by Jack Wallen
“No,” Touque insisted. “We have to get everything we came for.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Billy asked.
Touque’s light was angled perfectly so that both Billy and Todd could see the shake of his head.
“Flash.” Touque pointed behind him. “Go stand watch by the door. You see any Moaners or Screamers heading our way, let us know. At first sign of trouble, we’ll leave. Until then…we finish the job.”
Without a word, Todd ran out of the main room to stand sentinel against the undead unknown.
“Are you sure this is worth it, Touque?” Billy asked.
“Not really…no. At some point, we both know the numbers are going to fall out of our favor. When that happens, our only hope to prevent the Casket from drying up will be this hand-crafted still. We accomplish this, and we’ll be set for life. Of course, the law of averages could very easily catch up to us at this very moment and drop Occam’s Razor on our necks.”
Billy stepped in close to Touque. “If our focus becomes too narrow, we won’t need anyone’s help lopping our heads off, and we’ll never get to enjoy the fruits of this labor.”
Touque nodded. “Understood, Mr. Bat. We are, however, going to complete this mission…even if only because I need the grace such fulfillment can bring. Now, grab that pipe…only this time, maybe in the middle.”
In the dark, Touque was unable to see Billy mock his demand.
m/
Twenty minutes later, Touque and Billy hit the exit with their arms full of goods. Todd held the door as they passed through. Touque glanced over his shoulder and said, “Head on back to the main room. You’ll find a fifty-five gallon drum. Roll it out here so we can load up and haul ass.”
Todd gave a curt nod and chased the beam of his light into the darkness beyond. While he retrieved the barrel, Touque and Billy loaded up the bed of the truck with the copper pipe and a precious guitar. Shortly after, Todd appeared. Within minutes, they had the barrel in the bed of the truck and strapped down tight.
The men climbed into the cab and sped off toward the sunset.
“How did we get so lucky as to not attract a few undead creepers?” Billy asked.
“That is the question of the day,” Touque responded. “I have a feeling we won’t like the answer to that ponderance.”
“Why? Do you know something we don’t, Touque?” Todd asked nervously.
Again, Touque simply shook his head.
“What about the radiator?” asked Todd.
Touque tilted his head forward. “Cars and trucks line the roadside like dead dinosaurs…a tribute to what might well become a forgotten era. We can pull off the road and strip a grill in no time.”
The truck wound its way through the dry, dusty roads as the moon tapped the sun out for the day. The thrum of the wheels lulled the excitement from the mood.
Billy yawned wide. “When we get to wherever the hell it is we’re going, do you expect us to stay in the truck?”
“Yep,” Touque said flatly.
Billy continued his line of questioning. “Don’t you think it would be smart to have us by your side for backup?”
“Nope.”
“What happens if your little pick-up goes sideways?” Todd interjected.
“It won’t. Trust me on this. I’m their best buyer.”
“You make it sound like you’re scoring meth from Heisenberg, Touque.”
“Something like that, Mr. Bat.”
The moment turned awkward for all involved. Billy reached for the radio, but was stopped short by Touque’s surprisingly powerful grip.
“Radio silence for the moment, Mr. Bat.”
“You’re the driver, Touque.”
They continued on; the only sound to scare away the lingering nervousness was the music of rubber and pavement. It was a cold, cold comfort. At the apex of a hill, the headlight beams illuminated what was once a McDonald’s. The golden arches had been cut away into the shape of a “V”.
“What the fuck?” asked Billy.
“The owner of this establishment is named Victor. He’s a rather nasty fellow…which is one of the reasons why I want the two of you remaining in the truck.”
Touque slowed the vehicle, turned into the parking lot, and pulled into the farthest space from the door. He reached across Billy and Todd to the glove box.
“I don’t know how you feel about these,” Touque started, “but in case anything goes down…” Touque offered a menacing black pistol to Billy. “Aim to kill.”
Billy cautiously accepted the proffered weapon. “If this shit goes south, Touque, we’ve got your back.”
Touque released a single, breathy laugh and tapped the side of his head. “It’s not my back that’ll need having, my friends.”
Without another word, Touque exited the truck, closed the door, and slowly made his way to the entrance of McVictor’s.
When the door opened, the tinkling of a bell announced Touque’s entrance. Inside, it was as dark as the moonlit desert horizon. With his hearing amplified by the shadowy surroundings, Touque heard the distinct click of a gun. He raised his hands and said easily, “I’m here for business, Victor.”
A deep, Vader-esque voice replied, “What’s your name?”
“It’s Touque, from The Last Casket.”
After a brief pause, Touque could hear the release of the hammer. He expelled the stale air from his lungs and drew in a deep gulp of fresh life.
The white glow of a Coleman gas lamp hissed to life. Behind the light, cast in eerie shadows, stood Victor. Upon recognizing Touque, he smiled. “The infamous Canadian finally shows his face. Let me guess, the customers of–what do you call your establishment?”
“The Last Casket,” Touque answered.
“Yes, The Last Casket. Have your customers grown overly fond of your cuisine?”
Touque nodded.
“And you’ve run out of stock?”
Again, Touque silently answered yes.
“And you’ve come to dear ol’ Victor to solve your problem.”
“Against my better judgment, yes.”
An explosion of Victor’s laughter rocked the room. “Touque, Touque, Touque…where are your manners? You’re Canadian, aren’t you?”
“That’s a stereotype I’d prefer you not…”
The hammer clicked again, only this time Touque could see the pistol in Victor’s hand.
“And I’d prefer you not to tell me what to say or think. You need my product more than I need your currency. Speaking of which…what is your currency du jour?”
Touque withdrew a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it over to Victor, who calmly opened the note, gave it a quick read, and glanced back to Touque with a wide grin spread across his lips.
“Very nice, Mr. Canada. That little bounty will gain you one hundred pounds of my freshest zombeef. Wait here, and I’ll retrieve the product.”
Touque swallowed hard against a growing lump in his throat and nodded. Victor vanished into the deep darkness beyond the shallow glow of light. Touque stood his ground, unflinching. His breath came in long, slow pulls…the breath of controlled unease..
A metallic clatter sounded off. Before Touque had a chance to discern from where the noise originated, Victor returned, pushing a dolly containing three styrofoam boxes.
“I’m fairly certain this will get you and yours through the next couple of weeks?”
Touque nodded.
“You need some help getting this out to your truck? If so, you’re out o’ fucking luck, because I don’t leave the safety of this holdover to the days of gluttony and corporate greed. I don’t mind. In fact, one might say I’m lovin’ it.”
“I’ll bring your dolly back,” Touque said as he took control of his goods.
Victor nodded once and motioned for Touque to make his exit. Touque Elvis’d his upper lip and wheeled the zombeef out the exit and to his truck. As he approached, Todd opened the door with a too-cavalier attitude. Touque
vigorously shook his head, hoping his message would immediately register with the overly anxious Todd.
The door silently shut.
Message received, thought Touque.
He wheeled the dolly behind the truck and heaved each precious box over the tailgate and into the bed. With all three containers tucked safely away, he wheeled the cart to the entrance of Victor’s, opened the door, shoved the dolly back inside, and let the door swing shut of its own accord.
Swing, bastard, swing. Touque sang to himself…a melody of his own creation. A little bit of Kitty had rubbed off on the Canadian.
He laughed softly.
Without so much as a clichéd mafioso kiss goodbye, Touque moseyed back to the truck; his pace held no concern for his life. He knew Vic needed the customers. Vic knew Touque would always buy. It was a post-apocalyptic relationship of a symbiotic nature. What could go wrong?
Touque hopped into the driver’s seat, fired up the truck, and sped off into the night.
Todd turned to face the truck bed and shined his light through the window. “That can’t be enough meat to last long, Touque.”
“And where in the hell are they getting the goods? Unless I’m mistaken, there seems to be a severe shortage of cows in this area.”
Todd chimed in. “And that sure as shit ain’t turkey meat you’ve been feeding us. Believe me, I know my turkey.”
Billy slugged Todd, for no apparent reason, and then pierced the darkness with a nervous laugh. “What are you doin’, Touque, feeding us zombies?”
Touque stared forward, not saying a word.
“Touque?” Billy prodded. “Now’s not the best time to give us the silent treatment. Please tell us that meat back there is on the up and up.”
Silence.
Billy punched the ceiling of the truck cab. “Oh, fuck me square in the face.”
“Did I miss something, Billy?” Todd asked.
Billy turned to Todd. “Where is your brain, Flash? This is basic two and two kinda math. Ask him what kind of meat’s in those containers. Go on, ask him.”
Hesitantly, Todd looked over at Touque. “You heard the Bat—what’s in the boxes, Touque?”
Touque swallowed, his mouth and throat dry from the heated desert air. “I’m doing what has to be done. People need to eat, and our natural resources have vanished.”
“So what…you think it’s okay to serve us zombie meat?” Billy asked.
Todd waved his hands in the air. “Hold on, Billy. We don’t know that for sure.”
“No, Mr. Flash,” Touque said quietly, “Billy’s right. The meat I’ve been serving is the only meat available. But don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe for consumption. Low level radiation exposure destroyed the virus.”
“I don’t care if it’s safe or not, you’ve been feeding us people,” Billy cried out.
“No. Not people, Mr. Bat.” Touque’s voice was riddled with a dark tension. “The second you turn, all humanity is stripped from existence. Those are monsters, pure and simple. If you don’t kill them, they will kill—and eat—you. Besides…” Touque’s voice drifted into a ghostly silence.
“What, Touque?” Billy asked.
“There’s little else to eat. We live in a barren desert, so we can’t just plant a garden as easily as we’d like. You’re right, there are no cows, pigs, chickens, goats…nothing. The only livestock available to us is of the undead type. Like it or not, it’s the new world order, and you’ve gotta think greater good and realize not a good goddamn thing is black and white now. We eat, we survive. We survive, we very well may live to see this plague eradicated. I want that, and am willing to do whatever it takes.”
Touque slowed the truck until it came to a gentle stop. With masterful command over his patience, he shifted into park and turned on Billy and Todd. “You cannot tell anyone what you know. I’m only trying to keep people alive in the best way I can. If anyone finds out what they’ve been eating—safe or not—they’ll lose their minds, and the resultant chaos will be an unstoppable force. So long as the customers think they are consuming the great and sacred cow, everything will be fine. You may not like the idea of eating the undead, but I would venture a guess that dining on zombie is far more appealing than the alternative.”
Billy and Todd stared cluelessly at Touque, who tilted his head in his best James Spader and said, “Death.”
four | hello tall, dark, and strange
Elsewhere, on a strip of lonely desert highway, a rusted Chevy with a raging engine under a hood adorned with the Kitty In A Casket logo and the words Red Sweet Red sliced through the pitch-black evening. A rooster-tail of dust kicked up behind the oversized rear tires, and the dual exhausts roared a monstrous cry into the night. Within the cab, through buzzing, torn speakers spilled the sounds of “Moonlight Massacre”. In a deep, gravelly baritone, the driver wailed along, slightly off pitch, with Kitty.
Love is a lie you can’t deny
That’s the reason why all my boyfriends die
I’m a mutant zombie girl from another gruesome world
Crawl out night by night (ohh)
Try to find love of my life world’s as sharp as a knife
Now I go insane,
Hungry for love and sick of pain I, I need to eat brain
As the chorus kicked in, the stranger punched the gas, and the Chevy sang along. He hammered his hands against the steering wheel to the beat of the Casket’s drum. As the song came to an end, the stranger howled a joyous cry to the full moon that hung its hat on the night.
“Fuck yeah!” he shouted. “Horror punk sent from Heaven above. The purest sound, sung from the lips of an angel. Let’s have another.”
The stranger smashed his dirty, weathered finger against the forward button on the disk player until “Monster Highschool Party” kicked in. In perfect timing with the opening verse, his stomach lurched. He slammed on the brakes and folded over the steering wheel.
“Son of a bitch.” His hand reached across the tattered bench seat and into a grease-stained, army-issue backpack…only to come up empty. “Fuck!” he shouted as his stomach twisted in upon itself to ensure he knew, full-well, he was dangerously close to starvation. When he glanced back up, an oasis rose from the dust-bowl landscape.
“Holy shit,” he said through choked-down tears. A temporary hope sprang from the usual nihilism that filled his days and nights. He punched the gas one more time and steered his metal and rust beast toward the convenience store whose sign held the promise of Stop ‘N Chug.
“I could use a chug right about now.” He released a high-pitched laugh as he white-knuckled the steering wheel. “Could use a tug as well. Maybe even a drug and a plug.” More laughter filled the Chevy’s cab as he rocked in his seat like a too-excited kid about to piss his Osh Kosh B’Gosh.
The car skidded to a halt and kicked up a wall of brown dust that camouflaged the store against the desert skyline. The stranger hopped out of the car and waited for the dirt curtain to fall.
Once clear, he marched to the door, wrapped his calloused fingers around the handle, and pulled hard enough to threaten the integrity of the hinges. A cowbell rang loudly against the movement to send the stranger into a defensive posture straight out of a bad American kung fu film.
The inside of the store was a looter’s afterbirth. Barren shelves wept against dingy walls. Refrigerated coolers stood silent and warm. The floor was stained and smeared with the remains of something that had once been alive.
“Ain’t got nothin’. No gas, no food, no drink, no money. May as well turn around and go on your way.”
The stranger ignored the old man’s proclamation and stomped his way to the counter. He reached into his pants pocket, withdrew a photo, and shoved it into the face of the crusty old man.
“What? You missing someone? She your girlfriend? Those boys your…”
Before another word spilled from the gap-toothed grin, the stranger reached across the counter, grabbed a fistful of shirt, and yanked the ol
d man down hard. Again, the stranger shoved the picture in the old man’s face.
“You lookin’ for them kids? You don’t look like the type that’d be…what in the hell could they have done to you? Owe you money? If that’s the case, it’s the goddamn apocalypse, money’s not worth this.”
The stranger pulled the old man upwards, toward his face. When their gazes met, the old man’s eyes went wide. “You ain’t up to no good, are you?”
The stranger slammed the old man’s head against the counter and then shoved the photo back into his line of sight. When he finally spoke, his voice was deep and grave. “Where are they?”
“How in the hell should I know that?” the old man answered.
Again, the stranger slammed the old man’s head against the counter.
“You want information, it’ll cost ya. It’s the only thing of value I’ve got anyway. You give me something of worth and I’ll treat you to the whereabouts of those kids.”
The stranger released the old man and reached into his pocket.
“If it’s money you’re thinking of offering up as payment, forget about it. Money’s worthless now.”
Instead of withdrawing money from his pocket, a glinting steel blade was removed. The stranger unfolded the knife with the click of a button and, in a blindingly fast move, had the sharpened blade against the throat of the old man. The man behind the counter shot his hands into the air.
Again, the stranger forced the photo into the old man’s line of sight.
“Fine, fine, fine. I’ll tell ya. But you gotta promise no harm will come to those kids.”
The stranger inched the knife away from the old man and nodded.
“You’ll find them at Touque’s bar. He calls it The Last Casket. Those kids play their crazy rock and roll music every Friday night. I hear tell they’re really good at what they do.”
The stranger snatched up a pad of paper and a pen and shoved both in front of the old man.
“What?” the old man asked, his voice shuddering from fear.