The 1000 Souls (Book 1): Apocalypse Revolution (25 page)

"Okay, I know, I know that it probably really sucks to lose your folks. I got evolved by my mom so I don't really know what it's like, but we figured a bit of time, and we even told other brids to stay off this street, that it was our turf, but we left her alone."

"So you killed everyone else on the street instead." Bertrand fought to keep the wrath from his face. Here was a sociopathic enemy.

Ted looked left and right to see how Emile and Alvarez were taking this story, but still found no sympathy. He nodded.

"That was the idea, but she's some kind of psycho general or something because the bitch, I mean, Bobs—that's her name, well, it's Roberta I think but everybody calls her Bobs—she like organizes the whole street, I mean the whole freaking neighborhood into forts. Most people used to hide out at the community center in the park, and it was like fucking Fort Knox, like they keep people on the roof with crossbows and a few guns and they got a generator at night for lights so nobody can get near there, and she set up houses like hers that are all bricked up, and they sort of act like outlying forts. It was so messed up that word came down from like the top, from the boss himself, and he says just leave this area alone for a while. Says pockets of resistance like this will be mopped up later and doesn't want to draw attention to them and all."

"So why are you here tonight?"

"So you guys didn't hear?" Ted couldn't keep the sly expression off his face, the pride. "Wow, they kept it off the news? The boss sent his, like, top general to take out the community center last night. He came with hundreds of brids with a grenade launcher and everything. The fodder, they put up a hell of a fight and Bobs was running around the roof. I tried to tell this general guy that she was the one organizing them and shit, but he wouldn't believe me. Said a nineteen-year-old girl didn't know crap, you know. I saw her a couple of times shooting down with that crossbow, but they had hardly any guns. The cops are our buds, right, and they've been rounding up guns for months to make sure we're good and all."

Ted suddenly seemed to be aware that the three men looked at him with a mix of horror and anger.

"Yeah, well, I guess it was kinda sad for like the families with kids and all. But Bobs was really smart at the end and even the boss's general was surprised. She let us break into the gym and a bunch of the guys ahead of me got really fucked up when all these gasoline bombs dropped from the ceiling onto their heads right in the middle of the gym. Like, she set people on fire!"

"I'm in love," said Emile. "This girl is fantastic."

"Yeah well a lot of my buds got totally like burned and messed up—just totally harsh. But I guess it was good for the fodder because they all bailed out the far side of the building while we were trying to figure out what the fuck had happened. Then the boss's general calls and says 'Go! Go! Go!' 'cause they're all getting away, but it's too late. Nobody wanted to go any farther into the building 'cause there might have been more booby traps, see, and by the time we get around the building they've all got out of the park and into the neighborhood, and that's when we find out that they've been preparing all these little forts see? So now we gotta pick them off one at a time, and they're really hard to break, and it was like nearly sunrise."

"My heart bleeds for you." Bertrand tried to configure what he'd seen tonight with what he'd just heard. Had she already set up the kind of organizations he wanted to set up? Was the burned-out shell across the street the "partner" house she spoke of? Were they choosing houses so that they could support each other through the night with cross fire?

"It's tough though, see." Ted looked shaky and thin. "When you get hungry the bugs are pretty harsh. They make you really hungry, not like missing one meal or so but just starving and starving. I'm so hungry." He looked around for mercy. "Maybe one of you guys could like do me a favor and give me a hit, you know? Just a little slice on your wrist and let me suck just a bit of blood. You'd be safe and all because it's outbound you know. There's no bugs in saliva so it's like AIDS, has to be blood into blood—or into your stomach really."

"My son." Father Alvarez leaned forward, the rosary clasped in his hands. "To feed you would be a sin."

"All due respect and all padre, but no way. Where does it say in the bible that you can't drink somebody's blood—I mean if it's all consensual and they don't get bled out?"

"To covet another man's possessions is a sin, and what possession could be more precious than one's own blood?"

"Please! I haven't tasted in a couple of days, and I'm so friggin' hungry. Just a little lick?"

"How often do you need to eat?" asked Bertrand.

"Well," Ted looked embarrassed now. "A good way to start your day, see? I mean a balanced diet is like every night. It used to be easy but people are starting to figure it out. They don't go out at night anymore, and you have to get them out of their houses and that can be tricky."

"Holy shit." Emile sat back, the .357 resting on his knees. "This kid murders once a night. This is a catastrophe."

Bertrand stood and walked over to the window in the pedestrian door. The first blush of purple edged the eastern horizon. He turned to face Ted. "Will the glass protect you from the sun? I heard it has to be full-spectrum light."

"Dude, I don't know. I just stay the hell away. I tried to go to the window the first morning after mom evolved me. The say everyone does, but my eyeballs just felt like they were melting and my head spilt with the worst headache of my life, so I went back to my room and hid under the bed all day. Next night I had the basement like totally ready, you know, windows boarded up and taped up so that we could party all day. Mom had already moved in with her boyfriend."

Bertrand sat in front of him. "You need to pray, okay? I figure you've got about half an hour."

Ted's eyes went wide and tears started. "No, please don't do this to me. I'm too young to die. Please."

"Terrance and Bobs in that house are also too young to die, but you were gonna do for them tonight, and we can't let you go or you'll kill, what, three hundred? Four hundred in just the next year? You're a mass murderer."

The tears were in full flood now and his head bowed into his lap. "You don't understand. The only way I can stay out of hell is to live. I mean I'm really sorry about all those people—especially Vicky, that's my girlfriend—was my girlfriend."

Father Alvarez looked up sharply. "Repentance is essential. Was she the first person you killed?"

Ted met the priest's studying gaze. "I didn't plan it, see. After I got evolved I talked to Harrison 'cause he was already up—looking for advice on how to feed and all—and he just suggested I get with Vicky like always, but that while we were doing it I should just prick her neck and suck a little bit of her blood, so I kept—like—a box cutter handy and did just what he said, just a quick little stab." He stopped. "Is this like a confession? Don't I have say some mumbo jumbo or something first?"

Alvarez shook his head. "Just tell me what happened. Tell me about your remorse."

Ted nodded. "She freaked when I cut her, but I held her and really apologized and said it was a kink that Harrison told me about, about sucking a little bit of blood vampire-like while we were getting off, so she went with it for a while because she's game for fun and all, but once the blood got to my stomach the bugs gave me the blowback—totally, totally awesome bang for the buck. At first she just thought I was being a rock-star lover, but I couldn't get enough blood fast enough and I still had the box cutter in my hand...." Ted's voice trailed away, and for a moment they all sat in silence. "I am going to hell, aren't I?"

Bertrand and Emile looked to Father Alvarez to answer that question.

"I believe you are already in hell and that only repentance can set you free. Let us pray together for the soul of Vicky and all the others you have murdered. Do you know the Lord's Prayer? I'll lead us."

He stood over Ted, putting one hand on his head—crushing down the faux-hawk— and holding the rosary in his other hand. Bertrand stumbled along with them through the prayer, remembering bits because one Sunday School teacher had drilled it into him for weeks until his parents decided that the class was too fundamentalist and pulled him out.

Over the next half-hour, Alvarez spoke several more prayers in success, one about Mary, something else about contrition and back to the Lord's Prayer, the rosary beads moving through his fingers to help him keep count. Bertrand sat and watched, mesmerized by the rhythm. It was like meditation, only with words to numb the mind. He'd never thought of it that way before, just viewing the beads as some sort of pagan device.

Father Alvarez stopped, kissed the crucifix and hung the rosary around his neck. "Do you repent the murders you have committed?" He placed both hands on Ted's head.

"I do." The tears started again. "I really do, especially Vicky. I never meant to do her, you know. I loved her. We talked about kids and everything."

"Then I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit." He made the sign of the cross over the teen.

Ted looked up. "Father, I told you I'm not even Catholic."

"God will know his own. Go in peace."

Ted turned to Bertrand. "Dude, Mister, please. I can see you're their leader and we're like the same age aren't we?"

"I'm a bit older," said Bertrand. "I'm a couple of years out of college."

"But close enough, man. We've both got our whole lives ahead of us. Please, please cover the window. My eyes are burning already. Please don't kill me."

"I'm not killing you." Bertrand stood and walked over to the window as he spoke. "Your mom killed you the night she made you drink infected blood. There was no turning back from that moment, and no hope but to kill yourself."

"Maybe I could drink animal blood or something?"

"Can you?"

Ted shook his head and stared into his lap and closed his eyes. "I don't know. No one does so I guess maybe not, or maybe it's not as good or something."

"If you could drink a cow's blood then maybe we could do something for you, but you and your friends have put us in the middle of a war."

The sun was above the horizon now, and the first orange rays breached the glass to shine on Ted. The four men waited in silence.

"My eyes are burning." Ted took deep breaths, his eyes now squeezed shut. "I hope you're right, Father. I hope I'm forgiven, man. Aw fuck this hurts!"

Ted rocked back and forth, swearing and cursing.

Father Alvarez looked over at Bertrand. "I think you should open the door," he said.

"No!" shouted Ted. "I think I can hold on if I just don't open my eyes."

Bertrand opened the door and stood aside to allow sunlight to flood the garage.

Ted convulsed, blood hemorrhaging out of his nose. The chair rattled on the floor and would have tipped but Alvarez caught it, turning Ted to face the sun. The convulsions lasted for nearly a minute. Finally Ted threw his head back with one last gasp, his eyes going to the rafters of the garage before his head slumped forward, only the ropes around his chest preventing him from falling from the chair.

They'd stared at him for a full minute, Bertrand wondering if this would be added to his murder charges. Finally Emile broke their silence.

"That is just too freaky."

They laid him out in the backyard of Bobs's house, careful not to touch his blood.

Bobs and Terrance were already on the front lawn inspecting the bodies of the rippers with crossbows at the ready. She barely reached his shoulder in height, and yet there was something deferential about his posture that made it obvious to Bertrand that she was in charge. Despite being blonde and petite, there was something coiled in her stance, like a puma ready to charge. She looked up when Bertrand came around the corner with his Glock ready but pointed at the ground.

"Whatsup," she said. "That was some nice work last night, especially sending the fat guy around the car to flank them. You guys are good."

Emile heard this but it just made him laugh. "Wow, you are one hell of a pistol little lady. We heard from the kid about the community center night before last. Sounds like you did some good work yourself."

If she took pride in the compliment, it didn't show, because she still looked left and right, checking bodies and assessing the surroundings before she let her crossbow point to the grass. Terrance, gangly and still pimpled despite being near the end of his teens, stayed a step behind her as she turned to Bertrand.

"So what's your story?" she asked. "Like, what brought you out hunting in the middle of the night?"

"Just as you said—hunting." Bertrand put his Glock in his holster. "We're with the crowd at St. Mike's, but I couldn't sleep, so I decided to go out and see if we could save anyone from the rippers."

"I like that you call them Rippers. Hey, St. Mike's?" Her eyes went wide. "Was that Father Alvarez with you? He helped me bury mom and dad. He didn't buy it, did he?"

"He's saying a prayer over Ted's body out back. You know him, then?"

"My folks were regulars at St. Mike's until Wormison and his buddies offed them." She turned and walked over to the body of Harrison and kicked it hard in the gut and carefully and deliberately spat on his corpse. She turned back to Bertrand.

"I promised my mom and dad in my prayers that I would do that. I doubt it would make mom feel any better in heaven, but dad would sure be happy."

She showed no emotion, reporting this to Bertrand as if commenting on the price of gas or the chance for rain. Was she in shock? Was she too numb to grieve? Bertrand decided that she needed help that he was unqualified to give. Maybe that flower shop lady, Helen, could talk to her and draw out something other than clipped reports.

"We're heading back to St. Mike's," said Bertrand. "And there's a whole community there set up for defense."

She snorted, throwing Bertrand for a complete loop. "Defense?" she said. "St. Mike's is about as defendable as a goldfish bowl, unless you want to brick in those stained glass windows. Otherwise a few rocks and a Molotov cocktail or two on those nice wooden pews and everybody'll be outside in the middle of the night, or dying of smoke inhalation. Besides, now that I've lost the community center, St. Mike's'll be a magnet for action in the next couple of weeks. Its only good will be for luring vampires in and blowing it up once they're inside."