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

shamanic tongues as she goes to attend her very dead child who—yep, you guessed it—summarily reanimates and bites a mouthful from the fleshy front of her throat. Shit, sometimes these zeds reanimate really fucking fast; there was probably a total of twenty seconds max, from dead teenager to flesh-rending undead. I saw the arterial eruption even from my elevated and distant position. Gross.

Some more rapid twitching followed from other mangled kids, which was then followed by more Dawn of the Dead, and well… you can guess what happened from there.

Multiply zombies to the power of “oh shit.”

Those kids who had gone to help friends—or were holding their phones up and recording the horror on their grainy little cameras like assholes—suddenly fled the scene like they were escaping from a fart-clouded elevator, but not before a metric fuck ton had pieces chewed from them. Some of the bites were insta-kills like poor Mrs Thomson-Smythe, some were slow bleeders that would kill them in minutes, and others ran off home nursing apparently superficial bites to arms and legs. I’ve seen enough zombie movies to know what that means though. They’ll just die at home later and eat their parents and siblings.

It’s in the movies and it seems to be the case in this messed up reality. Getting bitten equals doomed. It might not be right away, but once those zombie teeth leave their mark, the doomsday clock starts ticking on you ending up a brain-chomping cock-rot.

So, that means now I have a car park full of mangled, blood covered high school kids and parents, a big SUV blocking the vehicular exit of the school—so even if I get in one of the vehicles in the car park to make my daring escape I can’t get the bastard out of the gates—and a whole heap of “what the fuck” to sort through.

Having raided the stores for this shitty little school notebook and a box of pens, I’m writing all this bullshit out to try and order my thoughts. I’m a social person who doesn’t know when to shut up, and with nobody else to talk to, it helps that I’m talking to you, unknown future reader who will find this after my death.

Shit. I need to give you a better name. I’ll think on that.

Honestly, I have no fucking clue what to do next. I’m trapped in a high school, surrounded by a legion of little bastards that want to bite chunks out of me, with no clear method of escape or plan for what comes after.

I mean, I could just run over the back field behind the school and leave all this shit behind me, but the field backs on to houses. It’s a residential area and I don’t really fancy the idea of jumping over a fence and coming face to face with a zombie doberman.

Fuck, is that even a thing? Does the zombie virus—or plague, or possession, or whatever it is—pass to animals? Being chased by a pack of zobermans is not on my “things Lockey would like to experience” list. See, just the thought of it is making me talk myself out of that plan. I love dogs. I really do. They’re awesome. But I’ve never been a huge fan of massive dangerous-looking dogs that could tear all my lady-parts out in a single snap.

I like terriers, collies, mongrels and pugs, but if I see an undead doberman or rottweiler coming to chew through my most precious of orifices, I’ll probably just die on the spot out of sheer fucking terror. I love dogs. I really love dogs. But killer zombie dogs?

Nope.

So, if heading into the heart of a zombie council estate to be eaten by zombie smackheads or undead canines is off my list of things to do (and it is) I’ve got to figure out a way to get my ass from this school. I’ve got to get out of this building, through the car park, out the gates and prance off into the sunset. Though… I’ve got no idea where to go.

This planning shit is hard.

2nd Entry

WOMAN WITH A SORT OF PLAN

Well, not only is sleeping in a school classroom overnight uncomfortable, it is fucking pant-shittingly terrifying. Honestly, I thought I’d been dropped into Silent Hill last night. When it gets dark, and there’s no power… holy shit, it gets fucking dark. And let me tell you, my dear stranger, the night carries with it a capacity for pant-smearing terror that the day cannot hope to match.

There’s a pile of desks and chairs I’ve pushed against the classroom door I am now lovingly referring to as the Great Wall of Lockey. It’ll take me ten minutes to pull all that shit clear to leave and I’m planning to do that shortly, because… remember how good I said my planning skills were? Well, what does a human being have to do to survive?

Yup. Eat and drink.

Sigh. I’ve got no food and no water. I’ve seen a hundred zombie movies and clearly learned nothing. You know how you laugh with your geek mates about what you’d do if the zombocalypse descended like a great celestial turd to curl upon the world? How you think you’ll be a fucking champ and know exactly what to do?

Bullshit.

Unless you’re a proper survivalist who truly is preparing—even hoping—for the end of civilisation (and anybody who says they want an apocalypse is a total turd of a person), when it comes, all us normal folk do is squeal “arrgh, shit, zombie, run!” And we all run like the little bitches we really are with no plan, no good sense, and not one fucking clue. How the fuck is the world supposed to survive a zombie apocalypse when most people run away from spiders and can be defeated by peanut allergies? We’re just not that strong these days.

So, here I am. Hungry. Thirsty. And of all things, I’m absolutely bursting for a shit. Yeah, that’s never in the movies is it? Everyone just