Tour: Day Twelve

Fort Stockton, Texas

Stupid band won’t let me post all tour! I hate them.

El Paso gig was good.

Fort Stockton sucks.

Maelstrom Announcements

Hi, this is Ricky, just sharing the latest.

First, Jeff Truitt's review is now posted. Check it out if you haven't had a chance.

Second, I've asked Bo to talk to Johnny Del Rio about getting permission for us to re-post some of the articles he wrote about us for Out on the Town. In case anyone is wondering why I put Bo in charge of this, you'd best ask him. I don't want to know the details of what an incubus gets up to in his spare time, but all those roses from Johnny have got to mean something.

Next, I've discovered Nevin is keeping a scrapbook of the band's tours and I've asked to share some of it here. The link is currently at the bottom of the page and will be moved to a more prominent place after the bunny benefit is over.

Finally, I see we've had fans reading these stories that keep appearing on this site. I'm still trying to get to the bottom of it, so in the meantime, don't believe everything you read. Please. You have no idea what our lawyer is charging us just to keep her on retainer.

I'll close this post with something Lazaro just handed me. I'm sure this is just his idea of a joke, right Lazaro?

Zombie Haiku: Bunnies vs Humans

Bunnies good.
Like a snack.
But human brains taste better.

If you like this travesty poem, let Lazaro know. In fact, I recommend you say you like it, whether you do or not. He might just know where you live.

Maelstrom Extra: A Problem

Ricky checked his watch. He was late, but luckily the band was becoming more punctual. It had been awhile since he caught them napping or rambling about in search of prey when they should be getting set up for a show. The sight of the equipment van in the alley reassured him and he waved at one of the werewolf crew before pushing through the service door.

His first order of business was to check in with the manager and exchange the standard pleasantries. Finding no one in the office, Ricky headed toward the club to see how the setup was coming along. The manager would probably be there, and if he wasn’t, someone might know—

“There you are.” Kalila said, appearing out of nowhere like the damnable djinn she was. “We have a problem.”

Ricky looked at her. “Please tell me Bo didn’t already seduce someone.”

“Only one of the cleanup crew.” She waved a hand to dismiss the matter. “No, I’m afraid this is more serious. Lazaro ate—” she called into the darkness of the drummer alcove. “What was his name, again?”

“Ken Blakely!” Lazaro shouted back.

Ricky leaped onto the stage, stomped past Vic and Nevin, and found the drummer placidly hanging a cymbal. “You ate the venue manager? This is a joke, right?”

Lazaro shrugged his big shoulders. “He came back here and messed with my drums.”

Vic stopped adjusting a microphone. “It was his own damn fault. He went back there to look at the drum setup, tripped like the clumsy primate he was, and knocked over the hi-hat.”

“Genuine Zildjian cymbals,” Lazaro muttered.

“But…you don’t avenge simple human mistakes like that. This is totally inappropriate and—”

Lazaro snarled.

“Better watch it,” Vic said, baring his fangs. “You know what he’s like in this kind of mood.”

Regrettably, Ricky did know. “Well …did you at least hide the remains?”

“Of course,” Lazaro snorted. “I’m not stupid.”

“We’re not worried about your human laws and morals,” Kalila said, walking across the stage and picking up her guitar. “And we’re not concerned about tonight. Places like this practically run themselves.”

Ricky ran his fingers through his hair. “Okay, so if you’re not worried about any of the things a normal person would worry about, why did you ruin my day by mentioning it? You said there was a problem.”

“Oh, there’s definitely a problem, human,” Vic said.

Kalila nodded. “Now that the manager is dinner…”

“Please don’t call him that.”

“More like a snack, anyway,” Lazaro said.

“I don’t need to hear—”

“Get over it, human,” Vic snarled.

Ricky turned back to Kalila. “Just tell me what you think the problem is.”

Kalila blinked as if the answer were obvious. “How are we going to get paid?”

Maelstrom Extra: Wanted for Murder

Ricky waited impatiently while the band filed into the room, muttering and grumbling at the early hour.

“This had better be something serious, human,” Vic snarled.

“Stupid daytime meetings,” Lazaro agreed as he slumped into a chair. He had a pair of snare sticks and was about to start tapping on the nearest table when Ricky stopped him.

“None of that, Lazaro. You’re the reason we’re here.”

“Why him?” Bo said.

Vic scowled and leaned against a wall. “If he’s annoying you, just put him back in the ground for awhile. Me, too, while you’re at it.”

“He’s not annoying me,” Ricky said. “At least no more than any of you do.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. “It’s this. Someone found the body of that missing pizza delivery guy and now there’s a reward for information about who’s responsible.”

Bo flopped onto the sofa. “Well, it wasn’t me. I’ve never done anything responsible in my life. What’s the reward, by the way? Girls?”

“Uh…no.”

“Blood?” Vic asked. “I’d turn Lazaro in for a few pints of O.”

Kalila had been sitting by herself, looking bored, but now she sat a little straighter. “Would we be on the news? You’re always saying to look for ways to get our names out there.”

“Turning in your drummer for murder isn’t a good way to do that,” Ricky told her. “Look, guys, this is serious. You need to quit preying on humans.”

“That’s no fun,” Bo said.

“Not happening,” Vic agreed. “We’re predators, and that’s what we do.”

“I’m not a predator,” Nevin piped up.

Lazaro turned on him. “Stupid nelly fairy.”

“I’m not—”

“Enough!” Ricky looked at each of them in turn. “This kind of thing can’t happen again. Getting charged with murder will ruin your career.” Getting only silent stares in reply, he added, “No more killing.”

Lazaro shook his head slowly. “Zombies gotta eat. How about I hide the bodies better?”

Ricky wanted to tell him this was unacceptable, but seeing that the others were nodding in agreement, he asked, “Is that really the best you can do?”

“I guess I could ask for volunteers.”

“How about we find him some of those people who donate their brains to science?” Kalila suggested.

“Or we could pair up with the suicide hotline,” Vic said.

With a sigh, Ricky crumpled the news story and threw it away. He was dealing with demons, after all, so what did he expect? “Just try not to get caught, guys. Please?”

Lazaro’s Thoughts: Pilgrimage of the Living Dead

My visitt to Evans City Cementary Cemetery was a disapointmunt. No other zombies and no humans exsept Ricky, who Kalila says I can’t eat because he’s our manger manager, manager.

Peeple think life is hard, but being ded is no picnic eether.

Pilgrimage of the Living Dead

Ricky went to the band’s suite and shoved his way past the werewolf that opened the door. In the front room, he found Nevin picking out notes on a keyboard while Kalila flipped through a biography of Mozart. Vic lay on the sofa, wrapped in his favorite shroud, and from the back room, Ricky heard the sound of squeaking bed springs. Ricky looked at his watch in annoyance. “Why aren’t you guys ready? The venue manager is expecting you at three so you can set up.”

Kalila looked up from her book. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to cancel, Ricky.”

“Is someone sick?” He looked around the room. “Where’s Lazaro?”

“He had something urgent to take care of,” Nevin said. “A pilgrimage of some sort.”

Ricky stared in disbelief. “Zombies don’t go on pilgrimages.”

Kalila shrugged and set her book aside. “We’re near a sacred spot, and since we’re heading out tomorrow…”

“What are you talking about? We’re not near Lourdes, Mecca, Mount Fuji, or anything. There’s no sacred spots anywhere around here, so what—?”

By now Vic had woken up and shoved the shroud out of his face. “He went to the Evans City Cemetery, human. We’re only about thirty miles away, you know.”

“Evans City…” Ricky searched his memory. “Night of the Living Dead?”

“He wanted to visit his kin,” Kalila explained.

“But that was just a movie. Don’t tell me he thought it was a documentary.”

“It doesn’t matter what he thought,” Vic pointed out. “If we don’t have a drummer, we don’t have a show.”

“This is ridiculous,” Ricky said. “You guys are not canceling your show just so the drummer can spend the night wandering around an old cemetery.” He headed toward the door. “Go to the venue and get set up. I’m going to get Lazaro.”

It wasn’t hard to find the cemetery. Ricky went north on the highway, cut over to Evans City, then went south on Franklin Road. As he turned into the cemetery, he felt a shiver of déjà-vu. He parked near a boarded-up building he thought he remembered from the movie, then went to look around.

The place was rather ordinary, with neatly trimmed grass and plenty of open space between the headstones. Everything was so tidy and well cared-for that Ricky felt himself relax. This wasn’t the place of movie-inspired nightmares. It was just an ordinary graveyard where people with bigger problems than his own had found peace.

He looked around, suppressing a sigh. It was easy to get caught up in the worries of the day, but eventually this was his destination, just like everyone else’s. To the person who would one day stand over his grave, Ricky’s troubles were no more important than those of the people underneath his feet today. In fact, maybe—

With a howl, something slammed into him, knocking Ricky off his feet. He found himself struggling with a powerful creature, twisting and grabbing, trying to pull his attacker down. He narrowly escaped hitting his head on a marker, and screamed as a gaping maw of yellowish teeth closed in.

Then just as suddenly as he had been attacked, he was let go.

“Oh, it’s you,” Lazaro said, backing away. “I thought it was someone with brains.” He helped him to his feet. “Sorry about that.”

Ricky wasn’t sure whether to feel insulted or relieved, and decided to let the matter go. “Just a misunderstanding,” he assured him as he tried to catch his breath and straighten his clothes. “Uh…look. It’s kind of a problem that you skipped out like this.”

Lazaro shrugged and started walking across the manicured lawn with Ricky tagging after him. “Thought I should see this place. Thought I might…you know, make some friends.”

Ricky looked around doubtfully. “Any luck with that?”

“No.” He stopped and frowned at the serene landscape. “It’s not like the movie.”

“Most things aren’t.”

“Yeah.” Lazaro looked at his feet, almost as if he were embarrassed. “Just an ordinary cemetery.”

“I’m sorry.” Ricky waited to see if Lazaro would say anything else, and when he didn’t, he asked, “So you want a ride back? You’ve got a gig tonight.”

“I know. Drums.”

“So come on, then. This place is just some Hollywood director’s screwed up fantasy. But we’re better than that.” Ricky held out his hand. “Let’s go make our own reality.”

Maelstrom Extra: Forfeit

Ricky handed Connor the check and waited while he examined it. “This is irregular,” Ricky reminded him. “We shouldn’t have to pay in order to play here.”

“After what Maelstrom did at SineWave last year, you’re lucky anyone will book them.” Connor tucked the check into an envelope and dropped it in the safe. “Besides, a security deposit isn’t the same as paying to play. If they don’t do anything crazy, they’ll get it back at the end of the night. Now come on,” he stuck out his hand. “It’s nothing personal, so let’s shake on it and I’ll get you a drink.”

Ricky shook the manager’s hand and followed him out of the cramped office. The club wasn’t much of a place, just a gutted warehouse with a bit of drywall tacked up and covered with dark curtains to give the impression of rooms and substance. Connor's girlfriend Meredith was supposed to be doing bar setup, but since she wasn't around, Connor went behind the bar and poured them each a scotch.

Ricky accepted his drink and tried not to glance too often at the stage. Lazaro was setting up his drums, Nevin was letting Calvin help with his keyboards, and Vic and Kalila were taping down the electrical cords to their amps. They looked like any other band. Harmless.

Ricky took a sip of his drink.

Connor disappeared into the liquor room at the far end of the bar, then returned, frowning. “I wonder where Meredith went?” Muttering, he flipped open his cell phone.

While Ricky waited to see if he would get an answer, he looked again toward the stage. All busy and accounted for, acting like humans, except…where was Bo? Ricky scanned the stage again, hoping his eyes had deceived him. Vic and Kalila were tuning their guitars and Lazaro was adjusting a cymbal. But Bo?

“Dammit, she was just here a minute ago,” Connor said.

“Restroom?” Ricky offered.

“She would’ve answered.”

“Maybe she went out to her car for something,” Ricky said. He tossed back the rest of his drink. “Excuse me. I’m going to see if my guys need anything.”

While Connor tried again to call his missing girlfriend, Ricky climbed up on the stage. In low tones he said, “Where’s Bo? And don’t make excuses.”

Vic raised an eyebrow. “Do I look like an incubus babysitter?”

“We don’t keep tabs on each other,” Kalila reminded him. “He’ll be set up in time for the show. Don’t worry.”

“It’s not the show I’m worried about.” Grimly, Ricky went behind the stage and followed the narrow hall to the makeshift room that served as both dressing room and storage. The door was closed, but he could hear enough through the thin walls to guess what had happened to Bo. And Meredith.

He paused, hand in the air, unsure whether to knock or walk right in when Connor appeared by his shoulder. “Hey, glad I found you. I was wondering if—” A moan from the other side of the door stopped him in mid-sentence.

Ricky tried to stop him, to no avail. Connor slammed open the door, and there on the dirty sofa, naked limbs entwined, were the bass player and the manager’s girlfriend. Connor roared, Meredith scrambled for cover, and Bo, his incubus hunger satiated by his afternoon tryst, simply looked confused.

There was no need for Ricky to stick around, since an incubus could take care of himself. He backed out of the room and ran down the hall, with the sound of crashes and shouting echoing behind him. When he got to the stage, he shoved his way through a mass of cheap black curtains and stood trying to catch his breath. The band had been playing a simple melody but they stopped what they were doing and looked at him.

“Problem, human?” Vic asked.

Nevin frowned in concern. “You look angry. Did you find Bo?”

“I found him, all right,” Ricky said. “Pack up. There won't be a show tonight.”

“But we paid a deposit,” Kalila pointed out. “And we’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You haven’t,” Ricky said as the howls and sounds of destruction grew louder. “But I think what Bo just did counts as a forfeit.”