by Jack Wallen
When the final zombie was split asunder, Jamal and I fell backward, into the bushes. There was no laughter, no celebratory chest bumping. We simply stood up, brushed off, and continued about our task.
Just another day’s work in the apocalypse.
“I hate that this all comes so easily, Jamal.”
Jamal nodded. “It’s a tragic treatise on the evolution of man, my dear.”
We searched the entire neighborhood for a truck that would start. We must have been in a more affluent neighborhood since the driveways were lined with Jaguars, BMWs, Audis, and the occasional Lexus. We did finally manage to get a BMW SUV fired up. Jamal drove it to a centralized location. He insisted; it was the first time he’d driven a “bimmer.” I wanted to punch the goofy grin off his face as he steered the vehicle into position.
To accommodate enough supplies, we tossed out the back seats. After that, Jamal scrounged up the necessary tools to start dismantling various and sundry electrical systems. As he continued to strip the vehicles of their wiring, I hefted battery after battery from driveways to our new ride.
“You weren’t kidding about these damned things; they’re frakking heavy!”
Jamal offered up a wicked little grin. “Now why do you have to go and talk Battlestar to me? What’s next, a little Starbuck cosplay?”
I sucker-punched him on the arm. “Dreaming of blondes now?”
Jamal spun me to face him. “You know I only have eyes for red.”
Before our lips touched, the all-too-familiar sound of moaning assailed our ears. We froze, held our breath. I wanted to cry again. We thought we’d found the perfect safe haven. Once again, any chance of hiding ourselves away from the never-ending tide of death was an impossible dream.
Again, the moan called out.
“What do we do?” Jamal whispered.
“We fight,” I replied in kind.
It was the only option, after all. We couldn’t leave the undead to chance. One zombie free to roam in our little berg was one zombie too many. No matter how off the ratio was, the odds were always stacked in favor of the undead. The fucker had to die.
I pulled away from the near-embrace and scanned the area.
“Where is it, Jamal? Why haven’t you already done your thing and pinpointed the son of a bitch?”
Again the moan drifted into the open area. Jamal’s eyes shifted from left to right and back. Finally his arm raised and his finger pointed in the direction of the undead stalker. I glanced around in search of a zombie skull crusher. Before I knew it, Jamal was slapping a tire iron in my hand.
“Seriously? You’re going to make the girl do the fighting?”
Jamal looked at me as if I’d grown a second head.
“You owe me one for this—a big one.”
“I’ll owe ya two.”
“I’m okay with that,” I nodded and slowly stepped in the direction of the Moaner, tire iron raised and ready to rain down hatred from above.
Between me and the moan was a shoulder-high hedge. There was no way to get through, so I had to walk around. When I finally turned the corner and started toward the sound, the sight knocked the wind out of me. Lying on the grass was an old man—or what had once been an old man. Not twenty feet from where he lay was a walker.
My eyes beheld a simultaneous comedy and tragedy. Tragedy won out and my heart nearly burst. It wasn’t enough that the man couldn’t walk of his own volition; he was probably in that twilight period where it was okay to shit himself on occasion. Senior citizens never entered into the post-apocalyptic equation for me. In my mind they’d always managed to get overlooked. But here, before my eyes, the entirety of the AARP group was represented by a denture-clacking zombie who’d fallen and couldn’t get up.
Somehow the senior citizen had become infected and, when the virus took over, his brain functions hadn’t been enough to allow him the skills to use his walker; so he’d dropped to the ground, useless and powerless. There was so little dignity in death; but at least when you go out on your own terms, you could fight to retain as much class and grace as possible. This man lost all of that the second the infection passed into his aged system.
I turned my head to glance at Jamal and nodded for him to join me.
“Oh fuck,” Jamal started. “That’s about as tragic as it gets. What should we do?”
“There’s no choice in the matter. We put the man out of his misery.”
When I stepped within striking range, my heart sank. The only saving grace was that the old bastard looked up at me and bared his twisted, blood-caked false teeth and hissed. Reflex took hold of my arm and slammed the tire iron down on the zombie’s head. The crooked end of the weapon crashed through the softened bone of the skull and into the thick, rich gravy within.
“Sorry, grandpa.”
I yanked the weapon out of the skull. Bits of bone and flesh came along for the ride. The dead-undead corpse dropped to the ground, a worthless sack of rot.
“What does this mean, Bethany?”
I turned to Jamal, my eyelids as heavy as the corners of my mouth.
“It means we sleep with one eye open and hope this was the last of the monsters.”
*
The SUV was weighted down with batteries, wire, inverters, converters, and solar panels. We were ready to light up the post-apocalyptic sky. But instead, we did a slow drive back to camp. Every time Jamal hit a speed bump or pothole, the back side of the truck threatened to come undone.
“You know,” Jamal started, “this isn’t what we came out for.”
“Oh hell…I completely forgot.”
My stomach conveniently reminded me of what we still missed.
“Breakfast,” Jamal and I groaned in unison.
“Shit, Bethany, we have to find provisions. Our little group won’t get along once starvation kicks in.”
As if I didn’t already know that.
“There has to be something, some mecca of food that’s gone untouched. All we have to do is be the first to find it.”
Jamal’s point was well made. It was also a bit ominous.
“What if we’re not alone?”
Jamal tossed a quick glance my way. “Come again?”
“What if we’re not the first here? What if there’s already some group holed up inside these walls?”
“Bethany, I’m sure if there were someone else within the walls of this city, they would have made themselves known.”
“I’m not so sure of that, Jamal.”
Jamal pulled the truck over to the side of the street and turned my way.
“B, listen to me—we’re it. Although it’s sexy to think there’s some sort of Big Brother reality TV show going on, there isn’t.”
I continued staring straight ahead, my eyes focusing on yet another rubble-strewn front yard.
“Jamal, I’m scared. I know, I know…I put up a good front. Truth is, I see it all with the pretty veneer stripped away—the end of the world as we know it.”
“And do you feel fine?” Jamal attempted to infuse another moment with laughter. I got the reference.
I stared into Jamal’s chocolate, melt-away eyes. He instantly recognized the severity in my gaze.
“Oh shit, Bethany, what’s going on inside your head?”
“It’s not my head, Jamal. It’s my heart. Every second I’m alive it breaks all over again. I feel crushed from within. Everything I’ve ever known has crumbled beneath the weight of life. Sometimes…it’s too much.”
“You aren’t thinking what I think you’re thinking?”
I didn’t answer.
“Bethany, you can’t jump down that rabbit hole…you’d never escape it once you did. Besides, you never have to worry about anything crumbling around you now, not with me here. I will keep you safe. Together, we’ll bring sexy back to the apocalypse.”
Cue the smile. It never failed. Once his pearly whites gleamed in the light, it was all over. Only this time, it didn’t work. I wanted to get caught up in t
he romantic notion that my knight in shining armor could carry me away from the metaphoric dragon and we’d live happily ever after in a castle atop a mountain. But there were no happily ever afters. Now there were only ever afters, and they sucked at the moment. Every dream I’d had as a young girl had been shot in the face with a large caliber automatic rifle. There were no more Prince Charmings, no wedding cakes, no belles of the ball. Now there were only monsters—both dead and alive—ready to infect you or cure you for a price.
Before I could open my mouth, I glanced over Jamal’s shoulder and spied a sign looming over the rooftops. I pointed.
“Jamal, is that sign what I think it is?”
Jamal turned and followed my finger.
“If you think it’s a sign from God himself, you would be very much correct.”
The sign was a faded yellow beacon that called to us like a siren song. It promised sin and salvation rolled up in perfect alignment.
A grocery store.
“Let’s not get our hopes up. More than likely the place has already been looted, so we might walk into nothing but cleaning supplies and cat food.”
The thought of putting one more bite of kitty kibble in my mouth made me want to vomit. Unfortunately, the dictates of our new society didn’t offer us such luxuries as room service, fast food, or five-star restaurants. Kibble, of any kind—human or animal—was considered a gift that shouldn’t be snubbed.
“I don’t care what’s in there; as long as it’s edible, I’m good to go.”
Jamal flung the driver’s side door open and hit the ground running. I wasted no time in giving chase. He was faster than me, but the amount of running I’d done since that fateful day in Germany had given me one thing Jamal lacked—stamina. His sprint faded after thirty yards and I was on him. I reached the entrance to the store well ahead of my wheezing cohort in crime.
I didn’t want to go in. The anxiety of disappointment pulsed through my veins. So much had let us down over the last year; it was time we caught a break.
When we pulled the doors open, it was like stepping through the incarnation of disappointment.
“Empty,” I sighed.
We entered anyway; either through some twisted, masochistic sensibility or a desperate hope we’d find something edible tucked away. Whatever the reason, there we were.
“Jamal,” I whispered.
“Yes?”
“This is one of those gigantic tributes to gluttony, right?”
“I don’t follow, B.”
“We’re not in a traditional grocery store. This was one of those buy-in-bulk places where you had to pay a yearly membership for the privilege of buying way too much shit.”
“Okay, I get that.”
“Sooo…it only stands to reason there would have been some attached warehouse or storage facility to control the overflow.”
“Oh, shit, Bethany. You’re right.”
We glanced at one another and took off toward the back of the building, where, lo and behold, a set of double doors stood sentinel between the showroom and the stockroom.
Without hesitation, I shoved on the doors. “Fuck, it’s locked.”
Jamal stepped in and glanced at the door from nearly every angle. He finally reached out his hand and said, “Give me your tire iron.”
I handed Jamal the tool in question. He measured out an angle just below the door handle and shoved the metal pry bar between the doors. After a deep inhalation, Jamal jammed the bar downward and to the side. The door gave a loud “pop” and then slowly, smoothly, slid open.
“You’re my God, Jamal.”
Jamal grinned. “I have to admit, that was pretty smooth.”
We stepped through the double doors as if they were the gates of heaven and walked straight into God’s own buffet. Food practically overflowed from the shelves.
“Holy snark bait, B, are you seeing what I’m seeing?”
“Jamal, if I’m dreaming, do not wake me.”
“You’re not dreaming, Bethany. We hit the full-on food bonanza.”
Naturally, the produce and dairy had long ago spoiled. We couldn’t even step near the meats—the smell of rot was enough to make us never want to eat again. But the processed and packaged goods? Perfect. Never before was I so glad to see waves and waves of junk food.
“For so long, everyone begged and pleaded humanity to avoid processed foods. Seems to me we need to be thankful for all these preservatives.”
“That’s right, my dear, those preservatives are going to most certainly preserve us.”
Jamal and I stared at each other.
“Well, Bethany Nitshimi, what are we waiting for? Let’s load up.”
I grabbed a shopping cart and chased after Jamal, who busied himself by tossing anything and everything that hadn’t done its best to return to Mother Earth into the cart. Canned goods, chips, snack cakes, peanut butter, cooking supplies—anything that was boxed and sealed away from the clouds of flies that swarmed around the building.
“Oh God, look.”
Jamal had stopped, his eyes wide. When I turned to follow his gaze, I assumed I’d see a gang of zombies ready to start slamming skulls. Instead, I found an aisle of booze.
“Mother of Catholicism, look at all the spirits.”
We also found bottled water and soda—all of which went into a second cart. Very quickly it became clear that our food haul wouldn’t all fit into the truck.
“Two choices, B. We make a second trip, or one of us follows behind the truck, pushing the shopping cart.”
Although his latter suggestion was the most efficient means of getting everything back, it didn’t take into consideration the noise of the rattling bottles and the shopping cart. If there were more of the undead, they’d find us in a second. We finally agreed to shove everything in the truck but the booze. As much as it pained us both, we could come back for liquor. The batteries and the food had to make it back. Booze, at this stage in the game, was a complete luxury. Besides, we also found a stockpile of coffee. We’d all have to pretend to be members of AA and stick to coffee.
I wasn’t sweating it. Given the circumstances, getting hammered was the absolute craziest idea. Who knew what kind of drunken revelry would ensue. Knowing our motley little crew, we’d wind up rousing the dead and losing our minds—literally and figuratively.
chapter 15 | doubletap suicide
The amp stack pitched forward.
“Hey, ya bloody wanker, that might well be the last working Marshall on the goddamn planet. You break that and I’ll send your arse out as zombie bait.”
The volunteer roadie waved nervously, unsure if Rip was serious.
“Come on, Vanity, give the pant shitter a break. It’s not like he—”
“Piss off, ya fuck tart.” Rip Vanity spat. “I’m trying to organize the first ever post-apocalyptic metal concert and I need this shit, all of it, to work. We’re only going to get one bloody chance at this; if we blow it, we’ll be gobsmacked by the entire fucking planet. So sod off.”
A punk-clad young woman, platinum-white dreadlocks flowing over her shoulders, stepped into the scene—a laptop in her hand.
“I’ve got him,” the young woman said nervously.
“Who? Got who, babe?”
“That Zombie Radio guy. He’s here, on Skype.”
“Bloody hell, why didn’t you fucking say so? Hand the shit over.”
Rip sat the laptop down on the edge of the stage.
“You there?”
Nothing.
“Hell…I thought you fucking said—”
From the laptop came the all-too-familiar voice of the DJ.
“You’re listening to WZMB, Zombie Radio. Your personal soundtrack to the end of the world. That was Kitty in a Casket and their most recent blast from a psychobilly past, ‘Best Before Doomsday.’ Now, if I am correct, I have the one, the only, the irreverent and most certainly in a fuck-drunk pissy mood, Rip Vanity from Doubletap Suicide. Rip, are you there?”
“Fuck yeah, I’m here.”
“Let’s cut to the chase, Rip, you’ve got something big going on. Care to share with the Zombie Radio Nation?”
Rip let a devil-wide smile creep across his lips, which was lost on the disembodied voice. “Oh bloody hell, yeah, I care to share. I have organized one of the biggest metal festivals in the history of music. It’s time the human race realized that we are survivors; through music we’ll show the cock knockers of the Zero Day Collective that it takes more than a single virus and an army of darkness to bring us to our knees.”
“That sounds brilliant. I can’t believe it’s taken this long for something like this to come to life. How are you managing to pull this off? I mean, it is the apocalypse. There are more issues than I would imagine a metal superstar like yourself could handle.”
Rip released a laugh loud enough to cause feedback to spill from the laptop speakers. “Oh now, yer insulting me. You obviously don’t know the power of the metal family. Look, I’ve poured my heart and soul into this event. It has to succeed or else we might as well give up. Besides, it’s fucking music…the food of life.”
“Ah, Shakespeare.”
“No, I was quoting one of our songs, ya knob shiner.”
“So, who do you have lined up for this festival?”
Rip pulled out a tablet and flipped through a few pages.
“Well, obviously we have yours truly and my band Doubletap Suicide as the headline. We’ve also got UnSun, Trendemic+, Spinal Horde, Powerdrain, Chunderbust, Flip the Switch, and Dead Lies. Those are the early entries. We’re still working hard to line up even more A-list bands. And, before you ask, no one is getting paid for the gig. We’re all doing this because we know it’s right.”
“What are the details? How can the Zombie Radio Nation become a part of this phoenix rising out of the ashes?”
“The show will take place just outside of New Salt Lake City. We plan to crank it up to eleven in two days. It’ll start Friday and the metal will continue shredding through the weekend. So if you have any desire to remind yourself of what being human means, you’ll show up, ready to have your soul shocked and rocked.”
