Undead Fleshcrave: The Zombie Trigger

by Goforth, Jim

  "Okay, Seth. Decision time. You coming with us or you taking your chances alone?"

  CHAPTER SEVEN-DECISIONS

  At the risk of further driving a wedge between Julietta and himself, Seth made the snap choice to stick with Black and his band of dubious cohorts. There were several reasons behind his decision, though in the precious few seconds he had to make that choice, not all of them came to him until later.

  The prime one related to what Tempest referred to earlier.

  “Zombie apocalypse. That is what the fuck we are going to be dealing with...”

  Only a couple of hours ago, or less, the whole concept would have seemed illogical, ludicrous, outlandish, impossible. Now it didn't seem like any of those things, there was nothing farfetched about it at all. In fact, it seemed probable, imminent…just about inevitable.

  Black and his people had sworn they needed to keep the band room of mayhem contained.

  Delays cost them the opportunity to do that and now the Quo Vadis bar was a hotbed of teeming bloodthirsty zombie activity, and while some of the facets and aspects of how a few of these particular zombies acted were a little at odds with everything Seth had been led to believe about the undead, he was willing to bet that one thing about them was going to be uniform with zombie folklore.

  Those they dined on would rise again themselves. Turned to members of the undead battalion as well. Unless they were despatched in the manner Black and his assassins chose, nullifying their brain activity or separating heads from bodies.

  Which meant all those victims who couldn't escape the hungry wrath or weren't completely masticated into nothing but sloppy red pulp and gnawed bones were going to switch allegiances from the land of the living to that of the undead.

  Giving abundant credence to Tempest's originally inconceivable notion that an apocalypse of the zombie kind was most certainly on the cards.

  Secondary to the mind-fucking notion that Armada was going to be under threat from a very real zombie outbreak of dangerous proportions for Seth was the prime goal of keeping himself and his friends firmly in the land of the living and free of becoming either mindless flesh-munchers or chewed up edibles for the fiends. While there were more than a few questionable things about Black and his entire crew that made them people to give a pretty wide berth under any normal circumstances, Seth had to admit that the chances of he and associates remaining alive were increased in the company of Black and his blade-brandishing companions.

  How many times already had that group saved their skins?

  It was more than a one off occurrence in a relatively short expanse of time and they were some telling stats.

  The only real wielder of any weapons in their group was Dax, with the makeshift implements that were his spiked armbands, and his jumpy demeanour already had him bashing a harmless street bum to death with them. Without Black and his lot, no matter how dangerous, questionable, or disconcerting they might be, Seth and his buddies would be zombie fodder in a shorter duration than the average run time of a Napalm Death song.

  So Seth made the choice. Other reasons for doing so came to mind later, but for now he'd made it. He expected more opposition to arise from his circle of friends with his controversial choice, in particular from the two girls, but it didn’t.

  Not immediately anyway.

  He’d no idea how he’d gotten saddled with the de facto leader tag of the bunch or why Black presumed that he was. If Buck was still with them perhaps things would have been different, but with the mantle of responsibility in picking what they do, he opted for what he'd opted for.

  He knew Julietta was far from happy with the outcome, but she wasn’t voicing it; she’d just gone tight-lipped and quiet and Miranda followed suit.

  The threesome from the beer garden tagged along as well and now the whole lot of them were assembled around a big black Toyota Tundra Crewmax, a twin cab beast almost twenty feet in length.

  This apparently was the 'truck' Black referred to, the vehicle they'd needed to get to.

  "Any of you lot come by vehicle at all?" Black directed the question at Seth and co. receiving negative responses.

  "And you?" Tempest asked curtly of the trio from the bar.

  The volatile drummer of Subversion seemed distinctly unimpressed by the presence of newcomers, slightly less so at the knowledge that Seth and friends were planning to stick around. Seth could see his logic; he could visualise gears churning and working in Tempest's head, the concerns that people outside their dark mysterious circle were going to slow them down, get people killed, get themselves killed.

  "Yeah, we came in a car," Sandy Hair said. "But me and Wayne are too pissed to drive; at least I know both of us are over the limit. And well, I'm not sure Heather can drive at all."

  "You're worried about getting nailed by the cops for driving under the influence?" Dax snorted. "That's probably the least of anyone’s worries right now, including theirs. Speaking of which, shouldn't they be swarming this place by now?"

  "They will be soon enough," Tempest said. "And never mind, what car have you got? One of us can drive."

  "Hold up," Wayne put in. "Where are we driving? What's the deal? You taking us home?"

  "Here's the deal," Tempest said. "The shit is not just about to hit the fan any more than it already has, it is going to bounce, splatter and explode everywhere all over every single person in this town if things don't get sorted pronto. We needed to keep that room the band played in tonight contained and that didn't happen. Now, if we can manage to contain things to Armada, there's a slim chance of cataclysm being avoided, but otherwise I'd start thinking about forgetting you folks or any of us even have a home."

  "Are you fucking having a lend of us?"

  "Does that look like the scene of a joke over there?" Tempest pointed a stiff finger back at the Quo Vadis slaughterhouse. "Those ugly undead motherfuckers are bona fide zombies, kids, and this is shaping up as an outbreak that is going to fuck this town in the ass."

  "What do we do then?" Heather wailed, on her feet now, but hobbling between Wayne and the sandy-haired man, leaning on them for support.

  "Kill Undead Fleshcrave for a start," Black said.

  "Kill Undead Fleshcrave?" Dax resumed his idiotic fetish for repeating what was said.

  "What in the hell is Undead Fleshcrave?" Wayne wanted to know, a query backed up by nods from his towheaded friend and the moaning Heather.

  "The band who played upstairs tonight," Mark said helpfully.

  "Kill the band?" Wayne appeared to have caught Dax's contagious predilection for echoing statements.

  "The band is the reason for the zombies," Mark said, but his explanation was only met by confused blank gazes from the three newcomers.

  "Again with the standing around flapping gums and waggling tongues." This came from the same woman who'd prompted them to move earlier, the girl with the eyebrow piercing. "Where's your car?"

  "Over there.” Sandy pointed at an off-white four door sedan a couple of rows across from Black's pickup. "We all came together. It's Heather's, she was designated driver..."

  "Was," Heather affirmed. "I can barely walk now, let alone drive."

  "Yeah, like I said, that isn't a problem, one of us will drive," Tempest said. "Fit five people maximum?"

  "Yeah," Wayne said hesitantly, gazing warily around the circle of unfamiliar faces, most of whom must have looked pretty threatening to an ordinary clean cut fellow like himself. "But..."

  "Problem?" Tempest raised an eyebrow.

  "I mean...who are you people? Sincere thanks for saving our butts and that but...but what you're talking about...killing this band? I mean, I don't know...”

  Black was at the tray of the Tundra, busying himself with a series of long black instrument cases.

  At this juncture he turned around, his penetrating obsidian eyes honing in on Wayne's before floating across to include Heather and the as yet nameless man.

  "Time to make a choice people," he said simply, deli
vering the same ultimatum he’d presented to Seth. "With the amount of people we have along now we need another vehicle. If you're happy to offer the services of yours, that's fine and dandy. If you want to stick with us, by all means do so. If you want to take your chances alone, two drunks and a cripple, that's entirely your call."

  "But don't waste time mulling over it," snapped the girl with the eyebrow adornment. "Think fast and decide. Quick."

  The trio exchanged an assortment of glances, worry, bemusement, confusion and fear all jostling to occupy prime position on countenances.

  "Where...where are we going?" Heather was first to speak.

  "The music has stopped, that means the band is hauling ass out of the venue. Ready to hit the road and keep rolling. To spread this malady to another town, and so on. Catch my drift?"

  Seth caught Black's drift loud and clear.

  Undead Fleshcrave had every intention of taking their freakish stage show of scattered meat smorgasbords and turning death head fans into their own army of undead flesh-cravers all over the coast, pulling the Zombie Trigger on town after town.

  Until the aforementioned zombie apocalypse was a brutal shocking reality of townships, cities, entire states swarming with the undead.

  The rest of Seth's friends weren't slow in understanding precisely what the towering Subversion leader alluded to either. If they hadn't physically witnessed and felt what had transpired as the death metal supergroup of zombie creators performed this lethal track, they too might have found it as bizarre and unbelievable to hear that a band was responsible for the plague as these three people must have, but they’d all been enmeshed in it as it happened.

  "I can't...this is unreal, I mean this can't be happening...” Sandy stumbled over words, but the screams still resonating from over at the bar and now beyond, possibly spread out on the street at this stage, strongly suggested otherwise.

  "Okay. I'm going with them," Heather said, her voice shaky but adamant. "We can take my car."

  "Are you sure?" Wayne raised his eyebrows so high it looked as though they had eloped into his hairline. "Come on Heather, we don't know these people; they're talking crazy things, they could be rapists, anything. They're talking killing people and shit, did you see what they did...”

  The generally silent Blizzard burst out into laughter, an abrasive rasp of sound. Eyebrows still consorting in his hair somewhere, Wayne turned astonished eyes on the blonde bassist.

  "That's funny?"

  "Hilarious. I don't think anybody is going to have time to jerk off, let alone consider raping anybody. Get serious, guy. And crazy things? Tell me just how ordinary and everyday normal is it for your usual Friday night drinking hole to get overrun by undead freaks who want to rip out your intestines and dine on them? Or doesn't that qualify as crazy to you?"

  "It's my car, Wayne," Heather said. "Neither you nor Doug have the capabilities to drive and get us out of here safely, I just can't, full stop. What else can we do?"

  "Hail a taxi?" Doug queried hopefully.

  "Out the front? On Peaceville Street?" Tempest interjected. "That should be a breeze. Probably won't be too many others clamouring to get a taxi there."

  "Oh man," Wayne moaned, looking perilously near to sprawling on the ground and vomiting whatever little was left in the pit of his gut.

  "Come on," Heather urged and abruptly began to hop towards her car, fumbling clumsily in her handbag for her car keys. Seth was impressed she’d actually managed to escape the horde still in possession of the bag. Reluctantly, Doug tailed after her, extending a hand of support to help her move easier.

  Wayne ran both hands through his hair, his visage a twisted wreck of emotions.

  "Shit. Okay, shit, I'm coming."

  "All right, there's space for five in their car," Black said. "The three of them and two of us. Better make it two of you ladies if that's going to make them feel any less threatened by us."

  "I'll go," Eyebrow Bar Girl volunteered. "Madeleine, you come with me."

  One of the other female members of Black's entourage stepped forward obligingly, a tall slender woman with her raven hair tied up in a high ponytail. Like her companions, she was wearing all dark clothing, from long black pants to a tight black blouse.

  Seth seemed to recall that all of the women were once armed with bladed implements of some description too, but now didn't appear to be. Perhaps that was what Black had been doing, stashing the weaponry in the bags in the tray of the truck.

  "Okay, so Lizette and Madeleine are with those three, that leaves ten of us to fit in the truck," Tempest said slowly, calculating in his head and seeing they were still well out on seat numbers.

  "Five inside, maybe six at a squeeze," Black said. "Four in the second cab. The other four in the tray."

  "Works for me." Blizzard was unfazed. "We'll take the tray. Tempest, me, Roxana and Scarlett. You can take these others in the cabs."

  "I'll ride in the tray," Dax volunteered, shades of the old daring Dax starting to seep through again, pushing out from under the veneer of shock that his accidental killing of the hobo in the alley had cloaked him in.

  "Nope," Black said bluntly. "All of you need to be inside the vehicle. I suspect you've got some questions and I need to bring you up to speed quick smart."

  He then called out to Lizette, who, along with Madeleine, was already on the move to follow the trio of bar escapees to the dirty white sedan.

  "Lizette! You do the same with those folk," he told her. "I don't expect them to believe any of it, or be able to digest the truth of the matter, but let them know what we're dealing with anyhow. Seth, the rest of you guys...you've seen firsthand what happens so this story should at least be one you can try to wrap your heads around. Now, in the car."

  Cheated of an opportunity to ride in the back-in the company of two fine female figures, Dax claimed shotgun.

  "Sure, be my guest.” Black nodded, then aimed his central locking key control at the Tundra, popping up all door locks with a click and a flash of lights.

  "Hey," The woman with braids and black fingerless gloves spoke up—Seth assumed she was either Roxana or Scarlett, and the beauty who'd waited with Black in the alley was the other, since the two departing girls had already been identified―and caught Black's attention. "What are the chances of catching the band still in the bar?"

  "Virtually impossible I'd say, Roxie," Black said. "Place is literally drowning in zombie flesh, they’ll be swarming all over the joint and you can bet the Fleshcrave haven't been lax in getting their shit out of there."

  "Won't they get attacked and eaten as well?" Mark posted a valid point, halting before launching into the second cab of the truck behind Miranda.

  "No," Black replied, but didn’t elaborate.

  "Why not?"

  "They're impervious. There's nothing about them to attract zombies," Black responded tersely. "They'll pass through the slaughter and the crowds like wraiths and then they'll be in their vehicles and on the road before they're even missed. Which is why time’s-a-wasting."

  "Security?"

  "They're part of this. Hurry it up, haul ass into the truck. The longer you fuck around, the less chance you have of seeing anything you hold dear ever again."

  That sounded ominous, but sitting inside the second cab of the Tundra, Seth could believe it. At the beginning of the evening there was zero chance he’d have bought a line of this from anyone foretelling what was about to eventuate, now he was about ready to believe anything was possible.

  Uncharacteristically, Julietta was the first to climb into the vehicle, despite any misgivings she had. That placed her in the window seat and Miranda was the next one in. Mark followed her in, leaving Seth with a tiny cramped sliver of seat against the other window.

  He couldn't have been farther away from Julietta in the limited space without being resigned to riding in the tray. At this point in time he almost wished he was back there in the tray; the atmosphere was glacial, at least that which was cas
t off by Julietta. He knew without a doubt that his name was inscribed indelibly in her bad books and she was intentionally sitting far from him to make a point.

  Dax trailed up alongside and slammed the door helpfully behind Seth, glancing in through the window, attempting to peer inside.

  These rear windows were pretty darkly tinted in some kind of five percent window film so Dax wouldn't have been able to catch much more than indistinct shapes of his friends, but looking out through the tint, Seth could see him fine. He looked like he had been dancing like an insane loon in a crimson downpour of blood, his hair matted in spots and the gory substance drying in places on his skin.

  Acute recollections of panicked Dax hammering a hapless human into pulp slithered unpleasantly into the back of Seth's mind.

  Of all the horrible things that had already occurred over such a short duration of time, that one was the most disturbing and it was going to be hard to shake. Unfortunately, Seth also had a very strong suspicion that the visions of ugliness, violent scenes of brutality and bloodiness were only going to intensify from this point on.

  Soon enough he would probably have an entire highlight reel of nightmares to run through his head and keep him interred in sleepless nights. Then Black was getting in as well, slipping behind the wheel, and doors slammed.

  Squashed in his scant seat space with a door pressed against one side and Mark pressed against the other, Seth afforded himself a quick glance out the back window to see the other four in the back.

  Both the women sat up near the window, one on each side, while Blizzard and Tempest were located down near the tail end. The bags and cases which Seth presumed contained the band’s instruments were between the two sets of people. Seth had no real idea why the Subversion guys required their instruments to be in the back of the truck when they’d allegedly just been turning up to attend a gig; maybe they always had them. It didn't look like everything, that's for certain, maybe a guitar or two―he could spot at least one guitar carry case―but certainly no drum kit or accessories in evidence.

  While Seth stared out the back window, his mind preoccupied wondering why the three mysterious black metal men would roll around with some of their gear in their vehicle if they had no intention of playing it, his attention was side-tracked again.