Lockey vs. the Apocalypse by Meadows, Carl (7 ebook reader TXT) 📗

Alicia cleared a house after no undead came stumbling out and called us over. We went over as a full group, as Nate didn’t want to leave Maria and Isaac without supervision in these early stages. Plus, when someone says they’ve found something of interest, you can’t help but mosey on over for a sneaky peek.

Two single mattresses from upstairs had been dragged down into the living room and placed near the hearth. Nate examined the ashes in the fire and reckoned they were only a couple of days old. There was no sign of any stowed equipment though.

The kitchen had been ravaged of all usable foodstuffs and when we popped open a door leading to the basement, a rotten stench came rolling out, gagging the lot of us.

It wasn’t the stench of the undead though. That’s awfully specific and alien. No, this was just the actual dead. Nate went down alone, telling the rest of us to keep an eye out, then soon came back up and closed the door behind him. We opened the patio door in the kitchen and stepped into the backyard to suck in some clean air.

“There are three bodies down there,” he said. “A man, woman, and what looks like a teenage boy. They were definitely undead at some point, as the man and woman are both covered in bite marks, and the boy has ligature bruising around his neck, so I think he must have hanged himself which started the bullshit dominos falling.”

Detective Carter for the win.

“Someone put them down, and put them down well,” he continued. “The man and woman look like they’ve had their skulls done by a small axe, a camping hatchet maybe, judging by the size and shape of the wounds. Whoever’s using it hit clean and hard, so I’d say they were physically fit and quite tall. The boy, however, was done with a small calibre pistol. The wound looks about the size of a .38 and done from point blank.”

“People with guns is worrying,” observed Maria. She’s not wrong.

The only reason we’re armed to the teeth is because we stole illegal firearms from a small-time arms dealer who had a recent delivery and a full stash. Added to that, we raided farmhouses for shotguns and associated buckshot. Never forget, this is England. Your average citizen has never seen a real firearm up close, much less own one and possess the knowledge to use it. Firearms are only in the hands of licensed shooting club members (and they tend to be shotguns or .22 hunting rifles), law enforcement, or criminal elements.

“Aye,” agreed Nate. “I think it’s their last resort though. Two mattresses in the room suggests two people, or maybe a family unit with a small child that sleeps with a parent. The hatchet seems to be the main go-to for defence, with a small .38 revolver to pull them out of the shit if things go to hell. That suggests a finite – and small - amount of ammunition.”

Nate doesn’t miss a fucking trick, does he?

He looked each of us in the eye, his tone grave. “From here on, nobody does any house alone. If we stumble across a survivor that’s scared and paranoid, two guns pointed their way will make them rethink any reaction fire. If there’s only one, they might pull the trigger first so they can run.”

That was a sobering thought. We’ve been so focused on the undead in the houses, the notion of stumbling upon a scared and hungry survivor with a firearm hasn’t really been in our thinking, again, because this is England. Every homeowner is more likely to have a bat for defending their suburban paradise, not a .38 revolver.

Guns are rare, but they’re still out there. Illegal firearms were still on the streets, and you have to think that for anyone to have a realistic chance of survival as time goes on, the ones most likely to stay alive are those who have access to one. A baseball bat won’t do shit for you against the undead. Cracking a skull and traumatising the brain isn’t that easy. Whoever these survivors were, they knew how to survive, or at least one of them did.

I’m excited, but also scared.

Excited there is real evidence of other survivors. Other people we could possibly help.

But scared because those survivors might shoot one of my friends, either by design or by accident.

Either way, it means we have to move much more carefully from here on in and best to roll as heavy as we can. It has made me particularly aware regarding the lack of body armour we have. Nate has his tactical vest which I think might be fused to his body, but the rest of us don’t. With the real threat of startling someone and flying bullets, it’s something we need to address. I’ll have a chat to Nate about that tonight.

I can’t abide the thought of losing one of my little family to the murderous undead. Losing them to a bullet - fired by a scared human we wanted to help - would be just too much fucking awful luck for my frail sanity to take at the moment, I think.

But all that aside, the silver lining is that there are still resourceful people out there, fighting back and surviving still, four months on.

Humanity has been a royal pain in its own arse for so long, and stupid people do stupid things to each other, which has likely brought about this purging of us.

However, we’re also a stubborn bunch, with those still possessing the fight and intelligence to stick a middle finger up to the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, and that gives me hope.

We shall not go quietly into the night, mother fucker.

OCTOBER 26th, 2010

OPERATION BIRTHDAY

It’s 11pm, and tomorrow Charlie turns ten.

It’s a big day. After Charlie went to bed tonight, we moved like a well-oiled party machine and started hanging banners, and balloons, and