by Jack Wallen
Tuque jerked his hand upward to silence Mike.
“There’s always a way. Always.”
Silence.
“Well, what is this miracle plan of yours?” demanded Billy.
“Have you ever seen the film, Ben Hur?” Tuque asked to anyone listening. No one replied. “In the big race they used something called a scythed chariot.”
“Oh my God, yes,” interrupted Tom. “The wheels with the blades.”
“That’s right, my friend. We’re going to recreate that scene with my truck.”
“How,” insisted Todd Flash.
“Get the bag from the back of the truck. In it you will find sword blades welded to steel pipe. Pull them out and hand them to me.”
One by one, the scythes were removed from the bag and handed to Tuque. He took each blade and inserted it, pipe-end first, into conveniently placed holes around the passenger side of the truck.
“I can’t promise this will not be without danger,” Tuque warned. “…or back splash.”
“Who cares,” said Billy. “So long as we can save Kitty, I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“What exactly is this plan, Tuque,” asked Tom.
“Drive by evisceration,” Tuque turned and grinned toward the young men. “We’ll drive the truck close enough such that the blades eat through the upper torso or neck of the undead. We make enough passes and the entirety of the horde will drop like decapitated flies.”
“Oh my God, this rocks,” said Mike.
Tuque turned to the men.
“There’s going to be a lot of blood – sour, sick blood. You guys should wait here, otherwise you risk infection.”
Billy stepped in to meet Tuque. “Oh no. I’m not waiting here while you rush in like the cavalry and save Kitty. We’re all in.”
“Yeah,” insisted Tom, “it’s all or one.”
“You mean all for one?” Tuque questioned.
“I thought…”
Tuque opened the driver’s side door and stepped into the truck.
“Okay, Musketeers, get in now, the chariot of hate is about to leave.”
Billy returned to the passenger seat; everyone else hopped into the back and tucked themselves under a tarp.
“We are Kitty in a Casket,” Shouted Billy as Tuque punched the gas.
The truck raced toward the bar and took a sharp left turn so it was parallel to the front wall. Tuque turned the wheel and inched the blades as close to the building as possible.
“Hold on to your butts,” screamed Tuque.
The blades bit into the rotted flesh of the zombies. Blood and meat flew up and dropped into the bed of the truck. The sound resembled a flock of geese shitting a machine-gun attack on paper sacks. Heads, arms, hands, shoulders, torsos…every piece and combination of pieces rained down from above. From under the tarp, the shouts and screams of the young men could be heard.
Finally, the truck passed the edge of the building. Tuque turned a sharp left circle so the truck was then parallel with the next wall of the bar. The hail storm of hate continued on until Tuque rounded the third wall too close and clipped each of the blades.
“What’s going on?” Tuque asked.
“Oh shit,” replied Billy. “The swords all snapped off. You were too close to the wall. The truck is weaponless.”
Without another word, Tuque turned the truck away from the bar and brought it to a stop. He jumped out of the truck, pulled a rifle from behind the driver’s seat, took off toward the building.
“Tuque,” shouted Billy.
“Grab a weapon and shut up.”
Billy jumped out of the truck and turned to look behind the passenger seat. Secreted away from prying eyes was a sword in a scabbard. He pulled it from its casing to hear it sing a song of danger.
“Oh yeah. Let’s go do some damage.”
Billy raced to Tuque’s side, ignoring the questions coming from his fellow band mates under the tarp in the truck bed.
Before Billy could reach the first zombie, Tuque unleashed a storm of bullets. One by one the zombies did their best wacky pop dance to the ground to meet their undead death.
“Billy,” Tuque shouted over the sound of the gun shot. “Go inside and rescue Kitty. Bring her out and get her to the truck.”
The guitarist wasted no time and rushed to the entrance of Z-Pox. When he jerked at the handle, his shoulder almost dislocated.
“Shit.” Billy pounded on the door. “Open it up. It’s Billy. We’re here to save you.”
Nothing.
“Hurry,” Billy bellowed. “There’s not much time.”
The muffled sound of metal sliding against metal preceded one of the doors slowly cracking open. Billy forced the door open and stepped in.
Once inside, Billy found survivors tucked into the shadows of darkness. Bright and frightened eyes met his gaze. The tragedy of the moment hit the young man square across the jaw. Before the drama had its tendrils buried deep within his heart, Billy shouted…
“Everyone out, now!”
Not one soul need be told twice. A mad rush of men and women raced to the exit. Billy stood tall and searched for Kitty. She was nowhere to be found.
“Kitty,” Billy screamed.
No answer.
“Shit. Kitty,” again Billy screamed.
Again no answer.
Instead of continuing his call out, Billy rushed through the bar in a desperate search for his ward. He was met with innocent and tormented souls at every glance.
“Billy,” the familiar voice called out. Billy scanned the vicinity to no avail.
“Billy,” again the voice cried out, “over here.”
This time, Billy was able to locate the voice hiding behind a door. The door, however, was locked. Billy crashed his fist into the old wood of the door.
“Kitty, are you in there?”
“Yes,” came the reply. “Get us out of here.”
Billy stepped back.
“You guys better duck.” Billy shouted just before his foot came into contact and splintered the wood of the door.
A second kick was all the door needed to give up the ghost. Billy pulled at the broken wood until he could step through and into the once secluded room.
Kitty blindsided Billy in a rush of hug.
“Oh my God, Billy, I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you.”
“We’re all here, Kitty. Time to take you back home.”
Billy turned, just in time to see a moaner reach out, grab his head, and smash it against a metal pipe that ran down the wall. Billy dropped like a sack of hammers.
In that moment, Kitty snapped. Without a single weapon available, she jumped to her feet, raced to the attacking zombie, and kicked its feet from under him. With the grace of a masterful dancer, Kitty spun on her heel and dropped her creeper-covered foot onto the skull of the monster. The crush and crack of bone made a sickening sound that was just barely audible over Kitty’s scream.
Over and over again, Kitty dropped the hammer of her foot down on the head of the moaner. When she was certain the zombie was dead, she grabbed Billy and gave his cheek a slap.
“Wake up.”
Nothing.
“Come on, Billy, you can’t do this to me. I need you here, alive.”
Slowly, Billy came back into the world of the living. The second his eyes cracked open, they went wide and he screamed.
“Kitty, look out!”
Another moaner grabbed Kitty’s hair and yanked her backward with a neck-snapping jerk. The zombie was on top of her before she could call for help. Cold, dead fingers wrapped around her head and slammed it to the ground.
Stars danced in the heavens.
“Kitty,” Mike Machine’s voice rang out.
Another slam.
Another round of dancing stars.
Before the next crushing blow threatened to open Kitty’s skull, she saw a single drumstick pierce the veil of the zombie’s eyeball into the rotten core of its brain. The sack of death drop
ped its full weight onto Kitty, smacking her head to the pavement to send her into a darkening spiral.
“Crap, what hit me?” Kitty sat up, her hands on her head.
Mike pointed down at the slurpy, pulpy mess on the floor with his drumstick protruding through the eye socket.
“Did you do that?” Kitty asked.
“Yes, Kitty, I did.”
“Mike, you rock.” Kitty stood on wobbly legs and draped an arm over Mike’s shoulder for support. Together they stepped through the bar. Just as they reached the exit, the sound of gunfire greeted them. Before they could duck and cover, a moaner dropped through the entrance and fell, motionless, to the floor.
A second zombie stepped into Z-Pox…only this one didn’t drop. Instead, the beast moaned and raised its arms toward Kitty, Mike, and Billy. Just as the moaner was about to take its first step forward, a shout rang out and the silver tip of a sword appeared through the left eye of the zombie. The undead sack of rot dropped to reveal Tom, a mile-wide grin on his face.
“Casket style,” Tom quipped.
Kitty moaned. “You really need to practice your one liners, Tom.”
Mike, Kitty, and Billy stepped into the Battlefield. The smell of blood and viscera permeated the air and threatened to yank bile and vomit from stomachs.
“How did you manage…”
Mike Machine jumped in to retell the tale of terror as the band climbed into the truck. Tuque waited at the entrance until Lyle made an appearance. The two men stood and chatted for a moment before Tuque returned to the vehicle but stopped short of getting in. His head turned to the left and right just before a sound battered the area.
“What’s that noise?” Kitty asked.
“Screamers,” replied Tuque. “We do not want to be here when they arrive. Mad bastards those.”
“Are we just going to leave all those people behind,” questioned Tom.
“Z-Pox has a secured basement for such purposes.”
“Well, why aren’t we staying?” Todd asked of Tuque.
“We’ll be safer at the Casket. Trust me.”
“What was that all about, Tuque…with Lyle?” Kitty asked.
Tuque shook his head. “Oh it was nothing. Just shoring up the details for the cleanup.”
Another wave of roars sounded from every direction.
“This is not going to be good,” whispered Tuque. He started the truck, slammed it into gear, and punched the gas. As the truck raced off toward The Last Casket, Tuque switched on the radio to drown out the sound of the monsters. To Kitty’s surprise, their song In The End was playing on Zombie Radio. Kitty cranked the volume up as loud as it would go and pounded on the roof.
“Hey guys…it’s us,” she shouted, “we’re on the radio.”
The trucked continued on, Kitty sang along with herself. Tuque offered up a nervous smile, his eyes searching out the blackness for the bogeyman.
thirteen | an epilogue of sorts
Sie werden sich aus den Gräbern erheben
Ja! Sie sterben um für immer zu leben
dass was sie treibt ist die Ewigkeit
so wie dein Blut
gib acht…
…Blutsauger
Back at the Last Casket, Tuque led the gang through a cellar entrance into the basement.
Billy the Bat looked around and turned to Tuque. “This thing looks like it was straight out of a fifties bomb-shelter video.”
“That’s the point. This baby can survive nearly anything. I have supplies that should last us a few days.”
The room filled with silence. It was Kitty that finally broke the spell.
“Tuque, are those screamers really so bad that we need to stow away in an underground hide out.”
No response was given.
“Tuque?” Kitty prodded. He finally turned to face the young woman; his eyes filled with concern.
“Yes, Kitty, they are that bad. I watched a group of those bastards rip through an entire town, eating and destroying everything in their path. Moaners…we can survive. Screamers? No way. Our only hope is to wait out their passing down here.”
“How will we know when they’re gone?” asked Todd.
Tuque didn’t answer. Instead he stood, walked over to a shelf, grabbed a small device, and turned a dial. The sound of Hell itself poured from the small speaker.
“Oh my God,” whispered Kitty.” “What are they?”
“Evolution gone horribly awry,” was Tuque’s cold answer.
“How long will we be down here?”
Tuque turned his attention to Mike Machine.
“Until they are gone. They’ll descend upon the area and search for food. When they find nothing, or they eat every piece of living flesh in site, they’ll move on. Until then, we stay put.”
The group fell into silence; the metallic roar continued to spill from the monitor.
“Hey,” Kitty’s voice jarred the group. “Where’s your lady?”
Tuque smiled. “I sent her off on a bit of a mission. Don’t worry, she’ll be back. She always comes back to the Last Casket.”
Everyone stared at Tuque.
He offered a wink.
Another roar spilled from the speaker.
“This seems like the end,” whispered Kitty.
“Oh no,” replied Tuque, “it’s just the beginning.”
Rock on.
The Last Casket
About the Author
Jack Wallen is a seeker of truth and a writer of words. Although he resides in the unlikely city of Louisville, Kentucky, he likes to think of himself more as an interplanetary soul … or so he tells the reflection in the mirror. He’s also the author of:
I Zombie I
My Zombie My
Die Zombie Die
Lie Zombie Lie
Zombie Radio
T-Minus Zero
Hell’s Muse
Screampark
Klockwerk Kabaret
Shero
Shero II: Zombie A GoGo
A Blade Away
Gothica
Endgame
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Contact Jack!
To get more information about Jack, stop by his web site, Get Jack’d, and learn more. You can also send Jack an email to [email protected].
