by Jack Wallen
…Sweet Nightmares
Early morning. The band slept off the post-show celebration. A freight train of screamers could rail through the Last Casket and not one cat or kitten would be roused. It was a well-deserved, near-coma slumber.
In the kitchen, Tuque stood over a medium sauce pan. Blue flames licked out from under the stainless steel. On the prep board rested Lyle’s bag and a few shakers of spice. Tuque reached for the bag, but quickly retracted his arm. Reached for the bag, retracted his arm. Reach…retract.
“I can’t do this,” Tuque whispered. “I’m not Sweeney Todd.”
The bag opened, slightly, of its own volition.
“What the…” Tuque cautiously reached for the meat. Before his fingers made contact, the bag ceased to move.
Tuque sucked in a deep, shaky breath. Curiosity finally won out and he rolled the paper bag down to reveal a sealed, plastic baggie inside. Tuque pulled the object d’horror out and let it drop to the cutting board. Inside the clear plastic was what looked like innocent, raw, sausage.
“Looks can be deceiving,” whispered Tuque.
He knew…there was nothing innocent about what lay on the well-loved board.
Again, curiosity smacked Tuque upside the head and he pulled open the seal of the bag. The smell of the meat wafted up to his nose.
Bloody.
Gamy.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Tuque whispered. “Soylent Green is zombies.”
He pulled the ball of meat from the bag and squeezed it until the ground human poured from between his fingers. For all intents and purposes, the meat looked and felt perfectly normal. If you had no idea how it came to be, you’d never know.
Tuque opened a can of spices and shook out a generous amount onto the cutting board. Another bottle of spices was upended…and a third. Finally, the ball of meat was dropped onto the board and rolled around. The sticky flesh picked up all of the spices and then pressed between Tuque’s palms to form a patty. Autopilot seemed to have taken control. Gone was the doubt and the drama. Now only existed the simplicity of cooking a gourmet burger.
When the patty hit the steel of the pan, the sizzle and pop punctured the veil of silence the late night/early morning hour had draped over the moment. Even though Tuque knew the meat was zombie, the smell the cooking flesh gave off was exquisite. Only the truest foody would spot the nuances of the aroma. To everyone else – it was a burger.
“Oh my God,” the voice came from the entryway to the kitchen. Tuque nervously turned to spot Billy the Bat standing in the entryway. “You’re making burgers.”
Billy stepped in beside Tuque and gave a great sniff.
“That smells like the best burger ever cooked. Please tell me this is first come, first serve.”
The idea struck Tuque immediately. Why not allow Billy to take the first bite? Sure the morality of the action was questionable, sure he could be sending an innocent man to an early undeath – but the goal must be to keep himself alive, whatever the cost.
Tuque swallowed his heart, felt his soul dive straight to hell, and nodded to Billy.
“If you want it, consider it yours.”
A thread of guilt wormed its way up Tuque’s arm as the flipped the cooking flesh over in the pan. The aroma made its way into Tuque’s nostrils. He had to confess, it did smell like the flavor of heaven.
Tuque turned to Billy. “Soooo, the show last night; you guys were amazing.”
“Right? I didn’t expect a crowd in the middle of nowhere to dig us that much.”
“Oh come on, Billy, your music transcends locale. Kitty in a Casket is rock and roll stripped to its essence. How could anyone not dig that?”
Billy grinned and nodded.
“It’s great that you really get what we’re doing, Tuque. Don’t take this the wrong way, but most people your age forget that, at one point in their lives, our form of rock was what drove them forward. Bill Haley, Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis – they poured the foundation for us. We just added a touch of the macabre and, BWAHAHAHA, and here we are…Apocabilly.”
The two men stared at one another as if their brains hiccuped them into silence.
“You just made that up, right?” Tuque asked.
Billy grinned. “I did. Pretty fantastic, right?”
“I do believe you just coined a phrase, my friend.”
Tuque flipped the zomburger up onto a bun and handed it to Billy the Bat without hesitation. As Billy raised the flame-kissed meat to his mouth, Tuque raised a hand towel to his forehead to pat down the flop sweat.
Billy’s mouth opened wider than seemed possible and forced the burger in. Tuque stared on as everything dropped into a fear-induced slow motion.
Teeth cut through bread and flesh. Muscles ground jaws to masticate the meal.
“Holy crap,” Billy spoke through a meat-filled mouth. “This is incredible.”
Finally, the bite was swallowed. Before Tuque could say a word, Billy went in for another mouthful. Bite by bite, Bat destroyed the meal. As the last morsel traversed the passage of his esophagus, Billy smiled and nodded.
“You need to be serving that shit up for our shows.”
Tuque walked over to the fridge, pulled out a beer, and handed it to Billy.
“Mind reader, eh? Damn, sir, you are good.”
Billy opened the beer and sucked the bottle dry before Tuque could get a second open to join him.
“Ah, that’s the stuff.”
Tuque took a pull from his beer, his eyes locked onto Billy. He spoke as a rivulet of booze ran down his chin.
“How do you feel?”
Billy shook his head and smiled. “Are you kidding me? I just had a burger and a beer. I couldn’t be better.”
“Not even the slightest bit odd?”
“What are you getting at, Tuque?” Billy curiously titled his head.
“Oh nothing, nothing. Just want to make sure the newest members of the Last Casket family are happy and healthy.”
“No worries with me. I never get sick.”
The smile washed from Tuque’s face at Billy’s tempt of fate.
“Was there something wrong with that burger I just nearly swallowed whole?”
Tuque jumped and nearly tumbled backward.
“God no. It was…I wouldn’t…I swear.”
Billy rushed to Tuque and grabbed him by the shoulders.
“Are you okay?” Billy led the reeling man to a stool.
“Fine. I’m fine. Just a little overwhelmed is all.”
“Can I get you anything?”
“No. Thank you, Billy. I’ll be okay.”
“We should have a barbecue today to celebrate our first official gig. You could grill up some of those burgers…it’ll be a blast.”
“Maybe. Let’s see how the day progresses. Hell, let’s see if your band mates actually wake before the sun sets.”
Billy guffawed. “Good luck with that. It was a late night. They’ll be out most of the day. I’ll probably join them for a while. I just couldn’t resist the smell of your meat.” Another explosion of laughter punctuated the moment. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant, dear boy. Why don’t you join your mates, I’ll clean up the kitchen.”
“You’re a good man, Tuque. I’m glad we’re a part of your world.”
Tuque nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Bat. I hope it stays that way.”
Billy slipped through the kitchen exit to leave Tuque standing in a pool of silence. The owner of the Last Casket waited, locked in terror, for the inevitable moans to spill out of the darkened bar.
“Please don’t turn,” Tuque spoke under his breath and then stood, motionless, to listen.
“Hey, baby.”
Penny’s voice shocked Tuque from his trance. He spun on his heels, expecting one of the undead to leap at him and suck his brain through his nose.
“Oh thank God; it’s only you.”
Penny’s eyes went wide. “Only me? That�
��s not a wise way to greet the woman you’re sleeping with.”
“Sorry, hon. I have a case of the nerves.”
“Don’t we all?. It’s the apocalypse, after all. I think the whole of humanity gets a pass for the jumps.”
Penny moaned. “What’s that smell? Meat? Did you…meat? Where did you…”
Tuque shook his head and put his finger to his lips.
“For the time being, you know nothing and you smelled nothing. If things go the way I hope, in a day or two, I’ll let you in on my little secret.”
Penny nodded. “I know nothing. And I most certainly did not smell heaven wafting through the air.”
“That’s my girl.”
Tuque pulled Penny in tight and planted his lips on hers.
“That’s nice,” Penny moaned. “A bit early for a little bow chicka wow wow; but I’m game.”
Tuque laughed. “Woman, you are always game. I have a few things to do before I can bow, chicka, or wow wow.”
“You tease. That’s fine. I’ll just head on up to the apartment and wow myself for a while.”
Penny gave her hips a bit of extra sway as she walked out of the kitchen. Tuque waited until he was sure she was gone before he stepped back to the bar entrance. He turned off the kitchen light and carefully pulled the door open.
The only sound to greet him was a soft chorus of snores. Relief threatened to fill his system, but he fought it back. No one had ever managed to calculate an average dive from human to zombie. Some turned almost instantly, while others took hours or days.
Tuque gently closed the door and stepped back into the kitchen. He stood, bathed in darkness, questioning his every motivation and move.
It was inevitable, thought Tuque.
The whispered words of ‘cannibalism’ had drifted around since the Mengele Virus made itself at home within the DNA of the human race. Most wanted to think it little more than the stuff of urban legend.
“It’s all true,” Tuque said under his breath. “And it begins here.”
Tuque snatched the stool away from a prep table and sat in the middle of the kitchen. The gloom of the moment and the surrounding darkness pulled at his heart.
“It should have been me.”
Silence drifted down upon the kitchen again. Tuque sat, perfectly still, awaiting the first moan to drift from the bar. He instantly regretted his lack of weaponry. Should Billy the Bat take a ride to zombieville, Tuque would be defenseless.
“If I should die before I wake,” Tuque whispered, “I pray my brain, no zombie take.”
Sleep, however, would not dare dance upon the man’s eyelids today. Fear held court over Tuque’s emotions; adrenaline flooded his system, silence embraced his soul.
eleven | where’s the beef?
Stars are shining bright
When evil strikes again
Killercats under your bed
Stars are shining bright
When evil strikes again
…Under Your Bed
Tuque had no idea how much time passed before a light in the bar popped on. Judging from the sounds that sneaked from the other room, all was safe. The only noise to seep from under the door was laughter. There had been no transformation. There was no Zombie Bat, there was only Billy.
Before Tuque stood from the stool, the kitchen door opened to reveal Kitty and Billy.
“Okay mein freund,” said Kitty. “It’s time to fire up the grill. That’s right, Billy told me all about it and you’re not getting away without frying me up a burger, Kitty Style.”
Tuque stood from his stool, his eyebrows drooping and his lips pursed.
“What?” asked Kitty. “That’s a face. I see a face. Why do you have a face?”
Before Kitty could speak the word face one more time, Toque spoke.
“First, I have to know…what is Kitty Style?”
Kitty plopped down on the stool and looked up at Tuque.
“You cook the burger, pour on the mustard and ketchup, put fries and Liptaur cheese on top, add the bun, and you’re ready to rock the burger house to life.”
“I see. That sounds…” Tuque paused to find the words. “That sound killer scrumptious.”
Kitty squealed with a bit of misplaced delight. “I love that you just used the words killer and scrumptious together. So…what about that burger?”
Tuque placed a hand on Kitty’s shoulder. “The second issue I have is that my store of ground…beef is empty. I need to find more meat.”
“Don’t we all,” Kitty replied, almost under her breath. “Seriously, dude, you have to get more. One whiff of Billy’s breath and I’m ready to kill for a good burger.”
Tuque turned to Billy. “How do you feel, Mr. Bat?”
Billy shook his head at the formal name.
“Please, call me either Billy or Billy the Bat – none of this ‘Mr.’ crap.
Tuque nodded. “My apologies.”
“I’m actually really good. That meal did more for me than anything I remember. I don’t know if it was psychological or physical. Either way, your burger saved my life.”
“You don’t,” Tuque paused, “hear a piercing sound or a feel a crushing headache?”
“No. I’m fine. Seriously.”
“So,” Kitty interrupted, “when can you procure the goods?”
“What goods? Oh, the beef.” Tuque looked at the empty baggie on the prep table. “I…” Tuque swallowed hard. “I believe the answer to that question is…soon?”
Kitty and Billy stared at Tuque. A discomfiting silence pressed down onto the room.
Tuque cleared his throat.
“Why don’t I contact my dealer and see if he has any…stock.”
Kitty squealed. “Effin’ sweet! I can taste that burger now.” Kitty rushed Tuque and wrapped her arms around the man. “Tuque, you rock.”
With a spin, Kitty exited the kitchen; Billy followed close behind.
“Well shit,” Tuque sighed.
*
“I knew you’d be back.” Lyle grinned. “I just didn’t think it’d be so soon. What changed your mind?”
“Never mind that, Lillard. Let’s cut to the chase. How much you want?”
Lyle let loose a laugh.
“You can’t put a cost on a product when money has no value. Hand me a million dollars and you would still get the better end of the bargain. I’ll tell you what I want Tuque…I want your band.”
Without response, Tuque turned to leave.
“Where ya going like that?”
“We’re done here, Lyle.” Tuque continued on.
“Wait, wait, wait. Okay, fine, just the girl. The girl for one night. She can do a single show here and that’s it. Come on, Tuque, we’re all in this together. What harm could it do, Kitty singing a single show in my club?”
Tuque turned back to Lyle. “That’s not my decision to make. I don’t own them. They’ve chosen to make the Last Casket their home. You’ll have to find your own band.”
“You can at least ask her. If it is their decision, then let them make it.” Lyle slowly stepped toward Tuque. “Come on, what would one night matter? Tell ya what, I’ll hand over ten pounds of meat, if you’ll just extend my invitation to her. Tell her I’ll supply the piano if she supplies the voice. One night, that’s it. If she says no, you’re still ten pounds of meat ahead.”
Tuque stared at the tips of his shoes, unsure how to proceed. Finally, he spoke.
“I’ll ask her. If she agrees, she’ll sing one night, and one night only, at your club. But if you try something funny…”
“Oh come on, Tuque; you’ve known me for how long, twenty some odd years? Do you honestly think I’d harm a single hair on that girl’s head? I just want her to entertain the Z-Pox audience for a few hours. They got a taste of her voice and want more.”
Tuque nodded. Lyle held out a cooler.
“You have to keep this meat frozen until you’re ready to cook. If it thaws, and you leave it setting at room temperature for to
o long, I cannot guarantee the virus won’t return. Is that clear?”
“Wait, I thought…”
Lyle laughed. “I’m just messing with ya, Tuque. There’s no trace of the virus in the meat. But I’ve already nuked it once; if you let it sit out, it will spoil quickly.”
Lyle handed the cooler over. Tuque took the heavy, plastic, container and turned to leave. Before he could get away, Lyle called out to him.
“Don’t fuck me over, Tuque. If you do, I cannot promise retaliation won’t cause you ungodly suffering.
“You’re too late for that, Lillard. The Zero Day Collective beat you to it.”
The hot and heavy air assaulted Tuque the second he stepped out of Z-Pox. For the first time in months, the oppressive weather didn’t get under his skin. He slipped the cooler into the passenger seat of his truck, started the vehicle, and drove off.
Without thought, his hand reached out for the radio.
“That was Die So Fluid and Figurine. I love that song and the band – but can’t wrap my mind around the name of the band. How does one die so fluid? Are we talking the internal rot of the walking dead? I assume when the undead are unsealed, the resulting flood of liquefied, petrified offal would be rather fluid. Wouldn’t you say? So maybe the band had some prophetic moment when they arrived at their name. But then, didn’t everyone, at some point, have the same thought? Surely we all knew eventually the dead would rise to drag the living straight to Hell. Well, hello stranger. Ladies and gentlement of the Zombie Radio Nation, we have a caller. What’s your name and what choo got?”
“Name’s Hunter. Am I on the air?”
A strange echo bounced out of the truck’s speakers.
“Yes, in fact you are, Hunter. Can you turn down your radio? It’s causing a nasty echo and I’m sure our listeners only want to hear you once.”
“Yeah, sorry about that.”
“Much better, Hunter. Now, back to the topic at hand, which is…”
“I have a conspiracy theory for you.”
“Oh yay, I just love a good conspiracy theory. They make me all gooey inside. Spill it.”
“Okay, so we all know the Mengele Virus was originally created by Josef Mengele.”
“We do?”