Undead Fleshcrave: The Zombie Trigger

by Goforth, Jim

  The grin formerly encompassing the face of Dax was back in earnest now, the lustful slant of it still there, no doubt, as he contemplated what types of relaxation he would be seeking, while Mark and Miranda exchanged bemused glances. Some of the others just wore somewhat relieved expressions, while Seth wasn’t too sure what to think. He understood Black’s reasoning and it was all true; there was jackshit to celebrate in the last week, or longer. Nada. Nothing to celebrate at all, in fact, ever since Undead Fleshcrave hit the Quo Vadis stage back in Armada, absolutely fuck all. From that point on it became a sheer descent into nightmares, rolling down on a brakeless ride to hell.

  Aside from the couple of points Black outlined, there still wasn’t a great deal to celebrate, the worst was still to come, the whole reason the Subversion trio and their band of companions travelled so far afield. The assassination of Undead Fleshcrave and their throng of mindless watchers.

  “Rules,” Black said and this time his voice had a hard edge, a sharp strident bite to it. “Nobody goes anywhere alone. In groups, pairs at the very least, though I wouldn’t recommend that. Nobody compromises why we’re here, in fact, forget it altogether, no speaking of it, or about it, to anybody. For the purposes of us being in town, we are here for the metal concert. That’s it. That’s all. Don’t be drawn any deeper into conversation with anybody―anybody—about it. Just go out, have fun, forget what is coming, at least for a little while, then get back here and be sure to catch some sleep. That is, for anybody who insists on going out to check out Blackwater Park itself. As I’m sure all of you have noticed, this is a pretty rough town, so anybody playing the fool can find themselves in trouble. And trouble is not what we want. Have fun, but play smart, be fucking smart, and once again, do not compromise the reason we’re here. There is not going to be any fuck ups like Noumena, no slip ups, no mistakes. Ideally, keeping everybody under lock and key would be great, but it’s not right to do so. So, go on, get out, if you want. Or stay and check this place out. Have a shower, have a bath, whatever floats each of your respective boats. But know this…tomorrow, the same plan as we had for Noumena stands. We’re getting on the bill for this show. That remains our cover.”

  He paused again and his dark malevolent eyes swept around the room, finally coming to rest on Seth and Dax after briefly alighting on Mark.

  “One final thing, though. The band who will be getting on the bill is not going to be Subversion. The Sentinels have seen us. The band is going to be you guys.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR-TEMPESTUOUS

  Almost all of them elected to go out and explore whatever wonders the unruly populace of Blackwater Park had to offer.

  Dax was champing at the bit, supremely keen to be out and about as the night sank its shroud over the town and the creatures of the dusk and twilight emerged in its wake. Safe in the knowledge that while Undead Fleshcrave obviously had every intention of turning Blackwater Park into the next undead Mecca on a grand bloody scale, they hadn’t yet begun that hideous master plan, the old Dax reappeared in spades, sweeping in to bury the wannabe guerrilla Dax deep beneath. Whether that mask he’d seemed to appropriate from too much time spent around the likes of Black and Tempest would reappear when shit got real again was yet to be seen, but at the mere suggestion they go out and have fun, he was only too happy to oblige.

  He convinced both Mark and Miranda to accompany him out to see the sights, have some drinks and a good time, while Black, Blizzard, Roxana and Lizette had plans to ascertain exactly where the feral fivesome responsible for the Zombie Trigger were going to surface and play their hideous life destroying music.

  The remaining four chose not to venture out, citing a variety of reasons. Tempest and Scarlett both maintained that somebody had to remain behind, and at least one of them should be a member of Subversion. Tempest was happy to be the one, though Seth wondered if his reasons were akin to part of the reason he himself wasn’t keen to be out and about.

  Both he and Tempest were the cop killers, the two who’d blasted the would-be rapists apart with their appropriated service station shotguns. In all reality, Tempest’s reasons for remaining behind at Kathaarian were probably nothing to do with any worry over gunning down the deplorable excuse for a cop, but for Seth, it was one of the reasons he decided he’d rather stay in. He knew the world was going to hell back there and if things escalated any further, the deaths of the pack of rapist cops would become inconsequential, more bloodshed in a world rapidly going insane and falling into domains of the undead, but all the same, he hadn’t quite shifted into the mindset where parts of his brain weren’t concerned by recriminations from it catching up with him.

  Another reason was the bombshell dropped on him and his friends at the end of Black’s narrative. He needed to digest that, ruminate on it, and understand what it entailed, and he knew regardless of Black insisting they have fun, he wouldn’t be able to shake it from his mind, no matter where he was or what he was doing. He didn’t want to impede on his friends having a good night, so consequently, he voted to remain behind and check out the bar here, if anything at all.

  Heather simply said she would much rather soak in a nice long relaxing bath, swathed in bubbles, with a fine glass of wine in hand, than go back out into an unsavoury metropolis swimming in dark demented denizens.

  That was widely accepted by everyone as a plausible thing to want to do, and Seth briefly berated himself inwardly for not hitting on something similar, instead of stumbling and fumbling over his array of reasons for not really wanting to venture outside the walls of Kathaarian. Naturally, Dax was on his case immediately, attempting to twist his arm and persuade him into joining them, running the gamut from coaxing and cajoling to haranguing and bordering on insulting when he refused to budge on the matter, until Mark tactfully pointed out that slaying a cop wasn’t something one did every day and then went out to party over it.

  Fleetingly, Dax looked as though he wanted to bring up the subject of the dirty shambling hobo he’d slain back in Armada; instead he just shrugged, let it drop, and exited in the company of Mark and Miranda. There were a couple of momentary pangs when Seth wondered whether he should have gone after all, if only to ensure he knew what was happening with his friends, to ensure he knew he would be seeing them return, alive and well. Then he recalled that Dax was one of those armed with a gun lifted from the service station slaughter, and both he and Mark still also possessed knives. The fact that they were walking out into a known rough town armed should have made him feel a fraction nervous, or at least before the world had abruptly turned to unpredictable shit, it might have. Now, he was just relived they did have weapons. Hopefully, they wouldn’t need to use them.

  Abruptly, everybody was gone and Seth found himself left alone. He assumed Heather slipped quietly off to indulge in her desire to soak in a hot steaming bath, or to obtain the wine to accompany her there, and, as for Tempest and Scarlett, he hadn’t a clue.

  He vaguely recalled both of them referring to perhaps checking the bars out here if anything, so maybe they’d disappeared to do exactly that, going off together. Irrationally, Seth felt pangs of jealously and resentment stab into him, surprising himself at the thought.

  Why should he care if Tempest and Scarlett went off together to enjoy drinks? After all, they were clearly friends, they’d known each other a lot longer. Why wouldn’t they be inclined to drink together?

  Maybe they were an item, he thought, oddly bitter about the unwelcome suggestion. He hadn’t seen any indication of that in any way at all, not in the whole time he and his friends spent in the company of the Subversion entourage, in fact, the only partnerships in the whole bunch he’d suspected existed at all was one between Lizette and Madeleine. One he’d ended rather violently.

  Not that he’d had a choice. He guessed he understood Lizette’s resentment towards him, though he felt not one iota of resentment towards Scarlett. Instead, he felt something completely different. Something, he wasn’t sure he should be feeling at
all. Not now. Not this soon. Something that was making him resent the whole idea of her being involved with Tempest, filling him with illogical jealousy.

  Fuck it, Seth decided. I’ll just go and check out this damn bar myself. Who knows, maybe Jazmyn out the front will decide to saunter down and join me? If not, what’s it matter? Not like I haven’t been George Thoroughgood drinking alone the last week.

  A shower probably would have been a better idea, but unlike some of those who’d been in the very midst of the bloody business at the service station of death, Seth hadn’t been splattered too badly. His only real reasoning for wanting to have a decent shower, though he’d managed to wash up a little inside the facilities back there, would have been due to having to touch the half-naked hairy form of Boss, dragging the shattered-head rapist out of the back of the Tundra.

  He cast his eyes around the room in the unit he’d found himself alone in, after the mass exodus of folk left him wondering just what the fuck happened.

  Nobody had really laid any claim on any particular beds, or arrangements, or even which rooms everybody would be camped out. Nothing like that was finalised, discussed, even brought up. Leaving him wondering just how the hell it was going to be worked.

  A case of sleep where you end up, or where you fall if you happened to go overboard on the celebrating?

  Maybe Black and co. were banking on everybody being back in time for the discussion to take place before folk hit the hay. Seth couldn’t recall the Subversion boss giving anyone a curfew, but perhaps he’d made mention of it to those electing to go out, which in essence was really Dax, Mark, and Miranda since the others were all together.

  Seth shrugged, checking his pockets to ensure his wallet was there still, anything else he figured he would need for a lonesome drink at a bar in a weird place of indeterminable purpose. Room keys? He didn’t have any of them, he’d no idea who did.

  He didn’t have the shotgun he’d taken from the service station; that was currently in a bag of other articles they’d ransacked from the place, and couldn’t imagine he would be able to freely walk into the bar toting it anyway. So too was the one belonging to Tempest, though Black had decreed that Seth and Tempest were each responsible for them, as was everybody else who’d ended up with a firearm from the melee. The bonus for those with handguns, of course, was the fact that they could easily walk around with the weapons on their person, concealable and handy. Lugging a shotgun around in plain view didn’t appear possible. Not yet, anyway. Not until the apocalypse came to Blackwater Park.

  Maybe I will just do a quick sweep of the other rooms, Seth told himself. See if the others are still here somewhere, and what their plans are.

  That decided, he moved through this unit, a residence housing, as Jazmyn stated, three bedrooms, all with queen four poster beds shrouded in dark purple and black canopies, lamps and lanterns hanging around the rooms, casting somewhat subdued mysterious lighting over the interior.

  Seth stared in wonder at the beds for a while, even pulling back the canopy to gaze inside and see the bedcoverings and pillow slips were of a similar colour scheme to match the rest of this bizarre establishment. Those canopies were going to provide some fun challenges for any of the crew who came home particularly inebriated. Sorrowful pangs gnawed at him when he thought of who was no longer part of this expedition to be able to share this with him.

  Not that she would have been jumping up and down with excitement, wanting to share it with him, and he vaguely wondered if the actions she’d taken which ultimately led to her death were her own succinct way of severing ties with him, killing the relationship dead without having to say a word.

  Those bitter thoughts swamped his mournful ones and he vacated the room, wasting little time peeking into the others, suddenly in a hurry to go and drown his sorrows elsewhere.

  Outside, standing in the hallway, he almost opted not to even bother checking out the other suite. After all, it seemed pretty evident everybody had vacated and if Heather had gone out to grab herself some wine, she hadn’t returned yet.

  Then he noticed the front door was standing slightly ajar. That seemed to indicate somebody was still there, or they’d been a little lax in leaving the place. He couldn’t even recall anybody coming into this other suite; Black assembled them all in the one next door and they all made their exit to various destinations from there.

  So he went in.

  This unit was a carbon copy of the other, comprised of a small lounge area with the same dark curtains and colours, lamps and lanterns, furniture in dark maple, obscure prints and plush carpet. There were the bedrooms with the canopy draped four poster beds, drawers and dressers of dark wood, ornate carvings and patterns adorning them, nightstands and other simple things around the room. There may have been televisions or other amenities like that, but Seth didn’t pay much attention to that; he was here having a cursory look to see if any of his companions remained, not examining what sort of features the room possessed.

  Seth concluded there was nobody else here, the slightly open door simply meant either somebody was a trifle complacent when shutting it, or the door itself had a couple of issues staying closed. That didn’t engender bucketloads of confidence in him, not with the knowledge of the items currently housed in the other suite. A bag with two loaded shotguns, and all the spare shells and ammunition lifted from the service station. The instrument cases laden with lethal weaponry. Just a couple of rather important things that shouldn’t fall into the wrong hands. He hoped he’d managed to pull the door of that unit closed firmly. No idea how he was going to get back in, but well, if he couldn’t get in, then nobody unwelcome could either.

  Unless there were actually no other ‘guests’ present in this unusual place. He hadn’t seen any sign of any.

  Just as he was about to vacate the final bedroom, observing as he’d done with every other one he’d briefly checked out that it was devoid of human presence, he noticed there was an ensuite bathroom here, also with its door not completely pulled shut. As he paused, he became aware of sounds carrying from there. Something like rhythmic slapping sounds, as if that of flesh slapping against flesh. Murmuring voices, punctuated by low moans and sharp gasps.

  He stood frozen in the one spot, inside the bedroom, his ears pricking up immediately as those noises issued from the bathroom door gap, drifting unmistakeably towards him. There were no prizes for guessing what these recurrent soft thumps of flesh against flesh were, coming in conjunction with the vocalisations, and hearing them made Seth’s heart palpitate a little uncomfortably, his mouth automatically going dry.

  Knowing he should just haul ass out of here as soon as possible, without alerting the busy ensuite occupants of his presence, Seth instead found his boots betraying him and headed in the wrong direction. Towards the bathroom. Not away from it.

  Jesus, Seth, what the fuck? he berated himself, even as his feet traipsed that way, treading as softy as possible, thankful for the thick plush carpet underfoot. It deadened his footfalls almost completely, the only noise he made was the furtive rustling of clothing as he stole closer to the door. Get out now, man, what the hell are you doing?

  Only, he knew exactly what he was doing. He had to do it, regardless of his more sensible, logical side screaming at him to turn his ass around and evacuate the room immediately, if not sooner.

  He was just about to add peeping tom, voyeur, skulking pervert to an already impressive resume including solitary borderline alcoholic, cop killer, ex-boyfriend of dead zombie girl, and slayer of undead lesbian women.

  His heart thumped in his chest, painfully seeming to be on the verge of lunging out of its cage of bones and right into his throat.

  Why the hell was he contemplating this, what did he hope to achieve? He was only about to confirm the thoughts that inspired such irrational jealousy in him and what was seen couldn’t be unseen. Still, he refused to cooperate with the voice of reason shrieking inside his head and made that final short trek across the floor, his
footsteps muffled to the point of inaudibility on the plush carpet.

  Against all his better judgements, Seth sidled up to the bathroom door, as near as possible to that small expanse of space where it stood open, a couple of inches at most. He sucked in a deep shaky breath, then, after another round of shouting ‘idiot!’ inside his head, looked through that gap.

  Everything he’d been expecting to see, fearing he would see, was not quite as his mind conjured up.

  It was indeed, the volatile Subversion drummer Tempest in there, but he was not with Scarlett. Instead, his companion in coupling was the blonde, Heather.

  Partially bent over an ornate sink with gold taps, Heather was leaning forward, her hands clasping the edge of it, her jade green silk blouse completely unbuttoned and hanging wide open, her bountiful breasts naked and jiggling beneath the almost diaphanous material. Her short plaid skirt was hiked up around her waist and behind her stood Tempest, one hand gripping her left buttock, the other holding onto her right shoulder with her long flaxen locks spilling over it as he thrust hard into her. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted as she pumped her ass back against his forceful motion, the moans and sharp intakes of breath escaping from between them the chief catalyst for the sounds carried to Seth’s ears.

  As Seth froze, caught in hypnotic guilt and a bizarrely mesmerised voyeuristic state, both of Tempest’s hands slid from their differing positions inside the billowing open float of Heather’s blouse, cupping her breasts firmly and running thumbs over nipples that were already stiff with arousal. She straightened up as he did this, pressing her body back against his, the back of her head landing on his muscular shoulder, and he brought his mouth to hers, entwining in a forceful kiss, a hand coming up temporarily from her bare breast to hold her face still while they tangled tongues. Then, using the same hand he laid it along the plane of her back, up beneath her blouse, the movement dragging the material right up to the level where a bra strap would sit and exposing an abundance of naked flesh, including the top halves of her bare buttocks. He pushed down with the hand and Heather bent right over the sink, pushing her ass out to meet thrusts which renewed in intensity as the wondrous flesh of her butt slammed back against Tempest.