Gods of Chicago: Omnibus Edition

by Sikes, AJ

  “Citizens of Chicago City, this is your Minister of Safety and Security. It has come to my attention that the vandals and fugitives disrupting the peace have not confined their actions to the less well-tended neighborhoods of the city. Incidents have been reported in the Loop district, where savage members of the populace have taken it upon themselves to damage city property. They have destroyed an entire squad of new auto-men, which had been installed to ensure safety on your streets at night.”

  #

  Brand jerked when Conroy hit the dirt, but he didn’t drop himself. He stood there, listening to the baloney spilling down from above and staring into the empty glass orbs in the auto-man’s face. Brand was stunned by the broadcast, and grew dumbfounded as it continued, turning the scene of tyranny he’d just witnessed into perverse propaganda. He half expected a play like this. Hell, he cursed himself for not seeing it coming even sooner. But faced with the sickening reality. . .Brand fought through the fog in his mind, hunting for any response that would simultaneously prove the minister’s statements false and reveal the truth.

  “In addition to vandalizing city property, these savages have coordinated their efforts, like an army, weaving a storm of mayhem through the Ukrainian Village and Old Town. Both neighborhoods are in flames. Houses are being burned and storefronts left in ruins. Citizens are advised to remain indoors. These savage vandals have shown no respect for the property of other persons. We do not expect them to show regard for the safety of those persons themselves. I repeat, all citizens must stay indoors while officers from the Ministry of Safety and Security work to return a state of calm to the city. That is all.”

  Brand heard the megaphone cut out. A final hiss of static came through and then silence. The broadcast ship remained overhead, circling with its armed brethren. In front of him, the auto-man pivoted, rotating its weapon in an arc to Brand’s left until it stood opposite the machine that Conroy had been facing. That machine turned as well, aiming its electric gun at its counterpart. The others did the same, squaring off by twos and aiming into each other’s chassis.

  “Get down, everybody!” Brand yelled, throwing himself to the ground and repeating his command. He hoped the people nearby would listen and he sent his pleading eyes in their direction. In the firelight, they looked like a crowd of terrified campers listening to the worst ghost story of their lives. Brand had a sickening feeling that’s exactly what the night was about to become.

  To Brand and Conroy’s left, two auto-men fired their weapons, taking each other apart. The bolts seemed to ignite an inner source of fuel or destruction mechanism because the machines flew into pieces. Brand clamped his hands over his head and felt a stinging across his shoulders as a sliver of metal cut through his coat and sliced a furrow into his skin. Conroy shrieked beside him and Brand threw a glance at the kid to see where he’d been hit. He was fine, just scared out of his wits.

  “Go, Conroy. Go!” Brand said, yanking on the kid’s sleeve and pulling as he shuffled on his belly, sliding through the snowmelt and away from the walking bombs. Another pair did their self-destruct dance, sending more shrapnel flying into the night. The people were either running or crawling away from the scene, but Brand saw a woman fall face first with a smoking piece of metal jutting from her back. Grabbing Conroy’s collar, Brand stood and hauled the kid up with him. He turned and ran like mad to the cover of the park benches and trees.

  As they ran, a third pair of auto-men exploded. Brand shot a look over his shoulder. A group of people nearest the machines had fallen into the mud. Some clawed at their clothes, writhing in agony. Others were lying dead on the ground.

  Brand bit down hard as two more machines flew to pieces in a cloud of sparks and electric fire. Then it seemed that all the remaining auto-men blew apart at once. Detonations sounded throughout the park, echoing into the night. It wasn’t until Brand felt the tremors that he realized it was mortar fire coming down. The auto-men had all done their bit. Now it was time for the cavalry to sweep through.

  #

  Aiden held the tree and sent his eyes upward, wanting to look at anything other than the dead people across the park with the electricity burning their bodies apart.

  “Mr. Brand, look,” Aiden said, pointing at the airship above them. His boss turned his eyes skyward and cursed a quiet mouthful and then some. On the ship’s screen was an image of the first man who died, the one who was fighting with the automaton. That picture winked out and was replaced by an image of the people knocking the frozen auto-men aside, pushing them over, and attempting to disarm them. The images kept coming, a series of shots with Tesla’s auto-men getting the business from the folks who Aiden knew were lying on the ground over there, dead as can be. Finally, a picture came of the ruined auto-men, their shattered chassis and limbs all splayed out so they each looked like a drunk that got hit by a train.

  Aiden felt his eyes go slack when he heard a whistling sound from above. An explosion rocked the night and sent dirt raining down across the park. Aiden watched the cloud billow out and listened to a low whistling until Mr. Brand grabbed him by the neck and pushed his face to the ground. Aiden had just enough time to see the houses at the edge of the park fly apart.

  #

  Brand clamped his hands down over his head and hoped Conroy had sense to do the same. The kid seemed about two steps shy of shellshock. When the dirt and splintered timbers stopped falling, Brand lifted up and scanned the area for signs of the crabs. He didn’t see any, but he was relieved to see a group of people running out of the park at the far end, by the trees where he and Conroy had first come in.

  “Mr. Brand,” Conroy said.

  “What?” he snarled back and regretted it instantly. The kid shrank down tight against the base of the tree. “Sorry, Conroy. What is it?”

  “The microphone. Why don’t. . .”

  Brand had been so absorbed by the theater of Crane’s operation that he’d forgotten about the mic Tesla had given him. He unclipped it and brought it to his mouth, cutting in on the baloney spilling down from above.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen,” he started, casting a look at fleeing citizens. The last of them left his view, meaning he and Conroy were now alone in the park with Crane’s dog and pony show.

  As Brand opened his mouth to continue, another series of explosions hit in the middle of the burning houses in the corner of the park, throwing flaming debris in a wave over the ruins of the auto-men and fallen citizens. Brand kept his back to the tree until the shaking and pounding of the mortar rounds ceased. Then he clipped the mic back to his belt and grabbed the kid by the coat.

  “It’s now or never, Conroy. We’ve got to get out of here, and fast.”

  “But what about the story?”

  “It’s no good if we’re dead when we get it. Those are mortar rounds coming down, big enough to take a man apart if they hit close enough. If they don’t, they can still scramble your insides.”

  Brand pulled Conroy by the arm and made a beeline along the route the citizens had taken, aiming for the row of shrubs first. More eruptions came in, chewing up the park. Brand sent his worried eyes over his shoulder and watched the rounds fall in a path behind them. Explosions flung earth and stone and tree limbs into the air, and the shells kept coming as Brand and Conroy raced for shelter. Machine gun fire peppered the ground in front of them and they spun on their heels, Brand tugging Conroy like a rag doll and sending his panicked eyes in all directions looking for cover.

  Chapter 49

  The couple to her left stayed tucked into the corners around the stove. Emma curled up by the door, trying her damnedest to keep her body heat where it belonged. It wasn’t doing any good though, even with the stove as close as it was.

  “C— can you send the fire this way?” she said, not lifting her eyes.

  The dirt floor showed tracks leading in and out from the door. Emma
wondered how often prisoners were brought into the shed. A man to her left mumbled something to his neighbor across the shed floor. Then a woman’s whispered voice broke the silence.

  “It’s her,” the woman said.

  “Can’t be,” said the man. “Look at the clothes. And the hair. Can’t—”

  “It is,” Emma volunteered, letting her voice rise to a normal pitch. What was the point of secrecy now?

  “Emma Farnsworth?” the man asked, still doubting her identity. She turned and looked him full in the face. The left half of his face stood out in the darkness of the shed, reflecting the glow from the stove. His round cheeks hung heavy with sadness and fatigue, but Emma couldn’t feel anything like sympathy for him. His curiosity picked at her, like curious looks always had whenever she’d spent more than a minute in a public space. The whispers about the power plant owner’s daughter. His single, unattached, unmarried twenty-five year old daughter. And the eyes that followed her into Macy’s, around the sales floors, into the restaurants when she’d allowed some friend of her father’s to wear her on his arm like a cufflink.

  “Yes, I’m Emma Farnsworth. The woman who killed Archie Falco in the airship that’s hanging outside. I’ll be hanging soon enough, so get your looks while you can.”

  The man shivered, but Emma could tell his reaction was only from the cold of the shed and not the ice in her voice. She thought about giving him another helping. The woman saved her the trouble.

  “I told you, Al. Hush up now, leave the poor thing be.”

  “Thing?” Emma rasped across the shed. “Save your sympathy for the animals, sister. I don’t need anybody feeling the sap on my account.”

  “I only—”

  “You only. Yeah, I know you only. Like everybody else in this city only.” The woman squeezed herself into the corner to escape Emma’s anger and the man called Al coughed up his own in protest.

  “Hey, my wife ain’t did nothing to you. She’s just being nice is all, so how’s about you do what the law man said and play nice, too?”

  The mention of Wynes put Emma’s thoughts back on what would happen to her next. Nothing that came to mind felt pretty or kind or nice, but she let her anger fade just the same.

  “What’d you do to get Wynes on your tail anyway? How come you’re in here?”

  The man, Al, huffed out a breath. His wife nudged his foot with hers. “I don’t know,” Al said. “These G-men, they came into our house asking about our son, my boy, Aiden. He’s out and about looking for work, I tell them. Got put off the job hawking papers, so—”

  “They were rough,” his wife said. “And they talked like gangsters. Like we didn’t have any reason to worry but they’d give us one if we gave them any trouble. Then they shoved us into their car and drove us out here. Aiden’s lucky he wasn’t home,” she finished, stifling a whimper.

  Emma turned to face the other end of the shed. The glow from the stove was behind her now, and facing into the darkness made the chill air creep in again. She fought against a shiver that forced its way through her chest and down her legs. At the far end of the shed, a figure was wrapped in a tattered blanket or piece of canvas. His legs stuck out from beneath his covering like a pair of coat tails. She kept her eyes on him and asked the couple behind her, “Why is he down there?”

  “He’s a negro,” the man said. “We don’t know why he’s here.”

  Emma felt heat in her veins that sent crimson through her cheeks as she turned to face Al and his wife. “I didn’t ask why he’s in here. I asked why he’s over there.” When neither Al nor his wife replied, Emma turned to the shivering figure. “Come over here. This fire’s not getting any brighter.”

  At first the man didn’t move. Then he shifted and slid across the floor a ways, but still not near enough to feel the heat from the stove. “All the way,” Emma said. “Come on.” After a long silence, the negro moved again. Emma saw he had an iron ball chained to his ankle. He dragged it behind him as he slid on his hip holding one arm against his side.

  “How long have you kept him over there?” she demanded, sending an angry glare at Al and his wife. “The man’s hurt and you don’t have the heart to help him stay warm. Your son’s lucky he wasn’t home when the G-men came, sure he is. Now he doesn’t have to live with a couple of monsters for—”

  As the words left Emma’s mouth, Al’s wife gained her feet and had a hand raised in front of Emma’s face. Al was up, too, and stepped halfway in front of the woman. She spat at Emma over her husband’s shoulder.

  “What the hell do you know about being a mother? You’re nothing but a damn chippy! And a killer!”

  Emma stared knives at the woman who towered above her. She had a mousy face made all the more unpleasant by the snarl on her lips and the venom that dripped from her angry eyes. Still, Emma was ready to give back as good as she got. Then Wynes’ voice broke in on their shouting match.

  “I said play nice in there, didn’t I? Cool it, or you’ll all be in cuffs, and gagged, too.”

  His feet marched away through the gravel and Emma watched Al coax his wife back to where she’d sat by the stove. She shrugged his hands off and moved to his corner instead. Al sat next to her, so he was now between her and where Emma sat.

  “He can have that side,” the woman said, flapping a hand to indicate the opposite corner.

  “Awful kind of you,” Emma said, feeling another shiver race through her legs. The negro moved forward and into the corner where he resumed his half-prone position, hunched and wrapped under the ratty piece of canvas. But Emma saw the man’s shoulders relax as he felt the warmth from the stove.

  Before he got fully settled, the man lifted his good hand and mumbled across the space to Emma. “M’obliged, Miss.”

  Al and his wife curled together in the corner, as if they feared the negro might somehow infect them. Emma felt a manic laugh building in her gut. She almost let it out to them, figuring why not show them the face of a crazy woman. Why not let the rage and sorrow turn into mania now when there really was nothing left in the world for her to lose? Emma yanked on her cuffs and grunted in pain when the metal rings cut into her wrists. She hunted the dark shed for anything she could use as a weapon or to help her get free. The dirt floor and bare wooden walls stared back, empty as a beggar’s bowl.

  Then Eddie’s voice came through the cracks around the door and Emma felt her chest heave with hope just as her mind burned with remembered fear. “Lovebird? You in there, Emma?”

  She wriggled onto her other hip to reply. “Yes. I’m here, Eddie. I’m here.”

  “Gotta be fast. Think that law man’s around the other end of the yard now. Something happening over there. Hold on.”

  Emma heard the chain rattling against the door, then the sound of metal sliding across wood. Eddie grunted and groaned. Emma felt the wooden wall behind her resisting his efforts. A loud metallic pop sounded and the door opened. Eddie stood there with an iron bar in one hand. The other hand he had wrapped over his side, clutching his ribs where Wynes had struck him with the baton.

  Eddie’s face still showed angry marks and ragged flesh. Blood caked his lips and cheeks. His left eye was still swollen closed. But he was here. He’d come to set her free. And the others. They could leave now if they wanted to. Emma turned her head to let them know.

  “You can. . .Well what are you waiting for?” she said, gaping at the prisoners’ vacant stares and frightened eyes. “Go on and run. You’re free. Eddie’s—”

  “Eddie’s showed up right on time. Just like we wanted him to,” Wynes said from outside. “Ain’t that right, boy?”

  Chapter 50

  Bullets spit up tufts of dirt. Mr. Brand pulled them to a halt. He spun in a circle, all the while holding Aiden by the sleeve. A park bench they’d used earlier was the closest cover Aiden could see.

&nb
sp; “The bench!” he yelled, but his boss didn’t hear him. His eyes seemed blank and Aiden worried it was all over for them both. Then he spotted the old well, across the lawn. Fires from the nearest houses lit up the scene around the pile of bricks. A body was lying on the ground next to the well and another was draped over the lip, like the person had been trying to get into the well for cover.

  A burst of gunfire came down, pattering into rooftops of houses that hadn’t burned yet. The fires at the far end of the park were growing, and the smoke around them thickened. Aiden tasted the soot in his throat. He stared into his boss’s frightened eyes once more and then ran for it, tearing his sleeve from Mr. Brand’s grip.

  His boss yelled after him. Aiden tore through the dirt and snowmelt, stumbling when he hit muddy ground. He went down on his stomach and crawled the last few feet to the bench. Mr. Brand came up behind him and seemed to snap out of his spell as they tucked under the bench.

  Another round came in close by, throwing dirt into the air. Another fell and then another. The last one hit close to the well. Aiden watched the smoke and dust rise through the soot-stained flurries of snow. After the haze cleared, he got a good look at where the well had been. Only a smoking hole remained.

  #

  Brand saw the fields of No-Man’s Land spread out before him. Gunfire broke him from his waking dream, but he couldn’t help but grasp at the tendrils of memory and sensation leaving his mind. Brand steeled himself, clenched his jaw and fought back the urge to flee. He was here for the long haul, but that didn’t mean he had to risk the kid’s life, too.

  “Conroy, I can’t ask you to stay here anymore. This is on me.”

  “No funny stuff, okay, Mr. Brand? I’m in this now, same as you. Heck, what’s left for me anyway? My folks are probably gone. If what we just saw is what’s happening to people the Governor decides he doesn’t like. . .”