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

out a beacon signal with her face, calling them to battle. Beyond her, I could see the mass of undead in the car park all shifting position, aiming directly at the store as though undead radio had issued a call to arms, and their forces answered the signal.

“Erm, Nate,” I said, watching the scattered mass start to thicken and swell, ambling towards the store. “I think we have a problem.”

“Have you got all you need?” demanded Nate. The urgency in his tone flustered Isaac, who began babbling about needing two of these, and three of those. “I don’t give a fuck, Isaac,” snapped Nate. “Get what you need, double-time, because once we leave, we’re not coming back. Erin, grab your rifle.”

I didn’t need telling twice. I scampered through the back of the store, snatched up my SA80 and the spare magazines from the truck, which I shoved into the large pockets on the side of my combats, and headed back in. I was gone maybe forty seconds, but by the time I arrived back, the glass shop front was darkened by the press of undead.

“Holy fucking shit,” I murmured.

The pressure was increasing as Isaac frantically scooted around the aisles, throwing shit into the trolley, eyes constantly flicking to the building swell of undead at the glass front.

The undead don’t know pain. They have no need to breathe and are single-minded when it comes to their desire for causing death. As more undead pressed against those at the front, a crack appeared in one of the glass panels as their inexorable crush concaved the glass inwards. Lines raced across the glass and we were only seconds from implosion.

“Isaac?” Nate’s voice was calm, but the slight inflection was enough to convey the urgency of the situation.

“Almost done, almost done,” he babbled, panic starting to creep in.

“Breathe, dickhead,” I said. “Calm down and get your shit together, eyes on the prize, we got your back.”

Isaac nodded, sucking in a calming breath as Nate glanced my way, a barely perceptible nod. His signal of approval. Honestly, I live for those moments. Nate’s approval is so damn important to me, as he’s the first person since Dean and Maria that’s ever really had my back.

The toughened glass weakened under the crush of bodies pressing against it, the lines snaking out across the massive panes in the main doors.

“Ten seconds, Isaac,” warned Nate. “No more.”

“I’m done, I’m done!”

As he swung the full trolley round in a one-eighty to head through the back of the store, the glass doors imploded inwards and the first line of rushing undead gave us a little more time. As the glass gave way, all the undead at the front smashed teeth-first into the floor as the pressure behind them flung them forward once the doors gave way. The monsters collapsed forward, creating a tangle of dead limbs that prevented a rush of undeath streaming through the large store towards us.

“Back through the door,” said Nate, his tone still serene. I can’t explain how much that helps in these situations. When that one person is keeping their head while the world around turns to shit, it’s like a siren’s call for calm. Their calm keeps you calm, as you know this guy has the situation entirely under control. All you have to do is listen and keep your own head in the game.

“I can’t!” said Isaac then, panic creeping back into his tone. “The trolley’s too wide for the doorway!”

“For fuck’s sake,” muttered Nate, eyes still on the undead as they awkwardly clambered to their feet.

I glanced over my shoulder, confident Nate had the zombie situation monitored, and saw what had Isaac so panicky. The trolley was indeed too wide for the normal sized doorway and wouldn’t go through. There was just no way any amount of banging and kicking would ram it through, as the cart was narrower at the front, but widened as most shopping carts do towards the rear. Isaac, in his rush and terror to get to the truck, had ran at speed through the doorway and stopped dead as the trolley jammed solid.

He looked up, eyes wild as he glanced past me to the rising force of undead picking themselves from the floor, his mind frozen by terror.

“Erin?” You know it’s serious when Nate goes with my first name. “Situation?”

“Fucked,” I said. “You got this for now?”

“Copy that.”

Slinging the rifle behind me, I did a Dukes of Hazzard through the top of the doorway, gripping the doorframe with my fingertips and swinging through the half-portal above the trolley to the hall beyond. I took a few steps back, then snapped forward with an almighty kick to the front of the cart, ramming it back out of the doorway.

“Run all of this by hand to the truck and throw it in the back,” I said. “Keep doing that as fast as you fucking can and tell us when you’re on the last one.” Isaac looked frazzled by the whole situation. “Isaac!” I snapped, punching him on the arm to shock him awake. He yelped and rubbed his arm, looking at me with accusation. “Did you fucking hear me?”

“Yes, I heard you!”

“Then why the fuck are you still standing here like a village fucking idiot?”

And so began the rapid transfer of trolley to truck, just as Nate’s rifle barked for the first time.

“Need a second shooter, Erin,” he said, still ice-calm.

“Copy that,” I replied, feeling all military. I swear I caught the little flash of a grin from Nate as I replied, but my rifle was at my shoulder, my eyes down the iron sight, the action switched to semi, and off I went.

I don’t know how much time passed, I know it wasn’t a lot, but it felt like an age. Nate was unerring, popping a melon every time. I wasn’t so accurate, sometimes going too low and hitting the upper chest and neck, or too high and missing completely. Once they got closer, instead of right across