his mini sword. The zombie went limp, all darkness banished from its form, and all ten of our whack-a-doodles emptied their guts on the grass.

  Every one of them is now traumatised for the rest of their lives.

  Nate is a scary mother fucker.

  But he’s my scary mother fucker.

  14th Entry

  SPECIAL FRIENDS

  If the opening lessons were traumatic, then the clean-up has probably broken a few of them. There were now forty-three—mostly headless, and all gory—corpses scattered across the field, with random chunks and bits of zombies all over the place. My god, cleaning up is worse than the putting down. Absolutely vile job.

  Faith and Skye were the most impressive in that task. After they shook off the horror of Nate’s up close and personal lesson, they got their shit together pretty well and before long had arms and legs of corpses between them, carrying them over to one side of the field, far from the lodge. The bodies had to be disposed of and Nate wasn’t happy with trying to burn so many, so we moved them to one side of the field into a tangled pile of death. Tomorrow, Nate’s going to do a run and get some supplies from a nearby farm he remembers that had appropriate tools, shovels and the like. We’re going to dig a mass grave at the bottom of the field and bury them, as the last thing we want is a big pile of disease growing at the bottom of the garden. Obviously, Grace and Theo don’t have said tools as all the landscaping was dealt with by a contractor to keep the place pretty, but I don’t think they’ll be coming round anytime soon.

  It was a long and thoroughly shitty afternoon and I was bone weary by the end of it. Covered in shit, blood, brain and general grime, I was going to punch anyone in their most sensitive parts if they dared take a shower before me.

  A hot shower.

  Orgasmic.

  Can you imagine how amazing a long hot shower is, when it’s your first in a month? Mama, I was in hot liquid heaven. I scrubbed myself clean, washed my hair—which was like sex after so long—and when I finally emerged, I was me again. I felt like a million dollars.

  I did the neighbourly thing and scrubbed the shower clean because it looked like a scene from Psycho in there by the time I’d finished, then sat at the kitchen island with a hot cup of strawberry tea that Freya kindly made for me, and sighed in contentment.

  I like Freya. I misjudged her. She’s actually pretty tough and reacting well, some of which is down to Particles helping keep her calm, I think. Good doggy.

  Also, she’s my size and gave me a set of her clothes to keep me going, so I could bury or burn the others, as they are officially dead to me. Having clean underwear, a clean sports bra to keep things stationery on the move—turns out Freya and I are boob-buddies and virtually the same size—and a nice loose-fitting tracksuit and hoody is amazing. She’s my new girly BFF. Also, I was very pleased to discover that Freya is her actual name and she didn’t change it to a twatty spiritual handle for the retreat. She just used her name. I like her even more now; she didn’t buy totally into the bullshit. From what I can gather, she was just a bit lost in life, had no identity of her own because she was arm candy of a famous sportsman and that’s all she was seen as. A pretty trophy wife.

  In truth, for all her anxiety, I think she’s actually pretty tough. She’s certainly got more fire in her belly than Top Knot, who’s probably wondering how he can possibly get his next dose of moisturising skincare products in a dead world.

  Now, I felt like a million dollars, but I had the blasted stares of the traumatised all around me. People who burn sage for positivity, think shiny rocks can sort out their problems, and spend a month doing yoga are not prepared for the apocalypse and all its grim realities. Top Knot’s bravado was well and truly in the wind. For all his rippling muscle from countless hours in the gym, the only real muscle that was getting a workout now was his sphincter. He looked like he was flitting between the choice of crying in a corner, or just plain shitting his pants.

  The two lesbian businesswomen seem to be holding up the best like I said, leaning on each other for comfort and strength, but they seemed to be more practical in switching their attitude. They had a, “I don’t like this, but this is the world now,” look on their face. Tough chicks. I like them.

  Ariel, Pax, Grace and Theo are not doing well. The four most “spiritual” people here, the ones who really swallow this holistic mess instead of spitting, are the most off-centre. Their life is clearly great when they can just forget about negativity because they don’t really have any, but when the shit hits the fan, they just stand there dumbly as that fan flings said shit all over them.

  Ariel’s a mess, her pretty boyfriend is doing the best to comfort her, but his eyes are constantly wet with tears. Grace is a nervous wreck trying to keep herself busy around the place so she doesn’t have to think, while Theo just looks… haunted. Like, seriously. Testicle face looks like he’s just returned from the Vietnam War and seen some traumatic shit. Nate says he’s seen that look in the service and we need to keep an eye on the Toothy Bollock.

  Hope looks lost. She’s not even seeking comfort from her husband but distancing herself from him. I feel for her. She was clearly already in the middle of dark days, being forced to accept her marriage was over and going through the motions. She was probably planning on how to start her new life as a single woman in her mid-to-late thirties, which was upsetting enough. Now, that chance of a new life is gone. She’s stuck here, with him and a bunch of strangers, in a world ruled by the dead.

  For his part, Jericho is a bit like Theo; a man who spent his days doing hedge funds and stocks or whatever… well, his skillset is utterly redundant. He’s having trouble accepting it. Lots of “this can’t be happening” under his breath.

  Denial. Classic first stage of grief. Now I just have to keep a beady eye out for anger, because any conflict in here is quickly going to escalate with such raw emotions.

  Nate looked the happiest I’ve ever seen him when he got out of the shower. Of course, being ex-military, he had spare clothing, not that you could tell. Nate is the man in black; black t-shirt, black combat trousers, black boots, black hair, eyes so brown they can seem black.

  He’s like the Grim Reaper’s unfriendly, kind of threatening dad.

  Still, his mood was greatly improved after we’d done all the work, piled up the bodies ready for burial, brought the pickup in with all our scavenged goodies, and reclosed the gate. As extra reinforcement, one of the cars was edged behind the gate and parked there, just in case we had another horde incursion. The gates couldn’t swing in now without the vehicle being moved.

  “What now?” I asked.

  “Rest for today,” said Nate. “Eat, drink, sleep. First thing
tomorrow I’ll go back to that farmhouse a couple of miles back and pick up the tools I saw there, and we’ll get those bodies buried. I’ll head out at first light.”

  “Need me to come along?”

  Nate shook his head. “No,” he answered in a low voice. “Keep an eye on this lot. Some of them are on the verge of breaking. They might need a harsh word or two to snap them out of a spiral.”

  “Or a slap?”

  Nate nodded. “Or a slap.”

  “Isn’t it nice when we hate the same things?”

  Nate chuckled. Clearly the shower had improved his mood. This was almost a natural human response.

  As night fell, we ate. Grace had been keeping herself busy to try and not think, and it turns out she put a pretty good spread on. Okay, there was no meat, because of course there’d be no fucking meat in Yogaville, but still it was pretty damn cool to eat a load of freshly made food, instead of warm or cold canned goods. Grace and Theo had herb and vegetable gardens of considerable size out the back of the lodge, so there was literal fresh food to eat and it was bloody lovely. The only way it could have been better was with a fat steak dripping in grease on the side, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers. Suffice to say, eating a freshly made meal with actual fresh food was yummy.

  The lodge is pretty big. The main house is largely communal, with bedrooms and bathrooms on the first floor and a wide open space on the ground floor that is largely a sitting area, and a combined kitchen and dining area with big glass sliding doors on one side that can be fully opened to the outside when the weather’s nice. It’s pretty lovely actually.

  Grace and Theo have their own separate abode attached to the lodge, like an extra bungalow that comes out of the lodge making it an L-shape. It’s probably a good two or three-bedroom size and just for those two when there are no guests staying at the lodge.

  Hope and Jericho were in a double room, though I can see that changing in the near future. Faith and Skye had a double as well, as did Ariel and Pax. There were still some spare rooms left—it has about six doubles and six singles I think in total—so Nate took one and I was going to take another single, but Freya asked if I’d sleep in a twin with her, at least for the first night. Seeing as how Top Knot’s eyes kept flicking at her, all wild and darting, I readily agreed and loudly announced—so Potato Head could hear—that I’d bring my shotgun for a threesome.