Lockey vs. the Apocalypse | Book 1 | No More Heroes [Adrian's Undead Diary Novel] Meadows, Carl (book recommendations for teens TXT) 📖

panic. Keeping his speed sedate so he wasn’t blindsided by any moron losing control of their vehicle, he eventually pulled off the quiet road. Following the long lane that ran through large iron gates into the private school’s grounds, he sensed immediately something was wrong as he passed between them.

There were people milling in front of the admissions building, and from his distance, they appeared to be drunk. It was only as he edged closer—and the twenty or so people turned as one towards his approaching vehicle—that he realised they weren’t people. Not anymore.

Pulling his vehicle to a halt, Dean slid from the SUV and switched round to the rear of the vehicle. Pulling out the G36 rifle, he clicked in a magazine and put a spare magazine in the pocket on his vest. He chambered a round and thumbed the fire selector to semi. Taking two spares for the Glock already at his hip, he sucked in a calming breath as he plugged his ears for protection. All his years of training came flooding back as he advanced in a steady combat walk towards the small cluster of walking dead, as the glass-eyed monsters shuffled with unsteady purpose in his direction.

Dean had fired plenty of live rounds before, but always in a training situation. Even though these… things… were no longer alive, they were still the illusion of living people, clothed in familiar garb like suits, shirts, jeans, jackets, and skirts. Only their empty eyes and soulless forms betrayed their new monstrous state. It took him a moment before he finally managed to convince himself to squeeze the trigger as the nearest of the undead closed the gap.

Whatever force it was animating the dead, a high velocity bullet tearing through the corpse’s brain exorcised the demon, and the middle-aged man in a tailored suit crumpled as his skull cracked. Once the first was toppled, each trigger pull was that little bit easier as the silent mass advanced towards him, making no sound as they silently flexed their jaws, chewing on empty air in anticipation of grinding flesh between their teeth. A shiver ran through him at the eerie sight.

One by one, Dean put each of them down, remaining in a fixed position and letting the monsters advance towards him as he aimed through the rifle’s reflex sight. He squeezed off a round when the small dot hovered in front of their skull. At such a short range, with the aid of the optics and time to line up each shot, he wasted no rounds, each one putting another soul to rest as their forms collapsed, lifeless vessels once more.

He released a shaking breath as the area went silent, withdrawing the small ear protectors as he glanced around for any more potential threats.

“Is it safe?”

The man’s voice caught his attention, and Dean glanced at an upper floor window of the admissions building. A man in his early fifties was waving frantically, a look of profound gratitude and relief on his bespectacled face.

“Is this all of them?”

The man nodded. “I’m Graham Smith, one of the science teachers here,” he announced. “I’ve got the last twelve students here with me that were awaiting collection, but something went wrong.”

“I’d rather not have this conversation as a shouted one. If it’s definitely only these ones keeping you locked up, come on out here where we can speak freely and see if anything’s coming.”

Waiting for a few moments, Dean swallowed in dry anxiety as the teacher led the twelve students, between the ages of twelve and seventeen, out of the front door. His anxiety only increased as each one appeared until only two remained unseen, but as the penultimate student moved into sight, he sagged in visible relief.

A pretty girl with auburn hair, Sarah was as skinny as a rake, a fact that forever had Maria telling the girl she, “needed to eat a few more pies as she looked ill.” Her mother had been naturally slim, and Sarah was the image of the late Andrea.

When she saw him, her freckled face lit up into a radiant beam.

“Uncle Dean!” she cried, elbowing awkwardly through her fellow students and hurtling towards him at pace. He grinned, slinging the rifle across his back as he opened his arms for the teenager to launch into.

She hit him with the pace of a runaway train and he laughed as he swung her round, a second wave of relief rolling through him at finding her unharmed. At that thought, he peeled her from him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, suddenly urgent. “You’re not hurt, or bitten?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “We all are, except for Thomas.”

“What’s wrong with Thomas?” he asked, his relief replaced by a stab of dread.

“His dad turned up carrying an injury, as did a couple of other parents,” she explained in the beautiful, clear diction he so loved about her. “They got sick so fast, and some tried to help, and then… well… then everything got crazy.”

“What happened?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“They died, Uncle Dean,” she said, her voice suddenly smaller. “They were dead and then they… weren’t. They started attacking everyone. It all got so crazy, so quickly. Mr. Smith, the only teacher who bothered to stay with us, got us all in the admissions building and locked the door, then got us upstairs. Some of the other parents tried to fight… them… but, well, they lost.”

“And Thomas?” asked Dean quietly, as Mr. Smith and the other students finally closed the gap.

“Bitten by his dad,” she said. “Mr. Smith tended him as best he could, but his dad bit his two little fingers clean off, Uncle Dean.” Sarah shook her head, as if she could not believe the tale she was recounting. “By his dad, Dean. What’s going on?”

“Nothing good, sweetheart,” he muttered with feeling, as he looked up to the assembled children and the one noble teacher that had stayed, when all others had abandoned them. He offered his hand to Mr.