The 1000 Souls (Book 1): Apocalypse Revolution (34 page)

Bertrand was about to push past Barry to head for the church, but he stopped. "Is the archbishop there?"

Barry shook his head. "Nope. Father Alvarez and about a dozen nuns went over to rescue what stuff they could, regalia, I don't know, but I think Alvarez figures he's going to have to find a new archbishop, maybe a new pope. You hear what's going on in Rome?"

"Jeff was telling me that I'm a heretic."

Barry laughed, a short bark without humor. "We all are. We're all wanted by the police, the feds, the pope—you name it—yet no one seems to be able to come and get us. Bert, it's completely falling apart. Think of my place up in Canada as a fall-back position. If things get too hot here, come and join me. No one knows it's there. It's not on any maps and there's only two roads in, and one of them goes over a bridge that would be easy to blow. It can hold about a thousand people and I've only got a couple of hundred so far." He pointed at the five tons. "We're going in a convoy at dawn tomorrow, gonna drive all day and cross at International Falls. We'd be happy to have you guys along, and don't forget I've got power. You can keep making speeches from there as long as the internet holds together."

Jeff yawned. "At this rate that'll be about two days. Look guys, I'm going to catch some rest in that block house." He pointed to a building just across the street from the church. "Keep me posted. Remember, we three should stick together, just like we have from the beginning."

Joyce stopped him with a call as he turned away. "Jeff, what do you think we should do?"

Jeff turned around, walking backwards now, one hand on the butt of his holstered Ruger. "I think Bert's right. I think we need to hunt down Mr. Anti-Christ and pass some lead through his brain, a lot of lead. I'm just out of ideas as to how find him."

Barry pointed at the buses. "Fall back with me if you need to, Bert."

Bertrand stood looking from the buses to the church. What to do? He was disoriented from his interrupted sleep, from the crazy pace of the last few weeks. Joyce answered for him.

"Draw us a map."

The inside of St. Mike's looked more like a refugee camp. While there weren't many people in the church now, their sleeping bags, stacks of luggage and hanging laundry all testified to the crowds that would return before nightfall. Bobs and Father Alvarez stood near the altar, looking to the right at the stained glass windows as more plywood went up, blocking out more light. The gloom of the church weighed on Bertrand's soul, as if all the light in the world were going out.

"There he is." Bobs pointed their way and headed down the aisle ahead of the priest. "Bert, we're gonna need you to do another broadcast tonight. We think they'll get the power up just after sunset so they can do their Twitter flash mob things, so we want to sneak the word in there while we can."

"Okay, sure. I want computer time then too, though, so that I can contact Erics."

Father Alvarez joined them. "We must be careful of this man, this Erics. I'm concerned that we know very little of him other than that he has started his own religion. False prophets can be very dangerous."

"True enough, but we need all the information we can get right now."

Bobs nodded agreement. "I've got good news there. One of my dad's old Illinois National Guard buddies is the colonel, and he's coming to meet us today, and guess what, he's a believer too. When the governor called up the guard last month he took them over to the Rock Island Arsenal and took it over. At first they thought the army would send regulars at them, but then everything fell apart, and it looks like the army's too busy fighting everywhere else."

"That's great news I guess. It means things aren't as organized at the top as I thought." Bertrand looked from one to the other, his hope welling. If they had the Illinois National Guard on their side, then everything changed.

"Good and bad." Bobs crossed her arms. "It's hard to kill an unorganized movement—just look at Afghanistan—Russians then us and still the fanatics are there."

"True, but when do we get to meet this colonel?"

"This afternoon. You're invited." She only pointed at Bertrand.

Colonel Webb of the Illinois National Guard looked as if he'd seen a few battles over the years. His gray hair was brush-cut short, his face weathered by sun and wind and yet he was as trim as a marathoner. His whole manner was that of a military man, but he also had the thoughtful frown of a scholar when listening to others, and a tendency to nod his head in understanding before they'd finished speaking.

He'd arrived at midday, dressed in camouflage and a flak jacket, riding with a convoy of five Stryker Assault Vehicles. Bobs had practically drooled over the eight-wheeled armored personnel carriers: "We could drive the rippers right out of Chicago with a dozen of those and take the Loop.

Bobs was obsessed with taking the Loop.

"Think about it," she had said to Bertrand. "We only need a wall on the south side, everywhere else we just pull up the draw bridges at night and the rippers would have to swim or use boats to get at us. Troops in water are an easy target."

Father Alvarez set them up in his conference room, but there was a glaring change: the painting of the current pope was gone, replaced with a painting of Cardinal George, the previous head of the Archdiocese of Chicago.

Bertrand had managed to get Joyce admitted to the meeting, and Barry Barry was there, but many of the others belonged to Father Alvarez's new command structure, and most of them seemed to follow Bobs's lead. Even her friend Terry was in attendance, but there wasn't a single white arm-band of the 1000 Souls.

Colonel Webb, after his introduction by Bobs, spoke with precision. "Let me start by saying what a fantastic accomplishment you have all achieved here." His voice had a slight southern drawl to it. "To have cleansed this neighborhood and fortified your position to withstand assault in such a short time is remarkable, and unlike anything I have seen elsewhere in the state. I will be recommending to all the people I will be speaking to in small towns and cities to do as you have done: find a focal point, shelter in it and fortify it."

"That's great." Bertrand fought to restrain his impatience. "It was really Bobs's doing, but of course we have a lot of concerns. First, can you give us some support if the Chicago P.D. comes after us again with arrest warrants."

The colonel was already nodding. "The Chicago P.D. is no longer an effective force, as you proved the other night, so you have nothing to fear on that front. Their human numbers are far too devastated and have been plunging through desertions or conversions. As far as we can tell, city hall as a government simply no longer exists, because in the past three days there has been a seismic shift in this war. The most important one is that the rippers seem to be running out of food. The attack on your position last night was evidence of that and was by no means an isolated incident."

"Well that's good news." Yet Bertrand was uneasy. This colonel didn't sound like a man delivering good news.

"Yes, but we've taken prisoners during the last few weeks and held them for observation at Rock Island, and it looks like the parasites have a hibernation mode. The rippers can go weeks without feeding and still function before they slip into this comatose mode and appear all but dead, until they sense a human near them, which brings them abruptly out of hibernation. I have regular doctors studying this, not scientists, so don't ask me how long they can stay in hibernation."

Bertrand's heart did sink now. "It could be years to hunt them all down and kill them."

The colonel nodded. "But the next two weeks are going to be the worst. That's why there's been so much wanton burning to find victims: they're desperate. I think the reason the Chicago P.D. is in crisis is that the ripper cops have been feeding against orders on their daytime brethren, whether they're part of the so-called Daylight Brigade or not. You folks are going to face a lot more fights like last night."

Bertrand couldn't contain himself. "Well are you going to send us help, then? Surely you're not going to just abandon us to this fight."

The colonel met Bertrand's gaze across the table. "Sir, you've done great work getting the word out to people. But a very new danger has arisen. I still have access to several satellite surveillance systems, and it is with a heavy heart that I must tell you that a great catastrophe took place two days ago: Guangzhou in China, that's not far from Hong Kong, was hit by several nuclear weapons."

"Holy shit!" Joyce's expletive was only heard by Bertrand because the others around the table had exploded with their own expressions of consternation.

Father Alvarez rose and held up his hands, palms out, to quiet the room. "Colonel Webb has little time, so we will pray for the dead later. Right now, please, continue." He sat.

"Thank you, padre." Colonel Webb looked around the room as he spoke. "Before you ask, no it wasn't one of ours and we don't know who did it, although our biggest concern is that it might have been the Chinese themselves in an attempt to destroy a region totally overrun with rippers. We just don't know. Now I know this will be a disappointment to you, but my first concern must be to secure America's stockpile of nuclear weapons."

"Can you even do that?" asked Bertrand. "Do you even know where they are?"

Webb was already nodding.

"I've been in touch with Colonel Stevens at Barksdale Air Force base in Louisiana. They've been under siege since last night, and he's been flying everything he can out to Minot Air Force Base in North Dakota. As far as I can tell, the rippers found out about the destruction of Guangzhou at the same time we did, and they've pushed all their daytime and nighttime troops at Barksdale." Webb looked around the room for emphasis. "Colonel Stevens believes they will fall within twenty-four hours, but has assured me that by then he will have either sent away or disabled every nuclear weapon on the base. He has also assured me that none of his troops will be taken alive."

"It's frigging Armageddon," said Joyce in the stunned silence that followed.

The colonel focused his attention of Joyce. "Not yet. Wisconsin and Milwaukee National Guards were called up too late and never formed up into their combat units, except for a few stragglers who've joined with us at Rock Island. However, the good news is that there are several National Guards that haven't gone over to the rippers, and I'm coordinating with them. Everything west of the Rockies has fallen, I admit, so we'll get no help from there. D.C. clearly went to the rippers first, and the only good news about that is things have gotten so bad that the Pentagon has stopped issuing commands for us to lay down our weapons and to open blood donor clinics. But we should not give up hope. If we can secure the nuclear arsenal, then we can be sure that hold-out cities like Chicago will not be nuked by the rippers or anyone else. That, ladies and gentlemen, is my top priority."

"Well how the hell do you think you're going to accomplish that?" asked Bertrand.

"I have to commit as many troops as I can to assisting the North Dakota National Guard in defending Minot. Whiteman in Kansas is evacuating the 509th bomb wing to there as well, so that we can benefit from consolidation. The 90th missile wing in Cheyenne are disabling their missiles and destroying their warheads, so that just leaves Minot and Malmstrom in Montana to defend, both within easy reach, and the Montana National Guard is mostly intact. The prairies are not seriously infested with rippers yet, although as the numbers of humans available for feeding on in places like Chicago gets smaller, we expect them to move out into the countryside."

"But what about ending this? What about hunting down this guy, Vlad the Scourge, who claims to have started it all. The guy wants a frigging apocalypse on the scale of the great flood. If we could get him, then perhaps all these infections would end. He's the one who gave the rippers a quota to make more rippers every night. He's the one giving the orders."

"I cannot emphasize enough that my first concern is the nuclear arsenal. I admit he's a high-value target, should be taken out, but other than logistical support I can't help you there."

"What do you mean about logistical support."

The colonel and Bobs exchanged a glance. "I mean that I can provide you with some weapons and ammunition, and I think I know where he is, but it's a long way from Chicago."

"Where?" Bertrand sensed the monster, the superhero inside him rise up in anticipation. He could do something that would end this nightmare.

"The night before last Minot tracked several helicopters outbound from Chicago. At first they were concerned that it was the beginning of an assault, but instead they stopped at four locations that we now believe must've been prearranged fuel depots. They carried straight on to a remote location in Montana called Cave Mountain."

"What the hell is there?"

Webb shrugged. "Nothing as far as we can tell, but we're thinking about the name, and the fact that there was a mining community back there back in the nineteenth century that's nothing but a ghost town now, and we're wondering if he's made some old mines or caves into a hideout. Perhaps he's worried about the nukes too."

Bertrand's heart leapt. "Yes! I spoke to him last night by Skype and he was definitely in a cave, like bare rock behind him, although it looked like he had a lot of amenities, like electricity and all."

"You spoke to him?" Webb leaned forward, clearly suspicious. "And what did you gentlemen chat about."

"He wanted me to become a ripper, and I told him to get lost. End of story. Are you sure he's there?"

The colonel shook his head. "I can't guarantee anything, but Minot intercepted a radio message last night and we heard the same one. It was to the Chicago P.D., ordering them to stop the assault of the rippers on your church until after four a.m. When was your Skype conference with him?"

"Three a.m. and he booked it."

"How?"

"He left a letter for me in the basement of my house. I seem to have impressed him with my speeches and my YouTube vids, the ones that get out anyway."