We Will Rise: An Adrian's Undead Diary Novel (Lockey vs the Apocalypse Book 2) by Carl Meadows (have you read this book .TXT) 📗

five hundred people. Agriculture, animal husbandry, engineering, medical staff, and a working infirmary. They even recruited trained security specialists from former veterans unable to find a place in the civilian world, or army reservists who would unlikely pass a psych evaluation for professional soldiers. They had it all.

The site was surrounded by purpose-built farmsteads tasked with specific crops to rotate, and dairy farms with cattle, sheep, swine, and their main site even had an old-school windmill constructed for milling grain, and silos to store their output. Maddock had marvelled at the infrastructure in place, Hargrave’s near-savant level of planning and organisation a wonder to behold. Disaffected souls from across the country began to arrive at the commune, giving their lives to a cause he had fabricated, and one he would ultimately betray.

A year earlier, in 2009, Maddock had gathered his followers together and proclaimed that the end of days was nearing. By the end of 2010, the world would die and be reborn anew. It started the clock ticking on his machinations with Hargrave but the young man, his father long since dead, was alone in the world. Maddock had insinuated himself as the young man’s surrogate family and confidante, having been ever-present in his life for three years as they watched their community grow. The time was approaching when Hargrave would finally, “cast off the chains of his wealth, and truly be ready for the Resurrection.”

Maddock had inwardly laughed to himself when he spoke that line. He was quite proud of that one, and Hargrave had looked thoughtful, as though realising that he was finally ready. The Resurrection was upon them.

Everything was in place. Maddock had played the role of benevolent prophet for a little over three years, passing his fortieth birthday during that period. He wanted to enjoy what remained of his life and though he lived in exquisite comfort with his every need attended, his life as their “prophet” had always been stamped with an expiration date. Plus, it was exhausting having to play his role to keep his followers engaged. Eventually, they would expect a commitment from him, an undeniable and tangible truth to the sermons and promises he had delivered, so 2010 was the platter of knowledge he served to satiate their hunger. This was their last year of preparation for the coming apocalypse, and as their excitement was reinvigorated with his revelation, Maddock began the process of planning his exit strategy while they were distracted.

However, on 23rd June 2010, the world did end.

And that was not part of his plan.

“It’s happening!” beamed Oliver, bursting into the dining room of Maddock’s house as he was eating breakfast. Naturally, the prophet had his own living quarters, attended by acolytes eager to please their revered leader, usually young women that could serve multiple needs. Recovering his poise at the sudden interruption, Maddock turned and raised a single imperious eyebrow in the young man’s direction.

Oliver was animated, his eyes bright with wonder as he placed the laptop on the table in front of Maddock.

“Look!”

Maddock released a small sigh of displeasure at his morning peace being disturbed but indulged his wealthy benefactor. He turned his gaze to the screen as Oliver switched the volume on.

It took all of Maddock’s considerable acting skills to keep his expression and body language neutral, as he spent the next fifteen minutes switching between channels, reading online news releases, and staring at images of violence across the globe. Aerial pictures of cities in chaos and flame were shown on every continent, in virtually every country. Video footage from ground level revealed white-eyed people tearing at their fellow humans with their teeth, biting bloody chunks from them like monstrous savages.

The most terrifying of all the releases were those who openly said that the dead were rising. What the hell did that mean; the dead were rising?

Confusion reigned over all the channels. How had this happened overnight, in every country, on every continent, across the globe? No terrorist organisation could pull that off without some cells being detected along the way. It was just too big to contain, too perfectly orchestrated to come from nowhere, without some form of detection from paranoid intelligence services. And what virus could do this in a single night to the whole world? Any pandemic would still have a lag time from ground zero to spread across the globe. It just didn’t make any sense.

This was everywhere, all at once.

Oliver hung at his shoulder, eyes dancing between the images on the screen and Maddock’s blank expression, waiting for some visceral reaction from his spiritual leader. All his sermons, all the promises he had made to them, had come to fruition. It was the end of days, and John Maddock, Prophet of the Resurrection, had spoken truth.

“You were right, Revered Prophet,” whispered Oliver in breathless wonder.

He never uttered Maddock’s title in private and it gave the false prophet pause. Oliver only used it in public among the other Resurrectionists. Maddock had been sure to reinforce his image of family and confidante with Oliver in private, building that intimate trust and making him use his name, talking as close friends, and making the young man feel part of his secretive world. For Oliver to say it now, when it was just the two of them, and with such reverence only reinforced how the world had suddenly transformed.

“You were right about it all!” laughed Oliver, a sound of exultant disbelief, like someone below the poverty line staring at a winning lottery ticket in shaking fingers. “And now, thanks to you, we are prepared for this dark resurrection!”

Dark resurrection.

The words sent a wave of foreboding through Maddock’s body, rippling like freezing meltwater through his veins. The dead were rising; it was a dark resurrection, and he had foreseen it all.

Yet they were all lies. All of them.

He had never been specific about the method the world would end, only that society would collapse. Specifics were a dangerous game to play, and