Cry Zombie Cry (I Zombie Book 5) (20 page)

Vanity grabbed my head and pulled me up close and personal. His Mick Jagger-like lips nearly touched mine. His breath smelled of whiskey and cigarettes. As I struggled to pull back, he tightened his grip and his resolve and sealed our lips together with a kiss.

Another round of laughter poured from Rip’s saliva-slick lips. “You see, girly, rock and roll has never been one to cozy up to the man. Now that the rule of law has slipped through the cracks, our little bit of mischief is made possible. We crank it up to eleven, the ZDC takes notice and drops in for a visit, and we open fire. A crowd full of pissed-off metalheads will certainly do a bit of damage to a bunch of suit-wearing tool bags.”

I had to give Rip credit—at least for being creative in his tactics. Now, however, was not the time for a patronizing pat on the back. As I started to speak up, Jamal beat me to the punch.

“
Do you really think the Zero Day Collective is going to send their leaders in to fight their war? You’ll be lucky if you’re actually attacked by living organisms.”

Rip cocked his head. Jamal picked up on the ignorance.

“
The last time the ZDC needed to deploy a large number of troops, they used zombies. A drop-ship filled with the undead was sent in and released upon the unsuspecting victims. The living didn’t stand a chance—and neither will your audience.”

Vanity lit up a cigarette and took a long draw. After holding in the smoke far too long, he puffed out opaque rings from his mouth. It wasn’t until the last ring faded that Rip spoke.

“
Thanks to you, we have a secret weapon.”

Rip turned and jumped up on the stage. From his rear pocket, he pulled a two-way radio and flicked it on.

“
Aleeshia, can you track down Aya and Mauser? Find them and bring them onto the stage. Tell Mauser to bring The Answer with him.”

Rip turned back to us and smiled again. “My lovelies, this is a metal concert and what do all metal concerts have in common?”

Jamal beamed. “Decibels.”

“
Although every metal concert does have that in common, it is not the answer I am looking for. Keep trying.”

“
Spandex?”

My answer drew a frown across Rip’s face.

“
Not since the eighties…please. Keep trying.”

“
Clichéd lyrics?”

Rip shook his head.

“
Drugs?”

Another shake.

Before we could continue, a gorgeous woman stepped to the stage with a lanky, goth-cum-steampunk man in tow. The male was carrying a matte black guitar that sported a painted image of a very pale woman’s face. Down the woman’s cheek ran a single red tear. I guessed the man was Mauser. He walked down to center stage, placed a small box down, plugged it in, reached behind him, and flipped a switch. Immediately the stage was filled with feedback.

“
My name is Aya and this is Mauser.”

Jamal blushed and clapped like a schoolgirl.

“
I read Jacob’s book and your blog.” Mauser’s accent was even thicker than Aya’s. “Very important to saving mankind. The book inspired me. Actually, that’s not true. What inspired me was your Obliterator. I took the specs you listed and re-created the sound. I recorded that sound and then sampled it into a guitar effects pedal. When I start playing with that effect on, it’s as if the Obliterator is being channeled through my guitar. Let me give you a sample.”

Mauser turned the volume up on his guitar again to fill the area with feedback. This time, however, he incorporated the feedback into the beginnings of a guitar solo. The notes dipped and jumped through octaves and scales quickly and effortlessly. I was never a big fan of the guitar solo, but what we were hearing was jaw-droppingly amazing.

And then his foot hit The Answer
.
Without warning the very notes that sang from the guitar were overlaid with the sound of the Obliterator. Somehow, Mauser managed to get the sound to blend in with the music as if it were part of the tune—all without losing what made the Obliterator deadly to the undead. He continued playing, working his tremolo bar like the world’s greatest stripper on a solid gold barber’s pole.

I glanced at Jamal who was staring, eyes and jaw open wide in absolute awe.

Just as the guitarist was about to jump into another riff, he was joined by a drummer and a bass player. The next thing we knew we were being treated to an open mic riff-a-thon the likes of which I’d never heard.

“
Oh my God, B, this is incredible.” Jamal was in total fanboy mode. “We’re getting our own improv concert by one of my favorite metal bands. Could this get any better?”

It did.

Aya grabbed a mic, whispered to Mauser, and shimmied down to the edge of the stage.

“
Bethany, we were going to wait and unveil this song at the concert, but I’d rather play it now, up close and personal. I wrote this for you. It’s called ‘Cry Zombie Cry.’”

Aya turned back to the band and nodded. What came next was an onslaught of power that thumped at my gut and my heart. When Aya turned back around to sing, I was completely and utterly mesmerized. She sang.

“
Undone in a single moment

Unsaved by relentless torment

Chaos has become my lover

Kiss me like you would no other

Listen to my cry

Unsprung by our own devices

Unwound around your lovely vices

Dance with my undead corruption

Heal your death with our corrosion

Swallow down our cry

I know the reason

My heart beats your treason

Die inside and weave your lie

Cry Zombie Cry

I see the strange behavior

My soul has lost its savior

Die with me and end your lie

Cry Zombie Cry

Unsaved are forgotten moments

Unchained by our passions stolen

Your moans I’ll forever hear

Through my anguish and my tears

Can you hear my cry

Unsee, take away this nightmare

Untouch my flesh so I cannot be aware

The pale, cold hand of death is close

Please give to me your lethal dose

Take away my cry

I know the reason

My heart beats your treason

Die inside and weave your lie

Cry Zombie Cry

I see the strange behavior

My soul has lost its savior

Die with me and end your lie

Cry Zombie Cry”

The song ended, the guitar and vocals fading to an astonishing silence. Not a word was spoken, not a hand made a move to clap. Before I realized what was happening, I was on the stage and running toward Aya. When I reached the singer, my arms wrapped around her shoulders and neck and I drew her into an embrace. Tears instantly leaped from my eyes and touched down on my forearms.

“
Thank you so much,” I whispered in her ear.

“
It is I who should be thanking you. Actually, the world owes you its complete gratitude. The things you have done, the sacrifices you have made…you are our hero and that song is my way of raising you up and placing you on the pedestal where you belong.”

I pulled back and wiped my eyes. Aya’s smile brightened up the stage and warmed my heart.

“
I love the song. It’s transcendent, it’s—”

“
Yours,” was the simple statement that threatened to open the floodgates once again.

Finally, I turned back to Rip and strode to the edge of the stage. I sat down and gestured for Jamal to stand at my side. He complied.

It’s good to be the queen.

“
Okay, Vanity, what’s your plan? Obviously you’ve got a massive weapon against the undead. But Mauser’s Answer won’t phase the Zero Day Collective one iota.”

Rip hesitated and the truth flashed briefly in his eyes.

“
You don’t have a plan, do you?” I drilled for that hidden truth. “It’s okay, really. You at least managed to come up with something that could do some serious damage against an army of the undead. As for the Zero Day Collective…you just leave that to me and my crew. While you’re raining down this special flavor of hatred on the zombie horde, we’ll go after the ZDC.”

The twinkle reappeared in Vanity’s eyes. Simultaneously, his lips twisted into a smile and his hand reached out for mine. I accepted the offer of partnership.

“
Bethany Nitshimi, we’re going to make beautiful music together.”

chapter 19 |
t-minus zero

Dr. Gerand woke; his eyes blurred with an unnatural heat, his skin was crawling as if it begged to slough from his meat and bones. The horrific sound, the epicenter resting somewhere in the basal ganglia, was little more than a faint buzz. The arteries trapped within his extremities throbbed as if his heart had grown tenfold in size and strength. Memory was shattered and fragmented. The contrails of pain left behind by his experimentation ripped apart his ability for rational thought.

“
What have I done?” was the only question to surface.

Gerand reached out and grabbed his laptop. He needed answers and he needed them now. On the laptop was a note, roughly typed in the throes of misery. The note read:

“
I hav e doneee t he impossible. there wasss no chioce. In cas my expermnt fails and I dont mak it out offf this aliv all of my workk iz on this c0mupter. Know th is…it works. My expermntle drugg can cur the Mengelee Viru.”

His vision twisted in upon itself and the act of reading became too painful. The few words he read brought everything back to the fore. The most crucial of the memories was communicating with Zombie Radio.

As soon as the name smacked him across the cheek, he turned the focus of the laptop to Zombie Radio and his Twitter account. With each tap of his fingers, his mind grew more and more focused. By the time he had logged into Twitter, Gerand had full control over his faculties. He was shocked to see his account filled to overflowing with direct messages and mentions, the vast majority of which were invites to various flavors of debauchery. Not a word, however, from Bethany Nitshimi.

Before the disappointment could consume him, he fired up Zombie Radio to take a listen. Gerand knew, at some point, he would have to speak up once again. Although he risked life and limb every time he ventured back onto the WZMB broadcast, there was no other way to get the word out. There was no choice…Bethany had to know. The truth Gerand had to offer could save the human race.

“
I’ve often wondered what exactly is the definition of a zombie. If we look to our friend
Merriam-Webster
, we read that a zombie is ‘a will-less and speechless human in the West Indies capable only of automatic movement who is held to have died and been supernaturally reanimated.’ What do you think, Zombie Radio Nation, does that even remotely fit the needs of the new world order? Or, are we in line for a redefining of the traditional definition of the word ‘zombie’? Can a zombie only be reanimated by means of voodoo-like magic? Or can we all agree on a more Romero-esque definition? And, ultimately…does it really fucking matter? I’m fairly certain everyone on the planet knows what a zombie is at this point. If there’s anyone out there who doesn’t, you might as well deep-throat
that pistol and end your miserable sheltered existence.”

Gerand focused his attention back to Twitter and sent Zombie Radio a message.

“
What have we here? Well…I’ll be damned. Ladies and gentlemen, we have once again heard from he who makes promises he cannot possibly keep. It’s a Twitter message and it says ’I’m still waiting…Dr. Gerand.’ Well, Dr. Gerand, as are we. You have spoken, from afar, of a mythical cure for what ails this great planet, yet you do so in secrecy. I placed your information out there into the zombieverse and am working on setting up a date with you and the holiest of heroines, one Bethany Nitshimi…”