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

such positions were beneath him anyway. There would always be someone he had to answer to, someone with more power and sway than he could ever attain, because he was not born to privilege. He had not been blessed with the finest private education or network of contacts to open those doors for him. Without the drive to be an entrepreneur and willingness for hard work, John Maddock was doomed to a life of insignificance, a mote of cosmic dust that would go unnoticed in the vastness of time and space like so many others.

That was until he read a single quote from the science fiction writer L. Ron Hubbard.

“You don’t get rich writing science fiction. If you want to get rich, you start a religion.”

For the first time, Maddock applied himself, working those dead end jobs while he wandered the dark paths of the internet, scouring old style forums and message boards, and tapping into the newer tools of social media to gather weak minded fools to him. Within weeks, he was a subculture online celebrity, a voice for the disaffected. Within months, he was speaking to a massive online congregation.

So many disaffected souls, drifting on that aimless sea with no purpose in life, found an empathetic listener in Maddock. He heard them and understood their pain and disillusionment with a world that ignored them. They were life’s outliers, alone, with no family or friends, and no purpose. They all craved to be part of something, and to feel connected in a community where they had meaning and value. The world had made them pariahs, cast aside to watch others have all the advantages, and all the breaks that they were denied. Maddock echoed their cries of inequality and injustice, transforming their meek whines of disparate discontent into a single roar of unity.

He assured them all that a great equaliser was coming. The pillars of society and civilisation were trembling and on the verge of collapse, corroded by the avarice and capitalism of the evil one percent who greedily retained power for themselves. A new age was just over the horizon, when the world would be reset and all those riches would mean nothing, but if they were to claim their rightful place in this rebirth, they had to be prepared. Maddock gave them all a solemn oath to guide them, to unite and lead them through this great change, and they would be his Children of the Resurrection. The meek truly would inherit the earth.

Throughout history, the end of the world has always fascinated every religion and culture. The promise of the world being reset contained a heady allure, allowing those abandoned by current society to claim the rebirth as their divine due for all they had been forced to endure. It was an easy hook for Maddock to bait.

The donations to his “religion” started small, then gradually gained traction. Soon he was able to leave those meaningless jobs behind, with enough income to sustain him while he focused on expanding his growing influence. The donations were enough to keep him comfortable, but he had to continually preach to his online masses and keep them engaged, constantly needing to fire their conspiracy theorist minds with all kinds of laughable junk he found in the darkest corners of the internet.

It wasn’t enough though. His natural apathy started to creep in again, his work ethic waning as the donations remained steady, but not enough to warrant his continual level of effort.

Until fate finally smiled upon him.

After a “sermon” about the need for readiness, posted online to his ever-growing followers, Maddock received a private message from a young man named Oliver Hargrave. Heir to a vast fortune of old Cheshire property money, Hargrave had lived a life of privilege, but still felt like an outlier. He was socially awkward despite all his advantages in life, laughed at by his peers, and paranoid that those befriending him – or those seeking to court him - were only interested in his pending fortune. The tragic irony of his dilemma was not lost on Maddock, as Oliver Hargrave gift-wrapped himself to one interested in him for that exact purpose.

Oliver wanted to be part of the new order when the pillars of society crumbled. He wanted his wealth to do something good when those end times came and begged to help Maddock with his readiness.

He had a site in the Cheshire countryside that could be donated to the Children of the Resurrection and renovated at his cost. He would install solar power, drill wells, have water treatment and filtration in place, fields for agriculture and animal farming, gather resources such as dried foods, fuel, vehicles, even weapons and ammunition from a vast network of contacts. If you had the funds, anything was possible.

Hargrave, in his social isolation, had studied preparation for the end times, and knew what they needed with a promise to project manage and fund it all.

His sick father was dying of terminal cancer, inoperable with only months to live, and Oliver Hargrave was heir to a fortune worth in the region of four hundred million pounds.

Maddock had laughed long and loud, dancing for joy in his one-bedroom flat, air-punching at finally achieving his heart’s desire. Oliver Hargrave was his golden goose. A few years of milking it, watching the community grow and gather, giving sermons, being magnanimous, and manipulating the impressionable young man was all Maddock needed. After two or three years, Hargrave would be his loyal dog and sign the purse strings of the Hargrave fortune to Maddock, and the false prophet would disappear into the night, taking all that wealth to some non-extradition country. Sun, sea, and sand would be his future, finally living the life of perpetual comfort he knew he deserved.

Moving north from his tiny flat on the outskirts of London, Maddock had watched the Children of the Resurrection grow these past three years. The purposefully renovated site for his expertly crafted cult was now populated with almost