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

paramedics? They’re zombies. Look at their eyes, Rod, they’re all white. You can’t get out of the building through the door because about five or six of our fellow neighbours are shuffling around in rivers of blood and will fucking eat anyone who goes down those stairs. So, in answer to your question as to why I’m climbing, I’m climbing down to get the fuck out of here, and find somewhere safe, because right at this very fucking moment, the world is ending.” I waited for a second longer, then punctuated it with one final addendum. “Lad.”

Rodney blinked once, long and slow, and gave me a queer look. I imagine that’s the kind of look he gave to cans of deodorant or air freshener in the shop. It was a look that said, “I’m not buying it.”

He started laughing and nodding like a simpleton. “Yeah, good one, lad!”

I groaned. There are people who embrace adversity, rising to whatever challenge fate chooses to put in their path. They grab life by the throat and throttle the shit out of destiny, making it their bitch.

Meanwhile, the Rodneys of this world are asleep on the toilet, shit-stained tighty-whiteys around their ankles, with a half-smoked spliff hanging from their mouth. This guy was so permanently blazed out of his mind, he likely couldn’t pour piss out of a boot without instructions on the heel.

I had no time or inclination at this point to argue with him. I was already in hyper survival mode, so all I could do was shake my head at him, swing my legs over his window guard, and give him one final look.

“Good luck, Rodney,” I said.

I have no doubt in my mind that Rodney is dead. He probably moves with more purpose and intelligence now he’s a zombie.

Gah, I shouldn’t joke about shit like that. The guy was dumb, but he was harmless. He likely died a horrible death, so I shouldn’t make a joke of his end.

The two paramedics were beneath me, so I lowered myself as much as I dared in order to stay clear of their grasping hands and bunched up to brace my feet against the brick. Sucking in a couple of quick breaths for courage, I then released my hands and pushed up and back with all the strength in my legs to clear the two undead, flipping over in a looping backward somersault, lengthening my body to control the spin, and landed on my feet. A couple of backward steps later to catch my balance, I spun as the zombies turned, and off I ran.

I don’t own a car, as I couldn’t afford one, so I had no vehicle. I tried the ambulance sitting in the car park of our building, but one of the paramedics must have had the keys on their person, so that was out.

At this point, I wasn’t thinking too clearly, still working on instinct and adrenaline burning in every fibre. All I knew was that my building was unsafe, so I had to get away. However, I didn’t have a destination in mind. I thought of Dean and Maria, but they lived in the next town over, about an eight-mile drive from where I was, so that was my initial long-term goal. For the moment, I was a bit lost at sea. My phone was dead, and I didn’t really have anyone else to call.

This is what I was talking about in an earlier entry. I knew loads of people, had plenty of numbers in my phone, and could always find someone for a night out, or just an evening of kicking back and chilling. But I realised at that moment I didn’t have anyone in my contacts list that I thought, “It’s a zombie apocalypse, I’m heading to X’s house.” I just didn’t have that person to fall back on.

So, it was Lockey versus the Apocalypse, round one.

I’m going to pause there, Freya. I’ve been writing a while, and I’ve probably got another day of rest before I can get out beyond the gate again, so I’ll finish my tale tomorrow, I think.

Lockey hungry. Lockey eat. And play Mario Kart, because Charlie’s hollering for me, and I don’t like to disappoint.

Peace.

OCTOBER 16th, 2010

THE DAY THE WORLD SHIT THE BED, PART DEUX

I am feeling much better today, Freya. Got my full flex on with only a little bit of stiffness, so after today, I’m going to be ready for heading out beyond the gate.

Finally.

It’s been around eight days of pain and immobility, which has resulted in me being borderline stir crazy. I need to get out there and see if the undead have still got a hard on for me. I can’t abide the thought of having to remain within the lodge’s confines permanently, but if my presence is going to endanger everyone accompanying me, I might have to.

I chatted to Nate about it last night, laying out my test mission to ensure Operation Birthday goes ahead for Charlie. He wasn’t particularly enamoured by my idea, saying it was a pointless risk for something so frivolous, so I had to blast him with the guilt cannon.

“Nate, Charlie is nine years old, yet in that short amount of time on this earth, he’s lost his mum, been taken captive, had a gun held to his head, is a child of an apocalypse, and a week ago had to deal with the fact that his dad might not come home either. He’s got no other kids around him, and nothing like any kind of normal existence. For one day, just one fucking day, we can let him be a kid again. Yes, there’s risk in my stupid plan, and no, we don’t technically need to go there to get the stuff I want. I know all this, which is why I just want it to be me and you, so it doesn’t put anyone else at risk.”

I looked him square in his