by Jack Wallen
She closed her eyes and sighed. The heave of her breasts consumed me.
“Zombie Radio Nation, I hope you will endure me for just a moment of self-indulgence. Standing before me is an exceptionally remarkable woman who has found it within her heart and soul to survive alongside with me. This woman has requested I dedicate a song to myself. Yes, it’s a bit masturbatory, but what the hell? These are my monkeys and this is my show … if I want to toss a money shot all over my own face, faith and begorra, I’ll do it. Of course, by money shot I mean actually play a song for myself. I’m not going super-porn on you and lobbing jizz over my face. That my dear people I will leave to your generous imaginations. Instead, I will play that request made from the heart of Trinity. I will let you decide if said Trinity is, in fact, that liquid-black clad babe from the Matrix or not. As you ponder, have a listen to In This Moment’s “The Road”.
I muted my mic just before Trinity squealed. “You rocked my world so hard I have this inescapable urge to ask you to marry me.”
I stood and approached her. “Well hell, had I known my words would have that kind of effect …”
She pulled me in tight and sealed our lips together. The embrace was so powerful, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to remove myself.
I also wasn’t sure I wanted to remove myself.
When Trinity finally pulled away, she grinned and said, “So, what’s your answer?”
I was stunned. For what seemed like a week, I stared, wide-eyed, at the beautiful woman before me. “Wait, you mean … you were serious?”
“I don’t know. Was I?”
The grin that chased across her lips was infectious. It was my turn to pull her in for a bit of lovin’. Our lips parted to allow tongues access to the delights within. As we kissed, I whispered, “I’ll answer that question on air.”
“Tease,” Trinity replied and then kissed me harder.
“That’s me, baby.”
We finally parted. I turned to move back to command central and immediately had a hand on my ass.
“This ass,” Trinity whispered in my ear, “is my ass.”
“Yes ma’am,” I replied.
ten | speaker showdown
It was time for a bit of scavenging. The idea to set up a sonic arsenal around Casa de DJ was actually quite brilliant, so I insisted on coming along for the quest to do my part. Dan balked at the thought of me risking life and limb, but I eventually convinced him there was safety in numbers.
One by one, we climbed into the van. I remained back to open and close the garage door. Even with the apocalypse in full swing, I wasn’t about to leave my house standing wide open for zombies and looters.
Dan gave me the nod to raise the door. I complied and readied myself in case a moaner or screamer decided to crash the party. To my shock and awe, the driveway was bereft of the dead and damned. Dan pulled the van out and I pressed the button to drop the door back.
I exited the front of the house, locking the door behind me, and raced to take my place at shotgun beside Dan. I looked over and offered up a slow nod. “Let’s rock.”
For some odd reason, I expected Dan to crank up a little Slayer and punch the gas. Instead, he eased the van out of the driveway and down the street.
Dan glanced at me. “What?”
“I thought …”
“You thought what, Mr. DJ? That I was going to metal the fuck out of our getaway?”
I nodded.
“Well, my friend, you thought wrong. The last thing we need is to draw attention to ourselves … make our lives a living Hell.”
“The Fixx,” I said. “Nice reference.”
Dan nodded. “You’re not the only one that knows their shit. Music is my life, my life is music. Besides, I have a soft spot for the eighties.”
We drove on. From the back, I could hear Jay putting the moves on Trinity. For a split second I was concerned. Jay might be a big on the porntastic side, but he’s not without his charm and good looks. It wasn’t until I heard Trinity say, “Sorry, kid, I’m taken,” that I stopped worrying.
The van backed up to the bar’s entrance, with just enough room to swing the doors open and create a safe tunnel to haul the gear through. We’d removed the back row of seats, so there was plenty of room for speakers ─ to a point. Once the back was filled, we’d be going redneck style and strapping them to the roof.
Whatever got the job done.
“Hey,” Dan shouted, “while we’re here, let’s clean out the food stores. There’s no reason to leave anything now.”
One by one, we loaded the equipment into the vehicle. We worked with machine-like efficiency and had the task completed in no time. The back of the van was filled to the ceiling with loudspeakers and cable.
As we started to board the vehicle, all hell broke loose.
“What’s up?” A stranger said with a smile. He stood in front of the van. “Looks like you’re going on a bit of a trip.”
Dan hopped out of the driver’s seat and sidled up to the man. “Yeah, we were just on our way. If you don’t mind …” Dan gestured for the man to relocate.
That’s when he whistled. It wasn’t a friendly kind of Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood whistle, where you wanted to join in on the fun. The sound was a threatening call that promised the result of said whistle would most likely result in Jets and Sharks forsaking bottles, knives, and guns in favor of ultimate pain and suffering.
Six rather large men appeared from the side of the building. Each man held in his hands a weapon ─ most of which were in the semi-automatic range.
Without prompting, the band stepped out of the vehicle … also sporting weapons. I took a quick check around … Trinity was nowhere in sight. Had I been played? My breath was momentarily stolen by rage.
“So,” Dan drew out the word. “We gonna play a rousing game of chicken?”
The stranger laughed. “No, dude, we’re just going to take your van and you’re going to fuck off.”
Without prompting, the band raised and cocked their weapons. The strangers replied in kind.
“Put ‘em down or we’ll blow your faces off,” shouted the stranger.
No one budged.
“I’m going to count to three. If your weapons aren’t on the ground, we start shooting.”
Dan stepped forward and shoved the barrel of his pistol into the forehead of the lead stranger. Very calmly, Dan kicked off the count. “One.”
Before anyone made it to two, a slicing sound broke the tension and, out of nowhere, an arrow pierced the left shoulder of the lead stranger.
“Fuck,” he shouted and grabbed at the wooden shaft. The second he realized what had happened, he screamed and everyone scrambled.
Dan pushed me to the ground. “Under the truck,” he whispered.
I started to protest and then stole a glance at his eyes. He wasn’t fucking around. I opted to do as told and rolled out of harm’s way.
I felt like a coward. I did, however, have a gun. Thankfully, I recognized the bands shoes ─ Chuck Taylors, Doc Martens, worn out combat boots, and a sassy pair of nubuck oxfords fit for any given hipster. The second I spotted unfamiliar footwear, I aimed and pulled off a shot. The first was a miss. The scuffle before me made taking aim a bit challenging.
Out of nowhere, I was drenched in déjà vu; under a vehicle with death nearby. I shoved the feeling aside and steadied my aim. This time, my shot struck home and blew out the ankle of one of the strangers. He dropped to the ground, his pain-twisted face staring directly at me.
The déjà vu hit me. Jacob Plummer under a truck. High heels, a purse, and a screamer. I’d read this very moment in the handbook for the apocalypse. The terror he endured in those first, unknown moments, washed over me.
“God damn,” I whispered.
The fallen stranger pointed and started to scream. Before he produced a single sound, the butt of a shotgun came down on his head to silence him into a blunt-trauma slumber.
“Fuck!” The voice was Sean’s. He
dropped to the ground, holding his arm. Blood poured from under the palm of his hand.
I couldn’t remain under the van. Sean needed my help. I rolled out, raced to my fallen brother, grabbed him by the shoulders, and dragged him into the van.
Somehow we made it unscathed ─ or would have been, had Sean not been previously scathed.
Inside the vehicle, I pulled Sean’s hand away, ripped off the sleeve of his shirt, and took in the wound.
“It’s not too bad,” I attempted to comfort Sean.
“Fuck if it’s not. It feels like my arm’s gonna fall off. God damn it.” Sean kicked the seat in front of him.
I took the remnants of his sleeve, wrapped it around his arm, and pulled it tight.
“Oh mother fucking shit bag!” Sean shouted. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“No, Sean, I’m trying to keep this wound from killing you. I had to staunch the flow of blood or you’d bleed out.”
More gunshots and screams sounded.
“If they don’t stop this soon, there’ll be a fucking horde of zombies in the mix as well.” I said as much to myself as to anyone.
“I need to get back out there and protect my brothers,” insisted Sean.
“Actually,” I pushed him back into the seat, “you need to stay here and keep from tearing that wound open even more. I have a weapon so I’ll go back out and do what I can.”
My hand reached for the door. To my surprise, it jerked open before I could even get my fingers on the handle. Dan poked his head in.
“He okay?” Dan asked.
I nodded.
“Let’s go,” shouted Dan as he swung back into the van. Burny, Doug, and Jay piled clumsily into the vehicle ─ shouts and high five slaps echoing off the aluminum walls.
Trinity was the last to arrive. “Sorry, guys. I had to collect my arrows. There’s no way I’m wasting them on those assmats.”
I glanced at Trinity. She had no way of sensing the guilt rushing through my system. Not moments ago I’d practically sold her out as a pawn for the Zero Day Collective. Thank God I was wrong about that.
“Who the fuck was that?” I shouted.
“Random gang bangers. The urban areas are crawling with them,” Dan said. He continued without taking a breath. “Thugs banding together are trying to stake a claim on a city block or neighborhood.”
Jay pounded his chest and raised his hand to the roof. “Little shit stains got fisted.”
Everyone laughed.
“What’s so funny?” asked Jay.
“Dude, you of all people knows what fisting is,” replied Dan.
“Fuck yeah I do.” Before Jay spoke another syllable, he exploded with laughter.
“That’s right, perv,” Burny added. “You fisted some shit stains.”
The whole van broke out in a raucous laughter. Everyone, that is, but Sean.
He cried out.
“What’s wrong, little girl? Pussy hurt?” asked Doug.
Sean punched Doug in the thigh with his good arm. “Hell yeah it does. Why don’t you make it feel better with a kiss?” Sean spread his legs wide. Doug flicked Sean in the crotch with his finger. Sean cried out.
“Oh dude,” called Burny, as Sean went fetal. “You don’t sack a man who’s just been stabbed. Uncool, totally uncool.”
“I hate to ruin the mood,” called Dan, “but do we have enough in the way of speakers?”
Trinity turned and scanned the haul. “Looks like we scored six. How many do you think we need?”
Everyone turned to me. I, in turn, deferred to Dan who said, “Each of those speakers can produce about twenty watts of sound power. That only gives us about one hundred and twenty total. If we were pumping out folk or jazz to a medium-sized crowd, that’d be fine. But we need metal levels of sound.”
Everyone offered up the metal equivalent of a Marine hoorah. Dan continued. “To be really safe, we’d need about fifty of those babies. Obviously that’s fucking insane, so we’ll have to make do.”
Sean gritted his teeth and spoke through what had to be searing pain. “Since we don’t have to worry about low end or clarity of sound, we can top load those cabinets and double the output. What we have will work.”
“Nerd boy strikes again,” Burny nodded. He tussled Sean’s hair and said, “You ruckin’ fock, my man.”
“Burny? What the hell?” Cried Dan. “When did you have time?”
Out of nowhere, I was lost. I stole a glance to Burny and then to Sean. It was Sean that enlightened me. “Ol’ Burnout there speaks in his own little language when he’s baked.”
“How did he,” I started.
Jay shook his head. “Don’t ask. The man could light up in the middle of the rapture.”
eleven | the roof
As the van inched into the garage, I shot my finger to the door opener ─ ready to seal the castle from the dying and dead. The second all was clear, I pressed the switch to engage the motor and seal up Casa de DJ. We began the process of extracting the hardware from the rear of the Van and lugging it into the living room.
“The single most important question I can ask is this,” Sean started. “How in the hell are we going to get these speakers mounted to the roof?”
I stepped forward. “Thankfully, I have the answer to that question. There’s a window in the attic that dumps out onto the roof, where we can gain full access to every corner of the house. We run all the necessary cable up there, tie each speaker to an anchor point and place them each in a carefully planned out location.”
Dan offered up a slow clap. “Well played, sir DJ. Well played.”
I curtsied. Why? Because I could. Just as I started to rise up from my femme-powered bow, Trinity leaned in and whispered, “I own you.”
Sparks of curiosity-fueled lust shot through my system. I turned to her and spoke softly in her ear, “I’m not sure if I should be turned on or concerned about that proclamation.”
“Both,” she replied. “When you least expect it, I will have you.”
Concentration lost.
“What do you think?” Dan’s voice pulled me from my teen dream reverie.
“About what?” I replied.
“Dude, where were you?”
“Sorry Dan, I just need some sleep. Actually, what I need to do is get behind my mic. Do whatever you need to get these babies mounted and ready to rock. I need to pump some live 40OzFist to the nation asap.”
Dan raised his devil horns to the ceiling and said, “I cannot argue with that. We shall get this bitch done.”
I nodded, turned, and sprinted up the stairs to command central. As I reached the top step, I heard the patter of Trinity’s shoes coming up behind me. “Like what you see?” I called down.
“I’d eat dinner off it,” she replied.
I turned to face her and said, “I’ll take you up on that one, doll face.”
Before Trinity could react, I spun, slipped into my chair, pulled on my headphones, and waited for my cue.
“You’re listening to … to what? Oh my sexy boys and girls, you know what. W. Z. M. B. What’s that spell? It spells Zombie Radio, your personal soundtrack to the end of ze world. That was everyone’s favorite throwback to the nineties, Nirvana and “Smells Like Teen Spirit”. God, I remember that video. Those cheerleaders were enough to make me drop to my knees and worship the great God MTV. Unfortunately, we all know what happened there. Reality TV and bad music dumbsmacked the station into a downward spiral of oblivion. Sadly, The Buggles were right and video did, in fact, kill the radio star. Maybe this apocalyptic ass fucking was a blessing in disguise. Hear me out before you poo poo my sentiment. Pop culture, the media, and politics were in a serious tail spin. Social networking turned everyone into an expert on everything from finances, politics, and psychology. Every human tragedy turned into the perfect opportunity to forward an agenda or oppress the other side of the fence. For every step forward we took, human nature shoved us back twelve. This rebooting of our species might have bee
n just what we needed to ram an electric probe up humanity’s ass and turn the voltage to a level that would make Frankenstein proud. Of course, if the Zero Day Collective has their way, the reboot will end when the Great Cleansing begins. For those of you who haven’t heard of the Great Cleansing, think Nazi Germany … think blond haired, blue eyed nation. The ZDC would cleanse the planet of all variety and variation. Say goodbye to culture, say hello to my little friend white bread. Pork ─ the other white meat. It’s what you’ll be eating for dinner from here to eternity. Well, shit, my sweet children … the mere mention of delicious ham, aka Canadian bacon, and my stomach is in an uproar. What I wouldn’t give for a ham and pineapple pizza pie. Fuck my balls, I think that’s it. The question I seem to ask myself every waking hour is “What do I miss the most?” The answer to that question is pizza. That’s right, boys and girls ─ pizza. Close your eyes and imagine a cheesy New York style pie right in front of you. The smell, the grease, the strings of cheese desperately clinging to that slice as you pull it away from its brothers.”
I pulled in a great breath and unleash a massive sigh into the mic.
“Hello, Joe’s Pizza Shack? Yeah, this is the Zombie Radio DJ. I’d like to order three large pies. Oh fuck, I don’t give a shit what’s on ‘em, so long as they are delicious. This will be delivery and you might as well forgo the box and slide it right into mah belly.”
I paused to let the image fade away.
“That was a moment of heaven. I could daydream pizza pie all day. However, that would be epic neglect on my part. You have needs, nation … needs that I must fulfill. In order to meet those needs and feed my dreams, I am going to pull one from the great vault of odd. The song is by System Of A Down and it’s called “Pizza Pie”. Serg, serve me up a slice.”
The second the first note slammed from the speakers, the door to the studio opened and Dan poked his head through. “Sorry to interrupt,” he spoke through clenched teeth. “Speakers are on the roof. We just need to feed the cable from here and we’ll be ready to rock.”