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

he heard two men hissing at the screamer to shut the fuck up, recognising one of those voices as Brodie. On reflex, Nate unclipped one of the pockets of his tactical vest and withdrew one of the flashbangs. As he reached the end of the passage, he pulled the pin and—without looking round the corner—hurled the flashbang down the corridor towards two men kneeling with sub-machine guns of their own. He heard the chattering panic of the armed thugs as the projectile skidded towards them, profanity colouring the air as Nate’s fingers pressed into his ears.

The explosion in the narrow width of the hallway was ferocious, as a hundred and seventy decibels of thunder addled the men’s brains, combined with a seven million candela flash of light, completely overwhelming their senses.

With the two men unable to see or think, Nate moved around the corner, rifle up, and quickly punched a round through both men with a rapid one-two. He whirled and put a bullet in the head of the screaming man so as not to leave a reanimating undead in his wake.

“I want one of those,” said Erin cheerfully as she appeared behind him.

“According to Isaac, there’s only Bancroft and one more left, plus his wife,” said Nate. “Six captives behind the door at the bottom of this hall.”

“Isaac?”

Nate quickly filled in the details of their unexpected ally.

“Nice. That boy deserves a beer.”

Nate nodded. “Now we’ve got an issue though,” he cautioned. “If Bancroft gets desperate, or gives up, he might just start executing people out of spite. We’ve no idea where they are in the room, he’s probably got a human shield, so if we breach fast, he might just start killing.”

“What about that last flashbang?”

Nate shook his head. “There’s a kid in there. Trust me, these things royally fucking scramble you. Plus, if you’re too close when they go off, they can inflict severe burns. Too much risk with more innocents than hostiles in the room.”

“So, what then?”

Nate lifted his rifle, cracking another two rounds into the heads of the reanimating henchmen outside the door. “We’ll have to talk.”

Erin snorted. “Well, this should be a hoot.”

Bancroft gripped Charlie’s shoulder with his left hand, the .357’s barrel placed against the back of the boy’s skull at a downward angle. The boom in the hall outside had been phenomenal, then three quick shots, followed by another two, signalled the end of his meagre defences.

One old retired soldier and a smart-mouthed little bitch had ripped his kingdom apart. Bancroft had survived the end of the world, gathered all his forces in one place, and was the master of everything his gaze fell upon. Everything had been just fine until Johnny stumbled across this Lockey woman and her sugar-daddy. Since that accursed day, everything had spiralled out of control, and Jamie Bancroft was a man entirely used to control. Having it taken from him had him acting like a spoiled child, with wild fits of rage at the incompetency of his men, blaming everyone except himself.

Johnny and Connor were both dead, and his last remaining sibling was a couple of months from his eighteenth birthday. Caleb was pale, even in the gloom of the lightless room. Flashlights were all they had to pierce the dark and under their sickly yellow glare, Caleb’s face was wan with barely disguised terror.

His wife, Chantelle, just looked incensed rather than afraid. She had gotten used to the good life, had not been a fan of the dead rising to take over the world, but as they started to carve out their own little kingdom, she had settled into the role of a tyrant queen with aplomb.

Now, two complete unknowns had decimated them over the course of a month. It was unfathomable and his narcissistic mind forged the illusion of him as the victim of this tale.

“Evening, Mr. Bancroft,” said a voice outside the door.

In a fit of pique, Bancroft raised the .357 and fired at the door, blasting a massive hole in the wood. Charlie started to cry, trying to crumple away from the monstrous thunder of the handgun, but Bancroft hauled him back up.

“Fuck you, old man!” he spat. “You come in here and I’ll blow this kid’s head off!”

“Nowhere to go, Bancroft,” said Nate. “All your men are dead. It’s just you, so you let the kid and the others go, and I’ll let you walk out of here. You have my word.”

Bancroft barked a bitter laugh. “Your word? Oh, well that’s fine then!” he said, the words dripping with scorn.

“What are your other options, Mr. Bancroft? There’s no way out of that room and the lives of those people in there are the only thing keeping you alive. My goodwill is all you have left.”

“I could ruin your fucking day and paint my walls with this kid’s brains.”

“And if you do that, I will come in there like the devil himself, that I can promise you.”

The words were without heat, just a statement of cold fact, and Bancroft swallowed a dry lump of fear. He could not show the unease he felt, not with all the hostages looking at him. He had to be in control. Had to be.

“I’ll make you a deal, old man,” said Bancroft. “Me, my wife, and my brother walk out of here, and we’ll keep the kid as collateral. Once we’re in a vehicle, I’ll let the kid go.”

“Mr. Bancroft, let me be clear,” said Nate, an edge creeping into his voice. “The young boy is staying in that room. I’m not letting you walk him anywhere. You haven’t earned my trust as yet. Your little display outside the gate doesn’t fill me with confidence.”

“And I’m supposed to trust you?”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“Jamie, let’s just go,” said Caleb in a shaking voice. “I’ve had enough of this.”

“Shut the fuck up, Caleb,” ordered Jamie. “Whose fucking side are you on?”

“We’ve already lost Johnny and Connor.” Caleb and Connor had always been close, and the