The Devil's Graveyard (34 page)

Sanchez wasn’t about to admit it to anyone, but he was actually pretty excited about the upcoming announcement of the performers who had made it into the final five in the
Back From The Dead
show. He was hanging backstage with Elvis, watching all the other hopefuls as they waited nervously to be called up onstage to learn their fate.

There was a real mixture of contestants, too, ranging from those who looked exactly like the singers they were impersonating, to those who were just downright freaky. The best was Freddie Mercury, who looked totally convincing. He had on a pair of tight white pants with a red stripe down the sides, and a yellow leather jacket over a plain white singlet. His thick black moustache and goofy teeth added to an imitation that was uncannily accurate. Sanchez hadn’t seen him perform in the auditions, but if he had the voice to match the looks he would certainly be a contender.

At the opposite end of the spectrum were some very unconvincing weirdos. One in particular stood out: a midget called Richard whose look and act were modelled on Jimi Hendrix. His outfit consisted of tight black pants, high-heeled boots and a white shirt beneath a purple coat. Unfortunately for him, several other contestants were also named Richard. As a result, people tended to refer to him as Little Richard, which was visibly pissing him off. There was also a Frank Sinatra impersonator with a large white Band-Aid over his nose, who was walking around claiming that his hat had been stolen.

What had really caught Sanchez’s interest was the behaviour of Julius, the James Brown impersonator. Could this guy really be the thirteenth Apostle? He looked a little edgy and was eyeing up all the other contestants suspiciously. At one point his gaze met that of Sanchez. Julius smiled and nodded at him and Elvis, probably acknowledging that they were friends of Gabriel. Sanchez nodded back politely. No sense in upsetting one of God’s favourite people. Could be a useful ally to have, come Judgement Day. Did he know that Sanchez knew who he was?

That set the bar owner thinking. Would Julius’s James Brown impersonation be good enough to get him through? And what about Judy Garland? Had Gabriel – or the other hitman, Angus – successfully eliminated her from the contest? What if her name was called and she didn’t show, because she’d been killed? And who would the other finalists be, since at least three, and maybe four, of the original line-up were dead?

In the corner of his eye, he could see Elvis bouncing on the balls of his feet, a little like a boxer psyching himself up for a fight. Making an effort, Sanchez snapped out of his thoughtful state of mind and began making encouraging noises to his friend about how making it to the final was a formality. While Elvis didn’t need any boost to his confidence, he probably appreciated the effort.

‘Hey, man, whatcha gonna do if you get selected for the final, huh?’ Sanchez asked. ‘I mean, what if you get through and James Brown don’t?’

Elvis was eyeing up the James Brown impersonator much as Sanchez had done moments earlier. He answered Sanchez without taking his eyes off the Godfather of Soul in the bright purple suit.

‘I’m damn’ sure he’ll make it. I don’t reckon God put us through the last twenty-four hours only for His Apostle guy not to qualify for the final.’

‘Sure hope you’re right.’

‘I’m right.’

‘So where’s Gabriel, then? You think he’s bumpin’ off Judy Garland ’bout now?’

‘Well, I guess that’d explain why she ain’t here.’ Elvis seemed supremely unconcerned.

Sanchez thought about it for a moment. The Judy Garland impersonator had done nothing wrong, from what he could tell. And she’d smiled at him and said hello backstage earlier in the day. None of the other precious bastards had done that.
Wannabe celebrities,
he thought.
They were all in danger of disappearing up their own buttholes
. So far, she seemed like the only one not totally self-obsessed. Even though Sanchez liked Gabriel, and owed him a debt of gratitude for saving him from the zombie mutant folk in the desert, he didn’t really like the idea that his new friend was possibly murdering an innocent young woman in cold blood somewhere in the hotel. Especially one who had seemed to smile genuinely at him. Not even his friends usually did that.

He was dwelling on the unpleasantness of the whole situation when a security guard came over and politely asked him to move out of the backstage area. Wishing Elvis the best of luck one last time, Sanchez headed for the area at the side of the stage where he could watch the show from behind the far edge of one of the huge red curtains, which for now were still closed, hiding the stage.

He had barely arrived at his vantage point when the rear of the stage area went dark and a drum roll began to boom out of the sound system. A moment later, the magnified voice of the show’s host, Nina Forina, followed the roll of drums.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ she said dramatically. ‘Please – put your hands together – for – our judges!’

At that moment, the curtains parted and a spotlight lit up centre stage to reveal the three judges standing proudly in its beam. Sanchez was able to stay tucked out of sight behind the curtain’s edge. He had a perfect view of the proceedings. All he was missing was his recliner, a bag of popcorn and a couple of bottles of beer.

Onstage, the three judges stood in the centre and lapped up the adulation from the audience in front of them. After milking the applause for all it was worth, they took their seats on the panel, which was level with Sanchez. Once the cheering and clapping and whistling began to die down, the stage lit up again and Nina Forina walked elegantly to the centre. She stood for a moment, beaming a bright white smile, basking in the last dregs of the audience’s applause. Then she held out her arms, and the auditorium finally fell quiet.

‘Hello, everyone. Are you ready to find out who our five finalists are?’

‘Yeeeaaahhh!’

‘I can’t hear you. Are you ready to find out who the five finalists are?’

‘YEEEAAAHHH!’

Nina clapped along with the roaring crowd, before turning sideways and making a gesture to the back of the stage. The glare of the lights blazing down on her gave Sanchez a view he hadn’t been expecting. Her dress was practically transparent.
Jesus.

All of the shortlisted contestants began filing out on to the stage behind her. There were about a hundred of them, yet on the stage it looked like twice that number. Elvis was one of the first to come out, waving and blowing kisses at the audience. He looked confident enough, unlike Julius who, to Sanchez’s surprise, now looked quite nervous.

When the noise eventually died down to a gentle hush, Nina turned back to the panel of judges, now seated at the front of the stage with their backs to the auditorium.

‘Nigel, would you please tell us all who the first contestant is to make it into the final five for this evening’s show?’

Powell sat looking smug in pride of place between his two female colleagues. His face flashed up on a giant television screen at the back of the stage and, for some reason unknown to Sanchez, it invoked a few screams from a number of young women in the audience. As if looking in a mirror, Powell stared up at the screen and smiled his overly bleached, toothy grin, which shone brightly against his orange tan. After preening for so long that Sanchez started to feel nauseous at the spectacle, he eventually responded to Nina’s request.

‘I certainly will, Nina,’ he said, with a wink that Sanchez found almost equally nauseating. ‘The first finalist impressed us all with his showmanship. His singing voice wasn’t perhaps the best, but if he picks the right song in the final, he stands a serious chance of winning this competition. Nina, our first finalist is…’ He paused for a ridiculously long time in order to tease the audience, before announcing,
‘Freddie Mercury!’

The Freddie Mercury impersonator jumped for joy, punching his fist in the air and hissing a quick
‘Yesss!’
under his breath. He bounded over to Nina Forina, who hugged him and gave him a perfunctory kiss on the cheek before directing him to stand a few yards behind her on the right. Freddie looked over and, seeing Sanchez, flashed a wide beaming smile at him. Sanchez smiled back, and through gritted teeth muttered the words ‘smug’ and ‘prick’ under his breath.

Again, Powell psyched the audience up before announcing Janis Joplin as the second finalist. The delighted performer bounded out of the crowd of contestants at the back of the stage, waving her hands in the air like a hyperactive escapee from a lunatic asylum. She was a hippy chick with long brown hair, wearing pale-tinted sunglasses with circular lenses and a green flowery dress that stopped just above her knees. She hadn’t bothered with high-heeled shoes, either, preferring a pair of comfortable white sneakers. The outfit was topped off by a number of strings of beads of varying lengths hanging around her neck, including an enormous yin-yang symbol that bumped against her navel. She shared the obligatory hug and kiss with Nina, to a surprisingly enthusiastic reception from the audience, then took up a place next to Freddie Mercury.

That’s two down,
thought Sanchez.
Only three spots left. Sure hope that Julius guy gotta decent contingency plan if he don’t get picked. Otherwise his whole scheme is fucked
.

Hugely amplified, Powell’s mellifluous voice boomed loud and clear for a third time.

‘The next contestant through to the final – that’s number three of five, remember – is the man with the most hideous pair of red leather pants I’ve ever seen…
the Blues Brother!
’

As the audience roared and stamped their approval, Sanchez saw a black guy dressed as one of the Blues Brothers appear from among the crowd of hopefuls. He was wearing a black suit over a white shirt with a thin black tie, and a pair of sunglasses. On top of his head was what looked distinctly like Frank Sinatra’s missing hat. He walked over to Nina Forina, looking, Sanchez thought, somewhat sheepish. She congratulated him with a polite hug and peck on the cheek, and then he walked over to take his place alongside Janis Joplin in the row of finalists. Sanchez scratched his head and tried to make sense of Powell’s ‘red leather pants’ comment. The Blues Brother was wearing a black suit – black jacket, black pants. Maybe the chief judge was colour blind? Which maybe explained why he’d picked a black Blues Brother?

Sanchez had been loyally hoping Elvis would get through, but not having been one of the first three picks meant that his buddy’s chances were now looking pretty slim. Ideally, the last two finalists would be Elvis and Julius. Elvis could then deliberately lose in the final, meaning that Julius would only have three others to beat.

Truth was, though, even those were minor considerations. Or distractions. Sanchez’s palms were sweating profusely. The knowledge that there were bloodthirsty, flesh-eating zombies on their way to the hotel was bad enough. But knowing that his only chance of getting out of the Devil’s Graveyard alive rested on the shoulders of a James Brown impersonator hardly filled him with confidence.

Up on the giant screen, Powell waited for the excited audience to quieten down before announcing the judges’ next choice.

‘Our fourth finalist blew us all away with his performance earlier. Someone full of energy, and undoubtedly one of the best entertainers in this competition. Ladies and gentlemen, the fourth contestant through to the final is…
James Brown!’

Sanchez felt an overwhelming sense of relief. He also hoped to hell that Julius really was the saviour that Gabriel had predicted
. Guy’d better be who he says he is,
he whispered to himself as Julius appeared out of the crowd of wannabes at the back of the stage. He was bouncing around like a complete lunatic, uttering trademark James Brown
‘
heh
’
noises. The plan was still on.
Whatever the fuck the plan actually was.

Once again the applause gave way to an expectant silence. ‘And finally,’ Powell announced. ‘Our fifth contestant was an absolute certainty to make it into the final after delivering what was probably the best vocal performance of the heats. Ladies and gentlemen, the last contestant through to the final is…
Judy Garland!
’

The audience produced an even bigger cheer than they had for any of the four other finalists, only this time it didn’t last as long. It began to peter out as it became evident that Judy Garland wasn’t onstage. Soon, the crowd’s confused murmurings overtook the syncopated smattering of any remaining applause. Everyone started looking around, as if they expected the missing singer to appear from round a corner somewhere or from behind another of the hopeful – and now heavily disappointed – contestants standing at the rear of the stage.

‘Judy Garland?’ Powell asked hopefully. ‘Is Judy Garland still here?’

Nina Forina joined in. ‘Judy Garland? Maybe she went back to Kansas?’ she said, with a horribly overdone guffaw. An uncomfortable hush descended upon the auditorium. Sanchez took some comfort from the knowledge that he wasn’t the only one in the room who came up with crap gags.

He waited to see if Judy Garland appeared from among the crowd of other contestants at the back. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Julius subtly clench his fist in front of his chest in victory. Gabriel must have done the job. Judy Garland would not be making it to the final. Sanchez felt a little guilty about that. Her non-appearance meant that she had almost certainly been brutally murdered, all so that a guy claiming to be the thirteenth Apostle could save a bunch of others (including Sanchez).
Sure it was kinda harsh, but in the best interests of everyone
, the bar owner thought, sententiously.

For a few minutes, confusion reigned as the judges deliberated on what to do. Members of the security team were sent to check the corridors to see if Miss Garland was on her way. As the seconds ticked by and still she didn’t show, the audience became restless. A few plastic cups were hurled towards the stage. The security guards were speaking urgently into two-way radios as they darted out into the corridors. The show was in danger of turning into a shambles. One by one, the guards returned with shakes of their heads to indicate that the fifth finalist was nowhere to be seen.