The 1000 Souls (Book 2): Generation Apocalypse (34 page)

Tevy sat heavily, remembering movies where they had shown what nuclear explosions would be like using stunning special effects. “They’re gone?”

Bobs looked at her watch. “Not yet, and don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” She looked down at her map. “We have to be ready when it does happen though, because the rippers will be desperate to attack once they realize I’ve cut off their supplies. I need those bridges back. I need them tonight.” She looked up at him, her turn to challenge. “You say you like to fight? Fine. I’m going to get you some boats. I want you to pick a platoon of the Ericsians and cross the river. They seem pretty cozy with you these days.”

“What do I do on the far side?”

“Take the Franklin Street Bridge back from the ripper side. Joyce and the Raiders gave it up to hold the Mart when Wells Street ended up in the river. We thought the rippers would blow the crap out of all the bridges, but now it’s obvious they want to keep some of them as much as we do.”

Tevy shook his head. “Boats are targets. I don’t need them. I’ve got a much better way across.”

“Shoot.”

Tevy stood and pointed to the map. “The Wells Bridge. Most of the ‘L’ train tracks are still above water because the river’s weirdly low this year. A couple of long boards at either end and I cross at night there without anyone seeing.”

“At night?”

“Just before sunset is the best time next to dawn, better even for surprise. The human traitors are getting ready to stand down and the rippers are not quite ready to risk the last of the sun. If we’re attacking from behind like you say, I think we could mop up the traitors quickly and be dug in by the time the rippers were up and about.”

“Good. You brief Joyce on what you’re doing so that the Raiders can support you on our side.”

Tevy suddenly sensed how close Bobs stood to him and he was reminded that she was only a year older than Kayla. Yet he had no interest in Bobs that way because she had always been larger than life. A commander. Military. Matriarchal. He headed for the door but she called after him.

“Tevy. I don’t want you fucking this Kayla bitch again. She’s too thick with the Ericsians. We can’t trust her.”

Tevy turned back in outrage. How dare Alvarez break the sanctity of his confession? Then he remembered that they had been in his office, not the confessional. Perhaps that meant he wasn’t covered, although it still felt like betrayal.

“The bishop has ordered me not to anyway until we’re married.”

“Whatever. If you desperately need to get your rocks off just find someone else, someone from St. Mike’s that we can trust. I bet there are lots of women who wouldn’t mind bedding you. Now go get this done for me.”

Tevy left. As he genuflected at the altar on his way back through the church, he had to shake the sudden concern that Bobs may be angrier with him than he knew, that she had just intentionally sent him to his death as revenge for his transgressions. It was the first time she had ever put him in charge of troops.

Magic hour. Last human hour of the day. The sun was half an orange on the horizon, its waning light already shaded from the river. Tevy stood inside the Merchandise Mart, wishing he could see Kayla just one more time, but she wasn’t in her room when he checked. She wasn’t with the Ericsian troops yet, but perhaps she might be with Joyce’s Raiders. While they were in the same building, the Mart was too large for Tevy to go searching. Tomorrow, after they had taken the bridge, maybe there would be time.

He and Mabruke had gone to look at the tunnel work. Even before the Wells Bridge had fallen, the jackhammer and explosives had done their work, sealing the tunnel with a fall of bricks and earth.

“We’re still hoping that the river will break through and flood the whole system,” said Mabruke as they surveyed the jumbled mess. “That would flush all the rippers out pretty quick. Bobs found a drill, one of those truck-mounted jobs, the big ones. It’s coming to us and we’re going to see if we can drill through the river and into the tunnel on the other side of the blockage. Problem is they’ll snipe the hell out of the guys as they drill.”

Tevy saw the drill later on the street. It rode on a big truck and looked like a crane waiting to rise to vertical. In spite of the rust, the driver swore it was functional, but now he waited behind them, hoping to drill after dark when the rippers couldn’t see across the river. The moon was waxing from new moon, but it was still a crescent that didn’t provide much light. It didn’t mean the rippers wouldn’t shoot, but it did mean they would have to shoot by ear rather than eye. And they might not shoot at first, given that their muzzle flashes would bring return fire. Perhaps they’d just think the engine was a generator and not realize their danger.

Tevy checked the sun one last time, waiting till it was a sliver on the horizon, the thin clouds above turned pink and red. It was time to go.

Elliot munched a sandwich, his rifle slung over his shoulder with the barrel pointing to the sky. When Tevy walked over to him, he stood and gave one of the Ericsian fist salutes with a grin.

“Ready for action, sir,” he said through a full mouth.

Tevy considered telling Elliot to stop with the jokes, but he knew that was Elliot’s way of dealing with fear. Tevy had yet to figure out what to do with his own fear, except that he knew it always abated when he could attack. Somehow, that brought relief from the tension.

“Okay, let’s get the boards and let’s get across the river.”

Mabruke had given him command of a crack platoon that was already organized into four squads. While they had trained together and fought as a unit several times, Tevy was a stranger to them. It was only their deep belief that Tevy hosted a portion of the same soul as Bertrand that subdued any discontent about this stranger from St. Mike’s suddenly becoming their lieutenant.

Tevy had been introduced to the squad leaders but had forgotten all their names right away, save the first sergeant’s name: Jemal. He was proud of his heritage, coming from a poor neighborhood in south Chicago.

“I learned to use a gun before I was ten,” he bragged. “And that was before the rippers.” He laughed a lot and Tevy liked that. So did the rest of the platoon.

The boards were easy to angle down from the blasted concrete abutment to the deck of the ‘L’ train bridge. The road bridge was deep in the river, but the ‘L’ was a good three feet above the water, even though it rested more than the height of a tall man below the abutment. Tevy slid down the plank, landing beside the fractured and bent rail of the train line. He didn’t wait for the others, instead rushing across the bridge. This was the most dangerous part. If the traitors saw, they would open fire to pin them down until the rippers came out after sunset.

But Tevy’s bet paid off. No one opened fire. It was an uphill run, though, because the south side of the bridge still clung to the shore, the tracks bending over but holding. It was so steep that Tevy had to use the rails and ties to pull himself up above shore level. From there he abandoned the ‘L’ deck in favor of monkeying through the girders that were once perpendicular to the road but were now angled like playground slides to the lower deck. Tevy was able to step onto the asphalt easily, and he hurried across the six lanes of Wacker Drive and put his back to the wall of an office building, one of those mid–twentieth century constructions faced with stone to emphasize stability and permanence, a couple of Romanesque concrete columns with high windows in between on the west side to break up the monotony.

Down the street two tanks waited, their guns aimed across the Franklin Street Bridge, the last rays of sun creating a halo effect around them. The office building’s first-floor windows littered the sidewalk with crystal shards. Tevy waved to Jemal and Elliot and pointed into a bank and sports bar, letting Jemal organize the squads.

Tevy drew his shotgun and moved into the sports bar, running past the counter, the brass taps, and the overturned chairs and tables. He had to return to the sidewalk through a broken window in order to run a couple of car lengths to the next building, this one right at the corner of Wacker and Franklin. The ground-floor restaurant and offices of this building were set back, allowing a patio in front under the building. Large square columns held up the edifice close to the street, reaching up to the third floor. They provided enough cover in the dusk that Tevy’s troops didn’t have to go into the building proper.

Tevy peeked around a column at the tanks and saw that the tops were open in the heat. Elliot came up beside him and took his own quick look before smiling at Tevy.

“Confidant bastards, aren’t they?” Elliot said.

Machine guns were set up behind concrete park benches dragged onto the road, one on each lane, again pointing north to defend the bridge from a frontal assault. Tevy had studied all this with binoculars from the Merchandise Mart earlier in the day. Even though he couldn’t see them from here, he knew there were two more guns behind sandbags at the far side of the bridge. Unlike the Wells Street Bridge, there was no second deck above, only steel beams rising in a graceful curve on either side to twice the height of a very tall man. On the east side another squat tower—one the bridge operators once used—was surrounded by milling humans. Traitors.

Tevy hurried to the last column, the one closest to the tanks, and used it as cover so that he could lean out and look south. The street was empty, other than the usual collection of abandoned cars and trucks, one skewed across three lanes. In the distance, so close and yet so far, the Willis Tower rose to the heavens above lesser office towers, black and menacing even though its upper floors were still bathed in the orange light of the sunset. Most of the windows were still intact, but they absorbed the sun rather than reflecting it, due to years of grime and weather.

Jemal hurried to stand with his back to the same column. “So that’s where the fucker hides out?” He nodded in the direction of the tower. “We’ll get him one day, maybe sooner than he thinks.”

“Two squads,” said Tevy. “One goes across the street fast to that building.” He pointed to the glass-and-steel office building that curved gracefully with Wacker Drive and the river. “The other goes along the side of this building. They’re to cover our backside against counter attack. Their targets will come as ripper reinforcements from the south.”

“What about those?” Jemal pointed to the tanks. “They can turn those gun turrets pretty fast.”

“Elliot and I will take out the tanks. The other two squads should go straight for the gunners on the bridge. Take the guns on this side and use them to take out the gunners on the north side.”

While Jemal rushed back to organize the squads, Tevy waved Elliot up and told him the plan. Tevy had hoped that Elliot would have comments or a critique, but instead he hung his M16 from his shoulder by the strap and pulled a grenade from his vest pocket. He looked at the tanks as a starving man looks at a rare steak.

Is this what Bobs would do? Tevy had been in a lot of battles, but always as a runner carrying orders and information. He could hardly wait for a chance to strike back, but he didn’t want to make a mistake that would get his people killed. He debated his plan until Jemal returned and told him they were ready. Two squads were with Tevy, and now they were a pretty obvious and dangerously clumped bunch, all trying to hide behind the four large columns of the building and relying on the darkness in the recess of the first two floors.

The other squads moved through the inside offices. They would go out through the side windows on Franklin Street once Tevy gave the signal. He holstered his shotgun and leaned in close to Jemal, who smelled of cigars. “Everybody goes as soon as Elliot and I reach the tanks. Go quietly.”

He turned to Elliot, who nodded and held up his grenade to show he was ready. Tevy pulled one from his many vest pockets. He took several deep, slow breaths to calm the beating of his heart. This was what he wanted. To attack. A charge. To strike a blow against the rippers, even if it meant killing human traitors. Bishop Alvarez said it was still God’s work. He wouldn’t go to hell for this murder. He drew his Glock too. He ran for the far tank.

Just before he reached the tank, a man’s head, the hair shorn bristle short, rose up from it, his back to Tevy as the man looked at the sunset.

“Hey, guys,” the man yelled down into the tank. “It’s almost Miller time.”

He must have heard Tevy’s shoes slapping the pavement, because he turned in a rush. Tevy fired the Glock, a wild shot that missed but had the desired effect. The soldier dropped into the tank, his hand reaching up to grab the hatch. Tevy fumbled and dropped his gun in his haste, but he got the pin out of the grenade and dropped it into the tank just before the hatch slammed shut. The tank’s engine roared to life even as Tevy leapt away.

A muffled thump ended the lives of everyone in the metal monster, and the engine idled, waiting for instructions that wouldn’t come. Before Tevy could retrieve his Glock from the pavement, another thump rocked the other tank and smoke poured out the hatch. Elliot ran around the back of the tank to join Tevy. By now the gun crews on the near side of the bridge knew exactly what was going on, but gunfire from the Merchandise Mart raked the bridge—the distracting fire that Joyce had promised Tevy would come when he attacked.

The two squads that had charged right behind Tevy reached the near guns, a complete surprise, firing at the gun crews before they could swing their machine guns. The men around the bridge tower had taken cover inside and behind it, but a squad had already enveloped it. For less than a minute, a fierce point-blank gun battle raged around the tower.

Tevy joined it. Elliot used his M16 and fired at the second-floor windows, shattering the glass and providing an opening for Tevy’s next grenade. The explosion finished the windows and flung shards out to rain down. Men inside stumbled out with raised hands, only to be shot.

The other squad now manned the two machine guns and fired across the bridge at the other emplacements. Those crews didn’t even try to turn their guns, running from them to jump in the river and try to swim. Tevy considered letting them live, but the squad around the tower had lost men and the fighting rage was on them. They fired into the river on the swimmers. It was a massacre of the helpless.