Undead Fleshcrave: The Zombie Trigger (2 page)

There was not one original song played over the course of their set, slated for a three quarters of an hour slot, but actually spanning out a handful of minutes beyond one hour, and playing their own tunes―if indeed they actually had any―was not part of their plan.          

They were there to whip the crowd into a frenzy, and well selected and meticulously thought out covers did precisely that. They retired from the stage with a job well done, leaving the black-clad multitudes baying for the Undead Fleshcrave.          

Curtains were drawn over the stage as the DCO crew began to disassemble their stage set up, and the formerly dimmed lights brightened, signalling the break between opening act and headliner.          

This was traditionally the time most people either elected to return to the bar for more liquid refreshment, check out the merch stands or swarm outside in a mass exodus to smoke, stand around debating the merits of the first band or hazard guesses as to what was in store from the main attraction.          

Trying to predict the set list from Undead Fleshcrave was an impossibility; nobody had heard any more than the five or six tracks leaked over the net and various underground radio stations.          

What most people did know, as announced by the band themselves, was there was going to be a brutally bloody surprise in store over the course of this performance. Even Seth and his friends knew this much; it was hard not to know what was going on in the world of extreme metal if, like they all did, one kept an ear to the ground. Like the majority of concert goers who hadn't swamped the bar trying to get served drinks first so they could return to the floor and stake claims on prime viewing positions, Seth, Mark, Julietta, Miranda and the others headed outside.         

Many of the crowd didn't risk going anywhere, either outside or to the bar; they’d already nailed down much valued vantage points up at the front of the stage and they weren't budging for anybody, knowing if they vacated their spot for a second it wouldn't remain theirs.          

Dax Hinton lit up a cigarette, squinting against smoke trails curling up off the stick.
Six foot with long sandy blonde hair, Dax was dressed up like he was going to play a black metal set himself, all black leathers with spiked armbands, patches of obscure underground bands all over his outfit, pins and chains hanging off an assortment of things.          

Seth had almost certainly expected security to pull Dax up for the armbands at the very least, but they hadn’t batted an eyelash, let him right through. In fact, Seth couldn't exactly recall security doing too much at the door besides checking tickets and IDs; he couldn't remember any of those who'd been sneaking alcohol and drugs in getting pulled up about it at all. That disconcerted him more than a little when he dwelled on it.          

If people were freely let in with open alcohol containers, things that could be used as weaponry, such as the armbands Dax had on, fuck knew what else, then anybody technically could have any sort of dangerous weapon secreted on their person.          

Copious amounts of alcohol, plus violent hyper music, plus masses of thuggish knuckleheads wanting to cause chaos and break things, already whipped into a brutal frenzy? That sounded like the recipe for a complete fucking disaster, and if Eric Baron and his cronies decided they wanted to smuggle some type of pain-creating implements inside, that scenario didn't bode well for Seth Tanner and his buds.

"Didn't they say anything about those spikes, Dax?" Seth asked. 

"Nope." Dax chuckled and shook his head, expelling a jet of smoke from each nostril. "I
did
expect them to, yeah, I was prepared for it, and I would have taken them off if I'd had to, but shit, they didn't even mention it."          

"Yeah, that's pretty weird," Julietta added. "Usually the security are going over everybody with a metal detector and a fine tooth comb, they don't let a thing past. But these guys..."          

"True." Mark also found that peculiar. "There was a bunch of guys that walked right in, open beer bottles and everything.
Glass
beer bottles, at that. Any other concert and that shit would not be on, the meatheads on the door would come down like a ton of bricks."         

Having the worrisome thoughts in his mind put into words by his friends made Seth feel even more uneasy than he’d been before, when they'd just been slightly disturbing cogitations.          

"Shit, I've got a bad feeling about this," he murmured. "Anybody could have brought anything in with that sort of lax security. I didn't see one bag check, one person with questionable items or whatever pulled up. At all."         

"Chill out, man," Buck Quinn spoke up with a disarming grin. "No doubt some of these boneheads in there are going to get rowdy, but I don't think anybody managed to sneak a shotgun inside."          

At six foot four and built like a front row footballer, Buck Quinn didn't have cause for concern over anything, so it was no great surprise to see him shrug off Seth's worry with a carefree attitude.          

With his long blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, Buck was the most physically intimidating of their group, wearing black jeans and a spiked belt, a long-sleeved Emperor shirt on his muscled top half.          

He helped himself to a cigarette from the packet belonging to Dax atop one of the tables the group managed to acquire before all outside seating spots were snapped up.          

"Besides, the security is pretty comprehensive inside, there's a lot of steroid monkeys down at the barricade."          

"Yeah, but that doesn't help if the door security have been lazy assholes and let people wander straight in with fuck knows what," Seth persisted. "Shit, I'm telling you, there's something a little off here."          

Black metal may well have been one of the most notorious and controversial forms of music, given some of the past actions of many of its protagonists as a genre over the years, but Seth and his bunch of close friends weren't at all like that.          

There were a handful of extremists in town who actually subscribed to some of the ideologies and notions proposed by some of the fervent BM originators, but not Seth's crew. Consequently, the thought of mayhem cutting loose at the gig didn't quite inspire him with the sort of gleeful malevolence it might conjure up in those who considered themselves true misanthropic nihilists.          

"Maybe you girls should stay out of the pit when these Undead characters hit the stage," Seth suggested cautiously.          

Callie West stared incredulously at him, looking as if he’d just announced he was converting to hip-hop music.          

"That was a bit of a sexist remark, Seth."          

"Not sexist in the slightest. More like precautionary. The pit was getting hectic with that opening band and they were nobodies doing cover songs. The Undead pit is going to be insane."          

"Exactly," Callie said. "So, are you serious? I was in the pit for DCO, the energy was crazy. Did you see everyone going nuts when they played 'Meat Hook Sodomy'? It's going to be wicked!"          

"Remember when that girl got crushed and trampled to death when Powderkeg played a few years back?" Seth pointed out. "And that was just a run of the mill thrash gig? This is going to be one thousand times as intense as that, and if those jokers on the door haven't been frisking people or anything..."          

Callie looked momentarily disconcerted by his reminder of a show several years earlier, where a teenage girl out on the floor had first been crushed against the barricade by a drunken host of moshing fools trying to rush the stage as a good time party style thrash metal band played, then had fallen underneath an army of feet. She brushed it off and mirrored Buck's actions in swiping a cigarette from the packet belonging to Dax.          

Mark tried to steer the conversation off on a tangent, discussing the merits of DCO's lead guitarist, perhaps the most accomplished player in the support band’s ensemble, but with disconcerting thoughts fermenting in his head, Seth was feeling more uneasy with each passing moment.          

He tried to catch Julietta's eye, but she was involved in a debate with Adrianna, so he left the subject of lax security and disaster looming if any of them braved the pit once the headliners hit the stage in earnest.           Instead, he listened to Mark and Lincoln Pike talk death metal riffs, trying to beat down the edgy nervous feeling starting to gnaw holes in the pit of his stomach.          

Then a strident voice sliced in a raucous interruption to all of their differing conversations.          

"Hey, shit, it's the Corpsepaint Corporation! What the fuck are you trolls doing here? Shouldn't you grim pussies be hiding in some cave in a frostbitten forest somewhere hailing Satan?"          

Heads turned toward the source of interjection and, predictably, Eric Baron and his cordon of death metal shirt wearing cronies had just exited the arena to come out to the smoking area, a throng of antagonism.           The uneasy sensation in Seth's gut only intensified as he saw the last person he wanted to run afoul of here looking intoxicated already and prepared to stir up trouble.          

"Damn, Baron, when are you going to grow up, man?" Buck wanted to know, staring evenly back at the eight strong posse comprised of Baron, his sidekicks Laurence Calhoun, Robert Langton, Carl Merritt and four others lurking back behind this main foursome. "Everyone is just here to enjoy the concert."          

"Well it ain't a concert for you panda paint puppets to be enjoying is it? This is
death metal
, in case you hadn't noticed. There's no true kult shit going on here, so evidently you fucks are lost."          

"Piss off, muppet," Mark suggested.          

Baron loomed closer, scowling now, and Seth's heart did a few nervous jumps up towards his throat.          

"You know what, fuckers? If any of you are game to set foot in the pit when Fleshcrave rip it up, I'm going to stomp you. Powderkeg style," he declared, with no hint of a joke in his voice. Then his eyes, bleary and red from extensive alcohol consumption, zeroed in on Julietta. "Except you, sweetcheeks, I've got a better idea what to do with you."          

Now Seth's edgy nerves were supplanted by seething anger as Baron leered lasciviously at Julietta, looking her up and down, his gaze lingering upon her bare legs and the mounds of her breasts pushing out her Carpathian Forest logo.          

His alarm at Mark baiting the meathead dissipated temporarily and, almost without thinking about it, his hands balled up into fists at his sides.          

"Ha, didn't like that idea hey, Tanner? Too bad, suck my cock. Your girl is going to."          

"In your dreams, Baron, you damn Dethklok-looking motherfucker," Julietta spat before Seth even had a chance to respond. "The only girls you get are either passed out or dead."          

Baron's face screwed up in an expression of fury, his eyes narrowing to angered slits.          

"Let's stomp these fucking cockwranglers, right now," Laurence proposed. "Teach Tanner to keep his slut's mouth in order. For what it's supposed to be used for."          

Baron didn't immediately respond—it looked like he was incapable of words, furious at being cut down by a woman of all people―but he began to advance, stalking stiff-legged like a pit bull towards the group.           Another harsh voice added another interruption to the rival collective’s terse exchange.          

"What's the problem here?"          

Various parties were assembling around the outskirts, forming a rough circle as they watched the two groups face off, anticipating an outbreak of violence with simmering tensions escalated by the intensity of the music.          

The closing ranks parted and three more figures stepped into the circle.          

More members of the black metal brigade.          

Simon Black, Steven 'Blizzard' Callihan and Troy 'Tempest' Sawyer.

CHAPTER TWO-SUBVERSION/UNDEAD FLESHCRAVE

This trio of newcomers were members of a bona fide band by the name of Subversion, a local one, but, nonetheless, one of the very few in the vicinity who bucked the trend of playing death metal, deathcore or death thrash by playing pure black metal in the war-minded vein of bands like Enthroned, 1349 and Burial Hordes.           In terms of imposing stature and intimidation, the Subversion leader, Simon Black, known extensively as just Black, made the bulky meathead Eric Baron look like a cuddly teddy bear.          

Two inches taller than Baron, Black had midnight waves of hair to his waist, and tattoos on his neck, all over his arms, and even one on each side of his face. His eyes looked like black coals in a hard hatchet face adorned with a host of silver and black jewellery. He wore chunky silver rings on every single finger and, like Dax, he was clad in a host of black leather, spiked bands and belts, his entire outfit looking like it was composed of nasty objects to utilise as weaponry.          

The two companions who completed the Subversion triumvirate were similarly dressed, though Seth was a fraction disappointed to see that the three hadn't elected to don corpsepaint also.          

It was Black who’d asked the question, and as he and his partners stepped on booted feet into the centre of the arena, Eric Baron and his fellows visibly retreated from their plans to launch at Seth Tanner.          

They might have outnumbered Black and his cohorts, and even with Tanner and his gang added to the mix the amount of people Baron could rally would still have the numbers in their favour, but Eric Baron, drunk or otherwise, was still sober enough to acknowledge that messing with Black was not something to take lightly.           A mystical reputation swirled around Simon Black, some of it downright disturbing, and, unlike the casual black metal fan, he was one of those aforementioned extremists and his propensity for the unexpected was legendary.           Glaring at Seth and his buddies, Baron and his thronging followers disappeared inside.          

As the promise of violence dissipated, the swelling crowd around the scene dispersed and Black strode to the table where Seth, Mark and their friends were gathered.          

For the third time in a few minutes, the cigarette packet belonging to Dax found itself communal property as Black thumbed one out with a tattooed and ring-festooned hand.          

Dax hadn't chided any of his friends for helping themselves to his smokes and he sure as hell wasn't about to admonish Simon Black for it now.          

Instead, he offered Black his own cigarette lighter, a steel Grim Reaper novelty piece which incongruously sparked the flame from the character’s scythe. Black scrutinised it with a tilted up eyebrow, then nodded and lit up his appropriated cigarette.          

"Salutations, black metal brothers and sisters," he declared to the assemblage. "Hope you're all buckled up, I have a feeling this is going to be a bumpy ride of an evening."

           ***

Back inside, Seth’s misgivings abated to an extent, knowing the notorious Black and his equally questionable cohorts were in the vicinity and not about to stand for Eric Baron and company stomping those he considered his people.          

All the same, the niggling concern hadn't completely disappeared, making Seth wonder if it was an uneasy premonition of the night unravelling in some other unforeseen way that didn't even involve Baron at all. Black's offhand introductory remarks didn't alleviate that apprehensive sensation too much. They were said in an innocuous enough, nonchalant manner, but with a veiled portent lurking in there, as if the Subversion vocalist/guitarist was privy to information few others were.          

Seth knew Baron no longer presented any threat, at least not for the time being. With the knowledge that the menacing Black was present and vigilant, Baron would be unlikely to try anything supremely stupid unless he got himself so inebriated and hyped up on death metal aural violence that he went beyond the point of being concerned whether his actions would have a ripple effect.          

So maybe the lingering edgy feelings were just a hangover of possibilities and potential what-ifs rather than actualities.         

He decided to push them to the back recesses of his mind and merely concentrate on having a good time and enjoying whatever the deathly supergroup had to offer. But he still didn't want any of the girls―especially Julietta—going anywhere near the mosh pit if these alcohol lubricated lunkheads started getting overly boisterous.          

As they all re-entered the main performance area, the group, including Black, Tempest and Blizzard, all splintered, going separate directions.          

It happened too quick for Seth to even keep track of everybody, but Julietta gave him a soft kiss on the lips then said, "Just going to get some drinks at the bar before the Undeads come on," before she, Miranda and Dax made off that way.         

The Subversion guys also went another direction, and a handful of girls peeled off from vantage spots on the wall to approach that trio. Buck, Callie and Adrianna disappeared elsewhere, leaving Seth, Mark and Lincoln Pike the last three without any real plan where they were going.          

"What the hell happened there?" Mark wondered, gazing around.          

Seth shrugged his shoulders, casting his eyes around the room, looking to see if he could spot Baron anywhere.          

He might as well have been looking for a needle in a haystack in this packed room of black-garbed death metal aficionados. There were scores of them in here who could have been Baron clones; big muscular guys with broad shoulders, long hair, generic black T-shirts running the gamut through the main players of the universal DM scene along with hordes of lesser knowns. Baron could be anywhere, and probably was, so worrying about whether he was going to suddenly lunge out of the massed crowd wasn't really worth wasting energy on.           Instead, he made another observation as he surveyed the milling crowd, most of them beginning to get agitated and vociferous waiting for the main event to be underway.          

Aside from his collective of women companions, and the few who had joined Black's group, most of the female fans here appeared to be a fraction on the portly side.          

In tight Cannibal Corpse and Deeds of Flesh shirts and even tighter skirts of denim or leather, or pants, some of these women looked as though they'd intentionally shopped for sizes too small for them.          

The vast majority were some big girls and Seth wondered irrationally if there was some sort of prerequisite involving female death metal fanatics.          

He knew that was illogical, and an unreasonable pigeonhole, but he couldn't help thinking it based on the general size of those in attendance.          

Before he knew it, the girls and Dax were back, armed with drinks for all.          

"Jesus, how the hell did you get in and out of that mire so swiftly?" Mark was surprised they hadn't been away longer.          

Grinning, Dax gestured at Julietta.          

"Guy at the bar overlooked a few to get to serve Jules, probably got sick of seeing some of these bulldogs dressed as collies in here."          

"Ha!" Seth snorted. "I was just thinking about something similar. Looks like some of these death metal girls are a bit on the chunky side."          

Miranda slugged him in the bicep, then slapped Dax lightly in the back of the head.          

"You guys are terrible!"          

"What? It's a fact," Dax said. "The girls who turn up to the BM shows don't look like they've taken band names like Devourment or Eaten Alive literally like some of these svelte beauties."          

Lincoln sprayed a double barrel nostril squirt of vodka as he laughed, almost choking himself.       

"True it might be, but if you say that too loud in here...” Miranda cautioned.         

"They'll be liable to eat me too? And not in a good way?"          

Shaking her head, Miranda had the good sense not to grace that with a response. Then abruptly the music piping through overhead speakers to tide over the waiting throngs of fans-Deicide's self-titled debut album-ceased, and the lights dimmed.          

A deafening roar of cheers rose in a crescendo of sound with the potential to lift the roof right off the arena, whistles and whoops piercing through the midst of the cataclysmic din.          

The lights went completely out and swathed the entire room in dark. It was pitch black, Seth couldn't see a thing in front of him, around him, anywhere. He felt a cool hand slip into his and grasp it. He hoped it was Julietta, it was just weird if it was anyone else.          

Lights gradually began to emanate from the stage, but they didn't cast off too much illumination, just a sickly green glow that allowed the assembled crowd a little bit of visibility.          

The population of expectant fans, now having ceased their eardrum bursting roars of approval in order to keep their attention focused on the stage where obviously things were starting to happen, surged forward, cramming those in the frontline up to the barrier. The squadron of beefy security brutes responded by moving forward on their side of the barricade, arms folded, faces impassive.          

Behind them, a smoky mist began to rise, doused in the sickly green glow of the subdued lighting. It swirled over the stage, the giant black drapes formerly covering it peeling back. The anticipation and agitation continued to build as it became obvious that through the haze of the green-imbued mist there was nobody on the stage.          

Murmurs of confusion and consternation started to ebb and flow around the crowd, feet shifting and shuffling on the floor.          

Some of the more brazen ones at the front, leaning over the barricade as far as they could, craning their necks to see further into the centre of the fog, were probably debating jumping over and rushing the stage. The row of eight security guards stood firm to discourage that notion.          

A hand suddenly punched out of the mist, apparently rising out of the floor in a reach for the sky, fingers clasping and flexing in the air.          

The unexpected appearance of the limb, which caused more than a handful of unsuspecting onlookers to jump in a startled fashion, was followed by another, clawing its way up from a false floorboard, a ghastly appendage that seemed to be dripping gore and greenish slime.         

The glow of illumination brightened a little more, enough to allow those with the better view of the stage to witness a similar grotesquely splattered head emerge, then shoulders, a bulky muscled upper torso, and then the complete body of Undead Fleshcrave frontman SamEdi lurching out of the gap created in the floor.           Even black metal freak Seth knew enough to realise where the band's vocalist had appropriated his moniker from, but right now the beefy Undead Fleshcrave head honcho didn't look at all like the sinister top-hatted Baron; he looked a lot more like one of the risen dead, a shambling zombie oozing gruesome stagnant slimy material and blood. His eyes rolled crazily around in their sockets as he lurched through the green-tinted fog to the front of the stage, baring his teeth in a grimace.          

A muted wall of guitar issued from somewhere behind him, frenetic and rapid in tempo.          

All of a sudden the volume intensified immensely as the wall came down behind SamEdi and there were the rest of the band on the proper stage behind him, wielding their respective instruments as though they were weapons.          

Behind an enormous drum kit with two 22 x 18 kick drums, a host of toms, a couple of snares, and a load of Sabian cymbals was sticksman GatlingGrinder seated up on a platform higher than the rest of the band, who spanned out behind SamEdi.          

They moved up to flank the vocalist, rhythm guitarist The Deadwalker and bassist FaceGnawer on his right, and lead guitarist SkinCarver on his left, this trio of axe-wielders attacking their stringed instruments with savage vigour.          

A huge punishing surge of aural violence emanated as the guitarists ripped out a low-ended chugging riff that rode atop a barrage of battery from Grinder, bolstered by the thick pulsing rhythm of FaceGnawer.           Even in this intro section of the track 'Buried Beneath Bones' the drums were brutal and relentless; forget blast beats, some of the work from the skinsman was gravity beats. This track piqued the attention of the crowd and the fans were going nuts instantly; after all, this was the one the band posted all over the internet in conjunction with the bloodthirsty video clip and anyone who knew anything about the band were familiar with at least this composition.          

All members of the band were splattered and adorned with the bloody splashes and green slime-like substance, making each one of them look like refugees from some particularly nasty zombie movie, but they didn't move in slow shambling motions.          

They windmilled in perfect unison, the two longhaired guitarists hurling their matted locks in great spirals, the bald bassist banging his chrome dome in tandem also.          

SamEdi gave voice to a feral cavernous growl that sounded as though it had risen up from some deep dank cave far underground, possibly the same place the green slimy stuff should have come from, and then began to bubble lyrics through the mire of muscular death metal instrumentation.