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    Ninja Zombie Killers V: A Comedy, Horror, Rock and Roll Odyssey: Vol 5
    Ninja Zombie Killers V: A Comedy, Horror, Rock and Roll Odyssey: Vol 5
    Ninja Zombie Killers V: A Comedy, Horror, Rock and Roll Odyssey: Vol 5
    Ebook384 pages5 hours

    Ninja Zombie Killers V: A Comedy, Horror, Rock and Roll Odyssey: Vol 5

    By Michael Cairns

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    About this ebook

    From zombie-infested caves deep beneath France, to another realm, and beyond, Ninja Zombie Killers V takes Dave and his pals to new heights. And lows.
    Because there’s one less pal, now, and his absence has changed everything. The band is over, Dave hasn’t touched a guitar in months, and he’s finding his kicks hunting down a being sworn to destroy him.
    As it turns out, that being is far more interested in fucking with Dave than killing him, and so begins the end of season one of Ninja Zombie Killers. With Lilith’s help, Dave plans his revenge for the death of his friend, but even the best-laid plans can go wrong, and Dave’s plans fit on the back of a postage stamp.
    But the Blood King always seems to be one step ahead and when things get personal, more personal, Dave realizes it’s all or nothing.
    His plan will take him to hell and back, via the back streets of Ealing. Jury’s still out on which is worse, but since hell isn’t filled with pensioners intent on ending Dave’s sorry life, he’s going with Ealing.
    His plan will put him, and everyone on Earth, in the most terrible danger. Not to mention a host of other realms, all of which are desperate for him to succeed, but oddly unwilling to help.
    Dave’s going it alone. If he wins, he gets his freedom and the lives of those he loves. If he loses then everything, and I mean everything, is over.

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

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMichael Cairns
    Release dateAug 9, 2017
    ISBN9781909699731
    Ninja Zombie Killers V: A Comedy, Horror, Rock and Roll Odyssey: Vol 5
    Author

    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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      Book preview

      Ninja Zombie Killers V - Michael Cairns

      V

      By

      Michael Cairns

      Published by Cairns Publishing

      Copyright © Michael Cairns (2017)

      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

      To get a free book, free short stories and updates on upcoming releases,

      JOIN MY MAILING LIST!

      For inspirations, both new and old… Looking at you, Bill and Ted :)

      Hunting for Witches

      Dave slumped breathless to the floor. His arms ached, like he’d been playing bass for at least an hour, maybe more. God, he hated playing bass. Fortunately, he was doing something much more fun. Another zombie lunged round the corner and he grumbled to his feet. He was moving on autopilot, sluggish and dull, and they weren’t slowing down. If anything, they seemed to be coming faster, though that might have been because he was so knackered.

      The zombie snarled, baring yellow teeth. What was it about becoming undead that made your teeth so bad? This guy ate raw meat most of the time and, admittedly, he was unlikely to floss much, but his teeth were the colour of mustard. Maybe it was a hormone. Maybe it didn’t matter one sodding bit when the bastard was trying to tear your throat out with his teeth.

      Dave swayed to one side and let it lurch past, then drove the tip of his knife into the side of its head. It sunk deep, smashing through the weak, rotting skull and into the brain. He grabbed the hilt with both hands and held tight as the corpse slid off with a sound like cold custard being emptied into a bin.

      He gained another five steps down the passage before the next zombie appeared. This was like one of those bloody computer games where the enemies kept coming until you reached a particular point. Only there was no point. He’d been tramping down this passageway since breakfast and all he’d done was kill the best part of an orchestra of zombies.

      Maybe Lilith was wrong. Maybe there was nothing here at all. But he’d seen the markings two days ago and, even as rough scratches on a wall, seeing the animals pinned to posts had sent a chill straight down his back all the way to his arse. His arse never got cold, but he was still shivering. The Blood King was either here, or had been here in the past, and that meant Dave might get a clue to his current whereabouts.

      Or he could get his face bitten off by a zombie. He needed to rest soon, or it was going to happen just because of statistics. He hated statistics at the best of times, but when they meant he only had a few minutes to live, he really loathed them. His next opponent had hair like a curtain, swinging before her face. Even when zombies turned, their hair kept growing. Maybe their nails did too, but since they became claws, he wasn’t about to ask. The hair thing was just weird. If not for the stench of rotting flesh and the chunks of skin falling off her face, she could pass for human even without the make up the public ones relied on. He groaned. He’d spent far too long in the company of zombies.

      At least he didn’t have time to think down here. He barked a laugh as he punched his knife through her left eye socket. As she flew back, her hair blew up in a wave and he caught sight of the emaciated face beneath. How were they surviving in here, anyway? What were they all eating?

      He hurdled the body and ran. Maybe it was like a computer game, maybe if he got far enough—

      He shoulder charged the zombie that emerged from a passageway, knocking it back into the gap. He was past where they were coming from. He was past and safe! He wa—

      Dave skidded to a stop, wobbling on the edge of an enormous precipice. His heart climbed up into his mouth and started picking at his teeth. The passage ended as abruptly as a Slayer song, opening out into a cavern so large he couldn’t see the far side. He inched forwards, gripping tight to the wall, and peered out. Below him, the ground was shrouded in darkness. Above, the roof was too high to see.

      A growl from behind made him spin. He teetered on the edge and his heart leapt from his mouth, scrambled up his hair, and clung shivering to the top of his head. The zombie swung one long, ape-like arm, and clouted Dave round the face. The sound of statistics happening made him groan. One mistake was all it took. He swayed, flailing wildly with both arms, but the wall wasn’t interested in helping him out.

      His heart waved a white flag, bade him farewell, and jumped. Seconds later, he joined it, plunging down into the cave. He took a moment to reflect. He should have taken Darren up on his offer. He could, at this very moment, be chilling in a hotel lobby, preparing to play some music.

      Instead, he was about to die. He wanted to pretend he was more upset than he actually was. He stared up at the hole and was gratified to see the zombie come charging out of it and hurtle towards the ground. Then he struck the stone and everything went black.

      Do you keep pets, Dave?

      His first thought when he woke was ‘thank fuck this isn’t a hospital.’ It seemed most times he was knocked unconscious he woke surrounded by bleeping machines and the slow chuckle of the mad old guy who was a prerequisite of all NHS hospitals. This time, though, he woke to darkness.

      And stone.

      Stone that pressed against his back and reminded him how bad his shoulder still hurt. Three months and the sodding thing was still sore. Three months without guitar. Three months during which demons had appeared at random across London, wreaking havoc until the army brought them down. Three months during which, had his shoulder not been utterly fucked, he could have done something. He could have saved people.

      The doctor said it looked like he’d been hit with a huge knife then been dumb enough to pull a car with the same arm. He’d almost answered that a corpse wasn’t quite as heavy as a car, but since the police had only just finished quizzing him about Tom, he’d kept his mouth shut.

      The stone was ragged and sharp, digging into every part of him soft enough to feel it. He sat up, searching for the glowing red light that would announce his imminent arrival in hell. He was actually pretty certain that, having saved the world at least three times at the last count, he’d be heading to heaven, but there was a good chance whoever was in charge of these decisions had a sick sense of humour.

      He had a vague image of God. He didn’t believe in him as such, but the impending arrival of the Blood King, who was as close to omnipotent as anyone he’d ever met, made it easier to accept that there might be more to life. Whether the death of his best friend had anything to do with that belief he didn’t know, and wasn’t willing to contemplate at any length.

      The darkness remained. In fact, it remained so absolute that he hit himself in the face as he went to scratch his nose. After four days of fighting all manner of evil in passageways that reminded him of his six, ill-fated months on a cruise ship playing Manilow covers with the Crui-Sing Pirates, punching himself was the final indignity.

      ‘BLOODY SODDING BOLLOCKS!’

      His voice was swallowed by the gloom, then returned to him, bounced this way and that by the rock. The echoes lasted long enough for his traitorous heart, who had crawled back into his chest with a red face and sheepish look about it, to slow. Then he grinned. That was some serious echo.

      ‘HOOT.’

      Hoot

      Hoot

      Hoot

      Hoot

      His grin widened as it came back. He imagined recording drums in here and curled his toes in excitement. It would sound both horrible and wonderful, but if they close mic’ed everything and gated it to fuck, it could r—

      ‘Welcome, little man.’

      Dave recognised the voice all too well. His scrotum curled up and tried to join his heart in the safe place it’d dug in the middle of his chest. Dave climbed to his feet. He hadn’t imagined meeting the Blood King like this. He’d imagined sneaking up on him, a giant blob sat arrogant on a throne, just waiting to have a bloody great knife stuck in him.

      Why had he imagined that? What degree of stupidity had led him to believe that was how it would work? He snorted and gestured for the Blood King to bring it on. He had to assume the smarmy bastard could see perfectly well in here. ‘Hi. Nice pad. Pity I can’t see shit, maybe you should get your electrics fixed.’

      ‘There are no electrics down here, little man. This is one of the Underneath places.’

      ‘Yeah, I figured that. Catchy name, real homey.’

      ‘You killed my puppet.’

      ‘Who, Edward? Yeah, he was a twat, he had it coming.’

      ‘He was mine.’

      ‘I’m not sure he was that kind of guy, but hey, you gave him his legs back, so he owed you pretty big.’

      The silence lasted long enough for Dave to realise that his voice wasn’t echoing anymore. The acoustics had gone from Stadium to mole hole in a heartbeat. ‘Am I dead?’

      ‘Why would you think you are dead?’

      ‘Well, I fell from a very high place towards solid rock. That’s a pretty good recipe for a swift and bloody demise.’

      ‘I caught you.’

      ‘Aww, shucks, you shouldn’t have.’

      ‘You are right.’

      Dave rocked back on his heels, eyebrows raised. This was going better than expected.

      ‘I should have let you fall. Why didn’t I?’

      ‘My looks? My natural charm? Maybe it’s because, deep down, you know that my fate is to end you.’

      Thunder boomed as the Blood King laughed at him. ‘Do you have any idea who I am?’

      ‘Some high and mighty wanker who thinks far too much of himself. By the way, there’s this question I’ve been wanting to ask. Why are you closing the doors?’

      ‘Do you keep pets, Dave?’

      ‘I’ve got cats.’

      ‘Ahh. That’s a shame. Had you kept dogs, you’d have understood the importance of making sure the gates are closed before releasing them into the garden.’

      ‘Yeah, I’ve already met your hounds. They weren’t all that.’

      ‘I remember it well. Their mother was most displeased.’

      Dave took that in, remembering the huge black beasts he’d fought on the streets of London. They were puppies? He swallowed and folded his arms. Just think of Tom. ‘So come on then, why did you keep me alive?’

      ‘You interest me. And you killed my puppet.’

      ‘You killed my best friend.’

      ‘I did. But it wasn’t enough. You see—’

      Dave screwed up his eyes as bright white light burst into life. He blinked until the stone beneath his feet swam back into focus. He was still in the cavern. A few feet away, the splattered remains of a zombie formed an impromptu rug. Ten feet beyond that stood someone he could only assume was the Blood King.

      Dave sniffed. The Fae King lived up to his name. He was huge and did a good impression of a Norwegian metal singer. The Blood King, not so much. He looked about 60, 65, and wore a cardigan. It had curved buttons down the front and set off his moustache and twinkly eyes to perfection. He was the uncle everyone liked having round at Christmas. He was also the guy in the horror movies who was lovely until the last 20 minutes when they opened his shed and found all the corpses hanging on meat hooks.

      He strolled towards Dave, spreading his hands before him like he was about to sell him a car.

      ‘You see, Dave, I’m bored. I’m also extremely angry, but not so much with you as with certain other, older, denizens of your collected realms.’

      ‘Collected realms?’

      ‘Earth, Fae, the Shadows, numerous others for whom I have even less patience. But my anger can wait. It has waited millennia, so why rush now? But boredom? That I can do without.’

      ‘I know what you mean. Man, waiting for a gig is just fucking torture. You’re sat in the back of some marquee somewhere, or in a freezing cold store cupboard that smells of sour milk. You sound checked at two in the afternoon and you aren’t on till half bloody ten. I used to take books, but then your band mates complain because you’re being so antisocial…’ he trailed off as Tom’s face entered his mind. He could still hear him, bitching about Dave being a selfish little bitch for bringing his book when the rest of them had to suffer.

      ‘Your boredom is to mine, what a minnow is to a great white shark.’

      ‘What, like fresh water and sea water? How does that work? Sorry, you’ve lost me with that metaphor.’ The Blood King snarled and Dave almost lost it. Almost. ‘Actually, is it a metaphor or a simile? You know, I could never get them right. May—’

      ‘I will make your life a living hell.’

      ‘Oh.’ A chill, like a single piece of cold spaghetti dropped unnoticed down his top, started in his chest and crept through him.

      ‘I have found that a great way to alleviate boredom is to cause pain. In this instance, your pain.’

      ‘Why me?’ He winced as he said it. Why him? Because he was there, why was it ever him? Why had he been chosen to save the world? Because he was just a big enough mug to say yes.

      ‘Because you killed my puppet. Not to mention making it your life’s quest to hunt me down and kill me.’

      ‘Oh yeah, that.’ Dave sucked in a breath. The Blood King was resting his weight on one leg, the hint of a smile playing across his face. The silence stretched out. ‘So what happens now?’ Dave asked.

      ‘Happens? It is already happening. But one quick thing, before you go. You came here to find me and you have. Should you desire a chance to kill me then please, be my guest.’ The Blood King spread his hands wide and Dave swallowed the lump that appeared in his throat. Surely the guy wasn’t that stupid. But he wasn’t hiding and, unless he had some kind of mystical armour on, Dave couldn’t taste any magic in the air.

      He yanked out his spell book, turned to the page he’d sung before he entered, and rattled through it. He waited for the tingle but nothing came. He knew long before he’d finished that nothing was happening.

      ‘What’s wrong, Dave? You look flustered.’

      ‘It’s this bloody cave, isn’t it? You’ve got some kind of damping spell or something.’

      The Blood King smiled and folded his arms. ‘Time’s up. Pity you missed it. Still, better luck next time.’

      The Blood King stepped backwards, never taking his shining eyes from Dave. The light was dimming and Dave scurried across the stone in pursuit. ‘Wait, hang on, how do I find you next time?’

      ‘Find me?’ The thunder rolled around the cavern. ‘You won’t find me. But I’ll be there, don’t worry about that.’

      Darkness fell and Dave skidded to a halt. If he ran any further he’d catch his toe on a piece of stone and probably break it. He scowled and crouched on his haunches. His heart pounded in his chest and it wasn’t from the running. He’d just met the Blood King and survived. That was damned suspicious, but he’d take it if it meant he was still walking and talking.

      Now he had to get out of this sodding cave. He dug his torch out and flicked it on. The tiny beam played over rock, rock and more rock but, as he turned in a slow circle, it revealed the remains of the zombie. With his stomach rebelling, Dave crept over to the dead creature. Even the scuff of his boots bounced off the walls, filling the cave with the sound of snakes slithering over dry leaves… Or maybe that was just him.

      He waited until silence returned before examining the zombie. It was, predictably, a pile of shattered bones covered in thick, gloopy blood and scraps of rotting flesh. There was nothing of any use, unless… with a lurching in his stomach, he used his boot to shove the worst of the wet stuff out the way before grabbing some of the shattered bones.

      The first couple were too short, and the next fell apart as he picked it up. But the fourth was over a foot long, solid and sharp at one end. How long would it remain that way once he started slamming it into rock? He found four in total and straightened, muttering as his muscles complained. He ached as though he’d really hit the floor instead of being caught by the Blood King.

      He hadn’t entertained the thought yet, but there was a strong possibility he was splattered across the cave floor and, even now, the Blood King was laughing at his remains whilst screwing with his mind. He scowled into the darkness and decided he was going to stick two fingers up to the bastard, whether he was alive or dead.

      Using the torch to avoid face planting on the cave floor, he reached the wall. The tunnel from which he’d fallen was too high for his torch light to reach, so there was every chance he’d climb up only to find bare rock. But this way felt right and he didn’t have any better ideas. There were times when you just had to follow your instinct.

      He examined the wall until he found a narrow gap at chest height. Then he raised one of the bones and drove the sharp end into the gap. He bashed it in with another one until it took his weight, then pulled himself up. He leant against the wall, wobbling, took a breath, held it, then slammed the next bone into a gap a couple of feet higher. Every blow against it with his hammer bone made him sway, but he stayed upright. Once it was solid, he held onto that with his feet resting on the lower bone and let out a long sigh of relief.

      This was going to work. He couldn’t quite believe it, but it was going to work. He repeated the process a number of times, yanking the lowest bone free whilst hanging precariously from another, before daring to look down. His torch was strong enough to see the floor, but he was high enough that hitting the stone would spell either his immediate, or slow and painful death. He swallowed, knuckles white as his grip tightened around his hand hold, and looked up.

      How high was the tunnel entrance? Did it matter? He either got there or he didn’t. His shoulder ached, but the exhaustion that had swamped him in the tunnel had abated with his meeting. The Blood King was after him, in a personal and unpleasant way, which made them equal.

      There were many ways in which they weren’t equal, but he wasn’t going to dwell on them when he was 20 feet up a sheer cliff, balancing on the bones of the undead. That would just be stupid.

      He resumed his ascent, trying to keep his breathing slow, relying on his right shoulder as much as he could. The wound in his left was theoretically healed, but the tendons and muscles were still weak.

      Every time he hoisted himself up another bone, the burn reminded him of Tom. That was why he wasn’t going to give in. That was why he wasn’t going to wuss out and give up. Because he wouldn’t be able to face Tom if he did. He had no idea whether he ever would face him again. Heaven, he decided, was a fallacy, a stupid story pedaled by people for their own gain. There was a hell, no doubt about that, and some people could argue it was called Slough, but he wasn’t going there. If he did, he’d kick up a shit storm until they booted him out.

      His grin widened as he climbed higher and higher. Even the stinging in his shoulder faded as his righteous anger rose in time with his feet. The Blood King was never going to win. He, Dave, had saved the world. What made some omnipotent, all-powerful being think he stood a chance?

      His head bumped against something and Dave jumped. He flailed, nearly slipping off the bones before clutching one and clinging to it with both hands. He waited until his heart slipped back into his chest, then pulled his torch from his pocket. Above him was what looked suspiciously like the ceiling, stretching away to either side, sheer and solid and definitely not the tunnel.

      The girl band wouldn’t have made it off the cave floor…

      His resolve crumbled. He whimpered as the righteous anger that had built within him slipped away and was swallowed by the darkness. He teetered on the bones, almost longing for them to twist and throw him off. Everything would be so much simpler, then. He’d meet Tom.

      His hands tightened around the bone and he did something he didn’t recognise had become a habit in the last few months. He patted his pocket and felt the ring inside his ear plug case. At first, it had been a reminder of something important to him. Now, it was so much more than that. Now it was the only thing he lived for. Before there had been the band. Now, there was just Charlotte. She was everything and he would see her again, even if it killed him.

      His bitter laughter bounced off the walls and came back sounding somewhere between the Joker and Trailer Man. He shivered and clung to the bone he’d set. His feet were suddenly aching, his boots slippery on the narrow perch. He was going to fall. Of course he was going to fall, this had been madness from the get go. Even coming in here was madness.

      Why the hell hadn’t the Blood King got in touch? Why lure him beneath the mountains of France when he could just as easily meet him for coffee in London? This was all part of fucking with him, he could feel it. The bastard was going to do everything he could to screw him over.

      What was the point? He felt it beneath the surface, so close it scared him. The panic that bubbled up, seconds from spilling out. The desire, compulsion, even, to let go of his precarious hand holds. How close was he to complete exhaustion?

      His foot spilled sideways off the bone.

      He dropped, his shoulders screaming as his weight slammed onto them.

      ‘AHHHHH!’

      The cavern filled with the sound of his fear and it seemed to tug at him like a strong wind. He swayed back and forth on the bone.

      Then it snapped.

      He fell, arms pinwheeling.

      His chest smacked into the bone beneath him and he flung his arms over it. He rolled around it and nearly fell again, before tightening his arms against himself and clinging on.

      His feet dangled in space, kicking, making him swing back and forth. He stopped kicking and hung still as his heart punched him in the ribs like a prize fighter warming up on the bag. He already knew not to trust it, so he turned his mind to the problem at hand. And he spotted something that made his spirits, already lower than Slipknot’s bass guitar, rise just a little.

      He hadn’t reached the ceiling. The roof above him was a ledge, the edge of which was only a few feet out from the wall. The only way he would reach it was by doing some crazy, throwing-himself-into-space-thing, but at this moment, it looked as good as anything else.

      He took one hand off the bone and grabbed the fourth from his belt. He jammed it in a little bit higher and hooked his arm over it. Suspended, hanging in space, he took a moment. Then he took another, tried not to wet himself, and looked up.

      The edge of the ledge was visible, still, and perhaps it wasn’t as far as he’d originally thought. His hysterical laughter sounded more like the Joker and less like Dave. He winced and lifted himself, gritting his teeth until one leg rested over the right bone. With the weight off his shoulders, tears of relief sprang up in his eyes.

      Sweat was pooling in an unpleasant way in the small of his back. It was getting there via twin rivers that ran from his armpits. He shivered as the cold of the cave turned the sweat to ice. This was, without doubt, the stupidest thing he’d ever done. He had a vague feeling he’d thought that before. More than once. But then, he’d survived all the other times, so why the hell not?

      He had to jump up and away from the wall, out into space. He had to get his hands over the edge of the ledge, assuming it was a ledge and not an outcropping of rock. He imagined finding solid rock as he grabbed and closed his eyes. He wobbled and they snapped back open, bile filling his mouth.

      He had to just do it. If he waited, or thought any more, he’d pussy out and then what would Tom say? There was something vaguely weird about basing his choices upon what a dead man would think of them, but he couldn’t help it.

      So he braced himself,

      took a deep breath,

      and jumped.

      He twisted in the air and, for a brief moment, felt lithe and athletic. Then the side of his face collided with the bottom of the ledge and he just felt stupid. He was going to die. His arms stretched out before him and his fingers flapped and grasped as he went past the end of the ledge.

      Two things happened.

      The first was that his right hand caught the edge of the stone and gripped. Hard.

      The second was the face of a zombie, leering at him over the side of the ledge. The temptation to let go was overwhelming, but that would mean falling to his death. Getting eaten by a zombie was a better way to go than face-planting into stone from 50 feet up.

      He caught the ledge with his left hand as well and swung in midair. He had two seconds tops before what remained of his meagre strength deserted him. He pulled straight up, grateful for all the evil, ninja physio Darren had been putting him through in the last month. His shoulders drew level with the ledge just as the zombie’s teeth snapped shut inches from his hair line.

      He swung left, then back to the right, and hooked his right foot over the ledge. When it didn’t slide off, he believed he might actually have a chance. Then a rotted, cold hand closed over his wrist and hauled it off the stone.

      It should have been his doom, but the zombie was far more interested in eating him than shoving him off the ledge. It pulled him up far enough for him to lift his left leg

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