The 1000 Souls (Book 2): Generation Apocalypse (42 page)

Tevy took a big chance that night.

He waited until Kayla and Margaret slept soundly before he slipped out of bed and downstairs. There was a fire exit at the back of the tower and he pushed his way out, taking a deep breath as the door closed behind him, locking him out for the rest of the night. He couldn’t help but feel relief, for while he knew this was a better place to raise a family, he missed his city, and he felt claustrophobic in the Keep. He craved those missions when he and Elliot would scout deep into the Loop, killing rippers surprised to find humans out at night and hunting.

The highway was lit by a full moon, one so strong that the trees cast moon shadows. Tevy walked in the center of road until he reached the place where he had found his shotgun, a crossing of two roads, an intersection with a dead traffic signal light. He sat cross-legged on the asphalt and breathed in the cold air of his new home, trying to understand the woodland sounds, getting used to the scent of pine and spruce. It was cold enough that the mosquitoes had slipped away, so he was comfortable and patient and he loved the stars.

He didn’t have to wait long. A figure approached, walking up from the south, his hands out from his sides to show that he carried no weapons. He made no greeting, no claims of coming in peace. The man simply walked up and sat cross-legged in front of Tevy, staring at the asphalt between them.

It was Bertrand Allan.

He looked less emaciated than at the battle at the Mart. His clothes were new. He was clean. Yet, his head shook slowly back and forth as if denying memories.

“I couldn’t save her,” Allan said at last. “I couldn’t save my love, my Angry Captain.”

Tevy didn’t answer because there was no answer. He didn’t even want to imagine having to watch Kayla die in battle.

“I couldn’t save my best friend. I couldn’t save either of them. I couldn’t save anyone.”

This, Tevy could answer. “You saved your daughter.”

Allan still looked at the asphalt, not meeting Tevy’s eyes, but now he nodded. “Yes. We saved her. Who’s taking care of her?”

“Kayla and I. Margaret chose us, I think because we saved her at the river when Helen drowned.”

“Helen drowned.” It wasn’t a question, and the numbness of the statement was more disturbing than screaming and crying. “Margaret chose you because Kayla is familiar to her. Her very soul has Joyce written all over it.”

They sat in silence.

Finally, Allan looked up and met Tevy’s eyes. “She made me drink,” he whispered.

“Drink...blood?”

“Jeff was dead. She was dying. I think maybe even I was dying, I’d been shot so many times. The Red Shirts had run away, but we knew they would be back soon. She begged me to finish her and get away. She begged me to drink her blood for strength and run. She was very near the end.”

Tevy didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.

“All these years I resisted the temptation, starved on ripper blood and animal blood, forever hungry, forever craving. Even now, I can practically hear the blood rushing in your veins, calling me.”

For a moment Tevy regretted not drawing his shotgun and having it ready.

“I gave in because she was right. I drank my lover’s blood, the first living blood I’ve ever had, and it was incredible. Malcolm was right. It’s way better than sex, better than drugs or drink or anything. And I didn’t stop there. I went crazy. I drank from the Red Shirts. By dawn I was stronger than ever. All my hurts had healed and I found refuge in the bunker. She saved my life even as she died.”

Now Allan began to shake, a quiet sob that chopped off. Tevy feared for the man’s sanity, but he let time pass, sitting face to face in the dark until well after midnight. Finally, Tevy reached out and placed a comforting hand on Allan’s knee.

The man, the ripper, looked up from the ground.

“Rippers can go dormant,” Allan said. “I want to go dormant. I’ll live for Margaret, in case she needs me some day, but not day to day. Build a cairn right here, right in the middle of the road. Build a vault, a grave, under it. I’ll occupy it and I’ll sleep. Wait till she’s an adult and tell her about me and her mother and show her the cairn. If she needs me, she can call for my help. I’ll always answer. But I swear this to you: I will never drink living blood again. Never.”

Barry helped Tevy craft the monument, finding the right stone, cutting it and carving it with tools they looted from a monument factory in Thunder Bay. Kayla drew the design with Margaret’s input. A cross for the religion that now worshiped Bertrand as a saint. They entwined it with a triangle, representing the Battle of the Mountain where he lost his humanity—and the trinity: Bertrand, Joyce, and Jeff.

Barry held a funeral for the three, and all of St. John’s Keep attended. The next year on the anniversary of their escape from Chicago, Tevy, Kayla, and Elliot laid a wreath at the monument. Amanda had been too sick with her pregnancy to join them.

They made it a tradition to lay a new wreath every year on that day.

Tevy always whispered, “Rest in Peace. We are here. We are good. We are safe. We are strong. We are complete. We are the Trinity.”

The End

There are so many people to thank. Mark Alliksaar, a technical instructor and cliché checker; Mark Downie, a dedicated fan and honest beta reader; Rebecca M. Senese, fellow writer and fellow e-rebel; all of The Fledglings Writers Group, for years of work; Matt A. Baker, a careful editor; Michael Custode, for great artwork; Margaret Docker, who patiently taught this physics graduate grammar and writing, something sorely lacking in my university curriculum. Many thanks to Dooley, my dependable rogue. And most of all to my wife - my honest critic and staunchest supporter. (My wife wrote that. ;)

Thanks also to all my charter fans. Your emails and reviews about
Apocalypse Revolution
let me know I was on the right path and encouraged me to keep going.

The final thank you belongs to you for reading this book. I write books that I enjoy reading, and I’m delighted that you made it not just to the end, but to these acknowledgements. I’m honored. I hope you enjoyed
Generation Apocalypse
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The 1000 Live On!

Book Three of 1000 Souls - Release March, 2013

Every year at the same time he sensed the presence of human blood. Any other time of year it was too fleeting to rouse him, just someone rushing along the highway in a hurry, not stopping to gape at the monument above his grave. But in mid summer, three or four always gathered long enough for him wake from the black depths of hibernation and hear their prayer.

It was always Tevy’s voice, repeating the same soothing words: “Rest in Peace. We are here. We are good. We are safe. We are strong. We are complete. We are the Trinity.”

But this year mid summer passed without the visit, and Bertrand began to rouse without them. Hibernating is not sleep. There are no dreams, yet impressions still rolled through his sluggish brain. A large party of humans rushed past one day, enough to stir the parasites in his blood, and the cold told him that mid summer was long past.

Still, it wasn’t enough to wake him until a single person stood before his tomb, shouting and crying. “They say you're my Dad! You’re my dad! So wake up Dad. Please, we need you. Please wake up! It’s Margaret. I’m your daughter. Please, we need you so desperately.”

But waking from hibernation is not an instant process. Bertrand needed time to draw the last reserves from his body, to get the synapses firing, even though the urgency of the voice made him wish he could rise instantly. It would take him ten minutes to even move an arm, but after that he roused quickly.

Still, by the time he pushed at the stone door of the monument, Margaret was long gone. In the distance, from the direction of Barry’s Keep, Bertrand could hear gunshots and the clash of steal. He would deal with that, but first he desperately needed blood.

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