by Jack Wallen
“I better help him. He’ll never carry that load all the way back to the truck.”
Before Mike could open the door, Billy nudged him and pointed.
“Looks like you’re wrong about that.”
The mild-mannered Canadian had the large roll of carpet heaved onto his shoulder and was one-arming it back. When the load dropped into the bed of the truck, the springs complained as if Godzilla had stepped into the rear of the vehicle. Tuque opened the driver’s side door, hopped in, and drove off.
“What a find. That piece of carpet will line half the main wall. If we could get our hands on a few more rolls like that, we’d be done.”
The truck drove across the landscape, stopping now and then to pick up a few bits and pieces that could serve to reinforce the sound suppressing qualities of the Last Casket’s walls.
“Stop,” Mike shouted.
Tuque crushed the brake pedal and the truck, once again, had the passengers unintentionally head-banging. The second the vehicle was motionless, Mike jumped out and started walking away.
“Mike,” Tuque said as he exited the truck. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“I swear I saw someone waving for help.”
No one saw the screamer fly into the picture at Mike. Before he could even react, the monster had Mike on the ground, the gaping maw of Hell hanging over him. From the lips of the beast, a thick viscous fluid, the color and consistency of hot tar, dripped. When the apocalyptic drool splashed down on Mike’s cheek, the stench violently accosted his sense of smell.
“Get it off,” Mike screamed.
The beast was in a rage. It grabbed Mike’s head and forced it upward – toward its clacking jaw. Mike swung up hard; his fist connected with the side of the screamer’s head. The monster let loose a primal roar to shame a T-Rex, but didn’t flinch. The rotten smell of the screamer’s breath burned Mike’s nostrils. Sour milk eyes glared down, blindly, into nothingness. The screamer didn’t need sight. The fear wafting up from the living flesh was enough to guide it to its next meal.
Mike pushed against the chest of the screamer, to no avail.
“Help,” Mike shouted.
The zombie’s teeth were inches away. Before Mike could continue his cry, a steel rod punctured the skull of the zombie and crashed through the other side. The silent screamer went limp, then tilted and slipped off the rod. Tuque’s smiling face grinned down from above Mike. “A simple ‘Thank you’, will suffice.”
Mike stood and wrapped his arms around Tuque.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Tuque pulled away, his forehead lined with concern.
“What is it?” Billy asked, as he steadied Mike.
“It may be nothing but it’s rare to see so many screamers in such close proximity. They usually don’t much care for each other – enough such that they’d rip one another apart. Now they not only seem to want to play together, they want to work as teams on each other’s turf.”
“What does it mean,” asked Mike.
Tuque stared off into the distance. He shook his head a couple of times and mumbled under his breath.
“Tuque?” Billy nudged the man. “You okay?”
“Of course. I’m sorry, I was considering the idea that the zombies could possibly have evolved to the point of sentience. That certainly sends shivers up the spine – a thinking zombie? It’s hard enough to get rid of the undead morons. Imagine having to handle zombies with the intellect of Stephen Hawking and the cunning of James Bond. If that is, in fact, the case – we’d best completely rethink how we survive.”
“Tuque,” said Mike, “I don’t mean to interrupt such a profound moment, but don’t you think we should head back to the Casket? We have enough material and, well, the longer we stay out here, the less chance we have of surviving.”
Tuque turned and headed toward the driver’s side door. “He’s right. We best return to the bar. If we don’t have enough material, we’ll make another run tomorrow.
The doors to the truck slammed shut simultaneously.
“So, Tuque…where did you learn your survival skills?” Billy asked.
A long silence greeted the question. Eventually, slowly, Tuque spoke.
“There are some answers you do not want to know. Let’s just say I came upon my skills honestly. Does that answer your question to your liking?”
Billy stared at Tuque and then to Mike. Mike shrugged and shook his head.
“Were you in the Army?” Billy asked.
Tuque quickly snapped his head toward Billy.
“I said you do not want to know. Leave it be, Billy.”
Billy raised his hands in an appeal for surrender. “I get it, I get it. Sorry I asked.”
Tuque’s head dropped and a sigh escaped his lungs. “I should be apologizing, boys. I didn’t mean to snap.” Tuque turned the wheel of the truck and drove off, toward the bar. “No, I was not in the Army. I came across my skills working with a survivalist group. We were small but effective. After years of preparation, we could all have survived indefinitely. We knew every trick in every book written on the subject. Our modus operandi was prepping for an all-out nuclear war. It was assumed one country would cross a line drawn by another and the first of many nuclear bombs would be dropped. The only difference between our scenario and reality was the payload of the bomb. Instead of nuclear…it was biological. When the virus started to spread, the group split up to be more effective in helping survivors prepare for what was to come.
“I am not the original owner of The Last Casket. Shortly after I arrived on the scene, the man who built the bar died in an attack. I decided to remain behind and make it my home. For a while, I used the Casket as my base of operations where I could always return after a rescue mission. Eventually, the missions bore no fruit, so I gave up. Now I wait for the living to come to me. That’s how you made it and, hopefully, with a live band, The Last Casket will be the first stop on a long road to recovery for many people.”
Billy held his hand up for Tuque to shake.
Tuque laughed as he shook the hand.
“You, my friend, are one in a million.”
Again, Tuque laughed. “No, I’m just Canadian. It’s how we roll.”
Tuque turned his concentration back on the road before him. He reached over and flipped the radio on.
“Ya know, I always assumed the last creatures on this planet would be Jimmy Page and Keith Richards. I mean, come on, certainly they’ve embalmed themselves with massive amounts of drugs. It wouldn’t surprise me if the entire remaining population of the planet could get permanently high from a Richards or Page blood transfusion. God, can you imagine having that manna from Evermore flowing through your veins? Sweet, sweet relief…something we could all use about now, a cure for what ails the whole of mankind. God…this whole apocalypse schtick we’ve got going on was old about a year ago.”
seven | you’re hired
I’m here, alone
I’m waiting by the phone
For you, my friend
I really need your help
Cause I just can’t take this
And you’re never here
Yeah, I just can’t take this,
Where I go there is no fear
…Way to Hell
Kitty and Todd Flash danced on the stage as they worked through a new song. Todd played his acoustic guitar to avoid sounding the dinner bell to the undead. Tom Mooner’s face was buried deep in the gothic horror of Stephen King’s The Dark Tower – the only book he carried with him on tour. Every once in a while, Kitty’s voice would worm its way into the words on the page:
Ice cream killer.
The shocking thriller.
Midnight picture show.
Tom started the paragraph again, after the words of the new song mixed together with King’s brilliance.
Zombies moaning.
Creatures groaning.
The scene begins to slow.
Tom gave up,
jumped on the stage, and grabbed his bass.
“A Minor,” Todd called out.
Tom picked up the key and started walking his bass through the scales. Once he found a groove, the song took shape.
I’m a horror scream queen
On the big screen
My curves will melt your soul
I am a vixen victim
Of the villain
And you’re my ghoul patrol
Before they could begin the chorus, the door to the Casket flew open and Billy rushed through.
“Son of a bitch, you wouldn’t believe what we went through.”
Billy took the time to catch the crew up on their journey as Tuque and Mike carried in the haul. His captive audience sat wide-eyed as he relayed the stories of conquest and carpet. Before Billy finished, the sound of hammering pulled him from his spoken heroics.
“We could use some help,” Tuque called out.
Kitty sat down her mic and rushed to aid the men.
“Would the rest of you ladies care to help?” said Billy.
Tom hopped up and spread his arms wide. “At your service.”
“Well, I did just get my nails done,” laughed Todd. “No, really, I just redid my nails.”
Kitty turned and shot a glance at Todd. “You better not have used my polish.”
Todd’s faced immediately blushed.
Laughter danced from Kitty’s mouth. “Todd, you know I’m just messing with you, right? You can use anything of mine.”
Billy let loose a sharp peel of laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Todd asked.
“Just make sure to save her a few tampons.”
Kitty rushed to Billy’s side and let the hammer of her fist fall onto his shoulder.
“You’re a bad man, Billy the Bat.”
Billy looked at Kitty and batted his eyes.
“But I love you anyway,” said Kitty.
After the love fest, everyone joined together to help Tuque get the soundproofing hung and tucked in tight. Once completed, Tuque hopped off the stage and turned to the band.
“Okay, let’s give it a try. I’m going to step outside of the club and I want you to play your very loudest song. If I’m right, I shouldn’t hear a thing.”
“And if you’re wrong?” asked Tom.
“Then we hit the road again.”
The door slammed shut behind Tuque and the band scurried to the stage to grab their instruments.
“In Blood We Trust,” Kitty called out.
Billy the Bat switched on his amp, spun the volume knob of his Ibanez, and stepped in close to the speaker to pick up a bit of feedback before Mike Machine counted down. The song kicked in and the walls of the room thumped to the beat.
Kitty shouted and the opening verse began. The music bounced about the bar with an unrelenting joy. Thanks to the added sound proofing, the room was well suited for the punk and rockabilly fusion of Kitty in a Casket.
Todd Flash tossed a glance at Billy the Bat and they stepped down to straddle either side of Kitty. The threesome tossed their heads forward on the first and third beat of the song, Kitty’s jet-black and blond hair flew up in an arc of triumph.
*
Tuque faced the bar and heard not a sound from within. Outside of the bar was a completely different story. The wind carried the moaning music of the undead. The air was electric with warning.
“Something is up,” whispered Tuque.
As he stood and listened, the clack of heels greeted his ears. He looked up and saw Penny, hip-swaying her way down the stairs of the apartment above the bar.
“You hear it too?” Penny’s voice was soft and inviting.
“Yeah,” Tuque spread his arms wide and enveloped Penny as she met him. “I don’t like it one bit.”
“What do you make of it, Tuque?”
“I’m afraid to say.”
Penny gave the man a squeeze. “Come on now; my baby is not afraid of some silly zombies.”
Tuque sighed. “You’re right about that. But I don’t think this is just some silly zombies. Any time they appear in those numbers, the Zero Day Collective is behind it. I’ll never forget watching that drop ship open and a horde of dead bastards come flooding from the belly of that plane.”
“But what would they stand to gain out here? There’s nothing in this wasteland to offer those jack holes.”
Tuque pulled away from Penny and stared her hard in the eyes. “Penny, my dear, so long as there is life, there is something for them to collect. Remember who we’re dealing with; the standard rules of society do not apply.”
Another chilling wave of moans washed over the area. The sound was a demon-possessed, Tibetan Monk choir – slowed and reversed. The tone rose and fell, wobbled and dropped off.
Again, Penny tightened her grip on Tuque. “I’ll never get used to that sound.”
“It’s the new world order. I’ve heard rumor of a woman who claims to be working on a cure. Maybe she’ll succeed and send those rotten monsters back to Hell where they belong.”
Silence wrapped around the couple in a cold attempt at comfort. Just as it seemed peace would shortly follow, the hell-born chorus again rose from the moonlight landscape.
“They weren’t always monsters,” Penny whispered.
“No,” Tuque agreed, “they weren’t. Some of them were lawyers, or politicians, or bankers…”
Penny turned to face Tuque. “Your point?”
“Let’s just say some people were improved upon when the virus took hold.”
They shared a laugh which led to a collective sigh.
“I have to get back into the bar and chat with the band. Honey, you head back up stairs. I’ll join you in a while.”
“You’re really taken by those kids aren’t you?”
Tuque smiled. “Yeah. It’s a mutually beneficial union. They get to continue playing music and I get to see The Last Casket return to its glory days. It doesn’t hurt that the survivors in this area will finally get a taste of life again. Hell, we’re talking live music! I can’t think of anything more healing than that.”
Penny smiled at Tuque.
“What?”
“You’re a damn good man.”
Blush rushed to Tuque’s cheeks. “Nah, I’m just a regular old guy.”
“Correction, you’re my regular old guy.”
Penny leaned in and allowed her bright red lips to connect with Tuque’s mouth. The connection was electric and hot. As soon as she pulled away, Tuque mourned the loss. Penny caught the state pass over Tuque’s face and pulled in for another kiss.
“There, that should tide you over until next we meet.”
And with that, Penny turned and sauntered back up the stairs.
Tuque’s eyes never left her backside until the door of the apartment closed behind her. Once she was sealed within the walls of their home, the wailing wall of sound made itself known once again. The noise of what had to be a monstrous army was drawing closer by the hour.
“What is going on?” Tuque whispered to himself as he turned, opened the door to the Casket, and stepped inside.
*
The last hanging note of the song faded into memory.
“Damn, boys, that rocked,” Kitty laughed and wrapped her arms around Todd Flash.
“Feels good, doesn’t it,” Todd asked.
“Hells yeah,” Kitty squealed.
“We are apocalyptic rock stars,” Tom Mooner stepped out from behind his bass and let pride carry him off the stage.
The band finally noticed Tuque and stared on, anticipating the reaction to the song.
“Nothing,” stated Tuque. At first the band stood confused. “Nothing could better suit this brave new world than that glorious sound you make.”
A thunderous clap ripped from Tuque’s hands. He slipped in behind the bar and pulled out a large bottle. “Let’s have a drink to celebrate new beginnings.”
The band gathered together and each accepted a glass filled with a
golden amber liquid. Tuque held up his glass and smiled. “To Kitty in a Casket. The official rock of the apocalypse. Would that be rockalypse?”
The band moaned together.
Kitty raised her glass. “To Tuque. The single most awesome human being on the planet.”
The band raised their glasses and clinked them together. A light shade of blush raced to Tuque’s face.
“I was thinking,” Tuque started. “I’d like to make Kitty in a Casket, the official band of The Last Casket. Give you guys a home base to play from. You wouldn’t have to chase down gigs and wouldn’t be chased down by the undead paparazzi. I can’t pay you anything…because I don’t charge anything. What I can give you is security, booze, meals, and about as much peace of mind as can be had in this straight jacket clown-house festival from Hell.”
The band stared on, unsure of what they heard.
“Well? What do you think?”
“Let me get this straight,” Kitty stepped up. “We become the house band for The Last Casket and, in return, you give us room and board?”
Tuque lifted his glass and nodded.
“Yeah, I got no problem with that,” said Tom.
“I’m in,” Mike added.
“Me too,” Chimed Todd Flash.
“Hells yeah,” Billy shouted.
Silence.
All heads turned to Kitty. She shrugged and shook her head.
Before the band could complain, Kitty laughed and flipped everyone off.
“Had your asses going didn’t I? How could I say no to an offer like that?”
Kitty shot her hand out to Tuque. “Mister, you’ve got yourself a band!”
Billy the Bat rushed to the stage and grabbed his guitar. “We’re going to have to write a song called The Last Casket.” He started in with a fast four-four riff on a standard twelve-bar blues structure. As he tooled around with the melody, Mike Machine hopped onto his stool and joined with a double-kick-drum heavy beat. Todd Flash jumped onto the stage to add a chunky, distorted rhythm to the song. Finally, Tom Mooner slipped in behind his bass to fill in the basement with a slaptastic bottom.
Tuque looked at Kitty and gave her a wink. In that fraction of a moment, inspiration struck and insisted her to the stage. She picked up her mic and improvised both melody and lyrics.