by Jack Wallen
When I pulled myself to the top, I nearly lost the remainder of my wind. “Oh my God.”
One by one, we all reached the top and gasped at the sight.
Josh was the last to finish the climb. “There must be thousands of people over there.”
“Tens of thousands,” Jamal added.
“This is not good. This is so not good.” I led the charge down the other side of the wall after making my statement.
Once we were all on the ground, I started for the Hummer, but stopped myself short.
“We have to walk.”
Everyone stared at me like I’d sprouted the cloned head of Taylor Swift on my shoulder and was about to chew my way through an army of boyfriends.
“That truck cannot go missing. We leave it here it remains safe. We drive it over there and we’ll never see it again. We need that metallic behemoth.”
Their eyes continued to glare.
“I’m sorry, but we can’t take the risk. The Hummer remains and we walk.”
One by one, the gang accepted their walking fate. Fortunately the distance wasn’t too great, so there would be energy left for the inevitable fight.
We were all paranoid. With every sound, heads snapped to the right and left. At one point Jamal glanced back at me and raised his eyebrows. Somehow I managed to pick up his message without further prodding. A few yards ahead of us lay the remains of the human picnic Jamal and I had crushed. There was no reason to let anyone lay eyes on my mess. The less questioned, the more left unanswered…and I had no desire or reason to explain the scene that awaited us if we stayed on our current course. Instead, I led the group away from the carnage. The sidetrack would add a small fraction of time to our trip…it was absolutely worth it.
“Bethany,” Rizzo called out. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”
Not fifty yards away was a lone man, stumbling forward in a black trench coat.
“If you’re seeing a guy in a coat, then yes, I am seeing the same thing. What’s so strange about that? There are thousands upon thousands of people heading toward that central location.”
“Okay, first the guy isn’t walking, he’s stumbling. Second, why is he wearing a freaking trench coat in the desert?”
She had a point…a very good point.
Without warning I took off at a sprint, waving my arms and offering up a shout to the gods.
“Hey, you! Stop!”
My cries went unanswered; the man continued stumbling forward.
And then it hit me—the stumbling, the immunity to the heat.
“Fuck,” I whispered, out of breath.
The group finally caught up with me, and Morgan and Rizzo slipped their arms around my waist and torso, pulling me in tight.
“He must be a zombie. There’s no other explanation.”
And just like that, the man turned around and spotted us; the look of recognition on his face gave him away.
“Fucker’s not a zombie!” I shouted. “Come on!”
The second I started off, the man turned and ran. The entire scene devolved into the realm of the mad. A man in the desert running from possible salvation. There was no explanation. He stumbled. As he fell to his knees I kicked up my pace and finally reached him.
“Why are you running from us? Are you infected?”
The stranger held up his arms and shook his head. There was something oddly misshapen about him; he was too thick, too barrel-chested.
“Who are you?”
He looked up at me, his eyes bloodshot and filled with tears.
“My name is Reverend Robert Moore,” he said. Slowly, he got to his feet on unsteady legs. “I have been chosen.”
“Chosen? For what?” The question left my lips as Morgan and Jamal arrived.
“What’s going on?” Jamal asked.
I held up my hand for silence.
“What have you been chosen for?”
Reverend Moore glanced upward and then shielded his eyes from the blazing glow of the exposed sun.
“God has reached his hand of glory toward me and asked of me my aid in delivering the reckoning to man.”
“What reckoning?”
Moore glared at me, hard. “The reckoning of the holy spirit to answer for the collective sins man has visited upon the grace of God. This”—Moore spread his hands wide—“is what the human race has done to the gifts we have been given. We’ve unleashed a devil in the name of vanity, greed, and lust. And when the chosen few beg of man to heal the rot that plagues our soul, we are mocked, shunned, and slain.”
The reverend stepped forward. I stood in his path.
“You cannot stop me. I am righteousness and glory; the pale horse I ride upon will crush you should you remain in its path. Step aside or you die.”
With that, Reverend Robert Moore pulled open his jacket to reveal a suicide bomber’s vest covered in C4.
“Son of a bitch,” Morgan called out. “There’s enough explosives attached to him to level a city block…fucking wolf in sheep’s clothing.”
Like the proverbial lightbulb going off over his head, the man’s plan was revealed. I looked at Moore and allowed my gaze to follow his path.
“The concert,” I stepped in close. “You were going to bomb—”
“Should I call you Sherlock?” Moore interrupted. “A cesspool of depravity is collecting less than a mile away. It is my holy duty to see to it those Godless bastards never mock the spirit of the Lord again.”
Before I could say another word, Morgan stepped in and slammed her fist into the man’s jaw. The punch dropped him to his knees, in time for Rizzo, Echo, and Josh to arrive.
“Bitch,” Moore spat, “you’ll regret that.”
Morgan looked up at Josh. “Grab his arms.”
Josh complied, grabbed a wrist in each hand, and spread the man’s arms wide. Moore’s strength was no match.
Morgan pulled out a knife, the steel of the blade glinting in the sun.
“My death will only serve—”
“I’m not going to waste my energy killing you.”
The blade of Morgan’s knife sliced through the fabric of the jacket and then through the shoulder straps of the vest.
“I’ve seen this vest design before. It’s simple to remove and disarm.”
In a few quick minutes, Morgan had the vest off the man and on the ground. Before she took her knife to the wiring harness, I stopped her.
“Wait, Morgan. Is it possible we could use that as a weapon?”
Morgan turned to me, her left eyebrow raised high.
“This baby is a one-way ticket. You don’t control it; it controls you. If you plan on detonating a bomb like this, you better have plenty of room. The explosion would be huge and not even slightly discerning.”
“We need every advantage we can get. Keep it intact. Even if we don’t use it now, we can use it later. Having that much explosive on hand couldn’t hurt.”
Morgan nodded. “That’s all fine, but I’m disarming it anyway. We don’t want to be walking around with this much C4 that could accidentally go off and turn us all into a blood-and-chum slushy.”
She had a point. I nodded. She went to work.
“What do we do about this guy?” Jamal pointed to Robert.
“That’s a damn good question,” Josh stated, as he dropped the reverend’s arms. The man rubbed his shoulders as he scrambled away from Josh.
I stepped between Josh and Moore. “We don’t have time for this. We have to get to that stage before the show begins. Those people have a target on their backs only we can defend. Let the son of a bitch rot for all I care.”
“She’s right,” Morgan chimed in. “Josh, frisk him before we leave.”
Josh wasted no time jerking the man to a standing position and patting him down. The reverend’s protests were quickly silenced when Josh tightened his fist and clenched his jaw.
As we walked away, the reverend preached of sin, salvation, and hypocrisy. All I could do was laugh.
&
nbsp; *
A warm wind carried with it a soundcheck. Someone was getting ready to play. We arrived in time to see the crowd building themselves into a frenzy.
When we were approximately one hundred yards from the stage, something struck me as unique.
“Jamal.” I called him to my side. “What do you make of this?”
My partner in many a crime zipped up to my side and made a few instant calculations.
“These are pyrotechnic pots. They shoot flame to about twelve feet. I’d say someone has created a first line of defense. This is brilliant. At this distance the zombies would crumble to dust before they reached the bleacher seats of the show. If Vanity thought this up, I owe him a word or two of apology. He seemed much less intelligent upon first blush.”
Jamal finally stopped examining the pots and pointed out various locations on the ground. The area was littered with similar traps. “Damn, Vanity has this place set up to maim and destroy. I wonder what other tricks the man has up his sleeve.”
“For starters,” Joshua added, “he has snipers standing up on those towers, each of them ready with some serious hardware—long range rifles and high caliber machine guns.”
The crowd was starting to chant.
“What are they saying,” I asked. “I can’t make it out.”
“Doubletap,” Rizzo answered. “It’s what every audience shouts to bring out Rip Vanity. It’s a lame bit of shtick, but everyone involved seems to get off on it.”
I marched on as I barked out orders. “Rizzo, I want you and Echo up on those towers ready to take down anything that moves without a pulse.”
Rizzo skipped over to Echo’s side and wrapped her arms around the young girl with a joyful squeal.
“Josh, you and Morgan will be on the stage to protect the bands. Jamal and I will roam the area. Know this: The Zero Day Collective has certainly targeted this event and will most likely unleash the hounds of hell in ways you’ve never witnessed. Be prepared for anything and everything.”
We arrived at the stage and split up. Rizzo and Echo almost skipping toward the towers, Morgan and Josh pressing their way to the stage. I turned to Jamal.
“We need to find Vanity before this starts, let him know our intentions.”
*
As we approached the backstage area, we were greeted by the towering, steroid-infused brutes of security. With crossed arms, they slid in together to refuse us entry.
“We’re with the band,” Jamal smiled.
The two men shook their heads.
From behind the behemoths, I heard Aya’s lilting dialect punctuate the noise.
“Aya,” I shouted.
Somehow she not only heard me but recognized my voice. Her delicate hand slipped between the security guards to separate them. Once they were apart, she slid through. The sight of the singer nearly stole my breath. A blood-red-and-black brocade and ankle-length coat covered a gorgeous black leather minidress and knee-length boots. Yet with all the finery, it was her red-lipped smile that demanded my attention.
“You must let them in,” Aya insisted. She turned and motioned for Jamal and me to follow.
How could we not? Before we stepped forward, I cocked an eyebrow at Jamal’s wicked grin.
“Busted.” He blushed.
“It’s okay…I’m certain we have a case of identical crush for her.”
Aya led us backstage to one of the dressing rooms. She knocked on the door and called out.
“Rip, Bethany is here.”
The door opened almost immediately. Rip Vanity stood in the doorway, his eyes wide, his smile wider.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have to go warm up my voice.”
Aya kissed my cheek and walked off. Rip watched her depart. “Metal wouldn’t be the same without her.” He finally turned back to us and moved out of the doorway. “Come in. We have much to discuss.”
“Actually, there’s little to say. I just wanted to make sure you knew we were here and what our plan was.”
Rip tossed himself onto an oversized beanbag chair. “Oh, I think the plan is simple all around—kick some serious undead ass.”
The laughter that spilled out of Rip’s mouth indicated the man was either high or clueless. I wanted to go with high, on the pretext he was smarter than to think anything in the apocalypse was as simple as “kick some serious undead ass.”
I filled Vanity in on where our people were. In turn, he filled me in on the whereabouts of his men and all his various traps.
We were ready, on paper at least. Unfortunately there was no way of knowing what the Zero Day Collective had in store. Even though I’d hacked their system enough to know it in my sleep, their plans seemed to change with each breath. Besides, I was too smart to trust what now resided on the hard drives of the ZDC computers. No way would I fall for that kind of trap. In the end, that unknown could easily be our undoing.
“Look, I don’t know what’s going to come of all of this,” Rip began. “I certainly have no intention of allowing someone else to define the rest of my days. I’ve never lived in fear and I’m not going to start now. If I go out like this, then it’s been on my terms and while I was doing what I loved. And if I can help a few thousand people forget, even for just a moment in time, that hell made its home on earth, then I’ve done something good. I can see the same thing in your eyes, Bethany. You have no intention of letting this Zero Day Collective puppeteer your ending. The world needs more of that. The world needs more of you.”
Rip stood, grabbed a random bottle of vodka, and sucked the remainder of its contents into his mouth and down his throat.
“Oh fuck, yeah…that’s the stuff. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a concert to kick off.”
Vanity left the room. A wake of booze, cigarettes, and sweaty leather followed close behind.
Jamal looked at me, his eyes soft, his mouth slowly forming into a smile.
“This is going to sound crazy, Bethany, but he’s right. If the world does end now, I can at least die knowing I spent my last moments with you. The world sucks, but since we rejoined forces, it’s sucked a whole lot less.”
Romance, spoken from the lips of a nerd.
I stepped in close to Jamal and placed my palms and my cheek on his chest. “I’m going to hold off on one-upping you until the disaster is averted. Until then, Jamal, know that I am completely smitten with your black ass.”
There was a breath and then a laugh. Jamal couldn’t suppress the brief moment of joy at hearing my words.
“B, you never cease to amaze and offend me.”
I looked up, with a wink, and smiled. “I do try.”
Not another word was spoken. It would have been impossible to improve on the moment, so we opted to slip out of the room and head toward the stage.
Jamal was the first to finally break the silence.
“What, exactly, are we going to be doing?”
“We, my dear, are command central. I have the only radio link to our group. I’ll keep everyone up to speed on what’s happening. Hopefully, with a bit of coordination, we’ll get through his.”
We arrived at the stage in time for Rip Vanity to appear in a spotlight. The already packed crowd went crazy. A wash of sound flooded the stage, temporarily halting all conversation. When the noise finally subsided, Vanity spoke.
“Ladies and gentlemen…welcome to the rebirth of the human spirit. We have gathered together to celebrate mankind with the healing power of metal! And to kick this bitch off in style, I would have you turn your attention to the screens around you.”
The entire area was instantly ablaze with light. Gigantic screens on the stage and around the audience came to life with the face of an unfamiliar man. A warm and gentle smile danced across his lips and then…he spoke.
“You’re listening to WZMB, Zombie Radio…oh wait…wrong shtick.”
It was him…the DJ that had helped carry me through some of the worst moments of the apocalypse. He looked exactly as I had pictured him—jet-bl
ack hair, chestnut brown eyes, a crooked smile, and tiny round-frame glasses. His face was a collage of interest, curiosity, and sarcasm.
I couldn’t help but smile.
“Ladies and gentlefunk of the planet Earth, what you are about to behold is the single most important moment in your…”
That damned pause. Everyone laughed.
“…life. What is about to unfold will kick the shit out of the Mengele Virus and dare it to show it’s ugly-ass face again. For this is the one true music with the balls to claim the apocalypse as its bitch. This is metal and it’s here to remind you that each and every…one of you is filled with life. Although the Zero Day Collective can strike fear in your hearts, it cannot quiet your spirit or your soul. And with that in mind, Zombie Radio Nation, I give you the first band to rock your socks. Prepare to have the trend smacked off your duck-lipped faces, for I give unto thee…Trendemic+!”
The screens dissolved to the logo of the first band and the stage exploded to life. A single guitar roared as if possessed by the spirit of Godzilla. The first note began in the depths of a melodic scale and worked its way up like an erotic volcano. Kaizen Sharx held the last note until it begged for release. Finally, the drummer danced on his double kick drums and was joined by the bass to form a more perfect union.
When the opening number finally came together, the crowd released a collective scream.
It had begun.
It was now only a matter of time.
Jamal looked my way, his eyes lined with concern. His mouth moved but I couldn’t hear him. He leaned in and spoke again.
“Where should we be?”
There was a part of me that wanted to hang out in the periphery, to wait for the inevitable attack by the Zero Day Collective. Thankfully, the rational side of me won out and I yelled in the vicinity of Jamal’s ear.
“We need to find a location that affords us the best view of the entire area.”
Jamal pulled away and scanned the event. His eyes danced from point to point to point. I could practically see the calculations running through his mind. Eventually he pointed. My eyes followed the gesture to the stage manager’s booth. It was perfect—high enough to give us an ideal vantage point and would probably offer a modicum of silence within which I might actually think.