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

I was into women, I would marry that girl. She’s the only woman that’s made me question my sexuality for a brief moment; I’m comfortable enough with myself to say that, so off you fuck with your judgments.

It’s too early to say if Freya is having any effect on Laura as yet. These things don’t get resolved in a few days. Maybe when we all settle into a new rhythm and routine with each other, Laura will start opening up a little, because at the moment she’s an airtight container of unresolved trauma and emotion.

So, there you have it. Our tribe now stands at eleven (ten humans, one pug) and the lodge has got a whole lot busier. Everyone has been settled into rooms, with Charlie and Mark obviously sharing, and Maria and Norah have both bonded and opted for a twin room. Isaac is in a room on his own, and rather than stick together, Alicia and Laura have gone their separate ways as well. The lodge is almost at capacity now, so that morning peace I used to enjoy for writing in the main kitchen of the lodge has gone to shit. Charlie is up early and plays outside with Particles, trying to teach him tricks (good luck with that, he’s a lazy little turd), Mark is up as well because of Charlie, and Norah’s body clock has her up earlier than anyone at pretty much 6am every morning.

Sigh. I like that we rescued all these people, but I’d gotten quite used to my morning peace. Instead, I go make a brew in the smaller kitchen here in the bungalow, then go back and chill in my room to write these updates. It won’t matter as much when the weather starts to turn, but on these summer mornings, it was nice sitting at the big island in the middle of the lodge’s kitchen, the glass sliding doors opened to let in the morning air and look out over the vista of the grounds.

My god, I’m 26 going on 70. Listen to me. Can you pass me my tartan bootee slippers and my blanket for my knees, while I just grunt and groan myself into this rocking chair?

It’s taking a bit of time to get used to it being so busy. The first thing we had to do is assess the food situation; winter will be here before we know it. Three people to ten is a big multiplier in food consumption, and the hot water for showers is having to be regulated. No standing for ten minutes with arms in the air luxuriating from here on in. Once the tank is empty, we have to wait for it to refill and heat up, which takes quite a chunk of the electric from the panels to do. We may need to impose a shower rota, and only take one every two days, rather than the luxury of a daily shower I’ve been used to this past month. It’s a small sacrifice, but if and when that kicks in, it’s going to make me irritable and twitchy early on, I just know it. I bloody love my daily shower, that feeling of being clean.

Lots of sighing today.

Anyway, food. Nate and Mark smashed together that shelving from timber acquired from some nearby farms and installed it in the room where I disintegrated the top knot. Nobody wants to sleep in there, so we ripped out the carpets and turned it into a storeroom. With so many bodies, we soon had everything on shelves and organised, and I have to say, we’re in a pretty good position. Based on an average rate of consumption for the three of us, Nate says we have enough for about three months now there are ten people. Sounds a lot, but it isn’t.

I’m taking Nate’s word for these calculations, by the way. Maths has never been my strong point. If I had a pound for every time I fucked up my maths, I’d have £12.30.

Naturally, Norah will help to supplement that and says if we can acquire her more supplies and seeds, she can expand the garden and start getting more potatoes in the ground and the like. This is good.

We’re pretty flush on weaponry now. Nate made sure that was the first thing we brought home before anything else, just in case any other scavengers found Castle Bancroftstein while we were away. There are still places we can hit for food and other supplies, but guns and ammo? Shit, rarer than a rocking horse’s turd pile in this green and pleasant land.

Again, I’m not going to inventory. That’s Nate’s field of expertise and he’s not putting this stuff in the upstairs storeroom; that’s all being kept here in the bungalow, under lock and key by Nate. He’ll be the one controlling and issuing that stuff, but a quick survey says we’re in possession of eight SA80 rifles with about three thousand rounds of 5.56 for them, about fourteen 9mm handguns of varying makes and models but mostly Glock 17’s with about the same, six SMG’s, a handful of those MAC-11 machine pistols (which Nate dislikes as he says they’ll piss through ammo in the hands of amateurs who don’t control their shots), a selection of shotguns in varying gauges with boxes of appropriate shells, and even two AK-47’s, but the 7.62 rounds for them are pretty low, which is probably why Bancroft didn’t really have them in circulation. They each have about three full magazines ready to use, but there isn’t any spare reloads. There’s also a shitload of gun cleaning supplies.

We are loaded for zombie bear, my dear reader.

Bancroft’s house is actually a goldmine. We’re going to get that tanker and fill it up with fuel, there’s a shit ton of foodstuffs over there, as well as medical supplies they purloined from a local infirmary and nearby pharmacies. King Shit gathered a lot of resources to store at Turd Mountain,