We Will Rise: An Adrian's Undead Diary Novel (Lockey vs the Apocalypse Book 2) by Carl Meadows (best historical biographies txt) 📕

staring up at me as they followed my every move. They were on both sides of the aisle, completely surrounding Nate and the others so they couldn’t clamber down at any point, so I made my way back towards the main office roof, doing the jump in reverse.

It was a hell of a lot easier this time around without all the extra awkwardness and weight of the rifle and backpack, and the fact I was running along a flat surface and not a downward sloping one. I made the jump easily, ran along that slanted roof towards the back of the yard, found a suitable point I could return to and climb back up with ease, then dropped to the yard and flicked on my flashlight.

Shit, it was so dark, and I was questioning the sense of my plan. Suddenly I longed for the sickly comfort of the NVG’s. I need to get some of those, if possible. Actually, the better, less insane plan is to never come out at fucking night again.

Night has the ability to terrify far more than the day ever could. Your imagination runs wild at every tiny sound, every looming shadow. I’ve never been afraid of the dark, but these days I’m bloody terrified of the silent, monstrous things that hide in it. In this new and messed up world, we really do have things that go bump in the night. And lunge. And bite. And murder.

Running to the end of the aisle – just to escape the heavier darkness that existed between the towering aisles of containers and materials - I looked down to the front of the yard, seeing the ominous silhouette of the undead mass rippling like waves as they shuffled to the position where they thought I was, then clicked the handset.

“Get ready. Firing in three, two, one.”

I aimed the Glock down to the front of the yard and squeezed off a single round in the horde’s general direction, then lifted up the flashlight to draw them in. I should have been happy that my plan seemed a good one, because the horde took my cue, and the monstrous, boiling mass of nightmares began their ominous slow charge towards me.

But then, who can really be happy about a monstrous, boiling mass of nightmares starting an ominous slow charge towards them?

It was a chilling experience, seeing the faceless horde swarm towards me, their twisted features shrouded by the night. After about a half-minute it looked like the whole mob was coming my way. Another half-minute passed before the crack and boom of my friends’ weapons echoed in the night, muzzle flashes strobing the darkness behind the horde.

Ever see that Dr Who episode, Freya? Blink? The one with the weeping angels who don’t move except when you blink and each time you do, they’re a little nearer?

Yeah, it was like that. Every time the flashes of gunfire lit up behind the horde from Nate and the others, the front ranks of the undead seemed to teleport that little bit closer.

The best part, however, was when I heard the thunder of the flat-bed’s diesel engine rumble into life, and then a few seconds later, the familiar throaty roar of our beloved pickup. They were on board, safe, and ready to get the hell out of here, so that was my cue to start moving. I didn’t want the horde any closer than they had to be. The job was done, so it was time to depart.

I returned quickly to the point I’d marked for getting back to the warehouse roof, and scampered up it, headed up and over the apex and thought, “Hey, I can just run down the slope and easily leap straight over the fence.” So that’s what I did, and that, my lovely Freya, is where I did myself an injury.

Note to self; running parkour jumps in the dark, with only a flashlight to lead the way, when you can’t really see where you’re going to land properly, is fucking retarded. Don’t get me wrong, there weren’t any big obstructions - as I would have seen them when I scanned the area with my flashlight - but when I soared over the top of the fence, landed on my feet on the ground and went forward into my shoulder-tucked safety roll, there was a half-broken brick on the concrete and I managed to roll right over it with all my weight, halfway down my back on the right side.

For a moment I thought I’d managed to shoot myself somehow, but my Glock was safely tucked into the holster at my hip. I am a safe and responsible firearms owner, Freya, because Nate would put his massive boot up my dainty little butthole if I were anything but.

But Jesus Christ, that agony was sharp, sudden, and fierce. It knocked the shit out of me, and it took me a minute just to make sure I hadn’t punctured my lung or some other horror, even though it felt I’d taken a direct punch to my lung. Fucking hell, it hurt at the moment of injury, and it’s still hurting now.

Sucking in difficult breaths and moving gingerly, I decided to pull out the Glock and walk back to my little electric transport with gun and flashlight up. There was less need for stealth now, and I wasn’t making any rapid getaways any time soon, so I opted for the, “if anything approaches me now, it’s getting a nine-mil in the face,” approach.

I made it back to the Smart car, roared in pain as I slid into the seat, closed the door, and sat there for a minute or two while I returned my heartbeat to something resembling normality. I didn’t want to hang around too long, but I thumbed the mic on the radio.

“I’m out, back in my vehicle, all is well,” I panted. “I’ll meet you back at the lodge.”

“Copy that,” said Nate. There was a little pause before his voice crackled over