Lockey vs. the Apocalypse by Meadows, Carl (love novels in english .TXT) 📗

drunk, or get me mad, and I’m the biggest scally in town. I was like Brookside on PCP. I was going full scouse, the tiny slivers of my Liverpool accent that existed now bloomed to full life in near berserk rage as I dropped my final challenge.

“You’re about ten seconds away from the most embarrassing moment of your life, so make your choice, Top Knot; sit the fuck down or come the fuck on!”

Senses overwhelmed by my spit-flying onslaught, he sat down, stunned. That piece of shit has never had a real fight in his privileged existence and my entire life has been one giant slugfest. Thinks he can intimidate me because I’m a five-six girl? Fuck you buddy; there’s more man in every one of my turds than in your whole fucking body.

Nate didn’t even bother hiding his pleasure as he handed the shotgun back to me.

“That’ll do, kid,” he grinned. “That’ll do.”

13th Entry

NOT A TED TALK, A NATE TALK

I could feel the hunger on the other side of the gate. Chilling stuff, as they pressed inexorably against the wood. The gate itself only had a small latch to open it, but it had two deadbolt style metal bars that dropped into holes straight down. Thankfully, both of those were in place and the primary reason the gate hadn’t folded inwards.

I sucked in a few deep breaths, every bit of good sense and logic screaming inside my head. I mean, here I was, a mob of slavering undead inches away and separated from me by a perfectly good gate, and I was going to open said portal and let them in. On purpose. I should have been shitting myself and raging against such a dumb move, but I was all-in now. My chips were in the middle and I was standing waiting for the river card to turn. All or nothing.

I unhooked one of the bars. At the same time, I also flicked up the little central latch, immediately springing back into a roll and coming up to my feet. One half of the gate swung inwards and the undead began to spill into the enclave. Hitting the afterburners, I sprinted up to where Nate waited. He tossed the shotgun to me as I neared and I snatched it out of the air, spinning and getting the stock against my shoulder in readiness.

At the sight of the blood-soaked dead swarming through the gate, the hippies started losing their mind as their new reality revealed itself in all its glorious gore. The horde carried the full assortment of wounds, from torn throats, missing chunks of flesh from arms and shoulders, bloody blue loops of intestine dragging in the dirt below them; whatever horror your mind can conjure, it was there. There was no mistaking this bedraggled, shambling horde of death for a reality show prank. There was no chance physical makeup could imitate the obvious ragged state this group was in, and the yoga bunch knew it. I heard someone throwing up amid all the witless jabbering and squealing.

“A little quiet,” ordered Nate, his voice as soft as stone. He didn’t even look away from the horde.

That tone is like a whip of ice when he uses it, and he doesn’t even really try, it’s just there. It smacks you in the face and turns your bowels to water and that, dear reader, is what real authority sounds like. The hippies went from jabbering lunatics to muted squeals in a snap.

There was only one alpha in this pack.

I chanced a quick glance in their direction, finding Particles cradled in Freya’s arms and nodded.

“Okay,” murmured Nate. “This is real, Erin. No fucking about. No getting cocky. This is real life and death now, hear me?”

I almost gave some smart-mouthed quip, but bit down on it. The hippies needed this lesson, needed to see shit was very real and very dangerous, so I just gave Nate a nod and he grunted his approval.

And so, it began.

Jesus, now that it’s all over, I feel like I’ve been punched in the shoulder and chest repeatedly by Mike Tyson. Every kick of the shotgun was like a hammer to the same spot, but Nate’s lessons paid off. When I put my mind to it, I’m actually a decent shooter, I think. I followed all his advice, aimed a little high to make sure I blasted the head, and I started dropping them.

Nate and I moved wide of each other across the crest of the hill that the lodge sat on, splitting the swarm to thin them out so they didn’t come as one rolling mass of hate and hunger. There were a few rectal clenches when I didn’t reload smoothly and a zed got too close for comfort, but none of them got close enough to do that lip-peeling snarl when they suddenly get an extra burst of speed. That shit frightens the fucking life out of me when they do that, because you get a glimpse of whatever it is driving them, and whatever that thing is, it’s fucking dark. Hatred incarnate. Eesh.

It was a long morning and starting to get warm as the sun rose, but with a solid plan and solid execution, Nate and I pulled it off. In truth, I was fucking proud of myself. I know I can be a bit of a dick at times and add a little colour and swagger into my reciting of history; after all, who wants to read a boring textbook, when they can have some comedy drama instead?

But still, it felt good to really do something. It was a tiny drop in the zombie ocean, but for that one morning, it felt like Nate and I took back a little of our world, even if it was only a yoga lodge.

Lockey and Nate, forty-three, zombies, zero.

When we got down to the last one, Nate called a halt. The hill leading up to the lodge resembled the bloody remains