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

he moves every morning, and a twenty-something kid who only just learned to shoot. You think those are good odds against forty?”

“Forty was the number Johnny gave as a total.” I wasn’t going to be deterred by something as obvious and logical as facts or common sense. “They won’t all be hostiles. We might even have allies if we kick shit off.”

“Kick shit…?” Nate’s sentence trailed off, staring at me to figure out if I was being serious, then a deep frown cutting the lines of his forehead as he realised that yes, I was. “What you’re talking about is insanity. They have us outnumbered a minimum of ten, maybe fifteen-to-one if that forty is a total headcount, but far more importantly, they have us outgunned. You said this Bancroft guy was into small times arms deals, local criminals, gangs and the like?” I nodded. “Which means every one of those hostiles could be armed.”

“They’re thugs, Nate,” I argued. “They’re not trained shooters. Just thugs.”

“Thugs, with guns, and ten-to-one odds,” he said slowly. “This isn’t a Jason Bourne movie, Erin.”

“I bet those fuckers are only used to sticking those guns in people’s faces or executing close up. I bet if you put them to the test, turned them around every which way, they’d be about as effective with those weapons as Imperial Stormtroopers.” He gave me his ‘you’re doing it again’ look when I make a pop culture reference. “Star Wars, you fucking luddite! Jesus, everyone knows Star Wars. It’s been around since 1977 for fuck’s sake.”

“In ’77, I was in basic training to be a Royal Marine,” he said. “Didn’t have time to catch the latest movies.”

I put that one in my pocket. First little slip he’s made about his past. Mind you, all I really took from that statement was “oh my god, you were a grown man when Star Wars came out, you creaky old pensioner.”

I tried a different tactic. “Nate, you were a soldier,” I said, forcing myself to calm.

“Marine,” he corrected me.

“Eh?”

“I wasn’t a soldier. I was a marine.”

I pulled ‘a face’. Pedantic old sod.

“Whatever. A marine. Either way, you signed up to be a protector, right? Not because you wanted to shoot people. Getting your hands dirty so others didn’t have to, protecting the freedom and liberties our ancestors fought so hard to protect? I bet your old man fought against the Nazis, right?”

Nate nodded, his gaze intense. “He did.”

“And I bet it was those stories, that camaraderie, that fighting the good fight and so forth… that was what put you in the service, wasn’t it? Your granddad probably fought in the Great War, your dad fought the second time around, and you felt you had to honour them by following in their footsteps, right?”

Nate’s face betrayed genuine surprise. Lockey shoots, she scores. Told you I could read people.

“So, let me ask you this, Nate.” I looked him dead in the eye. “What would your grandpappy and your pops think of you leaving innocent women to be tormented by a despot tyrant? What would they think if they knew you had the power to act, but still did nothing, because it wasn’t ‘your problem?’”

That one stung, his own words returning to haunt him.

How to Shame a Soldier’s Honour, by Erin Locke. In all good bookshops from Thursday.

Also, probably the title of a porno somewhere.

I decided to press my advantage. “Nate, this world is dying or dead, and the people that are left should be working together to build something new, to fight against the dead. These people need a hero, but there aren’t any heroes left.” I punched him playfully on his thick arm. “So, I guess it’s up to us.”

“Say for a moment I entertained this,” he said eventually.

It was hard not to do a victory twerk in his face. I knew he was in, but I thought the twerking might undo all my intelligent argument and salient points, so I just did an imperceptible shimmy in my chair.

“If we do this, we have to do it smart, and we have to do it right.” He gave me a stern look that said his next statement was entirely for my benefit alone. “Which means not going half-cocked like some dumb comic-book hero.”

“Comics aren’t dumb,” I said. “The characters and themes contained throughout history since their inception have often been symbols of the radical and divisive social change of the time. The X-Men as mutants endured bigotry, their creation inspired by the civil rights movement. Black Panther and the She-Hulk reflected the difficulties endured by ethnic minorities and women. Comics are just as important to history as any other literature.”

Nate stopped, staring at me like I had been possessed by some kind of demon and it was another voice emanating from my body.

“Though, in your defence, some were hit and miss,” I mused aloud. “Hellcow, for example, was a vampire cow. Bessie was bitten by Dracula himself and once teamed up with Deadpool. A vampire cow? That’s pretty dumb, to be fair.”

I think Nate relaxed then, as he realised I hadn’t gone anywhere.

“You’re proving my point, Erin,” he said, knowing that every time he used my first name it scratched at my nerves. He had a way of saying it that made him sound like a dad. A proper dad, though, not the asshole wife-and-daughter beating druggie I had. “You need to focus and do this my way, or we’ll both end up dead, and then your precious hero complex will be no good to anyone.”

Son of a bitch. Seems Nate is pretty good at reading people as well.

I nodded. “Okay then, what’s the plan?”

Nate snorted. “Erin, we’ve only just got back from this whole mess getting started. Let me eat, sleep, shit, shower, and think. Rushing anything is the best way to get everyone killed.”

Stupid logic and sensible approach.

“Well, as long as we’re going to do something, I’m okay.”

 “You know, Erin, you really are insane,” sighed Nate.

“I prefer ‘happy with a twist’, to