Jeff Jacobson - Sleep Tight

Before Tommy knew what was even happening, one of the infected was already on his knees, crawling under the stage to reach Grace. She screamed even louder. The infected, a middle-aged man in a suit, stretched out and clawed at the girl. Bugs flitted across his face, wiggling in and out of his ears and collar. They covered his back and spilled out of his shoes.

Tommy scrabbled back across the stage, realizing that he wouldn’t make it in time.

Suddenly, Qween was there, grabbing the man’s ankles and dragging him away. She pulled him across the pavement, dropped his legs, and tried to catch her breath as he howled at her and rolled over. She kicked him in the head, avoiding the bugs that spilled off of him.

But she wasn’t fast enough to avoid the bug that latched onto the back of her hand. And by the time she spotted it in the flickering light from the flames across the plaza, it was too late. The thing had already driven its proboscis into her skin and was drinking her blood when she smashed it with her thumb. She flicked it into the street.

She tucked the thoughts and panic away and let her eyes go soft. She knelt and peered under the stage at Grace. “Now, now, baby girl, don’t fret none. Miss Qween is here, and nothin’s gonna hurt you.”

Tommy rolled off the stage and met Qween’s eyes. “Thank you.”

Qween waved it away. “Hush.”

Ed stepped close, assault rifle tight in his fists. “Didn’t want to use the rifle,” he whispered. “Too many—”

His words were drowned out by the roar of one of the Apaches as it came in low, driving a turbulent wind down Clark. It blasted them with the searchlight, and as Ed spun and looked back across the plaza, he could see every infected’s head swivel and lock onto the light, as if it was a beacon where they could find relief and exorcise the crippling rage that scurried through their minds.

Ed fired up at the light, superior firepower be damned. The rifle spit empty shells across the stage and his crouching companions as he followed the light. “Run,” he yelled, and fired again.

Tommy and Qween scrambled to their feet and ran to City Hall. Tommy had Grace on his hip again and carried the two square packets with his other hand. Ed followed, firing blindly over his shoulder. They pushed through the spinning doors and stumbled up the dark hallway.

Tommy and Qween stopped to rest, but Ed pushed them along. “No, no. Run! Run!”

Behind them, the doors exploded. The moratorium against killing Tommy was over, and the Apaches were itching to unleash a barrage of Hellfire missiles. The building shook as more missiles streaked down and transformed the east side of City Hall into smoking rubble.

Ed, Qween, and Tommy ran until they stood in the nexus of the four hallways, smack in the dead center of the building. Even before the smoke had cleared down the east hallway, they could hear the infected throwing themselves against the wreckage of the door, clawing their way through the chunks of concrete and the mangled remains of the spinning door.

More explosions.

Ed said, “They’re gonna bring this whole building down around us if we don’t figure out something fast.”

Qween said, “Let’s sneak out down there.” She nodded at the south hallway. “Gotta be a truck or something, something that still has the keys inside, like Sam’s bus. Fuck it. Drive that sucker to the lake.”

Ed shook his head. “They’ve got infrared. Doesn’t matter how dark it is out there. We wouldn’t make it five feet.”

“I got an idea. But it won’t work for all of us.” Tommy looked from Ed to Qween. “We go deep, into the tunnels,” he said. “That was my idea from the beginning. That’s why I grabbed these.” He held up one of the packets and opened it. A hazmat suit, complete with a helmet and air filter, had been vacuum sealed inside. “These will keep the bugs out. But I’ve only got two.”

Ed fingered the tears in his own hazmat suit. “Hell, we need four. Them bugs’ll crawl right inside.” He shook his head. “Maybe we can go a short distance. I can try and keep ’em off.”

“That’s how we gonna get out of here,” Qween said. “We’ll go down into the subway and come up on the other side of the street.”

“We don’t have enough suits,” Tommy said.

Qween gave a tired smile. “It’s okay. I ain’t fitting in one a’ them things anyhow.” She held up her hand and the look on her face was enough to tell them that she was already bitten.

“We’ll split up then,” Ed said. “Me and Qween will take the subway and come out across the street. If they don’t see us, then I’ll call Arturo soon as we get a chance. If they spot us, we’ll draw them off you.”

Tommy shook his head. “Won’t matter. I’m going deep. Gonna head down, go under the river, come up into the storm drains on the other side.”

Ed thought a moment and nodded. “Fair enough. But don’t waste time. I got a feeling that sonofabitch ain’t gonna be satisfied by just watching those choppers shoot the shit out of City Hall. I bet he’s got something else up his sleeve.”

Tommy unfurled one of the hazmat suits and climbed inside. Ed and Qween helped Grace climb into hers. It was huge on her; her arms and legs barely reached the elbows and knees of the suit. “Doesn’t matter,” Tommy said. “Seal her in. Got an idea.”

Once his own suit was completely sealed, he leaned over Grace and said, “Okay, little girl. Ready to go for a ride? Pull your arms and legs in and sit Indian style, okay?” Grace did. Tommy took the empty arms of her suit and lifted her onto his back, pulling the left arm over his shoulder and the right arm under his right armpit. Ed saw where he was going and tied the arms together across his chest, then pulled the empty legs around Tommy’s hips and tied them.

“Good luck,” Ed said.

As the Apaches continued to fire missiles into the building, the group descended into the darkness under Chicago.

CHAPTER 77

10:31 PM

August 14

Dr. Reischtal’s phone lay faceup on the table. The trucks had been synced. The voice recognition software had confirmed Dr. Reischtal’s identity. The system was armed and ready for the signal. On his phone, the green SEND button blinked patiently.

He’d been waiting, hoping to see some sign, something, someone trying to escape from the wreckage of City Hall. The Apaches had fired over thirty Hellfire missiles into the doorway and first-floor windows, but the building still stood, a testimonial to the strength and tenacity of the stone structure.

One of the Apache pilots’ voices crackled over the radio. “Still no sign, sir. Should we expand the sweep?”

Dr. Reischtal slumped back and didn’t bother to answer. While his sense of professional responsibility had been bruised, as well as his pride if he was honest, he told himself it mattered little. One tiny signal, and it would be all over.

“Sir? Do you copy?”

Dr. Reischtal shut the radio off.

He looked at his phone.

Yes, the toll had been devastating. The ancient one had almost succeeded with infecting the world and bringing with it a new age of darkness. But with God’s grace, Dr. Reischtal was about to choke the life out of the evil, and send it back to hell by burning Chicago off the map.

He picked up his phone.

The door to the chamber on the other side of the plastic slammed open and Dr. Reischtal watched as the black detective and the homeless woman stared back at him.

“It’s over,” the detective said.

Dr. Reischtal agreed with him. Nodding, he hit SEND. “Yes. Now it is over.”

Tommy found a discarded flamethrower and used the blue pilot light to find his way through the darkness. He had only encountered a few of the infected, and these were too sick to move much. They flinched and turned away from the light, forcing themselves tighter into cracks and under ledges.