by Jack Wallen
The Last Casket
By Jack Wallen
Copyright 2014 by Jack Wallen
PUBLISHED BY: AUTUMNAL PRESS
This book is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise noted, names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously (unless otherwise noted). Any resemblance to actual locales, events or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental (unless otherwise noted).
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without express permission from the author. Please do not participate or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
A generous thank you to the members of the band and their representation for permission to include them in my vision of the apocalypse.
To the members of Kitty in a Casket, I toss a rockin’ devil horn salute:
Kitty Casket
Billy the Bat
Tom Mooner
Todd Flash
Mike Machine
Your music helped rock my imagination to inspire yet another journey with the I Zombie series.
To all my fans, I love you to death.
Please help support Kitty in a Casket and other indie bands by purchasing their music and attending their amazing shows. As Shakespeare once said, “If music be the food of life, play on!”
Edited, poked, preened, and cleaned by:
Heather Rick
Claire C. Riley
Thea Gregory
Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?
one | a hell of a show
Everything has changed
Standing here alone again
It’s time for my revenge
You put me in this casket
But this won’t stop me
You need to burn in hell
No need to run away
I will find you anyway
…Bride of the Monster
Wham! The crunch of the heavy Ibanez ARZ-Series guitar against the back of the zombie’s skull sent a screeching feedback through the Blackstar Club 50s speaker head. The sound momentarily stopped the undead bar fight.
“Kitty,” Todd Flash shouted. “Run.”
Kitty Casket was at the lip of the stage, surrounded by zombies, mic in hand and ready to crush any skull to get within striking range.
“Come on, baby,” Kitty squealed, “it’s open mic night.”
With a quick windup, Kitty drove the back side of the mic through an eyeball of the nearest undead groupie. The pop of the optical membrane sent chills down her arm and bile up her throat.
“Oh hell,” Kitty protested. “I think I’m gonna barf!”
Kitty withdrew the blackish-brown goo covered mic and the zombie dropped with a hollow, wet thud.
“Incoming.”
The shout came from behind.
“Kitty, duck.”
The raging voice belonged to Mike Machine, drummer with the face of innocence and the beat of evil. Kitty knew better than to not comply. The second she dropped to a crouch, a golden cymbal flew over her head and embedded itself into the neck of a monster. The beast didn’t drop.
“Fuck,” Tom screamed as he continued forward.
“Tom, don’t,” Kitty pled.
Tom was never one to listen. He jumped and landed the sole of his creeper into the cymbal to finish the job.
The head and the cymbal crashed to the floor.
“Come on, ya ugly bastard.” Billy the Bat was still cranking out power chords as he shouted threats to the undead audience; the shock of hair on top of his otherwise bald head danced a shocking jig. With each chord the zombies stuttered – as if the sound was too painful for the dead.
“Billy, the zombies say you suck,” teased Kitty.
“Oh yeah,” Billy replied. “They can suck on this.”
Instead of battling back the approaching undead duo, Billy began playing a rockabilly take on Ozzy Osbourne’s Crazy Train.
The zombies weren’t impressed and marched onward.
It was Tom Mooner to the rescue. He hefted his Fender Squire above his head and dropped it down to cave in the skull of one of the zombies.
“That’s how it goes,” laughed Tom.
One moaner remained. The entire band gathered together, encircling the monster.
“Here zombie, zombie, zombie. Kitty wanna play. Rowr.” Kitty teased the zombie. When it turned to face her, Billy the Bat ran a switchblade into the base of its skull. As the zombie dropped, lifeless again, to its knees, the band booed and hissed.
“What? I killed it.” Billy protested.
“Yah, but we were feeling kinda playful. Ya know, give the fucker a show and then, blamo, cave in its frontal lobes.”
“Hey, they’re all dead. We did it.” Kitty was glowing with pride. “That was a hell of a show.”
Billy the Bat cleaned off his knife as he spoke. “Our best yet…if you take into consideration our entire audience was comprised of the undead. Actually, this kind of sucked. We need real, living people to play for.”
“And to pay us.”
Tom’s interjection sucked the wind out of the band.
“This damned apocalypse,” Kitty started, “it’s impossible to find gigs. Before, our only competition was the likes of Nekromantix and Horror Pops. Now we’re facing down the living dead and empty venues. I thought the apocalypse would bring a sort of perfect storm for us. I mean, come on, this is our schtick. We own this theme, right?”
The band nodded their heads in unison.
“So why in the hell can’t we find gigs?”
Billy raised his hand.
Kitty hissed. “Oh for God’s sake, Billy, this isn’t a classroom. Put your hand down.”
“Did you ever stop to think no one wants live music now because of the noise? I mean, it is noise that attracts the undead, right?” Billy challenged the group.
Kitty stepped in close to the guitarist. “What are you saying, Mr. Bat?”
Billy’s eyes darted to the left and the right, his lip quivered slightly, and his forehead broke out into a sweat. “I’m saying…I don’t really know what I’m saying, actually.”
Mike Machine stepped in to save the day. “He’s saying we need to find some isolated club where our ear-splitting decibels won’t attract the attention of the less-than living.”
“You mean the Mengelites?” Tom Flash interrupted.
The band booed.
“Oh come on, it’s a catchy name.” Tom defended himself. “Seriously, it makes sense. The Mengele Virus is what did them in…hence Mengelites.”
“The name‘s offensive,” Kitty spat. “It’s almost as if you’re glorifying one of the sickest Germans to ever exist.”
The idea that the virus which brought about the apocalypse was an extension of Josef Mengele’s work didn’t rest easy on the hearts of Germans. Most survivors on the planet were quick to forget that point. To many of Germanic descent, it was a painful reminder of yet another very dark time of their people.
“Come on,” Tom chimed in. “Let’s pack up so we can try to locate this Nirvana that Mike mentioned.”
After a round of groans, the band began the slow process of packing up their gear and loading it into the Kitty Mobile. The van was a take on the Scooby Doo Van, only with a predominantly feline theme. Splashed on the side of the van was the band’s logo and Kitty’s coiffed and lipstick’d visage. The van had already been attacked by numerous zombies as well as a few groups of living humans who simply had enough of walking. Unfortunately, there was little extra room once the gear and the band were on board.
Before leaving the club, K
itty made one last walk-through in search of food and booze. As she stood in the exit, she turned back and purrred before hitting the lights and strutting out to the van.
Meow, sexy kitty, meow.
two | creep show showdown
We don’t have to eat
No we don’t even sleep
Riding those waves
Is our only crave
It’s all about just one affection
…Midnight Thrill Ride
The apocalyptic landscape spread out before them. Through the headlights of the Kitty Mobile, silhouettes of the undead appeared and disappeared.
Road kill thrill.
On the roof above the passenger seat, a patchwork of ticks was scratched to mark the kill count.
Kitty scratched yet another mark. “One hundred fifty-seven.”
“He has to count for more than one. The guy must have weighed three hundred pounds.”
“No, Tom,” Kitty argued, “His weight is offset by his lack of intelligence. It’s a give and take.”
Billy the Bat turned his attention from the road to chime in. “How can you say that? The proportions are all wrong. The average human brain only weighs seven pounds…”
Screams rang out inside the van as a zombie appeared in the middle of the road. Billy turned around just in time to swerve out of the way and missed crashing into the swaying monster by mere inches. The van veered off the road to fly, head first, into a ditch. The engine chugged and wheezed then fell silent.
“Is everyone okay?” Tom’s whispered voice floated from the back of the van?
Silence.
“Hello?” Again, Tom called out.
Before anyone could answer, the sound of a small collection of zombies rang out.
“Fuck, this isn’t happening. Please tell me this isn’t happening.” Tom maneuvered his way through the band’s equipment, to the back window of the van.
“It’s definitely happening.”
Tom turned back to his band mates. “Rise and shine everyone. We have visitors.”
No one moved.
“Gang? Come on now, this is not the best time to be fucking around with me.”
Again…nothing. A bead of sweat broke out on Tom’s forehead.
“Kitty? You okay?”
Tom shot up to the front of the van and placed two fingers on her wrist. As soon as he felt a pulse he gently slapped Kitty’s cheeks. “Come on girl, wake up.”
“Wha-what happened? Is it show time already?”
“You could say that.” Tom punctuated the statement with another, softer slap to the cheek.
“Let me sleep just a little more. My voice needs the rest.”
And she was out.
“Shit.” Tom complained as he turned to Billy.
“Come on, Billy. I really need your help.”
Billy sat up as if yanked from slumber by a thousand volts.
“I swear to God it wasn’t me.” Billy looked around. “What’s going on?”
Tom grabbed Billy’s attention. “No time to explain. Just grab a weapon and get ready to kill.”
No further explanation was needed. Both men scrambled for protection and slid out of the vehicle. Billy carried his trademark bat and Tom gripped a wicked-looking machete.
“You know,” Billy started, “one of these days we might want to invest in a few guns.”
“Guns? We don’t need no stinking guns,” Tom proclaimed.
“What is that? Canadian?”
“No, idiot, it’s my Hispanic dialect.”
“Needs work.” Billy pushed Tom forward with a laugh. Finally the two were within striking distance of the zombies.
“Which do you want?” Billy asked Tom.
“Does it really matter? They’re clearly equal opportunity undead – either one will dismantle your brain stem and suck the juices from your core. The only thing that counts is taking them out and getting back on the road.”
The two men turned back to get a look at the Kitty Mobile. Steam poured from under the hood. They simultaneously turned back to face the zombies. Billy’s shorter, stocky frame was dwarfed by the much taller Tom.
“I’d rather face the undead than Kitty when she sees her van.” Billy said.
Tom nodded.
Just as they stepped forward to enter into the undead melee, the sound of multiple zombies overtook the scene.
“Oh hell no,” shouted Tom. “Billy, we can’t take an entire horde alone. We have to get out of here.”
Both turned to the van and raced back. Billy hopped into the driver’s seat and attempted to crank the engine over.
Sputter…sputter…
Nothing.
“Oh come on,” Billy cried out.
Tom was busy manually swatting his compatriots back into the land of the living.
“Wake the fuck up,” Billy shouted again. “We’ve got a horde on its way.”
One by one the band rose to the alarmist shout of Tom.
“What the hell? Why is smoke coming from the front of the Kitty Mobile? Did you…you did! How many times –”
Tom grabbed Kitty’s hand. “KitKat, we have a situation. A small horde of moaners is heading our way. Yes, we kinda crashed the van, but –”
Kitty jerked her hand away. “We do not abandon the van. And you didn’t just kinda crashed the van, you CRASHED the CRAP out of it!”
Tom looked on in surprise. “Then what do we do?”
“We defend it,” Kitty shouted.
Without further questioning, everyone in the van scrambled for a weapon.
Mike was the last to arm himself. His weapon of choice – his drum stool.
“We really need to rethink our defenses. This is the damned apocalypse. You’d think a band that sings about devils and monsters would be cool with weapons.”
“Mike,” Kitty called out, “care to join us?”
Billy carefully turned the handle to the sliding door of the van. Just as he made to pull the door back, the sonic assault of high-powered assault rifles overtook the area. The firework trace of bullets flew from every direction to send the zombie horde into a mosh pit of death. The second the last of the undead lay motionless on the ground, the metallic popcorn symphony ceased.
The living within the van froze. Not a sound could be heard from the awed crew.
Todd Flash took a breath to speak. Everyone violently shook their head ‘no’. Todd complied with silence. The motionless moment went on until it was clear no SWAT or Black Ops team was about to descend upon the van and sweep the band off to some NSA-level secure location.
“What do we do?” Kitty whispered.
Mike raised his hand. “Wouldn’t the better question to ask be, who the hell did that?”
“Who gives a rat turd,” Tom interjected. “They saved our ass.”
“I don’t care who it was. I just want someone to get out there and fix my van so we can get the hell out of this creep show showdown.”
“Oh my good goddamn Kitty, that is brilliant!” Billy pulled a notepad from his pocket and scribbled down the quote. “That is a fucking killer song title!”
Before anyone could make a move to exit the van, Todd had his guitar out and was strumming. He sang…
“It was a creep show showdown; zombies coming fast. Weapons at the ready, the bullets wouldn’t last. The hero and the hunted, they waited for the call and once the battle started only one would fall. At the creep…show…showdown!”
Kitty clapped and whistled her approval. “Kitty likee.” Her smile disappeared in an instant. “Now, fix the van.”
Billy sighed as he returned his ax to its case and stepped out of the van. He was the only one with even a fundamental understanding of combustion engines.
“I really want to know who it was that saved our asses out there,” Mike said.
“As far as I’m concerned…they are my heroes and that’s all I need to know.”
Todd joined the heated debate. “Kitty, you’re not even slightly curious? I
mean a pack of moaners sneaks up on us and out of the blue some para-military group swoops down and saves the day?”
Kitty turned and sharply pointed her finger at Todd. “First, Todd, those zombies didn’t sneak up on us. By nature of being, zombies are incapable of stealth. Second, we don’t know that was a military group that saved us.”
“Oh come on,” Todd protested. “It had to be military. Who else has the power to surgically take down that many zombies so efficiently?”
Before anyone could answer, Billy slid the van door open and peeked his head in.
“Hole in the radiator hose. I can get us a temporary fix, but we’ll need to use some of our water.”
The band groaned in unison.
“I’m sorry, it’s the best I can do. If we have any intention of getting the fuck out of this place, we’re going to need liquid in the radiator. It’s the only way.”
Glances shot around the group. Eventually Kitty gave Billy the go-ahead and handed him a gallon jug of water.
“I also need a pocket knife. I have to shorten the radiator hose, so it’ll need to be sharp.”
Tom handed over a knife with a groan.
“Clean it when you’re done, please.”
“This won’t take but a minute,” Billy bragged and slipped back into the dark of night.
The band sat in silence as Billy took care of the repairs. From outside, the sound of late summer crickets brightened the moment. Kitty leaned back and plopped her bare feet up on the dashboard of the truck.
“God, what I wouldn’t give to sleep in a bed tonight,” she sighed.
“And take a hot shower,” Mike added.
“And drink some hot coffee,” said Todd.
The band each drifted off into their own silent, safe spot. A brief peace blanketed the group. Sighs sounded off around the inside of the van. The spell was broken when the driver’s side door opened and Billy hopped into the seat.
“Done. The Kitty Mobile should be good to go.”
After a quick cheer, Billy turned the van over. To everyone’s giddy relief, the vehicle started up and purred like a champ.
