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

by Meadows, Carl

  The one I’m really worried about is Laura. She has this… haunted… air about her. I mean, fair enough, right? But I’m genuinely worried about her. She’s just 22 (says the sagely and wise 26-year old) and has been through a head-smashing trauma for an extended period of time, and I’m not sure she knows how to deal with it. She was snatched off the street the day after the apocalypse started and has been in torment ever since. She has no idea about the fates of friends and family, has been thrust with a new bunch of strangers but now that she has a modicum of safety, all of that physical, emotional, and psychological trauma has space to be processed. She’s not sat there waiting for the door to be opened and be dragged off to the house, or into the yard to be executed, so her mind now has time to work through all the trauma and I’m worried about how she’s going to handle it. Time will tell, but once again, Freya steps up to the plate.

  She’s taken Laura under her wing, because she’s got such a lovely way about her. Easy going, softly spoken, smile to light up the darkest sky; she’s just awesome. I remember how much she helped me when I was processing all that horror after the block of flats, and she has a gift of knowing when she needs to say something supportive, or when someone needs quiet, but still wants someone there. She’s really good at just being present and available, with no intrusions, all the space you need, but there if you need her.

  If I was into women, I would marry that girl. She’s the only woman that’s made me question my sexuality for a brief moment; I’m comfortable enough with myself to say that, so off you fuck with your judgments.

  It’s too early to say if Freya is having any effect on Laura as yet. These things don’t get resolved in a few days. Maybe when we all settle into a new rhythm and routine with each other, Laura will start opening up a little, because at the moment she’s an airtight container of unresolved trauma and emotion.

  So, there you have it. Our tribe now stands at eleven (ten humans, one pug) and the lodge has got a whole lot busier. Everyone has been settled into rooms, with Charlie and Mark obviously sharing, and Maria and Norah have both bonded and opted for a twin room. Isaac is in a room on his own, and rather than stick together, Alicia and Laura have gone their separate ways as well. The lodge is almost at capacity now, so that morning peace I used to enjoy for writing in the main kitchen of the lodge has gone to shit. Charlie is up early and plays outside with Particles, trying to teach him tricks (good luck with that, he’s a lazy little turd), Mark is up as well because of Charlie, and Norah’s body clock has her up earlier than anyone at pretty much 6am every morning.

  Sigh. I like that we rescued all these people, but I’d gotten quite used to my morning peace. Instead, I go make a brew in the smaller kitchen here in the bungalow, then go back and chill in my room to write these updates. It won’t matter as much when the weather starts to turn, but on these summer mornings, it was nice sitting at the big island in the middle of the lodge’s kitchen, the glass sliding doors opened to let in the morning air and look out over the vista of the grounds.

  My god, I’m 26 going on 70. Listen to me. Can you pass me my tartan bootee slippers and my blanket for my knees, while I just grunt and groan myself into this rocking chair?

  It’s taking a bit of time to get used to it being so busy. The first thing we had to do is assess the food situation; winter will be here before we know it. Three people to ten is a big multiplier in food consumption, and the hot water for showers is having to be regulated. No standing for ten minutes with arms in the air luxuriating from here on in. Once the tank is empty, we have to wait for it to refill and heat up, which takes quite a chunk of the electric from the panels to do. We may need to impose a shower rota, and only take one every two days, rather than the luxury of a daily shower I’ve been used to this past month. It’s a small sacrifice, but if and when that kicks in, it’s going to make me irritable and twitchy early on, I just know it. I bloody love my daily shower, that feeling of being clean.

  Lots of sighing today.

  Anyway, food. Nate and Mark smashed together that shelving from timber acquired from some nearby farms and installed it in the room where I disintegrated the top knot. Nobody wants to sleep in there, so we ripped out the carpets and turned it into a storeroom. With so many bodies, we soon had everything on shelves and organised, and I have to say, we’re in a pretty good position. Based on an average rate of consumption for the three of us, Nate says we have enough for about three months now there are ten people. Sounds a lot, but it isn’t.

  I’m taking Nate’s word for these calculations, by the way. Maths has never been my strong point. If I had a pound for every time I fucked up my maths, I’d have £12.30.

  Naturally, Norah will help to supplement that and says if we can acquire her more supplies and seeds, she can expand the garden and start getting more potatoes in the ground and the like. This is good.

  We’re pretty flush on weaponry now. Nate made sure that was the first thing we brought home before anything else, just in case any other scavengers found Castle Bancroftstein while we were away. There are still places we can hit for food and other supplies, but guns and ammo? Shit, rarer than a rocking horse’s turd pile in this green and pleasant land.

  Again, I’m not going to inventory. That’s Nate’s field of expertise and he’s not putting this stuff in the upstairs storeroom; that’s all being kept here in the bungalow, under lock and key by Nate. He’ll be the one controlling and issuing that stuff, but a quick survey says we’re in possession of eight SA80 rifles with about three thousand rounds of 5.56 for them, about fourteen 9mm handguns of varying makes and models but mostly Glock 17’s with about the same, six SMG’s, a handful of those MAC-11 machine pistols (which Nate dislikes as he says they’ll piss through ammo in the hands of amateurs who don’t control their shots), a selection of shotguns in varying gauges with boxes of appropriate shells, and even two AK-47’s, but the 7.62 rounds for them are pretty low, which is probably why Bancroft didn’t really have them in circulation. They each have about three full magazines ready to use, but there isn’t any spare reloads. There’s also a shitload of gun cleaning supplies.

  We are loaded for zombie bear, my dear reader.

  Bancroft’s house is actually a goldmine. We’re going to get that tanker and fill it up with fuel, there’s a shit ton of foodstuffs over there, as well as medical supplies they purloined from a local infirmary and nearby pharmacies. King Shit gathered a lot of resources to store at Turd Mountain, for sure.

  Next few days are going to be busy as we run back and forth to clear it out of said goodies. I probably won’t write for a few days, mainly because (a) I’ll probably be absolutely beat from all the work and (b) I’m a god damn bard and no storyteller lists how many cans of chicken soup or boxes of paracetamol they transferred between homesteads.

  I’m going to get my shit together and will take my shower at the end of the day when I need it the most. Adios.

  September 1st, 2010

  LOVE, ACTUALLY

  The weather has turned today. Welcome back to northern England, where it goes from bright sunshine to totally pissing it down within a day.

  You know, last night I spent ages copying down all my first entries from those scribbled notebooks to add to this record. Reading them back, I must have appeared like I was on drugs. It was all hyperactive and making light where I can, then I look at this later stuff where I’ve toned it down and sound like a semi-intelligent woman instead of Tigger on cocaine.

  On reflection, those early entries when it was just me, I think I was just trying to keep myself sane. I am pretty hyperactive, and I get a kick out of making people laugh—even if that person is an imaginary reader—and I don’t like to get melancholy. My moods can swing to the extremes, I’m self-aware enough to realise this. I can be hyper and not take anything serious, seeing the light in everything, which I always try to do. To a large extent, I wasn’t lying to Nate when I said I wasn’t taking it seriously. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen some shit
now and I take the dangers very seriously, but I meant it when I said that laughing at this whole shit show was how I wanted to get through it.

  Life was so fucking miserable before the world suffered critical prolapse, and now that misery has increased by a factor of X. If I let everything blot out the light, then what’s the point? There’s no point in surviving the end of the world if all we do is mope about how shit everything is. Granted, people like Alicia and Laura have damn good reason to be hurt and scream at the injustice of it all. And everyone here in this lodge has lost someone in some way, sometimes they’ve lost everyone and everything they’ve ever known, but if we all sit and think about that, if we don’t try to push forward and make something better of this shithole existence we find ourselves in, we may as well all just give up and turn these damn guns on ourselves.

  Now, I have my bad days. Believe it or not, despite all my spectacular awesomeness you’ve already been dazzled by in the adventures of Flint and Locke (shut up Nate, I’m keeping it), I do get down at times. My moods are extreme, so when I’m up, I’ll do my best to drag everyone around me to my lofty heights of wacky stupidity. When I’m down, however, I’m an absolute shithead to be around. I just want to be left alone, question myself constantly, wince at some of the things I said that I thought were hilarious at the time, and generally tell myself how useless I am, how nobody will ever love me, that I will die alone, and all that other good stuff.

  I’m human. Hard to believe, I know, please, tone down the applause, you’re making me blush. I’m human, and as much as I jokingly say how awesome I am, I am far from fucking perfect.

  I’m 26 years old, and I’ve never been in love. I’ve had boyfriends, flings, one-night stands and the like. Shit, I’m not a nun, I’m a woman with needs. But they’ve always been that; just physical needs. I’ve never met anyone I really connected with emotionally like that. I’ve never thought, “This guy could be the one.” My thoughts after sex are usually, “I’m fucking starving, I could smash a Big Mac right about now.”

  It makes me doubt myself. Makes me wonder if I’m broken in some way, because I know what love is. I’m not a sociopath who lacks empathy; shit, I’ve got empathy to burn. When those I care about are hurt, it’s like a knife to my heart and I feel that pain with them. I’ve seen love portrayed a thousand different ways in prose and in movies, and I know what love really is. It’s not the storybook starry-eyed lovers destined to be together that are consumed by a bright and luminous fire of passion. Maria and Dean showed me what love really was.

  It’s hard work, it’s compromise, it’s sacrifice. It’s giving, it’s two people working hard to help the other be the best version of themselves. It’s living with your best friend.

  I’ve never even remotely felt that for any guy I’ve dated or slept with. I quickly lose interest, throwing them away like some old clothes that don’t fit any more, that look a bit frayed and worn.

  Now the world has come to an abrupt and undead halt, and I have to wonder if I’ll ever feel that. Nate’s basically become my dad, Mark’s a sweet guy but not my type, Isaac’s kinda cute in an awkward way, but he’s more like my buddy I can chat geeky shit with and connect to my old life in some way. As much as I crack jokes about Freya making me question my sexuality, I’m not into women, though she makes me wish I was sometimes. I’m still baffled by the idiot who let her go. There’s no accounting for the stupidity of some people. She’s just so bloody nice.

  So where do I go from here? There are no post-apocalyptic singles bars. Online dating sites aren’t accepting new subscriptions and most of the viable candidates now all have the same milky eye colour whose interests are exclusively confined to, “Murdering the living with a rage more fierce than the heart of a star.”

  Sigh. I don’t know how I ended up on this little melancholy wander. I think maybe because of Isaac’s presence, if I’m honest. A guy my own age has been missing from my apocalypse experience thus far, and with him here, I guess I’m wondering at what might have been. Isaac’s nice, but (a) he’s more like a friend I like to hang out with and chat shit and (b) even if I was interested, I’d have to live with him when I inevitably cast him aside. And I would eventually cast him aside because something inside me is broken. Life would be unbearable then; I mean, shit, can you imagine being forced to live with your ex? Doesn’t matter who was the heart breaker and who was the heartbroken, it would be a wholly shitty experience for everyone, including those in proximity.

  Holy. Shit. No.

  No, I’m not feeling twitchy for our resident tech geek. I think it’s just having someone of the opposite sex that I could be with that’s brought all these thoughts to the surface. Not that I’m saying he’d be automatically interested in me. Hell, that makes me sound so arrogant.

  Bloody hell, I’m making a mess of this.

  Look, I’m no Freya. I’m not drop dead gorgeous with a radiant soul, just your average woman. Men don’t vie for my attention and I guess I’ve always just felt like an option for most guys, a handy alternative who might be a bit of fun or a distraction when there’s no better alternative.

  It’s just the thought of a possibility that has my head all twisted up this morning. The chances of making that ultimate connection in these apocalyptic times have been drastically reduced. And that’s… well… it’s a bit shit, if I’m honest.

  Bah, enough of this self-indulgent pity party.

  The last few days have been busy as hell gathering resources, and I’m fucking beat. I love having more people around that I can bullshit with, but as extroverted as I am, I like a little time to myself as well to recharge my energy. I’m taking today for myself as tomorrow we’re going to a retail park at the far end of town where there is both a big electronics store, and a B&Q. The former we’re hitting with the intent to acquire Isaac all the gear he needs to set up some perimeter security on the lodge, cameras on the gate, stuff like that. The latter is for gardening supplies that Norah wants; fertilisers, seeds, blah blah. Her list is easy to follow.

  Nate and I haven’t the first clue what Isaac will need, so he’s coming with us. He started to tell us, reeling off a list of stuff and I had to Jack O’Neill his ass.

  “I can see your mouth moving,” I said. “And words keep coming out of them, but they’re not ones from my world.”

  He laughed. “But if we want this done properly…”

  “You’ll have to come with us,” I finished.

  “Um, I was going to say, if we want this done properly, I’ll need the things on my list.”

  “And your list is made up of random noises, cleverly disguised to sound like actual words but that, in fact, mean absolutely nothing to simple earthlings like myself or Nate. So, you’re coming with us.”

  His facial expression was equal to one he might make if I’d just instructed him to saw off his dick with a rusty knife. He turned a pleading gaze to Nate, expecting the grizzled old veteran to say no at having a complete amateur along for the ride.

  “Erin’s right,” was all he said. “We don’t have the time to match up the words on your list to a store full of alien devices. We can watch your six while you gather what you need; that way we can be in and out much faster. Don’t forget we have to hit the garden section of the hardware store as well for Norah. The quicker we’re done with yours, the sooner we can get Norah’s list. Every minute counts out in the field and we’ve no idea what we’re walking into up there.”

  Isaac was crestfallen. The thought of being out in the field clearly terrified him.

  “Like Nate says, we’ll have your back all the way.” I put on my best reassuring voice, though that usually sounds like I’m just taking the piss. “You just do what you do, and Nate and I will take care of everything else.”

  “This is the new world, son,” said Nate, softening his usual granite tone a little. “And it’s a grindstone. Whether it wears you down, or polishes you up, depends on what you’re made of.”

  I turned slowly to look a
t Nate. “Holy crap, Confucious,” I said. “That is some profound shit!”

  The joke broke the tension as Isaac laughed nervously. He sucked in a breath to visibly calm himself and nodded.

  “Okay,” he said, more for himself than either of us. “I can do this.”

  “Easy peasy,” I nodded, slapping him on the shoulder. “All you gotta do is go shopping for nerd-tech, and we’ll handle the heavy lifting. Major bonus? You can have whatever your heart desires, for free!”

  So, that’s what we’re doing tomorrow. We’re going to roll out in the pickup. We haven’t had the chance to do a proper fuel run, but Mark siphoned a load of diesel out the white van we took from the little convenience store and transferred it to the pickup to load up its tank. The van is bigger, but the pickup has more grunt in a pinch and is a much sturdier all-round vehicle. There’s plenty of space in the back for all our loot, and with just the three of us going, we can fit in there no problem.

  The plan is to go tomorrow, but we might wait another day or two, depending on this rain. We don’t really want to be getting drenched and cold while doing this operation, so hopefully it will ease up and we can get this shit done.

  For now, I’m going to spend the rest of the day relaxing. Today is not a people day. I’m going to find Particles and have the little dude keep me company.

  September 3rd, 2010

  DIRTY HARRIET

  So much to catch up on.

  First of all, I’m writing, so you know I’m not dead, but that could have been very different. There are still a shit ton of undead loitering around town and we got a stark reminder of that when me, Nate, and Isaac rolled past the little retail park. There’s a big B&Q as you know, set at a right angle to a row of another six big units. We rolled past the main car park entrance set in front of all these units and I heard Isaac swear in horror as we all looked left, crawling past the entrance at a low speed to keep engine noise minimal.