Gods of Chicago: Omnibus Edition (27 page)

As he and Conroy raced a dangerous path across the muddy soil, a sound came to Brand’s ears, like the tromp of heavy booted feet on stone. A line of figures stepped from between two of the burning houses and formed a ring around the citizens, penning them in. The soldiers lowered their weapons and moved back. One lifted a bullhorn and spoke a command. What Brand saw next sent slivers of ice coursing through his chest.

The ring of figures were automatons that stepped with a lightness and force beyond anything Brand had ever seen a gearbox do before. He slowed his pace to avoid alerting the soldiers and Conroy drew up short alongside him.

“What are those?” the kid asked.

“They’re the end for Stevie Five Sticks and his pals,” Brand said. “Those are Tesla’s new auto-men.”

Chapter 45

Emma fought the urge to dash out from hiding and stop Wynes and the soldiers from taking the youth away. What could she do? She still had her father’s gun, but what good would that be? She only had one shot left, and she’d probably hit the kid. Even if she did get Wynes or the soldier first, whoever she didn’t shoot would gun her down. Emma jammed a fist against her mouth to hold in the shouts and protests she felt in her chest.

The soldier kept up his racket and roused all the prisoners. Emma heard the people stumbling and pleading as they were dragged out of the tent and ordered to line up. Stepping away from Eddie’s protecting grasp, Emma crouched and then got onto her knees. She moved around the rear of the tent until she could peer into the narrow gap between the first tent and the next.

In the open space at the other end of the gap she could see the prisoners, all bundled in their blankets. The soldier marched back and forth in front of them. Emma spotted Wynes then. He stood in the open space between the tents and the main yard. The fires in the yard still blazed in the night, casting an angry glow as backdrop to the scene.

Wynes stepped forward and Emma could see his face clearly. His normal grimness was highlighted now by his eyes that spoke fury and hatred. He spoke to the prisoners in a low snarl, thick with malice. The words didn’t reach Emma’s ears, but she understood their meaning clear enough. Moments later, a young voice cried out and Emma’s chest felt ready to burst from grief. The prisoners shuffled out of sight then, leaving only Wynes, the soldier, and the youth. The soldier moved away with his prisoner, but the youth protested still. Emma flinched when she heard the soldier’s hand strike the kid’s face.

“Have him clean up the mess he made,” Wynes said. “And if he gets burned, that’s too bad. The kid’s got to learn not to play with fire.”

The soldier replied with enthusiasm, making Emma’s chest tighten further and her teeth grind together with impotent rage. She backed away from the gap, to rejoin Eddie, but he’d come after her and put a hand on her ankle, nearly sending her out of her skin with fright. Emma froze in place and waited for Wynes to come charging into the gap between the tents, but he’d disappeared.

“We’ve got to help that boy,” Emma whispered.

“No more helping,” Eddie replied. “We done enough damage, for them and us. Now it’s time to get out.”

Emma wasn’t having any this time. She shook her head and set her jaw before pushing past Eddie and back around the tent. She heard him follow. At the far end of the tent, by the lakeshore, Emma paused and waited for Eddie to catch up. When he did, she stared into his eyes and dared him to protest or try to stop her. Even as she did this, Emma felt a part of her that wished Eddie would stop her. Ever since the night she killed Archie Falco, her life had been one long storm, and she’d take any port to escape it. But Eddie knew better, or maybe he didn’t. Maybe he just knew her too well.

“Go on then, girl. You lead the way.”

Nodding and planting a short firm kiss on his mouth, Emma moved to leave the shelter behind the tent. She waited at the corner, listening. The only sounds came from within the yard, a banging and then the squeal of a pump handle. The soldiers had the boy drawing water to douse the fires. Emma drew her father’s revolver from her pocket and darted a quick glance into the yard. The path was clear. She turned to look down the line of tents and her eyes locked with Wynes’ glare. He stood about twenty feet away with the ironwork hound by his side. She felt herself running into the yard before his shouts reached her ears.

Emma heard Eddie behind her, and then the report of a gun. They raced into the maze of equipment and supplies, darting left and right around piles, all the while staying close to the lakeshore and the airships that held the promise of their escape. More gunshots sounded from behind them, and shouts came from both directions now. Emma pulled up beside a stack of furniture. Desks, chairs, and side tables in a mound, jumbled like matchsticks and some pieces broken from being thrown together. A hollow space at the center of the pile promised shelter, and Emma turned around to tug Eddie along with her.

He wasn’t there.

“Eddie,” she cried out. An airship motor hummed from the edge of the yard and Emma caught her breath as a searchlight lanced down. The light danced a staggering path around piles and machines. She saw the soldiers leading the boy along one of the gravel paths. Then she saw Wynes, standing still and rotating his gaze around the yard. Where was Eddie? The searchlight seemed to chase Emma, and she ducked into hiding in the hollow between a heavy writing desk and two parlor chairs. She pulled an ottoman into the space behind her and tucked herself under the desk as best she could.

What was she thinking? Why did she try to do this?

Even as the doubt came to her mind, it was replaced by the certainty that not doing anything wasn’t an option. She and Eddie couldn’t have survived, running with Peter and Marta, trying to get out of the city on a handcar and with no food or shelter against the cold. Where would they go? New Orleans was too far away, and she wouldn’t know which track to take. But an airship, like the fortune teller said.

She would fly out of Chicago City. And she could do it, too. If she could find Eddie and get one of the smaller airships untethered. She’d grown up sailing around the power plant with her father’s repair crews. She could get herself and Eddie out of this fix. If she could just find him.

The searchlight tracked an arc around a space not too far from Emma’s hiding spot. She had no overhead cover except for the desk, and she felt like her knees and feet were exposed. She wanted to reach out, pull one of the chairs closer. It wasn’t weighed down with much on top of it. She could drag it a few inches. But she knew if she moved the light would find her, like a flame seeking its moth.

As Emma sat on her heels, debating to run or stay put, Wynes’ voice came from across the yard.

“Go on, boy! Tell her to come back. Tell her.”

“Emma?”

Eddie!

“Lovebird, you gotta—,” Eddie’s voice cut short as he grunted in pain.

“Makes me sick,” Wynes said. “Now go on. Tell her to get back here.”

“Just run, Emma! Run—,” his voice cut out again and he howled in pain.

Emma couldn’t take it. She bolted out in the direction of Eddie’s voice, the airship and its searchlight forgotten. Emma raced around a pile of rusted pipes, past a stack of tin siding. The searchlight continued its sweep of the yard, but had moved away, back to the tents. Emma tore around the tin and came up against a wall of barrels, stacked in twos. Peering between them she saw two soldiers shoving the young boy along. He carried a pail of water in each hand. The group tromped along the gravel and Emma waited until they’d gone out of hearing before she risked moving again.

She stepped along the line of barrels, keeping them to her right and using them as a fence while she cast her eyes around the yard to her left. Emma stopped still when Eddie grunted and cried out again. Now Emma could hear something hard hitting something soft. Eddie cried out again as another stick haunted the air and found his flesh.

“Stop it! Stop!” Emma shouted as she shot down the line of barrels and circled a mound of old automatons. Bits and pieces of the machines hung together, all in a tangle. She slowed and stepped softly, listening for some sign of which direction to go to reach Eddie. Another stick smacked against Eddie’s skin and he howled. Just to her right. Emma darted forward and around another stack of furniture.

She could see Wynes now. He stood by a police van on one of the gravel paths with Eddie lying on the ground in front of him. Wynes held a bullhorn in one hand and a baton in the other. He jerked the baton up as if ready to bring it down on Eddie’s body again. Emma watched in horror as Eddie cowered beneath the ugly grinning policeman above him.

Wynes let the baton come down to his side and lifted the bullhorn and turned away, leaving his back to Emma.

“Miss Farnsworth,” he called, in a sing-song voice. “I got my gun back, and for that I have to thank you. But we’re running out of time here.” She was ready to shoot him when a rhythmic
thump-clank
sounded off to her right. The ironwork hound was closing in on her. Emma sent her frightened eyes in every direction, but she didn’t see any sign of the machine.

She turned back to the van, hoping to see Wynes still had his back to her. He was gone.

Eddie lay on the gravel by the van, groaning and shivering. Behind the van, a bramble of window sashes and door frames jutted into the air. Emma darted out a few steps as the
thump-clank
sounded again, and closer.

Where the hell was Wynes? She’d have to find him before going to Eddie. If Wynes had simply hid out of sight, he’d be on them in a flash. He could gun her down and kill Eddie unless she got to him first. Emma tucked herself down by the pile of automatons. An arm hung at an awkward angle in front of her face. Empty eye lamps stared at her, mute and neutral to the atmosphere of terror in the yard.

Wynes’ voice came to her from across the yard again.

“Miss Farnsworth. I’m running out of patience. If you keep this game up, I may have to change my mind about letting this nigger boy live.”

Forcing herself to swallow the curse and words of rage on her tongue, Emma moved around the pile of automaton parts. The step of the ironwork hound repeated and then Wynes’ voice came again, but lower.

“Go on then; go find her.”

Emma didn’t waste any time now. She moved out of hiding but kept low. Running in a crouch, she made it to the back of the van and tucked herself up against the pile of wood scrap. Wynes wasn’t anywhere in sight and the
thump-clank
sounded from farther away. No soldiers came running out of the dark either. Saying a silent prayer for their safety, Emma went to Eddie and kissed his forehead, held him, and cried as she tried to cover all of his wounds with her free hand. He’d been badly beaten. His left eye was swollen shut and his lips and nose bled.

Emma’s heart threatened to burst open inside her. Eddie was a mess. Her Eddie, and it was all her fault. If she’d only stayed with him that night, forgotten about Nitti, forgotten about revenge for a man who’d never treated her right.

“I’m so sorry, Eddie,” she said through her grief, her tears falling onto Eddie’s cheeks. She reached shaking fingers to wipe them, but Eddie flinched and twisted his face away from her touch, sending the dagger of guilt deeper into her heart.

“Lovebird, you gotta go. Go now. Go—”

“No, Eddie. No. We’re going together. I’m not leaving you here.”

She tugged on his arm to help him sit up and he winced and let out a deep groan. His right hand went to his ribs and squeezed tight. His ravaged face twisted in agony and Emma had to let him slide back to the ground. Her anger and rage at Wynes grew. It swelled and became a bomb in her chest, a falling menace that she meant to drop on the monster responsible for torturing the man she loved. Her heart beat a ferocious cadence as fire rose in her, burning away her grief and replacing it with a hostility she’d never known before. She leaned down and kissed Eddie’s brow again, tasting the salt and copper stains on his skin and then lifting him by the shoulders, ignoring his grunted agony.

“Eddie Boy, you have to move now. We have to go together. Please, Eddie.”

He tried twice before making it onto his knees, then got his feet under him. In the distance, Emma heard footsteps in the gravel. Wynes was returning. Hobbling with Eddie, she got to the van and helped him into the cab. He slumped onto the seat and positioned himself upright with Emma’s help. She went around to the driver’s side and got in, putting the revolver on the seat beside her. Emma stomped on the starter and brought the van to life. Eddie slid down to lie across the seat with his head by her hip. She put a hand on his cheek and drove a jouncing trail along the gravel, shooting her eyes in every direction for signs of the soldiers or Wynes.

She passed pile after pile of scrap and saw no one. Fearing they were behind her, she glanced in a side mirror. All she saw was the glow of fires beneath the heavy black sky. Turning back to look out the windscreen, Emma lifted her foot off the gas and let the engine stall. Wynes stood in the middle of the gravel path with a bullhorn in one hand. The other held a Tommy gun that he tucked against his ribs and aimed at the van.

Chapter 46

Overhead, the airships continued to display images of violence on their screens, always showing citizens with the upper hand. The contrast to what Aiden saw in the park before him nearly made him sick.

“This ain’t right, Mr. Brand. Those screens up there, showing pictures that ain’t true.”

“They’re true enough, Conroy. Even if they only tell half the story, what you see still happened.”

“But it’s not enough,” Aiden said. “You and me know the whole story, what we’re seeing down here. What’ll folks think who only see those pictures and hear that Suttleby guy shilling for Crane?”

“You know exactly what they’ll think. Don’t you?” his boss said, giving Aiden a sober eye.

“I guess I do,” Aiden said, feeling his spirits sink into his boots. “That’s why we’re out here. To get the real story, like you said.”

Mr. Brand nodded and turned his gaze to the airships above. Aiden followed with his eyes and watched the screens go dark in turn as the three heavy crafts sailed away over the neighborhood. Up ahead, those new auto-men marched one step closer to the crowd of people gathered in front of the burning buildings. The soldiers stood behind the machines with their rifles down.

“C’mon, Conroy,” Mr. Brand said as he shuffled forward on his belly, scraping his hands and knees through the dirt and newly fallen snow. Aiden mimicked his boss’s movements as they made their way down the line of shrubs. He struggled to keep the camera box from digging into his ribs. At a gap in the bushes, Mr. Brand wiggled through and Aiden followed. Across the open space before him, a soldier lifted a bullhorn to his mouth.

“
You are all in violation of Civic Order one-one-three-eight, and EP four-two-one, and are therefore eligible for sequestration and internment.
”

Aiden felt his throat tighten as he listened to the soldier’s words. When the man next spoke, Aiden thought his throat might close shut forever.

“
Or, we could just shoot you right now as traitors.
”

Mr. Brand fidgeted and whipped a hand at the air. Aiden shrank back when his boss snarled.

“I’d kill ‘em if I could. Dammit, why’d I leave that chopper back—”

Aiden waited while Mr. Brand breathed out his anger and tightened his face. “Nuts. Get that viewer out, and keep your eyes peeled for any crabs around here. We need. . .”

Mr. Brand’s face drooped and he let his head hang so that his brow nearly rested on the frosty dirt.

“What do we need?” Aiden asked.

“A picture,” his boss said. “Of whatever happens next.”

Aiden followed Mr. Brand back down the line of shrubs, eyeing the scene of soldiers, prisoners, and auto-men. The opponents stood to Aiden’s right, in the corner of an open lawn. In the center of the open space sat a squat pile of brick. At the end of the bushes up ahead trees stood beside park benches, ringing the lawn like sentinels. The trees had seen a lot of years, each as big around as three men standing side by side.

As they edged farther along to the first tree and bench, Aiden kept his eyes on the brick pile. What was it? After a long slow crawl across the cold dirt and snowmelt, they reached the tree. Aiden moved up beside his boss, still eyeing the pile of bricks. He realized they were an old well half tumbled over and was about to tell Mr. Brand when he heard a shuffling behind them and a woman’s voice offering a cheerful hello.

#

“That you, Brand?” he heard a woman ask. “I thought you’d be around here.”

Conroy jerked around and stared into the darkness behind them. “This is where the bullets are, Miss Reynolds,” Brand said over his shoulder.

“Still can’t get the name right, hey?” she said, crawling up to lie beside the tree. Conroy watched her come and kept his back to the tree.

“Conroy, meet Dana Reynolds. Dana, this is Aiden Conroy. He’s one of my newsboys.”

“Pleasure,” she said, touching a finger to her brow. She’d tied her red locks back and wrapped a thick scarf around her neck.

“Don’t suppose you’ve got anything other than that sword and scatter gun, do you?” Brand asked.

“Why? You decide to join the resistance after all, or are you just waiting around for the story to happen so you can take pictures after everyone’s dead?”

Brand bristled at that and had a few words ready to go when Dana moved down the line of trees and benches and disappeared into the night.

#

The woman left them and Aiden went back to watching the soldiers and auto-men in the far corner of the park. He didn’t know who she was, but something she’d said made him think there was more he could be doing.

“We ought to go after her, don’t you think, Mr. Brand?”

“And do what, Conroy? Get our tails shot off? We’re no good to those people in a fight. For one thing, we haven’t got anything to fight with. And even if we did, do you really think you could pull the trigger? What if I’m lying there with my guts full of lead and you’re face to face with the man who shot me? What then? Do you think you could pick up a gun and give it back to him?”

Aiden hadn’t expected his boss to get so angry. He knew Mr. Brand had a rough time over there in the war. Hell, anybody who was over there had a rough time. Aiden went back to watching the soldiers and auto-men, and wondering what they were waiting for.

Why hadn’t they killed the people already, like the one with the bullhorn said? The soldiers had spaced themselves apart a little more, standing behind the auto-men still. Aiden kept his eyes on the one with the bullhorn, expecting him at any minute to lift the cone and give the order that—

A shrill cry split the night and Aiden’s eyes flashed to the soldier standing at the far end of the line. Only the soldier wasn’t there anymore. The others reacted by lifting their weapons and facing out into the park. Aiden almost felt their eyes pass over his and Mr. Brand’s position. Another scream ripped across the park and Aiden saw the next soldier fall. His chest crackled and glowed like an electric fire. The other four soldiers closed ranks now, moving into groups of two with their backs together. With two soldiers aiming their weapons at them now, the citizens moved closer together, too.

Aiden wanted to help them, to tell them to run or to rush the soldiers and take away their guns. At the same time, he knew what would happen if any of the citizens moved a muscle. Or. . .the auto-men still hadn’t moved. Aiden had half a second to wonder why when the lead soldier with the bullhorn was cut down as he lifted the cone to his mouth. His partner spun around and stepped aside to avoid his comrade’s falling body. A figure danced in the shadows and Aiden saw a glint of flame reflected off a long blade that whipped in the air and took the soldier’s head clean off his shoulders.

#

Where six soldiers had once stood, only two remained. The auto-men hadn’t moved, but the last two soldiers had. They now stood behind the line of machines. One with his back to them so he could cover the citizens with his chopper. He shouted some commands, or threats. Brand couldn’t tell which. The soldier’s partner stood directly behind one of the automatons, using it for cover while he aimed his Tommy gun into the darkness of the park. Brand couldn’t help but keep his head down to avoid the searching muzzle.

“I hope she spelled their names right,” he said.

“That lady who was here just now?” Conroy asked.

“Her name’s Dana Reynolds, remember?”

“You say it like I should know her, but—”

“I’m just telling you so you get it right when you meet her again. Now keep quiet.”

The kid hushed up and they watched the scene. The soldier facing the prisoners turned to look over his shoulder and that’s when she struck, lancing out from a group of citizens to slice the man across his chest. Firelight reflected off the steel of her blade as it swept in a downward arc and then came back up to catch the other soldier at the back of his neck. His head toppled from his shoulders and his body dropped to the ground like a sack of lead covered in crawling arcs of electricity and fire.

Brand waited to see what the auto-men would do. When they just stood there, Brand shifted his weight to his knees and rose into a half-crouch.

“Let’s go, Conroy. I think it’s the all-clear.”

The words died on his tongue and he pulled up short when he caught the hum of an airship motor. Three of the Governor’s leviathans hove into view across the neighborhood, tracking a path to the park. The people scattered, running like frightened animals around the frozen auto-men and into the open lawn. Brand cast his eyes through the crowd, but the skirted figure of Dana Reynolds wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

Tugging on Conroy’s collar, Brand moved across the lawn at a trot. As they got closer, he could see that the auto-men were armed with pistol-like weapons. A citizen broke away from the fleeing group and grappled with one of the machines, yanking on its right arm. The man kept up his efforts, but the automaton wouldn’t give up its grasp and no amount of pulling or wrenching seemed to help. Brand heard the man cursing and bit back the laugh in his heart. It was Stevie Five Sticks. Other men tried to disarm the machines as well, but their luck wasn’t any better. The auto-men didn’t fight back though. With the airships closing in, most of the citizens gave up trying to get a weapon and stampeded out of the cordoned area. Some knocked the auto-men aside, pushing them over onto the snow-crusted lawn. Some went a step further and jumped on the machines, trying to break them or just taking out their anger and aggression. Brand knew he had to stop them. Crabs crawled around the scene, darting around angry feet and falling automatons.

By the time he and Conroy got to the scene, most of the people had made it out of the cordon and formed into groups again. Those who had attacked the auto-men had given up, except for Five Sticks and two others who kept up their attempts to steal a weapon from the machines. From the assembled crowd came murmurs of what to do next. Brand wanted to go to them, tell them to clear out. But his attention stayed on the three men still wrestling with the machines.

“Let’s go, Five Sticks! The smart ones are over there.”

The gathered citizens watched Brand and Conroy approach. Five Sticks looked over at them, his face darkened with pitch and a cap snugged down tight over his head. The flames behind him cast a gory halo around his head. He was dressed like a cautious saboteur, but he looked every bit a maniac.

“That you, Brand? Glad you could join us. If you’re in the running mood, go on then. We’ve still got a few things to say to the Governor.”

Five Sticks went back to wrestling with the automaton. His pals kept up their assaults, too, working on a single machine together now. One had his foot on the thing’s chest while the other yanked on the arm with the gun in it. Brand cast a wary eye at the other machines. Tesla’s terrors stood stock-still, mute and anonymous. Brand thought them almost humorous until he saw the pistols they held were smaller versions of the electric rifles.

The airships were overhead now. Two had gondolas hung heavy with gun turrets. The third was a broadcast ship, its screen aglow and megaphones blaring hokum over the streets. Brand watched them circle the corner of the park while Five Sticks and his pals did their worst to get the guns away from the automatons.

Brand opened his mouth to shout at the crazed gypsy. Instead, his tongue tasted ash and charcoal and he grabbed Conroy’s shoulder. Five Sticks wrenched on the machine’s arm and an electric bolt exploded from the weapon, burning a hole straight through the gypsy’s chest. The crowd of citizens screamed and groaned, some running off into the night, others wailing grief and falling to the ground to pound their fists into the snow and dirt.

Five Sticks fell backwards and landed on top of a fallen automaton. Sparks and fire consumed the man’s body, wrapping him in a shroud of lightning and burning him to a husk. Brand stood like a statue before the gruesome sight, his hand still on Conroy’s shoulder, hoping it would help the kid keep his legs. Conroy wavered and shook, but he stayed up. Brand felt his own knees start to give when the remaining auto-men whirred to life and lifted their weapons.