Wanna read something amazing? Author David Moody (Of Autumn and Hater fame) read No More Heroes for us, and he LOVED it. Check out what he had to say:
I can’t remember reading another book filled with so much blood, gore and f-bombs. But that’s no bad thing. ‘No More Heroes’ is gross, frantic, and awesome.
An impressively assured debut from Meadows. In Erin Locke he’s created a hero who’s simultaneously razor-sharp and clumsy, self-assured and yet filled with self-doubt. Lockey is a barely-contained ball of infectious energy: a hugely entertaining guide to take us through the end of the world.
‘No More Heroes’ crackles with energy and rattles along at a frantic pace. If ever I’m stuck in the middle of the zombie apocalypse, I want Lockey at my side.
Rude, chaotic, exciting, unpredictable, and very, very bloody, ‘No More Heroes’ is a blast from the first page to the last. Kick back and enjoy this unique vision of the apocalypse.
Amazing. Just amazing. I knew it was a good book, and I’m so excited it’s going to be a part of the AUD experience.
No More Heroes crashed onto your Kindle in just 8 days, and will be available in print a few days from now as well. Danielle Cohen is narrating the audiobook version, which is aiming for an end of year release.
We’re sharing entries from the book leading up to release day.
To catch yourself up, here are the links to the earlier posts:
Parts One and Two: https://www.thechrisphilbrook.com/2020/09/12/no-more-heroes-entry-one-and-two/
Parts Three and Four: https://www.thechrisphilbrook.com/2020/09/17/no-more-heroes-entries-3-4/
Parts Five and Six: https://www.thechrisphilbrook.com/2020/09/24/no-more-heroes-entries-5-6/
Parts Seven and Eight: https://www.thechrisphilbrook.com/2020/10/01/no-more-heroes-entries-7-8/
Part Nine: https://www.thechrisphilbrook.com/2020/10/05/no-more-heroes-entry-9/
Part Ten: https://www.thechrisphilbrook.com/2020/10/14/no-more-heroes-entry-9-2/
And now, here is: Seriously?
Pre-Order the Kindle here: https://amzn.to/315Ii4A
SERIOUSLY?
We set off at a slow roll, mainly because Nate’s two speeds are crawl or dead when he’s behind the wheel. We followed the road for about a mile before Nate brought the pickup to a dead stop.
“Shit,” he breathed.
There was a big ass wooden gate, just set off from this tiny country road, a good eight feet tall mounted on columns of brick. Either side were just long lengths of dense brush, utterly impassable for anything larger than a fox that acted as a border wall. However, milling about outside this gate were zombies.
Lots of zombies.
There must have been maybe forty or fifty, just banging their faces against the gate, pressing against it. I could see it was bent inwards slightly from the inexorable push that the undead provided, tireless and constant.
“How are there so many?” I whispered.
Nate shrugged, his deep voice almost inaudible. “Don’t know. Maybe those morons have been doing that drumming night after night and they’ve been drawn in over time in tiny groups, like that one last night.” He sniffed. “That seals it though.”
“What seals what?”
“We can’t get in and I’m not blazing through ammunition to take all those fuckers down.” He glanced at me askew. “And you’re not combat effective enough for this tight space. Open space maybe, but not crowded on this little narrow road.”
“There must be another way in for people with actual brains,” I offered. “Those dumb shits will continue to try and use their faces as a master key, but we’ve got actual thoughts. Let’s park up and find somewhere else we can climb over.”
“Erin, we….”
“Lockey,” I corrected again.
“Erin,” he repeated, just to be an ass. “What’s the point?”
“People are the point, Nate. They clearly don’t know what’s knocking at their gate. Come on, back the fuck up, park the truck, and come the fuck on.”
I slid out of the truck to make my point, Particles under one arm and his Kuato-bag in the other hand.
“Seriously?” he hissed, one eye glancing back to the mass of undead at the gate in case any had noticed us. They were a good distance away. “You’re taking the dog?”
“If you think I’m leaving Particles behind in a truck with the sun coming up, you’re very wrong. It’s already warming up. I’m not leaving the little guy to die a melty death in a truck.”
Particles emphasised my point by staring balefully at Nate, outraged at the notion of being left behind.
Nate said nothing, though I could almost hear the string of profanity echoing in his head, and I closed the door quietly. Nate backed the truck up round the corner, out of sight of the mass of shamblers, before climbing out. He kept his voice low as I settled Particles into his carry-bag. As his head popped out of the hole, all indignant at the inconvenience, Nate just stared at us both for a moment and shook his head in obvious irritation.
Cheered me right up.
#
We managed to find a way into the property by climbing a tree further back on the road, then moving along the boughs and dropping down the other side. Nate did an admirable job for an old guy, but he carries considerably more weight. I, of course, with my mad parkour skills, scampered up the tree, scooted along and dropped lightly down on the other side.
Nate’s attempts were comical, with him blowing out his arse as he dragged himself up, shakily moved across the branches, then flopped like a two hundred pound bag of shit on the other side.
“Wasn’t so bad, eh?” I gave him a shit-eating grin.
“Maybe not for a demented squirrel like you,” he growled.
Particles stared back at Nate, silently judging him.
We pushed on and as we entered a lush green field, there was a beautiful looking building at the top of a hill, all wood and glass. Pretty big too, not some little cabin. It looked like some classy chic hotel for the elite that had limited spaces. We could see a handful of cars parked outside, a long and slender road running from the building down to the front gate we’d seen from the other side.
Couldn’t see a single zombie from this side through the solid gates. You might see their feet if you went up close through the small gap between earth and the gate’s bottom, but other than that, looking down from the building would reveal nothing about the undead party taking place at the gate.
Ever vigilant, Nate had come looking like he was ready for some mass execution, all dolled up in his bad-ass tactical vest, spare clips for his handgun, shotgun shells aplenty, and the double barrel with the selective trigger loaded and ready for action.
We could hear voices, even though it was probably only seven in the morning, just a single, soothing voice, all hypnotic, though no words could be made out. We crested the rise, following the sound of the voice and as we reached the top, both of us stopped dead.
There, on the grass in front of this stunning country retreat, were ten people.
Doing yoga.
Yoga.
Fucking yoga in the apocalypse.
You only had to take one look at these people to know that Nate wasn’t going to get on with them. These people were gentle-looking, flighty and farty, breathing in the country air and finding their centre and learning to love themselves or some shit, while I was accompanied by the Terminator’s granddad.
The instructor was the only one facing us when we appeared, a quite beautiful woman in her mid-forties, who clearly took really good care of herself. One thing I immediately noticed was that everyone looked clean, and that gave me real hope for my future.
The instructor’s eyes were closed as she talked, holding some position that was sure to win any game of Twister without fail, but as she relaxed and began issuing her next instruction, she opened her eyes and Nate and I were both in her cone of vision.
She stopped for a moment, too stunned at seeing our incongruous little trio standing outside their shiny lodge. There was Nate; all in black, tactical vest, handgun, shotgun, and a facial expression that silently said, “what the actual fuck?” He’s shit at hiding what he thinks, especially when he thinks, “What the fuck?”
Then there was me, dirty and dishevelled with an off-centre ponytail in hair that hadn’t been washed in a month or more, my loose athletic pants, battered Nikes, vest top and hoody, with a backpack hanging over my torso, and a pug’s head staring back at them all, judging them. I waved and smiled, knowing full well Nate probably looked like he was about to execute every last motherfucking one of them.
The instructor let out a little squeal, squeaking out a name.
“Theo!”
A man at the front, about the same age as the yoga teacher – probably a little older actually – paused in his stretch and turned, blanching at the sight of us. To be honest, I nearly blanched at the sight of him. He had this really weird round face, with crumpled skin in folds, and a shock of wiry black hair on his head and sticking out of his chin, like he’d just been electrocuted. When I saw him, all I could think of was how he looked like a testicle. With teeth.
The whole group by now had turned to see the commotion and most of them squealed, clustering together fearfully, begging for their lives like Nate was about to start blasting.
“Whoah whoah!” I shouted, trying to get them to calm the fuck down. “Hey, we’re not here to hurt anyone!”
“This is private property!” declared Testicle… erm… Theo. He tried to muster as much gumption as he could, but honestly, he sounded on the verge of tears. “I’ll call the police!”
Both Nate and I stared at him for a moment, stared at each other for another moment, then turned our gaze back to him. As one, we both laughed.
“Okay, Theo, is it?” He nodded dumbly. “Okay, Theo, first question. Where’s your phone?”
As I thought, nobody who looks like this guy takes his phone to yoga. He looked like a kid just caught in a lie and his bottom lip quivered the same way.
“Secondly, we’re not here to hurt anyone. We heard your drumming and chanting last night and – as you can see – we’re a little worse for wear.” I gestured to my appearance which was clearly lacking my usual hotness. “And thirdly, call the police? Really? How long have you been here? Do you even fucking know what’s going on out there?” I gestured in a general sweep behind me.
“This is a spiritual retreat,” stammered Theo. “We’ve been here since the 20th of June. No electronics permitted.”
“Fuck Testi… Theo,” I corrected quickly. Shit, he really did look like a toothy bollock. “How fucking long is this retreat?”
“Thirty days.”
“A month?” I choked. “A fucking month? Who the hell can afford to fuck off for a month?”
I mean, come on. A month of doing yoga, chanting, meditating, inhaling incense and twatting drums round a campfire? Who the shitting hell can afford that?
“Are you telling us,” growled Nate. “Are you seriously telling us, that you haven’t been in contact with anyone outside this lodge, for the past month?”
“No one,” affirmed Theo. “The retreat finishes the day after tomorrow.”
Nate and I shared another amazed look, one of utter disbelief. While the world has been holding the side of the toilet bowl with two white-knuckled hands, screaming in horror as it shits out bloody spikes, this bunch of twats had been singing Kum Ba Yah, blissfully unaware of the world’s end.
Un-fucking-believable.
“Nate,” I said. “Put the gun down, you’re scaring the hippies.”
Nate snorted and lowered the shotgun.
“Now look,” I said. “We’re really not here to hurt anyone, so can we start again? My name’s Erin Locke, but everyone calls me Lockey. This here is Nate Carter, and this is Particles. I think you better put the kettle on. Tell me you have coffee?”
Theo shook his head. “Green teas, camomile, fruit teas; this is a place of healing and cleansing. Here we detox and reconnect with our inner self.”
Here we go, I thought. Here comes the twat-speak. I could feel Nate’s disgust rolling off him in near physical waves. These were not his people.
“Typical, you’re all on a detox, when I really need to tox the shit out of myself,” I moaned out loud. “Well, put some fucking asparagus and broccoli tea on, or whatever it is you drink here, and let’s talk. There’s some shit you need to know.”