by Jack Wallen
“Wait a minute, are you flirting with me?” I asked.
Trinity blushed. I was certain a horde of screamers would crash through the windows of the house and end my world this very moment.
It didn’t happen.
Small miracles, go figure.
Trinity plopped onto a wooden chair across the room. “Wow. I’m actually sitting here, with you. Don’t take this too stalkerish or anything, but I’ve been listening to you since this shit storm hit. I had no freaking idea you’d be here in Savannah.”
“I wasn’t at first. I came here from Portland, Oregon.”
Trinity’s face lit up. “Oh my God, that’s right. You faked your own death to escape the Zero Day Collective. Fucking brilliant.”
I sighed. “Yeah, and I hope to keep it that way. So please, let’s not be spreading it around that I’m here.”
Trinity traced her finger across her chest. “Cross my heart … on one condition.”
And here it comes. Fuck. I was probably going to be asked to participate in an orgy with the band or do something seriously …
“Will you play me a song?”
Again … small miracles.
“I most certainly will play you whatever song you want to hear.” I said, relieved.
“I want to hear …” she paused to think. “Do you have “Don’t Stand So Close”, by the Police?”
I laughed. What self-respecting DJ doesn’t have a copy or two of that milestone hit by one of the most talented bands to ever grace a stage? “You want to hear the original or the 1986 remake?”
Trinity blushed and bit her lip. “You decide.”
I did. Not being a purist of the band, I opted to go with the remake. Hate mail would probably ensue. Of course, I didn’t give a damn ─ which was part of my charm.
Which is mostly irrelevant now.
“You got it,” I said. All of a sudden I saw through the guise to witness the flirtation. I hadn’t seen it in a while. The second the thought crossed my mind, it was countered by the usual thread of conspiracy theory. What was this girl’s endgame?
“Mind if I sit and watch?” Trinity asked. Her voice was a spirited balm that instantly eased away the thought of counter spies and garrotes to the neck as per the Zero Day Collective’s directive.
I couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across my face. “Be my guest,” I said and turned back to the mic. As the Ozzman faded, I couldn’t help but wonder if Trinity could be trusted. I did have enough information to do a superficial background check.
I couldn’t believe that thought just crossed my mind. I wanted to punch myself in the face. I’d promised myself, when the shit hit the twirling blades of the conspiracy fan, to trust no one. Here I was … trusting way too many.
“You’re listening to WZMB, Zombie Radio, your p-p-p-personal sound … track, to the end of the world. That was Ozzy Osbourne and “Gets Me Through”. Well, my pets, it looks like I have a few communiques to pleasure you with. That’s right, we’re gonna get our smexy on, so strip down to your whats and such and prepare to be hubba, hubba’d. This first email is from a listener out of Austin, Texas. It says, ZeeJay ─ not sure how I feel about that nickname, but I’ll hold off on judgment until the end of the letter. My name is Dakota. I lost my entire family to the undead a few weeks ago. I’m alone and haven’t had anything to eat or drink in about a week. I don’t think I’m going to make it. I’m writing this on what is probably the last remaining moments of power my cell phone has. If you know of anyone in the Austin area that could pull me out of this nightmare, I’d be eternally grateful. I’m trapped in the gymnasium of the William B. Travis High School. If you have any listeners near that can save me, I would forever sing your praises. Thank you for taking the time to listen, Dakota.”
I paused. Sometimes you just don’t have the right words to convey how heartbroken a moment could be. My brain did a quick memory dump to see if I had any contacts in Austin. I did. Another DJ. I pulled out my phone, fired up the texting app, and sent the following message:
Marlin, you still with us?
I couldn’t sit back and wait for the reply. I had a listener to talk down from a very dangerous ledge.
“Dakota, I don’t know if you have the means to hear me, but I’m calling in the cavalry. One way or another …”
Out of nowhere, parties broke out in my inbox and Twitter feed. Every communication was a promise to save Dakota. One in particular was from the Austin Zombie Response Team. I read the missive and returned to Lyndi.
“Dakota, salvation is on its way. If you’re there, hold onto your butts because the Zombie Response Team is about to break down the walls and rescue your sweet self. They’ve promised to arrive within the hour, so sit back and listen to my voice and nothing but my voice.”
I took a moment to force the lump back down my throat.
“That, my wondermuffins, is why I do this and, hopefully, why you listen. We are all in this together, with one goal ─ to survive. Okay, two goals ─ to survive and beat the Zero Day Collective back into the hellmouth from which they crawled. If we unite on those two fronts, we will rise from the ashes and burn down the bastards that started this affront on humankind. Dakota, I can say this with the utmost authority … you are not alone. Each and every survivor is with you. Since we have this joining of souls, we should kick off a party. And what is a party without tunes? Let’s drop a bomb from the eighties ─ a past laced with parachute pants, big mall hair, and trickle down crapenomics. If you’re a fan of The Police, don’t kill the messenger when I play the remake of that massive hit, “Don’t Stand So Close”. Dance monkeys, dance, dance, dance.”
I took in a deep breath and allowed my head to fall forward. The act of suppressing sorrow was exhausting. As the pop-ish remake bounced from my monitors, I added a few extra songs to the playlist. A little Bless The Fall. A touch of Coheed And Cambria. A dash of Santa Hates You. A sprinkling of Tonight Alive. It was an early emo Christmas for my lovely, lovely listeners.
“That was amazing,” Trinity whispered. Before I could turn and respond she had her arms around me and her lips to my ear. “You are amazing.”
All of a sudden, shit was awkward ─ really awkward. This girl was what, half my age and too hot for someone like me. She had no reason to be cozying up like this.
And then, conspiracies rose again.
“Did they send you?” I whispered.
“Who?” Trinity replied.
“You know who.”
She laughed and spoke softly into my ear, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Superstar.”
My reply was slow and measured. “The Zero Day Collective.”
She slapped the back of my head ─ hard. “What the fuck, man. I saved your ass and …” She fell silent. “Oh yeah,” she nodded, “I can see why you might think that. Dude, no, I want those assmops dead as much as you do. I’m just a street ninja … and a bit of a fangirl of yours.”
I spun in my chair. “What? I don’t have fangirls.”
She laughed. “You’re fucking kidding me, right? You are the voice of the rising, a next gen prophet. There are millions of people out there holding on to every word you utter.”
Trinity paused … and kissed me. It wasn’t the kiss of a hooker about to maw her next john. In fact, there was something quite tender about the moment, something not exactly Earth shattering … but oddly momentous.
I pulled back. “No, I’m just the mouthpiece. Bethany is the voice.”
I stood from the chair, gently nudging Trinity backward. “How rude of me to leave 40OzFist to their own devices. Shall we return to the scene of the crime and play hosts to our guests?”
Trinity smiled. “Our guests? Why DJ, you certainly know how to play with a girl.”
I held out my hand. She grabbed it with a refinery that begged I poke and prod into her truth at a later time.
We stepped down the stairway, side by side. When we arrived on the first floor, the band was seated aroun
d the living room. The second Dan spotted me he jumped up and shouted, “D to the mother fuckin’ J.” Dan offered his hand, which I accepted, and let him furiously pump my arm. “Tell us what we can do for you. The 40OzFist is at your disposal.”
The idea hit me like a jackhammer to the groin. The rest of the band must have caught a glimpse of the devilish-smile that crept across my lips and stood to join the moment.
“There is something you can do for me.”
Burny ran his hand through his beard and said, “Name it.”
I took in each member of the band before I spoke. “How would you like to broadcast a set live for the Zombie Radio Nation?”
Before I could prepare myself for the onslaught of sound, the band collectively unleashed a tyrannic roar of approval.
“I take it that means you’re up for it?”
Dan pulled me in for a drive-by hug. “Oh hell yes, we are in.”
I pulled out of the crushing man-hug in one piece and addressed the room. “We have to figure out how to get your equipment here. I did some sound-proofing on an adjoining room upstairs. It’s never been tested against metal, but it’s the best we can do. Worst case scenario is you have to crank it down a notch.”
The band reacted as if doused with acid. I held up my hands. “I know, I know … crazy talk. Metal was made to go to eleven, not seven. But if it means the difference between a mosh pit of the dead or our survival … I’ll take the softer side of metal every time.”
“Well played, DJ,” said Jay. “Well played.”
“How do we pull off hauling our gear with the undead juggernaut at our throats?” asked Doug.
Sean stepped into the center of the room and faced me. “Does this house have a garage?”
I nodded.
Sean continued. “Then we find a van, drive it to the bar, load up the equipment, drive here, pull into the garage, and we’re golden.”
Dan started a slow clap. “Everyone, let’s give it up for nerd boy. All those sci-fi films and video games have paid off.”
Everyone joined Dan’s applause. Sean’s cheeks blushed to red. Jay finally spoke over the clapping. “Anyone know where we can find a van?”
The applause fell instantly silent. All eyes locked onto me. Without saying a word, I went to a window and lifted the louvers of a shutter. I spoke with a tinge of espionage to my voice. “Across the street used to live a family of six. I believe they all bought the farm a while ago. Inside their garage should be a large scale van with plenty of room for your gear. You might have to remove the seats and locate the keys, but I think it’ll do.” I turned away from the window. Dan had been leaning over my shoulder and we cracked heads.
“Oh fuck, dude … I’m sorry.” Dan laughed. I wasn’t sure how he could laugh when a pain-induced star field was flying by at warp speed.
I grabbed my head just as the room fell into a violent tail spin. The last thing I heard was a slow motion “Fuuucck”.
four | sexy, sexy radio
She stood before me, the red-headed beauty. Her smile was as angelic as the intellect that sparked within her brain. She needed no introduction.
Bethany.
I reached my hand out to her. When she raised her arm, the skin split and fell in rubbery heaps to the ground. From out of the skin suit walked another woman ─ this one blond and built for joy. She raised her arms above her head and the flesh liquefied and dropped like rain. As the flesh water dried, yet another woman stepped forward. This time she was dark, possibly Asian. Her eyes were the darkest brown and her smile genuine and soft. Before she could move, hundreds of arms appeared from behind her in an erotic, Kalian dance. As the arms moved, the flesh rotted and dropped away. Eventually nothing but bones floated behind the woman.
She opened her mouth to speak and a screamer’s serenade was unleashed. From within the sound, a voice was heard.
“DJ.”
It called my name.
“DJ.
Again it beckoned.
“DJ, wake the fuck up.”
When my eyes shot open, Dan stared down at me. A smile broke across his lips. “Shit man, we were worried about you.”
I tried to sit up, but a sonic blow to my cranium sent me crashing back to the couch.
“Oh my God,” I moaned. “What happened? How long have I been … oh shit, my show.” I attempted another move to a seated position. Again, I was smacked down by a bad case of the spins.
“Don’t worry,” Dan said calmly. “Sean has been keeping your playlist filled. He even snuck in a few of our songs.”
“Help me sit up,” I said. “I really need to get to the studio.”
Dan grabbed me by the shoulders and helped me up. I rested my full weight on the back of the couch. “You have a hard ass head, man.”
“Too many fucking bar fight head butts.”
“You? Seriously?”
Dan picked up on my sarcasm. His laugh was infectious ─ even though the act of laughing made a milkshake of my brain.
“Here, man.” Dan handed me a glass of water. I grabbed it and drank greedily. The drink seemed to sooth my inner carousel and allowed me to sit up without aid from the couch.
“The last thing I remember was discussing your gear. Where are we with that?” I asked.
Dan took in a deep breath and sighed. “Yeah, Burny went beast mode and broke into your neighbor’s house. The van is intact and he found the keys. We were waiting for you to join the living to make sure we had someone on this end as a welcoming committee. So, whenever you’re ready for action …”
I gulped another mouthful of water and nodded. “Let me connect with mah peoples and then we’ll make it happen.”
I stood on shaky legs.
“You sure you’re okay to climb those steps?” asked Dan.
“If not, you’ll be the first to know.”
We had a laugh as I took the stairs like a ninety year old man.
The studio was exactly as I’d left it. I plopped into my commander’s chair and donned my trusty AudioTechnica M50 headphones. Pantera’s “Mouth For War” greeted me. I so badly wanted to bang my head, but knew better. The first bang would send me flailing to the floor.
I checked my inbox. There were a few missives, but nothing that demanded my immediate attention. The Twitter feed was oddly slow. All of a sudden, it dawned on me that even within the eye of an apocalyptic storm a brief peace could be possible.
The song faded ─ as much as a Pantera song can actually fade. I took over.
“You’re listening to WZMB, Zombie Radio, your personal sounnnnnndtrack … to the end of the world. That was Pantera and “Mouth For War”. Ladies and gentlenuts … we’re all players of this game of undead twister. And although we might think, since it’s the apocalypse, there’s no time for silence, no time for the big nothing … what if we’re wrong? Maybe it’s actually possible that we can, each of us, sit back and enjoy a moment not wrapped in madness. Everyone automagically assumes, since the dead walk among us, everything has to be cranked to eleven at all times. Well, my darling dears … that may not be the case. The human condition cannot blindly follow the laws of motion without repercussions. Once in motion, we must not remain in motion until the end. And by end, I’m talking the big empty end, the big sleep, the long nap goodbye, to sleep perchance. Everything and everyone must pause. Our hearts, for the briefest of moments, pause. It’s between those beats that peace exists. I want each and every member of the Zombie Radio Nation to find your peace. Take a moment and allow yourself to turn inward and locate that little nugget of life some might call home. Allow your inner downward dog to come out and say Namaste to the world. Who knows, that brief respite from madness just might be the thing that saves your ass. And with that, my darling dears, I’m going to spin up a little tune that has never failed to put me in a good place. The band is Art Of Noise and the song is called “Moments In Love”. You’re welcome.”
The slow, artful opening of the song marched my heart into a steady
rhythm. My brain was still trapped within the thinnest veil of fog. I leaned back in my chair and allowed the music to pull me out of the nightmare for the briefest of moments.
Ah peace; that seductive temptress.
Soft, warm hands on my arms jerked me from my reverie.
“Hey, cutie,” Trinity whispered under a lifted headphone cup. “Mind if I join you?” Her voice was sultry, almost impossible to ignore ─ or turn down.
“Not one bit,” I replied. My pulse raced. I could feel heat rising to my cheeks. Eventually, this woman is going to know she has an effect on me.
I spun my chair to face her.
“What’s up?” she asked, biting her lip.
I shrugged. “Just, you know, keeping people alive.”
The most gorgeous smile I’d ever witnessed graced Trinity’s mouth. I wanted to pull her head to me and devour her lips, send my tongue into the wet cavern of her mouth in search of passion. Instead, I took the lame route and smiled back.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
I nodded. “About well enough to help the guys get their gear into the studio.”
She nearly squeed her pants. “You realize how incredible that is going to be? You’ll be the first post-apocalyptic radio host to have a live band perform. That is massively important.”
The scope of the plan washed over me. Trinity was right. Having 40OzFist play live was central to the Zombie Radio mission ─ life and the spread of hope. How better to deliver that message than with a live show. Rip Vanity pulled it off ─ to some extent ─ with Arise. My effort will serve as an extension to what Doubletap Suicide wanted to bring to the survivors of the Mengele Virus.
I turned back to my console, added enough music to the queue to get me by for a while, turned back to Trinity and stood.
My legs held true.
“Let’s get this party started,” I said and reached my hand out to her. She placed her hand in mine and pulled me onto her. Before I could protest, she had our lips sealed together. Her tongue slithered into my mouth ─ farther than I thought possible. I melted into her and returned the kiss with every ounce of passion I owned.