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

looped the live grenade through the wide-open space of the window, then pulled herself back in sharply against the wall and braced.

If the crack of Nate’s rifle had been a thunder in the darkness, then the grenade’s explosion was like the sky tearing open. The dull boom within the confines of the room echoed for a few moments and Nate nodded in approval. Anyone in that space would have just had their night filled with horror, blasted by the concussive wave of the explosion and lacerated by screaming shards of metal as the grenade fragmented.

If the shooter was not dead from the blast, then he probably wished he was.

With the enemy sniper neutralised, Nate rose to his feet, leaving their bag of equipment in place as he moved through the night at speed, heading for the wall with the blacked-out cameras.

Both Isaac and Bancroft jumped at the dull boom rattling the house above them.

“What the fuck was that?” blurted Bancroft.

The explosion came only seconds after they had watched Buckley and Jones dropped by a sniper. Isaac did not know much about marksmanship, but he knew the shooter had to be an expert. Two shots sounded and both men died without even a twitch. Instant kills.

Seconds later, the ceiling above them shook as something exploded inside the house. It had to be the woman he had helped. Bancroft had told him to look out for those matching the description of an older man in his late forties or early fifties, and a young dark-haired woman in her late twenties. The old guy had to be the sniper.

“They seem like decent folk,” Mark had told him, the day after the second fuel run hit. “They could’ve killed me that first time, or destroyed the truck, but as soon as I said Bancroft had my boy, they backed off. The woman was nice, more softly spoken than the old guy.” Mark had puffed out his cheeks, almost suppressing a shiver. “Shit, Isaac, that old bear is a real warrior. He’s not playing at this shit. I’ve seen him in action twice now and the fucker just doesn’t miss. He took seven men down on his own and one of them was Connor Bancroft. That guy had six years of service and done a tour in the Middle East.”

“The woman didn’t do half bad either,” said Isaac. “She took down six of the eight reserves coming to help, no less than half a mile from the gate.”

“Well, she’s obviously had a good teacher. Remember that movie, Taken? Liam Neeson?” Isaac nodded. “Remember the famous quote? Well I’m telling you, this old dog has that particular set of skills.”

Isaac had sworn to himself if he got the chance to help these two people, he would. Even if they weren’t wholly decent folk, anything was better than the madman who held them all in thrall. He had watched in mute horror as Bancroft executed ten of the twelve women he kept as payment for his minions, then ordered their corpses sat outside the gate for when this Nate and Lockey duo came for him. The man was insane.

“Find those fuckers,” snapped Bancroft, his eyes raking the monitors as he picked up the handset. “Sound off,” he commanded into the mic.

Isaac listened as nine voices came back, the last of them being Bancroft’s youngest brother, Caleb. The kid was only seventeen, but Bancroft had shoved a semi-automatic pistol in his hands and told him to suck it up.

All the remaining captives were gathered in the library on the top floor. It amazed him that Bancroft had a library, and Isaac doubted the lunatic had read anything other than a porno mag in his life.

There was only one way in and out of the library, with one big window at the opposite side of the house that the woman—Lockey—had approached from. There was no sight into that window for a sniper and the drapes were closed.

His eyes darted about the monitors, but neither of the two invaders could be seen on camera anywhere.

“No sign of them, sir.”

“Fucking bastards,” seethed Bancroft. “How fucking dare they! This is my fucking town. Mine.”

Isaac said nothing, keeping his eyes fixed on the screens in case Bancroft turned that rage towards him. He flinched as a radio was slammed down beside him.

“I’m going up to the library,” he announced. “You keep me informed or I swear to God, I will give you a death that will last a week. Send the feeds to the laptop in the library.”

“Of course, sir,” said Isaac, swallowing dryly.

Bancroft stared at him balefully for too long, Isaac shrinking more with each passing second. Satisfied he was suitably cowed, Bancroft muttered more profanity and stalked from the room, slamming it enough to shake a painting from the wall.

“Dick,” muttered Isaac under his breath. It made him feel better.

He turned back to the banks of monitors and nearly had a heart attack.

The old soldier was staring directly into a camera.

Waiting.

Nate dropped into the grounds the same spot Erin used, knowing exactly where the camera was pointed and avoiding its angle. He slid along the wall to the rear of the house and peered round the corner, finding a camera pointed in his direction. Nate wondered if the first evidence of their unseen ally was a fluke, deciding to test the theory. If the guy monitoring the security feeds was working against Bancroft, this whole operation would get a lot easier.

He stared directly into the camera and waited, eventually releasing his rifle and spreading hands, asking the question.

A grin split his blackened face as the camera whirred away from him, pointing across the back yard and giving him the freedom to pull out his lockpicks. In seconds he was in the French doors that slid open to reveal a huge combined kitchen and dining room, without a soul present.

Taking one knee for a second, he listened intently. His mouth quirked a brief smile as he heard