Gods of Chicago: Omnibus Edition (23 page)

Chapter 38

Aiden and the professor watched the gunfire rain down into the neighborhood. Bursts of flickering light swelled into blossoms and receded, leaving only the heavy dark shapes of gunships soaring overhead.

“What do we do, mister? Ain’t there a way out of here?”

“Indeed, as I said. We must leave, and our departure is now overdue. Come.”

Aiden followed the professor down the steps, through his cellar, and into the tunnels once more. He accepted the crank torch the professor handed him and kept up a steady glow of light to illuminate their path. Explosions overhead knocked earth and dust from the tunnel roof. Aiden’s heart stuck in his throat. With every step, he feared the tunnel would fall in, trapping them in a grave no one would ever find. His parents would never know what happened to him.

“Mister?”

“Yes, Mr. Conroy?”

“Some G-men took my folks away. Do you know what happened to ‘em?”

“I can surmise where they may have been taken, but I cannot say for certain.”

More explosions and the sound of gunfire came to Aiden’s ears. “You think they’re still alive, mister? Not out there getting. . .” Aiden couldn’t bring himself to say the words. He could barely manage to think of his parents because his mind wanted to tell him they were dead. He knew that wasn’t a sure thing, but not knowing felt worse somehow, like a weight that threatened to be true and would be true when it finally crushed him into the ground. That dread grew unbearable as he moved through the darkness with only this strange man who called himself a professor for company and protection.

“I gotta find ‘em, mister,” Aiden said as they turned a corner. The tunnel ended in a wooden panel with a catch on one side. Before reaching to open the door, Aiden turned around and faced the professor. “I gotta find my Ma and Pa. If you got any ideas for where to start looking, I’d be obliged to you for sharing.”

“Through that door, Mr. Conroy, is a place where you will find safety and, if we have arrived in a timely manner, perhaps even one who might help you in your quest to find your parents.”

“Talk straight with me, okay, mister? I can’t half follow you when you—”

“Mr. Brand. Your former supervisor. He should be on the other side of that door, or not too far from it. He will need that device you have tucked into your coat.”

“How do you know all this? What gives?”

The professor went on, like he hadn’t even heard Aiden’s questions.

“Together, the two of you stand a greater chance of success than if either of you were to spend this night acting alone.”

“What is this, mister? What are you talking about and how do you know Mr. Brand is out there?”

“I have said before, Mr. Conroy, that I am loathe to dismiss with
Inquiry
. No truer statement could I speak. The god lives within me and I within him. And now, I must depart for a more appropriate setting.”

The professor brushed a hand through the air beside his head and stepped out of the dim light from the fading crank torch. Aiden’s mouth fell open as the darkness surrounded the professor and seemed to swallow him whole.

“Mister, wha—”

And then the man was gone, the darkness falling into place where he’d once stood. Aiden stood shivering in the black, afraid and alone. His fingers coiled around a handle and he realized he’d stopped working the crank torch. With a shudder of fright, Aiden spun and aimed the torch light at the door behind him. A simple catch to one side let it fall open.

Aiden stepped out of the tunnel and into a dimly lit cellar lined with shelves full of household items, tools, and bits of fabric and leather. A single light bulb warmed the space, but only just. Aiden roamed the shelves with his gaze, looking for something he could use as a weapon. His eye fixed on a shelf on the opposite wall that had two pistols on it. Aiden darted across the room and snatched up one of the guns. He’d fired a revolver before, just like the one he now held. Next to the guns was a box of bullets.

He put the crank torch down and went to load the revolver, dropping the first two bullets he picked up. Aiden breathed deep and settled his shivering hands. With the gun fully loaded and a handful of cartridges in his pocket, he turned to regard the room. The cellar was empty. A door set into one wall was closed and barred. Across from the door a set of steps led into the house above. Aiden slowly moved to the stairs.

He thought about going back for the crank torch, but decided he’d rather have at least one free hand. The pistol weighed down his wrist and arm like a hunk of stone. He fought to ignore the feelings. His favorite radio shows were the ones where the good guys always had pea shooters trained on the bad guys at the end. Aiden tried to hold the weapon like his radio heroes would, but the cold metal and rough wooden grip made the gun feel too large in his hand. He pocketed it. The gun’s weight sank in next to the bullets, dragging his coat against his shoulder.

Aiden put a foot onto the bottom step and waited there, ready to run back into the tunnel if he heard anything like a threat from upstairs. He heard nothing and put his foot on the next step, and the next. He reached the top and peered into the dark corners of the house. To one side was a sitting room where a chair was turned over and the other furniture looked beat up and ruined. To the other side was a little breakfast nook. The table top had been smashed and broken glass littered the kitchen floor nearby. A cold wind blew through the house, followed by the sounds of gunfire and shouting from outside.

Staying low, Aiden crept further into the house, going for the overturned chair. He’d hide behind it. Outside the house, to the front, he heard voices. Angry voices, a man and woman arguing. Gunshots rang out from behind the house and a man shouted in pain. Aiden flinched and tucked himself into a corner beside a cracked up side table. He fished the gun out of his pocket and aimed it at the front door.

More gunfire and shouting filled the night air outside and seemed to surround the house. Aiden’s lip quivered and he squeezed off a shot from the pistol. The loud report scared him and he dropped the gun between his feet. Picking up the gun, Aiden remembered what the professor had told him before he disappeared into the darkness. Aiden had to find his folks, and Mr. Brand was supposed to be up here. He could help. Mr. Brand could help him find his parents, and maybe Aiden could help his old boss somehow.

Creeping out of his hiding place, Aiden moved to the front door and looked outside at the ruined street. Blackened, shattered buildings looked back at him. Voices came to him from about a block away, and more gunfire from almost right overhead. He heard the bullets hitting the ground and kicking up chips of stone and dirt. A team of soldiers came into view from the right, moving low and staying close to the porch. Aiden ducked inside and begged, silently, for the soldiers to keep moving.

He heard foosteps on the stairs. Aiden bolted, running through the house, into the kitchen and the washroom beyond, to the back door. He drew up at the door, snuck a glance outside. Silhouetted figures struggled against the wall of the next house, a flickering firelight casting a glow around them that made Aiden think of the stories he’d heard of damnation and torment. The awkward angles and violent movement put a lump in his throat that no amount of swallowing could dislodge.

Mr. Brand’s voice broke through the sounds of fighting and Aiden moved to open the back door. Another voice came to him then, from inside the house.

“I know you’re in here, kid. I saw you run.”

Chapter 39

Emma whipped her hand out of her pocket, feeling the cold metal of the revolver like a bee sting in her palm. She and Eddie darted from their hiding place and tore across pavement and muddy earth to the next block. Emma saw only one shot for them. Go back, deeper into the neighborhood. Things seemed quieter now. No explosions rocked the night or shook the ground beneath their feet. Emma searched the sky. The gunships were still there, circling. But they weren’t firing. At least not now. This was their one chance.

They could stay in the shadows. They could find Nagy’s cellar again. Maybe get lucky enough to find another way into the tunnels.

At the next house they pulled up beside the back stoop. Across a wide alley, gates stood open along the length of a fence. Emma shot her eyes up and down the alley, peering into every corner and shadow for any sign of soldiers. When she saw nothing but snowmelt and the pitch of night, she stepped out of hiding and ran through the mud to the first gate. She halted and turned. Eddie hadn’t moved. In the dim light she could barely make out his hand, waving her back. She cursed under her breath and looked again for movement around the area before running back to Eddie.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“I’m staying hid. The hell are you doing running around like this? Where you think we’re going to anyway?”

“The tunnels. It’s the only place we’ll be safe. Those soldiers—”

As if on cue, a man’s voice broke into the quiet around them.

“
Over here!
”

Eddie and Emma moved as one, her hand in his, across the alley, through the gate and into the yard beyond. Eddie pulled the gate closed and they stood with their backs to the fence. Emma held her breath until she heard the soldiers in the alley.

“
I heard voices.
”

“
Go left. I’ll take right.
”

Emma waited for the sound of footsteps. When none came, she turned her frightened eyes to Eddie. His eyes were rounded and just as full of fear. The soldiers had to have seen the closed gate and figured their hiding spot. Why hadn’t they kept moving, gone into the house instead of staying put. Emma feared any second a bullet would break through the fence and go into her back or Eddie’s. She twitched her head to show him she meant to make for the house. He nodded and they stepped slow as can be, placing each foot with care. Emma reached for Eddie’s hand and found his outstretched fingers. They held on, keeping their arms a taut cord between them for balance, and for the safety of each other’s touch.

They were halfway through the yard to the house when Emma heard a man cough beside the gate. Then the sound of glass on metal. What could that be? Emma heard the sound over and over in her mind as they moved up to the back stoop.

The house was one of the larger ones in the neighborhood and had seen far better days, even before the Governor’s airships attacked the neighborhood. Windows were boarded up on the ground floor. The cellar door stood open beside the back stoop, which drooped to the side like a ship listing in the mud and snowmelt below. Eddie motioned with his free hand, pointing at the cellar door. Emma nodded. They made it to the cellar steps, slow but sure through the mud. Emma heard a whispering, like a flag fluttering in a slight breeze.

A crash of glass and a gust of flame followed. Then another fluttering and Emma turned in time to see a bottle with a flaming rag stuck in it. The bottle struck the side of the house and exploded into a fireball, joining the flames licking the wood where the first firebomb had hit.

Eddie pushed Emma down the cellar steps and raced after her. They fell together, landing on the earthen floor in a tangle. Shouts and laughter followed them in from outside, but quickly dissipated as the crackling of the fire grew louder. Emma held her lover and he wrapped his arms tight around her. They stayed that way until their terror faded, listening to the fire grow above them and watching its glow frame the cellar door in angry orange.

“C’mon, Lovebird. Ain’t out of this yet. Got to be a door up into the house.”

Emma let Eddie lead her again, feeling less sure of herself after landing them in this mess. They could have stayed hidden outside somewhere. They could have run down the street instead of deeper into the neighborhood.

The sounds of shuffling feet and shouting came through the floorboards overhead. A man cursed and stomped his feet on the back stoop, yelling a litany into the night. His footsteps went back inside and followed a path to a set of stairs. Emma and Eddie listened to the man’s approach, afraid that whatever freedom had awaited them was about to vanish in a series of gunshots or worse.

Emma pulled out her gun and nearly let off a shot when the dark of the cellar was split by the glare of a lantern. The man holding the lantern froze when he saw the two intruders in his basement. He fumbled at his belt and came up with a pistol. He shouted at them both, rambling in the language Emma had heard before. This time the tongue felt sharp in her ears, like a sword thrusting and slicing.

“Nagy! Biros!” Emma shouted, dropping her gun and holding her hands out to fend off the man’s verbal assault. He stopped shouting and narrowed his eyes, examining Emma carefully. Her voice betrayed her sex, but she still wore the garments Biros and Eszti had given her. The man eyed her, then Eddie. When the lantern glowed off her lover’s dark skin, the man resumed his attack, but lower this time, and deeper. His guttural accusations echoing off Emma’s eardrums like hoofbeats through mud.

From behind the man, a girl’s voice interrupted the scene. “Papa, no.” The man stepped aside and turned to face a young woman who had come down the stairs. She wore a heavy coat and had a scarf around her hair, half-shrouding her plain face and sad eyes. She looked like any other woman Emma had seen in the neighborhood, but a deeper sadness came off of her, like a cloud begging for a chance to rain. The girl and her father exchanged angry words, the man accusing, his daughter pleading. Finally, Emma could take no more and broke in.

“We’re friends. Of Nagy and Biros. We tried to help them. To help you all, but the soldiers—”

“I don’t know from soldiers,” the man shot back, turning again to stare Emma down. She gave back as good as she got, keeping her eyes firm and fixed on him as he spoke. The man was heavy around the middle, pillowing inside his coat. His limbs stuck out of his mass like stunted branches on an old tree, and his face was a goblin’s mask, all bristling hair, thick lips, beady black eyes, and bulbous nose.

“I know my house is on fire. And my daughter tells me she knows a dark man. This dark man, who you bring to my basement when soldiers make my house to burn. So tell me, woman who looks like a man. Tell me, what do you know about this?”

“I know we were here when the soldiers came and took everyone away. I know they helped us. Biros, and his daughter, Eszti. They dressed me to look like I belong here, and they helped hide Eddie,” she said, putting a hand on her lover’s shoulder.

“Eddie,” the man said, looking at him now. “And what does Eddie know? What does Eddie know about my daughter?”

“Sir,” Eddie began. Emma heard steel on his tongue and hoped he wouldn’t go too far. “I don’t know your daughter, though I seen her plenty of times before. Maybe you don’t want to ask how she knows me, but I’ll tell you it’s because she’s been to Nagy’s speak. You can see my piece is still where it belongs, so I’d be much obliged if you could wave yours in another direction. That’s what I know.”

The man chuckled, but kept the gun level with Eddie’s navel, eyeing the butt of the pistol that stuck out above his belt.

“The damn shoemaker and his room for drinking and dancing. My girl,” the man said, turning to his daughter. “you told me you would not go there. Your friends go there, but you say you will not. Now I find you have lied to me.”

The girl’s face fell. Her father’s disappointment worse than any bullet from his gun. He put the pistol into his belt again and went to her, holding her close and whispering comfort before turning to face Emma and Eddie again.

“You say Biros helps you. I am not Biros. I am Peter. Biros is a good man. I would trust him. For now, I trust you. My house is burning. We must leave.” He handed the lantern to Eddie and motioned for him to shine its light to the left.

Peter went to the wall. The lantern illuminated a set of shelves there, and beside them a stack of crates that stood floor to ceiling. Reaching behind the crates, Peter fished out a key. He inserted it into a slot in one of the crates and twisted it, then pulled on the edge of crate. The whole stack swung out slowly, scraping the dirt floor. Eddie passed the lantern to Emma and lent his hands to the task.

The tunnel waited for them, cold and silent and so very different from the world outside. Flames crackled and roared from upstairs and the structure shifted as a floor or wall collapsed somewhere above.

“I would have my stick with me,” Peter said, looking at the steps leading into the house. His daughter moved as if to go fetch what her father wanted, but he put a hand on her arm. “No, girl. Let it be. I can find another stick.”

Emma bent down and retrieved her father’s revolver.

Peter watched her as she dropped it into her pocket. The old man’s face curled into a grim smile and he motioned for Emma to give Eddie the lantern and then for the two of them to enter the tunnel first. T

hey did and moved into the darkness, the lantern casting its glow ahead of them. Peter and his daughter stayed close behind, giving directions when they came to intersections and branches.

They moved fast, down the dark passage on a twisting course under the neighborhood. Their path crossed another tunnel that was much wider. After his first step into this new passage, Eddie stopped moving.

“There’s tracks down here. Like an old railroad.”

“Is an old railroad,” Peter said, moving past Emma and accepting the lantern from Eddie. The old man shined the light on four sets of tracks in a tunnel that stretched out in front of them and away into darkness on either side. The ceiling was higher, too, at least twice that of the passage they’d followed to this point.

“Is from old city,” the daughter said.

“Where do they go?” Emma asked.

“To where it is safe,” Peter said and moved down the tracks, waving for the others to follow.