Undead Fleshcrave: The Zombie Trigger (27 page)

He stepped quickly backwards, punting Brenner in the back with his boot and propelling the bloodied body away from him to flop on the concrete, more pooling blood spilling from the slice across his throat.

The silence that descended upon the stunned assemblage was profound.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE-KATHAARIAN

Blackwater Park was the type of metropolis they didn’t need to lay too low and try to hide out in without being overly concerned about attracting the suspicious attention of vigilant folk seeking to hold metalheads responsible for the undead calamities sweeping towns along the coast as Undead Fleshcrave ripped through them.

Despite the brutal and bloody confrontation at the decrepit highway service station, confirming their fears that all manner of people, including authorities, were buying into the suggestion that those of the heavy metal persuasion and all those in their community were all to blame for the plague of dead folk rising again and infecting others, there wasn’t too much to worry about with that regard in Blackwater Park. The prime reason for that was a relatively simple one. None of them were conspicuous here, they weren’t in the minority in any way.

Armada was a reasonably large city, albeit with a big population of metalheads, while Noumena was a much smaller coastal town with a more confined community of heavy metal music worshippers, but Blackwater Park, which sat somewhere in size between those two extremes, could have been wholly comprised of metal fans. It wasn’t, of course, but the appearance of many of the individuals residing there meant that for those looking to scapegoat souls as inherently zombie, it would be quite a difficult proposition indeed.

Blackwater Park was a rough town, a populace filled with bikers, alternative types, truckers, musicians, artists, tattooists, thugs, hoodlums, gangs, prostitutes, strippers, all manner of folk who wore leather, inked skin, piercings, unique hairstyles, long hair, shaven heads. All of whom could easily be mistaken as belonging to the metal clique and being pigeonholed as such by the witchhunters, even if, in fact, they had no affiliation with, or ties to, such music choices.

Bars, nightclubs, tattoo parlours, strip clubs, brothels, peep shows, live music venues, theatres (and not those of the family friendly variety), pool halls, video game parlours, cafes, sex shops, and multiple twenty four hour businesses were prevalent in this place, and the inhabitants of this town thronged around them day and night. While undoubtedly many of these folk were fans of metal music and would definitely be drawn to concerts occurring in their town, not all of them were, regardless of their appearances. 

In essence, it was the perfect location for them to hide out, in plain view, not necessarily needing to worry about their presence there marking them as suspicious targets.

While most thought Black’s remark to the police squadron attending the scene at the service station was a quick off the cuff statement, conjured up on the spur of the moment, it turned out he had every intention of making the town of Blackwater Park their next port of call.

It made sense. Not only because of the sheer amount of folk who could easily be mistaken for metalheads like them, even if they weren’t, but because Black truly believed Blackwater Park was going to be the next place Undead Fleshcrave surfaced in full effect, ready to put on a damaging stageshow that would flood the sleaze-ridden, seedy, netherworld that was Blackwater Park.

After fruitless days of driving and seeing nothing but intermittent undead and sparse bodies along the way indicating they were somehow on the right track, they arrived in Blackwater Park at dusk. It was as if the sadistic band members had taken some zombies with them from their coup in Noumena, letting them out as they journeyed to their next planned attack spot, most likely in places where there were a number of people to infect. They were far and few between, but they were there, lurking in spots along the road and in remote locations where quite clearly, no concert had been held to explain why they were there, which lead Subversion and co. to believe what they believed.

They arrived just as the nightcrawlers, the underworld folk, unsavoury residents, undesirables, the party people were beginning to crawl out of the woodwork, slithering from their daytime holes or donning their nocturnal masks to emerge and take their places, shoulder to shoulder with their fellow freaks.

They came in two cars, one the Tundra, another appropriated from the side parking lot of the service station. Suggestions were made about taking the police patrol cars, quickly vetoed by the heads of the group. Instead, Tempest discovered a row of hooks hung with keys upon them inside, behind the counter. Some of these were evidently keys to various parts of the service station, the facilities, toilets and so forth, but one set was quite obviously car keys. It didn’t take long for them to find it belonged to a dark blue Toyota Corolla sedan outside, a battered 93 model with plenty of mileage on the clock. Since it was the only vehicle of the handful present they could locate keys to, it would have to do. So they split the group into two, piled into the Tundra and the Corolla and made tracks for Blackwater Park.

With evening arriving in conjunction with them, there were two principal priorities. Finding somewhere to spend the night, and finding out the possibility, or likelihood of a death metal concert happening anytime soon.

Given the fact the streets were crawling with living breathing folk who might have looked insalubrious and shady, but were certainly in no state of zombification, it was a fair bet that even if Undead Fleshcrave were here, they hadn’t yet performed their Zombie Trigger ritual show.

With that taken into consideration, they sought accommodation first. Eschewing standard places such as motels, perhaps subconsciously shying away from this due to the debacle and tragedy at Noumena’s flea motel Neptune Towers, they searched for something irregular, more unexpected. If there was any chance of whispers floating back that those responsible for the deaths of three police officers were somewhere in Blackwater Park, regardless of the situation, they weren’t planning to be in obvious places to stay.

A curious establishment with the name Kathaarian caught the eyes of some, piqued attention, with a sign announcing ‘rooms available’, and the two vehicles, full of tired, agitated souls, pulled in off the busy street and into a secluded parking area, shrouded and well away from the street itself.

None of them were entirely sure what Kathaarian was, whether it was supposed to be a nightclub, a bar, a brothel, a hotel, motel, or what, for though it was in a stretch of town which housed all of the above, there was no definitive indication of its purpose, just a number of signs advertising drinks, music, rooms.

These other advertised things were of no real consequence, what they were here for were the rooms. Parking as far away from the front of the street as possible, right down the back of rows where a couple of cars were parked sporadically, the two automobiles disgorged their occupants and they headed towards the entry.

To anybody else witnessing them, they may have just looked like a standard metal band with their entourage, since Subversion slung their instrument cases over shoulders or by their side as they walked, but all those here in this party who were aware of exactly what was inside those cases knew better.

Unlike most of the businesses lining this strip, Kathaarian had a fence bordering it from the street, an ornate wrought iron entity in black, tipped with spear point rails that spanned along the front of the establishment, to a towering street lamp on the corner, and then continued down the side of the premises. As the eleven of them approached from the carpark, they had to enter through a gate of the same construction before heading to the front of the building.

At least two stories comprised Kathaarian, maybe even another further back, but from where they were here they couldn’t precisely tell. They could see a balcony overhanging the front entrance which was shrouded in dark curtains in blacks and purples covering the windows standing to either side of the door. Alongside the door and windows in the brickwork were lanterns, encased in a similar wrought iron design as that of the fence, and they glowed with a dim reddish hue which cast an unearthly pale crimson over the place.

“Jesus,” Dax marvelled, halting for a second to gaze at the shrouded exterior and up at the overhanging balcony, neither area presenting any clue as to what the place was all about. “This looks like either a brothel, or a fortune telling joint, or some kind of bar or strip club, or a combination of all the above.”

“Whatever it is, it’s got rooms,” Tempest said brusquely. “Which is all we’re after. Nothing else matters.”

“Let’s go,” Black suggested and led the way up the flight of steps heading to the front door, Mother North ensconced in that stygian guitar case of his over his shoulder.

The women came next, with Tempest shortly thereafter, then Heather came after him. Mark and Miranda came together, the frost between them having thawed after the service station horror, reuniting them after the dangerous situation was eventually averted.

Surprisingly, Dax, still staring at the building and trying to ascertain what it was, was the last to enter, after Blizzard and Seth, with Seth having to prompt his friend to warn him they were all going in.

Inside, there weren’t many more clues as to the nature of the establishment, bar the fact that it hosted accommodation, drinks most likely of the alcoholic variety, and music in one form or another. There were a variety of lounges sitting around like some form of waiting room, deep dark reds in colour, which didn’t exactly shake off the brothel concept proposed by Dax, further enhanced by a small bar off to the right.

To the left there was what Seth supposed was a front desk, though it currently played host to an assortment of lit candles and had nobody in attendance. That side of the room put him in mind of the fortune telling section of Dax’s wonderment. Behind both the bar and this front desk area the walls were cloaked in curtains and whatever was beyond them was thoroughly obscured by these thick velvet drapes.

As they all came in, the door gliding shut with a soft thump behind Dax, the burgundy curtains behind the desk parted and a tall woman emerged, long black hair in so many tails and twists that Seth couldn’t shake Medusa parallels from his head. Her lips were black, which unnerved him somewhat until he realised it was the shade of her lipstick, and her eyes were heavily eyeshadowed with a dark purple black mix that appeared to be almost a match for the colour of curtains in the windows. She wore a number of silver earrings in each ear, also a number of facial piercings adorning her nose and eyebrows, which themselves were so thin they could possibly have been drawn on with a pencil.

She was extraordinarily attractive, albeit hard of face with a slight pinch to her eyes, but Seth couldn’t really tell whether it was the prevalence of eyeshadow and lipstick which lent an appearance of beauty to her or otherwise.

She moved from the curtains to the desk in a swift movement that looked sinuous, almost fluid, and a very faint smile tugged at the corners of her black lips.

“Salutations, travellers,” she said in a husky voice.

“Travellers?” Black hitched up an eyebrow. “Why would you presume we’re travellers?”

“Well, you sure aren’t from around here, hun,” the woman responded with a low, throaty chuckle. “If you were from around here, you wouldn’t be in here looking for a place to stay.”

“A place to stay?” Black echoed. “More presumptions?”

“Well, aren’t you?” She countered.

“Indeed, we are,” Black conceded.

“What is this place?” Dax interjected, trying unsuccessfully to catch a glimpse through the tiny sliver in the curtain she’d come through.

“Whatever you want it to be,” she replied, holding her hands wide in an expansive gesture, and Seth noticed her long fingernails were coloured the same black tone as her lipstick.

“Right now,” Tempest spoke up, leaning forward and propping elbows on the counter, getting his words in before Dax could open his mouth and spill forth any of his conjecture about what may or may not be housed inside this Kathaarian establishment. Though all of those who found themselves drenched or splattered with blood from the chaos that ensued at their last stop, cleaned it up inside the service station and ridded themselves of the tainted clothing they were wearing, changing into other outfits, they hadn’t taken any time to shave or handle other ablutions of that nature.

Consequently, the hard rough jawline and cheeks of Tempest were shadowed with dark stubble, giving him an even harsher appearance than he already exhibited, with Black looking similar. Blonde Blizzard, Dax, and Mark were less visible in their unshaven appearances, though Seth suspected he was in the same boat as Tempest and Black, almost self-consciously reaching up right now to scratch at his chin. He wasn’t overly fond of shaving, but he wasn’t particularly overjoyed to be thoroughly unshaven, though at stages Julietta had professed an attraction to having him looking rugged and rough.

“Right now, all we’re interested in is the available rooms.” Tempest said. “Nothing else is of consequence.”

“I see. Here for the death metal thing then, are you?” The Kathaarian proprietor continued. “A band, perhaps?”

“Death metal thing?” Black mirrored again, not missing a beat, though a varied array of expressions traversed the visages of his companions. “That easy to pigeonhole, are we?”

“Stands to reason. Big death metal extravaganza hits town. You guys appear here, looking for a place to crash. Connecting the dots isn’t exactly rocket science. So you’re a band then?”

Dax looked amazed, perhaps starting to think more of his suggestion that this place was, after all, a fortune telling joint.