“He’s lying.”
“But you survived when everybody said you were dead.”
Allan sighed, a weariness that radiated out like the concentric waves in a disturbed pond. “I escaped by an exit that I denied to him. He took a grenade to the face, the same grenade that set off the propane explosion. His flesh would’ve burned from his bones. There was nothing for the parasites to rebuild, and they would be dead, too, anyway.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. You aren’t facing Vlad the Scourge, but there were many Vlads sent all over the world for this apocalypse. I hunt them. I’ve killed two since the end of everything. Vlad the Scourge at Cave Mountain, the Chicago Vlad, and Vlad the Angry in Seattle just last year. As far as I can tell, there were five in America, so this Vlad Who Bleeds would have to be from L.A. or New York or Washington, either that or some ripper has just poached the name. Anyone can call themselves Vlad.”
“There are other troubles. The rippers look to be attacking soon, and they’ve got all these old tunnels that go under the river.”
“You came to tell me that? Joyce knows what she was getting herself into. Really, I’m just one guy. I don’t know what you think I can do about this that an army can’t.”
“I was thinking you could fight your way in and get this Vlad, like you did in the Battle of the Mountain. Cut the head off the snake.” Tevy could picture it. Bertrand charging in to avenge with his hair waving back and a righteous look on his face, just like that biblical mural that Amanda painted on the wall of the basement when they were young teens.
“He’ll be too heavily guarded. I’m not invincible, you know. I may be a ripper, but I can die. Maybe...maybe I can try to get a look at him, see if he looks anything like Vlad the Scourge. I need a rest first though, need to find some ripper blood to feed. It dulls the pain. I’m always so goddamn hungry.”
Tevy suddenly wondered if he was being fair, if it was right to burden this ruined and weary man with all of Chicago’s troubles, but he’d been educated for so long about Allan’s superpowers that, even though Tevy knew the stories were blown out of proportion, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Bertrand Allan could do anything—that he was worthy of sainthood.
“The bishop wants to make you a saint.”
Allan stood so abruptly that Tevy raised his shotgun and pushed back in his chair.
“A saint? That’s completely nuts. That’s completely fucking nuts.”
“It’s not my idea. It’s Bishop Alvarez’s idea.”
“Oh, so he’s a bishop now.”
Tevy nodded, relieved that Allan again sat. “I think he’ll be elected pope. They’re going to have a convention or something of all the Christian priests and ministers in Chicago in September. I’m betting the bishop will get the nod, ’cause Bobs wants him to be pope.”
“Yes, it always comes back to what Bobs wants, doesn’t it? Are you her man, Mr. Wexler. Did she send you?”
“I told you I kept you a secret, just like Kayla asked. Bobs doesn’t know you’re alive and she doesn’t know Margaret’s your daughter. She thinks she’s Kayla’s daughter.”
“You know about my daughter?”
“Yeah. They did a lousy job keeping it a secret on the bus, trying to pretend it was Kayla’s daughter when it was obvious she didn’t know the first thing about taking care of kids. I saw through that pretty fast.”
Something about the sudden rigidity of Allan’s stance warned Tevy of a dangerous storm. He braced himself.
“My daughter is here. Now. In Chicago?”
Tevy was seriously afraid for the first time since Allan came out of the vault.
“She stowed away on the bus. Nobody knew she was there until the first night out, and it was way too late for anyone to go back. The rippers close the road a lot through there it seems, and Joyce wouldn’t send her back with anything less than an army.”
Allan trembled on the couch, and Tevy feared the rage would burst on him.
“My daughter! Bobs! Vlad Who Bleeds. My God, do you have any other bad news before I totally loose it.”
“Please don’t,” said Tevy. “I know how you feel, really, but I just thought you ought to know. I mean, the Ericsians, they made me take their test and they say you and I have the same soul, or at least I’ve got part of it and you’ve got another part, or something like that.”
“I thought you were Catholic.”
“I am, but we’re dealing with them even though the Bobs and the bishop hate them. Their religion, it’s weird but it’s kinda interesting. I guess I sort of wish it was true. It’d be cool being the same soul as Bertrand Allan.”
Allan settled back in the couch, the rage replaced with weariness. “If you’re hosting a portion of the same soul, God help you. We’re a tortured soul in peace and in war.”
“I just thought you should know everything.”
Allan suddenly studied Tevy closely, a frown creasing his forehead. “You were brave to come here, brave to tell me all the bad news. Messengers have been killed for bad news many times in history.”
Tevy let the silence hang as he debated whether to deliver the worst news, but Allan noticed the silence. “You haven’t told me all the really bad news yet, have you?”
Tevy shook his head. “The bishop. This morning in mass, during his sermon, the bishop told us it’s okay to kill human traitors who serve the rippers, that we won’t go to hell, that it’s like killing a ripper.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. You’re going to have to kill a few humans if the rippers throw them at St. Mike’s.”
“I think it’s about the nukes.” Tevy couldn’t decide why he was whispering, perhaps because he hoped that the soft tone wouldn’t inflame Allan’s anger.
“What. Nukes.” Allan chopped the words out through clenched teeth.
“Malmstrom’s in trouble. I think they’re gonna evacuate to Chicago, but before they do, they’re going to nuke L.A., New York, and Washington. Use ’em or lose ’em and all. I just thought you should know.”
Allan stood and looked down at Tevy, but he looked distraught rather than dangerous. “Jesus Christ,” he said. “It is the end of the world.” He walked into the bunker and slammed the door. When Tevy heard the grate of the bolt shooting home, he knew the interview was over. He headed for home to get some sleep.
Twenty-Two - The Offensive
Kayla didn’t want everyone else in the room to know how awed she was to be in their presence, so her answers to their questions may have come out shorter and angrier than she intended.
“Of course I ordered the pull back and I was frigging right. We’d have been massacred.”
Emile put his hands up in surrender, a smile on his face as he looked from Kayla to Joyce with raised eyebrows. “I was just asking,” he said.
They were all there, all the living Companions of Bertrand except Barry St. John. Kayla already knew Joyce and Jeff of course, and she had met Emile and Helen at the last meeting in the bishop’s conference room, now undoubtedly Bobs’ war room. Simon Gonsalves, the man at the end of the table with the thick black locks of hair, was older than he was in the YouTube videos, of course, and so was Julia Chen, the very serious Asian woman and former cop. Even Bishop Alvarez, who sat opposite Bobs dressed in a black cassock with a red cap, looked as if the gray would soon outnumber the black in his close-cropped hair. In fact, all of them had aged so much in the seven—nearly eight—years since the apocalypse that it made Kayla wonder what she would look like if she lived another decade. The sleepless nights had aged her more than would have happened had she lived a normal life, of that she was sure.
“You were right,” said Bobs from the head of the table, where she stood over her maps, even though Bertrand’s Companions were seated. The rest of the room was crowded with standing people who trickled in during the last hour, like Kayla, who stood to Bobs’ right.
Bobs wasn’t finished with her. “But don’t you dare go ordering my armies around a
gain without getting my approval first. I’m going to get you a walkie, but you’ll have to learn our code. The rippers have better tech than we do, and they listen in for sure.”
The others at the meeting were representatives from many of the churches, mosques, and synagogues from around Chicago that had become the center of resistance to the rippers and their government. Kayla knew that the gathering of Loyalist humans at St. John’s was unusual, because it was secular; everywhere else, the resistance had centered on religious establishments. People who had turned their back on religion in the twenty-first century had quickly sought help from their gods when destruction and death rose to the level of a medieval plague.
Bobs removed her focus from Kayla and addressed the whole crowded room.
“Our objectives haven’t changed. They’re getting more supplies by the day, more traitors and more rippers. We need to go on the offensive before they’re ready for us. Vlad thought his feint with the tanks would give him a quick victory but that backfired, so now he’s taking his frigging time. We can’t wait for him to come after us.”
She turned the map on the table so that everyone could crowd around.
“My Brat Pack have identified fifteen exits from the tunnels north of the Loop. There may be more, because a lot of these are freshly dug exits as far as we can tell. We have squat on the entrances in the Loop, but you can bet there’s at least one at city hall.
“So here’s what we’re going to do.” Bobs looked up to make sure she had everyone’s attention. “We’re going to take or block these entrances and we’re going to secure this side of the river.”
“What good is that?” asked someone from the back of the room.
“I’ve got some plans for the rippers that I’m sure as hell not going to talk about now. But the river is the natural border. We take our side of the river and I guarantee we’ll take the whole city.”
“What’s going on with Webb?” asked Emile.
Bobs tensed. Kayla could tell because she was standing so close to her, but she doubted anyone else in the room noticed that Emile had struck a nerve.
“What do you mean?” Bobs asked.
Emile lost all the smile from earlier, and his stare was an accusation. “You know exactly what I mean.”
“That,” said Bobs, looking down at her map as if there were some very important piece of information she needed to check immediately. “That is definitely a conversation for later. Safe to say that Webb is giving us every support for this operation.” She looked up. “I’m going to meet with each of you throughout today to give your more details about your assignment. We need to move as quickly as possible.”
Kayla got her meeting sooner than many, waiting out in the corridor for only twenty minutes while the Companions met privately with Bobs and the bishop. Kayla was surprised to hear quite a bit of shouting, but when she tried to drift closer to the door to hear, several kids from the Brat Pack, some of them as young as three, formed up in rows in front of the door and began singing a song about the Battle of the Mountain that sounded like a cross between a Christmas carol and “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.” It wasn’t lost on anyone that their purpose was to prevent eavesdropping.
When the Companions did emerge, several looked furious, especially Joyce, who looked like she was going to say something to Kayla but changed her mind. Jeff simply raised his eyebrows as he passed.
“Come on in,” said Bobs to Kayla. “And close the door.” Bobs waved her over to the map as the caroling began outside again.
“I don’t want you sharing this with others. I think we’ve got a spy, maybe more than one, feeding the rippers with info. As things stand, you’re my liaison with the Ericsians. I need them, but I don’t trust their stupid cult. For all I know, their supreme leader might one day decide that they should all off themselves or join the rippers or attack Loyalists. Who knows?” Bobs pointed to the map, and Kayla recognized Wells Street and the Merchandise Mart.
“You want me there again?” Kayla asked.
“I want you to crush it. I want the Wells Street Bridge, and I want that ripper tunnel sealed up tight. The traitors who surrendered from there have given us a detailed map of where it is, and you can trust me that it’s accurate.” Bobs handed her two sheets of paper with a pencil sketch of corridors and doorways. “These are the lower two levels that the rippers control. You go in right after dawn tomorrow and you close up that tunnel entrance. Keep this in mind: I don’t care about the building. Blow the thing to hell, set it on fire, whatever those Ericsians can do to destroy that tunnel, you do it.”
*
Kayla reentered the Merchandise Mart the same way she had left, through one of the holes they’d blown in the concrete block. Again Tevy and Elliot were with her, and this time Amanda was there too. Mabruke stayed close as they made their way down the same stairs as last time.
They stopped at the first landing, guns ready, and Amanda did the honors, pulling the pin from a grenade and dropping it over the railing after a nod from Kayla. The explosion provoked a scream, and Kayla led the rush down stairs, practically having to elbow Tevy out of the way so that she could lead.
She could hear several explosions from other stairwells, indicating that the other assault teams were on the move, too. At the bottom of the stairwell they found one ripper, bleeding but not dead. Kayla’s heart pounded as she fired a single shot through his forehead to keep him down.
A quick peek into the basement corridor proved that there were a lot of rippers waiting for them. Some of them behind a sandbagged machine-gun emplacement, probably even the Ericsian’s sandbags from yesterday.
Apparently they didn’t wonder what the jackhammers had been doing upstairs all morning. Kayla had no intention of a frontal assault that would kill many of her troops, so when Mabruke had told her that he had a working air compressor and enough diesel fuel to run it, she’d decided it was worth the wait. But the Mart was built of poured concrete, and it took two hours to jackhammer in holes for the dynamite, and even then there was no guarantee they had enough to blow a hole in the floor.
There were a lot of risks, but Mabruke had assured them that one thing they needn’t fear was the whole building coming down from their charges. “This place was built for heavy goods and forklifts, not manikins and dresses. We could only wish the whole place would collapse.”
If he was wrong, they were about to die.
Kayla pulled up her particle mask and pulled down her goggles. What would they do when the Home Depots ran out of stuff like this, she wondered, allowing this distraction to supplant the fear for just a moment. She also wondered how long the yellow hard hat would last on her head once the real shooting started.
Mabruke looked in askance, putting his own mask up, and she nodded. He used a hand signal, as if pulling a down on an invisible handle, and it was echoed by others up the stairs. They all plugged their ears and looked at the ground. A few moments later, the floor shifted under their feet and several giant explosions ripped through the Mart.
Tevy charged through the door before she could, rushing into the gray haze of concrete dust. Insulation from piping floated in the air, too, probably asbestos given how old the building was, but Kayla hardly cared. She could die at any moment. Tevy could die at any moment. Ripper bodies, males and females, had been tossed away from the machine gun emplacement. They shifted, some groaned, and Tevy was already busy shooting the strongest-looking with his Winchester.
A ripper lay near Kayla, his back to the wall and his eyes pleading for help as blood dripped from his mouth. Kayla put a single shot into his forehead at point-blank range. The weak light from the ragged hole they’d blown in the ceiling didn’t let down much sunlight, and all of it was indirect and diffused by the concrete dust, but it had the desired effect: those rippers that could run were fleeing. Kayla didn’t know if this was enough light to kill parasites in their hosts and cause the inevitable stroke and heart attack that came with a massive die-off of parasites, bu
t the rippers weren’t taking any chances.
“Go! Go! Go!” she shouted. “Leave the clean up.” That was for Tevy, who was still carefully giving the double tap to any ripper wounded. There were others who could do that behind them, people just as capable.
They followed the floor plan, not having to search for the stair into the deepest part of the Mart. This Kayla expected to find well defended, but the grenades didn’t produce any screams. They ran down into the heart of the building, where pipes and wires and ductwork all came together to find boilers and electrical panels and phone boxes. The rippers had another machine-gun emplacement, but Elliot had a good arm. Kayla took a deep breath to prepare herself. She would live. She wouldn’t be shot. Luck would be with her. This ran like a mantra in the back of her head.
Kayla made sure Elliot was ready, gave Tevy the one, two, three with her fingers, and they charged into the hall, he going high and straight across to the far wall while she stayed low, firing three round bursts to push the machine gunners down before they could fire with aim. Elliot stepped into the hall and flung the grenade. It landed perfectly behind the gunners, and Kayla and Tevy barely cleared the hall and back into the stairwell before it exploded.
They turned and rushed back into the corridor to find utter and complete black. The explosion had shattered every bulb, forcing Kayla to make a heart-stopping pause to fish the flashlight Mabruke gave her out of her pocket. There were no holes to let in the sunlight this deep. She made a note that she should have foreseen this problem. She turned the little Maglite on, holding it away from her body.
Muzzle flashes exploded in the corridor, and for a freeze-frame second she could see Tevy charging forward with his shotgun aimed. She rushed after him, but the rippers ran after discharging wild shots, and the next danger was from friendly fire, for other teams had made it down different stairwells.
“The 1000 Live On!” She shouted the Erics proclamation. Others around her echoed her cry, and so did voices up the corridor. She kept an eye on them because the rippers could shout this just as easily, but she was relying on surprise. The rippers didn’t know one group of Loyalists from the others. By the time they did figure this group was from the Ericsians, or even what the Ericsians stood for, hopefully the battle would be over.
The 1000 Souls (Book 2): Generation Apocalypse Page 24
