by Jack Wallen
four | destiny
Searching through the place,
there’s no way out
Trapped with the reflection
of the monster in me
Out of the dark – a breath on my neck
It’s moving, rotating
…Dancing with the Devil
Not even the faintest light dared penetrate the space within The Last Casket. Once plunged into absolute darkness, the whispered voices of the band trailed off into a silence as complete as the absence of light.
The inner sanctum was a sensory deprivation chamber. Had it not been for the feeling of the hard floor and the sleeping bags, there would be nothing to experience but a profound lack of everything. No sound broke the barrier of the walls, the ambient temperature never fluctuated. It was almost too perfect.
One by one, the breathing of Kitty, Tom, Todd, Mike, and Billy slowed and deepened until sleep danced across their eyelids.
*
Outside of the bar, a beam of light cut through the darkness to land on the Kitty Mobile. A gloved hand reached out and grabbed the handle of the back door.
“Locked,” the voice whispered.
The light shined through the window and revealed the equipment – amps, guitar cases, flight cases, an standup bass. The stranger stepped up to the driver’s side door and pulled out a church key to jimmy the lock.
The sound of a shotgun cock stopped the stranger in his tracks.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
The beam of light slashed across the darkness and landed at the side entrance to the building.
Tuque stood straight, the barrel of the shotgun…straighter.
“I will empty this bad boy into your knee and let you try and outrun the inevitable horde that’ll smell your blood and hear your cries of agony. Get your ass back across the plain and tell your boss The Last Casket is back and better than ever. And if I see you here again, I won’t give you a warning or a chance.”
The stranger squirmed as he returned the church key to his pants leg. “What yer got schemin’ Tuque?”
“That’s really none of your business…yet. I can assure you however, Z-Pox will not stand a chance. Once we drain you of your last customer, I’ll make sure to point the zombie horde your way. You’ll have no one to protect you from the nightmare. You’ll die, I’ll dance.”
Tuque leveled the barrel of the shotgun directly toward the stranger’s face. “Get the fuck off my property or I’ll send what’s left of you to your boss in a plastic bag.”
The stranger sprinted off into the night. As the dust settled, Tuque was joined by a woman who slipped her arm around him. The brilliant orange glow of a cigarette lit up her face.
“What have you got up your sleeve, darlin’?”
Toque turned to face the woman.
“I’m going to breathe new life into the old girl.”
“You mean, those kids that arrived in the van?”
Tuque nodded.
“Can you get them to stay?”
A burst of laughter was the answer.
“That’s what I thought. Now, Tuque, why don’t you join me back in the bedroom? Let’s have a little celebration for our good turn of luck.”
Tuque planted a kiss on the red-stained lips of the woman.
“You go in, Penny. I’ll be there in a moment.”
“Don’t take too long, or the boudoir will close up shop.”
Tuque watched Penny saunter up the stairway to heaven and back into the tiny apartment above the bar. He eventually turned his attention to the van.
“Kitty in a Casket,” he whispered. “I call that destiny.”
Toque made his way over to the van and stepped up close to one of the back windows.
*
Back inside the bar, all was not entirely peaceful. The sound of soft moaning wafted over the room. The moans were interspersed with a high-pitched squeal.
The sound woke Billy. His make-shift bed was next to Kitty’s. He turned and reached his hand out to give her a shake.
“Kitty,” Billy whispered. “Kitty, you’re having a nightmare. Wake up.”
The squealing continued. Billy shook Kitty with enough force to wake the dead.
A gasp pierced the darkness. Kitty jerked up and out of Billy’s grasp.
“Oh my God,” Kitty gasped.
“You okay, Kitty?”
“Billy, is that you?”
“Yes.”
“I had a horrible nightmare.”
“I could tell.”
A silence interrupted the barely audible exchange.
“Billy,” Kitty said softly, “are we going to make it?”
Another silence.
“I wish I could say ‘yes’, Kitty. Honestly, I don’t know. But we’ll do everything we can to make sure we live to see the end of this shit storm.”
For a brief moment, the only sound was Kitty’s heavy breathing.
“I dreamed we were caught up in a war between good and evil. I couldn’t tell which side we were on, but we were winning.”
“As long as we were kicking ass,” Billy interjected.
“It wasn’t like that. I mean, yes we were…kicking ass, but it felt like every battle we won was a stab in the back to humanity. We…” Kitty’s voice faded off.
“What is it?”
“We were fighting alongside the zombies…only they were leading us. I remember seeing you and Todd, led about by chains, in gimp suits made of human flesh. There were blutsauger everywhere; which is strange, mixing vampires and zombies like that.”
Another silence.
“Billy,” Kitty broke the quiet spell. “I think I’m losing my mind.”
“KitKat, your mind was lost the second you decided you were meant for rock and roll.”
A hushed laughter rose up and threatened to wake the sleepers.
“God, I can’t imagine doing anything else,” Kitty whispered. “I mean, I get it…it’s the apocalypse. We should be joining some resistance to help stop the Zero Day Collective from continuing the spread of the Mengele Virus. But fuck, music is my life and the remaining survivors have to have a reason to keep moving forward, right?”
“You don’t have to convince me, Kitty. My veins bleed rock and roll as well. I wouldn’t give a fuck if the Grim Reaper himself crept up and tapped me on the shoulder. So long as I was rockin’, I’d be okay with death. Besides,” Billy continued, “isn’t that what rock is all about – rising above mortality? Aren’t we the ones who ease the hearts and minds of the masses; help them to understand fear is a state of mind that can be circumvented by a shot at the mosh pit or a shot of whiskey, followed by a Marshall stack mixture of love and rage”
In the dark of night, Kitty heaved her pillow and crashed it into the back of Billy’s head.
“Is that your attempt at going philosophical?”
Billy didn’t reply.
“I asked – ”
“Sssshhh.”
The suddenness of the demand for silence took Kitty by surprise.
“What is it?”
Again, Billy shushed Kitty.
“I hear voices outside,” Billy whispered as he flicked on a flashlight and slowly stood.
“That’s not possible, Billy. The room is soundproof. There’s no way we could hear anything – especially muffled voices.
“Okay, I heard something.” Billy’s voice seemed final.
Kitty saw the light bounce forward. “What are you doing?” her whisper demanded.
“Stay there. I’m going to see if I can figure out what’s going outside.”
With the caution of a cat on the prowl, Billy made his way over to the front entrance of the bar. There were no windows or peep holes to lend insight to the outside. He stared at the door handle and ran through every possible outcome he could consider, should his hand decide to open the door.
Again, Billy heard the soft rise and fall of voices. The perfect silence within the bar must have lent the worl
d outside safe passage. His fingers wrapped around the handle of the door and turned. The creak of the initial movement of the hinges threatened to alert the dead to the smörgåsbord within. The door opened just enough for Billy to get a glimpse of the happenings.
“What’s he doing?” Billy whispered under his breath.
Toque was on his knees, in front of the van, his hand reaching under and up. Instinct demanded Billy rush the man and insist he confess his deeds. Reality, however, had a much more cowardly plan for the guitarist.
Billy carefully closed the door and returned to his bed.
“What was it?” Kitty asked.
“Nothing. Must have been the wind, or my imagination.” Billy slipped inside his sleeping bag, unsure if he should fill the band in on what he witnessed. “Let’s cut some z’s.”
five | sound check
Joe was just a man from the country
With a lot of apples on his trees
Never wanted to be a bad guy
Now that’s all he can be
…Nekrophilian Love
There was no sign of morning. The lack of windows refused to invite sunlight to the slumber party. It wasn’t until the door to the bar flew open and the heavy sounds of footsteps came crushing in, that the band slowly roused from slumber.
“Rise and shine my friends. It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day.”
“Thank you Nina Simone,” Todd Flash groaned.
“Nice catch there buddy. Didn’t think someone your age would pick up the reference.”
“Dude, I’m a musician. How could I not get the reference?”
Toque flipped a switch and the harsh flicker of fluorescent lighting brought the room to an angry glow.
“Who let the damned sun in?” Mike Machine complained.
Kitty pulled herself from the cocoon of her sleeping bag and stretched her arms wide. “What time is it?”
“Time, my dear, is irrelevant now.” Toque laughed. “It’s that time of day when you can more easily spot the moaners and screamers coming your way. That’s all that matters.”
The clinking sound of glass snagged the attention of the remaining sleepers.
“Booze, this early?” Tom Mooner groaned.
Toque laughed. “Do you really think the old rules of society still exist? It’s the apocalypse, son…just like the song, anything goes. A glimpse of stocking just might drive the world mad today. Shocking, I know. Anyone care to join me? You’ve gotta live inside this vortex of death.”
The request was met with silence.
“I don’t mind drinking alone.”
Tuque tossed a shot of clear liquid back and slammed the glass on the bar. “Now, let’s talk business.”
“What do you mean?” Kitty asked. She stood and, alongside Billy, stepped up to the bar beside the owner.
Toque turned to face the band.
“It’s simple; this is a bar, you’re a band. I need you, you need me.”
“We don’t really…” Billy started.
“Let him finish,” Kitty interrupted.
“If you’re looking to score a big gig, you’ll just be chasing your tail. There are no more arenas or major events to play. Nothing is as it was. The landscape of the entire world has shifted into survival mode. Hop back in your van and drive; you’ll find nothing but fragmented communities like ours trying their damnedest to stay alive. Part of that survival is celebrating what’s left of humanity. Since music is the one true universal language, what better way to celebrate than by coming to a bar and listening to a live band? But hey, if you’d rather take your chances out there against the zombies, thieves, murderers, and who knows what else…you’re welcome to it.”
The rest of the band made its way over to stand with Kitty and Billy.
“Think about it,” Tuque continued, “the Last Casket and Kitty in a Casket. It makes perfect sense. Call it what you want, but I think it’s destiny trying to guide us through this new world order.”
“I’m sorry,” Billy spoke up, “I haven’t seen another living human anywhere near this place. What makes you think we’d want to play to an empty house night after night?”
“Trust me, once word gets out there’s a live band here, this place will be packed. It’ll be just like the old days for ya.”
Kitty finally stepped up. “The one major problem I have is that I’d like to keep the focus on us being a live band – as in living. We start cranking it up to eleven, how do we know the zombies aren’t going to stomp through the door to create a mosh pit of death in here?”
“I told you, this place is soundproof.”
This time it was Mike Machine that stepped into the discussion. “You mean to tell us, once the amps are cranked, the bass is slapped, and the cymbals are crashed these walls will contain our sound? I don’t buy it. We pack a mighty wallop.”
Toque smiled. “The only way to find out is to try. What could it hurt? Set up your gear and play your loudest tune. If you think enough sound will escape to draw the undead, pack it all back up and drive off into the post-apocalyptic sunset. If you’re satisfied, I’ll gather you an audience.”
Toque poured another glass and raised it high. “I’ll step outside so you can talk business. Just shout for me when you’ve got an answer.” After the drink was dry, Toque stepped out and closed the door behind him.
The band turned to one another.
“What do you think? Should we trust him?” Kitty asked.
Billy made to speak, but held his tongue.
“What can it hurt? We play a song and be done with it. If we think it’s safe, why not? If we think it’s a death sentence, we haul ass.”
“I agree with Todd,” Mike said. “Let’s rock.”
“Anyone have an objection?” Kitty asked. Not one hand was raised. Billy’s gaze shot downward and remained. “No?”
No one complained.
“Okay, I’ll go tell our new manager,” Kitty winked before continuing on. “I’ll tell him we agree to play one song as a test run. If we like it, we’ll do an entire show. If that goes well…we’ll see. Deal?”
The band nodded their heads and Kitty turned to exit the bar.
*
Kitty in a Casket was accustomed to setting up a gig quickly. Get in, get paid, get out. Early on in their career that was the rhythm of love for a young band. With fame came the luxury of relaxation before and after. Stage hands would haul the gear, set it up, and even run sound checks.
“Damn, I miss my guitar tech,” Billy moaned.
“I do too,” Tom laughed. “At least when he worked your gear, it was in tune.”
Billy cocked his fist and turned to Tom.
“Oh come on now, Silly Billy, I’m just playing with ya.”
Smiles and slaps were exchanged. Mike Machine punched the double pedal of his bass drum. The thump rattled the bottles on the back bar.
“Oh this is going to be fun. Think we can shatter glass?”
Before anyone could answer, Billy jumped over to his stack, struck a G Minor Seventh and ended with a little Travis Picking minor arpeggio to pull a blast of feedback from the speakers. As soon as the overtones rang out, Mike Machine thrashed a kick-drum-heavy rhythm that leaned on the three and four beat. The overall effect of the improvised sound was at the same time disturbing and hypnotic.
“Ooo la la,” Kitty purred through her mic. “Me likee when you make those strings sing.”
On cue, Tom Mooner joined in with a low pedal tone and bridged to a not-so-standard counterpoint to what everyone else laid down. It was a perfect blend of old-school rock and modern punk.
Todd Flash filled in the holes with a drop-dead sexy rhythm that finished drawing Kitty up to the stage.
“What do ya say boys…shall we let those dead bastards know where they can go?”
The band responded with a unison, “Hell yeah.”
The sound that poured from the speakers shouldn’t have worked together. It was a contrapuntal clash of style and metaphor that
, in the end, could make the undead swing dance and forget about bashing brains.
Kitty drew in a breath, brought her mic to her glass-glossy lips and sang.
I was just about seventeen
When the passion drew me in
At first it was his pomp’d-up hair
And his wicked taste for sin
He rolled up to my parents’ house
On his chopped and jacked machine
He smelled of gin and dripped of sex
As he flashed his devil grin
It was the
Date from Hell
I had to
Kill and tell
That night I
Said farewell
To my
In…no…cense
It was the
Date from Hell
There was no
Highway to rail
Why did I
Dare to dwell
On this
Date
From
Hell
Billy and Todd joined Kitty down center stage for a riff-off. Kitty danced between them like her soul was on fire. Just as Kitty was about to bring ‘My Baby’ back up to her lips for another chorus, the power to the equipment cut off. Mike continued a machine-gun rhythm on the drums until he realized everyone else had gone silent.
“What happened,” asked Mike. He pulled the monitors from his ears and stepped around his drum kit.
“I guess you were right,” Tuque appeared out of nowhere. “Your music was loud enough to wake the dead.”
“You’re damn right it is,” bragged Tom.
Tuque stepped behind the bar and began pulling our various guns. “You might want to wipe that silly grin off your face, young man. We have a small collection of zombies about to break through our defenses. I’m going to get up on the roof and start taking these bastards out. You kids stay in the bar and don’t get near the door.”
“Oh no,” Todd Flash stepped up to the bar. “Rock and roll doesn’t back down from a fight.”
“Kid, that might be the most cliché thing I’ve ever heard.” A grin spread across Tuque’s face. “I like it. Here, grab a gun and help me shoot those walking dead groupies back to Hell where they belong.”
