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

by Meadows, Carl

  “Maria? You’re thinking of training a nurse to use a weapon intended to kill?”

  Nate shrugged. “I’d say a medical professional could be more effective than most. Who better to know just where to put that bullet?”

  “Hmm. Fair point,” I conceded. “But I know Maria, and she doesn’t like violence at all. She’s a healer and a carer. I can’t see her toting a handgun.”

  Nate conceded and let the matter lie. “Norah won’t be going out into the field, but she already knows how to use a shotgun if things get weird here.” Pfft. Of course Norah knows how to use a shotgun. She’s probably got a secret pair of nunchuks under her bed as well to go with her Kung Fu black belt. “Laura’s nowhere near ready for a weapon. We’ll leave her in Freya’s care for now.”

  “That leaves Isaac.”

  Nate raised an eyebrow, replying in a dry tone.

  “Because he performed so well under pressure the first time he was in the field?”

  “Well, admittedly it wasn’t his finest moment getting a trolley jammed in our only exit, then nearly getting eaten by the world’s slowest shambling zombie, that he should have seen on at least four of his trips to the truck.” I stopped and pursed my lips. “Yeah, maybe he’s not ready right now.”

  “They’re not like you, Erin,” he said. It was an off-hand throwaway statement, said without really thinking, and it completely caught my attention.

  “What do you mean?”

  Realising what he’d said, Nate simply sighed and shrugged, a kind of “ah well, fuck it” gesture.

  “You drive me up the wall with your fast mouth, kid,” he said, though his tone was not unkind. One might even suggest it was affectionate. “But you keep your shit together far better than I’ve seen some soldiers in the field achieve. You act, sometimes recklessly, but the only time I’ve ever seen you freeze was when we found that rodent….”

  “He’s a pug, Nate,” I said.

  “When we found that rodent in the farmhouse. When his former owner surprised you, that was the only time I’ve seen you freeze on the spot, and you’ve never done it since. You take it all in your stride, Erin, and you’ve seen things you should never have seen.”

  We both fell quiet for a moment, the memories of the apartment block trying to force their way back in. I shoved that door shut and stuck a mental chair under the handle.

  “Despite all that,” he continued, “you keep going, always trying to make others laugh, always trying to get on my nerves to make yourself laugh.” I hate how well he knows me now. “You have the mental strength to deal with all of this bullshit. Whether that’s because you’ve looked after yourself for most of your life, I don’t know, but you’ve got the mental and emotional tools to keep going.”

  I’d never heard so many words of open praise from Nate before. His approval was always a nod, or a smile, or the mere snatch of a statement. Hearing him extol all these virtues with regards to little old me was staggering, and then he dropped a piece of pure, solid gold.

  “You know, I’m actually quite proud of you.”

  Not going to lie, I actually teared up at that.

  The only people who ever said they were proud of me were Dean and Maria, on how I turned my shit around from the dumb ass girl who used to steal and joyride cars. I got my GCSE’s, and they were proud. I got my A-Levels, and they were proud.

  Then I went to university, got fucking leathered as I partied for three years, yet still managed to scrape a second in my degree, and got to wear the silly board and gown as I received my diploma. Even as I trembled at the mass of student debt accrued in those three years, they were still fucking proud. Mind you, all debts are off now, eh?

  Nate was partly right. I’d done most of it myself, but without Deano and Maria, I wouldn’t have made it half as far. By the way, my diploma was a Creative Writing degree. Ha! And who said my degree would be fucking useless? Who’s recording the end of the world now, bitches? I’m the bard of the apocalypse. Bow to me.

  All that aside, hearing Nate openly say he was proud of me, was a thorough fisting to my feels. (Three years of university for that statement. Suck it.) Those words punched me hard in the heart and teared me right up. I know I’ve said I lived for those little moments when Nate signalled his approval of my words or actions, but I didn’t realise how important his opinion of me was until he said, “I’m actually quite proud of you.”

  Shit, I got all teary again just writing it.

  Yesterday ranked pretty high on my list of FUCKING GREAT DAYS.

  Then I made myself laugh as I remembered Nate’s first sight of me was my bare arse pointing in his direction. We’ve come a long way in a short time, have me and old Papa Reaper.

  Well, I had to go and get my shit together after that, but we got back on track, and focused on our next plan of action. So today, we’re going to take the van and pickup, with just Mark and Isaac coming along. We were going to take Alicia as an extra pair of hands, but Nate advised that taking her back there might trigger her this early, so her staying back and hanging out with the girls, Charlie, and Particles, with all the actual menfolk out of the house, might give her a bit of breathing space. No doubt Freya, Norah, and Maria will be able to work their magic on her.

  We’re rolling out in half an hour, so I’m going to get my shit together.

  Man, I can’t wait for a venison steak.

  Mmmm. McBambiiiiii.

  September 10th, 2010

  GRAVEYARD HUMOUR

  Busy bees, dear reader. I’m bloody knackered. I’ve never done so much damn physical labour in my life and there seems to be something to do all the time of late. Being part of a community is pretty damn hard, especially when you’re one of its… leaders?

  The thought of me leading anything is laughable as I’m just not built that way, but what I am is woman of action. I don’t sit about on my arse letting other people do the hard work and shit needs to get done. With Nate the only real shooter around here and me an advanced amateur at best (thanks to my intense training and on-the-job experience alongside Nate) the others look to the two of us when things need sorting out beyond the gate.

  Hmm. I like that phrase for going outside. “Beyond the gate.” It has a nice poetic ring to it. Fuck it, I’m keeping it.

  Between Freya, Maria, and Norah, the homestead is well cared for, both in terms of physical location and the people within. Norah is everyone’s caring grandma, Maria is a natural caregiver, and Freya—as I have repeatedly banged on about—is just so bloody lovely she puts everyone at ease. Well, everyone except Isaac. That poor guy is seriously intimidated by her, which is hilarious, because personality wise, there’s nothing intimidating about her. Isaac’s just a typical guy with a dash of social awkwardness and painful shyness getting flustered by the presence of a beautiful woman. Seriously Isaac, she’s a bloody person. Talk to her like one.

  Mark is constantly busying himself around the place, which is great. He’s making sure everything is in working order, checking if Nate and I need to acquire anything on our trips beyond the gate (yes, this works, it’s in for definite now) and is currently helping Isaac set up the security cameras around the exterior of the lodge’s perimeter. Apparently, the cameras themselves are powered by solar cells, which is pretty funky, so they don’t need wiring, and transmit on their own wi-fi signal to a router, or hub, or something or other, in the lodge.

  Mark is installing them around the place, while Isaac does all the techie setup nerd stuff. Both clever guys.

  You know, on reflection, we got damn lucky with this bunch. The spread of skills fills so many gaps, and it burns me to say it, but Bancroft knew what he was doing with the people he held hostage. Granted, he was a spectacular arsehole in how he assembled them, but the diversity of skills and knowledge covered with this small group of people is fabulous.

  We could really do with another team to function beyond the gate though. Nate and I have a constant “wish-list” from the group, whether it’s gardening
or cooking supplies for Norah, medical supplies for Maria, engineering or techie stuff for the boys, etc.

  Weirdly, one thing we really need to sort out is clothing. With the weather turning recently, I’m acutely aware that winter is coming, and we don’t have much in the way of warm clothing for everyone. I don’t know how well this place handles the cold with all these glass doors, though Mark says the place is super-insulated. However, the lodge probably wasn’t utilised for retreats in the winter so probably didn’t have to be heated. We could conceivably freeze to death in here if the power drains out trying to heat this big place, so Mark is turning his engineer brain into a solution for that.

  One thing we do have is a plethora (still love that word) of woodland greenery around us. Cheshire is a green county with plenty of accessible firewood, so getting some wood burners in here seems like a sensible plan. Then we can save the electricity stores for things like hot showers (which I will fight to the death for) and important stuff like cooking.

  Though cutting down trees and chopping wood sounds like back-breaking work and yet another bloody job that needs doing.

  You know, I’m having a newfound respect for those who carved out a living from the land back before all this modern industry and convenience. There is a shitload of work to constantly be done, and we haven’t even got into the situation of farming yet. Survival is a consistent cycle of hard work and unity, so I tip my forelock to the men and women of the past who had to fight and scrape for every warm night and full belly.

  For the moment, we’ve got healthy supplies of canned, dried, preserved food and the like, and with Norah’s magical ability to turn shitty off-the-shelf food into a gourmet meal, we don’t feel like we’re eating badly. Honestly, it’s like the woman has some magical pouch of pixie dust that transforms boring fare into lip-smacking goodness. We’re definitely past the shitty days of Nate and I eating cold beans from a can and sleeping in the truck, and I won’t miss those days at all.

  Since Nate dropped his “proud” statement on me, the two of us have really bonded. I mean, we had already through our shared experiences and hardships, but there’s a definite change. Nate opening up a bit has relaxed him, and that trust he has in me is really starting to show.

  He’s still always teaching in everything he does with me, and I lap those lessons up like I’m dying of thirst, but now he can see I’m really listening to him, he doesn’t have to try and ram them home. It’s made our sojourns (another great word) beyond the gate more relaxed, and I’m starting to see more of those little flashes of humour from him. He’s actually got a pretty dry sense of humour, being all calm and stoic as he is, but the old dude is quite witty when he lets loose.

  To be honest, I’m glad of it. There were times I thought if I shoved a piece of coal up his ass, he’d shit a diamond the day after; that’s how bloody uptight he seemed.

  Let me give you an example of his more relaxed manner from one of our most recent forays (another great word, I’m fucking schooling you today) beyond the gate.

  Norah told us of a little garden supplies store she liked to use back before the world died, which was a tiny little unit on a small, rural business park out of the way. It was one of those shops that had an online presence but survived mostly by its loyal customer base. There were ten units on the business park, all of them shuttered from the day the world shat the bed, including a plumber’s merchant, some computer repair place (handy if Isaac needs parts so that one was noted), an electronics wholesaler, and stuff like that. This little park was out of the way from main population centres, so it was relatively quiet. There were no businesses here that any looters would really target when shit hit the proverbial fan, so it was untouched.

  We rolled up in the pickup, which has become our vehicle of choice for our sorties (they just keep on coming, don’t they?) and found the store Norah pointed us to in one corner. There were five units on each side, one road in and out of the little car park in the centre of the shop fronts, and plenty of open space, so if anyone—or anything——came wandering into our AO, we’d get to see them nice and early to react.

  Yeah, that’s right. I said “AO.” Area of operation. Check me out and my military acronyms. I went pro. I almost sound like I know what I’m on about.

  Almost.

  Once again, the halligan sold me on its diversity and worth, as we popped the locks off the shutter and rolled it up, then cracked open the front door. Honestly, these things have endless amounts of use. Halligans; the choice of apocalypse tool for all professionals.

  We quickly and efficiently cleared the building, making sure we weren’t going to get surprised by any lurking undead, and then started going through Norah’s extensive list. Pots, compost, seeds, tools, pesticides; all the stuff she needed to both extend and maintain the herb and vegetable garden at the lodge. It was really easy going, so Nate and I shot the shit for a while as I confounded him with more pop culture references that went above his head, and he told me what an annoying little dickhead I was, though his tone was noticeably affectionate when he said those things. The kind of tone you use when you’re ripping on your bestie and you call them a bell end.

  It was nice.

  It was an easy couple of hours work getting everything that Norah wanted, and we managed to cross absolutely everything off the list she gave us, which was a massive win. There was plenty of gear left in the store as well, so it was a great resource for us to come back to in the future if we needed, and it was definitely worth coming back just to check out the other units to see if there were any useful resources for the future. I’m pretty sure Mark would have some fun shopping in the hardware stores, and the computer repair place could be super useful for our resident nerd Isaac. I’m also of a mind to get a big ass TV or two, and a games console with some games. Be nice for us all to chill and have a movie night, and for me to destroy everyone at Mario Kart. They might be good group bonding sessions. Also, even though Charlie does great being the only kid in a lodge full of adults, it might be nice for him to have an Xbox or something to keep him busy when his dad’s working.

  Saying that though, Mark is awesome with that boy and lets him come along, helping him by passing tools and learning as he goes. Mark’s skills will need passing on in this new world, but honestly, he brings his kid along because he just likes hanging out with his boy. He really is a great dad, emphasising just how much of a deadbeat asshole my own was. Mark’s a shining example of fatherhood, and his boy is a total credit to him. They’re both awesome.

  Anyway, we’d just loaded the last of the gear into the pickup. Nate was pulling the shutter down to prevent any accidental undead intrusion while we were away, and I noticed movement at the car park entrance.

  There are some clusters of residential housing near the business park, and there were about ten undead shambling towards the entrance of the car park. I can only assume they heard the echoing bang of us crunching open the shutter and front door, subsequently shuffling this way from wherever they had been loitering.

  Basically, they were in our way.

  “They’re in our way,” said Nate, appearing next to me.

  “We could easily drive round them once they get closer,” I offered.

  Nate shook his head. “We’re leaving now anyway. Let’s use this opportunity for you to work on your distance shooting. Get your rifle.”

  Well, I was like a kid in a sweet shop. When we’re out, bullets are the last resort if things go to shit. We try to keep quiet if we only get a handful of undead, so we don’t draw more in. We’ll clear buildings with handguns for pure safety, but any like this in the open we’ll just brain with halligans when we have space to move.

  Nate giving me the green light for live shooting practice wasn’t an opportunity I was going to pass up. I’ve mentioned I’m good with the rifle close in, but I go a bit wonky at distance, so this was a great opportunity to fire live rounds at distant targets, and ones that were moving. It’s a much better test firing at act
ual undead, rather than stationary targets pinned to a tree. Also, the added benefit is the dead are put to their final rest. Every walker downed is a little victory for humanity in my book. I’d like to believe there is a human soul, and if there is, my hope is the shambling parody of the person they once were can finally rest when their body can no longer be used by the darkness.

  I counted the dead and there were twelve in total. Nate’s rifle had a scope, and he was the best of us to have that little accessory, so he wanted me to use the iron sights of my rifle. It would make me a better shooter, he says.

  “Soccer mom,” he said, gesturing to the distant undead.

  It took me a minute to realise what he meant. When I scanned the advancing zombies, I snorted. There, in the centre, was the quintessential “soccer mom.” She looked supremely white middle-class, had all the trappings of a woman who spent her days at home and her evenings transporting her little angels to sporting clubs, shouting at anyone who tackled her babies a little too hard on the field.

  I put Soccer Mom in my sights, slowly exhaling and squeezing the trigger as Nate had taught me at the end of the breath, not pulling the trigger. The bullet was too low, smacking her in the chest and staggering her gait, but she came on.

  “Too low,” said Nate softly. “A fraction higher, distance is still the same.”

  I adjusted, repeated the action, and Soccer Mom went down with a cracked melon.

  “Nice,” approved Nate. “Next up, Stompy Chav.”

  It was obvious which one he referred to. The one out in front of the pack seemed to have a little more purpose and speed than the others, the hood of a knock-off designer top pulled up over his head as he seemed to stomp towards us.

  You’ll remember I have a distinct distaste for the chav species from my adventures at my old high school escape. It felt like a personal victory when Stompy Chav went down first time.

  “That’s it,” said Nate with an open grin, clearly starting to enjoy himself. “Our next contender, Janet from HR.”