The Seventh Age: Dawn

by Rick Heinz

  After all, for all the world is aware, Vryce could very well be a woman.

  It’s surprising that immortal oligarchs on the council would plan for centuries and yet be so brazen to ignore these simple facts.

  He checked his phone as the sun was setting and smiled at what he saw. The Society of Deus had been made aware of Delilah’s absence and a few captains, including himself, had also gone missing. This meant that there was an opening to exploit.

  Gabriel D’Angelo had been given authorization to release the rest of the army as reinforcements. The society was provoked, and they were reacting quickly, but tipping their hand. If the army of vampires is being released, I’m going to need reinforcements. I can still get close to Vryce with her as a trump card if I can produce her captors. He is more important than my freedom. Yet I’m sure I can pull both off if I move quickly.

  “You there, come out of the shadows,” Bollard said.

  “Yes, sir.” The Englishman almost oozed out of hiding, not making a sound.

  “I need to leave the city. With Gabriel on a warpath, he’ll destroy me in a second if I don’t have anything to produce. Moving her at night is a risk not worth taking, so I have to rely upon you. Keep her here, in this place, for our sake. Do this, and I shall see to it you are compensated beyond your dreams,” Bollard said as he cleaned himself up.

  “You need not offer, sir. I know what must be done. Are you sure that this place is secure?”

  “This place is dead to them now. If any do come, misdirect them away from here.”

  “As you wish.”

  Bollard left the building. He had to meet with O’Neil in person, and it would not be safe here for him anyway. Killing Frank was a mistake, but a course of action was becoming clearer to him.

  The Whisper stood in the room with Delilah. He moved to release her bindings, and she shook her head against the idea. Her left eye caused him uneasiness, like she was looking into his soul.

  “Thank you for not interfering. I had hoped that our training together would hold,” she said.

  “Of course it would. He took it further than we had expected. I do not think the primus will take kindly to the blood he gave you.” The Whisper stood back and made sure to not disturb any of the scene. “What will you have me do now?”

  “Get me Symon Vasyl. I need this place rigged. This isn’t over yet. Let it leak through that the forces of Chicago are behind the assault. Leave Bollard out of it for now. He is mine. This, by the way, is exactly why I feel that mental conditioning is vital for our organization. Demons have too many tricks up their sleeves.” She cracked her neck and wore a determined look that no longer showed any signs of fatigue.

  “But you still told him the plan.”

  “Those on the council of the Unification have already figured it out by now. The downside of a secret society is that information moves at a snail’s pace. We have our backup plan. Now go and do your work. Then resume your cover while you can. Keep Vryce out of it. He has to focus on his quest. We have to succeed on our own, understand?” She stared long enough to drive the point home.

  “As you wish.” The Whisper bowed and faded back into the shadows. No one would see him leave the building.

  CHAPTER 30

  A low-flying fighter jet rattled the windows of the warehouse. Mike woke up under a blanket, hugging Akira’s cocoon for a pillow while Doc used Mike’s bunched-up trench coat as a pillow for himself. As the sun set in Chicago, the Sons and Daughters began to wake up, weary from a day where most underwent physical changes from eating the hearts of demons.

  Mike felt a deep hunger in his gut, a desire to feed again. He noticed Phoebe wrapped up like a burrito under blankets and bit his lip to stop himself. It’s a burrito. With blood. That counts, right?

  Each of them stood up and cracked their bones for an evening routine. Out of habit, Akira went to make coffee. The shock wave of an explosion rattled the building and reminded them of the trouble outside. Without speaking, they all ran up to the ground floor and outside. Akira and Mike were there before the coffeepot smashed to the ground in the basement.

  The fading sunset burned along the city skyline and turned Chicago into a smoldering ember. Trails of opaque smoke marched across the night sky, signaling where the battles were. They watched as a National Guard caravan plowed through dense traffic on a nearby expressway. People had abandoned their cars and were evacuating the city in teeming masses, like a river that had overrun its dam.

  The moon seemed to mock them, its half gaze a grin as it hung low on the western horizon. Mike looked back at the assembled crew and pulled out a pack of crumpled and broken smokes. Doc put his fat head on them. That bastard.

  “Doc, you owe me a pack,” Mike said. Doc handed him a menthol. It would have to do. Everyone else looked around in confusion, their mouths open just a crack. “What the fuck, eh? That’s what you’re all thinking.” A few nods came in response. “Hey, how many of you wanted to be superheroes when you grew up?” Mike raised his hand. The Captain was the first to follow. “So let’s go do that. Not much to it, really. After all, we know where the fighting is. Let’s gear up.” This is going to be wicked cool.

  A moment before they were ready to roll out, motorcycles revved, echoing in the warehouse so loudly that they drowned out the sound of gunfire in the distance. Winters and Matsen’s police cruiser pulled in, escorting Morris and old-man O’Neil.

  A short bald man with leather gloves and a Winchester-knotted necktie stepped out of their car along with the rest. Their lips moved but no sound could be heard over the roar of the engines. Morris waved his arms like an airplane runway controller to silence them.

  “I said, where the hell do you guys think you’re going?” Morris yelled.

  “To save the world, of course,” Mike replied. “Damn, I’ve always wanted to say that. Did it come out right? Should I pause while an explosion rocks behind me and walk away in slow motion?”

  Matsen chimed in. “Right, well, the National Guard has the city under lock-down. The riots began while you guys were asleep. People started a run on the banks to get their money out. So it’s a spot of chaos out there. You have Mike’s armband revolutionaries facing off against the police and National Guard. Everyone who can fight is facing demons.”

  The Captain held up a finger. “So they don’t send in the National Guard when demons start coming out? They wait until people start looting and rioting? I’m not sure which ones we should be fighting.”

  “All of them,” said Patrick O’Neil. “You won’t have any success above ground. There is a reason the Second City is getting hit so hard. The Chicago fire, the riots, the floods, the rivers of blood from the stockyard. This city has always demanded sacrifice. She’s a mistress with her own heart. Beneath this city lies a heart, an outlet for man’s sin in the world to bleed through, the fuel source for the furnace in the Twin Cities.”

  O’Neil rocked back and forth on his feet while he continued. “It’s time for your first helldive.” He handed Doc a coffee-stained blueprint. “The Deep-Tunnel Project runs close to it, but you’ll have to follow this map. Just know that you can’t actually kill the heart of the city. It’s in your best interest to not let this demon that’s bound there talk to you either. But I’m sure you’ll find a way to seal it off.”

  The bald man with the fancy tie flashed O’Neil a glare but remained silent.

  “Let me guess, Unification oversight?” Mike said as he pointed at the bald man.

  “No, this is JJ. I sent Frank to retrieve him,” replied O’Neil.

  “Oh, sweet. Frank’s back. Where is he? He knows this city better than anyone. We could use him,” Mike said.

  Morris chimed in. “Frankie’s dead, Mike. He didn’t make it back.”

  Mike revved his engine and almost broke his handlebar from yanking too hard. He had nothing to say as he drove past them, almost running over JJ. See you soon, buddy. Morris tried to stop them by shouting and reaching out as they drove p
ast. O’Neil called him back to his side.

  The bike hit the interstate at full speed with the rest of the Sons and Daughters behind him. Mike may have been faster on foot, but it made him hungry rapidly, and only Akira could match him. They got behind a National Guard caravan full of recruits praying. One of them looked back at their new followers and pointed. He gestured to the others in the transport, and soon they were all cheering and had a look of hope in their eyes.

  Mike looked back at his crew and smiled. He screamed at them, “Remember who you are fighting for! It’s your families and friends! Armbands are your friend!” Mike gestured to his arm as he took off his bandanna and tied it there. His showboating almost cost Phoebe a bike as he lost balance, but he recovered seconds before a wipeout. Mike peered back to see his crew put their faces in their hands, he thought for a moment that Lucy was blushing in embarrassment. These soldiers are just people caught up in their games, faced with hell. Just like me.

  Phoebe rode up next to Mike, her helmet solid black with a visor that hid her face, but she gestured with her fingers to follow. More than once as they sped through the city, she had to stop and wait for everyone else. Signs of the riots and fighting were everywhere: broken windows, cars tipped over, and trash spilled down every street. Some places were still ablaze, with no fire crews available to respond. No longer afraid of the light, a small handful of imps picked apart a victim of the violence.

  At first, they would stop and scare them away, but as they drove farther south, it became so frequent that they just had to keep riding. By the time they reached the entry into the Deep-Tunnel Project, everyone in their crew either kept their visors down or had a look of determination on their face.

  The entry they had chosen was near the water-pumping station of a neighborhood called Cicero, a place that was underfunded and under construction. It hadn’t been part of any gentrification projects for a long time. Fires created an orange landscape from the residential areas, a true devil’s night.

  The Sons and Daughters paused long enough for Doc to memorize the map. Mike ripped off the barricade preventing entry, tossing it aside like a crumpled piece of paper.

  The tunnel was massive, large enough to fit a fire truck through. As they rode in, their bikes’ headlights shined hypnotically on the walls. Mike could taste the dampness in the air, water that had been still for so long, it festered with mold. They pulled up to a maintenance steel door with a rusted handle like the wheel that opens a submarine hatch.

  “This is it,” Doc said. “This door should be sealed off and welded shut. We should be under the heart of downtown right now. Behind here it’s all tunnels, slagged iron, catacombs, and the ruins that Chicago was built upon.”

  “And most likely a crap ton of demons. Do you think any of them have been here longer than the past few days?” Mike asked.

  “Yes. The Second City has always been very close to the dead. Hauntings, the Catholics, riots. I bet my life that O’Neil himself got his start down here,” said Lucy.

  “Well, I’m going to go on official record and state that the entire Unification plan is stupid,” Mike said. “Next time they want to open a gate to hell, don’t pick a fucking populated city.” Mike started to pry the door open. It made a scream of resistance as steel buckled under his strength before giving way. A flood of rats washed over their legs as the rodents ran for their lives. It’s always a bad sign when the vermin run. Looks like we aren’t the pinnacle of evolution after all.

  The Captain said something in Latin as they entered the tunnel. His hands lit with a sick green-and-black flame. Akira’s eyes took on a red glow as she began to crawl on the ceiling. Lucy produced an iron lantern that illuminated the area in front of her with a soft, warm glow. Phoebe removed her helmet, tied a blindfold around her eyes, and kept one hand on the wall. Even Doc seemed to smile and move through the darkness like he belonged there, every one of his senses heightened. Mike had to stop, pull off his backpack, and fumble with a nearly dead flashlight.

  “Wait, wait. I’m the only one who didn’t get cool night-vision powers?” Mike said. “That’s bullshit.”

  Akira chuckled from above. “We’ll let you know when a door needs to be moved.”

  Phoebe said out of the blue, “What’s going to happen, guys, is that we are going to have to fight through a lot of hellhounds. We will face Tindalos himself, the demon of loyalty. Bound here for we know what. He wants to be set free. If we agree, this will be easy.”

  “Uh, well, that makes things easy. What happens if we don’t?” Mike asked.

  “No idea. We say yes. I had a vision about it.”

  “Well, that takes out the suspense. What if I don’t want to say yes?” Mike said.

  She paused and let the deep booms from above, the trickle of running water, and the pulsing sound in the distance set in. “I didn’t say it was you,” she replied.

  CHAPTER 31

  The construction of the pathways dated back further than 1906, first built for telephones by the Chicago Tunnel Company and later by private enterprise. Saloon owners once used them for smuggling during prohibition. Metal rails crumbled underfoot as they walked through. Curved concrete walls and crisscrossed conduits and cables overhead made Mike’s head spin with vertigo.

  The tunnels here were barely taller than his head, and Akira insisted on cramming herself above him. They were, to the best of their ability, attempting to remain quiet as they got close to the sound of gnashing. Arrhythmic gnawing and crunching began quietly at first, only heard between the tiny scuffles of their footsteps. It’s like someone is taking a grapefruit and constantly bashing it against a wall. Mike could feel the granite in the walls and taste dust from the past century hanging in the air. The sound became louder with every tunnel junction they crept through, inspiring them to move slower.

  More than once his fingers brushed against bloody wet spots on the wall. Fingers found farther in, ripped off at the knuckles and still stuck in the wall, confirmed the blood was human. In the light of Phoebe’s lantern, Mike saw Doc give a thumbs-up as they entered a junction with vaulted ceilings. Tunnel entrances littered every wall as far as they could see in the dim light.

  They were on the third floor of tunnel junctions. Looking over the edge reminded Mike of a beehive cut in half, catacombs and pockets of subway and freight tunnels hidden in every nook. On the floor at the very center of the junction lay a pile of concrete rubble with mounds of ash in neat stacks. A stone cross with Gaelic carvings jutted out from the rubble of the makeshift grave, defiant in protest from the rest of the decay around it.

  Shadows below them slinked along the exteriors, darting in and out of the tunnels. Mike saw something different, however. He saw a gaping hole where there should be a floor, swallowing up debris that fell into it, down into a whirlpool. He saw hands clawing up the side, followed by faces. Gray faces with no real features, just heads twisted in pain as they kept slipping along the edge, trying to get out but never finding purchase.

  Deeper in the hole, a grayish-green glow emanated like lights underwater. Oh shit. The actual land of the dead. Is that hell? His crew started making moves to crawl down and get closer. He followed, climbing between protrusions to make his way down. The closer he moved to the pit, the colder he felt on the inside, like diving into a pool of ice water. Well, that does it. I’ve officially climbed into hell. Even though fragments of the real world remained, like the tunnels, everything took on a duller, ashen appearance. Above him, distances seemed to stretch, creating a sense of vertigo.

  Mike felt a dull pressure on his hand when he touched the rail. He looked up to see a black reptilelike claw pinning his hand to the wall. Then he saw a hellhound’s head appear from the tunnel. It was larger than the ones they herded before. Its drool landed on Mike as it tilted its head to look at him with a glowing eye. The saliva burned so bad that Mike could not help but scream in pain. It reminded him of the barrel. It was boring through him, eating away at his shoulder. He let go of
the ledge.

  A second and third head came out and bit down on Mike. He quickly looked for which of the three hellhounds he would hit first. His eyes followed their leathery skin along their necks down to a single set of shoulders. Four feet . . . three heads. As realization set in, he felt the teeth slice into his arm and heard the crunch of bone as it clamped down. It ate away his flesh, peeling back his skin and curling it, while frying it at the same time. This is motherfucking Cerberus! Get off me!

  Mike saw his friends as he was flung around in the air. They were airborne as well, jumping off the ledges and down to the pit to avoid hellhounds that were coming out of the tunnels. Some were the small bony hounds with their detached spines. Others were large with three heads.

  Ghosts cowered in the tunnels on the first floor. The tunnels were brimming with the dead, trapped between the hurling abyss of hell and hellhounds above them. What the fuck? I thought I had it bad. He was out of time. The third head came around and latched on to Mike’s leg, ripping the flesh off his thigh and splaying him out between the middle head.

  An arm and a leg locked in the jaws of a demon hound pulling them apart was not how Mike imagined dying. Cerberus was wasting no time. The mouth of its middle head drew back in a vicious snarl as it lunged forward to claim its prey. I’m not going to be dog food. The demon matched his strength as he struggled to free his arm and leg. Crunching, pulling, and trying to twist every way possible, he found he had no leverage. Oh shit! The canine ripped into his midsection, the crack of half his ribs being ripped off as his torso gave way echoed through the junction.