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

library door. Fair warning, I think he’s got at least one or two guys on the landing above the stairs and will probably have one round the corner you have to turn in cover. At least there was before you sent the place dark.”

He sensed Nate regarding him and coughed a little nervously.

“There are cameras inside as well in main corridors,” he explained. “I thought you might want to know where his guys were.”

“That’s good work, Isaac,” said Nate, sounding genuinely impressed. The praise gave Isaac a little flush of happiness. “Quick thinking and appreciated. Okay, do your thing, then hunker down here. I’ll come get you when it’s clear.”

Isaac nodded.

“Give me a count of ten to get set, then earn yourself an Oscar.”

Isaac grinned despite his nerves. He liked the old man. He scared the techie shitless of course, but he still liked him.

Without ever being anything but a thick shadow to his eyes, the old warrior slipped out of the room and Isaac was left alone.

As he hit ten, he gave the performance of his young life.

Nate positioned himself at the corner, a grim statue painted black, listening with a smile as Isaac jabbered down the radio in his earpiece. It was a virtuoso performance, convincing Bancroft of Nate’s menace to Isaac’s safety. Assurance of incoming support was confirmed, and the veteran waited patiently for them to arrive.

Running feet echoed down the hallway and the first soft glimmer of flashlights bounced from the wall opposite Nate.

“Keep an eye out,” one man hissed, then knocked at the door. “Isaac? I’m coming…”

His sentence never finished as Nate whipped out low on one knee, squeezing two rapid shots. The first hit the speaker in the ribs, folding him sideways as the bullet ripped through his organs, the second hitting the other man in the spine, killing him instantly. Not wanting any undead to surprise him with their reanimation, Nate advanced in a combat walk, squeezing off two more rounds, cracking the skulls of the dead men.

His element of surprise was gone now, but two more men were down. Six to go.

His intention initially had been to move fast and loud, to confuse and confound with explosive aggression, maybe even blowing the oil tank at the side of the house, or the small tanker truck. Ever versatile to changing dynamics, the brainless complacency of the two men investigating the cameras, Erin’s unorthodox removal of the sniper, and the unexpected bonus of Isaac’s assistance in infiltrating the house, had allowed him to be more surgical.

If Isaac’s intel was right, there was just Bancroft and six more goons left, and untrained henchmen at that. With their numbers savagely culled, their panic would only increase. He knew, without doubt, he could execute and pick off the remaining stragglers, but his major difficulty now was ensuring the safety of the hostages.

A tiny nail of concern scratched at the back of his mind, wondering just where Erin was. As soon as she had neutralised the shooter on the top floor, he had moved and by the time he reached the house, she was nowhere to be found. He had not heard any other shots…

An explosion of gunfire rattled from above, a screaming hail of bullets being spat from a sub-machine gun with the scattered whine of ricochets blended in.

Nate accelerated, following Isaac’s instructions, closing on the rattling of rapid fire. As he reached the foot of the stairs, he peered up, his vision clear in the darkness thanks to the NVG’s. One man was facing down the hallway to the right using a doorway for cover, the flash of the SMG’s muzzle a bright sparkle in the green filter of his vision. Lifting his rifle, Nate aimed and fired in a single smooth motion, the bullet obliterating the man’s hip and he collapsed with a throat-tearing scream. A quick second round ended his agony, cracking through the crown of his skull.

Nate ducked as another man appeared at the top of the stairs, spraying a wild field of fire in his general direction. Chips of white-painted wood rained on him as the bullets shredded the handrail and polished steps, but the man could not see where Nate was, having made himself small against the side of the staircase.

The volley ended and Nate was about to rise and return fire when the thundering blast of an SA80 on full auto filled the space of the landing above, numerous rounds sending powdered plaster and stone into the air as they struck the whitewashed wall.

The gunman vanished from sight, having been threaded by numerous rounds.

“Fuck yeah!” came a familiar whoop of victory, followed by the expected volley of insults. “Off is the general direction in which you should fuck! And the crowd… goes… wild!” Then followed a hissing impression of applause, followed by a singular low chant of, “Loc-key! Loc-key! Loc-key!”

It was neither the time, nor the place, yet still it made Nate’s mouth twitch in amusement.

The smile was wiped by another hail of rapid-fire bullets from a sub-machine gun blasting down the opposite end of the hallway, inciting a yelped, “Fuck a duck!” from Erin as she dived for cover. Nate stalked up the centre of the stairs, waiting for the storm of bullets to abate. As the man ducked back behind cover to ram in a new clip, Nate peeled round the corner and went to one knee, his rifle aimed downrange as he waited.

The man leaned round the corner, about to unleash another bullet-storm, but Nate calmly squeezed the trigger. The bullet blasted the man’s bicep, tearing through muscle and smashing the bone of his arm, half-severing the limb. His wail was almost inhuman as a splash of crimson spattered the white wall behind him and then Nate was moving.

“My arm!” screamed the man. “My fucking arm!” His wails were high-pitched and chaotic, eyes only for the savaged meat attached to his shoulder. “Fucking help me, you cunts!” he roared.

Nate slowed his walk as