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

Now was the true test.

As the demonic form shambled towards the masses, its wasted arms reaching for flesh just out of its grasp, Maddock’s voice cracked like a gunshot through the rising tumult of the crowd.

“Hold!”

Exhilaration coursed through Maddock as the thing halted mid-reach, arms falling lifeless to its sides, awaiting his next decree.

“Kneel!” he commanded, barely containing the triumph in his voice as the undead fell to its knees, just as it had moments earlier when George offered himself in sacrifice. The sharp metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, though there was none there.

Power.

Raw, exultant power of the divine.

And it was his.

“Jacob,” he trembled, beckoning the awestruck soldier forward.

“Prophet?” the warrior inquired, eyes wide and shining. For this moment alone, the haunting ghosts of his memory were exorcised by reverence.

“Put our brother to his final rest. He has earned that much.”

Without hesitation, Jacob Tyler drew the pistol from his hip and executed the undead George with a single round to the head. The corpse collapsed for a second time, but this time it did not rise.

Climbing to the platform so all could remember this moment, Maddock cast out his arms as though he would embrace them all. Crimson drops flicked from the hand still warm with George’s blood.

“My children!”

The radiance of the divine descended with the silence, every breath held, every eye fixed to him.

“This is our reward for Brother George’s sacrifice, for your devotion and dedication, for your faith! And now, my children, I am no longer your mere Prophet, for my words are now our truth, and I have been touched by Death itself! From this day forth, I am your First Disciple of the Resurrection!”

The crowd exploded in unfettered acclaim, the touch of the divine upon them all.

“WE ARE READY, AND WE WILL RISE!” they roared as one. Over and over, the crowd thundered the mantra, until it eventually devolved into a three-word frenzy.

“WE WILL RISE! WE WILL RISE! WE WILL RISE!”

Maddock allowed the joy to smother him, swallowed by its ecstasy.

A beatific smile radiating from his lips, and his eyes wet with tears of rapture, he finally lowered his head and drank in the divinity of the moment.

His hands bunching to fists, John Maddock, First Disciple of the Resurrection, whispered triumphantly back to the crowd through clenched teeth.

“We… will… rise!”

NOVEMBER 11th, 2010

IT’S OH SO QUIET

Well, I’m sitting here at the kitchen island in the lodge, tapping at my keyboard, all alone. Nate is already asleep, as is Alicia, and it’s just little old me sitting in the quiet.

It’s SO quiet.

Everybody has moved to Crenshaw, and we’ve been back and forth for a few days to settle everyone in. I swear Particles looked at me with the thought of, “Damn you, betrayer of worlds!” when I left him in Charlie and Mark’s care. It’s like he knew he was being left there and I was clearing out. I feel like such a turd.

Maria has moved into the mini apartment in Hall Fire with Dean. Mark and Charlie have taken one of the three small houses down in the maintenance area where Mark will be working most of the time. Isaac has moved into one of the single dorms used by older kids in the same building as the rest of them.

Norah has planted herself in one of the houses near Mark and Charlie as well, and that makes me happy. Norah thinks the world of them both, and she and Charlie have developed a special bond. I’m glad she’ll be close to them, and those two won’t be isolated far from everyone else.

We moved the tanker over there, the loader truck, the van, they still had the black Astra, and a couple of others. The three of us just kept our beloved pickup, and you would have to drag Nate’s cold dead body from that up armoured Humvee. Everywhere we go on outings beyond the gate now, we’ll do so as a trio, so we’ve just kept the two vehicles.

We moved the bulk of the resources over, dug up Norah’s vegetable garden and transported that over as best we could, and we’ve left ourselves with plenty of supplies. One of the sticking points were the guns and ammo.

Nate was adamant about retaining them, no matter Dean’s training as a specialist firearms officer. Everyone who carried a sidearm got to keep their Glock, and he was happy to hand over some shotguns and ammo for them as we’ve plenty of both. But he flat refused to just hand over the bulk of the stuff we’ve gathered like the SMG’s, the .22 rifle, the big .357 revolvers from Tucker and Jamie Bancroft, the L85 rifles, the AK-47’s we got from Bancroft, and all the other stuff. Nate was clear and concise that every single one of those weapons had been fought and killed for by me and him, and he wasn’t just going to hand them over.

Side note. Nate has told me to stop calling the rifles SA80, as that’s just the family, not the exact model. Apparently, it’s an L85A2, so henceforth I shall be calling them L85’s. He’s such a pedant when it comes to guns.

It made for a bit of tension with Dean and Nate, which I didn’t enjoy as I can see both arguments. There are more people at Crenshaw and more that will need weapons training, which Dean can do, but I sort of stand by Nate. We’ve fought and killed for every one of those weapons and bullets we’ve acquired. We’re the only two out of the lodge that battled the living who were using them to shoot back at us or terrorise innocents. Just handing those over into someone else’s care doesn’t seem right, even if it is Dean. Plus, Nate and Dean don’t know each other that well yet.

Nate was happy to let everyone go with their sidearms, the spare magazines they had for them, and an extra box each for refills, plus the shotguns