Gods of Chicago: Omnibus Edition (28 page)

Chapter 47

Wynes raised the bullhorn to his mouth and Emma’s ears bristled against the static of his voice. “Get out of the van.”

Emma reached to set the parking brake and Wynes threw the bullhorn aside so he could jerk the Tommy gun up with both hands. Emma put her hands out on the windscreen and yelled. “The brake! I’m just setting the brake!”

“Do it slow,” Wynes shouted back. He moved off to one side and kept the chopper on her. Emma pulled the lever back and felt the brakes take the weight of the van. Eddie stayed down on the seat, breathing slow and steady.

Emma whispered through lips that she kept thin and tight. “Stay here, Eddie. It’s okay. It’s—”

“Get out,” Wynes said.

Emma cast one last frightened look at Eddie out the corner of her eye, praying Wynes wouldn’t notice. He kept the gun on her and she felt his eyes drilling into her own. Emma opened the door to the cab and dropped a foot to the ground. She held the door with both hands and lowered herself down, letting go the door and pushing it so would close. She kept her hands raised and moved to stand clear of the van, facing Wynes.

“That’s more like it,” he said. With one hand holding the Tommy gun on her, he fished a set of bracelets from the pocket of his great coat and tossed them into the gravel by her feet.

Emma picked them up and clasped them loose around her wrists. She let her voice run thick with venom. “You’ve done a fine job for the city tonight, Detective. I’m sure the Governor will reward you.”

“Didn’t you hear, Miss Farnsworth? It’s
acting
Underminister of Safety and Security now. And you know, I think you’re right. When I show up with a fugitive in tow, and a murderer at that. . .well, I think that
acting
will vanish lickety-split.”

Wynes came closer and gripped each of the rings in turn, latching them down tighter. “What about your dinge? You leave him back there, lying in the dirt like a dog?”

It took all her strength not to lash out at him. Emma set her jaw and let the rage shake through her shoulders.

“He couldn’t move. You hit too hard, and he couldn’t. . .”

“That’s all right then. I’ll have one of the boys pick him up. Let’s hope he’s got his legs back, otherwise they’ll have to drag him.”

Wynes pushed her in front of him and marched her through the yard. Emma felt the angry heat in her chest slowly cool as they walked. Anger turned to fear until a cold terror balled up inside her. They followed the gravel path to the far end, away from the tents. Off to the right, the line of tethered airships seemed to pass silent judgment on their progress, condoning and condemning at once, and Emma couldn’t tell which she preferred. She’d done everything she could think of to make things right, but it had all turned out for the worst for everyone. The people who’d helped her ended up getting hurt. Maybe it was better that Eddie was on his own. He might stand a chance of escaping now.

Emma shivered in the growing cold as Wynes directed her to stay on the gravel. She hadn’t noticed her path wavering and meandering into the dirt. Fatigue made stones of her legs and she sighed in relief when she saw their destination. A low roofed shed stood at the edge of the yard. The door was closed with a chain and padlock. A feeble light glimmered through a small window beside the door. Barrels stood in a row to the left of the shed. Beyond them were more piles and mounds of material, but here everything was stacked neatly, like it was ready for use. Raw lumber and coils of rope, lengths of chain and iron. A mound of gravel and one of sand. Beyond these Emma saw row after row of girders and two cranes standing nearby.

“Stand over by the barrels,” Wynes said.

Emma stepped to the side, still looking at all the materials piled up for the fair project. Where had it all come from? She spotted a familiar sigil on one of the cranes and felt an emptiness in her gut like she’d felt the night she found her father in his office.

“You like the view, Miss Farnsworth?”

“Oh, sure, detect— I mean, Underminister. It’s great to see my family’s contribution to the fair project.” The cranes had come from her father’s plant. No doubt much of the raw materials had been brought from there, too. She hadn’t known the plant was being demolished, but as she absorbed the scale of the fair project, taking in all the materials in the yard, the girders and chains and ropes became cast in a familiar hue. She closed her eyes and saw the mounded furniture, the filing cabinets, the desks. She saw the automatons all thrown in a heap and recognized them, like departed friends.

“It’s a pretty sight, isn’t it?” Wynes said from behind her. “Must warm your heart, knowing your old man—”

Emma rounded on him with a snarl and brought her cuffed hands up with her fingers ready to gouge his eyes out. Wynes got the Tommy gun up between them and she felt the muzzle jab her in the stomach.

“I wouldn’t, Miss Farnsworth. I really wouldn’t.”

“I would,” she said, her hands still up and her lips curled back. “But you’d like it too much, and I’ll die before I ever do you a favor. Detective.”

Emma stepped back a pace and Wynes opened the door to the shed. He motioned for her to go inside and she took a step, freezing mid-stride. Her eyes went to the bulk of the airship bobbing in the night air behind Wynes. Keeping the Tommy gun aimed at her navel, he whipped his gaze around and back.

“Oh, yeah. Thought you’d like the view this direction, too. You know what they say, Miss Farnsworth. The killer always returns to the scene of the crime. Now get in there.”

Emma stepped slow and clumsy on numb feet and with legs that felt ready to collapse like straws. The shed was occupied. Two figures sat in the corners to Emma’s left, framing a small pot belly stove that glowed warmth through the shed.

Wynes came in and unfastened one of Emma’s hands. He passed the cuff around a pipe that was held to the wall by the door. She felt her knees shake and her teeth rattle when Wynes latched the cuff to her wrist again. As he stepped to the door, Emma slumped against the wall and slid down to rest on the earthen floor like the other two people in the shed.

“Play nice, everyone,” Wynes said, closing the door. Emma heard him refastening the chain and padlock outside, the metal scraping against the wood of the shed door. She heard his footsteps crunch through the gravel. She heard the other prisoners murmuring. She heard the fire crackling in the stove. But all she could see was the back of Archie Falco’s head silhouetted in the cockpit of the Vigilance.

Chapter 48

Static hissed out of the broadcast ship above them and Aiden ducked without thinking. He was on his knees before he realized the auto-men still had their guns on him and Mr. Brand. The gypsy guy was dead on the ground, cooked like a sausage left on the fire. His pals had their hands up and stood face to face with two of the Tesla gearboxes. Off to the right, the crowd of people had thinned out, but a lot of folks were still there, standing eye to eye with the auto-men. Some folks seemed ready to bolt, and Aiden said a silent prayer that they wouldn’t give the machines any reason to shoot.

Just don’t move
, Aiden thought. He breathed in and out and let his eyes move until he could see his boss.

Mr. Brand stood frozen, hands at his side and right in front of the lightning gun in an auto-man’s grip. Aiden wanted to whisper. The machine in front of him hadn’t fired when he ducked. On cue, the megaphones overhead crackled to life and Aiden flinched and went flat on the ground, waiting for an electric bolt to tear into his back.

“
Citizens of Chicago City, this is your Minister of Safety and Security. It has come to my attention that the vandals and fugitives disrupting the peace have not confined their actions to the less well-tended neighborhoods of the city. Incidents have been reported in the Loop district, where savage members of the populace have taken it upon themselves to damage city property. They have destroyed an entire squad of new auto-men, which had been installed to ensure safety on your streets at night.
”

#

Brand jerked when Conroy hit the dirt, but he didn’t drop himself. He stood there, listening to the baloney spilling down from above and staring into the empty glass orbs in the auto-man’s face. Brand was stunned by the broadcast, and grew dumbfounded as it continued, turning the scene of tyranny he’d just witnessed into perverse propaganda. He half expected a play like this. Hell, he cursed himself for not seeing it coming even sooner. But faced with the sickening reality. . .Brand fought through the fog in his mind, hunting for any response that would simultaneously prove the minister’s statements false and reveal the truth.

“
In addition to vandalizing city property, these savages have coordinated their efforts, like an army, weaving a storm of mayhem through the Ukrainian Village and Old Town. Both neighborhoods are in flames. Houses are being burned and storefronts left in ruins. Citizens are advised to remain indoors. These savage vandals have shown no respect for the property of other persons. We do not expect them to show regard for the safety of those persons themselves. I repeat, all citizens must stay indoors while officers from the Ministry of Safety and Security work to return a state of calm to the city. That is all.
”

Brand heard the megaphone cut out. A final hiss of static came through and then silence. The broadcast ship remained overhead, circling with its armed brethren. In front of him, the auto-man pivoted, rotating its weapon in an arc to Brand’s left until it stood opposite the machine that Conroy had been facing. That machine turned as well, aiming its electric gun at its counterpart. The others did the same, squaring off by twos and aiming into each other’s chassis.

“Get down, everybody!” Brand yelled, throwing himself to the ground and repeating his command. He hoped the people nearby would listen and he sent his pleading eyes in their direction. In the firelight, they looked like a crowd of terrified campers listening to the worst ghost story of their lives. Brand had a sickening feeling that’s exactly what the night was about to become.

To Brand and Conroy’s left, two auto-men fired their weapons, taking each other apart. The bolts seemed to ignite an inner source of fuel or destruction mechanism because the machines flew into pieces. Brand clamped his hands over his head and felt a stinging across his shoulders as a sliver of metal cut through his coat and sliced a furrow into his skin. Conroy shrieked beside him and Brand threw a glance at the kid to see where he’d been hit. He was fine, just scared out of his wits.

“Go, Conroy. Go!” Brand said, yanking on the kid’s sleeve and pulling as he shuffled on his belly, sliding through the snowmelt and away from the walking bombs. Another pair did their self-destruct dance, sending more shrapnel flying into the night. The people were either running or crawling away from the scene, but Brand saw a woman fall face first with a smoking piece of metal jutting from her back. Grabbing Conroy’s collar, Brand stood and hauled the kid up with him. He turned and ran like mad to the cover of the park benches and trees.

As they ran, a third pair of auto-men exploded. Brand shot a look over his shoulder. A group of people nearest the machines had fallen into the mud. Some clawed at their clothes, writhing in agony. Others were lying dead on the ground.

Brand bit down hard as two more machines flew to pieces in a cloud of sparks and electric fire. Then it seemed that all the remaining auto-men blew apart at once. Detonations sounded throughout the park, echoing into the night. It wasn’t until Brand felt the tremors that he realized it was mortar fire coming down. The auto-men had all done their bit. Now it was time for the cavalry to sweep through.

#

Aiden held the tree and sent his eyes upward, wanting to look at anything other than the dead people across the park with the electricity burning their bodies apart.

“Mr. Brand, look,” Aiden said, pointing at the airship above them. His boss turned his eyes skyward and cursed a quiet mouthful and then some. On the ship’s screen was an image of the first man who died, the one who was fighting with the automaton. That picture winked out and was replaced by an image of the people knocking the frozen auto-men aside, pushing them over, and attempting to disarm them. The images kept coming, a series of shots with Tesla’s auto-men getting the business from the folks who Aiden knew were lying on the ground over there, dead as can be. Finally, a picture came of the ruined auto-men, their shattered chassis and limbs all splayed out so they each looked like a drunk that got hit by a train.

Aiden felt his eyes go slack when he heard a whistling sound from above. An explosion rocked the night and sent dirt raining down across the park. Aiden watched the cloud billow out and listened to a low whistling until Mr. Brand grabbed him by the neck and pushed his face to the ground. Aiden had just enough time to see the houses at the edge of the park fly apart.

#

Brand clamped his hands down over his head and hoped Conroy had sense to do the same. The kid seemed about two steps shy of shellshock. When the dirt and splintered timbers stopped falling, Brand lifted up and scanned the area for signs of the crabs. He didn’t see any, but he was relieved to see a group of people running out of the park at the far end, by the trees where he and Conroy had first come in.

“Mr. Brand,” Conroy said.

“What?” he snarled back and regretted it instantly. The kid shrank down tight against the base of the tree. “Sorry, Conroy. What is it?”

“The microphone. Why don’t. . .”

Brand had been so absorbed by the theater of Crane’s operation that he’d forgotten about the mic Tesla had given him. He unclipped it and brought it to his mouth, cutting in on the baloney spilling down from above.

“
Ladies and Gentlemen,
” he started, casting a look at fleeing citizens. The last of them left his view, meaning he and Conroy were now alone in the park with Crane’s dog and pony show.

As Brand opened his mouth to continue, another series of explosions hit in the middle of the burning houses in the corner of the park, throwing flaming debris in a wave over the ruins of the auto-men and fallen citizens. Brand kept his back to the tree until the shaking and pounding of the mortar rounds ceased. Then he clipped the mic back to his belt and grabbed the kid by the coat.

“It’s now or never, Conroy. We’ve got to get out of here, and fast.”

“But what about the story?”

“It’s no good if we’re dead when we get it. Those are mortar rounds coming down, big enough to take a man apart if they hit close enough. If they don’t, they can still scramble your insides.”

Brand pulled Conroy by the arm and made a beeline along the route the citizens had taken, aiming for the row of shrubs first. More eruptions came in, chewing up the park. Brand sent his worried eyes over his shoulder and watched the rounds fall in a path behind them. Explosions flung earth and stone and tree limbs into the air, and the shells kept coming as Brand and Conroy raced for shelter. Machine gun fire peppered the ground in front of them and they spun on their heels, Brand tugging Conroy like a rag doll and sending his panicked eyes in all directions looking for cover.