Undead Fleshcrave: The Zombie Trigger

by Goforth, Jim

  Seth shrugged his shoulders, casting his eyes around the room, looking to see if he could spot Baron anywhere.

  He might as well have been looking for a needle in a haystack in this packed room of black-garbed death metal aficionados. There were scores of them in here who could have been Baron clones; big muscular guys with broad shoulders, long hair, generic black T-shirts running the gamut through the main players of the universal DM scene along with hordes of lesser knowns. Baron could be anywhere, and probably was, so worrying about whether he was going to suddenly lunge out of the massed crowd wasn't really worth wasting energy on. Instead, he made another observation as he surveyed the milling crowd, most of them beginning to get agitated and vociferous waiting for the main event to be underway.

  Aside from his collective of women companions, and the few who had joined Black's group, most of the female fans here appeared to be a fraction on the portly side.

  In tight Cannibal Corpse and Deeds of Flesh shirts and even tighter skirts of denim or leather, or pants, some of these women looked as though they'd intentionally shopped for sizes too small for them.

  The vast majority were some big girls and Seth wondered irrationally if there was some sort of prerequisite involving female death metal fanatics.

  He knew that was illogical, and an unreasonable pigeonhole, but he couldn't help thinking it based on the general size of those in attendance.

  Before he knew it, the girls and Dax were back, armed with drinks for all.

  "Jesus, how the hell did you get in and out of that mire so swiftly?" Mark was surprised they hadn't been away longer.

  Grinning, Dax gestured at Julietta.

  "Guy at the bar overlooked a few to get to serve Jules, probably got sick of seeing some of these bulldogs dressed as collies in here."

  "Ha!" Seth snorted. "I was just thinking about something similar. Looks like some of these death metal girls are a bit on the chunky side."

  Miranda slugged him in the bicep, then slapped Dax lightly in the back of the head.

  "You guys are terrible!"

  "What? It's a fact," Dax said. "The girls who turn up to the BM shows don't look like they've taken band names like Devourment or Eaten Alive literally like some of these svelte beauties."

  Lincoln sprayed a double barrel nostril squirt of vodka as he laughed, almost choking himself.

  "True it might be, but if you say that too loud in here...” Miranda cautioned.

  "They'll be liable to eat me too? And not in a good way?"

  Shaking her head, Miranda had the good sense not to grace that with a response. Then abruptly the music piping through overhead speakers to tide over the waiting throngs of fans-Deicide's self-titled debut album-ceased, and the lights dimmed.

  A deafening roar of cheers rose in a crescendo of sound with the potential to lift the roof right off the arena, whistles and whoops piercing through the midst of the cataclysmic din.

  The lights went completely out and swathed the entire room in dark. It was pitch black, Seth couldn't see a thing in front of him, around him, anywhere. He felt a cool hand slip into his and grasp it. He hoped it was Julietta, it was just weird if it was anyone else.

  Lights gradually began to emanate from the stage, but they didn't cast off too much illumination, just a sickly green glow that allowed the assembled crowd a little bit of visibility.

  The population of expectant fans, now having ceased their eardrum bursting roars of approval in order to keep their attention focused on the stage where obviously things were starting to happen, surged forward, cramming those in the frontline up to the barrier. The squadron of beefy security brutes responded by moving forward on their side of the barricade, arms folded, faces impassive.

  Behind them, a smoky mist began to rise, doused in the sickly green glow of the subdued lighting. It swirled over the stage, the giant black drapes formerly covering it peeling back. The anticipation and agitation continued to build as it became obvious that through the haze of the green-imbued mist there was nobody on the stage.

  Murmurs of confusion and consternation started to ebb and flow around the crowd, feet shifting and shuffling on the floor.

  Some of the more brazen ones at the front, leaning over the barricade as far as they could, craning their necks to see further into the centre of the fog, were probably debating jumping over and rushing the stage. The row of eight security guards stood firm to discourage that notion.

  A hand suddenly punched out of the mist, apparently rising out of the floor in a reach for the sky, fingers clasping and flexing in the air.

  The unexpected appearance of the limb, which caused more than a handful of unsuspecting onlookers to jump in a startled fashion, was followed by another, clawing its way up from a false floorboard, a ghastly appendage that seemed to be dripping gore and greenish slime.

  The glow of illumination brightened a little more, enough to allow those with the better view of the stage to witness a similar grotesquely splattered head emerge, then shoulders, a bulky muscled upper torso, and then the complete body of Undead Fleshcrave frontman SamEdi lurching out of the gap created in the floor. Even black metal freak Seth knew enough to realise where the band's vocalist had appropriated his moniker from, but right now the beefy Undead Fleshcrave head honcho didn't look at all like the sinister top-hatted Baron; he looked a lot more like one of the risen dead, a shambling zombie oozing gruesome stagnant slimy material and blood. His eyes rolled crazily around in their sockets as he lurched through the green-tinted fog to the front of the stage, baring his teeth in a grimace.

  A muted wall of guitar issued from somewhere behind him, frenetic and rapid in tempo.

  All of a sudden the volume intensified immensely as the wall came down behind SamEdi and there were the rest of the band on the proper stage behind him, wielding their respective instruments as though they were weapons.

  Behind an enormous drum kit with two 22 x 18 kick drums, a host of toms, a couple of snares, and a load of Sabian cymbals was sticksman GatlingGrinder seated up on a platform higher than the rest of the band, who spanned out behind SamEdi.

  They moved up to flank the vocalist, rhythm guitarist The Deadwalker and bassist FaceGnawer on his right, and lead guitarist SkinCarver on his left, this trio of axe-wielders attacking their stringed instruments with savage vigour.

  A huge punishing surge of aural violence emanated as the guitarists ripped out a low-ended chugging riff that rode atop a barrage of battery from Grinder, bolstered by the thick pulsing rhythm of FaceGnawer. Even in this intro section of the track 'Buried Beneath Bones' the drums were brutal and relentless; forget blast beats, some of the work from the skinsman was gravity beats. This track piqued the attention of the crowd and the fans were going nuts instantly; after all, this was the one the band posted all over the internet in conjunction with the bloodthirsty video clip and anyone who knew anything about the band were familiar with at least this composition.

  All members of the band were splattered and adorned with the bloody splashes and green slime-like substance, making each one of them look like refugees from some particularly nasty zombie movie, but they didn't move in slow shambling motions.

  They windmilled in perfect unison, the two longhaired guitarists hurling their matted locks in great spirals, the bald bassist banging his chrome dome in tandem also.

  SamEdi gave voice to a feral cavernous growl that sounded as though it had risen up from some deep dank cave far underground, possibly the same place the green slimy stuff should have come from, and then began to bubble lyrics through the mire of muscular death metal instrumentation.

  The pit was already seething with activity; head-banging, moshing, fans hurling themselves against the barricades, fists and metal horns raised in the air.

  Seth could still see no sign of either Eric Baron and his cronies, or Buck and the girls.

  He wondered whether they were somewhere down there in that swarm of bodies, worked into a frenzy by the brutal barrage of death metal
by the Undead fivesome.

  SamEdi gripped his microphone like he wanted to choke it to death, growling like a feral beast, his face a blood splattered and green-gooped mess in a grimacing snarl. His bandmates windmilled without missing a beat, drummer Grinder a furious dervish with legs and arms moving so rapidly they were a blur.

  Seth gazed in consternation at the crush at the barricade, thankful Julietta had the good sense to stay out of that.

  And this was only the first track from the band; it was only going to get crazier from here on out. And crazier it did get, much messier too.

  Three tracks in and the ferocious five piece decided interaction with the baying crowd was a must. The Deadwalker and FaceGnawer temporarily exited the stage as SkinCarver regaled the moshing mass with an insane display of soloing, peeling out a crescendo of squealing notes over a pummelling drum line, and then the duo returned, both carrying big metal buckets which they deposited at the front of the stage.

  The bassist picked up his instrument and chimed in with the rhythm of Grinder, but the other guitarist and SamEdi proceeded to plunge their hands into the buckets, withdrawing them packed with what looked suspiciously like dripping entrails.

  "Jesus..." Mark hissed as SamEdi ripped into a section with his teeth and then sprayed a mouthful out into the crowd. "Is that...?"

  The Deadwalker didn't waste any time or effort biting at the offal, he just flung it out into the mass of people, splattering the gruesome titbits against faces in the crowd. A mixed reaction came from those who were the recipients of this, ranging from shocked to overjoyed.

  "Fuck, is that real?" Lincoln wanted to know, though a rancorous putrid odour souring an atmosphere already heavy with alcohol, perspiration, and smoky smells seemed to suggest that indeed the band might actually be hurling real innards from some as yet unidentified source into the congregation of heaving metal fans.

  "I think so," Seth murmured, staring in morbid fascination.

  "That's disgusting," Miranda declared. "I hope Callie and the others are smart enough to get their butts out of there if they are down there."

  "Ha-ha, sucked in, if they are," Lincoln declared. "That'll learn them. Guts to the face."

  "You idiot," Miranda scowled. "That's just rank. Damn death metal bands."

  "Hey, what about the black metal bands with pigs’ blood and that kind of thing?"

  "I'd rather get a face full of pigs’ blood than a big fat pile of pigs’ guts in my mouth."

  "Who says it’s pigs' guts?" Lincoln said with a mock creepy tone to his voice, trying to inject a suitably gruesome chuckle in as well.

  "Lincoln, I wish one of those handfuls of ....stuff would land in your face."

  "Not going to happen," Lincoln grinned smugly.

  Seth just continued to stare as the duo dealing out the grotesque offerings continued to fling the gunk into the thrashing pit, splattering pieces against people, bits flying off onto the floor while the octet of burly security guards didn’t do a single thing about it.

  They remained like Royal Guards, faces impassive, arms folded across their enormous chests. Surely this wasn't in the performance contract? The venue couldn't be overjoyed by this sort of activity. The liability could be massive if somebody slipped on the mess; it could end up like Powderkeg all over again, maybe worse.

  Perhaps the feelings of ill ease Seth was troubled with earlier were in some way a harbinger of this, something bad arising from the gory innards being tossed with gleeful abandon by the Undead Fleshcrave sickos into the pit.

  That portentous sensation hadn't departed yet either, and seeing the flailing entrails, a sickly mist showering in the air and the security doing jackshit about it enhanced them. Though he hadn't seen anything more of Baron or his buddies, he hadn't caught a glimpse of his own absent friends either, nor had he spied Black and his associates since the group separated.

  The crowd all around him and his friends didn't make it easy either, jostling against them as they writhed and moshed to the music.

  Even though Seth and co. were well back from the stage, it was still getting pretty crazy there too. The best bet might even be to abscond right out of the room, watch the remainder of the concert from the vantage points outside. They would be free of the crush, away from the pervading rotten meat stench, hopefully out of harm’s way.

  Unfortunately, their friends wouldn't be.

  With the buckets emptied, the couple who'd cast the awful mix into the hordes retrieved their instruments to complete the track, appropriately enough entitled 'Scattered Meat Smorgasbord' finishing with an emphatic clatter of cymbals and a belching grunt from SamEdi.

  The lights dimmed down drastically, leaving just one spooky spotlight glow centred on the frontman’s leering mess-streaked visage.

  CHAPTER THREE-PIT OF ZOMBIES

  An eerie silence descended in tandem with the darkening of the room, a formerly brain damaging crescendo of raucous cacophony dying away to nothingness as the light pinpointed SamEdi's gruesomely decorated face.

  Those bemoaning the fact they'd been rudely splattered with unidentified segments of raw meat, or even any sickly rejoicing in it, were quiet as the freakish frontman commanded attention.

  Seth felt a chill steal over him, goose bumps tickling his flesh, and the feeling writhing deep in the pit of his stomach intensified as he watched the Undead Fleshcraver survey the crowd, his maniacal eyes slithering around the packed out venue.

  Then he spoke, his voice rumbling into the void of silence.

  His speaking tones were almost identical to those he used to belch out his bloodthirsty violent song lyrics, a deep dark growl that sounded as if it had been cultivated somewhere below layers of sedimentary rocks.

  "So everyone here, of course, should be aware that the Undead Fleshcrave have promised that the town of Armada has a massive surprise in store for them tonight. Who is aware of that? Who has been looking forward to that promise?"

  SamEdi had barely finished the query before noise erupted again from the crowd, a cavalcade of cheers, whoops and whistles, punctuated by clapping or banging as people thumped excited fists against barricades or just whatever was handy.

  The frontman held up the hand he wasn't throttling his microphone with and bloody fluid sluiced off it as he did so, dropping out of the circle of light highlighting his face and into the dark.

  Dutifully, the crowd eventually obliged his request for silence again and a bubbling chuckle issued from SamEdi. It sounded malevolent and unpleasant to Seth, and didn’t allay his feelings of consternation at all. He squeezed Julietta's hand and she squeezed back.

  He had the irrational―or was it?—desire to drag her and the rest of his assembled friends the hell out of there.

  For whatever reason, he kept getting plagued with this ominous sensation and he couldn't shake it.

  "Good to hear it," SamEdi continued, his thick growling voice oozing throughout the atmosphere. "Everybody is excited for the bloody mayhem we've promised and no, it wasn't the Scattered Meat Smorgasbord you were all just bathed in. That's just a little precursor."

  Precursor? Seth asked himself. Jesus, this is not good. What kind of main event can follow a precursor like liberally dousing the crowd in offal and bloody entrails?

  An illogical notion that maybe they were actually going to commit some type of heinous violent act onstage, in conjunction with the majority of their track lyrics, crept disturbingly into his mind.

  He tried to banish that thought. It had to be a very remote possibility. Still....

  "Well death metal disciples of Armada, let me tell you all that your town will be the very first to receive this honour, but by no means will you be the last. All true death heads gathered here tonight prepare to have your lives changed. At midnight tonight our album will drop into stores, simultaneously available online. And upon it will be a track that is going to be the anthem for all true death heads countrywide. Worldwide. A universal conquering of the world. And it starts right now.
It starts with this, 'The Zombie Trigger.'"

  Abruptly the light vanished and the room went entirely black, so dark it seemed to be completely impenetrable, a sheer midnight shroud of blackness so thick it was stifling. A bizarre sound emanated from the stage, a horrifying, high-pitched humming conglomeration of noise that apparently came from the band’s instruments, but sounded like nothing Seth had ever heard before.

  It appeared to be violating his entire body, infiltrating his ears, stealing into his mind and making him feel nauseous.

  He heard a moan from Julietta next to him and felt her clasped hand in his squeeze tighter still, almost painfully so.

  "Ah shit, what the fuck...?” Dax was obviously beginning to feel just as ill as Seth himself did. There was a horrible dry retching sound adjacent to Seth. He heard an ensuing splatter and he guessed at least one of them manifested their feelings of illness into physical form.

  A conglomeration of noise was now coming from the stage area, though it really seemed to be everywhere, pervading throughout the entire room, some semblance of music though of the most non-musical variety Seth could ever imagine. It made the dissonance and discordant abrasion of some of the black metal offerings he knew sound like sweet lullabies.

  "What the hell is going on?" Julietta whispered nearby, her hand still clasping his so tight he thought his knuckles were going to pop.

  "I don't know. We've gotta get out of here, but I can't see shit."

  The sheer blackness was stifling, frightening and loaded with menace.

  Not being able to see a thing, coupled with hearing the terrible nausea-creating sounds swelling throughout the arena, on top of the ominous feelings of dread already ballooning inside Seth, made him witless with fear.

  What the hell was going on?

  Suddenly light flooded the room, not a bright flash of illumination or an abrupt engulfing of radiance, but the same kind of sickly aura that existed before, a nauseating green glow that didn't light up a whole lot.

  It left the room full of hunched shapes and long dark shadows, malevolent corners and possible threats.