The 1000 Souls (Book 2): Generation Apocalypse

by Michael Andre McPherson

  Tevy watched in the rearview mirror as the doctor climbed into the back of the truck and listened in turn at Martin’s and Basil’s chests before finally crouching down over Milan. He also stuck a thermometer in each man’s ear for a second or two.

  “He can tell if they’re infected?” asked Tevy.

  Kayla turned to him in surprise. “Don’t you people know down there? A ripper’s temperature is about five degrees low, and their heart rate is like about forty.”

  “What’s normal?”

  “I don’t know.” Kayla looked back out the passenger window. “More than forty anyway.”

  “Anyone we’re not sure about we just put in the lock-up until sunrise.” Tevy avoided looking at her, because with her hands on her head, her breasts seemed more prominent, even through her vest. “Sun proves ’em one way or the other, but they usually confess before sunrise, ’cause they hate the burning so much. Then Bishop Alvarez decides whether we waste a bullet or let God’s light do the work anyway.”

  Jeff snorted in surprise. “Bishop Alvarez. I forgot about that little promotion.”

  The doctor must’ve been satisfied, because he stepped out of the back and waved for a gurney for Milan. He came around to the front and checked Kayla and Jeff, and finally Tevy was allowed out of the truck for his inspection, his hands now on his head, fingers laced. The doctor paused over Tevy’s heartbeat and frowned, checking his watch and listening a second time.

  “What’s wrong?” Tevy was certain that no ripper had fed him blood.

  “Do you run a lot?” He checked Tevy’s temperature a second time.

  “Yeah. I’m a runner for Bobs to all the blockhouses when she doesn’t want to use the radio. Been doing that since I was twelve.”

  The doctor nodded. “Okay, that would explain it.” He turned to Jeff. “His temperature’s normal, but his heart rate is low, like athlete low, but that’s about ripper range too.”

  “Let’s take him through the full-spectrum flos and see if he gets burned.”

  Kayla opened a door and flipped up a light switch, gesturing Tevy to walk ahead.

  “What about my shotgun?”

  Jeff was already reaching into the cab. “I got it. Let’s go.”

  Tevy still had his hands on his head because he sensed that he wasn’t yet allowed to put them down. He walked through a brilliantly lit white corridor—way brighter than necessary, complete overkill.

  Kayla followed behind with her Uzi, and she seemed very tense until they were about halfway along the corridor. She exhaled in a sigh of relief. “You can put your hands down, now. I guess you pass.”

  “What was that all about?” Tevy was forced to stop at the far door because it was locked.

  Jeff joined them and handed Tevy his shotgun before fishing a key from the pocket of his jeans and unlocking the door. “Full-spectrum light.” Jeff turned to Kayla. “Take him up to see Barry and then show him the men’s dorm.” He looked over Tevy’s head and back down the corridor toward the garage. “Basil, Martin. How’s about a drink to celebrate our victory?”

  *

  The place was crowded, much like St. Mike’s or any of the blockhouses in Chicago. Kayla led him into a large hall at the bottom of a great stairway. Huge concrete pillars supported the hall and the building above, and they had been poured to look like Romanesque or Greek columns. Two large chandeliers hung above, their lights dispelling the gloom, but smoke stained the white ceiling—smoke from cooking stoves. The whole hall almost to the bottom of the stair was crammed with the living, their humble homes consisting of plastic tarps or blankets for walls and cots for beds or couches. Children chased one another around the few corridors between the makeshift dwellings, while adults hung laundry or gossiped. In one corner an older man sat with his guitar, and many gathered around to join him in his song.

  “This way. It’s too hard to get to the elevators over there. We’ll catch them from the second floor.” Kayla led him up the stairs, an oasis of space that some of the children were putting to good use, bouncing a ball up and down in a complicated game that involved a bat and made Tevy think of a cross between basketball and baseball, with pillows for bases and plastic garbage cans at three levels for baskets.

  “Is this the family dorm?” he asked.

  Kayla didn’t roll her eyes but looked like she wanted to. “This is the got-here-too--late dorm. People who didn’t get Bertrand’s warnings until this keep was already full. Mr. St John doesn’t turn anyone away, but we’re going to have to start shoving people onto the roof if any more come along looking for shelter.”

  “Where are they coming from?”

  “Prairies, mostly. Used to get some from out east, but that dropped off a couple of years ago. Ottawa and Toronto, they’re all rippers now, always were, some say.”

  At the top of the stairs, she turned right and led him to a set of shining doors. They slid open to reveal a gleaming interior not much bigger than a walk-in closet. An elevator.

  “Is this thing well-maintained?” Tevy didn’t want to enter but didn’t want to appear a coward.

  “It’s fine.” Kayla entered. “What, you never been in an elevator before?”

  God, she was infuriating. “I’ve been in lots before Vlad. My Gran lived way up in a condo, way higher than this building.” Tevy stepped in and stood as far from Kayla as possible, one hand against the wall, as if he could find support there if necessary. “We just don’t have any around Old Town that are powered up. Rippers got some down in the Loop.”

  He resisted the urge to grab the wall when the ground surged under his feet, and his knees buckled for an embarrassing second. He looked over to see if Kayla had noticed, and his ears burned because she was smiling. “I forgot they do that,” he said.

  The doors opened to reveal a place wonder, and for a moment Tevy wished he lived at St John’s. The closest he could compare it to was the bridge of the Starship Enterprise from all those Star Trek movies and TV shows the Brat Pack loved—anything that took them away from this planet was very popular on movie night, even if they’d already seen it a dozen times. There were five control tables set in a circle, all with lights and buttons and dials. At one sat a woman with a headset, clearly speaking over a radio. At others technicians monitored...stuff. Tevy had no idea what. Beyond that circle, floor-to-ceiling windows provided a spectacular view of the stars and full moon over the forest.

  “It’s like a space ship,” Tevy said, forgetting to step out of the elevator.

  “It’s the operations room. Come on.” Kayla held the elevator door for him. “We control everything from up here—the power plant, the lights, door locks, everything.”

  A man, short and stocky with a large, bald head, looked out the window. A short woman nearby hung up a phone and stared across the room at Tevy, and emotions awoke for him, memories he couldn’t place and didn’t want, but she was connected with them. She nodded Tevy’s way, and the man turned and waved them over.

  Kayla made the introductions. “Tevy Wexler, this is Mr. Barry St. John and Ms. Joyce Skala.”

  St. John put his hands on his hips and frowned. “Jesus, Kayla. You should both have gone to the infirmary. Christ, he was in a plane crash, and you both look like you’ve been through a bloody fight.”

  For the first time since Tevy met her, Kayla looked rattled and uncertain. “Jeff told me to bring him straight up.”

  “It’s okay.” Mr. St John stuck out his hand, and Tevy found his totally enveloped by the handshake. “Call me Barry, all right? Everyone does.” The man may have been overweight, but there was a lot of muscle with that fat, and there was nothing soft about him.

  “And I’m Joyce.” She also held out her hand, and Tevy found himself frowning as he shook it in turn. She was shorter than he remembered yet firm and strong, but Tevy sensed a different sort of tough than Barry, like a tree that could bend in a hurricane wind and then stand tall in the aftermath. But there was something so familiar about her. It was the same
feeling he had when he met Kayla earlier in the evening, but more definite. Then he remembered. This was the Joyce.

  “Wow,” he said, forgetting to let go of her hand. “We met way back. I’m one of the Brat Pack.”

  She frowned. “Come again?” She pulled her hand free but held his eyes with hers.

  “You saved me. I mean, Bertrand Allan saved me, but you were there that night, the night the rippers killed my mom and dad. You were really mad that they died, and then you gave me to Helen to join the Brat Pack, all the orphans at St. Mike’s.”

  Joyce sighed and shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember off the top of my head. There were a lot of orphans around that time.”

  Tevy fought to desire to detail that night for her, to somehow connect to a moment in time before his parents’ murder, to find out what went on outside the house from her perspective, to find out if there would have been any way to save his parents if things went differently. But his nightmares from that night forbade asking too many questions.

  Barry waved them toward a table off to one side from the operations center. “Grab a seat since you’re here.” He called out to a young man at one of the control tables. “Andreas, mind grabbing us a few beers?” He turned back to Tevy. “You’re twenty-one, right?”

  “I’m almost eighteen.” Tevy took his seat, confused about the question, but the others shared a laugh.

  “Just an old joke.” Barry settled heavily into a cracked leather chair at the head of the table. “So what’s so hush-hush that Bobs sent you instead of just using the radio. What’s the big message?”

  Tevy looked from Barry to Joyce to Kayla. “She told me to only tell you and Joyce and Jeff and Martin, the Companions.”

  The anger on Kayla’s face made Tevy look quickly back to Barry, who had already raised one hand to forestall her protest. “Kayla, give us a minute okay? Go wash your face and come back in ten minutes.”

  Tevy waited until she was out of earshot.

  “Chicago’s in trouble. Vlad, or at least a ripper calling himself Vlad, has come back to Chicago, and he’s brought a whole bunch of people up from California, human slaves and rippers. They’re stockpiling weapons and they’ve got tanks. She believes that a major offensive is coming this summer.”

  Joyce answered first. “What the fuck does she want us to do about it?”

  “Bring an army, like back at the Battle of the Mountain.” Tevy had trouble keeping the surprise out of his voice. He had only thought to deliver a message, he hadn’t expected to defend it. “I thought there were, like, too many people up here. She thought you’d be happy—”

  “Wait,” Barry said, while the young man, Andreas, passed around mugs of brown beer, each with an inch of foam on top. When Andreas returned to his post, Barry nodded to indicate Tevy could continue.

  “She thought you’d be happy to send an army, to have some people move back to Chicago.”

  “Most of these people aren’t from Chicago.” Barry studied him for a moment, and Tevy knew to keep his mouth shut while the man considered. “You seem pretty deep in Bobs’ confidence. Everybody still call her that?”

  “Most people call her General Roberts.” Tevy squared his shoulders with pride. “She told me to call her Bobs. Said she trusted me ’cause I’m such a good runner and snooper. Says I remind her of the man who saved her life.”

  Joyce sat up straight, leaning forward to stare at him with embarrassing ferocity. “She what! Did she tell you who that is?”

  “No, she wouldn’t, said that wasn’t important.”

  Joyce slumped back in her chair, her expression puzzled, unsure, but her gaze still fixed on Tevy. “What made you charge into the woods?”

  It was Tevy’s turn to be confused. “How do you know?”

  “Jeff told us, of course. You think he didn’t phone up here when he got back? What made you charge into the woods?” She chopped out each word.

  “I guess I was too pumped.” Tevy shrugged. “I just wanted to get them, to kill some of them and scare the rest into running far away. I couldn’t help myself.”

  Joyce and Barry exchanged a loaded look, and Barry shrugged. “Who knows? It’s certainly possible.” He turned to Tevy. “So Bobs wants us to come romping fifteen-hundred miles with about a thousand people and do what?”

  “Attack the Loop before they’re ready to attack us. Take this Vlad out the way you took out Vlad the Scourge.”

  “Oh, come on.” Joyce slammed her mug of beer down on the table, sloshing brown. “This is totally different. It’s not like we can all just pile onto a few buses and drive across the continent anymore. Chicago might as well be the moon.”

  “She can fix stuff like that. If you can get buses. I mean, there must be some up here somewhere. If you can get to Duluth, the highway’s good from there. We keep it clear.”

  “And how do we fuel these buses and feed our people when we get there.” Joyce looked angrier by the second, and Tevy cringed under the onslaught.

  “I don’t know. I figured she’d sort that out with you when the time comes. Look, I’m just a runner and a scout, and all.” He took a gulp of the beer, wondering why anyone liked this bitter taste, and wiped the foam from his lip. Disgusting drink. He’d prefer a nice glass of apple juice, but he didn’t want to offend his hosts.

  “But she sent you.” Barry eyed him thoughtfully. “And you know a lot it seems. Where do you scout?”

  “The Loop. I go in near dawn and come out after sun up. It gives me a chance to check out ripper numbers and traitor numbers. I hear things.”

  Joyce leaned forward, and there was an intensity to her stare that baffled Tevy.

  “You hunt rippers at night, don’t you. Why?”

  Tevy shrugged. “Isn’t it obvious? I don’t want to just sit around while they kill or convert more people. Every ripper I kill saves hundreds.”

  She turned to Barry. “Sound like anyone you know? It’s pretty eerie, isn’t it?”

  Barry shook his head. “I don’t know. Sometimes, you know, we see what we want to see.” He turned his attention to Tevy. “Why doesn’t she just get help from closer to home, like from that National Guard colonel she’s chummy with?”

  “He can’t help ’cause the rippers keep attacking his bases, too.” For the first time, it occurred to Tevy that these people weren’t all-seeing and powerful—that being so far up north they might not understand. “Do you how many people have died since you saved me?”

  “Hundreds of thousands, we know,” said Joyce. “We monitor every channel.”

  “Millions.” Tevy couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice because it was so obvious to him. Bishop Alvarez reminded them every Sunday and ordered them to pray for the dead. “Millions and millions. It’s not just the rippers, there’s the famines.”

  “Were not idiots.” But Joyce frowned and exchanged a glance with Barry.

  “We saw what happened in Thunder Bay and Atherley,” Barry said. “So we know it’s in the millions.”

  Tevy had been taught to respect his elders, but the beer had lightened his head.

  “So you know a lotta people offed themselves the first couple of years? You know what it’s like to smell the stink in some house you’re foraging through, knowing you’ll likely find a body hanging from the ceiling or lying on bed?”

  “We’ve had some experience.” Joyce didn’t look angry now. In fact, she stared intently at Tevy and let him speak.

  “I’ve seen thousands of bodies. It’s worse if they had pets, cause then they get eaten and you find bits of them rotting all over the house. Fidos, we call them. Worse than what’s left after the rats.”

  His frustration grew, perhaps because the presence of Joyce took him back to that first night, the night his parents died, the first night of the rest of his life. “We could all die down there while you sit up here in your tower, with your electricity and all the old-world softies. I got little kids from the Brat Pack who ask me at night to tell them it’s
gonna be all right, and I always tell them it will, that I’ll kill the rippers and keep them away from St. Mike’s.” He was shaking again, his passion burying his control. “I mean it! I won’t let them die. I won’t let them rippers take them. We desperately need your help. A thousand fighters could make a huge difference, if you don’t come too late.”

  Barry held up one hand to stop him. “Settle down, settle down. You’ve made your point.”

  Tevy hadn’t realized that he had stood, that he was leaning over, that his fist had been pounding the laminated tabletop.

  “You’re tired and you’ve had a rough time.” Joyce’s voice was gentle this time, the voice you use with a crazy person. “You get some sleep and leave this to us.”

  But Tevy wasn’t finished. If he could just make them understand! “There’s maybe two thousand around St. Mike’s, maybe twenty thousand souls living north of the Loop, but the rippers have probably got fifteen grand in traitors and way more in rippers. If we don’t hit ’em soon and hit ’em hard, they’ll kill or make slaves of every free human in Chicago. You have to come before it’s too late. Bobs says if we can take the Loop and hole up there, we can survive the coming storm.”

  “What storm?” asked Barry.

  “Rippers out of California. Don’t you guys hear anything on the radio? There’re millions of them out there. They’re hungry and they’re looking our way. Bobs says so. Says we’re going to need drastic action. She said it just like that, ‘drastic action.’”

  Joyce turned to Barry. “What the hell would she consider drastic?”

  “Damned if I know. What about you?” He pointed a finger at Tevy, who shrugged.

  “She doesn’t tell me everything.”

  Joyce nodded. “Don’t worry, she doesn’t tell anyone everything.”

  Eight - Vampire Road

  Kayla had never seen so many buses in one place. Twelve of them were lined up along the side of the highway, all grimy from disuse. On the bus nearest her, someone had used their finger to write WASH ME DUDE in the dust of one of the windows. People milled around, shoving luggage into the open compartments in the bellies of the buses, hugging loved ones goodbye or shaking hands with friends, and checking weapons.