Punks Versus Zombies - episode 35
In our last episode, Tommy and the survivors arrived in Kansas. After a near-miss with zombies, they arrived at a compound and were invited to play a gig...
Tommy paced the narrow confines of the backstage area. It had been so long since they’d played a proper gig—not since that fateful night at Gilman Street.
He glanced over at Micky, noting the healthier glow to his friend’s skin, the steadiness of his hands. “You’re looking better, Mick. How’re you feeling?”
Micky shrugged, a half-smile quirking his lips. “One of Jack’s guys hooked me up with a little something to take the edge off. Just enough to get me through the set without losing my lunch, you know?”
Laila frowned. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? We don’t even know what they gave you.”
“Relax, Lai. It’s just a little pick-me-up. Nothing hardcore. I’ll be fine.”
“Alright, guys. Listen up.” Tommy gathered them in close. “I know it’s been a while since we’ve done this. And I know everything’s different now. The world out there’s gone to hell. But out there? On that stage? We’re still Crab Versus Lion. We’re still family.”
Laila nodded. “Damn right, we are.”
“So let’s go out there and give these metalheads a show they’ll never forget. No setlist, no rules. We just play what feels right, yeah? Go with the flow and let the music take us where it needs to go.”
Micky grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I’m down for that.”
“What about the first song, though?” Laila asked. “We’ve got to start strong, set the tone.”
Tommy considered for a moment. “What do you think? “
“What about ‘Lies, Lies, Lies’? It’s got that raw energy, you know? That punch to the gut right out the gate.”
“I like it. Micky?”
“Hell yeah, man. Let’s do it.”
They huddled in tighter, foreheads touching as they breathed in the moment. It was like old times, like that electric thrill that came in the breath before they hit the stage.
A cough from the doorway made them look up. Jimbo, Roxy, and Zero stood there, all three of them grinning.
“You dudes ready to do this thing?” Jimbo asked.
“Just don’t break a leg, yeah?” Roxy smirked, her arms crossed. “Can’t afford more injuries.”
Zero nodded, his eyes intense. “Give ‘em hell, guys.”
“We’ve got this.” Tommy said. “Let’s go out there and show these people what punk rock is all about.”
Jack appeared in the doorway. “You folks ready? Crowd’s getting restless out there.”
Tommy nodded, taking a deep breath. “Yeah, man. Let’s do this.”
His heart pounded as they stepped out onto the stage, the glare of the spotlights momentarily blinding. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to reveal a sea of faces—hundreds of metalheads in black leather and denim.
Beside him, Laila and Micky looked equally nervous, their hands clutching unfamiliar instruments. Tommy studied the guitar that had been thrust into his hands moments before, running his fingers over the sleek body, tsting the lighter strings.
He tried a few power chords, wincing as the distortion came out all wrong, the pedals refusing to cooperate. He fiddled with the knobs and switches, but it was no use. This wasn’t his set-up, the guitar he’d spent countless hours breaking in, learning every scratch and quirk. But it would have to do.
Tommy leaned over to Laila and Micky, forcing a grin. “Looks like we’re going full hair metal tonight, guys. Regular Mötley Crüe over here.”
Laila rolled her eyes, but Tommy caught the twitch of a smile at the corners of her mouth. She plucked at the five-string bass, her fingers dancing over the extra string.
Micky settled behind the drum kit, his eyes wide as he took in the sprawl of toms and cymbals, the double-kick pedals at his feet. “Damn, I feel like Danny Carey over here. I’m not worthy!”
Tommy and Laila exchanged a blank look. Micky just shook his head, grinning.
Jack stepped up to the mic, his arms spread wide. “Alright, everyone! We’ve got a special treat for you tonight. All the way from Philly, making their apocalypse debut…give it up for Crab Versus Lion!”
The crowd erupted, a wall of noise that hit Tommy like a physical force. He stepped up to the mic, his heart in his throat.
“What’s up, Kansas? We’re Crab Versus Lion, and we’re here to melt your faces off!”
Another roar, the front rows surging forward, ready for war. Tommy glanced back at Laila and Micky, catching their nods.
They launched into “Lies, Lies, Lies,” the opening riff tearing through the amps, Micky’s drums a machine gun barrage.
Tommy leaned into the mic, his voice raw and ragged as he screamed the lyrics, the words ripped from some primal place deep inside.
The song sounded...different. Heavier, meaner. The unfamiliar gear lent a new edge to their sound, a metal tinge that the crowd devoured.
As they hit the final chord, the cheers were deafening. Tommy looked out over the sea of raised fists and devil horns, the grins on Laila and Micky’s faces mirroring his own.
They tore through “Sucker Punch,” the crowd swirling into a vortex of flailing limbs and flying bodies as the circle pit opened up.
Then, on a whim, Tommy called out, “Any Black Flag fans in the house tonight?”
A few dozen cheers rippled through the crowd.
They launched into “Rise Above,” the crowd a pulsing mass of sweat and fury.
Tommy lost himself in the music, in the raw, electric connection of band and audience. Nothing existed beyond the cramped stage, the press of bodies, the relentless driving beat.
They blazed through “Revolution’s End” and “No More,” the bodies in the pit turned to whirling dervishes, animated by the frenzy of the moment.
Looking out over the crowd, Tommy spotted a familiar flash of crimson—Roxy’s hair, unmistakable amidst the throng. Beside her, Jimbo and Zero thrashed and headbanged.
He glanced at Laila, mouthing, “Pull them up!”
Tommy leaned over the stage, arm outstretched towards their friends. “Get up here! Let’s show ‘em how it’s done.”
Roxy, Jimbo, and Zero surged forward, clambering onto the stage with the help of the cheering crowd.
Zero snatched up Tommy’s guitar as he handed it off, his fingers already flying over the strings. Tommy grabbed the mic, nodding to Roxy as she stepped up beside him.
Micky counted them in, and they careened into “Knowledge” by Operation Ivy, Roxy’s voice melding with Tommy’s as they traded lines back and forth. Jimbo bounced around the stage with a tambourine he’d snagged from somewhere, the picture of shirtless, drunken glee.
As the final notes died away, Tommy barely had a chance to catch his breath before Zero launched into the opening riff of “Time Bomb” by Rancid. The energy crackled and popped.
Tommy pulled Roxy into an impromptu two-step as they wailed the chorus, their voices raw and reckless. Jimbo grinned maniacally as he spun his tambourine like a madman, narrowly avoiding clocking Micky upside the head.
They wrapped with a blistering cover of “Minor Threat,” the anthem of their misspent youth, the lines of rage and resistance taking on a new resonance in light of all they’d endured.
As they hit the final note, Tommy spun to face Laila, their eyes locking across the stage. In that look passed a thousand words left unsaid—gratitude, solidarity, love.
Tommy pulled Roxy into a fierce hug, feeling the wetness of her tears against his neck as the cheers and applause washed over them
“We did it. We made it.” His voice cracked on the words, the full weight of the moment hitting him square in the chest.
He turned to Micky and Laila, sweeping them into the embrace. There they stood, clinging to each other, trembling with exhaustion and elation.
Jack stepped up to the mic. “Let’s hear it one more time for Crab Versus Lion! Punk’s not dead, baby!”
As they stumbled offstage, making way for the next act, Tommy felt something shift inside him. The knot of fear and grief that had taken up residence in his chest had loosened, just a fraction.
They had survived. More than that, they had lived.
As he looked around at the faces of his friends, his family, Tommy felt the sting of tears in his eyes. They had lost so much, sacrificed so much. But here, now, basking in the afterglow of the music, he let himself believe that maybe, somehow, they would make it through. That there was still hope for them, for the world they had known.
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