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

“Dean Williams. I’m Sarah’s godfather and friend of her family.”

Graham took his hand and shook it. “A genuine pleasure to meet you,” he said with real honesty.

“Thank you for not abandoning them,” said Dean. The children stared in shock at the ruined corpses as they passed, eyes blasted and wild from the horrors of their afternoon.

“I think their presence kept me sane, in truth,” laughed the teacher nervously. “Gave me purpose.”

“Still, you stayed when all else ran. That deserves to be noted.”

The middle-aged teacher flushed with bashful pleasure at the police officer’s praise and was about to say something else before Dean moved past him.

“Thomas, is it?”

The boy was one of the youngest of the children, probably only twelve. His skin was grey, a glisten of fever-sweat shining on his features as he nodded. His left hand was wrapped, the right hand holding it up in support. A blot of crimson stained the crisp white bandage his teacher had applied.

“You don’t look well, Thomas,” said Dean softly. “Why don’t you come round here and sit in the passenger side of my car, take the weight off your tired legs, eh?”

The boy nodded dumbly, allowing himself to be steered to the left-hand side of the vehicle, as Dean opened up the door and lifted the boy into the seat.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he assured. “Let me just have a little chat with your teacher, okay?” Again, a nervous, pain-filled nod of response, and Dean closed the door.

He beckoned the teacher and the other surviving students to him.

“Anyone else bitten?” he asked. Everyone shook their head and he did a quick scan of their faces for tell tale signs of sickness. Satisfied, he nodded. “Okay, here’s the new reality, and I’m afraid I can’t shield you from it.” He sucked in a quick breath. “Thomas is going to die in the next few minutes and become one of those things.”

The silence was so profound, Dean could hear the slight breeze rustling the leaves of a nearby tree.

“I want you all to go back into the admissions building and wait for me,” he said, keeping his tone soft, but his words and instructions clear. “I’ll have to take care of him.”

“Uncle Dean?”

Sarah’s eyes were wide, shining with the well of tears.

“It’ll be okay, sweetheart. I’m here now, and I won’t let anything happen to any of you, okay? But I’ve got to take care of this, and I don’t want any of you to see it. Not yet.” He sighed, his heart filling with sorrow. “You’re all going to have to get used to things kids your age should never have to over the coming days and weeks. For now, though… well… just not now, okay?” He waved them on, trying to reassure them with his gentle tone and attempt at a faint smile. “Go on, all of you.”

He glanced to Graham for support.

“Run along, children,” urged the teacher, ushering them towards the building. “I’ll follow you once I’ve spoken to the officer.”

Sarah lingered for a moment.

“It’s okay,” assured Dean. “Go on, I’ll be along in a minute.”

The teenager said nothing, instead just crashing into him for a three second hug of support, before peeling away to join her fellow students.

Dean watched them all the way until they were safely through the admissions door. When it closed, he turned back towards his vehicle to find Thomas’ eyes closed.

“What are you going to do?” asked Graham.

Dean’s expression, already haunted by the anticipation of what came next, answered the teacher’s query.

“Are you sure about this? He’s just a boy. What you’re talking about is, well…” He left the sentence hanging. “Can you do this?” he asked.

“A bite from one of the dead is a death sentence,” replied Dean in a flat tone, repeating the words of John Walsh. Lord above, he just wanted to sleep, and this? This was too much but had to be done. “Without exception, Graham. Stay; see for yourself.”

With a heavy sigh, he moved around to the passenger door and waited, rubbing at tired eyes with one hand, even as the other slowly drew the pistol at his hip.

11th Entry

OUR INTREPID ADVENTURERS

I think it’s fair to say that when we first explained how the world had come to an end, they thought we were the ones taking magic mushrooms, and not them while they drum round a campfire. Before we get into it, allow me fair reader, to introduce you to our spectacular bunch of idiots.

First of all, we have the owners of the Lodge; the “Gaia Lodge” it’s called.

Of course it is.

Anyway, the owners are the pretty yoga instructor in her forties, Grace, and her husband, Theodore, aka the Toothy Testicle. This pair are fucking off their sweet spiritual tits, fully invested in chakra, and detox, and inner self, and spirit totems, and crystal therapy, and any other holistic bullshit that has no founding in any form of science. Turns out, they’re also savvy as fuck in many ways; every one of these eight raging dickheads paid eight fucking grand each to attend this retreat for a month. Eight thousand English pounds.

Each!

As there are eight of them here on the retreat, do the maths.

Sixty-four thousand quid, for a month of sitting round, doing largely nothing.

Pair of fucking geniuses.

That being said, that just makes the other eight more fucking stupid than I originally thought.

Anyway, this is where shit gets really weird. So, when people come to the retreat, they “cast off the cloak the world forces them to wear in society, and at the Gaia Lodge, emerge as their true self, allowing it to bloom in the sunlight of introspection and self-care.”

Bullshit aside, what this means is that while they’re at the retreat, they choose their “true” name and that’s how they’re known for their stay.

Yeah. Uh huh. So, when these fuckers all start introducing themselves, they use their “true” names. Or as I like to think of them, the LARP characters they’re