by Jack Wallen
I hopped up from my chair and dropped a bit of air guitar over the moment. Dan and Trinity broke out into gales of laughter. Dan finally spoke between guffaws. “Dude, don’t quit your day job.”
I flipped both of my audience members off and continued air jamming.
“So,” Dan prompted. “The cables? Where should I plug them in?”
I gave up my concert and pointed Dan to my Scarlett 4i4. He gave me the thumbs up and zipped into the other room.
Trinity approached me with a wicked grin splashed across her lips. I raised a finger and shook my head. “Don’t come at me with those hips and lips after mocking my show.”
She giggled. Her hands shot up to her mouth to silence the sound of guilt.
“Oh no,” I said between laughs. “You can’t …”
Trinity’s lips silenced me.
Okay, so what if she’d embarrassed me in front of a rock star. The woman could kiss the Pope into a little anal play in seconds.
“Rad,” proclaimed Dan as he exited the second studio, dragging patch cables to my desk and plugging them into the device. “I’ll just be leaving you two lovebirds alone then.” Just before he exited, he turned back. “We should have this ready to test during your next …” He paused. “Break.”
He left. We laughed.
I sat. The song was short, too short to get my freak-nasty on.
Note to self: Create longer playlist for the grand sexy that was sure to go down any time.
“Hungry, Zombie Radio Nation? If you can listen to System Of A Down sing frantically about pizza pizza pie and not salivate over your bad self … you my friend, have problems. I, for one, am about to eat a portion of my precious vinyl collection, simply because they are round. I’m thinking those plastic platters will taste nothing like the pie of my dreams … but what are ya gonna do? We’re all surviving on a diet of dust and desire. Until that moment where we all realize our only hope is full-on cannibalism, the pickin’s they are slim. Holy mother of suck my kiss, why am I droning on about food? I’m sure at this point, the whole of the Zombie Radio Nation is about to go beast mode on my ass. So …” I drew out the word to buy a moment of time. My brain locked. It was such a rare occasion that I found myself at a loss for words. “A few weeks ago ─ at least I think it was a few weeks ago ─ I received a call from Richard Gerand asking me to pass a message onto the great one, Bethany Nitshimi. That message was he had the cure. I haven’t heard from the man since. If you’re listening, Richard ─ may I call you Richard? ─ I’ve passed the message on. If the two of you have communicated, maybe it’s time you hipped a brother to your plan. The world needs, nay deserves to know what’s going down. Call me, email me, send me some goddamn smoke signals ─ just let me know the man who claims to have the cure for what ails the world is still alive and kicking. In fact, you have until the end of this song to contact me. Please, sir, I have a responsibility to keep the survivors of the human race informed. If you have anything to share, please call me.”
I spun up “Alive And Kicking”, by Simple Minds. The throwback to the eighties brought an odd sense of peace to my mind. Maybe it was the ideological, naiveté of the period from which the song came, or maybe it was seeing Trinity’s hips gyrating behind me, but something brought to my spirit a much-needed lift.
“Dance with me,” begged Trinity.
I looked up to her and smiled. “Next song, love. I have to wait for a call.”
“Oh come on,” she insisted, “you can dance and listen at the same time.”
This was daring ground for me. I didn’t dance. Stella never did swing by my place to get her groove on. In fact, she damn near shot the place down at the very thought of anything remotely resembling a groove with regards to me.
But good goddamn, Trinity was sexy.
I caved. Slowly I stepped into her space, placed my hands on her hips, and forced her body into mine. The meeting of our shapes sent jolts of electricity bouncing across my flesh. I buried my face in the crook of her neck and took a deep drag of her scent.
“Fuck, you smell like my dreams,” I whispered.
She moaned. “That’s nice. I love hearing you talk. Your words, the sound of your words ─ it’s all so intellectually delicious. I want to swallow you whole.”
Just as I was about to pull up for the grand seduction, my phone rang. I stepped away, my breath and pulse catching. “I’m sorry, love.”
Trinity smiled. “Don’t be. That call could save us all.”
She gets it. She’s sexy, and she gets it.
I am one lucky man.
I snagged the phone from my desk and checked the number. It was Gerand. I accepted the call. “Richard. How is the only doctor on the planet that really matters at this very second?”
“I am alive,” he said, his voice ragged. “That alone should speak volumes.”
“Alive And Kicking” began its slow fade to nothing. I had two choices ─ queue up another song, or take this conversation to the airwaves. The answer was obvious.
“Richard, if it’s okay with you, I’m going to transfer this conversation to the live broadcast.”
“That’s perfectly fine,” he answered.
“Groovy. Stay on the line.” I pulled the mic to my mouth and routed the call to the live feed.
“Did you manage to squeeze back into your parachute pants, Zombie Radio Nation? Are there twelve bandanas wrapped around your legs and arms? If not, you failed to give over to the music. Anyway, my esteemed colleagues, my partners in crime, I have a rather special guest on the line. One that we might all hold a collective grudge against. I’m talking about none other than Doctor Richard Gerand. Hello, doctor.”
“Hello,” he said succinctly.
“And what brings you back to Zombie Radio?”
Silence.
“Doctor Gerand? Are you still …”
Before I could complete the question, he responded. “What brings me here is the truth. I wanted to make sure your audience ─ as well as Bethany Nitshimi ─ knows the truth as to my ties with the Mengele Virus. Yes, I was directly responsible for the creation of the virus …”
Everything stopped, save a boiling rage in my gut. “What do you mean you’re responsible for the creation of the fucking virus that destroyed the majority of the human race?”
“Jonathan Burgess and the Zero Day Collective forced me into servitude. They exploited a weakness and used it as leverage to ensure I would do their bidding. I have every moment of the incident on video. My actions then and since prove my innocence.”
“How can you claim innocence when the massive shit evolution took on us is your fault?”
I could practically hear the lump in Gerand’s throat as he spoke. “Since I escaped from the ZCD, I have dedicated my every waking moment to the cure. As I mentioned to you previously, that cure is in my possession. What I have will cure any infected human, so long as their circulatory system is working.”
I interrupted the man. “Let me get this straight, your cure only works for those newly infected. At what point in the incubation period does it lose the ability to cure?”
“That’s the issue, DJ. The switch is flipped at different times, depending upon a number of variables. But as long as your heart is pumping blood to your extremities, the cure will work.”
“And what will the cure do if injected in someone after that switch is flipped?”
“That’s why I call the cure fry. Given the right dosage, the serum will fry the undead from within.”
Richard’s words sunk deep into my mind and rattled about. “Hold the phone, good doctor. Are you saying your cure also works as a weapon?”
“I am.”
The severity of the moment nearly crushed the sliver of peace I had enjoyed. I had to somehow direct the cavalry to Gerand, and do so under the collective nose of the ZDC. Without pomp and or circumstance, I queued up a random song and hit play. I switched the call from the live feed and scooped up the phone. “Doctor Gerand, listen to m
e very carefully. You are in great danger. I have no doubt the ZDC is monitoring my broadcast. They cannot track me at the moment, but the very idea that you exist and have created a cure will send them into fury of action. They will hunt you down.”
Gasping breaths spilled from the receiver.
“Richard, you need to calm down.”
“What shall I do?” he asked.
“Nothing. I’m going to call in a few favors and get you to safety. I need you to do something for me.” All of a sudden this became a nightmare to navigate. I couldn’t have him simply rattle off his location. On the off chance the ZDC was monitoring every form of communication on the planet, I had to take some form of precaution. “I need you to send me your location, but not over the phone. We cannot allow that information to reach the ZDC.”
“I can encrypt the address and email it to you. I’ll send my encryption key. The password to the key will be …” He paused to think, “Your favorite bassist’s real last name.”
“I see you’ve been listening to my show?” I asked.
“There’s nothing else to do,” he responded. “I’ll send the encryption key and then the encrypted email. You know how to work encryption?”
“Yes,” I lied. I assumed one of the band members could work that particular system.
“Sent. You’ll have the second email shortly. How long will it be before you send someone? And how will I know it’s them?”
“Trust me, Doctor Gerand, you’ll know.”
I disconnected the call and switched over to my email. Both missives had arrived.
“Sean,” I called out.
No reply. Trinity stood and kissed me on the top of my head. “I’ll go find him.”
While she was searching for the most technically inclined member of the gang, I had to contact the one person I assumed could ensure safe passage for Doctor Gerand.
I picked up my phone again and searched through the contacts. “Morgan from the Zombie Response Team, just who I need.” I tapped the call button and listened as it rang.
“Hello,” Morgan’s southern twang greeted me. Her voice was pure joy ─ even in the eye of a rather nasty storm.
“Morgan,” I tried to sound cheerful.
“Who is this?”
“You don’t … recog … nize me?”
Laughter poured from the phone’s speaker. “Son of a bitch. I was just listening to you. What a pleasure it is to talk to the world’s most important disembodied voice.”
“The pleasure is all mine. Look, I have a favor to ask.”
“Anything for you,” Morgan replied.
“I need safe transportation of a VIP.”
“You got it. Who are they, where are they, and what’s the destination?”
Trinity returned to the studio, Sean in tow.
“Hold on and I’ll have that information right away.”
I pointed Sean to the PC and the files. In about two minutes he had the file decrypted and readable. I rattled off the information to Morgan.
“There’s a ZRT unit near there,” Morgan said. “Destination?”
The question of the century. “At your discretion … just get him somewhere safe. Hide that man deep in the bowels of whatever stronghold you’ve got.”
“Will do,” Morgan replied. “Oh, hey, can you play me a song?”
“Are you kidding? I’d fucking drag an orchestra to you and have them play an entire symphony if it were possible.”
We shared a laugh.
“What do you want to hear?”
“I want to dedicate “Nothing Else Matters” to my big guy, Joshua.”
“One of the best metal love songs ever recorded. You got it girl. Joshua, if you’re listening, you are one lucky man. This song is for you. Keep that woman safe, sir.”
I had half a mind to drop a choral version of the song on the world. From what I knew of Joshua, he’d much prefer the original. Plus, he was much bigger than me. So metal it was.
I spun in my chair and faced Trinity and Sean. “Fuck me running and raw.”
A devious smile chased across Trinity’s luscious lips. I grinned back.
“By the way,” Sean broke the sensual spell. “Zombie defense system is set. We’re ready to rock.”
I nodded. “Get the band up here and let’s raise the fucking roof.”
Sean punched his fists into the air and zipped out of the room. I turned to Trinity, who was smiling at me. “What?” I asked.
“You,” she replied.
“Me who … I mean what?”
“You’re just,” she paused, “amazing.”
I pulled her in for a deep kiss, just as the band poured into the room.
“Oh hell yeah,” shouted Dan as he rushed by.
Trinity and I parted, our faces flush with embarrassment.
“Lucky bastard,” mumbled Jay.
The band was in place. I took my usual seat and began the process of preparing for the aural onslaught. Before the song faded, I turned my attention to Trinity. “Keep watch out the window. I want to know what’s going on.” She nodded. I returned my attention to Lyndi and offered up a soft hum to warm up my voice before speaking.
“You’re listening to WZMB, Zombie Radio, your personal soundtrack to the end … of … the …” I released a deep sigh before completing the catch phrase. “… world. Boys and girls, do you know how much you mean to me? You are like my children, my dearest friends, my lovers. You are my world and my biggest concern. It is my sole intention to ensure your survival and sanity. That is why it gives me such great pleasure to bring back 40OzFist for another live song.”
Shit. I had no idea what number they planned on performing. I took a chance and glanced through their discography. The title of one song stood out to me. “Whisker Biscuit”.
Consider this cat curious.
I glanced up to make sure the band was listening.
“Once again, here they are to play one of their older songs, “Whisker Biscuit”,” I glanced up to see Dan giving me the OK sign with a dash of wicked grin. “Get ready to bang your mother fucking heads with 40OzFist.”
I pointed.
They thrashed.
I unleashed the Obliterator.
The sensation was immediately, and amazingly, uncomfortable. Before me, the band was cranking out ear-splitting decibels. Behind me, the sound of the Obliterator shook me to my bones. I turned to Trinity to see her pressing her palms against her ears. I snatched up the box of earplugs and insisted she take a pair.
“Thank you,” she said. I could hardly make out the familiar sound of her voice. My headphones remained pressed against my skull to protect me against the onslaught.
Out of nowhere, the window glass shattered. I assumed the titanic clash of sine waves against the pane caused the breakage. When a bullet whizzed by, mere inches from my head, I realized my mistake.
I grabbed Trinity and forced her to the floor.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Someone’s shooting at us,” I shouted over the din.
“What the fuck?” Trinity replied.
I crawled to my desk and smacked my panic button. All sound immediately stopped. This was a safety feature I had installed in case it was ever necessary to drop into radio silence.
This was one such moment.
The door between the studios opened and Dan stepped out. Before I could warn him, another bullet grazed his arm and punctured a wall.
“Fuck,” Dan shouted and dropped to the floor. “What the hell is happening?”
“We’re under attack,” I replied.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Dan called out. “Why? Who?”
“I have no idea, but I’m guessing it’s the same people that delivered the gift through the front window.”
“Mother fuckers,” Dan shouted. “I’m going to kill those bastards.”
I crawled over to Dan. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Just a flesh wound. The Black Knight always tri
umphs.”
He was quoting Monty Python … he’d be fine.
The shots ceased. With the stealth of a ninja, I stood, leaned over my desk, and dropped a playlist into the broadcast. Somehow fate and irony offered up an un-lubed shocker as Filter’s “Hey Man Nice Shot” spilled from the studio monitors.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” sighed Trinity, “of all the songs.”
Dan stood as the rest of the band entered the room.
Burny was the first to speak. “Who in the cranky hell hates glass that much?”
Doug glanced out the empty window. “We need to teach those rimjobs a lesson.”
Everyone in the room scrambled to pull Doug away.
“Dude, what the fuck?” Doug hissed. “Are we just going to roll over and let whoever that is get the best of us? I say no way.”
“Bold words coming from he who was not shot,” Dan joked. “What do you propose we do, brave one?”
Doug took in the group. “We fight fire with fire.”
I stood and faced Doug. “Whoa, whoa, whoa … you’re not talking about …”
“I’m talking about finding the fuckers and blowing their brains out,” Doug silenced everyone in the room.
“No way,” I insisted. “We don’t know who that is and I don’t have any guns.”
Doug crossed his arms and stood tall. “We do. And I’m a damned good shot. I’ll climb out on the roof. The second I see them, they’re gone.”
“I don’t like this idea one bit. You’d be vulnerable on the roof. Whoever it is, they’d see you before you see them.”
Dan stood by my side. “DJ’s right, Dougy. I suggest you go out the back door, find an adjacent rooftop, and snipe from a distance.”
Doug nodded his approval.
“I don’t know about this, guys. Something could go very, very wrong.”
The remainder of the band stepped in tight. Jay spoke up. “And if we do nothing, we’ll wind up dead anyway. I’m not going to just sit back and let some unknown soldier take pot shots at us while we’re helping you to help the world. It’s all for one here and I for one am not going to let them take us all out.”
Well played.
I nodded. “Fine.”
Doug glanced toward Dan, who gave him the thumbs up. Dan then looked to me and asked, “I don’t suppose you have a first aid kit nearby?”
