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

came from a place of wanting to help, or simply to make those around her laugh. She was a wild flame that was difficult to control, but the light she cast with such an illuminating presence was worth the frustration.

She was also a freakishly quick study. As long as he could get her to concentrate, she was a talented shooter, with an uncommon ability to think and act under pressure.

“I pushed us into this, Nate,” she answered, determined to accept the blame for the death of the women. “I swear, if he’s hurt Charlie, I don’t think I’ll be able to deal with it.”

“If he’d hurt the kid, he’d have taken great pleasure in adding him to his shop window,” reasoned Nate. The boy was probably Bancroft’s ace in the hole, a human shield if everything went to shit, but Nate avoided telling Erin that particular thought. She was already raw with the death of the women, and impulse control was a chink in the woman’s armour. She acted almost entirely on instinct and emotion, as she had when assaulting Bancroft’s relief force. That had been reckless and unbelievably dangerous, but secretly, Nate was proud of her success. It had not been his intention for her to stop reinforcements supporting those firing on Nate at the petrol station, but she had succeeded anyway. She was a quick thinker and had clearly learned from the lessons he had to teach, despite him thinking she was only listening half the time.

Erin seemed mollified by his reasoning, nodding.

“You’re probably right,” she conceded. “Still, I wouldn’t mind coating his balls in sugar and strapping him down next to a wasp nest.”

Nate snorted. “Colourful.”

Erin exhaled sharply, pulling her focus back. “So, what’s the play?”

“The cameras at the four corners,” he said. “Like we discussed. There are blind spots, so do one side first with the spray paint. We’ll wait and see if they send anyone to investigate.”

Nate retrieved the binoculars, scanning the front of the large house once more, before he halted and muttered a curse.

“What is it?”

Nate passed the optics back to her. “Top floor window, third from the right.”

Erin peered at the point Nate directed her to. “What am I looking at?”

“The window is open.”

“It is the middle of summer, Nate,” she replied. “It’s as hot as a fat man’s groin out here, despite the night air.”

“That’s a perch, Erin.” She always listened more when he used her first name. When he really wanted her attention, that was the way to get it. “That’s the best window that gives the largest cone of sight of the grounds, with elevation. If I was setting up a hidden shooter, that’s where I’d choose.”

“Their last sniper was a bust,” she shrugged. “Shooty McFuckface was pretty useless.”

Shaking his head yet again at her strange name for the sniper in town, he sighed.

“Remember, there were two men with service under their belt on the fuel run. One was Bancroft’s brother, and I put him down, but another made it back. Bancroft wouldn’t have had one of his trained shooters on a speculative lookout post. He kept them close to his side and only unchained them when he wanted the fuel run to succeed.” He nodded. “The man in there is a trained shooter, and that’s bad.”

“Go in the back then, over the rear wall.”

Nate shook his head. “Most of those remaining are thugs, no training, easily panicked. I need the chaos I’ve planned so I can pick them off. I don’t want another man trained in room clearance hunting me, especially one with knowledge of the layout.”

Erin put the binoculars to her eyes again, scanning the house, then chuckled.

“I’ve got an idea,” she said. “And it will help your chaos plan.”

“I’m not going to like it, am I?” he groaned. The grim chortle was a bad sign.

“When have you ever liked my plans? Anyway, you’re going to have to trust me.”

“I trust you.”

She grinned in the darkness. “You almost sound like you meant that. You said it without sighing.”

“What’s the plan, Erin?”

“Well,” she started slowly. “It involves one of those grenades you won’t let me have.”

Nate sighed. “For fuck’s sake,” he murmured.

Isaac tried not to flinch as Bancroft leaned over his shoulder, mere inches from his right cheek as he peered at the banks of grainy monitors. His odour was stale, a mix of sweat, liquor, and aged cologne, a shadow of stubble darkening the lower half of his face. Isaac’s eyes reflexively flickered to the huge firearm in his hand that resembled a cannon more than a handgun. It was a monstrous beast, its type unknown to Isaac except that it was some form of giant revolver, but it fitted Jamie Bancroft’s malicious personality to perfection. It was a weapon designed to intimidate, to inflict maximum damage, and as he stared at the screen with narrowed eyes, he idly cocked and uncocked the hammer. Every crunch and click forced Isaac to breathe for calm.

“Where has that feed gone?” he demanded, his breath on the verge of being flammable.

“I don’t know, Mr. Bancroft,” stumbled Isaac. “Everything says there is no issue with the feed.”

Just as he said it, a second monitor went black, though this time Isaac caught a brief flicker of movement before it did. It was a hand, holding a spray can.

“This one has just gone down as well sir,” he said, protecting himself by pointing it out. If Bancroft noticed it first, he might give Isaac a black eye to match the one he already possessed from his drunken screaming two nights before.

“What’s going on?” Bancroft straightened, then placed the silver barrel of the cannon against Isaac’s temple, causing his heart to seize. “Best guess?” He cocked the hammer.

“Someone’s spraying the lens with something!” he blurted, too terrified to lie. “It’s the only logical reason. There are blind spots, as I’ve said before, sir!”

Bancroft left the barrel placed against Isaac’s temple, the metal impossibly cold on his skin, as he picked