by Jack Wallen
“Yeah. Mengele was looking for a more efficient way to eliminate the Jewish people while at the same time creating an army of super soldiers. It just stands to reason that this new strain of MV was brought about for the same purpose – only this time it was to eradicate the white male.”
“Hold on caller. If you try to tell me the apocalypse was a man-made event for the sole purpose of wiping out the white devil, I will laugh at you and taunt you a second and third time.”
“Hold on a minute.”
“No, caller, you hold on a minute. The Mengele Virus was originally created by a group of fat, white men to rid the planet of Nazi party descendants. How in the Hell does that have anything to do with the destruction of the white male?”
“That’s what we’ve been told by the media. You see…”
“Oh God, you’re going to go off on that tired rant? Look, the apocalypse had nothing to do with the media. Reporters weren’t trying to hide the truth from anyone. Once it became abundantly clear what was going on, reporters across the nation came together to uncover the truth. Look at what Jacob Plummer did. Plummer discovered a plot thick with political and corporate corruption. That is the heart and soul of the new world order. The virus was a failed attempt at genocide based on a hold-over hatred for a long-dead Nazi party. Sure, if the Nazis were still alive today, they’d probably deserve such a fate. Thing is, they’re not. Mengele, Himmler, and Hitler…the ones that really deserve death by this virus, have been gone since the forties.”
“How can you spread such lies to your aud…”
“With complete confidence. You see, listener, I opt to go about my every day and seek the truth to the best of my knowledge.”
“Yeah, but you’re part of the media…and that’s where my conspiracy theory really begins – you. You are the teller of lies the Zero Day Collective depends on. Without your work, fear wouldn’t be such an epidemic.”
“Ladies and gents, let’s put the kabosh on our new friend Hunter. I need to keep a modicum of civility in my life and that’s just not possible when talking with the morons that still litter the gene pool. Let’s take a drastic change in topic and enjoy a tune. How about The Conspiracy Song by The Dead Milkmen. A bit of hard core punk will do the Hunters of the world some good.”
By the time the song cried out just who was part of the conspiracy, Tuque pulled the truck into the Last Casket parking lot and silenced the song and the engine. He stared hard at the stained, white and red cooler in the passenger seat.
“Cannibalism. What has the world come…”
Before Tuque could finish the question, a light wind carried to his ears a chorus of moans.
He laughed. The sound took him by surprise.
“Who am I kidding? We’re already a breath away from the grave. There are far worse acts of depravity out there.”
Tuque left no room for more second guessing. He pulled the cooler from the truck and marched to the bar’s entrance.
Unable to open the door with the heavy container in hand, he set the cooler down and opened the door. The sound of the band rehearsing blasted from within. Tuque shoved the cooler into the center of the room, closed the door behind him…
…and waited.
One by one, the band members laid eyes on the cooler. One by one, instruments dropped out of the song until only Mike Machine was heard – his manic, metronome-perfect drumbeat crashing and thrashing about the room. It took Mike a few bars to realize he was the only one left playing. He blushed, saw everyone staring at the cooler, dropped his sticks, and jumped from behind his drum kit.
“Holy hamburger, is that what I think it is?” Mike nearly shouted.
Tuque nodded.
“What are we waiting for? Let’s spank this meat,” said Mike.
Everyone ignored Mike’s comment.
Kitty turned to Tuque and asked: “How much did this cost you? We don’t want to be a bunch of freeloaders.”
Tuque stared at the floor, refusing to meet Kitty’s gaze.
“Come on, Tuque,” Todd Flash added. “We want to pay you back for this glorious meal you are about to cook for us.”
Tuque finally looked up – straight to Kitty.
“I made the owner of Z-Pox a deal. Well, actually I informed him I would bring the deal to you and see if it was something Kitty in a Casket was interested in.”
The room fell silent. All eyes were on Tuque.
“Okay,” Kitty drew out the sound of the word. “What’s the deal?”
“The meat comes from Lyle Lillard. He wants to know if Kitty would be willing –”
Billy the Bat stopped Tuque in his vocal tracks.
“No way. Kitty is not a piece of meat to be pimped out.”
Tuque plowed on. “He wants to know if Kitty would be willing to sing at Z-Pox for one night.
Kitty nodded. “One night and one night only?”
“No way,” Billy the Bat insisted.
Kitty held up her hand. “Wait, Billy; let him finish.”
“Lyle just wants Kitty and a piano to entertain his crowd for an evening and we’re all square. You get your burgers…”
“Kitty style,” Kitty interrupted.
Tuque smiled and continued. “…and Lyle gets a killer show for one engagement.”
Kitty put her foot on top of the cooler. “No strings attached,” she asked.
“Not one. I trust Lyle. We’ve known each other for a very long time. He may be a bastard at times, but he always makes good on his promises.”
The band exchanged glances. Between them, there was some knowing, unspoken language that communicated as efficiently as words. One by one they nodded.
Kitty turned to Tuque. “Deal. But first…” Kitty kicked the cooler to Tuque. “…make with the delicious.”
*
“Oh my God, the smell is almost too much. I’m going to eat my freakin’ bass,” announced Tom.
“You probably would,” laughed Kitty.
“Are you saying I’m fat?”
Billy flung a paper cup at the bassist. “Tom, you’re such a girl.”
“No, seriously, have I gained weight?”
Everyone stared blankly at Tom, who immediately went silent and sat. The silence was finally broken by the kitchen door opening and Tuque announcing…
“Come and get it.”
The band jumped to their feet with a shout and rushed to the door. Kitty was the first to go through and lay eyes on the spread.
“Did I die and go to heaven? Tuque, this is crazy amazing.”
“It’s ‘craymazing’,” added Tom.
“Wow, you’re just full of hits tonight, Tom,” mocked Billy.
“You’re just jealous of my masterful mashups,” replied Tom.
Before another word could be said, the plates began clinking and the band began eating. Moans of near ecstasy escaped lips and lungs as the mates savored every bite.
“Tuque, where’s your burger,” asked Todd Flash.
“Oh, I’m not hungry. I nibbled as I cooked.”
With each bite the band fell deeper into a delicious-induced coma. When the last bit was swallowed, they nearly collapsed with an overstuffed joy.
“I have never felt so happy in my life,” said Kitty.
“Of that, Kitty, there is no doubt. I cannot imagine anything on this planet improving this moment. Good friends, good food…what more do we need?”
“Hows about beer?” Tom asked. The band hadn’t even notice his disappearing act until he returned with two six packs. When they saw the booze in hand, they all cheered. Tom addressed Tuque. “I hope you don’t mind me dipping into your stash.”
Tuque gave a singular smile and the band cheered again. Tom handed out a can each to the band and cracked his open. He held his brew aloft and spoke.
“To friendships, old and new. May our music help heal the world.”
twelve | been hur, done that
I’m a mutant zombie girl
From another gruesome wor
ld
Crawl out night by night (oh)
Try to find love of my life
World’s as sharp as a knife
Now I go insane…
…Moonlight Massacre
The night Kitty was to invade Z-Pox had arrived. Kitty refused to allow her band mates entry into the bar.
“I’m sorry, guys; you know singing outside my comfort zone makes me nervous. The last thing I need is to see your ugly mugs staring back at me. Let me do this alone.”
Billy spoke up first. “But, Kitty, we’re a team; we stick together no matter what. I don’t trust this Lyle guy and I don’t know the crowd. What if someone jumps you on stage?”
Kitty bristled. “Bat, you know I can take care of myself. Anyone tries anything funny, they’ll get my shoe launched right up their ass. I’ll be wearing platform creepers – that’ll hurt plenty.”
The band released a much-needed laugh. They all knew Kitty was as tough as any survivor on the planet. Even so, there was a deep-seeded sense of protection each musician felt for their front gal.
“Fine,” said Tom. But keep the radio on you at all times. Should things get ugly, call us and we’ll be ready to kick anything and everything into or back into the grave.”
Kitty gladly accepted the radio and stuffed it in her back pocket.
“I love you guys.” Kitty started toward the door and turned as she reached for the handle. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
As the door whooshed to a close, the remaining band slowly turned to face one another.
“Why did she have to say that?” Todd Flash asked. “You know something bad is…”
Tom held up a hand. “Don’t even say it, Todd. Kitty’ll be fine.”
Billy grabbed the second radio from Tom. “Have you checked the Batteries?”
“Checked,” replied Tom.
“Channel?”
Tom grabbed the radio back. “Yes, Billy, I’ve checked everything. Do you think I’d let her drive off without…”
“Come on,” Mike stepped in. “We’re all worried about Kitty, but there’s no reason to let it get to us like this. We just have to stay alert and ready.”
“Mike’s right,” Todd Flash said. “She’s just singing a few songs, not jumping in the ring of an undead fight club.”
“How do we know that,” asked Billy.
“I guess we don’t,” Mike answered.
Before anyone could add to the conversation, the radio crackled to life.
“Kitty to Casket; this is Kitty, come in.”
Tom jerked the radio to his mouth and pressed the talk button. “Everything okay, Kitty?”
“Of course it is. I just wanted to let you know I arrived and am in the club. It’s totally chill…so, no worries.”
Everyone in the bar expelled a sigh of relief. Tom continued his conversation with Kitty.
“Keep that radio close, Kitty. Oh, and knock ‘em dead over there.”
“You know I will. Kitty out.”
“Happy now?” said Mike. “She’s good to go.”
*
Z-Pox was standing room only. The packed crowd had the temperature in the bar raised to broil. Sweat glistened on every forehead. As the liquid flowed from the tap, Kitty and the pianist pieced together a set list composed of cross-pollinated genres that spanned nearly every style and attitude. From Patsy Cline to the Cherry Poppin’ Daddies, Kitty loved the idea of stretching her range, even if for only one night.
Lyle entered the greenroom.
“It’s show time kids. Are you ready?”
“Locked, cocked, and ready to rock.” Kitty squealed.
Without so much as an introduction, Kitty stepped onto the stage. The crowd instantly recognized her from the previous night and roared their approval.
“Thank you,” Kitty shouted into the microphone. Feedback speared the air. Kitty laughed. “That’s my style of music.”
The crowd fell to silence.
“Okay…so, my name is Kitty Casket. My usual band mates aren’t here, so me and this lovely gentleman are going to rock a few songs out for your entertainment. What do you say we start out with a little Zoot Suit Riot?”
The opening bars of the song deftly danced out of the piano. Without warning, some of the audience broke out into swing dance. Kitty stepped over to the piano to get a better view of the dancers and belted out the first verse. The second her voice rang out, the dancing briefly stopped and all eyes were glued to the stage. The lapse in dance lasted until the first chorus. At that point it was skirts spinning and legs flying. When the song finally came to a close, the sound of cheers threatened to tear the house down. For the moment, the apocalypse took a back seat to life.
“All right! You guys know how to let loose. What’s say we punch the walking dead in the throat with a little Clash. Are you ready to Rock the Casbah?”
The audience wailed their approval and the piano opened up the punk classic.
*
Outside, another audience was taking notice of the performance…only this crowd didn’t care for singing or dancing. They only cared for one thing…
Brains.
The noise coming from Z-Pox was enough to alert the local undead population that dinner was served. So…they stumbled, shambled, and shimmied their way to the grandest buffet.
*
Inside, the revelry continued. Kitty sang as if it were her last day on the planet and the audience let loose of any last remnants of inhibition. Together, they transcended the apocalypse and found themselves existing in a moment between worlds. Music was their saint and savior; release, their Messiah.
Kitty looked down at her set list to see a KD Lang tune up next. “Okay, let’s slow this thing down a bit so you can all get up close and personal with one another.”
When the country-pop hybrid ballad greeted the crowd, it was as if heaven had opened its very gates and waited for all to step inside. Nearly every member of the audience had a partner in-hand and was spinning and sliding gracefully about the dance floor.
Outside, the numbers multiplied and convened. Zombies had Z-Pox surrounded; there was no way to get in or out, without having to walk through a wall of moaners. When the first wave reached the outer walls of the club, fists met wall, wood, and glass.
Bright red hair spun past one of the windows. A rotted zombie fist punched through the already-fractured glass and grabbed a fist full of the locks. The scream that followed pierced the veil of song and brought the crowd to an instant panic. Every living being stepped away from window and door; the red head continued shouting as she was pulled closer to the window.
“Help,” the woman cried out.
A second wretched hand reached through the window and grabbed the victim’s lower jaw. The scream of the woman was muffled behind the pale, dead flesh of the zombie’s arm. The first hand released the hair so the flailing red head was held aloft by the jaw. Two quick jerks later, the body dropped to the floor, minus the mandible.
The room fell silent. What should have been filled with shouts of terror went instantly mute by the threat of death. With the noise to a whispered hiss, the sound of the horde filled the bar.
“The doors,” whispered one of the patrons, as she pointed to the double-door exit.
Like a balletic ninja, Lyle Lillard leaped the bar and raced to the doors. Inch-thick rebar slipped through the handles and triple bolt, steel core locks twisted to seal out the dead. Before his heart spun down to resting pace, Lyle dashed off to the backside entry of the bar to close it up tight.
All the while a ghostly silence blanketed the living.
The dead, however, continued to moan and smash at the metal box buffet.
*
The Last Casket was at rest. The bar was empty and the band concentrated on keeping themselves from thinking about their leader.
As Billy worked through a new riff, the radio crackled to life.
Billy grabbed the radio and pressed the talk button. “Kitty, is that you?”
“Help,” the shout punched through the connection. “We need help.”
A chorus of moans served as backup for Kitty’s voice.
“The bar is under attack. We’re surrounded by zombies…they’re beating down the doors.”
“We’re on our way,” was all Billy said before he stood and shouted.
“Kitty’s in trouble!”
Instantly, the Last Casket was a flurry of activity.
“Everyone, to my truck,” shouted Tuque.
Not a second was wasted before all shot out of the bar.
“What are we going to do?” begged Tom.
“Not waste any time,” replied Tuque. “Get in. I have weapons in the back. We’ll come up with a plan once we’ve assessed the situation.”
Tom, Todd, and Mike hopped into the back of the old truck. Billy took shotgun and Tuque pounded the gas pedal to drive off toward Z-Pox.
A rooster tail of dust kicked outward from the rear tires. The rusted truck wound up to its top speed faster than anyone thought possible.
“What’s the plan?” Billy asked Tuque.
“The plan is save Kitty Casket.”
“But how?” Billy continued.
“No idea, son. We’ll do whatever it takes though. Those sons a’ bitches aren’t going to steal that girl from us…not if I can help it.”
Again Tuque stomped the gas and the truck lurched forward.
Billy pulled the radio from his pocket and pressed the talk button.
“We’re on our way Kitty.”
“Hurry,” was her only reply.
“We have to come up with a plan,” shouted Tom from the back of the truck.
Tuque pushed the truck just beyond ‘I’m giving it all she’s got, Captain.’ Before anyone could shout a furious war cry at the top of their lungs, Z-Pox came into view.
“Holy shit,” Tuque whispered as he brought the truck to a stop. He opened the door and stepped out, never taking his eyes from the sight before him.
“They have the whole fucking place surrounded,” said Todd Flash.
“Crap,” added Mike. “There’s no way we can…”
