Chapter One
He was just the bus driver, not a stagehand, not a roadie but tonight he was here in the wings lending a hand wherever he was needed. The music was loud despite his ear plugs but he had to admit Lally O could belt out a tune. She was hard at work right now, in the single spotlight, giving her all to the song which had been her breakthrough number on Randal Four. She was a deservedly big deal here on her home planet and Les had no doubt if she kept going the way she was, her trajectory to success out in the Sectors could be unlimited. She probably needed one big splashy booking on a mid Sector planet or even on a luxury cruise ship frequented by rich, bored Socialites and she’d never need to set foot on Randal Four again.
Her backup dancers were working in a circle of light from handlamps held by other crew members. This was a do it yourself show but most of the arena’s techs and workers were gone.
The audience was pretty quiet, only a few people singing along or screaming her name. This concert wasn’t at all like the ones at the beginning of the tour, which had been sellouts, packed arenas, hysterical fans, tons of merchandise being sold. He hadn’t been pressed into working backstage then.
Of course all that was before the Western Flu hit.
Once people started getting scared about catching the virus the crowds grew smaller and smaller and he knew Lally and her management team had debated cancelling the rest of the tour dates. Les wasn’t in those meetings of course but nothing stayed a secret for long on a tour bus. He was aware the planetary government had urged her to continue, in one of their many and ultimately vain attempts to reassure the public nothing was going on beyond an odd variation of an out-of-season flu.
By the time the singer and her entourage reached New Damarkal, third largest city on Randal Four, it was obvious to anyone with half a brain nothing was normal about this flu and packing a lot of people in a space together was a really bad idea. Who wanted to see Lally O badly enough to risk catching the flu and dying? And possibly coming back as some kind of raving beast who craved human flesh, if the rumors were true. The seats had been mostly empty at the first show. Hell, there’d only been a skeleton crew of arena staff and housekeeping personnel on duty and most of the food and drink kiosks were closed up tight.
The roadies didn’t even bother putting out the merch tables.
Lally said she’d do one more show and then she didn’t care what the government said, she was cancelling the rest and going home to her exclusive place in the ritziest suburb on the planet, beside the ocean to ride out the flu epidemic in comfort. A lot of people on the tour were jockeying for invitations to accompany her.
Not him. First, although she was polite and friendly to all on the surface, the mega star and the bus driver hardly moved in the same circles. Second, he preferred to make his own way in life, not be cooped up in someone else’s world, no matter how cushy.
But the second official concert hadn’t happened after all. Lally was here at the arena getting ready when the planetary military drove up in force and took over the place, intending to make it a refuge for people fleeing the virus and the savage ‘infected’ victims. Les and the rest of the crew had gathered backstage to wait while Lally worked her magic on the general in command. The woman was an expert in finding the top dog in any situation and proceeding to wrap him (or her—Les had seen her charm a few women in power as well) around her little finger to get what she wanted.
What Lally wanted in this case was to be allowed to shelter at the arena on her own terms. The general had given an edict no one was to leave once they were inside the fences and new military cordon, which included the rock star and her entourage and crew. She came away from her first meeting with the general having obtained the rights for herself and her team to occupy the extensive backstage area, including the dressing rooms and other spaces. Compared to the civilians who streamed into the arena after the camp was opened, and who had to camp out in the stands and on the field, Lally and her people were in the lap of luxury. They even had five bathrooms, although of course the one attached to Lally’s dressing room was off-limits to everyone else.
Les had kept a wary eye on the buses and groundtrucks which belonged to the tour but so far the military had shown no interest in confiscating the vehicles or their contents, although no one was supposed to be living in them.
Lally grew bored, because of course she did, and had made her offer to do a free concert for the inhabitants of the arena shelter. The general had taken her up on it and now here they were. The refugees had to listen to the music whether they wanted to or not but no one had protested. Les’s impression was many people were in shock and mourning the loss of loved ones and didn’t much care what went on around them.
As he watched Lally wind up the song and segue into the next one in her standard set, he heard a commotion in the crowd beyond the cobbled together lights and he tensed. The noise didn’t sound like the usual roar of appreciation but was more like screams and growls. Les took a step forward onto the stage as the first wave of infected climbed onto the structure, milky eyes glowing, mouths already dripping blood from their victims in the refugee crowd, arms outstretched ready to rend and tear.
“Grab Lally!” he yelled in the general direction of her security team as he bounded forward to try to wrest one of the backup dancers away from an infected but he was too late. She fell with one arm nearly torn off. He flung another dancer toward the exit while shouting for her to run and then he got in the melee around the singer herself, security detail and roadies mixed with infected. Coming at the fight from the rear, he was able to grab Lally’s hand and yank her out of harm’s way. Hanging on tight, he pulled her with him as he ran backstage and into the corridor.
“We need to get to the bus,” he said as they fled. “This place is toast.” He wondered why he wasn’t hearing any sounds of the military fighting against the infected but his most immediate concern was getting them out of the arena.
People ran after them, mostly Lally’s entourage but Les saw a few faces he didn’t recognize. He was intimately familiar with the warren of tunnels and hallways in the arena and navigated through the doorways effortlessly. Behind him he heard the first growls and moans of the infected echoing in the corridors and he picked the flagging singer up and moved faster.
If anyone had ever told him he’d be carrying the superstar in his arms, with her clinging to him desperately, he wouldn’t have believed it. Of course under these circumstances the experience hardly counted as personal. He was trying to save her life, not get into her bed.
He broke outside into the night air and was relieved to see there were no infected in this private parking lot yet.
“Are we going to make it?” Lally gasped, raising her head.
“If I have anything to say about it.” Les reached the bus and set her down, needing his hands free to unlock the door. There’d been trouble with fans sneaking onto the bus earlier in the tour so he’d adapted the bus’s standard door to open only for him and a few other people. He pushed Lally to climb the stairs in front of him and then threw himself into the driver’s seat to initiate the groundbus’s engine. “Get in your dressing room and shut the door,” he said over his shoulder.
She didn’t protest or thank him, just ran to the back of the bus where her small cabin was located. He heard her door slam and lock.
Les watched as the group of people who’d been following him emerged from the arena and scrambled toward the bus. He revved the engine, ready to accelerate as soon as he could. In the rear vidscreen his attention was drawn to bodies falling over one of the fences and he realized it was a swarm of infected. More of the uncanny creatures rushed from the arena doors, close on the heels of the people he knew.
He opened the door and kept a count in his head as people poured on. There were fewer than he’d expected and he guessed some had fallen prey to the infected in the tunnels. The last dancer stumbled up the stairs and he shut the door practically on her heels, setting the bus in motion as the first wave of infected came at them.
A hand clamped on his shoulder. “Wait for Benny,” the tour manager said, pointing out the door at a man running erratically in their direction.
“No can do, boss, he’s been bitten.” The blood gushing down the poor roadie’s arm and the chunk missing from his left leg told the sad story.
Les shook off the manager’s hand and accelerated. The bus was big and ponderous and took its time to get to speed. A few infected tried to cling to the exterior as he went faster but fell off as he swerved the bus from side to side. “Hang on,” he yelled as he approached the gate. The remote control signal he’d been issued when they arrived wasn’t working tonight so he aimed for the middle and crashed right through.
As he navigated the bus through the parking lot, he saw flashes of blaster fire from the military positions on the far side of the arena where the public entrances were. He sent the Lords of Space a quick word asking them to protect the men and women in uniform but he doubted any would survive. The infected kept coming, no matter how many got cut down.
The roads outside the arena complex were a mess, clogged with abandoned cars, some of which were smashed together and a few were burning. Les bulldozed through where he had to but soon was forced to leave the main highway and go on surface streets. The conditions weren’t much better but at least he could keep going if he made enough turns and drove across a few parking lots and lawns.
