Death Metal

by Mark All

  The axe narrowly missed Alan and clanged off the rear end of the Jaguar. Alan tumbled to the concrete; Nancy screamed as Vince recovered his balance and came for Alan again.

  Alan scrambled away as quickly as he could on his hands and knees between the Jag and the Civic, trying to get to his feet at the same time, but too panicked to be that coordinated. He expected the bite of the axe in his back at any moment.

  He stumbled into Nancy’s legs and fell back again, and something whizzed through the air over his head, but not the axe. A grunt came from behind him. Nancy toppled in front of him, unharmed, then he heard the unmistakable clatter of a lawn chair, which she must have swung at Vince, then the thud of Vince falling, then the axe hitting the concrete. Nancy had driven Vince off. Alan knew they had only seconds. He struggled to his feet and helped Nancy up, then glanced over his shoulder to see Vince rising, axe in hand. Alan grabbed her and ran around the front of the car.

  Vince was right behind them, so they had no time to get the car door open and both of them into it. Alan saw the toolshed ahead, the door open.

  “Nancy, the shed,” he croaked. “Run for the shed!”

  He pumped his legs, his arm around her waist, pulling her with him, and they hit the lawn, their toes digging into the grass, running as fast as they could. Stomping boots followed on their heels.

  Nancy reached the little wooden ramp first and he shoved her hard through the door into the shed. She hit the floor and, luckily, tumbled out of the way as he leaped through. He whipped around, grabbed the door, and slammed it shut behind him.

  Nancy crouched in a corner, whimpering.

  Boots pounded against the ramp.

  Alan’s shaking fingers found the lock on the door handle, twisted it.

  Like that would hold, he thought. He looked around frantically for some way to secure the door.

  The shed held an assortment of gardening implements as well as tools for plumbing and patching things around the house, but what good was any of it? Alan looked at the door again. It opened outward, so there was no way to bar it. He saw no bolts or hooks to tie the door to even if he had rope and more time.

  The door banged as loudly as a gunshot and shook in its frame, dust puffing from the jamb, as the axe blade cut through the wood. The blade jerked back and forth as Vince worked it free from the other side.

  Next the dead man would think to just smash the lock.

  The cheap, flimsy doorknob would only hold for one, at the most two, blows of the axe.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Saturday night

  David saw Vince slam the axe into the door of the shed as he braked the Mustang to a halt, nearly rear-ending the Civic. He shut the car off without even fully pushing in the clutch and the car juddered as the gear engaged and the engine died. He was out the door before the vehicle completely stopped, running in an insane fury at his undead former band mate.

  As Vince pulled the axe free, the door came ajar after it, the knob and lock assembly exploding into pieces. Vince turned toward David and stepped off the ramp.

  David was moving on automatic, his brain disengaged, his primitive instincts calling the shots. He screamed as he rushed Vince, heedless of the axe, driven by a primal need to kill the bastard, to throttle him with his bare hands where he stood.

  Vince grinned and lifted the axe, and reality abruptly set in. David tried to stop, but his momentum carried him forward, knocking him off balance, and he realized he would fall at Vince’s feet, laid out like a sacrifice on an altar.

  The shed door behind Vince burst all the way open and Alan hurtled from the opening to leap onto Vince’s back, his forearms around the keyboard player’s neck, his legs around the dead man’s waist. They went down in a tangle, Vince maintaining his hold on the axe and vainly attempting to dislodge the singer with his other arm.

  David stumbled to a halt, then lurched forward, grabbed the axe, and wrested it from Vince’s grip.

  With a roar, Vince twisted and brought his elbow down on the side of Alan’s head. The singer fell back and lay still on the grass. Nancy screamed and rushed from the shed to her husband. Vince got to his feet, grimacing at David.

  As he faced off against the dead man, David’s arm throbbed, as if the crazed woman’s knife was still slicing through the muscle, the wound freshly bleeding. Adrenaline flooded his body, sharpened his mind, tautened his muscles, and gave him a strength beyond any he’d ever known. He thought back to what Jessica had said about the music’s omnipresence in the world empowering the dead man with substance, making him real, and felt with certainty that burying the axe in the computer would put an end to the fucker.

  “It’s over, Vince. The insanity ends here, now.”

  Vince’s body relaxed and he laughed. “It’s too late, dumbass.”

  Vaguely aware of Jessica coming to his side, David hesitated. “No, it’s not. All Hell may be breaking loose, but we’re going to delete all the files—”

  “Alan tried that. So did that pansy suit from the record label, and now he and Mike are dead.”

  Jessica uttered a choked cry beside David. He froze as he realized what Vince was saying.

  “You killed Mike,” he said thickly. “You killed him.”

  Jessica wailed through her hands, “And Ben.”

  “They shouldn’t have fucked with me,” Vince said grimly.

  Grief tried and failed to take David's heart. He couldn’t process this news now. “So you’re real enough to kill? Then you’re real enough to be killed.” He took a step toward Vince.

  “I told you,” Vince said. “It’s too late.”

  “What the fuck do you mean, ‘it’s too late’?” David yelled.

  Vince’s grin returned. “I mean I’ve already uploaded the entire album to the web.”

  David stopped mid-stride, numb.

  Vince laughed. “To a dozen sites. It’s all over the world by now.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Saturday night

  David stared at Vince in shock, the axe dangling from his right hand. He felt the knife wound pulling open with the weight of the axe, but it seemed irrelevant. Jessica sobbed next to him, Nancy cradled Alan’s head in her lap beside the ramp to the shed, and Vince stood at ease before him, master of the situation. He was like Lucifer reigning over Hell.

  A grim determination grew in David. “I’m going to destroy the original files, and then I’m going to devote my life to tracking down every MP3 on the fucking planet. I may fail, but I’ll tell you one thing. You’re not going to ‘live’ in this world to savor the results of what you’ve done.”

  He shouldered the axe and advanced on Vince, preparing to strike.

  Before he could swing the axe or Vince could react, Nancy jumped up with a cry and ran past them toward the house. Behind Vince, Alan propped himself on an elbow, blinking.

  “Baby?” the singer called weakly after her.

  David and Vince looked at each other with puzzled expressions, as if they were just two musicians again, sipping coffee in the Waffle House in the wee hours after a gig and pondering some bizarre action of a drunk fan at another table.

  “Where the fuck is she going?” Vince said, frowning.

  David had an intimation—not a fully formed thought, more an intuition—and knew he had to buy Nancy some time. He was ready to kill this son of a bitch anyway. Without a word, he drew the axe back and swung it with all his might.

  With a startled grunt, Vince wheeled backward, the axe missing him by an inch.

  Following through on his blow, David lost his balance, and before he could right himself, Vince slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. David braced himself for Vince to take advantage of his vulnerability, but instead, Vince ran past him. David frantically scrambled to his feet, picking up the axe.

  Having shoved Jessica out of the way, Vince now ran for the house. David guessed he was too real a part of this world now to just materialize inside, but he didn’t give a shit about the d
etails. A cry of fury and desperation escaped him as he ran after the keyboard player, his arm stinging and wet from the cut.

  Vince entered the house, yelling, “You can’t stop it now, bitch!” but he didn’t slow down. David wasn’t thinking clearly enough to fathom what that might mean, but if Vince was worried, he liked it. Vince had disappeared into the hallway when David reached the load out room. He followed.

  The keyboardist was throwing his weight against the door to the control room. It shook in its frame, but did not give. The thing was made of thick wood panels; David had gotten it specifically to block sound. The hinges were the weak point. They would rip free from the frame with a few more body blows.

  David braced himself in the narrow hallway and swung the axe over his head and down at Vince, but his wounded arm threw off his aim and it came down at an angle. The blade only grazed Vince’s upper arm and buried itself in the doorframe. Vince bellowed and punched David in the head, sending him reeling down the hallway to trip over his own feet and land on his back on the floor. The keyboard player wrenched the axe from the doorframe and came toward David.

  This was it, then. He’d tried, failed. He could only think of Jessica, hopefully still outside. Maybe she would have the good sense to get in the car and leave. Vince’s form towered over him, blocking out the light from the ceiling fixture, and David braced for the unimaginable agony of the sharp blade cleaving him in half.

  The blow did not come. Vince kicked David’s legs to the side and pushed past him down the hall and through the door into the large studio room. He realized that the door from the studio proper to the control room was far less sturdy than the control room’s door to the hall. If it came to it, there was the glass window between the two rooms. Vince would be through and after Nancy with the axe in seconds.

  Jessica appeared above David and helped him to his feet.

  “Stay here,” he screamed at her, then stumbled through the door into the dark studio, but he heard her shuffling in behind him. There was no time to turn her back, he had to stop Vince.

  The madman had reached the door to the control room and was lifting the axe, evidently not slowed much by the wound to his arm. He brought the axe down on the doorknob and rent it from the panel and jamb. He pulled it free and the door drifted open.

  Feeling weak, his arm now aching royally, David flung himself at Vince, knocking him into the door with a cracking of wood and skull. The axe fell to the floor and the door slammed shut again. With superhuman strength, Vince threw David off and picked up the axe.

  As David fought for a grip on Vince’s pant leg, he saw Jessica advance on Vince, swinging a microphone stand. Vince threw up his free arm to block the blow and the stand bounced off him like it had hit steel. Before David could react, Vince batted Jessica’s grasping arms out of the way, seized her by the shoulder, spun her around, and pulled her to him. He held her with her back against him, one arm pinning hers at her sides, and backed away from David.

  Tendons standing out in his arm, holding the axe with one hand near the head, he brought the bloodstained blade to Jessica’s throat.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Saturday night

  Vince smirked at David as Jessica withered in his grip, crying silent tears.

  David got to his feet, shaking with fear. He maintained space between himself and Vince, not wanting to inadvertently cause him to cut Jessica. The world spun out of control and he had no idea what to do. The music and the havoc it wreaked faded from his mind, and his gaze and consciousness focused on the axe blade, still dripping blood, at her throat.

  “Let it go, David,” Vince said. “What do you care if the world tears itself apart?”

  The words echoing his own thoughts jarred him. Was Vince still influencing his mind?

  Vince shrugged one shoulder. “Look on the bright side. People are finally listening to good music. Sophisticated music, not techno-pop or electronic dance crap. They’re listening to our music. To me and you.”

  Vince glanced over his shoulder. In the control room beyond the glass window, Nancy fumbled a tiny flash drive into one of the USB ports of the computer. Seeing this, he frowned.

  “You’re insane,” David said between gritted teeth.

  Vince waggled his head. “Maybe a little, so what? The world should pay for ignoring us, for the economic system of mob rule, allowing the lowest-common-denominator to define culture.”

  “People are murdering each other in the streets!”

  “Yeah, boy,” Vince said, “and we made them do it! You always said musicians are emotional engineers. Look at the power we’re wielding. Their madness is a testament to our genius, to the greatness of our music.”

  Jessica’s eyes pleaded with David. What could he do? He had no weapon, and didn’t dare make a move on Vince, who could lay her throat open with a gesture. David risked a swift look at Nancy, in the control room. Through the window, he could see her clicking the mouse, then her hands moving to the keyboard. What the hell was she up to? She’d had plenty of time to delete the files already—but that was pointless; Vince had already uploaded the album to the web.

  Vince followed David’s gaze and when he saw what Nancy was doing, he raised an eyebrow and his eyes narrowed. He turned to keep an eye on David, nudged the door open with his foot, and backed slowly through it into the control room. David followed, not getting too close, his eyes on the blade of the axe under Jessica’s jaw.

  “Here’s what I think, David,” Vince said. “You obsessed over music, trying to perfect it, to perfect yourself, to the point of withdrawing from life. You lost one girlfriend after another due to neglect. But you still weren’t ‘good enough,’ and you still didn’t get it.”

  He paused, letting that sink in, then continued. “You weren’t good enough—by yourself. With me, you fulfilled your potential. You’re just not a Maestro, David. You’re just the guitar player.” He laughed. “Hey, that’s okay! Don’t put so much pressure on yourself, you’ve dedicated your life to it, to the exclusion of having a life. You needed me to provide the context for you, the audio landscape for your solos to soar over.”

  Vince was inside the control room now, past the end of the mixing console, his eyes shifting to Nancy, who ignored him and kept frantically working at the computer.

  Jessica must have slipped in Vince’s grip, because she cried out and David could see a tiny red line on the side of her throat. A nick. Over an artery. His muscles tensed like a drawn bow, but he dared not make a move.

  “Oops. Little accident there,” the keyboardist said as he edged toward Nancy. “You can take it as a warning, though.”

  Vince turned his head to Nancy. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, but quit it.”

  Nancy was shaking, but paid him no attention, kept typing.

  “I said, stop it!” Vince roared.

  Nancy finished typing, reached for the mouse.

  Vince shot a leg out, kicking Nancy’s knee, and she went down with a screech. She banged into the engineer’s chair, sending it rolling, and fell into the corner. Vince moved to block her from the computer.

  David followed, though he had no plan.

  “Uh-uh,” Vince said as David reached the computer. “I’ve got the axe, I’ve got your lady.”

  David looked from Jessica’s white face to Nancy’s taut expression. She made eyes at him, and darted her gaze from his face to the computer monitor and back again. Trying to tell him something.

  “I don’t have to kill her,” Vince said, “or Nancy. Just stand down on this. Let the music be. It’s the crowning achievement of your life, everything you ever aspired to. Fire up a joint and spend the rest of your life under the headphones, glorying in it.”

  “How long would that be? The rest of my life, I mean?” David could see the monitor from the corner of his eye, enough to tell that a dialog box was open on a web page.

  “It’s not the quantity, David, it’s the quality.”

  “It’s wholes
ale murder,” David countered, daring a glance at the monitor. The browser displayed a familiar-looking page—a hacker site he’d seen Nancy use before. There was a dialog box open, all the fields filled in, the OK button highlighted. He tumbled onto what Nancy was up to.

  Her virus.

  “Is this even your music?” he asked Vince, desperate to divert the dead man’s attention from the computer screen. “It sounds demonic. I think you’ve been in Hell, I think that’s the source of the album.”

  Vince laughed harshly. “Nice try. Feelings of inadequacy are your issue, not mine. I know how good I am. I did this.” His smile faded. “Now you just have to go along. Or else.” He squeezed Jessica’s ribs and she moaned. “Make your choice, David.”

  David hesitated, wondering if he really had a choice. If the music wasn’t destroyed, they’d all die, and Vince was probably going to kill them anyway. The only reason he hadn’t already was likely that he was outnumbered. As soon as he put an end to Nancy’s gambit, he’d use the axe again. He might not have as good an idea what Nancy had been doing as David did, but he knew something was up.

  Vince could tear Jessica’s throat open before David could reach him, let alone free her. David had only one path. Still, he couldn’t make himself do it; he was terrified that it would not work, and that as soon as he moved, she’d be dead.

  “David,” Jessica croaked. “Trust yourself. You’re all we have.”

  How could he risk it? He looked at Nancy, who held his gaze steadily, and nodded her head. Looked back to Jessica.

  “Come on,” Vince barked. “You’re second fiddle. Accept it.”

  David whirled and punched the Enter key on the computer keyboard.

  For a moment, nothing happened. Then Vince screamed, “Get the hell away from there!”