The Night

by Steinwachs, Mark

  “China attacked North Korea today,” Drake stated pulling Jensen back to the present. “Russia is twisted about it. They are threatening to attack China. Russia and China going head to head. Think about it. Fuck, yeah. Everyone on the news is saying Russia already has a deal to ally with India. Been some crazy shit. Of course Russia and China shared military secrets for most of the last fifty years but no one is saying anything about that.”

  Jensen yawned, “I’m tired. I just did twelve hours at the plant. I’m glad you had a good day with your CNN. Tomorrow you’ll get the real version. You sure you don’t want to go in early?” Jensen didn’t wait for an answer. “I’m going to bed, Drake. See you tomorrow, man.” Jensen walked past the living room to the hall.

  Drake kept on. “They did a rescue mission, Jensen.”

  Jensen slowly turned. His face twitched. “What did you say?”

  “They rescued some people that had holed themselves up in a school. Some place near Buffalo.”

  “Well, that’s fucking great now, isn’t it? The military goes and rescues some people, of course on the East Coast. They give us just enough to get by. They don’t care about us. Fuck it. Fuck them.” Jensen spun back and went into his bedroom. He shut the door and fell into bed.

  ***

  Looking down on the dance floor, she moved with the music, his beautiful bride. Her wedding dress ditched in favor of her favorite club outfit: jeans that flared out wide, tight yellow tank top, and her yellow visor. She looked as stunning as she did that first night almost two years ago.

  She looked up at him, smiling wide. He was lost. Lost in her. Perfection. She pointed to their friend, then up at him. He could see her giggling, her eyes getting wider.

  The dull thump, thump of the bass hit him. Jensen snapped back and looked at the needle moving headlong to the end of the track. He quickly recued his next record and faded it up just in time. There was a clap on his back. “Thought you weren’t going to make that one,” his buddy Scone said. Jensen rolled his eyes and laughed. He looked back at his wife. His wife. He smiled what seemed to be his thousandth of the day. Kerri laughed and blew him a kiss.

  ***

  Jensen opened his eyes slowly, there was no reason to hurry today. It was his day off and Drake would already be at work so he had the apartment to himself. Looking upward, as he had done so many mornings before, he tried to recall his dream. Kerri had started to melt away from him first, their friends following after. He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath, fully expecting the last of his dream to disappear.

  ***

  The record spun on the Technics 1200. He watched himself pull the next record from his crate and put it on the second table, tucking the headphone against his ear as his hands deftly cued the record. He faded it in smoothly with the first. Two tracks becoming one. The melodies danced perfectly with each other. He smiled in his dream, looking over the dance floor, his friends taking form. They all danced, smiled, laughed. They were happy. He made them happy. He looked for Kerri but she wasn’t there. Rick was missing. Brek, Scone, and Cath were as well. Gone, all of them, each one taken by the zombies. As the scene started to fade, he looked at the turntables, the music overpowering his thoughts. Whistles rang out. The images were stronger than before. He dared to look up. His friends were back. Kerri was there too, her hands raised, glowsticks twirling around her.

  ***

  Jensen opened his eyes. His hands were shaking. He stood and his legs felt weak. His stomach churned. He hadn’t wanted to touch his turntables since Kerri was killed. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he needed … maybe. Walking to the studio, he forced himself to take deep, calming breaths. He put his hand on the doorknob. He hadn’t been in that room in almost six months, no one had. He slowly turned the knob and pushed it open. A layer of dust covered everything. There it was. He stood in the doorway, looking in the room, his hands still trembling. One step. Two steps. Three. Left hand over to turn on the amplifier. It came to life with a short pop. His right hand hit the power on his mixer, the display flashed on. He looked at his digital setup but did not turn it on. The Technics 1200s.

  Jensen let his hand caress the machine, running it along the base, turning the power knob, then tapping the button. It started to spin. He tapped it again and it stopped. He repeated the process on the other one. The headphones were last. He put them on and then pushed them back so they were around his neck.

  Jensen closed his eyes and expelled a breath. He took the record out and put it on the turntable, running the pitch up a bit. Start with something you know, ease into it. Thump, thump, thump, thump. Bass pushed through the speakers. The song slowly began to build. Jensen stood there, watching the record spin. He reached down, pulled the next one out, and set it on the other 1200. Jensen put the headphone to his right ear, pressing it between his shoulder and neck. He began to cue up the record. Years of doing this mix put him on auto pilot. His hands steadied, left hand on the crossfader, right hand on the table holding it still. Waiting for the moment. There! His right hand let go an instant before his left hand slammed the crossfader over. The next track sprung to life. Jensen let a breath out he didn’t know he was holding and bent over to get another record.

  Sweat dripped from him. He tossed his shirt aside some time ago. The world was a blur. One track after another. Jensen built the set carefully, letting the tracks do the work. Build, build, build, hit; drop, start again. His hands skipped across the mixer and 1200s, body moving in time with the beat. Crates of records were circled around him on the floor, some pulled up at an angle waiting their turn.

  Jensen squatted, going through a crate while the music roared. No, no, no. Maybe. He pulled one out. No, no, no. He pulled out two. They were the same record.

  Kerri’s favorite track.

  He pushed all the other records back down.

  Jensen cued up the first copy and seamlessly brought it in, then the second copy. Two of the same tracks entwined together. Jensen danced behind the tables as he slammed the crossfader back and forth. Headphones back to his ear. Recue. Drop in. Cut. Cut. He pushed the volume up louder. Music filled the house. “Come on! Come on!” Jensen shouted to the air, urging the mix forward. He was alive. Alive for those that weren’t.

  For Rick. Bringing the first track back in.

  For Brek. The second track took the lead.

  For Scone. He cut back to the first, his body leaving the ground from the force of it.

  For Cath. He threw his body the other direction with the crossfader. The second track rising again.

  He brought both together. One track chased the other. One built up. The other dropped. Two tracks together: separate but one. Jensen. Kerri.

  He stepped back, his hands conducting the music. Feeling the surge. The euphoria. The swell filled his body. Jensen closed his eyes. The vocals from the song encircled each other. Behind him he felt her dancing as she had done so many times before. He didn’t need to look, he knew every move she made.

  Head rocking back and forth with the music, he mouthed the lyrics. She was there with him. It was okay. He would make it. The first track peaked and dropped, bass line gone and melodies flittering about. The second track continued to rise, creeping closer to the first. Jensen started to bounce on the balls of his feet, he no longer mouthed the lyrics but sung them. Fuck the decibel laws. His hand pushed the master fader higher. The room shook with the bass as it built back up. Once more. He cut over to one track, then back to the other. Arms raised to the sky he felt the music course through him. Burn into him. The song broke one last time and dropped, the music trailing off to the static hiss. Jensen slowly pulled the fader down.

  Click.

  The turntable stopped spinning. Jensen put the two records away and took off his headphones. He left the door open as he walked back to his bedroom.

  ***

  He didn’t dream that night, at least not that he could remember. When he was done getting ready the next morning he opened his door.

>   Drake blocked his path, standing there smiling like the Cheshire cat.

  “Wow, creepy much there, Drake?” Jensen said standing in the doorway.

  “Right. Couple of things, Jensen. First, I thought you were never going to come out. I’ve been standing here since I heard the shower turn off. You almost ruined this for me. Second,” Drake’s voice turned serious and his brow furrowed, “why, Mr. Jensen Holt, was I stopped by Mrs. Whitaker complaining of loud music from our apartment and don’t we know that zombies are attracted to loud noises? And thirdly, why,” Drake thrust his finger in the air for emphasis, “yes, why, is the studio door open? Well?”

  Jensen smirked and shook his head. Before he could say a word, Drake grabbed him in a bear hug. “It’s good to have you back, man.”

  “Thanks, Drake. I’ve got to get to work. We’ll talk about it later. Okay?”

  “Yeah, you know we will.”

  As Jensen left for work, he heard Drake say, “DJ Jence back in the mix, hell yeah.”

  ***

  They never did talk about it. They didn’t have to. Jensen got home that night and went straight into the studio. This time he also turned on the computer. He hit record and let the first track go. The music led him along. His body was loose, moving and sliding with the groove. Jensen closed his eyes, no longer afraid of what he would see. Images flashed through his mind from parties past, his friends together, everyone happy, enjoying the ride they were on together.

  Jensen looked back and saw Drake’s body move in time with the music. Sometimes he was texting people. Sometimes he was playing video games. Sometimes he was sitting with his eyes closed. He was always smiling.

  “Who were you texting?” Jensen said as he finished putting the last record away. There was no response. “Drake?” Jensen looked up from the record crates.

  “You’ll see,” Drake said standing in the doorway to the studio.

  Jensen’s phone vibrated. Then it did it again. And again. And again. He grabbed it, fingers quickly opening the text messages.

  Send me the set.

  Welcome back, DJ Jence!

  Send it to me!

  I want to hear it!

  “You going to keep your fans waiting, Jensen?”

  “I’ll make you a deal,” Jensen said. “You send it to them and I’ll go make us a couple drinks.” Drake was at the computer before Jensen finished his sentence.

  ***

  The next couple of weeks flew by for Jensen. He put his time in at work; then at home he threw himself into his music. He got two new tracks done and worked them into a few of his sets. Drake uploaded each one so everyone could listen to them. Both his and Drake’s phones were blowing up with calls for more.

  There was one thing that wasn’t right, though. Drake seemed stressed to Jensen. It wasn’t like him at all.

  “Drake, spill it. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing, normal work stuff. Something isn’t right. It’s so close but I can’t see it,” Drake said.

  “Of course something isn’t right. You and your cohorts in that building you work in. Dealing with all that crap going on between China and North Korea.

  “Step back and let it hit you. Isn’t that what you always say when you get like this?” Jensen said to his friend. “We’ve got an hour before curfew. Let’s order some food.”

  Jensen watched as Drake ordered them dinner. Drake had been stressed at work before but he seemed off somehow. Something Jensen could read in Drake but couldn’t understand the meaning. He couldn’t grasp Drake’s job anyway. The US government put him in an office with a couple of computers and made him decipher Chinese message traffic. Drake told him there were other offices with people doing the same thing as him with other countries. “Of course we still spy on other countries. You didn’t think a few zombies would stop that, did you?” Drake told him one day, giving a conspiratorial wink.

  That skinny kid behind the lighting console. He never would have guessed he was a linguistics genius who gave up a high-paying job at Microsoft to play with lights and video for a living.

  ***

  Jensen’s phone vibrated. Finally. Kerri is safe! Now all I have to do is go get her. He pulled the phone from his pocket. Odd. Why didn’t it ring? There was only a voicemail. “Jensen. It’s crazy. There are people attacking and biting each other. They’re talking about locking down the hospital. I need you to come get me before they do. Something really bad is going on.”

  Jensen spun towards the door and headed for his car. Halfway to the hospital his phone signaled another voicemail. Kerri was crying. “I tried to leave but they wouldn’t let me. People from the army are here. They pointed their guns at me. Told me to get back or they would shoot.” Kerri broke down. All he could hear was crying. She spoke again, “This patient, he … he bit me. I want to go home.”

  He gunned the car faster. The streets were almost empty. Jensen ignored traffic lights and made the last couple turns before the hospital. Slamming the brakes after the last turn, he swung the car to the right forcing it up on the sidewalk. The car screeched to a halt. He jumped out throwing his hands in the air. Two men in camouflage with M-16s in hand stood behind a barricade.

  “My wife is inside! She’s hurt, I need to get her.”

  “No one can get in or out. Go back home. Get out of here.”

  “But she’s … I’m going in.” Jensen took a step forward. Both men raised their weapons into a firing position.

  Jensen’s phone rang. He flinched waiting for the bullet that never came. “I’m going to answer it. It’s my wife. You’ll see. Then I’m going to go get her.

  “Hey, Kerri, I’m right outside. I’m here. Are you okay?”

  “I’m so tired, Jensen.” Kerri said from somewhere in the building he stood in front of. “I don’t feel good. They let me lie down in one of the empty rooms. Come get me, please.” She sounded tired, like she was almost asleep.

  “I’m gonna come get you. I’m gonna be there in a minute.

  “I know you have a job to do, gentlemen,” Jensen said to two people in front of him. “But please. She needs me. I will be in and out. No one ever has to know. This never happened.”

  “Hang in there, Kerri. One minute more.”

  “Sir, we have been authorized to use any means necessary. Get back in your car and go home. Your wife is in a hospital, she’ll be fine.”

  Kerri’s voice was soft in his ear. “I love you. I love you more than you will ever know, Jensen. I’ll be okay.” Her voice drifted. Jensen couldn’t hear what she said.

  “Hang on, Kerri. I’m going to walk in right now.” Jensen took a step forward. Then another.

  “Sir, this is your last warning.”

  Jensen took another step. A loud bang filled Jensen’s ears. He stopped. He didn’t feel any pain. Shouldn’t it hurt when you get shot?

  “I’m not going to miss next time! Now, get out of here!”

  Jensen could barely hear his wife now, “Go home, Jensen. It’s all right … I’m gonna … I love you, Jensen.”

  “I love you, too, Kerri. More than anything in this world, I love you.” He hung up the phone. Jensen stood still. He thought about making a run for it. What did it matter anymore?

  “Please, sir, don’t make us shoot. Please go home.”

  Jensen turned and slowly walked the few steps back to his car. He got in, head hanging low, and slammed the door.

  He was in their old house and he heard the front door slam against the wall. Kerri called out, “They’re here! They’re here!”

  Jensen hit pause and both he and Drake dropped their controllers and headed upstairs, following the sound of Kerri’s voice.

  “You guys going to pause and come look at these or should I open them alone?” she said as they opened the basement door into the kitchen. Jensen was met with Kerri’s beaming smile and he grabbed her waist and kissed her quickly on the lips. The three of them stood looking at the two plain cardboard boxes on the table.

&
nbsp; Kerri giggled. “To JK Productions. I love it!”

  “I’m going to leave you two alone. You should have this moment together,” Drake said

  “Whatever, man. Get your ass back in here. Let’s get these open,” Jensen said to his friend.

  Kerri did her best impression of one of The Price is Right models and presented Jensen a knife to open the box with. The two guys rolled their eyes and laughed. Kerri handed the knife to Jensen but he shook his head no. “You open them,” he said.

  Kerri slowly split the tape and opened the box. Quarter page, purple, white, and black flyers filled the box. They each took a one out. Looking at both sides. It was the first party as JK Productions, Summer Night.

  ***

  All around him people danced, they smiled, they laughed. Music rocked the sound system. Lights and lasers cut through the smoky air. The purple and white heart logo of their party, Summer Night, played on the video screen behind the DJ. It started to swirl and melt away. Images came faster, changing each time the kick drum hit, a moment in still life from his past. Each party, each event, all so similar but all so different. It all came back to one thing. The music. Their freedom was music.

  ***

  Jensen’s eyes fluttered open. He laid in his bed, mind racing. It was so simple. He reached over and grabbed his phone and began to type. He clicked on Drake’s name and hit send: JK Productions presents Remembrance. Thanksgiving. 10am – 5pm.

  Jensen sat up. It was going to be one hell of a week.

  ***

  Jensen heard Drake bounding up the steps and then curse as he dropped his keys. The door burst open and Drake almost fell in.

  Jensen smiled, “You okay? Zombies out there or something?”

  “What the fuck, Jensen! What in holy hell was that text? Are you kidding? What? How? When? Who? I mean. Jesus! I need a drink.”

  “I know you do.” Jensen handed Drake a glass. “Now sit down. We’ve only got one week. Here’s the plan. We use your old shop, black out the windows, set up a rig, and away we go. I got TimZ, Micah, M.G., The Doctor, Sky, and Cole lined up and ready to play. We do this old school. Announce location the day of the event. I bet we get two to three hundred people to come out to this one. Let everyone have fun for a few hours. Let them feel free again.”