I Zombie I [Omnibus Edition]

by Jack Wallen

  The stranger served up a slow clap with a side order of shit-eating grin. “See how this is gonna work, Kitty? You sing, or I release the brakes on the wheels of your cage, and those Moaners feast. Understand this; I don’t care if you wind up having to perform in that cage, desperately dodging the gnashing maws of doom. One way or another, you are going to entertain my guests.”

  Kitty spat a large ball of phlegm into the stranger’s face. “Fuck off, psycho douche,” Kitty hissed.

  “Sticks and stones, Ms. Casket. Sticks and motherfucking stones. Spit at me and slander me as much as you like…I’m still going to pimp your voice like it’s the return of the Mack and your voice is my ho.”

  The stranger spun on his heels to face the guitarist. “Find me another bassist…immediately!” The guitarist winced at the threat of pain. “I swear to God, Francis, if you come back without a bass player, I will fry up your balls and feed them to you with A1 and stale hooch.”

  Francis nodded nervously and exited the stage. The stranger glared at the drummer. “What are you waiting for? You think you’re exempt from my wrath? You’re a fucking drummer…I can replace you with a 64-bit machine or a street urchin and a plastic bucket!”

  The drummer chased after Francis with his proverbial tail between his legs. The stranger turned back on Kitty and sat, cross-legged, down center stage.

  “This is fun, don’t ya think? Just me and you…and those rotting bastards, of course…just like old times, right? Remember prom? We could dance if wanted to back then. I left a friend or two behind. Why? Because they couldn’t dance.”

  Kitty white-knuckle gripped the front-facing bars and held her ground, not speaking a word. “You’re crazy.”

  “Don’t worry, Miss Casket, you’ll get used to it…the madness, the sound. Oh, and the smell. It took me a year or so, but eventually my sense of smell acclimated to the particular funk wafting from the bodies of the dead and damned. In time, I even found a certain musicality in their moans. Did you know, the average tone used by Moaners is C3. I don’t think I have to explain that terminology to you, right? You are a singer, after all. Trained, n’est-ce pas? Let me demonstrate.” The stranger stood. “Little known fact, I have perfect pitch.” He took in a deep breath and released a basso pedal tone of impressive volume and sustain.

  Oddly enough, the caged zombies joined in.

  The trio sang their macabre cantata until the stranger finally ran out of breath. With his narcissism in check, the stranger bowed to Kitty. When he stood, he shrugged and drew nearer to Kitty’s cage. He spoke in a whispered frenzy. “I will break you, Kitty. That moment will be both tragically beautiful and beautifully tragic. When it happens, you’ll enjoy the spoils of a long-fought war.”

  Kitty held her tongue.

  The stranger shook his head. “Please don’t make me say it, Kitty.”

  Silence.

  “You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you?”

  The silence was moving in undead stereo as both Moaners called out for a fleshy snack.

  Human candy, oh the forbidden fruit of the apocalypse.

  “Cat got your tongue?” The stranger stood. “There, I said it. Happy now? You made me voice the single most cliched phrase apropos to the moment. I feel a little sickened by it…like I might just vomit. You see, I’ve always considered myself…”

  “Shut up,” Kitty spoke under her breath.

  “…a man of higher intellectual thought. In fact…”

  “Shut up,” Kitty’s voice rose.

  “I’ve been tested. My IQ is…”

  “Shut your psychopathic mouth!” Kitty shouted, her voice roaring against the cold metal of her cage.

  The stranger winced at the vitriolic sound. When finally he glanced back up at Kitty, tears streamed down his cheeks and were launched to the wooden floor below. His voice rose like a roiling storm from a festering sea. “I could so easily release those monsters and watch them devour you through the bars of your cage. I could pull out my gun and blow your goddamn brains out. I could enter that cage and do very bad things to you.” The stranger drew in dangerously close to Kitty and roared his next words in a torrent of rage. “But that’s not who I am, you see. I have people who count on me to help them through this fucking nightmare, and I will do everything in my power to drain their coffers and fill their hearts. So fuck you and your little miss holier-than-thou attitude. As if you’ve never done a single goddamn bad thing in your life.”

  The Moaners wailed against their chains, putting the structure of their necks to a very dangerous test.

  Kitty replied in as calm a voice as she could muster. “Don’t pretend to be some self-righteous savior of the people. You’re nothing but an arrogant opportunist ready and willing to use everyone and everything around you.” Kitty looked to the left, to the right, and then back to the stranger. “You’ll never hear another note from my lips. Unleash your fucking dogs, if you like. Let them crack my head open and slurp out my brains. I will not be slave to anyone’s trade.”

  The stranger nodded and offered up a thunderous slow clap. “Veni, vidi, vici. Or should I say, Veni, vidi, Oscar? Oh, that I had recorded your performance just then. There is no doubt in my mind that would have won an award from the Academy.” The stranger hopped onto a chair. “I know, let’s hear your acceptance speech.”

  “Fuck you,” Kitty hissed.

  “No, seriously, let me hear your Oscar speech for winning best actress in a movie.”

  Kitty gave a slight tilt of the head. “Again, I say, fuck you.”

  The stranger leaped at the cage, gun drawn. He rattled the metal barrel of the pistol between the bars and shouted bang, bang, bang at the top of his lungs—a sound that only served to send the Moaners into a starvation-induced frenzy.

  Kitty leaned into the back of the cage, to gain as much distance from the menacing man as possible.

  The stranger cackled. “I scared you, didn’t I? It’s okay to admit it…I’m a scary guy.” He leaned his arm through the bars until the barrel of the pistol came to rest on Kitty’s forehead. “Say it.”

  “Say what?” Kitty asked, frightened.

  “Say I’m scary.”

  A tremble of fear danced through Kitty’s system. Tears muddied her mascara, sending it into sorrow-filled streams down her cheeks. “You’re scary.” Her voice was reed-thin.

  “You’re scary…what?” the stranger prodded.

  “You’re scary…sir?” Kitty replied.

  “No!” the stranger bellowed. “My name. Say my fucking name.”

  “You never told me your name!” Kitty shouted back, her voice cracking in terror-fueled anger.

  The stranger withdrew his arm, his face suddenly flush with peace. “How rude of me, Miss Casket. My name is Mud. I know, I know…what a crazy name, huh? My mother was a huge Primus fan…and a heroin addict. I guess she thought it’d be funny to name her kid Mud. I can see you doing the math. Pork Soda was released in ‘93…so I might well be around the same age as you? Oh, but a woman never confesses her age. That’s all beside the point. Do you remember the point? I do. You now know my name. Now…say it.”

  Mud brought the pistol to bear on Kitty’s right eye. Her entire body stiffened and her lids shut tight against the horror. When she finally spoke, her voice cracked.

  “You’re scary…Mud.”

  Mud withdrew his arm and danced about the stage like a man freed from a torment of nightmares. He laughed like a child and flailed his arms over his head like a chimpanzee.

  “That’s right, kiddies, my name is Mud, and I’m one scary motherfucker!”

  Mud suddenly stopped and placed the barrel of the pistol against his own temple. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I pulled the trigger now? What do you think, Kitty, is death the sweet release we all long for? Is the big end our only hope for peace? Should I pull the trigger and send me and thee out of our miseries?”

  Kitty said not a word.

  “Your silence is deafening, Kitty. Si
ng me a song.”

  “But the band…” Kitty began to complain.

  “Fuck the band!” Mud shouted. “Sing something acappella. Do it now before I lose complete control of this fucking finger and you wind up with your third eye permanently opened.”

  Softly at first, Kitty began singing “Monster High School Party”.

  thirteen | cage dance with the dead

  “Stop the van!” Touque shouted too loudly for the close proximity of the van cockpit.

  Billy slammed on the brakes as if the very world ended inches before the front tires. “What the hell, Touque?”

  “There.” Touque pointed to the left, beyond the road and toward a broken-down theatre. The shattered, rusted marquee clung to the old stone wall with little more than a prayer to the great god friction.

  Billy scanned the area until his eyes happened upon the old Chevy. “Son of a bitch.”

  Todd Flash poked his head between the front bucket seats. “What are we missing?” Before anyone could answer, Todd caught sight of the car and whispered, “Sweet crackers of Christ.”

  Billy nudged the gas of the van and swung the front end into the parking lot.

  “Not here,” Touque said, excitedly. “Drive around to the side of the building. Should anyone come out, I don’t want them knowing our whereabouts.”

  “Good call, Touque.”

  “Years of training, Mr. Bat. Years and years.”

  “One of these days, Touque, I swear you’re going to have to tell me a little something about yourself.”

  “There’s not much to know, Billy. A bit of warfare here, a little PI work there. At one point, I was considered the James Bond of Canada. But it doesn’t matter now, does it? In the apocalypse, we’re all equal.”

  “Oh, hell no!” Billy proclaimed. “The Canadian James Bond? Oh, the strange you must have had.”

  Touque raised an eyebrow. “Strange? I don’t understand.”

  Max leaned into the semi-private moment. “You know, a little bit of the wink-wink, nudge-nudge from someone you didn’t previously know. A one night stand with happy ending? You get what I’m selling you, Mr. Touque?”

  “Touque. James Touque,” Billy said through a controlled snicker.

  “Are you quite finished, Mr. Bat?” Touque asked.

  “Oh, God, no; I’m just starting.”

  “As I’d expected. If you don’t mind, I’d much rather spend our time rescuing Kitty. So park the sophomoric antics and the vehicle out of sight so we can formulate a plan.”

  Billy eased the truck away from the parking lot and into a narrow space of concrete on the side of the building. He’d cut the lights of the van so as to avoid being spotted. When darkness engulfed the moment, the vehicle slowed to a stop. He shifted into park, cut the engine, and turned to Touque. “What’s the plan?”

  Touque hesitated. Thought danced just behind the void of his pupils. “The plan is…we sneak into that building and rescue Kitty.”

  “That’s it?” Tom Mooner crooned. “Even I could have come up with a better plan than that.”

  Touque turned back to the rear of the van and said, “Have at it, young man. Tell us…what do we do?”

  Tom gazed around the van…doing his best not to make eye contact with anyone. “I got nothin’.”

  “That’s what I thought,” answered Touque.

  Billy opened the driver’s side door. Touque grabbed his arm and asked, “What are you doing?”

  “Something. Anything,” Billy responded. “We can’t save Kitty sitting out here on our asses.”

  Touque nodded. “Fair point.”

  One by one, the men exited the van and gathered at its rear.

  “How do we know she’s here?” Max asked.

  “We don’t,” Touque replied, his voice too calm. “Not until we venture inside.” Without uttering another word, Touque walked off to the front side of the building. Billy quickly followed, catching up with the elder man in a few overlong strides.

  They turned the corner to see two large men exit the building. The first said in a huff, “One of these days, I’m going to cave that motherfucker’s skull in.”

  “Sure you are, Francis. Then what will you do for employment?”

  The man named Francis replied, “It’s the goddamn apocalypse. Who needs employment? This is no longer a capitalist democracy. We now live in an anarcho-syndicalism. We the people have rebelled against the more perfect union and are set to overcome the decades-long repression that has held the middle class under a wave of one-percenter shit.”

  The second man stopped and scratched his head. “I have no fucking idea what you’re saying.”

  “Education, dillweed…that’s what I’m talking about. Ignorance is not bliss…it’s the quickest route to living a powerless existence.” Francis tapped his head. “You can’t work the system until you understand the system. I get it…how to both grease and break the cogs in the machine.”

  “Jesus Christ, Francis. We’re just the hired muscle.”

  Touque motioned for Billy to slip back around the building. As they shuffle-stepped their way out of sight, Billy’s foot connected with a piece of steel pipe. The metallic rattle was thunderous in the silent landscape of night. The two men spotted the rebels and gave chase.

  “Go!” Billy hissed at Touque, making sure to place himself between the goons and the elder statesman of The Last Casket.

  Touque and Billy slipped the bonds of sight and rushed the others back to the van. The sounds of clomping footsteps rose just before the first of Mud’s thugs shouted, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  Billy glanced at Touque to see him reach into the small of his back and slip a pistol from between flesh and cloth. Like a striking cobra, Touque’s arm sprang forward to level the weapon on the burly men.

  “Take another step, and I will ruin those pretty faces of yours,” Touque threatened.

  The nearest man laughed. “That’s not gonna happen and you…”

  Touque pulled off a shot that grazed the man’s left earlobe. “You were saying?”

  “Fuck!” the man shouted. “You crazy bastard.”

  Touque spat, “I may be crazy, but I’m the one holding the gun. If you two continue moving forward, it might be wise to redefine your idea of crazy.”

  “What are you doing here, old man?” the unwounded goon asked.

  “I’d say that’s none of your damn business. The real question is, what are you doing here?”

  Both men fell silent.

  “By my estimation,” Touque started, “your being here means but one thing—that you’re aiding and abetting a criminal.”

  “How do you figure? Maybe we’re just here for the shelter,” the larger of the two man said, his voice smooth and deep.

  Touque replied, “Hired mugs like you aren’t intelligent enough to hang out together. You tend to surround yourself with lesser men. I believe it would have something to do with the relativistic nature of ego.”

  Francis shook his head. “If we’re talking Freud here, you cannot ignore the Id. Our basic needs are survival. Together, he and I…”

  Touque fired off another shot, this time grazing the Francis’ right foot. The man roared his disapproval and lunged at Touque.

  From his periphery, Touque saw a piece of two-by-four swing through the air and connect with the side of the raging bull’s head.

  Francis went down without so much as a complaint.

  The plank of wood dropped from Billy’s hands.

  “Thank you, Mr. Bat. That was much appreciated,” Touque said, leveling the pistol at the second man. “I believe, if we were playing chess, that would be check.”

  “Shoot him, Touque,” Billy hissed.

  “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Bat.”

  “How the fuck do you know?” asked Billy.

  Touque nodded toward the now-trembling man. “He’s currently pissing himself. I cannot imagine a grown man in such a state is of much danger.”

&nb
sp; Before Billy could offer a response, the sounds of doom spilled from the surrounding, velvety blackness.

  “Goddamn it!” Billy whispered. “We can’t catch a break.”

  “You gotta let me go, man,” the second goon said in panic.

  Touque stepped forward and waved the pistol at the man. “Turn around.”

  “Just let me go.” The man’s voice quavered. “I swear you’ll never see me again.”

  “Turn around, or you will never see you again,” Touque demanded.

  The hired muscle turned.

  The stench of piss wafted into the air.

  Touque pressed the barrel of the weapon between the man’s shoulder blades. “Lead us into the building and to Kitty.”

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about,” the man cried out.

  Touque cocked the hammer of the gun. “I will tell you once more. If you refuse, it will be your last living moment on this planet. Take us…”

  “Okay!” the goon interrupted, his voice skyrocketing into the range of desperation. He took a single step forward before Touque grabbed the collar of his shirt and stopped him in his tracks.

  “Let’s go, boys,” Touque called out to the band. “We’ve got a Kitty to rescue.”

  The symphony of Moaners sounded off again, their collective tones rising and falling as if guided by some artistic intention.

  “I don’t see any zombies,” Tom whispered.

  “Judging from the sound, they’re a few blocks away,” Max said.

  “How in the fuck do you–” Todd started. “Never mind. I don’t care to know, as long as you’re right.”

  “I’m right,” Max replied.

  The stranger slowly led the group toward the front entrance. Billy caught up to Touque and whispered, “Are you sure this is a good idea? Going in through the front door? We might as well announce our arrival with a song.”

  Touque moved the barrel of the gun to the back of the man’s head. “Are there any other entrances to the building?”