I Zombie I [Omnibus Edition]

by Jack Wallen

Keep you awake in your dream

  I’m your nightmare

  Billy continued, unaware that Kitty was sneaking up behind him, claws and grin at the ready.

  Every single night

  As soon as you close your eyes

  And rest your head on your pillow

  Holding on to your blanket real tight

  Not knowing that

  I’m right here by your side

  I whisper in your ear (here comes the fear)

  Kitty pounced and chimed in on the chorus.

  I’m your nightmare

  Your worst nightmare

  I will be there when you sleep

  Keep you awake in your dream

  I’m your nightmare

  Billy stopped playing and turned to Kitty with a great smile spread across his lips. “How did you…”

  “I was listening the whole time. I heard the first chorus and assumed the second would repeat.” She wrapped her arms around Billy’s neck and, after he shifted his guitar to the side, pulled him in tight. “By the way, that song kicks ass. We’re adding that to the set list.”

  Billy shook his head. “Are you crazy? We’ve got one day to learn it? No way.”

  “Hell yes way…we’ve learned more complicated songs in a shorter amount of time. That tune belongs in our set.”

  Billy caved and then pointed out to the horizon. “See that?”

  “You mean that big glowing ball we call the sun?”

  “No. Look down.” Billy lowered his point until he was certain it was perfectly aimed toward the Moaner that now hovered over the dead woman. “That.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Kitty sighed. “Couldn’t we have…done…something?”

  Billy shook his head. “By the time I reached the roof, she was pretty much dead. It was just a matter of watching nature unfold. That’s where I got the idea for this song.”

  “What’s it called?” asked Kitty.

  “Nightmare,” answered Billy.

  “As much as I hate to admit it…I get that.” Kitty grabbed a chair and set it next to Billy’s. When she lowered herself into a seated position, her head gave into gravity and delicately floated down to Billy’s shoulder. “You know…my nightmare is losing you.”

  “That’s crazy, Kitty. I should be the one having nightmares of losing you.”

  “I’m serious, Billy,” Kitty responded.

  “So am I, Kitty. I have no idea what I’d do without you.”

  Kitty intertwined her fingers with Billy’s. “This is nice.”

  “Minus the death and destruction…yeah, it’s about the nicest moment I’ve had in years.”

  The Moaner was busy working at stripping the fallen woman of her internal organs.

  Two moments in perfect counterpoint. Melody and rhythm. Life and death.

  “I hate this, Kitty,” Billy stated softly.

  “What?”

  “That we’ve finally become so acclimated to the sight of death that we can see this…” Billy pointed to the theatre of war before them. “…and not bat an eye. We should both be bent over the edge of the roof tossing chunks into the wind. But no. Instead we’re inspired to write songs or we want to fuck at the idea of a blood-soaked carpet and chandelier made of pure bone.”

  “Who’ve you been hanging out with? Caligula?”

  Billy surprised Kitty with a quick kiss to the lips. “Well played, Kitten.”

  “I get it, Billy. This isn’t the way our lives were to have unfolded. We were supposed to be headlining festivals by now…”

  “Reading,” both Kitty and Billy whispered.

  “That festival would have been epic,” Billy added.

  “None of that’s going to happen.” Kitty’s voice took on a gray melancholia.

  Billy turned to face Kitty, his eyes unblinking. “You don’t know that. We could one day wake up from this nightmare and everything be back to the way it was—Kitty In A Casket on the fast track for world domination. All we have to do is stick to the plan.”

  Kitty nodded. “Keep writing killer tunes that rock the world around us.” She tossed up a half-hearted devil horn salute.

  Billy strummed a heavy-duty chord. “That’s my girl.”

  Kitty glanced at Billy’s guitar. “Open C?”

  “Yeah, I thought I’d do a bit of experimenting. I caught myself listening to a Devin Townsend song and remembered watching an interview of his. Figured it was worth a try.”

  “Let’s go back to that song. Did you write down the lyrics?” Kitty asked.

  Billy shook his head. “No, but give me a moment and I’ll knock ‘em out.” He grabbed a pad of paper and a pen. With lightning-fast fingers, Billy chicken-scratched the words between the lines of the college-rule paper.

  “Son of a bitch,” Kitty balked, “it’s a damn good thing I’m used to your handwriting. You sure you’re not a doctor?”

  Billy ignored her jab and dove into the intro to the song. Sixteen bars in, and it was time for Kitty to wail.

  And wail she did.

  The glorious melody drifted toward the sky to paint the world in a much brighter shade of hell yeah. Before she reached the chorus, the rest of the band started filtering onto the roof. Heads bobbed and banged along with the monstrous four-four tempo.

  Max van Angst pulled a pair of sticks from a pocket in his bathrobe and went to town on an upturned five-gallon bucket. The members of the band without their instruments danced as Billy, Kitty, and Max railed “Nightmare” to an audience of none.

  Until the door to the roof crashed open to reveal a shocked Touque, eyes wide and mouth agape. Without warning, he marched to the edge of the roof and pointed. The band followed his finger to see a horde of Moaners shambling their way.

  Touque reined in his temper. “I can’t soundproof the outdoors, kids. You’ve got to keep this inside.”

  Silence blanketed the roof. Everyone stared out as the approaching Moaners slowed to a stop. A gust of wind picked up, bringing the smell of rot to the noses of the survivors. One by one, the band covered the lower halves of their faces and swallowed down throatfuls of bile.

  “We can’t win,” whispered Kitty.

  “We can…and we will,” Billy answered softly.

  The Moaners swayed together, waiting for scent or sound to drag them from their graveyard reverie. Touque tiptoed back to the door and slowly pulled it open. The industrial-grade Gerbon hinges pivoted without so much as a hush. Touque motioned for the band to exit the roof.

  Touque was the last to leave. He took in the horde of zombies and whispered, “Dinner is served.” The second the exit was closed behind him, he pulled a walkie talkie from his pocket and switched it on. The crackle and static popped and hissed until he pressed the talk button. “I’ve got a seven course gang a flew blocks south of the Casket.” Touque released the talk button and waited.

  Through the static, Jake’s voice cut through loud and clear. “Roger that. We’re on it.”

  “Lead them away from the Casket. I don’t want anyone catching sight of you loading those bags of meat onto your truck.”

  The walkie briefly squealed and then spilled Jake’s voice from the speaker. “Understood.”

  Touque turned the walkie off and made his way back to the kitchen.

  “Breakfast?” Kitty asked, a mixing bowl in her hands. “My treat. Crepes ala Kitty.”

  “Soooo tuna and catnip?” Max asked.

  Kitty flipped a spoonful of batter at Max. “Better than the Crepes du Kafka you’d serve up.”

  Max grinned. “Metamorphosis of batter and beer.”

  “Where did you…” Touque started.

  Kitty interrupted. “Get the ingredients?”

  Touque nodded.

  “You can’t hide your secret stash from Kitty. Don’t worry, big guy, we’ll go out on a run and replace anything we’ve used for this extravaganza.”

  Tom marched by, a carton in his hands. “You mean eggstravaganza.”

  Touque reached for the egg
carton. “I really don’t think we should…”

  Tom pulled the eggs out of Touque’s reach. “No way, Touque. We’re having eggs this morning.”

  “Stop!” Touque screamed.

  All movement in the kitchen ceased.

  “I’m terribly sorry for my outburst, but we cannot be careless with what little stores of food we have. Those eggs will be better served making bread. I’ve calculated everything down to the gram. That is how we survive.”

  “Yes, Touque,” Billy silenced Touque. “But surviving isn’t the same as living. Most of the time, we’re one hundred percent behind you. However, right now, we just need to celebrate life. Like Kitty said, we will replace everything. But for this moment in time, we need to feel alive. Give us this, and we will repay you over and over…in every way we can.”

  Touque stood rigid as he took in the scene, the brightness of the band’s eyes slowly dimming. Before hope could go dark, he smiled and nodded. “I’ll have mine over easy.”

  With a collective cheer, the band went back to work. Kitty spread crepe batter over the griddle while humming “Nightmare”. Tom picked up on the tune and turned to Billy. “We have got to work that song….”

  Billy interrupted the bass player. “Already done, brother. We’ll rehearse this afternoon.”

  Todd Flash turned to Billy and leaned against the prep table. “Speaking of which, I should have some video ready for the show. You okay with that?”

  Billy saluted Todd with a pair of horns. “Rokkin’ with Dokken, motherfucker. Hells yeah, I’m okay with that.”

  m/

  With the chord structure of “Nightmare” laid out, Billy strapped on his new Les Paul. The pickups hummed to life with the tell-tale sign of warm perfection. The instrument begged to rock, and Billy was about to oblige.

  Max van Angst counted them down, and Kitty In A Casket ripped into the fresh song with an abandon they hadn’t felt in a very long time. The song came together as if it were the resurrection of a long-lost friend, channeled through a distortion-veiled ghost of Cliff Gallup. Every chord, every riff, every melody and beat wound and unwound with edge and beauty.

  When the song came to a sonic-boom close, Billy pulled the neck of the guitar to his lips and planted a kiss on the waxed maple wood. “God, I fucking love this thing.”

  Kitty sashayed to Billy and purred with a pout on her lips. “Should Kitty be jealous?”

  Billy plucked out a sensual riff and shrugged.

  From the audience, Touque offered up a hearty round of applause. “I have to say, dear friends, that song is like a swift kick in the balls. By that, I mean, it will immediately get you to your feet and dancing about like a madman on fire. Bravo.”

  Todd stepped down from the stage and cleared his throat for attention. “If you guys don’t mind, I’d like to show you the video Tom and I did for the show. However…in order to do it up right, we have to play the song that goes along with it. If you’ll humor me, when I say go, everyone turn upstage and dig into ‘Deep Black Underground’.”

  Collective nods from the band brought a “Whoop” from Todd, who then raced to his laptop, tapped a few keys, and rushed back to the stage. Behind them, light danced and flicked across a white sheet pulled taut across the wall.

  “Go!” Todd shouted.

  The band tore into the song as the video came to life. The short film ran in perfect synchrony with the music…as if each second of celluloid was intentionally matched to rhythm and tone. Max was the only one unlucky enough not to be able to take in the sight. He did, however, stare on at the genuine smiles emanating from his new bandmates.

  “Oh, fuck, that must be brilliant!” Angst shouted.

  Kitty tossed him a devil horn and ripped into the final refrain. When the song ended, the music was replaced by a joyous noise of laughter and praise.

  Billy was the first to offer up high-fives to Todd and Tom. “You clowns made some serious magic.”

  Touque stepped up to the lip of the stage. “I think I have exactly what you need to make that absolutely perfect.” Without another word, Touque bent over and opened a hidden door on the front edge of the elevated platform stage. From it, he pulled a nylon bag roughly five feet in length. Before anyone could question him, Touque removed the contents from the bag. He turned and, with a wink, said, “It’s a sixteen-foot projection screen. I had it custom made to fit behind that stage for movie nights.”

  Tom carefully set his bass down and leaped from the stage. “Fuck yeah, Touque. Let me give you a hand with that.”

  “Look out, Touque,” Kitty teased. “If it doesn’t have four strings and an hourglass figure, Mr. Tom is all thumbs.”

  Tom tossed a “bird” and a wink Kitty’s way.

  Together, the two men assembled the frame, snapped the screen material in place, and maneuvered the piece behind the stage and clipped it to a pair of hooks embedded in the plaster.

  Todd ran back to the computer and fired up the video a second time. The video came to life on the new screen with a clarity it had lacked on the sheet.

  “Sweetness,” shouted Todd. “Touque, you’re a fucking genius.”

  “I wish, Todd. Actually, I’m just prepared…for about anything, mind you.”

  The front door to the Last Casket swung open. Two men appeared…covered in the muck and oil of death. One of the men nodded, and Touque made his way to the entrance. Without a word, Touque slipped into the sun-bright afternoon, leaving the band to wonder. Before anyone could question Touque’s actions, Max van Angst kicked out a funk-fueled rhythm the likes of which Kitty In A Casket had never heard. Tom danced his bass back to standing and added a slap-track basement to the groove. Billy stroked his Les Paul with love and wailed a mid-range riff worthy of Prince in his funkier days. Todd added a layer of necessary thickness, and Kitty began cat-scatting in and out of the chordal structure.

  The song continued on, a distraction from whatever silent shenanigans had taken Touque from the picture. Accompanying the song was the soundtrack of joy.

  eight | kick ass

  The line outside the Last Casket wrapped around the building. Inside, the bar was filled to capacity. No one entered until someone exited. On the street, the mood was light. Everyone was ready to forget the shit-storm blowing up the dress of fate.

  Tonight was all about flipping the universe the finger and enjoying the ride.

  A paunchy drunk stumbled from the door, turned his ankle, and tumbled, face first, into the dirt. The crowd pointed and laughed. The drunk remained on the ground, showing no signs of leaving and barely that of life.

  Taking his place inside was a tall, slender African American woman who was as much Foxy Brown as Angela Bassett. She oozed sensuality and grace. The second she entered, any glance that could be stolen from the onstage antics of Kitty and her crew were immediately turned to the woman in the red silk dress with natural hair that rose in a glorious halo around her head.

  Touque wove his way through the thick crowd and greeted the new addition to Casket. “I am the proprietor of the Last Casket. My name is Touque.” Touque snatched up the stranger’s hand and gave it the sweetest kiss. “And who might I have the pleasure of meeting?”

  The woman offered a heart-melting and libido-hardening smile. “The name is Charity. I was just passing through and I heard such a glorious noise…I just had to check it out. Mmm mmm mmm, you got it going here, my friend.”

  “May I get you a drink, my dear?”

  Charity wagged a finger at Touque. “Don’t touch the stuff. It’s the apocalypse; you’ve got to always be at your best.”

  Touque offered a slight bow to the woman. “Indeed.”

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Touque, I cannot deny my body the glory of dancing to this bad-ass sound.” Charity threaded her way into the heart of the crowd until she stood near the stage. Touque took a moment to enjoy her exquisite beauty before returning to the bar.

  Charity got a groove on that sent the nearby audience into a ho
rmone-induced fit of pique. The only participant unfazed by her moves was a lone stranger. The man stood, stiff and unmoving, by the stage left stack of loudspeakers. On his head, he wore a stained and tattered trucker cap with the Kitty In A Casket logo embroidered on the face. He was tall and lanky, spindly legs ending in greasy work boots. The fading black dye of his jeans did its best to hide stains of unknown origin. His eyes were glued on Kitty—no matter where she danced, his gaze followed.

  The stranger spoke not a word and budged not an inch through the entire set. Nearby, Charity ground her hips against the luckiest airspace to ever grace the planet. Every male—and many of the females—within reach of the sensual woman took notice. Everyone but the stranger.

  The last song of the night faded into kick-ass history, and the band strutted off the stage. The audience went wild, shouting, clapping, stomping. No matter how loud they cried, there was no encore to be had.

  Touque rushed to the bar and switched the sound system over to his own personal soundtrack. A rather generic EDM song raved out of the speakers. Few took notice of the tune.

  Backstage, the band lay silent, each in various stages of collapse. Kitty was draped over a wing-back chair, sweat dripping from her neck and hair. Billy leaned against a wall, stretching the fingers of his left hand. Tom and Todd were seated at a table, discussing necessary tweaks to the videos. Max sat with his arms over his head, begging for ice to soothe his burning muscles.

  “Shit.” Billy broke the spell. “That was unbelievable.”

  “Probably the best set we’ve ever played,” Kitty squealed through exhausted pipes.

  Max took in his recovering bandmates. “So…did I pass the test?”

  “Fuck yeah, Angst Boy,” Billy answered with gusto. “You lay a crazy beat, my friend.”

  Without speaking a word, Kitty offered two thumbs up and a gleaming smile.

  Todd pulled himself away from Tom and nodded to Max. “Dude, you fucking nailed it. The bridge of ‘Midnight Thrill Ride’ was killer. I’ve never heard it so tight.”

  Tom glanced at Max and nodded toward Todd. “What douche said.”