by Jack Wallen
“Now for my next trick, I will pull directions out of Kitty’s hat.”
“Kitty doesn’t wear hats,” the band said in unison.
“I never got that joke guys,” Kitty shrugged.
“Seriously, Kitty, where am I driving to?”
Todd chanced a glance Kitty’s way. She shrugged but finally answered. “I guess wherever the road takes us.”
three | Tuque and Top Ramen
Feeling of freedom
The fire in our eyes
On the road’s
Like being in paradise
You’re right
That’s exactly how it should be
All my life
….Shake Your Bones
The road took them deep into the night and the heart of nowhere. There was no map, no signpost to lead them through the apocalypse. There was only the black ribbon of highway and the hope that something tolerable would eventually come along.
Nothing did.
Once morning came and the leg cramping van-naps were over, they rolled into a small town park and set up for an impromptu show.
“This town is dead,” Billy the Bat said as he strummed a distorted D-flat minor chord.
“Shut your mouth, crybaby.” Kitty hissed. “At least it makes for good practice. Worst case scenario? The undead come out to play and we have to make an early exit from the show.”
The park still had working electricity, and the band was ready to rock.
Tom Mooner spun his bass and laughed. “Hey, maybe we can attract a few zombies; at least we’d have someone to play for!”
Billy strummed another chord.
“Are we almost there, Billy?”
“Where, Kitty?”
“You know, where all the cool cats hang.”
“Kitty, you’re real gone.”
“I know, Billy, why don’t ya join me?”
On cue, the band ripped into Monster Highschool Party. The makeshift stage was a basketball court in a run-down urban park. The open air space allowed the sound to mingle with nature and blend into something they rarely heard – purity. The usual gigs were tight spaces and wall to wall bodies. It was a change of pace to breathe in actual air and let the sound of music bring the hills alive.
It was that kind of show.
The last chord of the song echoed off into oblivion.
Kitty caught her breath. “Wow.”
“Wow, nothing,” spat Tom Mooner, “that was totally wasted.”
“Oh come on, Tom, music is never wasted when it rocks.” Kitty’s encouragement was lost on Tom.
“I’m sorry, Kitty, this is just so damned depressing. We were supposed to be on a world tour; ya know, finally playing the A-list circuit. But here comes the apocalypse to punch the world in the gut and ensure we get screwed.”
Kitty slowly stalked to Tom’s side. “You can’t look at it that way, Tom. Sure we were kind of screwed; but what can ya do? Seriously? It’s not like any of us can cure this disease. We’re just trying to entertain the world while it heals – even if it means playing to empty houses. What are you going to do, pout the apocalypse to its knees and shame it away?”
Tom hung his head. “I know, I know. It’s just…”
“No, Tom,” Kitty interrupted. “You can’t think like that. Let go of what was to be and be with us now. It’s all we have – literally.” Kitty threw her arms wide. “This is it. All we can do is what we do; and what we do is rock. We are?”
“Kitty in a Casket,” Tom mumbled.
“What was that? I couldn’t hear you. We are?”
“Kitty in a Casket,” Tom said in a nearly full voice.
“Has a kitty got your tongue, Tom? We are?”
“Kitty in a Casket,” shouted Tom.
Tom grabbed Kitty into a bear of a hug. “Thank you, Kitten. Has anyone ever bothered to tell you it’s impossible to be in a bad mood around you?”
Kitty blushed. “Maybe one or two. I’m kidding. Shush, you know I don’t take compliments well.”
“Are you two girls about done?” Mike Machine chimed in to break whatever spell had been cast between Kitty and Tom.
“Guys, seriously,” Billy interrupted. “What are we doing? Practicing our music in the middle of a ghost town in the apocalypse? Not the smartest thing we’ve ever done. I say we pack up and try to find somewhere to crash for a while. We’ve been driving through this miserable country side for weeks now and haven’t had a good meal or good night’s rest yet. I can’t keep doing this.”
“Billy’s right,” Todd Flash added. “We can’t keep driving around hoping to wake from this nightmare. We might as well find some purpose.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, Kitty. Like…Billy said, find a place to call home for a while.”
The wind blew through the park. Along with the breeze came the lowing call of the undead — moaners. The band immediately went silent and glanced at one another. The breeze brought another, louder round of moans to the ears of the band.
Without a single word, everyone shot off to pack up their gear. Like a choreographed ballet, the cords and instruments were shoved and stuffed into the Kitty Mobile and the band loaded themselves up to head out. The van sped off on a road lined with broken down cars and decaying bodies. Just as they crossed over into the next county, Kitty shouted.
“What’s that?”
“Where?” Todd leaned forward.
“Over there,” Kitty pointed her polished finger forward and to the right. A fence stood tall against the landscape; the roof of a small building peeked out from the center of a wall-encircled field. On top of the steepled roof, a neon sign lit up the sky.
The Last Casket.
“I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,” Billy moaned.
“If this is a dream, please don’t wake me.”
“You’re not dreaming, Todd,” Kitty started. “Billy, follow that neon.”
The Kitty Mobile chased down the flicker and flash of the neon sign. The road wound through the wreckage of yet another small city.
Tom carefully climbed over the band’s gear and stared out the rear window. “My God, this place has been decimated. There’s hardly anything left.”
“Which begs the question,” Kitty hesitated for effect. “Why does that bar exist if everything and everyone has fallen around it?”
The band went silent for a moment.
“Who fucking cares,” Billy exclaimed. “If they have beer and a stage, we’re set.”
“And the name,” Kitty added, “it’s almost too perfect.”
Again, the band went silent.
“You don’t think this could be some sort of strange trap?” Tom whispered.
Kitty dropped the palm of her hand down on Tom’s head. “Sure, Tom. Ol’ farmer Nelson switched on the neon to draw Kitty in a Casket into his lair so he can skin us and sell our meat.”
Silence.
“It is the apocalypse, Kitty,” whispered Billy, “anything goes.”
The van came to a stop. Everyone inside stared on at the brilliant, blinking sign.
The Last Casket.
The sign winked like an old friend about to share an inside joke.
“Shit, it beckons doesn’t it?” Todd Flash said, sans emotion.
“If this resistance isn’t futile, I don’t know what is.”
Kitty smacked Billy. “Oh my God Billy, can you stop with the Star Trek jokes for a second?”
“Nerd,” whispered Tom.
Billy turned and gave Tom the stink eye.
“If we’re going to do this,” Kitty said and then gestured toward the sign, “let’s do this.”
The van lurched forward and slowly made its way to the fence. The make-shift gate wasn’t locked. Tom jumped out and slid the rickety metal and chain-link barrier to the side so the Kitty Mobile could glide through. Once inside, Tom pulled the gate shut and chased down the van. Inside the fence, nothing had changed. Dead bodies lay scattered about the stree
ts – stomachs distended from the bloat of gas. Thankfully the smell was over-powered by the cherry-flavored air freshener in the van. The scents intermingled to create something altogether new and all together wrong.
“Oh my God,” Kitty moaned. “Tom, take off your shoes or somebody fart; just make the smell go away.”
“Sorry, baby,” Tom said. “That’s the smell of the new world order. You better learn to love it.”
The van came to a halt under a glowing beacon that proclaimed ‘The Last Casket’, for all to see. No sign of life greeted them. No drunken brawl or juke box boogie lit up the lonely night air.
“This place is dead,” Todd complained.
Kitty gave Tom a pat. “Everything is dead, Tommy boy. The Mengele Virus took care of that.”
“Don’t remind me,” moaned Todd.
“Sooooooo,” Billy drew the attention of the band back to the moment at hand. “Who’s brave enough to venture inside?”
Silence.
Kitty finally sighed. “I sing for a bunch of chickens.” She grabbed the handle of the door. From behind her, Todd Flash slammed the lock down to keep Kitty from leaving. She turned. The look on her face spoke volumes before her mouth even opened. “Oh no. I’m not some helpless little girl who needs a bunch of men to protect her. Need I remind you that I was the one who saved all of your asses back in Chicago?”
Silence.
Chicago. A moment in time that nearly stopped the heart and soul of Kitty’s rock and roll. The band was trapped in a Boystown pub with a mob of undead ravers pounding down the doors to get to their sweet meats. Kitty forced herself through a tiny bathroom window, raced to the Kitty Mobile, and plowed through the mob of zombies to clear the exit for the band.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Now, who’s with me?”
Everyone glanced around the van. Kitty opened the door and stepped out. As soon as both feet were planted, the rest of the band hopped out.
No one saw the smile of relief cross Kitty’s face.
Slowly the band stepped up to the entrance to The Last Casket. Kitty reached down, grabbed the handled and pulled.
The door refused to budge.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Kitty huffed.
“Nope. That locked door is no joke. Neither is this shotgun.”
The voice from behind was followed by the pumping action of a serious weapon.
“Turn around slowly with your hands in the air.”
No one hesitated. With hands waving above their heads, each member of the band turned to behold…
“Names Tuque. Mine, not the gun’s. Welcome to The Last Casket.”
“Seriously? Tuque?” Kitty laughed, “Like the Canadian hat?”
“That’s right.” Tuque raised the shotgun the slightest bit higher. “You have a problem with either my name or Canada? If so, we’re going to have issues.”
Together, the band raised their hands a bit higher in a show of surrender.
“Is that your face on the van? Is that your name? Kitty in a Casket? Are you a band?”
“Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Do you always ask questions four?” Kitty mocked.
The band chuckled like high school punks in detention. Kitty held up a hand to silence them.
“That’s right. Kick ass psychobilly rock and roll. I’m Kitty Casket. That’s Billy the Bat, Todd Flash, Mike Machine, and Tom Mooner.” Kitty held out her hand for a shake.
“Seriously? Kitty Casket?” Tuque laughed. “I’m just messing with ya. Come on in. All living bi-peds are welcome at The Last Casket.”
Tuque turned and unlocked the door to the bar. As the door slowly creaked open, dim lights, the smell of booze, and the sound of rock and roll seeped out of the building.
Billy ran up to the door and shut it again. “Holy shit. You’ve got this place…”
“Soundproofed,” Tuque interrupted. “That’s right. Sound attracts the walking dead. There’s no reason we should willingly invite them to our little party. It took me a while to scrounge up the necessary materials, but it was worth every ounce of sweat and blood I lost. Now we can let off some steam and not worry a moaner or screamer is going to catch an ear full and shamble its way in.”
Tuque opened the door and stepped out of the way.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Slide on in and have a drink.”
“Tell me you’ve got food.” Billy stepped in close to Tuque. “We haven’t eaten in a while.”
Tuque nodded and gestured toward the door. Billy raced in, followed by everyone but Kitty, who stepped in, toe to toe, with Tuque. Kitty’s high pompadour-like hair stood nearly as high as Tuque’s hat. She smiled.
“If this is a trap, just know that we will fight to the bitter end. You don’t want to turn this into my cannibal paradise.”
With that, Kitty sauntered past Tuque. Once she was through the doorway, Tuque looked out into the night, suspicion lining his face and eyes as he drew in a deep breath.
“Bastards,” Tuque whispered and then shut the door behind him.
*
“Where is everyone?” Kitty shouted to Tuque over the scratchy, tinny sound of the jukebox.
“Outside of the regulars, the survivors in the surrounding towns don’t come around here much anymore. There’s a place just across the way, Z-Pox; everyone seems to have decided it’s the place to be seen now. Fucking pricks even stole my entertainment. I had a piano player that came in every night – played show tunes, love songs, anything the crowd wanted. Without him, all I have is that damned juke with the same fifteen tunes – all of them Top 40.”
Chills shot up the backs of the entire band. Billy the Bat turned to vomit in a trash can and then turned back to the band. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”
“What say I fix you kids something to eat. You look like you could all use a few good meals.”
The second Tuque mentioned food he had the undivided attention of the entire band.
“Don’t expect five-star cuisine. What I can prepare is just about anything that can be made from potatoes, peanut butter, and bread. Oh, and I’ve got ramen.”
“Ramen!” The band shouted at once.
“We’ll take five bowels of your best ramen,” Kitty purred.
Tuque nodded and disappeared through a set of swinging double doors. The second he was out of sight, the band huddled together. It was Kitty that spoke first.
“The obvious first question – can we trust this guy?”
“Duh,” Todd Flash intoned. “Dude’s from Canada, of course you can trust him. Canadians are made of trust.”
Billy whacked Todd in the chest with a closed fist. “It’s the apocalypse, douche-bong, you can’t trust anyone.”
Kitty looked over her shoulder before interrupting. “We have no reason not to trust him. I say until he gives us that reason, we do.”
“Kitty’s right,” Tom nodded. “I say we trust him. Besides, ramen sounds really good right now.”
Everyone nodded.
“Okay, it’s settled,” Kitty whispered. “We trust Tuque until we he gives us cause to either kill him or run.”
Billy started to shout, but quickly lowered his voice to just below conversational. “Who said anything about killing anyone? I’m sorry, but I’m not down with murder.”
“Relax, Billy. I was just making a point. If it comes to that we’ll all escape in the Kitty Mobile and never look back. Agreed?”
The band nodded just as Tuque re-appeared from behind the double doors.
“The two minute wonder is almost ready. You guys all have a seat and I’ll bring it out.”
Paranoid glances were exchanged as Tuque again disappeared into what had to be the kitchen of The Last Casket. Kitty stepped up to address the band.
“I’m sorry guys – but this is the best we’ve got for a while. It’s either this or we continue living out of the Kitty Mobile. I’m fairly certain I know none of you want to stay in the van another night.”
Billy slipped his arm around
Kitty and looked out at the room. “Look, let’s stay one night. If it’s too much to take, we’ll bug out and find another place to stay.
“Looks like that Z-Pox place will be our best option.” Todd chimed in.
Before Tuque could return, the band agreed they would pull out at the first sign of danger. They also agreed to let Kitty make the call to avoid confusion and mass hysteria.
“If you guys hear me scream ‘the cat’s out of the bag’, it’s time to blow this joint.” She turned to Todd Flash. “Can you handle such complex instructions, Todd?”
“Can you handle this?” Todd flipped Kitty a middle-finger-salute. Before he could retract the gesture, Kitty had her hand wrapped around his finger and bent it back beyond ninety degrees.
“Say it,” Kitty shouted.
“No, no, no…I can’t play without that finger,” Todd cried.
“All you have to do is say it.”
Todd sucked in a deep breath. “Kitty is my master and I her lowly servant.”
The band cheered as Kitty released Todd’s finger and spun three hundred and sixty degrees. When she faced Todd again, she grabbed his offended digit and gave it a kiss.
“Did Kitty play too rough?”
Before Todd could respond, Tuque re-entered with a tray of steaming noodles seeped in salty goodness. He stood, framed in the doorway, his weathered face and ice-blue eyes smiled without his lips having to bother. What hair he had peeked from under a knit cap completely out of place in the dessert. He looked worn, but carried it with a gentle grace few of his ilk could pull off.
“Dinner is served, my friends.”
The band dug in fast and hard. Chopsticks to mouth at an Olympic pace. The sound of slurping filled the room.
“I have never in my life tasted anything so magnificent,” Kitty spoke through a mouthful of noodles.
“Ramen,” Billy started, “I am going to write a song about you. Top Ramen Rock.”
The band groaned, but continued slurping until the meal was complete.
“It’s late,” Tuque said. “I don’t have enough beds for everyone, but I do have a cache of sleeping bags you can use. Stretch out on the floor here in the bar; you’ll be safe.”
