Undead Fleshcrave: The Zombie Trigger (14 page)

As soon as Mark stated what he already knew from the news report, that they wouldn't be able to get back into Armada, he'd started to sink down into a despairing black pit, but the various points raised in the ensuing conversation, including his own deduction, raised a little glimmer of hope.          

Perhaps it was the case that things had already been wrestled under control in the heart of Armada and the authorities and people responsible for the city's well-being were being overly cautious, ensuring they kept things tightly cloaked until they'd evaluated the situation thoroughly.          

Or maybe the three of them were getting a little carried away with optimism. Bolstered by false hopes.           In any event, it didn't sound like getting back into Armada any time soon was going to be a feasible plan.           Driving through the epicentre of violent undead mayhem in the wake of the black vans and the Undead Fleshcrave tour bus looked like a field trip through the middle of hell and Seth wasn't sure that would have dramatically changed in the time it had taken the vehicles to get here from there.          

"Either way," Dax spoke up. "It's fucked. It's a fucked up situation. But if it's any consolation, Seth, I think you made the right decision."          

"In what regard?"          

"In picking to stick with Black and these guys."          

"Julietta sure as hell doesn't think so."         

"She'll come around. Especially if she caught this same newsflash."         

"Hardly.” Seth wasn't convinced. "She's liable to be even more pissed that she can't get back home."          

"Put it this way, would you want to be in lockdown in a city with the zombie apocalypse? No way in, no way out?"          

"Guess not."          

"See? So, it was the right call. We got out."         

"And we might not ever get back in," Mark said, his eyes still locked on the television though it was now on a commercial break, the latest offering from a hamburger outlet chain seeming incongruous and ludicrous, and yet somehow painfully ironic.          

"I'd rather be alive," Dax stated.
          

Unlike Lincoln. Buck. Callie. Adrianna. Andy.
Seth thought to himself.
And as for Eric Baron and his buddies, they went full zombie.
          

He couldn't recall seeing any more of Baron and his buddies after the horror began to unfold, bar the terrible gruesome moment where Carl Merritt as an undead entity chowed down on Andy Davison steak tartare.           He didn't exactly want thoughts of Baron and his cronies as zombies plaguing his dreams either, so he swiftly tried to dislodge the images from his mind.          

An interruption from outside arrived in a timely manner to do just that.          

"You lot planning on turning in just yet?" A voice resonated from outside, beyond the veranda, coming in the sliding door Seth and Dax left open as they rushed to catch the news report.          

All eyes went to the source to see Black outside, his tall, imposing figure looking even more intimidating as a shadow figure framed by the night sky and the distant ocean. Behind him were the duo of Blizzard and Tempest; unfortunately none of the women appeared to be with them.          

"Maybe," Mark responded cagily while Dax gestured at his bloodied appearance.          

"I'd figured a shower was in order."          

"That's a no-brainer for you," Tempest agreed. "This will only take a few minutes."          

"What will?"          

"I'm assuming that none of you have anything in the way of weapons," Black said.      "Aside from your armband spikes there, bud. As good as they might be for putting holes in vagrants, they probably won't stand up as zombie deterrents."          

"Great," Dax muttered, evidently not happy to be revisiting his stunned violent reaction to being accosted by the bum in the alley, and Seth wasn't overjoyed to have it brought back into his mind either.           

"No, not exactly. We were out for a night at a metal concert, we didn't exactly consider packing tools for an undead uprising." He said.          

"Look lively then," Black suggested. "Come with us."          

The trio cast looks around at each other, mystified.          

Shrugging, Dax was first to make a move, leaving via the open glass door, out onto the veranda where he vaulted the railing to land on the other side near the Subversion trio.          

"Should I lock up?" Mark wondered.          

"What for?" Seth replied. "Didn't exactly bring anything along with us, did we? I've got my wallet, keys, and whatnot in my pockets still. I think we're all travelling pretty light. Nothing in here to steal."          

"Fair point."          

The duo vacated the premises in the same manner as Dax.          

"Just caught a news report on Armada," Dax announced to Black and his companions.          

"Is that so?" Tempest arched an eyebrow of interest as Dax fell into step with the trio, and Seth and Mark trailed behind.          

"Yep. Apparently they're feeding the media some bull about a chemical spill or some such shit like that. Cover up. Nobody allowed into the city, they've got it on lockdown. Don't know about allowing people out, but I'd assume it would be the same thing, nobody in, nobody out."          

"Of course they'd be spinning reporters a line; Mayor Schuldiner is due to call an election soon, try and get his ass voted back into power for another term. The last fucking thing he wants is a goddamn zombie epidemic crashing everything, all his hopes and aspirations down around his ears. He'll be trying to put the biggest motherfucking blanket on this he can, it will be scramble mode, heavy duty damage control," Black said.          

"For whatever good that's going to do. It's going to all be to no avail, but good luck to him doing his best. If I were him I'd be more concerned with trying to deal with the very real threat to his people rather than trying to keep it a secret from anybody outside the city limits." Tempest snorted.          

"You don't think they will be able to get it under control?" Mark said from the rear of the procession. "It sounded relatively positive on the news, at least to the point where they have people stationed at all points in and out of the city."          

"Keep telling yourself this will all blow over, bud," Tempest said. "Just keep on telling yourself that. The next newsflash that comes up is going to be all about Armada being hell on earth, and trust me, they aren't going to be able to keep the presence of the undead secret for much longer."          

"So if any of you have any false hopes that you're going to be seeing Armada as it once was, best scrap those notions right now," Blizzard spoke up, a lengthy string of words from the taciturn bass player. "Hence the brief expedition to our current quarters."          

Mark and Seth tossed concerned looks at each other behind the rest of them, Seth feeling those hopeful sensations he'd been touched with earlier beginning to evaporate.          

Their companions seemed pretty intent on believing that Armada was destined for the apocalypse and there was nothing that was going to alter their views on that, no news reports of any description, no matter how Seth and his friends interpreted their promise.          

"You seem pretty certain of that," Dax said. "How can you be so sure the authorities won't act quick enough to get this shit swept up?"         

"How about you don't even worry about it?" Black interjected, his voice suddenly harsh and abrasive. "Let's worry about the here and now. Like arming you fools with something that might keep you alive a little bit longer than a day or so."

CHAPTER TWELVE-MOTHER NORTH, THE BLIZZARD BEAST, AND FREEZING FUNERAL MOONS

The rest of the short journey to the room of the Subversion trio—evidently the four women with them were to be rooming elsewhere—was a quiet tense one with Black’s abrupt words signalling an end to the conversation, his air suggesting he wasn't about to answer any more flooding questions.          

Once the six of them were ensconced inside the room, Blizzard shut the door behind them, sending illogical ripples of unease through Seth as if something terrible was about to occur. He had no real idea why he thought that after all, this sinister bunch of men had already saved them innumerable times, why would they suddenly cause them harm?          

He made the keen observation that the Subversion threesome had brought the luggage that was in the back of the Tundra inside, their musical instruments, though it wasn't exactly something easy to miss; the implements were laid out across the beds in the room.          

"What's the deal?" Mark queried warily, casting a nervous glance around the room as if he expected to be suddenly assailed from some unknown region.          

"We having a late night jam?" Dax asked more ludicrously.          

Black snorted a short burst of laughter and strode across to the room to the foot of the double bed where one black guitar case and a series of cymbal cases were located.          

"Not quite, fool. Now you jackasses are up to speed on what's really going on here, you need to know just a few more things, and if you genuinely want to stay alive, you need something other than just us to keep your asses alive."          

"What do you mean?" Mark asked. "Pretty sure the slaying of Undead Fleshcrave or whatever the fuck you want to call it, is all up to you guys. Shit, that's what you came here to do, right? It's not something to involve us in."          

"Wrong, funnyboy.” Tempest shook his head, his tattooed arms folded across his chest. "Do you genuinely think that's the end of it for you guys? And your girls? All of whom need to get yourselves on the same page pretty fucking soon. Bury your heads in the sand all you like, keep telling yourself that sweet old Armada is going to be A-OK, but it's not. You numbnuts need to be ready."          

As Mark's mouth dropped open, about to release another torrent of confusion or panic, Black intervened, holding up a big silver ring-laden hand for silence on all fronts.          

"Bottom line is this: We hauled your asses out of that bar in Armada for the simple reason that you all belong to the black metal brotherhood/sisterhood, community, whatever the fuck you want to call it. It was basically a case of pick one group of people to save and get them the hell out of there before every single non-turned soul in there became zombie snacks. Naturally that black metal association held you guys and your girls in a lot better stead than some of the others, most unfortunate for them, but hey, we had to make a snap decision. And that was the choice we made. So, with that in mind, it seems like a big fucking waste of time and effort not to do a little to ensure that you all at least have some kind of ability to make sure you keep on staying alive for as long as possible. Which means, if you happen to be split up from any of us, stranded, lost, whatever the fuck might happen, and one of us isn't around to drag your butts out of the shit, you need to know just what the fuck to do. And you need weaponry of some description.         

“Now, I'm not just going to go ahead and say: ‘Well shit, Armada is completely fucked because hey, who knows? Maybe Schuldiner and his cohorts did manage to jump on things quick enough to stem the flood and by some miracle pull off a coup that will get some military action in there, get that all stamped out in a fitting manner.’ But by the same token, I'm not about to be a cock-eyed optimist about it and pray for that motherfucking miracle to happen, because if they don't go over everything with a fine tooth comb, there will be infected that slip through the cracks, fall through the net, you get the gist. So it's going to pay to have a few more people with a bit of a clue as to what to do if things go well and truly fucking pear-shaped.

“Remember, we might be a fair way away from the shitfight going on in Armada, but we're also in the same town as those death metal fuckpuppets who are responsible for kick-starting things for Global Death. So, while this little seaside shanty town might not have as big a build-up of death head fans, there are obviously enough to warrant the place getting slotted into the tour. And a smaller town like this with less than half the population is going to be far easier for them to overrun regardless of the moderate size of the extreme metal community. You already know how the infection is spread from the original source, so just bear that in mind. In the meantime, you need to get your asses armed."          

Evidently this concluded Black's statement for them to start waking up and taking the realist approach instead of being buoyed by any false optimism cast by news reports. After all, the news report was misleading and incorrect from the outset; they all knew that, there was no chemical spill affecting Armada.          

As for the slaying of Undead Fleshcrave, none of the Subversion members were insinuating Seth and co. were required to take part in that, but they
were
being provided weapons to deal with the bigger picture beyond that.          

As Black then proceeded to open up the black guitar case on the double bed, Blizzard made his way to the single where two other guitar cases lay, one a similarly black one with a host of black metal logos inscribed upon it; Seth spied some of his favourite acts there, the likes of Darkthrone, Tsjuder, Sargeist, Enthroned, Satyricon, Demonic Christ, Dodheimsgard. The other, also black, was bereft of any adornments or musical act trappings.          

Tempest remained where he was for a while, his arms still folded across his chest, watching proceedings with his dark menacing eyes, though the three men in the room with them assumed they were to approach the activity around the instrument laden bed.       

Black opened his case up and, for some reason, Seth was completely expecting to see that it wasn't a guitar at all that was contained within the case, especially since the trio made much mention of providing weapons. Instead, what was inside the case was exactly that; an irregularly shaped jet black guitar shining with a midnight gloss. It did in some way, look like some bizarre weapon with its unusual shape, but if Seth was expecting a machine gun or something along those lines to lay amidst the red velvet inside, he was sadly disappointed.          

The same result was achieved when Blizzard revealed the contents of the logo-riddled case on the single bed; a black and red bass guitar, custom painted with a jagged swirl of the crimson bleeding into the stygian was all he had there.          

The solid black case, however, was an entirely different matter. As Blizzard snapped open the silver catches on it and opened the lid, all three of the guys could see that this one had no guitar of any description inside. Instead it was lined on both the lid and the base with a disturbing array of gleaming bladed weapons.          

Some were sheathed in black leather holsters, others were not, held to the interior of the case by leather straps. The inside of this guitar case looked like it belonged to some deranged surgeon who moonlighted or masqueraded as a musician, lugging his violent weapons of carvery and incision-making around in a standard carry case for an electric guitar.          

Dax reacted with a long low whistle encompassing both appreciation and impressed amazement, while Mark just looked unnerved, perhaps still imagining that the trio might have designs on doing them bloody harm after all.          

Seth just tried to look as impassive as possible, ignoring any nervous feelings of apprehension trying to slither their way into him.          

After all, Black was quite adamant that he and his boys were 'arming' the others, that indicated giving them weapons of some sort, not sticking them full of blades like this deadly ensemble right here in the open case.          

"Shit, you came prepared," Dax uttered.          

"Ah yeah, we’re good fucking boy scouts, we are," Tempest snorted, now joining them.          

Black waved a hand with a cinematic flourish at the open display of slicing, dicing, cutting, lacerating, death-dealing bladed tools.          

"Take your pick," he invited, an expression not completely free of malevolent glee loitering on his visage.          

"Are you for real?" Mark asked, not sure if this was genuine or not.          

"Stop fucking around and just grab some blades. We don't have guns at the moment, but I'm sure as shit reckoning we are going to need them sometime down the track. But I doubt any of you clowns know squat about using firearms, so blades will be the go for you. I assume you have some kind of vague idea how to use a knife? In any event, pick something you'll be likely to handle, no point going for something that looks fantastic if you haven't a clue how to achieve maximum usage out of it."          

"While you're at it, grab some choices for your lady friends too," Black put in. "I want everybody armed. If it comes down to it and I'm stuck somewhere with one of you, or them, or somebody else is. Or they end up isolated by themselves, everybody needs to be able to defend themselves or the others. Capiche?"

"Sure, but why would they be isolated? Or alone? Or anything like that?" Mark wanted to know.          

"Don't presume there won't be a time when that isn't going to happen, Marky Mark," Tempest said. "As of now, anything can and will happen."

It was a simple matter of fact statement, but to Seth it came across as a little more like a threat. Or, in fact, a grim promise.          

That wasn't overly surprising. Everything about the Subversion three was malevolent and threatening, he guessed he shouldn't have been surprised to see they toted a guitar case full of lethal bladed weapons around in their truck.          

"Sounds wonderful," Mark murmured bleakly, gazing in a blend of fascination and despair at the many wicked blades on display inside the guitar case.          

Unsurprisingly Dax was the first of them to make a move in the direction of nasty looking weapons, his interest piqued, and watching that intrigue spark all over his visage, Seth couldn't help thinking how lethal Dax might be with one of those items in his hands if he could utilise his armband spikes to the devastating capacity he had, to the detriment of the shambling hobo.          

He and Mark followed more cautiously, standing back a little as Dax gazed in admiration, reaching out now and then to touch one or two of the implements as if confirming they were genuine.          

"Oh, they're real, bud." Tempest voiced that for him, a hint of dark smugness slithering in the antagonistic Subversion member’s tone. "But don't be all night fawning over them, get in, get something."          

Dax made a choice. He pulled out an SOG Jungle Primitive tactical knife, a beast boasting a nine and a half inch blade, partially serrated, which Dax observed as he pulled it from its nylon sheath to examine. With a moulded handle featuring a Digigrip design the item looked the goods; it also looked lethal in the hands of a guy who jumped at random shadows and bashed them to death with his black metal costume adornments.          

"Yeah, that's a decent fit for you." Black nodded with a look resembling approval on his eerie tattooed face. "I figure you'll be someone who will rise to the challenge in the event of these undead motherfuckers taking over."          

Seth assumed that was probably some form of reasonably high praise coming from the likes of Black; he and his cronies didn't seem to be the type to throw compliments on a regular basis at anyone. Tempest was more comfortable spitting out aggressive remarks or insults, while Blizzard didn't appear overly keen on saying a great deal of anything at all.          

Almost simultaneously, Seth and Mark made their own personal choices, Seth aiming for a Becker Combat Knife about half an inch shorter in the blade than the piece of weaponry Dax had selected. The blade was coated in black epoxy, making it look somehow even more sinister than a gleaming stainless steel would, and it had a Grivory handle with an exposed pommel which Seth wasn't to know, being a relative novice with regards to tactical/survival knives, would double as a hammering tool, along with other potential uses. Like the SOG, it too had a nylon sheath, though in the guitar case it wasn't sheathed, the sheath affixed next to it. A hole for a lanyard or section of chain was in the weapon’s handle; Seth did manage to correctly identify the purpose of that.          

He hefted it, feeling its solid impressive weight in his palms, mentally envisioned launching an attack at a zombie assailant as he did.          

"Hope you don't waste that one," Black aimed at him. "That's a wicked weapon there, potential to do a hell of a lot of damage in the right hands. Once you get a grip on it and put it to the test, you'll see what I mean."          

Finally, Mark took his selection out, the smallest-bladed of the three so far, though it still boasted a blade length just under seven inches. He'd opted for another from the SOG line, a durable Aura with a dangerously sharp stainless steel blade and a predominantly rubber handle, an item that looked slightly less threatening than the two his friends had selected, but with just as much potential to inflict major carnage. It also had the sheath next to it in the guitar case, so he took that out as well, slipping his newfound piece of steel into it after a cursory examination of the implement.