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

Particles cocked his head, gracing me with an expression that said, “Don’t fucking bring me into this, human.”

Silence. I knew he was breaking shit, losing his mind to rage, though this time he managed to keep the mic closed. Bancroft was used to being in control, and you just can’t reason with me if my sole purpose, at that moment, is to annoy the living shit out of you. Arguing with me in that state of mind is like playing chess with a pigeon. Doesn’t matter what you do or how good you are, I will shit all over that board and strut round like the champion of the world.

He didn’t say another word after that, finally walking away from a losing battle.

We didn’t need to talk to this guy, and it was vital we didn’t give anything away regarding the captives, in case he used them against us. The illusion had to remain that this whole situation had devolved entirely from that single chance conflict with his brother. Bancroft couldn’t know of our knowledge regarding his location, his effective manpower, or that there were captives we wanted to help.

They were the three aces in our hand, and when we showed them, we’d make damn sure he was all-in.

August 15th, 2010

TO ZOMBIE, OR NOT TO ZOMBIE, THAT IS THE QUESTION

Nate thinks we should start stepping it up now, take advantage of Bancroft’s twitchiness and erratic temper, so yesterday we finally went to recon the compound.

I’ve given it this grandiose name, but in truth it’s just a massive house with an eight-foot high perimeter wall, standing on its own at the end of a country lane. I’m sure it’s bloody marvellous for avoiding wandering hordes of undead; the nearest neighbouring house has to be at least a half mile away. As a tactical position against living, thinking people however, it’s useless. Good for us, not so much for Bancroft.

There’s a bit of space around the walls, but the land is quite up-and-down and absolutely chock full of trees, so Nate and I managed to not only get close to the house, but we actually had elevation so we could just stare down into the compound with Shooty McFuckface’s binoculars.

The house is huge, has to be a million quid minimum, which Nate says is a bit of an ass if we have to breach with just two of us, because it’s likely a maze in there. There are a number of outbuildings as well, like an extra guesthouse, as well as what was probably an old barn that’s been converted into some kind of living space, plus a massive triple garage and what looks like some kind of workshop. After a full day’s observation, we’ve pretty much got the layout.

The big barn thing? I’m going to use this term, and I don’t like it, but it’s accurate. That’s the slave quarters. As it got closer to evening, a string of six women were led out under guard from that barn and into the main house. My stomach twists at the thought, so I’m not going to write what my gut says is going on, but the posture of those poor women told me everything I needed to know, and none of which I liked.

We think the guesthouse off to the right is where Bancroft’s top men get to live. Their own space, and from his early days on the radio before they got smart to us earwigging, Nate identified three main “captains” that most of the grunts deferred to. That’s a viable target, as is the big white oil tank at the back of the house. We could also see the little tanker Mark was driving parked to one side

The rest of the grunts appear to live in the main house, so I guess one of the wings has been set up as a kind of barracks, where they live communally. That’s just educated guesswork though. And not from me, from Nate. Shit, I don’t think like that. I’m letting the spec-op guy do the thinking.

“That house is a problem,” Nate said. “It’s too big and completely unknown. There could be nooks and crannies we know nothing about, multiple exits from rooms that could have us flanked, we could run down a blind alley and get stuck.” He clicked his tongue. “Without a layout, we can’t even think of going in there, especially with only a team of two, one of which is demented.”

“I resemble that remark,” I replied. “So, what do we do? What’s the first plan of action?”

“We can’t hit this place yet,” he said. “They’ll lock it down and their numbers are still too high. The only way we could even the balance is to use the undead.”

I turned my head slowly to Nate, not quite sure what he meant.

“What do you mean, ‘use the undead?’ Fancy clearing that one up?”

“Remember that box truck after we first found your rodent?”

“He’s a dog, Nate, and yes, I do.”

Nate nodded. “Full of undead. What if we did the same? Caught a bunch of stragglers, loaded up a box truck, reversed that thing through their gates and spilled the dead into their compound. That would even the field.”

I was horrified. “Absolutely fucking not!” I choked.

Nate raised an eyebrow. “It’s a good tactic. It would be absolute bedlam in there.”

“There are innocents in there as well, Nate,” I protested. “They could get killed.”

“That’s always a risk, but there’s risk in bullets flying as well.”

“Yes, in a firefight, or a breach, they could get hurt, but they would be accidental, Nate. Shitty, guilt-inducing, impossible to live with, but accidental. The undead are a complete wildfire we’d have no control over. If a stray bullet catches a captive, that’s shitty and heartbreaking, but we have an element of control over what we do to try and minimise that. Once the undead are let go, there’s no