Gods of Chicago: Omnibus Edition

by Sikes, AJ

  Eddie had already lit three more stacks before she caught up to him. Beds and highboys burned bright and harsh in the cold night and behind it all came the shouts and cries of the guards. Emma ignited her flare and threw it into an open chest of drawers, enjoying the dance of flames that licked out at the chill air. Turning to the side, she spotted a painter’s wagon. Its deck was laden with buckets and piles of rags. Emma lit her last flare and tossed it into the mound of cloth.

  Within seconds fire engulfed the wagon as the rags caught and the blaze spread. Emma and Eddie backed away, tucking themselves behind a mound of automatons and metal scrap. The paint wagon erupted in a ball of fire and cast embers in all directions. Moments later, with the shouts of soldiers drawing closer, the buckets of paint ignited and burnt a sickly orange, blue, and green. The containers spewed an acrid chemical smoke that made Emma gag. She and Eddie retreated further, moving ever closer to the lakeshore and the airships tethered there.

  They made it to the tent nearest the lakeshore. Their path traced an arc out and away from the bonfires they created. As they moved, Emma saw the four soldiers racing in the direction of the flames. The fifth, the lone watchman, was still in the yard somewhere, and she feared he might have stayed behind to guard the prisoners.

  Eddie lifted the tent flap aside and they ducked in. Cots filled the center of the space. They’d clearly been set up in ranks, but the people had moved them together around two iron stoves that kept the tent heated. The fires in the stove’s bellies had nearly gone out, and the air at the edge of the tent was already chilled.

  “They’d be lucky to get a week’s work out of them,” Emma said. “They’d be frozen after tonight.”

  Heads turned in their direction and Emma spied curious eyes in the dim glow from the stoves.

  “We’re not soldiers,” she said as she stepped closer to the huddled prisoners. “We. . .we’re friends. Of Nagy and Biros. And—” Emma debated mentioning Peter and his daughter, Marta. Someone might ask what happened to them. The girl’s mother might be among the crush of bodies piled together around the stoves.

  “I know Nagy,” a man said. “He drinks too much.”

  Someone else spoke in the language of the neighborhood and a third person chuckled. The man who first spoke translated.

  “One says Nagy drinks too much, but still he makes best shoes in Chicago City.”

  A woman asked, “Why are you here? What is happening outside?”

  Emma explained their plan, what they’d done. “We don’t have much time. I’m sure they’ll be back any minute. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “How?” asked the first man.

  “The airships. I can fly one, maybe some of you know how. . .” The weak point in their plan now clear, Emma trailed off as her sense of failure deepened and red heat ran through her cheeks.

  “How does woman who hides in shadows know to fly?” the man asked. Emma shuffled forward, not knowing what else to say but feeling she owed these people the truth. Eddie came with her and stood by her side. When they were both visible in the fire’s feeble glow, the prisoners came alive with gasps and hushed comments.

  “You are woman who helps us escape,” a young voice said. Emma couldn’t tell if it belonged to a boy or girl, she couldn’t see the speaker, so she just nodded and said “Yes, that was me.” She did her best to ignore the memories of her father, dressed as a tramp and making soldiers disappear as if by magic.

  “I helped you before, and I wanted to help you again, get you out of this. Eddie and me, we both want to help. But—”

  “But soldiers will stop us,” the young voice said, and was echoed by others. Shouts from outside broke in on the scene and the prisoners as one retreated from the conversation. Many bundled themselves together around the stoves and pretended to sleep. Others left wary eyes aimed in Emma’s and Eddie’s direction, but were prepared to lie down again at the first sign of authority.

  “Go,” a voice hissed from within the mound of prisoners. Feeling an ache of shame and regret that she could barely control, Emma backed away and finally spun and fled the tent. She stood out of sight of the yard, behind the tent. The icy air blew off the lake and scraped against her face. Eddie came out of the tent and stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders. She wanted to shrug them away, just send the whole damn city off her back and away from her, let her crawl into a corner somewhere and forget trying to help people or trying to do anything.

  “Ain’t got time to stand around, Lovebird,” Eddie said. Shouts echoed across the open space between tents and the main portion of the yard. Angry voices called for the prisoners to awaken. Then, for the second time during the whole awful day’s ordeal, Emma heard a name that magnified her thoughts of helplessness. A soldier called out around the corner of the tent, shouting into the yard.

  “Underminister Wynes, sir? I think we’ve found the saboteurs. They’re in this tent here.”

  Emma’s heart leaped into her throat when a familiar young voice cried out in protest.

  “No! Is not me!”

  Chapter 44

  Overhead, the Governor’s airships continued to broadcast their hokum. Brand heard the bulletins echo across the city skies, sometimes coming from beyond the boundaries of the Village neighborhood.

  “That sonofabitch Crane is running a citywide show,” Brand said, worrying his lip as he stared out of the trees at the fighting in the park. Soldiers and citizens had moved deeper into the night, away from the tree line and toward the houses at the edge of the open landscape. Those houses were still on fire, and the people fighting back would be trapped against them soon enough. Then it would just be a clean up job for the soldiers.

  “Like fish in a barrel,” Brand said. “C’mon, Conroy. We’ve got to get closer.”

  They moved out of the tree line and made their way through the park to where the fighting still raged. Along their path, they took shelter behind hedges and park benches. As they moved, Brand checked the grove behind them for signs of the monster. It hadn’t shown again, but he had no doubt it would. Somehow he’d made himself prey for the beast. If it came down to it, he’d send Conroy off on his own and meet the thing alone. He hoped it wouldn’t come to it, and with every step away from the trees he breathed a little easier. Still, the grove of trees hissed terror in and out with every gust of wind that came through the park. Each burst of frigid air that moved the tree branches sounded like a rasping shriek, and the chill felt like a steel-sharp scrape against Brand’s neck.

  #

  Aiden felt safer when he saw the fighting had moved farther away, past the ponds and now on the other side of the park. But his safety fell apart when he saw soldiers chasing citizens toward burning buildings. Mr. Brand seemed to be on a path that would go around the fighting, aiming at buildings that weren’t burning as badly. Aiden knew they were there to get a story about what was happening, but he couldn’t see any way to get that story to the people. Mr. Brand’s microphone worked good enough, but the people still wouldn’t see it. And if what Aiden saw on the side of the Governor’s airships was being shown around the city, then even Mr. Brand’s reports might not be enough.

  They pulled up behind another hedge and waited while gunfire ripped into the ground not twenty feet from their position. A heavy hum sounded overhead and Aiden turned his gaze to the sky. An airship came into view. Its belly hung heavy with bullhorns and one side of the ship glowed with light, just like the other one Aiden had seen that showed pictures on a big screen. Aiden tried to focus on the image, but the ship flew across his vision at an angle and he couldn’t get a good look at the screen. A burst of static came down to his ears and Aiden felt Mr. Brand tense up beside him.

  #

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, this is Franklin Suttleby, with the. . .with the Ministry of Public Information. I’m, uh. . .I’m here to inform yo
u that the sounds you hear from the Old Town and Ukrainian Village neighborhoods, those are. . .those are ruptured gas lines, damaged by vandals. We’ve, that is, the Ministry of Safety and Security has patrol ships combing the skies—”

  “This is Mitchell Brand again, Ladies and Gentlemen. Don’t believe that hogwash Suttleby is shoveling. It’s not worth a plug nickel much less any of your time. The sounds you hear are explosions. Mortar fire. I’m here on the ground, watching it happen. Citizens fighting soldiers. And they’re putting up a struggle. A good struggle. But I’ve seen first hand what happens when a small determined band goes up against odds like this. I saw it over there, at Argonne.

  “These people may not be here tomorrow to tell their story. It’s up to you to ignore the lies that Crane and his toady are spilling into your ears. Ignore the pictures you’re seeing on the Governor’s airships. It’s a rigged game, Ladies and Gentlemen. Rigged. And there’s no way to stop it except by refusing to play.”

  Brand lifted his thumb from the mic and fastened the device to his belt again. He stared up at the airship sailing overhead, its envelope displaying a scene of citizens fighting soldiers, but the only images that appeared on the screen showed citizens with the upper hand. Pictures cycled like flickering film stills. Soldiers fell under blows from shovels and clubs. Citizens raised guns and fired. Brand stared at the ship with rage shaking his eyes out of focus.

  Only one man in Chicago City could come up with a scheme like this, and it gave Brand an idea. The ship sailed on into the night, away from the battlefield and out over the neighborhoods. Brand watched it go with acid hatred burning in his mouth. Conroy was watching the airship, too, and spit into the grass as it left the area.

  “They’re trying to trick us. Make it look like what that Suttleby guy is saying is really true.”

  “And the longer we let them, the better it works. C’mon, Conroy. We’ve got to get closer. Get ready to give me that viewer, hey?”

  Conroy nodded and clutched the bulge in his coat tight.

  Brand lifted the mic and kept his thumb on the switch as they moved. If he wasn’t going to get any report of his own out, the least he could do was keep the channel open so the battle would be heard elsewhere. Shouts and gunshots bellowed out of the airship’s bullhorns and then cut out as someone on board switched them off. Brand hoped the people in their homes kept the radio on. This battlefield report wouldn’t be worth two helping of bupkis if they didn’t.

  #

  An explosion shook the park around him and Aiden went down in the mud. He landed on his side and watched his boss race ahead of him to hide beside a small stand of trees. They were getting closer to the edge of the park and the houses, and that meant the explosions were getting closer, too. Rolling onto his knees, Aiden made to hurry forward but another blast shattered the night and sent him to the ground. He let the dirt fall before he pushed himself up and went tearing through the mud to where his boss had found shelter.

  “That was close, Conroy. Too close. I’m sorry I let you get behind. Dammit, I shouldn’t even have you out here doing this.”

  Aiden heard a tremor in his boss’s voice. It sounded to Aiden like a warning, like the man he’d known to be strong since he’d met him was really weak inside, and that weakness was fighting to get out.

  “It’s not your fault, Mr. Brand. I mean, it’s the Governor behind all this, right?”

  “Sure it is, but I could have sent you home. Sent you somewhere else, somewhere away from this. But I thought I’d do you a favor, finally give you that time on the mic I’d always been promising you and Jenkins and the Gordon boy, too. I’m sorry, Conroy.”

  When no reply came to his tongue, Aiden sent his eyes around the park, looking for something else to talk about. All he could see was the reflected glow of the airships circling overhead, their envelopes ignited by scenes of fighting down below.

  “How are those pictures up there?” he asked.

  “Eh? Oh, probably the crabs. Crane must’ve sent them out here with his soldiers. Those ships are picking up images and broadcasting the ones they like. If we’re lucky, we’ll spot one of those crabs and then that’ll be our ticket to storyville.”

  “How’s that?”

  “That viewer you’re carrying. It works the same way as the image receivers in the G-man’s ships. That’s how I got all those crime scene photos without ever setting foot on a scene. We just need to get hold of a crab and then we’ll be set up to show the people what’s really happening down here, not just tell them about it.”

  Aiden put his hands over the bulge in his coat. He felt the pressure to succeed sitting there against his belly and for a moment he let himself believe they’d do it. He and his boss would get the real story out to the people of Chicago City. He glanced up at the nearby buildings as a mortar round exploded a few streets away. The ground rumbled and the air around them shook, making Aiden’s eyes go blurry. The houses at the edge of the park shimmered and Aiden feared the fire had finally reached them. Before he realized his vision was fine, the city itself was being lifted aside and a tramp was emerging to stand beside the trees with a rusty bicycle propped up against his hip.

  “Gotta hand it to you, Mitch. That’s some hard news you’re spitting,” the tramp said. Aiden recognized the man’s voice in that instant, and he felt the man’s name rising only to freeze in his throat.

  #

  “Hey again, Chief,” Brand said, sitting up and reaching out to shake his friend’s hand.

  “Hey,” Chief said, taking the offered hand and giving it a grip. “What’s with Conroy joining on this? Didn’t figure you’d want him anywhere near the action.”

  “Not my idea. He ended up here on his own. Isn’t that right, Conroy?”

  The kid made a feeble nod and kept his eyes fixed on Chief’s face. Shock and worry danced across Conroy’s eyes, and Brand feared he might think he was cracking up.

  “It’s okay, Conroy. Trust me. The things you and me have seen tonight, this isn’t even close to the worst of ‘em.”

  “How are you, Aiden?” Chief said, keeping his hands by his sides and inclining his gaze to look the kid in the eye.

  “I’m. . .I’m okay. I’m a little scared is all.”

  “That’s all right,” Brand said. “A man should be scared in a war.”

  The kid’s face picked up a bit and Brand went back to talking with Chief.

  “I’m about to get the scoop on what’s happening. Don’t tell me you’re here to get back into the news.” Brand paused when he saw Chief’s face droop. “Hey, I didn’t. . .I mean, I’d sure like it if that was true, you know.”

  “Forget it, Mitch. I can’t. And you should—”

  “Help us fight them, Chief. It’ll be like over there,” Brand said and stood to look his friend in the eye. “You and me on the story, and with Conroy here, too. We’ll get the scoop and report to the brass. Only this time we’ll be telling it to the real people in charge. The people! Not the Governor or his soldiers, not Crane. The people will hear what we have to say; they’re hungry for it. They need it, and we’ve got to give it to them.”

  Bullets peppered a wall nearby and the two men crouched beside the trees. Conroy stayed down behind them.

  “It’s now or never, Chief. You’ve got that machine with you. We can ride back there where it’s safe and then pop out to get the news. Like we did when you were flying us over No-Man’s Land in that two-seater jalopy they called an observation ship.”

  He waited for Chief’s reply, but the man just shook his head, a frantic look racing across his face. He reached out and put a hand on Brand and Conroy’s shoulders. Brand steadied the kid when the wisps of reality fluttered away and revealed the hidden landscape that Chief and the other Bicycle Men traveled in behind the city. Conroy stood on his own and stared at the world around
them. Brand caught his eye and gave him a reassuring look before Chief piped up again.

  “The boss’ll do me a bad turn if I help you here, Mitch. Propriety isn’t one to pass up a chance to show a man he’s messed up, and helping you like you say, that’d be messing up and how.”

  “How’s about you tell me how? I don’t see—”

  “The gods aren’t allowed to interfere with human affairs directly, not unless one of them finds a vessel to possess.”

  “You mean like Tesla and that fortune teller. They told me as much, but—”

  “You’ve run into them? Then you already know more than I figured.”

  “You say. I’m not sure I know any more than I did the first time you brought me back here. What do they want? These gods, all of ‘em.”

  “Aw hell, Mitch, I don’t know. I hear them talk about influence, and I guess that’s what it comes down to. If you’ve got influence, you’ve got power. And if you’ve got enough power, you can have the world by the balls.”

  “Is that why things go wrong? Why things like this happen? Because the gods can’t agree on who gets to do the squeezing?”

  Chief nodded. “For my money, yeah. That’s it. That war of ours was the last time they all got together and tried to sort it out.”

  “If you helped me with this story, they’d do something like that again? Is that it? How’s that different than what’s happening right now?”

  “It’s not that, Mitch. If I stick my neck out and help you here. . .They’ll make me a ratter.”

  Brand’s memory flashed to the beast that killed Nitti and his boys, the monster that had chased him and would have torn him to pieces if Chief hadn’t saved him. He knew it was the same beast that had killed Jenkins and Digs Gordon, too, and that’s when it wasn’t busy tearing up tramps across the city.