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

As night fell, we ate. Grace had been keeping herself busy to try and not think, and it turns out she put a pretty good spread on. Okay, there was no meat, because of course there’d be no fucking meat in Yogaville, but still it was pretty damn cool to eat a load of freshly made food, instead of warm or cold canned goods. Grace and Theo had herb and vegetable gardens of considerable size out the back of the lodge, so there was literal fresh food to eat and it was bloody lovely. The only way it could have been better was with a fat steak dripping in grease on the side, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers. Suffice to say, eating a freshly made meal with actual fresh food was yummy.

The lodge is pretty big. The main house is largely communal, with bedrooms and bathrooms on the first floor and a wide open space on the ground floor that is largely a sitting area, and a combined kitchen and dining area with big glass sliding doors on one side that can be fully opened to the outside when the weather’s nice. It’s pretty lovely actually.

Grace and Theo have their own separate abode attached to the lodge, like an extra bungalow that comes out of the lodge making it an L-shape. It’s probably a good two or three-bedroom size and just for those two when there are no guests staying at the lodge.

Hope and Jericho were in a double room, though I can see that changing in the near future. Faith and Skye had a double as well, as did Ariel and Pax. There were still some spare rooms left—it has about six doubles and six singles I think in total—so Nate took one and I was going to take another single, but Freya asked if I’d sleep in a twin with her, at least for the first night. Seeing as how Top Knot’s eyes kept flicking at her, all wild and darting, I readily agreed and loudly announced—so Potato Head could hear—that I’d bring my shotgun for a threesome.

So, girly night for me and Freya.

There was a wee bit of tension as we were eating our communal meal. Most people were nibbling at their food, their stomachs still a bit tender from their mass vomiting, but Nate and I savaged it. We’d been eating purely for sustenance for the better part of a month, so naturally when there was real food on the table, we smashed the shit out of it. I was like Cookie Monster with a rabid case of the munchies; spectacularly unladylike as I battered everything, making cooing noises of pleasure as I tried each new tasty morsel.

Ariel and I are not destined to be friends, that much is obvious. She burns sage, rubs crystals on herself and does yoga while dressed like something from Woodstock, and I do parkour and slay zombies in a tracksuit and trainers. She eats like a little bird, all dainty like, while I attack the table like a Viking feast, all fingers and slobber. If I had a flagon of mead, I’d be banging that shit against other flagons and spilling it everywhere in a raucous manner.

I’d much rather be me.

Anyway, there I am, having a great time, when out of nowhere, the Little Mermaid pipes up.

“Do you have to be so uncouth?”

Bear in mind, Ariel and Pax are from la-de-da families, born with a silver spoon rammed up their arse, so you can imagine how shudderingly posh her accent is. Superior, haughty, up her own arse so far she’s bent into a loop.

Now, I get this a lot. My accent is a little “common.” I wear tracksuits for comfort and my sport. I never wore makeup even before the apocalypse. Basically, people will like me, or they won’t, and I honestly don’t give a shit either way. I’m not going to bend to anyone’s expectations, and I’ll live my life however the hell I want.

So, when I get this, I don’t go aggressive. I go sarcastic. Because it’s a little like punching people with words and the body’s natural defence against stupidity.

“I’m busy eating right now,” I said amiably, purposefully talking with my mouth full to piss her off. “Could I ignore you some other time?”

The whole room went tense. Well, except for me and Nate, who carried on eating without a care in the world. Particles had a quick glance at Ariel, then to me, then to Ariel. He gave the woman a distinctly withering look.

Love that dog.

The Little Mermaid was a bit aghast. She’s obviously not used to her opinion being of zero worth in her little special circle of trust fund babies and it took her a moment to gather herself.

“How rude!” she declared.

Seriously? Is this girl for real? There I am, minding my own business as I feast for the first time in a month, when this snotty bitch pipes in that I’m uncouth and rude? This is usually the way with assholes like the Little Mermaid; they just expect the world to dance to their shitty tune and get all offended when the world flips them a middle finger in response.

She wasn’t done with her indignation as she turned to her beloved buffalo.

“Barclay, are you going to let her…”

I nearly snorted tomato out my nose. “Barclay? Is that your real name? Seriously?” I laughed again. “No wonder you disguised it as Pax. What’s your name then, Little Mermaid? Cecelia? Camilla? Eugenia? I bet it’s Ophelia or some shit, isn’t it?” I hardened my tone just a little while she was reeling. “Now listen, you uppity little fuck, you started this so don’t turn to your moisturises-his-scrotum-three-times-a-day boyfriend when I bite back. You’re the one judging and making comments, so if you’re not going to fight your own battle, I suggest you bite down on that silver spoon in your flappy