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

of a battlefield, with ruined corpses and pools of blood and brain scattered everywhere. My chest and shoulder were numb and just a patch of pain, and my ears had a constant whine from the repeated thunder of the boomstick so close to them. Jesus, I’ve said it before, but movies don’t prepare you for how damn loud gunfire really is. No wonder they wear ear-protection on ranges. My entire head felt like a bell that had been rung by a bunch of monks on amphetamines.

“Why are you stopping?” came the cracked shriek of one of the women. “There’s still one left!”

I couldn’t tell who it was, simply because it was so distorted through the ringing. I think it might have been the Little Mermaid, or Unamazing Grace. Don’t know.

Nate put down the shotgun and drew the biggest fucking knife I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s always strapped to his leg, but this was the first time I’d actually seen him draw it. This bitch was full Crocodile Dundee “this is a knife” size; shiny, sharp with razor-like serrations and a curve on one side of the blade leading to a wicked point.

“None of you have firearms, so if you’re in the shit, you need to learn how to deal with a walker.”

Nate moved into the eyeline of the final undead, drawing it to him like bait on a hook, knife held loose, but steady. He talked as he gave his lesson.

“Just as they get near, they increase in pace,” he said. “You’ll see the moment. They’ll look at you like the source of all their misery, with such hatred it’ll make your guts twist.”

Accurate.

As the zombie neared, everyone saw that baring of teeth, that clawing of hands and slight burst of acceleration as it switched to predator mode from its relatively docile shamble. Nate smoothly stepped aside and let it soar past him.

“They’re only good in a straight line, so if you can, don’t back away as they’ll just follow you. Sidestep; change the angle. Ninety degrees to whatever way the monster is facing, and it will save your life.”

He drew it again, displaying the ninety-degree method once more, though this time, he kicked its legs from under it. The zombie slammed face first into the earth and Nate shocked everyone by placing a knee between its shoulder blades, trapping it beneath his muscular frame. Grabbing a fistful of the creature’s hair, he pulled the head back so everyone could see the glassy, milky eyes and the silent snarl of hatred. Every one of the yoga bunch looked at him with abject horror.

“These things only die if you ravage the brain,” he said, all calm as if this was some university lecture in the pretty gardens of Oxford. “The skull is immense protection, so if you find yourself unable to smash their heads in with something heavy, like an axe, or a hammer, and you can only get a smaller weapon, then these are your three options.”

He pointed with the tip of his mutant knife to the base of the skull.

“Go under and up, if you have something suitably sharp with the length. If not, then your best bet is through the ear, or the eye. You could get to the brain with something as simple as a screwdriver, or a sharp kitchen knife. The eye is your best option though, as it’s an easier target than the ear.” He chatted away like there wasn’t a silent, slavering zombie beneath him, desperately trying to reach back and claw at him, but he was no amateur. The zombie was entirely in his power.

“Straight in, no messing, no hesitation.” He made sure they were all looking, no matter the expressions of trauma etched into their pretty faces, then rammed the blade into the monster’s right eye. It punched through the soft tissue and cracked the orbital bone, such was the force he struck with, and the width of his mini sword. The zombie went limp, all darkness banished from its form, and all ten of our whack-a-doodles emptied their guts on the grass.

Every one of them is now traumatised for the rest of their lives.

Nate is a scary mother fucker.

But he’s my scary mother fucker.

14th Entry

SPECIAL FRIENDS

If the opening lessons were traumatic, then the clean-up has probably broken a few of them. There were now forty-three—mostly headless, and all gory—corpses scattered across the field, with random chunks and bits of zombies all over the place. My god, cleaning up is worse than the putting down. Absolutely vile job.

Faith and Skye were the most impressive in that task. After they shook off the horror of Nate’s up close and personal lesson, they got their shit together pretty well and before long had arms and legs of corpses between them, carrying them over to one side of the field, far from the lodge. The bodies had to be disposed of and Nate wasn’t happy with trying to burn so many, so we moved them to one side of the field into a tangled pile of death. Tomorrow, Nate’s going to do a run and get some supplies from a nearby farm he remembers that had appropriate tools, shovels and the like. We’re going to dig a mass grave at the bottom of the field and bury them, as the last thing we want is a big pile of disease growing at the bottom of the garden. Obviously, Grace and Theo don’t have said tools as all the landscaping was dealt with by a contractor to keep the place pretty, but I don’t think they’ll be coming round anytime soon.

It was a long and thoroughly shitty afternoon and I was bone weary by the end of it. Covered in shit, blood, brain and general grime, I was going to punch anyone in their most sensitive parts if they dared take a shower before me.

A hot shower.

Orgasmic.

Can you imagine how amazing a long hot shower is, when it’s your first in a month?