Ninja Zombie Killers I: A Horror Comedy Rock and Roll Odyssey

By Michael Cairns

In the beginning there was Dave.
Then came rock and roll.
Then came zombies in bad wedding suits, vampires in bad 80s cars, holiday camps, mysterious spell books, undead fathers of the brides, service station hot chocolates, grumpy singers, ninja drummers and an endlessly patient girlfriend.
Only, she’s not so patient anymore. Because Dave’s been chosen to save the world, and if there’s one thing more annoying than a boyfriend who gets home at five every morning, it’s one with a bloated sense of his own importance and a knife fetish.
And then there’s Lilith. She’s been born more times than she can remember. She also happens to be dangerously cute and, as if that wasn’t bad enough, the girl’s got serious pipes.
So Dave, Tom (the grumpy singer), Darren (the ninja drummer), and Lilith (mysterious hot witchy lady), have their work cut out for them. Now if they only knew who wanted to end the world, things would be so much simpler.
Ninja Zombie Killers is what would happen if Buffy grew up, grew a pair, moved to London and learnt to rock.

Click 'Buy Now' to crank up the volume and join the Ninja Zombie Killers as they slay, rock, and drink hot chocolate...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Cairns
• Release date: Feb 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781909699458

Michael Cairns

Michael Cairns was born at a young age and could write even before he could play the drums, but that was long ago, in the glory days - when he actually had hair. He loves chocolate, pineapple, playing gigs and outwitting his young daughter (the scores are about level but she's getting smarter every day). Michael is currently working hard on writing, getting enough sleep and keeping his hair. The first is going well, the other two...not so much. His current novels include: > Young adult, science fiction adventure series, 'A Game of War' 1. Childhood dreams 2. The end of innocence 3. Playing God 4. Breathing in space 5. Escape 6. Gateway to earth > Urban fantasy super-hero series, 'The Planets' 1. The spirit room 2. The story of Erie 3. The long way home >Paranormal horror post apocalyptic zombie series, 'Thirteen Roses' 1. Before (Books 2-6 due for release in spring)

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I

By

Michael Cairns

Published by Cairns Publishing

Copyright © Michael Cairns (2015)

All rights reserved. No part of this publication

may be reproduced, distributed, or

transmitted in any form or by any means without the

prior written permission of the publisher.

1st Edition

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This book is dedicated to the many musicians with whom I’ve been fortunate enough to share a stage. And a service station table.

Pay To Play

There was something strange about the crowd and Dave couldn’t decide whether it was the dearth of applause that followed even their best song, or the guy at the front who kept winking at him. The winking wasn’t odd in itself, it was the toothless grin that accompanied it that freaked him out. The guy was pale, had a serious skin condition, and every time he winked, his mouth cracked open displaying a pair of sharp, cracked incisors and nothing else.

By the fifth song of the set, Dave kept hitting the wrong chords because he couldn’t keep his eyes off his new biggest fan. Finally he managed it, only to notice that the others were all the same. They weren’t doing the winking, but the two-teeth smiles were in evidence everywhere he looked.

The audience could, at least, be described as attentive. There was no doubting the way their eyes were fixed on the four of them, tracking every move they made. Every time Dave shifted to stamp on one of his pedals, half the audience would move with him, swaying in time to the beat. Or his hips.

He shuddered and cranked out the opening chords to I Saw Her Standing There. He forced his eyes off the crowd and up to the bar girls. There were three of them, all young, all covered in make up. He’d said ‘hi’ earlier, but it only occurred to him now, mid-solo, how terrified they all looked. They were stood at the back of the bar, pressing themselves up against the fridges and mini bowls of sliced lemon. Bowls that were untouched.

The song finished and Dave grabbed his mike, announcing the next song as the end of this set. The audience sighed and muttered but gave no other sign they’d heard. Tom frowned at him so he shook his head as he cued up the backing music.

The minute they finished the next song, Dave unplugged his guitar and raced off stage, followed swiftly by the others.

‘Dude, what’s up? We’re ten minutes short.’

He faced the other three as they came off. ‘Something’s not right.’

Ryan chuckled and nodded. ‘Damn right, your guitar playing’s even shitter than usual.’

‘That’s true. But it’s not that, it’s the audience. Don’t you think they’re a bit, like, quiet?’

‘We’ve played to worse.’

Dave tried again. ‘Well, yeah, but normally they’re worse cause they’re talking to each other—’

‘Or playing darts—’

‘Or watching a stripper.’

‘Exactly. They’re watching every move we make. But they aren’t dancing or singing along or anything. It’s like they’re on, like, massive quantities of drugs.’

‘They aren’t healthy, I’ll give you that. Did you see the state of their skin?’

Dave sighed and shook his head. ‘You know what it is, don’t you?’

Darren the drummer leant forwards, nodding soberly. ‘You think they’re diabetic.’

The other three turned to look at him.

‘What?’

‘Darren, you know what diabetic is, right?’

‘It’s when your blood runs out of sugar. Well, wouldn’t that make you all pale and stuff?’

‘Okay, ignoring anything Darren says for the next forever, anyone else want to take a guess?’

Ryan rubbed his temples. ‘They’re bloody zombies again, aren’t they?’

Darren’s mouth fell open, which was when Dave remembered he’d only been in the band for a few months. There were things they didn’t talk about, old tales of the road that never surfaced. That fateful night in Langton in the west country, chief among them. Ed had left the band the next day and when Dave saw him again, months later, he’d still had the shakes.

Tom looked like he’d just been asked to sing Bohemian Rhapsody. ‘I’m not doing it again.’

‘You might have to.’

‘I couldn’t sing for a month after that. We’ve got three bloody weddings next week, I just can’t.’

‘Do you want to get out of here alive?’

Tom grunted and stomped away, kicking a chair as he went. He stormed off across the dressing room, which took him all of five feet away from the others. Dave watched him turn back and almost relented. It would be worse for Tom than them. The magic went through him. But what choice did they have?

‘Um, guys, like, could someone tell me what the hell’s going on?’

Ryan patted Darren on the shoulder and bade him sit down. ‘The audience are zombies. You get them a lot up here. All the coastal towns attract them. Lots of slow old people to eat and no one cares enough to do anything about them.’

‘Zombies?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Like, horror movies, ‘braaaiiins’ sort of zombies?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Cool.’

Dave shook his head. ‘Yeah, not so much. You see, when they say ‘braaaiiins’, it’s because they want to eat your brains. They aren’t being kind about your level of intellect, they really want to eat you.’

‘Well, yeah, but still, zombies? I mean, like, cool.’

Dave blinked a couple of times and was about to ask the others who’d chosen their latest percussionist when a knock at the door made them all jump. The voice that came through it clearly didn’t belong to a dead person.

‘Dearies, would you like a cup of tea?’

Dave opened the door and the grey-haired owner of the bar poked her head in. ‘Hello loves, anyone fancy a cuppa?’

‘Ah, that’d be great, yes please.’ Darren said.

Dave glared at him as he waved her in and closed the door. She smiled benignly up at them, not at all bothered at being crushed into a room the size of a large broom cupboard with four sweaty and increasingly-scared musicians.

‘Anyone else?’

Dave took her shoulders and made good eye contact. ‘Look, Elsie, there’s something you need to know. I don’t think you should go back out there.’

‘Why’s that, dearie?’

‘Your audience are zombies.’

‘Of course, love. Goodness me, who do you think I’d have if they didn’t turn up? Wonderful, they are. Always pay on the door, never make any fuss. I used to have things broken in here, now it’s nice and peaceful.’

Dave blinked. ‘But they’re zombies.’

‘Yes, dearie.’

‘They’re going to eat you.’

She shook her head, smile widening. ‘Not at all. They can’t get rid of me, where would they get their weekly meal from?’

She patted him on the arm, opened the door, and checked her watch. ‘Second set in about fifteen minutes sound alright?’

Without waiting for an answer, she pulled the door closed. Dave heard her whistling as she wandered away down the passage. He looked at the others, stomach churning.

Ryan shook his head. ‘I thought she was cool because she never booked duos or those nasty karaoke singers. Guess there isn’t enough meat on only one or two people.’

Dave slammed his clenched fist against the wall. ‘Tom, we haven’t got any choice.’

‘What about the weddings?’

‘Look, we can get a dep. Or, you know, your throat might be better. We’ve got two days until then.’

Tom hissed and stuck his finger up at Dave, but he returned to the group. He settled with a grunt into one of the flimsy metal fold-up chairs and folded his arms. ‘What if Darren can’t do it?’

‘Of course he can.’ Dave replied, ‘Why do you think we chose him? We knew, on some level, he could do this.’

Tom sneered and threw his hands up. ‘Fine, whatever, let’s just get on with it.’

Dave dug into his bag, removing the music stand and extra guitar strings before he got to the spell book.

‘Right, Darren. I’m going to set up a spell. You need to listen very carefully because I’m going to give you instructions as we go. Ready?’

The drummer nodded, eyes wide as he stared at the book in Dave’s hand. What would the Musicians Union have to say about this? There was nothing in Darren’s contract about taking part in rituals or casting magic. Dave chuckled. Darren didn’t have a contract, none of them did. There was the secret one of course, signed in the blood and sweat of a thousand crappy load-ins and a thousand late nights, but that didn’t say anything about magic either.

He opened the dog-eared book and found the right page, then began to cast.

Ten minutes later, they cracked open the door of the changing room and listened. The soft murmuring of zombies at rest reached them and Dave shuddered. He glanced down at his hands and the sparks that flared gently off the tips of his fingers. He grinned at the others and led them back to the stage.

Darren was shaking so hard he dropped his drumsticks before he could count in the first song. Ryan growled at him before playing a few bars of slap bass. Purple, and a red so dark it looked like the last few seconds of a sunset, sparked from the headstock and sprayed across the cymbal. Where the sparks struck they danced and leapt, falling around Darren who stared at them with his mouth hanging open.

‘Any time you like.’

Darren nodded mutely and scrabbled for his sticks. He held them triumphantly aloft and Dave turned away, readying his pick. The zombies hadn’t moved. They sat in rows, every pair of eyes fixed on the four of them. On their weekly food. He sneered and years of habit transformed it into a smile. It felt more like a grimace, but he’d seen enough photos of them to know it looked great.

The four clicks came and even though he was facing away from the drums, he could see the sparks raining down from them. He hit the first chord of Long Train Running and every string on his guitar lit up, burnt orange pulses dancing up and down. It was like he’d stepped into Guitar Hero.

He glanced down at his black shirt, trousers, and skinny tie. Kind of like Guitar Hero. The drums and bass kicked in and the sparks flew like they’d been transported into a welding workshop. It heated up pretty quick and pools of sweat formed beneath his arms.

He’d forgotten something that had happened the last time they did this and his heart grew heavy. He was playing better than he’d ever played before. His rhythm was so solid he felt like he could groove forever. They sounded amazing. Tears sprang up in his eyes. He remembered from last time how it would feel when the magic faded. He’d know how well he played and that they would never play like it again. Not without the magic.

He cursed and stared at his fingers. He had to enjoy the moment, it was all about the moment.

They grooved so hard the zombies couldn’t help moving with them, swaying back and forth in time with the beat. Where was Tom? He should have started by now and, though Dave didn’t want this to end, the magic wouldn’t last forever.

He looked up from his guitar. Tom stood at the microphone, clutching it so tight his knuckles were white. His gaze met Dave’s and he shook his head almost imperceptibly. He couldn’t. He couldn’t back out now. Dave snarled at him, nodding furiously while Tom scowled and went paler and paler.

Dave strolled across the stage, feeling like Keith Richards, and shouted above the music. ‘We’ve got no choice.’

‘Easy for you to say.’

It was. It wasn’t channeled through him and he didn’t know what it felt like when it was. But he remembered all too well what Tom had been like after. Maybe he shouldn’t have suggested it. Maybe they should have taken the old school route and bunked through the toilet window.

But he’d remembered this feeling and he’d wanted it again, if only subconsciously. He’d wanted it so badly.

‘It’s now or never.’

Tom glared at him with something close to hatred in his eyes and Dave winced. Was this the end of The Rock and Rollers? Tom opened his mouth and the first words of the song slipped out.

He got only as far as the second line before it began. The pitch of his voice rose until it became a whine, like a washing machine on super fast spin. Tom’s head tipped back and his mouth opened horribly wide. Then it emerged. It began with colours, spilling forth like vomit to strike the floor and spread out. Within moments the stage was covered in every colour imaginable, spinning and swirling.

After the colours came the true power. It was dark red and seething, spewing forth to strike the first row. Where it touched the zombies they writhed and finally found their voices. It wasn’t to cheer or applaud, though. They wailed, the sound thin and pathetic as the red bit into their skin. As it crumbled, the blood that lay beneath exploded from them. Soon the front row was covered in blood, dripping off the now-still corpses of the zombies to collect in puddles beneath their chairs.

Tom’s voice changed again as the power took over. He sounded like one of those really cheap motorbikes, buzzing and howling away like a rabid hair dryer. His mouth opened even wider and red power streamed forth, swamping the next two rows like a wave. Dave glanced down at his fingers and winced. He’d dropped his plectrum at some point in the third verse and blood dripped where he drove his fingers into the strings.

The others in the band were similarly caught up in the spell. Darren sprayed sweat as his hands flew, throwing fills in the end of every bar and the start of most. It should have sounded horrible, the worst sort of overplaying, but somehow it fit together like they’d been rehearsing it for years. Ryan had his head down, staring at his bass as his fingers hammered the strings. They were bleeding, too, but his pace wasn’t slackening.

Dave turned back to the audience. There were dozens of zombies slouched dead in their seats, faces masks of blood where their brains had exploded and seeped from their eye sockets and ears and noses. Dave nodded, smile widening. They were doing it, they were going to get out of here al—

‘ENOUGH.’

A shape hurtled across the room, a couple of feet above the audience. Dave dropped to one knee, still strumming. The shape became visible as it struck the stage and materialised into Elsie, the old lady who’d booked them. Only her kindly eyes were on fire and her jaws clenched tight.

She barreled into Tom and sent him flying into the drum kit. The beat stopped and the song faltered. Ryan and Dave kept playing and, to his credit, Darren tried to find it again. Then Tom started convulsing and Darren dived to the floor. Without the drums or vocals, they were fighting a losing battle. It was a groove song and the bass whimpered out moments later leaving only Dave, helplessly strumming with his bleeding fingers.

He stumbled to a halt. Silence fell.

‘That was a nasty trick. Who are you?’ Elsie stood centre stage, glaring at Dave. He glared right back. ‘We’re The Rock and Rollers, bitch.’

The strap-lock came away easy and he thanked the god of rock and roll he’d kept it well maintained. The old witch probably expected more magic. What she didn’t expect was a 1979 Fender Stratocaster in the face. Dave heard her skull crack in the silence of the bar and watched in grim satisfaction as her small body flew sideways, bounced off the bass drum, and landed face-down on the stage.

He hefted his guitar and looked at the others. Ryan was already on the case, leaning his bass carefully against his amp and pulling his sword from the back of his case. Darren was leaning on his tom toms, staring at the body.

‘You killed her?’

‘She’s trying to sic a bunch of zombies on us. You’re damn right I killed her.’

‘But she was an old lady.’

‘She was an evil bitch. Can you fight?’

Darren’s eyes opened even wider. ‘I don’t fight. I’m a pacifist, I abhor violence.’

Dave rested his guitar on the floor, exchanging a look with Ryan. ‘I’m sorry, are you sure you’re a drummer?’

Darren actually glanced at his kit for a moment before nodding. ‘Yeah. I don’t fight.’

‘Fine. In that case, see what you can do about getting Tom on his feet.’

Dave turned to face the audience. The zombies four rows back were on their feet, arms outstretched and two teeth showing. Since when did zombies only have two teeth? He shook his head and raised his guitar. They weren’t leaving here alive.

Ryan joined him at the front of the stage, sword brandished above his head like he’d actually learnt about fighting instead of watching Kill Bill an unhealthy number of times. The first zombies reached them and the battle was joined.

Dave swung his guitar and zombie skull crumpled beneath the blow. With his back swing he tore off the next zombie’s head. It flew across the room and thumped against the wall. Ryan drove his sword straight through his first attacker’s face and it dropped like a stone.

There was a lull for a moment and he glanced over his shoulder. Tom lay with his head in Darren’s lap, eyes rolled up in his head. His mouth hung open and wisps of colour drifted out like cigarette smoke.

‘Wake him up, dammit, get him up.’

‘He’s out, he’s completely out.’

Dave smashed his guitar down on top of the next zombie’s head and its brains burst out in both directions like a cake struck in the middle. He looked back again.

‘Then wake him up.’

‘How?’

‘I dunno. Throw water over his face.’

Darren nodded eagerly and scrambled up. Without hesitation, the drummer leapt off the stage and plunged into the crowd.

‘DARREN!’

The first zombie grabbed Darren and the drummer froze, staring at it in wonder. It bared its remaining teeth and plunged towards the drummer’s face. Dave gasped as Darren moved. It was like watching a ninja. The drummer moved without moving but suddenly the zombie’s head was gripped tight in his hands and he twisted and pulled.

The head popped off and blood spurted from the stump as the body struck the floor. Darren tossed the head into the air and dashed through the crowd. They grabbed for him, but he broke their holds every time.

A hand gripped Dave’s leg and he jumped as his attention was dragged back to the fight. He switched his hold on his guitar neck and drove it straight down, headstock leading the way. It smashed straight through the zombie’s arm and the creature staggered back, blood spraying across the stage from his stump. Dave drove the toe of his boot straight into the creature’s face and its nose shattered before driving into its brain.

Ryan was still chopping, keeping the zombies off the stage, hacking them down one at a time. They could do this, they could actually do this. Ryan shouted and Dave turned to his right. Zombies had discovered the tiny steps at the side of the stage and now there were three on stage, coming for him. He swore and raced for them, guitar held high.

He slammed into them and knocked them flying. One tumbled straight off the stage again, sprawling into the crowd. The other two staggered but refused to fall. Dave smashed the first off the stage with his Fender. Its head split apart as it struck the floor. He reversed his guitar for the second and jammed his head stock through its face.

Its hands clawed at the neck as tried to get purchase, but there was no way the bastard was getting his guitar. He yanked it free and it came with a pop. It also came with brain matter splurged across the top two tuning pegs. An eyeball was balanced precariously on the sharp end of the high E string. Dave shook the guitar, shuddering, until the eyeball flew off into the crowd and most of the soggy brains splattered to the stage.

Dave’s chest heaved as he struggled to draw breath. There were so bloody many of them.

‘Braaaiiins.’

Dave slung his guitar in the stand and went for the drum kit. The stands were longer, which gave him a better reach off the stage. Darren was the first covers player he’d ever met who turned up at gigs with not one, but two splash cymbals. He hefted the two-headed stand and grinned,

He undid one of the nuts and got rid of the legs. Now he had a real weapon. He stepped back to the front of the stage and swung the stand experimentally. It struck the nearest zombie and the ten inch power splash cut its face off. The mini china splash followed up by burying itself in the zombie’s brain. It collapsed, sliding off the cymbals as it went.

‘Yeah, have that you bastards. Ryan, you alright?’

The lack of response made him turn and his heart dropped right through his feet. Ryan was staggering across the stage, staring in disbelief at the zombie head attached to his leg by its teeth. He’d hacked it clean from the body, but that did nothing to diminish the fact that its spit was even now poisoning Ryan’s bloodstream.

The bassist staggered over to him, shaking his head. ‘Don’t let me turn, Dave, don’t let me t—’

Dave was already swinging and the cymbal stand was soon buried deep in his old friend’s neck. Ryan nodded in appreciation as the life fled his eyes. Dave sunk to the stage beside him, cradling his head. They’d played every crap pub and club in London together. They’d even survived