Ninja Zombie Killers III: A Horror, Comedy, Rock and Roll Odyssey

By Michael Cairns

What if Buffy and Lemmy had Kevin Smith’s love child?

Tom’s been captured, the last desperate act of the Zombie King to fuck with Dave’s world. There’s a chance, though it’s as slim as the neck on one of those fruity Hohner headless basses, that Tom’s in the Spirit Plane. Given that he’s got no better ideas, Dave’s taking the plunge, aided and abetted by Edward, Lillith and Darren.
But whilst Dave meets his first succubus, loses a bit of his soul (but not like that), meets his first troll (less exciting than the succubus), goes clubbing and finds some weird, fish/squirrel mutant monster thing, the Blood King has other ideas.
He’s winding up for some serious smack down and, unless something very strange happens, Dave’s in line for the first punch...
What begins as a search for a grumpy bastard singer, soon becomes a fight for their lives, accompanied by the never ending soundtrack of bad accapella and more magic than you can shake a stick at. And a succubus.

Click 'Buy Now' to enter the Spirit Plane with Dave, meet the succubus and... actually, who cares what happens once you've met the succubus, just press the damned button.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Cairns
• Release date: Feb 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781909699472

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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III

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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For Rich

Priests, Pagodas, And Power

Dave’s skin crackled like fine paper. He rubbed his hands together, warming his fingers whilst waiting for the valves to warm up. As always, his patience ran out well before time and he started playing. The chords ran into a riff and from there into a song. He didn’t think about what he was playing. His hands made their own way around the fretboard, finding familiar shapes and patterns until his mind slowed and he stopped worrying.

He would play forever. He would play until he’d forgotten what he was worrying about. He would play until the things he was worrying about had crumbled to dust.

A throat being cleared interrupted the flow and his fingers slipped halfway through the opening riff to Rock and Roll.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but we’re closing for lunch. Did you want to buy the guitar?’

Dave looked down at the ‘72 Les Paul he cradled like a baby and shook his head. ‘I do. I mean, I really do, but I just can’t justify it…’

‘Of course. It is expensive.’

‘Yeah. But it’s so beautiful.’

The shop assistant smiled and reached for it. Dave hugged it closer until the young man dragged it from him. Dave opened his arms like a reluctant soldier leaving his sweetheart at the station. In fact, that’s what he was doing, only this sweetheart was the one he met when he sneaked out the house and said he was going down the pub. He thought of his Stratocaster and flushed. She would never know.

‘Sorry.’

‘No, it’s fine. You can really play, man, it’s great.’

Dave flushed again and smiled sheepishly before beating a hasty retreat from the shop. As the door clanged behind him, he looked up and down Kew High Street, then sighed. The sound felt like the final nail being driven into the coffin. It was happening tonight and he could pretend to forget it all he wanted, it made no difference.

He set off strolling towards the Gardens. He had a few hours. Charlotte was at work and they’d already said their goodbyes. She hadn’t actually said them, to be fair. She’d slapped him and called him a few names, then run out of the house before she started crying. He hadn’t had time to pull his hand out of his pocket to reveal the ring he held between thumb and forefinger. So he’d slipped it back into his ear plug case and come down to Kew.

Now he had a decision to make. Did he spend his last few hours drinking, or wandering around Kew Gardens? His eyes lit on the off-licence and he realised there was an easy answer to that one. Ten minutes later, he strolled through the gate of Kew Gardens, plastic bag laden down with cans of beer and sandwiches. He paid the man and strolled in to be faced with glorious green lawns and enormous trees, stretching away into the distance.

He’d been there before, a long time ago with his folks, but he didn’t remember it. He cracked his first beer and ambled. At some point between going to Fae and killing the Zombie King, summer had died. But the trees were covered in leaves, the grass was warm and dry, and everything smelled of nature. It was almost beautiful enough to bring tears to his eyes. It was that or late hay fever and he wasn’t sure which.

Three cans later, he found himself in front of the Pagoda. It was open now, after years of being closed, and he stared up to the top. There were about twelve floors to the circular tower and the balcony on each was of beautiful carved wood. He paid the man and without even a wobble, mounted the stairs and began his ascent.

He ignored the balconies as he climbed. He needed to get to the top. He was halfway there when his chest began to heave and his throat closed up. Another three floors and lights flashed before his eyes. His cuts from being thrown through a sheet of glass by the Zombie King were stinging as sweat streamed down his back. He climbed further and the lactic acid got so strong he could barely move his arm to sip.

Finally, though, he crawled out onto the highest floor and peered over the balcony. The Gardens spread out below him and this time the tears were genuine. An image of Tom flashed into his head and he squeezed his eyes closed. The singer had been asleep for three days now and the hospital had him out in another ward, hooked up to machines, out of everybody’s way. The scans had all come back clear so they had no idea what was wrong.

Dave was getting tired of having to pretend like he didn’t know either. After tonight, of course, it would all be different. Either they’d have Tom back, or they’d both be dead. One way or the other, it would be better than this.

He’d forgotten how big the gardens were. He could see the Thames in the background, glimmering dully under the early afternoon sun, but between it and him, a thousand trees of every sort filled his view. He breathed in deep and let it out. Someone was coming up to spoil his solitude. The loud thumps of shoes on the stairs was annoying enough for him to contemplate throwing the wearer off the balcony. Instead he finished his beer and started the next.

The thumps stopped. Dave glanced over his shoulder and the beer fell from his hand over the balcony. It tumbled straight down and, despite the men standing behind him, he watched it fall. There was no one below, for which he was deeply grateful. It meant he could enjoy the explosion as it smashed into the ground, spraying beer everywhere. He had a second to reflect that throwing beer cans around probably wasn’t good etiquette in Kew Gardens before a hand grabbed his collar and yanked him backwards.

His knife was already in his hand and, as he slammed into the man behind him, he slipped it round his body and shoved it deep. It bit through flesh and he realised that, despite the sewn-up eyes that marked them as priests of the Blood King, he’d still just stabbed his first human.

He yanked the knife free and shoved the man as he staggered away. He disappeared back through the doorway and moments later a series of thuds and crashes emerged from the dim interior. The other two priests froze so they all stood and listened as the banging and cries of pain grew more and more distant.

They stopped and Dave shrugged. ‘Sorry about that, my bad. What can I do for you?’

To his surprise, one of them opted to talk. He stepped forward and lifted his hands at the same time. His fingernails were painted blood red and if it hadn’t looked like cheap goth, it might have been creepy. The robes, to be fair, were quality, and just the right shade of crimson to not look tacky. ‘You are Dave.’ It wasn’t a question.

‘You are weird.’

The corner of the priest’s mouth twitched up at one side. ‘We have a message for you.’

‘Does it involve grabbing my collar and roughing me up. Because honestly, I have better things to do today.’

‘My colleague merely wished to impress upon you the severity of our message.’

‘What, by falling down the stairs? I’m convinced, that takes serious commitment.’

The smile left his face and he sneered. ‘You are even worse than we were warned.’

‘Who warned you? If his name was Tom, you shouldn’t listen to a word he says.’

‘The Blood King is coming. We are making way for him and he wished you to know that he is watching.’

‘Oh. Is that it?’

‘The Blood King is coming.’

‘Yeah, so’s Christmas. Couldn’t he have just texted or something?’

The priest glanced sideways at his associate, though what deep feeling he could convey with his eyes sewed shut, Dave had no idea. He couldn’t think of them as friends. People like him didn’t have friends. He was a Linked-In kinda guy, for sure.

‘Well, if that’s everything, I was just enjoying a quiet beer so if you’ll excuse me?’

He turned back to the balcony. He pulled a beer from his bag and rested it on the wooden railing. It made it easier to open and was in no way a method for stopping the shaking in his hand. He put his plastic bag on the floor and checked over his shoulder. The men with the nasty eyes were still watching him. ‘What?’

‘The Blood King is coming. And you are not needed in his world.’

Dave had about a second to think of a comeback before the priests attacked. The first ran full tilt straight into him and, even braced as he was, he still staggered and slammed against the railing. The priest pushed harder and Dave’s feet left the ground.

The calm the beer had brought him fled as he became horribly aware of the massive drop beneath him. Then the second priest appeared behind his associate, grabbed his feet, and pitched them both off the balcony! That guy wasn’t even a Linked-In sort. Maybe Facebook.

The balcony flew past and Dave screamed. He grabbed for it, but the weight of his attacker dragged him straight down. He twisted and got a glimpse of the floor, far below. It wasn’t quite as far, now. The man who’d fallen with him seemed no more bothered by the fall than he was by having no eyes. He clawed at Dave as though he still needed to kill him, even with a 100 foot drop to go.

They passed the second balcony and again Dave reached for it. He got a hand to the top railing, only to have it torn away as his attacker pulled him down. He was vaguely aware of his breath caught in his chest and the sweat pooling beneath his arms. He was more aware of the wind rushing past.

The third balcony came and went. In some distant past, he’d learnt the law of terminal velocity. He couldn’t remember anything about it, except that he’d always found the term slightly disturbing. Now he knew why. The next balcony came and just before they reached it, Dave had another flash of Tom in the hospital bed.

Everyone was relying on him.

His hand shot out and grabbed the railing. The weight of the priest impacted a moment later and every muscle in his arm and shoulder screamed like the audience at a Beatles gig. And just like for those audiences, the rest of the world went away. He stopped dead then his body slammed against the beautifully-carved balcony and the air rushed from his lungs.

Dave gasped and groaned at the same time. The priest clung to him by the belt, which was perfect placement. Trying to ignore the hundreds of horses doing their best to rip his arm from its socket, Dave yanked his knee up into the priest’s face. It wasn’t the strongest blow but it must have caught something because his attacker winced. Had his eyes not been stitched closed with string, he’d have probably started crying.

Dave took a feeble breath and drew his knee back. As he hit the priest in the face, his hand slipped on the railing and he yelped. One of the priest’s hands popped free of his belt and he swung out, taking Dave away from the Pagoda. His wrist was going to snap. It would just shear away, bone parting at the joint, and he’d hit the ground with a bloody stump where his picking hand should be.

Dave bit his lip and lifted his left hand from where it hung useless at his waist. The priest had both hands back on Dave’s belt and was trying to climb him. One thing at a time. Dave swung his left hand up and grabbed part of the carving. The weight on his right shoulder eased and he whimpered as a few of the horses gave up and buggered off.

He was now facing the Pagoda with the priest trapped between him and the wood. Dave pushed himself away and swung back. He barely went anywhere, but still the crazy wanker was slammed against the wall. Dave did it again, but this time raised his leg. The priest’s nose made a soft, satisfying snap as it was trapped between the balcony wall and Dave’s knee.

The priest screamed and his hand slipped off the belt. The shift in weight invited the horses back and added a piano, tied to his foot. His shoulders were about to burst. Maybe the priest would get covered in blood and let go in his excitement.

He had to make it count. Dave kneed him again and again, smashing his leg into the broken nose. The priest stopped shouting after the fourth hit and focused on keeping hold. Dave rolled to the side and put his weight against the arm the priest still had on his belt.

Dave looked into the priest’s face. There was no expression there except blind determination. Hah, blind determination. That was funny.

‘You’re one twisted son of a bitch, you know that, right?’ He shoved himself from the wall with his right leg, twisted in the air and came crashing back against it with the priest trapped in the way. The impact was the final straw for the beleaguered man and his hand slipped free of Dave’s belt.

The guitarist watched him fall, scrunching up his face until the dead-body thud as the priest hit the ground made him close his eyes and swallow. His arms felt like he’d just played Steve Vai’s entire back catalogue. That was the second thought in as many minutes that made him giggle, but it was soon replaced by a whimper.

He tried to pull himself up but only got halfway there before his shoulders gave up and almost dumped him straight off the Pagoda. He gritted his teeth and set to swinging. It was no easier on the shoulders, but after the fifth swing, his foot caught over the railing. He hung like that for a moment before hauling himself further over.

He struck the floor inside the balcony and tried to cling to it. Floors don’t take well to being hugged, but he did his level best to do exactly that. He got about two seconds hugging time before a boot slammed into his ribs. He was entirely unprepared and his lungs gave up completely.

Just as his vision began to darken, they opened up and he sucked in a mouthful of precious air. The boot came again and he twisted away. It caught him in the left arm which hurt just as much as the ribs. But now he had the air to scramble to his feet. Scramble was a strong term. Lurch was probably nearer the mark.

Dave stood with his back pressed to the low balcony railing and faced the final priest. The bastard was smiling. He’d just dumped his buddy off the top of the Pagoda, sending him to certain death, and he was smiling. ‘Anyone ever told you, you’re one sick bastard?’

‘I am the cure. This world is diseased and I am the cure.’

‘Oh please, not with all that crap again. Let me guess, you’ve been here before and it’s your world and everyone else needs to just die and go away?’

The priest’s non-eyes widened for a moment, but he rallied well. ‘You are half right. We have been here before and we do want everyone to die. But this isn’t our world and we don’t want it.’

‘Huh? Why are you here, then?’

‘I want you to imagine the Blood King. In his veins he carries dead stars and in his eyes you would see all the worlds he has eaten. The Blood King needs to take a shit and Earth is the perfect place. Your world will become his toilet.’

It was, without doubt, the best bad-guy speech Dave had ever heard. There was no doubting the bile in the man’s voice, nor the insanity. Dave side-stepped, trying to take himself away from the drop. Around the Pagoda were areas of wall that ran floor to ceiling between the balconies. If he could just get his back to one of them, he’d feel better. Not good, but better.

‘Right, so Earth is a toilet. Nice metaphor. When’s he coming?’

‘He is already here.’

‘Really? So what, is he pissing in the sea or something? I mean, why can’t I see him?’

‘I see you don’t really get metaphors, despite your previous comment.’ The priest smiled wryly and shook his head. Dave ground his teeth together and beckoned the man forward. When he didn’t react, Dave realised he was actually blind, which had to the stupidest thing he’d ever heard of.

‘Tell me straight, did you put your own eyes out?’

The priest gave a big grin, showing teeth filed down to points. Dave groaned. ‘Have you got some bad-ass tattoos as well? Maybe Bloody 4EVA on your back or something?’

The smile went and the priest growled. ‘Everything I have done is because I worship a being too powerful for you to even be in the presence of—’

‘Why is why he sends dicks like you to do his dirty work.’

The priest uttered a snarl and raced around the Pagoda. Dave dropped to one knee, not trusting himself to be standing anywhere near the balcony edge. The priest’s knees caught him in the face, but Dave grabbed his waist and heaved him straight over his head. The crack as the priest struck the wall was both satisfying and not quite believable. He’d reached the sodding wall just when he wanted the balcony.

Dave shoved the priest’s legs off his shoulders and scampered away. The man lay face down, head twisted to one side. Dave went cold, one hand covering his mouth. He crept to the body and knelt beside it. There was a pulse, faint, but enough to chase away the fear that gripped him.

The one he’d fallen with was dead, but that wasn’t Dave’s fault, not really. This, though, would have been murder, plain and simple. He swallowed down the lump in his throat and scurried to the stairs.

He staggered down and got halfway before remembering his bag of beers. He clenched his fists, looked up, and muttered under his breath. Then he shrugged, left them at the top, and headed down. The afternoon sun was still warm and he stretched and rolled his shoulders as he stepped out of the Pagoda. The man at the door was on the phone, speaking urgently to someone, presumably the police, using one hand to punctuate everything he said with short sharp jabs.

Dave gave him a wave on the way out and the man’s mouth fell open. He stared for a second before the voice on the phone dragged him back. Dave stomped for the nearest copse of trees, but he wasn’t fast enough.

‘Hold on, come back.’

The huffing of the door attendant brought Dave to a stop. ‘Hi, can I help you?’

‘Can you? Did you see that man fall?’

‘What man?’

The attendant pointed at the body on the grass. Dave widened his eyes and did his best shocked look. ‘Goodness me, what happened?’

The attendant turned back and stared at him. ‘Really?’

‘Really. I have no idea what happened to them.’

‘I think you should stay and talk to the police.’

‘You’ll do fine on your own. I really have to go, I’ve got a gig.’

‘A gig?’

‘Yeah, I play in a band.’

‘Oh, cool, what do you play?’

‘Guitar.’

‘Cool. I’m a drummer myself. Just do weddings and stuff at the moment.’

‘No way? Same here. What’s your band name?’

‘Under the Covers. You know, bad pun and all. How about you?’

‘Ninja Zombie Killers.’

The attendant raised an eyebrow. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah. It’s weird, doesn’t put the clients off at all.’

‘Great. How’s your year been? Our winter was a bit slow.’

‘Yeah, not too bad. We had a couple of residencies, which helped. Look, it’s great to talk, but I’ve gotta go.’

‘Yeah, of course, you can’t miss sound check.’

The attendant waved him away with a bright smile and Dave scarpered as fast as his legs would carry him. It wasn’t that fast, what with the shaking and the pain from having climbed up and down the Pagoda, but he didn’t need to hurry too bad. Someone was looking out for him, it seemed. Under the Covers, though? He shuddered as he headed out of Victoria gate, nodding at the police as they dashed past.

An hour later, he stepped off the tube at Mile End and strolled down the high street. He was well aware his steps were slowing with every metre he walked, but he thought he’d done well just turning up. He left the high street and sauntered through the streets until he reached the right address. The wheelchair ramp to the front door confirmed it so he knocked on the door.

Lilith opened it and ushered him in, sparing him a quick peck on the cheek. He blushed and wondered why. She wore jeans and a strappy top and looked casual but still, somehow, managed to be unbelievably hot. She fit right into the lounge, where an open fire poured warmth out into the room. Edward sat at a desk in one corner and Darren was perched on the edge of a sofa.

The sofa looked comfy. He hoped it was, he was going to be spending the night on it. Edward cleared his throat and waved absently for Dave to sit. His eyes never left the book spread open on the desk. Dave sat, sipped the hot chocolate Lilith pressed into his hands, and tried not to think about anything.