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

As the convoy rolled out the gates, I gave Nate the heads up, then settled down to observe the distinctly weakened manpower within the compound.

Twenty minutes later, I heard the distant sound of a gunshot. There’s no ambient sound anymore, no traffic or humdrum of daily existence, and the echo of Nate’s opening shot carried on the wind. It was distant, but it was so invasive to the silence, I caught it immediately.

So did the compound.

In fairness, they got their heads up from the radio blaring to life, and their QRF rallied quickly as Nate said they would. Another eight men ran to a pickup, armed with an assortment of shotguns and handguns. That’s when I realised that some of them weren’t handguns. They were the wrong shape.

They were machine pistols. Uzis. Maybe not actual Uzis, but similar. Light, handheld machine pistols that would spit bullets at a rapid rate.

“QRF of eight hostiles. No SA80’s, but shotguns, handguns and I think machine pistols. Assembling in a pickup now.”

“Displacing under fire,” came Nate’s shout over the radio, the rattle of gunfire making his words hard to pick out. “Three hostiles down but nine still standing. Two of them have training. Can’t do another eight right now, Erin.”

“Copy.”

I don’t think Nate meant, “hey Erin, I need you to take the QRF on single-handed, there’s a good girl,” but that’s what my brain heard.

Nate could handle himself. They were untrained and probably just spraying everywhere, but the two with training suggested Nate thought they had military service behind them. That would make sense; soldiers coming back from service being chewed and spat out by a civilian life they couldn’t function in, it’s unsurprising that Bancroft would recruit men of such obvious martial skill into his ranks.

Previously, he’d kept those aces hidden, but now Nate was unexpectedly having to deal with two men who knew how to handle those weapons and would have basic tactical awareness. Bancroft had sent his big guns to protect the fuel run. Another eight men added to that mix might mean bad things for Nate. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing him, so I did what any mildly dysfunctional person would in that situation.

I acted entirely on emotion, applied no common sense, did something spectacularly reckless, and lucked out.

Picking up my gear, I gave it legs through the trees while the QRF was assembling. They had to come down that country road and they couldn’t do it at speed because of how bumpy it was, pickup or not, as it would smash the suspension to all hell, not to mention probably throw the six guys in the back of the pickup holding on for dear life.

So, I ran like the fucking wind, Nate’s lessons swirling through my head.

“If you have to take a vehicle, then stop it if you can,” he said, a ghostly image of him floating above my head as I recalled his wisdom. Okay, so that didn’t happen, but if they ever make a movie of my life, I want that in the scene.

Stop the vehicle, so you have a stationary target and they can’t readily accelerate. Make them sitting ducks.

Thundering through the trees, I headed at a diagonal towards that exit road. I’d never make it to the end of it before them, so my eyes were raking the ground as I neared the trail, before finally landing on what I was looking for.

Picking up a thick broken bough from the earth, I stepped out from the trees and laid it across the road. Not fully, to make it obvious, but in a fashion where it looked like it could have fallen from one of the overhanging trees. There wasn’t enough space to go round it, and it was too thick to simply drive over, so someone from the back would no doubt jump out to throw it aside.

It had to look natural, and I think I did an okay job. Then I ran a little further down the trail, back into the trees, grabbed a load of branches and pulled them over my head and upper body, just popping the end of the rifle out and aiming right at the spot the pickup would come down.

I saw it appear round the bend at the top, rolling ever closer towards me. All I could think then was, “What the actual fuck are you thinking, Lockey?”

I had a few weeks training with the rifle, I was okay, but I wasn’t a fucking lethal sniper like Nate. Still, he’d taught me the basics of standing, kneeling, and lying down while firing, and I made sure the rifle was set to semi. One bullet at a time, burst in a pinch, but that muzzle ride was a bitch, so avoid if possible. Pick your shots. Make them count.

Christ, my heart was like a thunderstorm in my chest from the run, and the surge of adrenalin from what I was about to do.

The pickup edged ever closer and as it neared, I aimed down the iron sight for the driver. Keep the vehicle motionless. Don’t let them escape.

I was about to kill a living breathing man, and I wondered if I was going to freeze.

The truck stopped, one man tossing his shotgun to a buddy while he jumped out of the pickup’s rear. As he leaned down to move the log, all I heard in my memory was Nate under fire and knew I couldn’t hesitate.

The bullet smacked through the windscreen, punching through that little hollow at the bottom of the throat and just above the sternum. I couldn’t make that shot again if I tried, but holy shit, that first one went true.

The first gunshot scared the shit out of everyone, disbelief causing them to panic, having no idea where the shot came from, so I moved the barrel slightly, aiming at the guy that had just thrown the log from the road in panic.