The 1000 Souls (Book 2): Generation Apocalypse

by Michael Andre McPherson

  “Yes,” Kayla said, feeling relief for the first time since Tevy was captured. “I’m going after him.”

  Mabruke looked delighted, but Joyce looked furious.

  “Then you’re throwing your life away. Tonight’s battle will make the last week look like a picnic. The rippers will have nowhere to go to ground! They’ll be like wolves backed into a corner. That’s when they’re the most dangerous.”

  “Fuck you. I can throw away my life if I want to. I won’t live without him.” Her hand pressed her belly. Was there life growing there? She went with the truth. “I may be pregnant.”

  “What’s that got to do with it?”

  “I’m not you, Joyce. I won’t have a child with him and be left to bring it up on my own. I won’t have a ghost for the father.”

  “Shut up!”

  But it was too late. Emile didn’t get it, but Helen suddenly put a hand over her mouth in shock. “Oh my God. Little Margaret is Bert’s daughter, isn’t she? Oh my God. I assumed she was Jeff’s.”

  Jeff gave a pained smile. “See how a man gets a reputation?”

  “You guys can’t tell anyone.” Joyce’s panic was evident, but Mabruke was already trying to sooth.

  “His soul carried on in others.” Mabruke said. “Offspring are wonderful, and when she is of age, I would love her to take the determination, but soul portions are not inherited. She could have a portion of the Angry Captain or the Loving Mother.” He waved a hand at Helen. “They’re all just as likely as the Dormant Hero.” He turned his attention to Kayla. “I’m more concerned about the existing vessel of the Dormant Hero. There must be very few left, because we’ve never come across another one. I’ll come with you, of course. I have a platoon at the cantonment gate. Where do you want to attack?”

  “I thought about boats down to the Loop, but I don’t really know where to begin.”

  “I can take care of that.” Emile looked drunk and kept giving sidelong glances at Joyce and smiling. “A little Bert. Who knew?”

  Kayla tried not to scream at him in frustration, but Jeff saved her. “The boats, Emile?” he asked.

  “There’s a fishing fleet. Started back in the famines. Come on with me. I know a dozen boats we can use, and their captains are good. They’ll land us right at the foot of Jackson, no problemo.” To Mabruke: “Bring your guys this way, fast. We gotta move now if we’re gonna do it.”

  They had turned to hurry away, passing the white statue of St. Michael, when Joyce called out. “Wait. Damn you to hell. Fine. We’ll go. At least I’ll go.”

  Jeff finished his cigarette and dropped it to grind it out on the pavement. “Hell, I’d hate to miss a fight, especially when my soul is already down there fighting. I want to talk to the little red-haired hellion. I think he should come up to St. John’s so I can make sure Bobs doesn’t lop his head off or something.”

  Kayla ran toward the shore of Lake Michigan, relieved to be doing something, relieved that the Angry Captain and Dependable Rogue were with her, for more and more she believed in the Ericsians 1000 Souls. But she feared failure, because they were missing one of the Trinity. The Dormant Hero. Somewhere, Tevy was down there, dead, alive, or a ripper. But somewhere else Bertrand Allan stalked this city. Joyce had made that clear. Mabruke, Bobs, Emile, and Helen certainly didn’t know. Vlad didn’t know. Allan was the ultimate wild card. No one could command him, neither ripper nor human.

  Twenty-Seven - The Dependable Rogue

  Elliot had a good buzz on and he wasn’t going to let the rippers ruin it, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let them take his best friend to his death. He took a sip of hooch from his metal flask and looked out the window, waiting for the flare to fade and for rippers in the street to be busy with something. A machine gun from the Mart raked this side of river and the rippers took shelter. Perfect. Elliot climbed out the window and slid down a phone cable he had just cut out of the drop ceiling of their floor of the office building. It hurt his hands, because it was only plastic coated wire and it was so thin, but it held his light weight. Jemal could command the Ericsians up there. He knew what he was doing and was really the guy in charge anyway. He’d hold off the rippers until morning.

  Elliot hurried down the street, starting in the middle like he belonged there, but moving to the shadows when he saw a whole company marching his way in formation. There were true ripper troops, not civilian conscripts. These must be the guys from California.

  A mouse didn’t know its warren as well as Elliot knew this city after eight years of spying and scrounging. He dived into a hotel and hurried through the lobby, the restaurant and the far window smashed many years ago by he and Tevy to make this route work.

  He had just slipped across the next street when the shadow caught his attention. A ripper was tracking him. Odd. Not raising the alarm or calling out a hunting pack or anything. He must think Elliot would be an easy mark, a meal all to himself.

  That would change. Elliot worked his way into a bank, finding his way in the light of a new flare that burst above the city, its white light washing in the high windows. He jumped into the teller’s area and turned to place his M16 on the counter, aiming for the shattered window he just came through, but the ripper didn’t follow.

  Elliot was about to move, when a voice called into the bank.

  “My best friend carried an M16 like that. He uses an FN now.”

  Fuck. The bastard knew he was there.

  “What a coincidence. There are so few of these M16s in the country.” Elliot was really enjoying sarcasm.

  “His name is Jeff MacLean. I believe you know him.”

  “I think most of Chicago knows him. Why don’t you step out and I’ll show you how well this gun works? I’m kinda in a hurry.”

  “Why do you run toward the rippers when everyone else runs away.”

  “My best friend is their prisoner. Look, dude, I know you’re hungry and all, but I’m not going to be a free lunch. Your best bet now is to get the hell out of here before I pass a shit load of lead through your brain.”

  “Yes, I recognized your friend. He came to see me. And you must be the Dependable Rogue. Only he would try to fight through a ripper army for me. He and the Angry Captain of course.”

  “You’re an Ericsian?”

  “I’m beginning to think there’s something to the 1000 Souls. We haven’t much time if we’re going to save your friend, and I get the sense that you know a way in to where I want to go. I’m stepping into your gun sights.”

  The figure, taller than Elliot, stepped through the hole in the glass, the white flare light silhouetting him, although enough light washed around for his features to be visible. For a ripper he kept himself nice—clean new clothes and running shoes. But he still had the alien quality to him, that strangeness about how he carried himself, as if preparing to lunge all the time, even though he stood tall. Elliot could shoot him now, but the ripper seemed familiar. Then he remembered Tevy’s story of meeting Bertrand Allan in the woods and later in Chicago in the bunker.

  “Vlad’s stinking blood. Holy fuck. It’s you.”

  “Quick. With me you’ll be safer. I’ve learned a lot of quiet ways to kill rippers over the years. We have to hurry to catch up. You’ll need to find a way into Vlad’s tower.”

  The guy was a ripper for sure, Bertrand Allan or not, and he would be able to kill him in a second if Elliot let his gun down, of that he was certain. The safe thing to do would be to put a bunch of lead through him right now. But that would be noisy, even with all the other shooting going on up near the river, and that would bring all kinds of hell after Elliot, and that would mean Tevy’s certain death.

  Elliot liked to gamble. A ripper at his side could be totally cool, especially Bertrand Allan. Was he really the same soul as Tevy?

  “Okay. Let’s go kill some rippers.”

  As Allan turned in the light of the flare, Elliot caught a grim smile.

  “Yes, let’s.”

  Together, they hurr
ied through the city, Elliot leading the way. Two shadows, one young and alive and dangerous, the other dead and very dangerous.

  Twenty-Eight - Vlad Who Bleeds

  It had been a food court. Tevy found that oddly appropriate. He recognized some of the brand names: McDonald’s, KFC, Tokyo Sushi, and dozens more, all in a circle around plastic tables and chairs bolted to the floor. Some of them had been removed at one end to make room for a long table and maps—a pilfered boardroom table. The maps could have been Bobs’, and it struck Tevy that Vlad brooded over them the same way Bobs brooded over her toy soldiers. They were trying to see into each other’s heads—a game of chess between two people who had never met.

  Tevy’s Winchester, with its holster and his Glock, held down a corner of one of the maps. The place was lit with very dim electric lights, and for the first time in his life, it occurred to Tevy that rippers didn’t need much light, their eyes always adjusted for dark. That should have been obvious, but as Helen liked to say, he wasn’t always the sharpest arrow in the quiver—not about stuff like that. She blamed it on his low protein diet during the famine years.

  The stink of blood assaulted Tevy’s nostrils, and he wondered in a detached way if the rippers even noticed it anymore. Bodies hung upside all through the food court, most of them right in front of the restaurant counters, perhaps some sick ripper joke. Those that weren’t dead had only minutes to live, and rippers lined up as if waiting to withdraw cash from an ATM. Tevy remembered lining up with his mother and the sense of impatience yet the certainty that everyone would get what they came for. In this case, blood. A ripper at the front of each line directed the next recipient to the appropriate victim.

  Another part of the food court was given over to donors, people who lay on cots as if at the Red Cross, waiting patiently for their pint of blood to drain so that they could leave. Other rippers lined up there. Tevy wondered about the hierarchy: why did some rippers get the live victims, and why did others have to settle for a donation of blood that wasn’t coming straight from the source but via plastic tubes and bags?

  It wasn’t that Tevy wasn’t afraid. He was secured spread-eagle to a wooden wheel, and they spun him a few times right away just so that he could see how it worked, and the nausea resulted in the explosive loss of his last meal. But now they’d left him, turned only slightly to one side from vertical, and this respite had given him a chance to come to terms with his death. He knew it was going to hurt. All he could hope for was that he could find a way to enrage Vlad so that he might kill him by accident.

  But Vlad was busy. Tall and blonde, his locks flowing down over his shoulders, his clothes black but modern, a dark shirt and studded leather jacket. Black jeans. Black boots. Excellent clothing for stalking in the night.

  Tevy passed the time by replaying his night with Kayla. It gave him great comfort that he had been with her, that she loved him.

  A ripper coughed and choked wetly. Tevy looked up, surprised that rippers could cough, and several laughed.

  “Take it easy there, kid,” said one to the cougher. “It’s cold, but if you prove yourself, you’ll get the real thing one day. Just don’t try to choke it all back at once.”

  Tevy looked over at the cougher. That cough had been a call for attention. Tevy’s attention. Radu stood by one of the cots, a pint bag of blood in his hands. He stared at Tevy but his expression was impassive. What was he trying to tell him? That he was here? That Tevy wasn’t alone? That his death wouldn’t go unrecorded? Or had Radu converted and embraced his new life as a ripper?

  The coughing also caught Vlad’s attention.

  “Come.” He waved a gloved hand at Radu, who put down the pint and hurried over to kneel. “Get up.” He grabbed Radu’s elbow and turned him to face Tevy. “Is he from St. John’s?”

  Radu shook his head. “He was sent up with the plea for help. He’s one of her runners.”

  “But he led troops tonight.”

  Vlad sat in a large office chair, a sumptuous leather creation from an office upstairs, no doubt, and anachronistic in the food court.

  “You, Sneak, what’s your name.”

  “Tevy Wexler.”

  “Never heard of you.”

  “It’s a big world.”

  “What is that bitch thinking, sending you to take that bridge?”

  Tevy would have shrugged, but the ropes bound him too tightly. “She doesn’t tell me much, but I think she’s coming after you. She needs the bridges to get at you.”

  “This is what bothers me. She doesn’t have nearly enough troops to cut through this city. It would be a bloodbath. Yet still she fights for these bridges. Why?” He tapped his fingers on the table. The drumming stopped and he turned to an assistant. “Send a patrol south.”

  “South, sir?”

  “You heard me. I want a report back in less than an hour, or someone’s going to die with their eyes looking at their body from a great distance.”

  “You.” This was to Radu. “Does she have other armies I should know about?”

  Radu shrugged. “I never met her. I had just got here before I was turned...evolved.”

  Vlad stood and approached Tevy, who drew a deep breath. This was going to be the hard part. If he could just die quickly and get it over with, maybe he wouldn’t shame himself by weeping or begging.

  “She’s better than you,” Tevy said. “She’ll beat you.”

  “We took a prisoner yesterday, one of the Ericsians. He says you’re the same soul as Allan. I find that amusing. I killed Allan, but, of course, you know that.”

  “I’ve met him. He’s not dead.”

  The room had been quiet before but now it was deathly quiet. Every ripper turning from their feast to pay close attention to Tevy.

  Vlad returned to his chair and sat. “You met an imposter. I tore him limb from limb and gorged on his blood.”

  “He killed Vlad the Scourge with a grenade and propane explosion. You’re the imposter. But Vlad made Bertrand into a ripper before the end. He lives to hunt other rippers.”

  “The Demon,” someone whispered.

  “You met an imposter.”

  But Tevy could tell he had upset this ripper.

  Vlad got himself under control. “I need to know all you know about the makeup of Bobs’ armies. She’s added St. John’s and the Ericsians to her usual levies. Who else can come to her aid?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t get invited to high level meetings.” But he did know. Had the nukes gone off yet? Did Vlad know?

  “You, come here.” He waved Radu over to his side. “Kneel.” Radu obeyed, kneeling beside the chair like a pet dog. Vlad drew a knife and placed it on his own wrist, slitting it quickly and pushing it to Radu’s mouth. “Drink.”

  Radu drank, at first tentatively, then eagerly. Vlad pulled his wrist away and pushed Radu to the floor. He held up the bloody wrist for Tevy to see.

  “I was Vlad the Scourge. Now I am Vlad Who Bleeds.”

  Radu had a seizure on the floor for a few moments before it subsided to a tremble of ecstasy. Vlad ignored him and addressed Tevy. “Would you like to know that pleasure? I can give it to you. It is better from me than any other ripper in the world. Rippers who drink my blood are immortal, can never be killed.”

  “I’d sooner eat shit.”

  “Then you will definitely get some of my blood, you little asshole.”

  Now Tevy’s fear returned. Torture and death were bad enough, but becoming like Bertrand Allan was definitely a fate worse than death.

  “I’ll kill myself the first chance I get.” But then he would go to hell, wouldn’t he? But if he was a ripper he would already be dead, right? So it wouldn’t be a sin.

  Vlad leaned forward in his chair, one hand clamped over the cut wrist. “Why do humans like you resist converting? It’s always been a puzzle to me. Life is so much better when you’re evolved.”

  “Murdering humans.”

  Vlad pointed at the donators. “In California we don�
�t have to force donations. People give willingly and murders are minimal. It’s the new world order.”

  “I’m old world. I’ll never change.”

  “Oh, you will.”

  Vlad stood and checked his wrist but it had healed. He drew his knife from the sheath at his belt. “I abhor torture. I have people here who would make you say anything to stop the pain. That’s the problem with torture. You can make people say anything, true or false. I prefer conversion.”

  “Please don’t,” Tevy said, the panic rising as Vlad approached. “There’s nothing I could tell you that’s going to make any difference.”

  “It takes longer I admit, but my blood is so potent with the parasites that your change will be very fast. It might be painful, but not too much. The ecstasy will more than compensate.”

  “I still won’t tell you anything.”

  Vlad stopped in front of him. “No, not today. But tomorrow, when the hunger takes you, you’ll tell me anything in exchange for a pint of blood. I won’t be so gauche to offer you a living donation.”

  Running feet caught Vlad’s attention, and a ripper rushed into the room, several others behind him, all looking wide-eyed and panicked. “Sir, we can’t raise L.A. or New York, and I was talking to Washington, and they said there was a nuclear flash from the direction of New York, and now Washington won’t respond.”

  “What the fuck?” Vlad turned on Tevy. “What has that crazy bitch done?”

  “Nuked your new world order.” Tevy turned his head away as if that would help him avoid a blow. His heart beat like it would burst out of his chest. Would it hurt, the death that he was sure was now coming?

  “Oh, she’s brilliant. What a ripper she’d make.” Vlad returned to his chair and slumped down to stare at his map. “Malmstrom. We just about had them beaten down. I should have guessed that she’d get them under her sway.” He looked up at Tevy. “So, that’s what you would have told me tomorrow. Is that all?” Suddenly, he stood, an unnatural movement, as if gravity didn’t apply the same way to him. “I think I have little time. We’ll have to go with the old fashion torture. Get Tony in here. I have a job for him.”