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

Nate stalked from a side alley, having made his way down the back of the buildings, only to emerge in a concealed position. They weren’t expecting it and man, he made them pay. His arm went up and I accelerated to his position, hammering to a stop.

I scooped up their weapons and ammo, throwing them to the back seat, before joining Nate. He had his rifle trained on the tanker driver, who had dropped to his knees and was begging for his life.

“Nate,” I said, letting him know I was approaching from behind. He was so in-the-zone I didn’t want to startle him in any way. “Nate, put it down. He’s unarmed and he doesn’t look like one of them.”

“I’m not!” agreed the driver fiercely. “I’m just an engineer! Please, they’ve got my son!”

The guy was late thirties, maybe a little older. I couldn’t really tell, and I think he looked a little older because of the thinning hair on his head. What I could tell was that he seemed to be as equally relieved as he was terrified.

I put a hand on Nate’s arm, gently pushing it down until the barrel pointed at the ground.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Mark,” he stammered. “Mark Reynolds.”

“Hi Mark, I’m Erin, but my friends call me Lockey. This is Nate.” His eyes flicked to the iron golem next to me. “You say Bancroft has your son?”

He nodded. “If I don’t keep the maintenance up around his estate, he says he’ll hurt him.” Pretty sure I heard Nate growl at that. “Electrics, plumbing, the heating, all that. He says it’s my job to keep the lights on and if they ever go off, Charlie will be the one that pays.”

“We can’t destroy the fuel, Nate,” I said.

“This is a vital resource,” he argued.

“Nate, Mark and his son will be hurt if this tanker doesn’t go back.” Mark nodded vigorously, eyes pleading.

Nate huffed, thought for a second, then stalked to Mark and thwacked him across the cheek with the butt of his rifle.

“What the fuck?” I exclaimed as poor Mark hit the deck, hand to his face and dazed.

“If he’s unmarked, he’ll be seen as a conspirator.” He turned to the floored engineer. “Sorry about that, mate,” he said. “We’ve got to run, so you make sure you tell them that we’d just started to question you when we heard their reinforcements arriving, and you’re only alive because Bancroft’s men arrived in time. He’ll be pissed that his men are dead, but you’ll still come back with the tanker of fuel and the lights will stay on.”

Mark nodded, hand still held against his split cheek, blood seeping through his fingers.

“Tell them our names,” I said, kneeling down. “Tell them you heard him call me Lockey, and I call him Nate. Describe us exactly how we look, and it will keep you alive. When we started questioning you, we were asking how many they were, where they were, but you never got a chance to answer because backup arrived, and we fled. Can you do that?”

Poor Mark still looked dazed and confused, reeling from Nate’s strike, so I shook him.

“Mark, get it together. Did you get all that?”

“Yes.” He pulled himself together a little. “Yes, I did,” he repeated with more conviction.

“One last question. How often do you do these fuel runs?”

“Roughly every two weeks.”

I nodded and gave him a reassuring smile. “Thanks Mark. Don’t tell them we know that, and you stay safe.”

“Erin, we’ve got to go, I can hear vehicles coming.”

I lifted an arm to acknowledge his statement, then flinched as Nate cracked off two quick shots. Spinning, I saw two crumpled undead that had wandered into our area, drawn by the noise. He glanced over his shoulder.

“Can’t very well let our new friend get eaten now, can we?”

So, six of their remaining twenty-eight hostiles down, and a plethora (that is such a good word) of new weapons and ammo. We’re actually getting pretty fat on 5.56 for these rifles—as we acquired two more weapons from the last two sentries—and 9mm for the handguns, as each of the six carried. We’re in a much better position for a firefight if it comes to it. Now, Freya and I just need proper training and firing time with them. Well, Freya is happy to learn handgun for defence, but she’s shied away from the rifle for the moment.

Not me though. Nuh uh. I’ve seen what those bad boys can do, and they are a great fucking equaliser. If they’re only sending two of their six fuel sentries with SA80’s, that means their stocks are very limited on them, so us nabbing three from them will send Bancroft into a spin. After all, supply chains are a bit behind given the slight problem of an apocalypse.

So, if I can get operational with an assault rifle, that makes me far more useful.

All in all, yesterday was a good day for us.

We declared war and won the first battle.

I just hope Mark and Charlie are okay.

August 13th, 2010

THREE ACES

I haven’t written for a while, about a week judging by the last date. You know why? Because I don’t write unless there’s something interesting to tell you. We’re not playing Zombie Sims here, you don’t want to know about every meal, piss, or conversation we have. Day-to-day is boring shit, so here’s a brief summary before I get to the thing I actually want to relay.

We’ve had live firing time with the handgun, and Nate has been showing me how to handle the SA80. I feel like such a bad ass, then remember I’m handling a weapon that can kill living people, and sort my shit out. I can now safely use the holy trinity of handgun, shotgun and assault rifle. Yeah, I’m no Dirty Harriet, but Nate says I’ve got a good eye and steady aim, and if I concentrate, I can become a decent shooter.

Smug mode…