We Will Rise: An Adrian's Undead Diary Novel (Lockey vs the Apocalypse Book 2)

by Carl Meadows

  Evil Jesus and the Resurrectionists (sounds like an awesome metal band name) are a problem, that much is clear. Their idea of “restoring humanity” seems to be via a zealous dictatorship where everyone is a lunatic believing in this individual’s power to the point of deification.

  And that shit is always a problem.

  NOVEMBER 13th, 2010

  WE’RE HUNTING WABBITS

  We have a plan, it would appear.

  I’m happy to report that the tension between Nate and Dean has gone, largely thanks to Dean. As soon as we arrived yesterday, he asked for a quiet word with the two of us, and apologised if he seemed pushy, reiterating his gratitude for all that Nate had done to this point, not least of which was looking out for me and Maria. He said he absolutely understood Nate’s position, that they had to get to know each other a little better and learn to trust each other as individuals, and not just because they are attached to mutual friends. He wanted a fresh start.

  Nate visibly relaxed at all that, the two men shook hands, and I breathed a sigh of relief. These are the two most important men in my life, and I desperately want them to get on and ultimately be friends. Kudos to Dean for just sorting that out. I can’t help thinking Maria had some influence on it as well, as she’s probably filled Dean in on Nate’s character a lot over the past couple of days, and you can see that Dean now sees more than just the soldier and protector Nate appears. He’s trying to get to know the man, and that makes me happy. Dean is such a good dude.

  Doing that straight out of the gate made all the conversations that came after easier and more relaxed. Everyone put their heads to the task without tension. Well, nearly everyone.

  Isaac is still harbouring some resentment towards me, I can sense it. He’s not being overt with Nate around after “The Incident,” but I can see it in the looks I catch here and there. I’d really like to cancel my subscription to his issues, but as long as he stays out of my face with his childish pique, the less chance there is I’ll have to deck him. I can’t be arsed with any high school drama, even though we’re at a high school. There are enough teenagers here to have that covered.

  What does concern me in this little situation is the way I caught Sarah sneaking sly glances at Isaac. I told you, I’m observant and good at reading people, and I think our newest adult has developed a bit of a crush on the tech guy. He’s ten years older than her and while they’re both adults, I swear if he hurts that girl by trying to use her as some kind of emotional revenge tool that he thinks will make me jealous, I will beat the living piss out of him. She might be eighteen, but only just and technically would still be in her last year of school. The only emotion he will evoke in me, should he choose to travel that road, will be great vengeance and furious anger. The girl’s been through enough already.

  Drama aside, Dean issued the three of us with those radios and charging docks so we could power them up at home. He ran through the operation of them mainly for the benefit of me and Alicia, and now I feel like a bad ass with my earpiece and throat mic.

  So, we discussed what to do about our nutters.

  “Their home base can’t be too far away,” mused Nate. “Otherwise that Humvee wouldn’t have been in town. One vehicle of four men seems like a recon mission as they weren’t loading up with supplies or hitting any particular targets. They were just roving looking for survivors it would appear.”

  “Comms?” asked Dean.

  “There’s a radio mounted in the Humvee, but it’s encrypted and needs a code punching in to operate, so it’s useless. As soon as I press the key to take it out of standby mode, the screen lights up waiting for a code. These people are smarter than the Bancrofts and have better equipment.”

  “We could dust it,” offered Graham, the middle-aged science teacher. All eyes turned to him and he blushed.

  I have a lot of time for this guy. From the stories told, all the staff just cleared out over the course of the day when they realised how bad the world was getting. Graham Smith, head of science, stood his ground and was the last teacher on site because he refused to leave the last dozen kids alone with no adult presence for guidance.

  Heroism doesn’t always require body armour, guns, and the willingness to run headlong at danger. Sometimes being a hero is just ordinary people doing the right thing, no matter their own fear.

  “Dust it?” asked Nate.

  Graham nodded. “Is it a dark keypad, or light?” Dark, says Nate. “In which case, we can take some corn starch from the home economics room, and we’ll need a very light and soft brush, maybe the kind ladies use to apply rouge.”

  Rouge. Love this guy. So old school.

  “I’ve got one,” offered JJ.

  “Well, excellent. Have you touched the number pad at all?” he asked Nate.

  “No. Once I pressed the standby to light the screen up and saw it asked for a code, I just swore a bit and put it back in the dock.”

  Graham laughed nervously. “In which case, we can dust it with the corn starch and rouge brush, and it will cling to the residual skin oils on the keypad, as long as they didn’t wipe it by rote. It won’t tell us the code, but it will likely show the numbers used most often. That has to be a better starting point than nothing, eh?”

  Every single one of us stared at the science teacher for a moment, then laughed.

  “Graham, that is bloody genius,” I said. “Yay for science.”

  The man pushed his glasses up his nose, despite them not needing correcting, and laughed nervously yet again. I think for a moment he thought we were all scoffing at his idea, and his relief at having made a genuine contribution was huge. After that, he hardly had a smile off his lips. Being a valuable member of the team will do that for you. I think he might have been feeling like something of a spare part surrounded by people with weapons training and active combat experience, but never forget about those clever geeks. They’ll think of shit you just won’t.

  We got on with that straight away and let Graham do his thing, as a few of us leaned in the Humvee while he worked. After he carefully brushed the corn starch off until only the thinnest of amounts were remaining, there in all their glory, were five numbers that had clearly been used more than the others. And by more, I mean the only ones that had been used.

  0, 1, 2, 3, and 6.

  As soon as I looked at it, I could hardly believe my eyes.

  “Nate, how many digits are in the code?” I asked.

  “It asks for six, why?”

  I laughed aloud, shaking my head in disbelief as I slid into the Humvee and punched in six digits.

  And the radio came alive.

  “How the hell could you figure that out first go?” exclaimed Nate, looking at me like I was some kind of prodigy. Graham, Dean, and the few others who had come to watch all gave me the same look.

  “Children of the Resurrection,” I shrugged. “They’re all about this Dark Resurrection, so what’s most important to such a bunch of nutters?”

  Dean was the first to catch on, chuckling as he shook his head.

  “The day of their resurrection.”

  I grinned back at him. “They’re zealous nutters, not hardcore paramilitary, so they’ve used the bloody date of the world shitting the bed as their code because of its significance to them. 2-3-0-6-1-0. 23rd day, of the sixth month, 2010. Stone cold bell ends.”

  “Arrogance,” corrected Nate. “They probably didn’t consider they’d actually get cracked by anyone, or at least anyone who was a threat, but the dogma they spouted at Dean that they’re all so proud of also seems to be their weakness.” He gave a satisfied smile in my direction and winked. “Now we can listen to their comms, so that’ll be the first job before planning anything else. Learn as much as we can and maybe, just maybe, get a bead on where this place they call Ascension is. Maybe get eyes on it.”

  Dean nodded. “And see if there’s any truth to Tucker’s claim about their numbers.”

  “Aye.”

  Erin Turing, that’s me
; code cracker extraordinaire.

  No communications were coming through, which suggests that here at the school, we might be out of range. In a way, that makes me happy, as it suggests they’re a decent distance from us. However, it means we might have to drive around some to set markers. Nate is convinced they wouldn’t go too far beyond radio range, but we don’t know what range they have. They could be using repeaters somewhere to bounce the signal and extend their range. This will take some time, and will involve a chunky amount of diesel, as Humvees with their beastly six-litre engines aren’t exactly economy vehicles. These beasts drink more than university students in happy hour who’ve just had their student grant drop into their account.

  Also, which miserable fucker decided to limit happy to an hour? That’s just such a “glass half empty” mentality.

  Because of the fuel consumption, we’ll need to top up some jerry cans to keep with us. We could drag all the radio equipment out of it and remount it, but honestly, if we do accidentally bump into more of these crazies, we’d rather do so in an armoured vehicle.

  I think the next few days are going to be super boring, Freya. Lots of driving about on back roads to range out and see if we can pick up any comms. They could literally be anywhere in the county, and we’re pretty much smack bang in the centre, so it’s basically shut our eyes and point on the map. Trial and error of panning through dirt until we find gold.

  It might involve staying overnight in a cleared building or three as well, as we don’t really want to burn fuel coming back each time. This could take a while, but until we get a solid lead, there’s little else for us to do. We don’t want these fruit loops stumbling upon us, so tomorrow, Nate, Alicia and myself are going to stock up the Humvee with food like MRE’s, sleeping bags we took from the surplus store, small propane stoves to cook canned shit on, and extra ammo. After getting used to the food Norah masterfully prepares, I’m not looking forward to those little silver packets as they look about as appetising as a tramp’s toenail fungus.

  Also, this will be a chance to see more of the area around us. We’ve stayed very localised because it’s sensible, but I’m intrigued – and nervous – to see what kind of state the rest of our fair county is like further out. There are areas more rural than where we are, so I’m genuinely hoping we might stumble across some other survivor communities. That would be amazing. Even better if they don’t shoot at us.

  We’re going on a looney hunt, so it might be a while before I write again. I’m not taking this laptop with me as it would be too distracting. It’s game face time.

  Apocalypse road trip!

  Shhh, be vewy vewy quiet. We’re hunting cwazies.

  NOVEMBER 17th, 2010

  NO LUCK

  We’ve come back to the lodge after three days out and about, and still haven’t heard anything on the comms as yet from the looney asylum. We’ve circled out north and west so far, towards the county’s largest population centres of Warrington, Runcorn, and Chester, all on back roads.

  The closer you get to either, the more difficult the roads become. Rush hour traffic going in and out totally boned all the entry roads it seems, even on some smaller roads we took. People obviously had the idea of trying alternate routes when they saw a traffic jam, and all they succeeded in doing was fucking up those roads as well.

  If these lunatics were so prepared and sensible about it, they have to be east or south after what we saw these past few days. It just doesn’t make any sense that they’d set up their end of the world community close to the largest populations. They have to be out in the more rural areas, but we needed to rule this area out at least.

  We stayed out for three days and two nights, returning to the lodge tonight for some rest in warmth and comfort. Nights are getting cold now and sleeping in the Humvee – even in arctic quality sleeping bags – is not comfortable. We tried one night in an isolated house we cleared as well. Man, am I glad we have power and heating. I fear for those who might have made it this far with winter creeping ever closer. I’ve a feeling that December and January are going to be so cold that it might freeze the piss in your bladder if you’re stuck out there somewhere.

  We’re having one night here to rest and resupply, then we’ll go and check in at the school tomorrow on our way out and make sure everything’s peachy.

  We did see signs of other survivors, usually marked by piles of garbage and human waste dumped outside houses that suggested people had been hanging on. When we checked those abodes however, we found them empty, or inhabited by the undead versions of those survivors. It scares me how many people have died so far, even out here in the sticks. Once more, I’m truly thankful I wasn’t stuck in a big city when everything collapsed. If it’s this bad so far away from the cities, imagine what it’s like in them. The thought of the undead numbers in the likes of Chester, Warrington, Liverpool, and Manchester makes my butthole snap tighter than a bull’s when the flies are out. All of these places are only between twenty and thirty miles from us, and if I think too long about the undead infestation somehow being drawn to us here en masse… well, I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again, quite frankly.

  Don’t be bound by those things you can’t change, eh Norah?

  Brief rest, sleep in comfort for tonight, then tomorrow we resupply from here, pop over to Crenshaw to check on the family, then we’re back out.

  I don’t know why, but I’ve got this really ominous feeling. When we do eventually find them – and we will, of that I’m sure – I have this knot in my guts that we won’t like what we find.

  I’m going to luxuriate in a warm, soft bed. I’m absolutely shattered and just need a good night’s sleep, I think.

  Nighty night.

  NOVEMBER 20th, 2010

  CONTACT

  We haven’t found the Resurrectionist home base, but we did find evidence of their idea of humanity’s restoration and a solid lead.

  “Join us or die,” seems to be their method of recruitment.

  We pushed east to south-east, heading over towards Holmes Chapel, Macclesfield, and Congleton. Out east you’ll get the big money areas of Alderley Edge, Wilmslow, and Prestbury, often dubbed the Golden Triangle of Cheshire. There are – or were - billions in that area and property values were in the clouds. Not that those mansions and wealth are doing them any good now.

  Zombie apocalypse; the universe’s method of dealing with the one percent. Bet capitalism never saw this shit coming, huh?

  There are vast rural areas in east Cheshire, as you head towards the Peak District National Park. We know it’s a long shot trying to find this group, because this is a big county with loads of little villages and towns clustered all over the place, separated by vast stretches of greenery. The three of us chugging along in a Humvee hoping to hear the radio crackle to life was always going to be a Hail Mary, but with no other point of reference to start from, it’s all we could do.

  It’s doubtful we’ll have to go too far because it wouldn’t make sense for one Humvee to range massively beyond their radio range on a scouting patrol. Why come to one of our two towns when there are others dotted around the place they could go to? It suggests that we’re within a reasonable distance from wherever they’re situated.

  Yesterday though, we found the signs we were hoping for.

  Actually, that’s completely fucked up. We found signs we were looking for, but shit, we certainly weren’t hoping for this.

  We’d done a trundle north-east, then curved south when we had no luck, and we stumbled across a beautiful, spacious little village. I forgot to look at the sign so I can’t remember its name, but this was a place you needed fat loot in your bank account to live. Small clusters of drop-dead gorgeous houses, big open spaces, and further along in the village was a picturesque parish church that looked like it had been constructed in the dark ages. It could probably only handle maybe forty people max, but the area around it was breathtaking.

  Being an urban girl, I really should have paid more at
tention to the glorious countryside round here before the world died. There’s so much to see, and it’s a pity now I’m only seeing it when its dead.

  Anyway, just before this church (I think it was called Saint Peter’s) there was a small road opposite the ancient building that drew our attention, because we spied the vestiges of black smoke in the distance. It wasn’t thick, but it was a blue-sky day, and the thinning plumes were spotted by Alicia, who was looking left while I was trying to peer past Nate on the right and look at the quaint little church.

  Once she pointed it out, Nate drew back and we swung down that road which was about a hundred yards, ending at a big gate. Well, what used to be a big gate. The metal grating looked like it was smashed open with force, as it was twisted and hanging from its brackets.

  We arrived at a massacre. The smoke that caught Alicia’s eye was the last vestiges of a vehicle fire that had exploded either by design or accident when the bullets were flying.

  It was a gated community of five stunning detached houses, each of them at least five or six bedrooms, huge space between each, all with big driveways and triple garages. The kind of house that someone like me only finds on the internet or sees on TV. Beautiful.

  Or used to be, anyway. This little community must have been surviving okay. Out back everyone had vegetable gardens, greenhouses growing plants, and they must have been sharing resources between them. We found evidence that a couple of them owned firearms as well, probably for hunting or shooting clubs. In the living room of a couple of houses, behind shattered windows, we found shotgun cartridges in one, and in the other some .22 casings. Next to those discharged ammo casings, we found dead people. Not undead, but properly dead. All had multiple bullet wounds, so it looks like they were killed in a gunfight, then put down for a second time with a head shot.