Jeff Jacobson - Sleep Tight

Bugs covered everything.

Sometimes they crawled over Tommy and Grace and Tommy had to stop and wipe them off his faceplate. The hazmat suits worked, and kept the bugs out. Once in a while he would turn and see how Grace was doing. He couldn’t hear her because she was too far away to use the little microphone in the air filter, but he could see her chubby fist giving him a thumbs-up in the flattened faceplate.

Tommy used his experience from working for Streets and Sans, and tried to remember everything that Don had taught him about the labyrinth of tunnels and cracks and abandoned lines under Chicago. He worked his way through the darkness, flicking the trigger on the flamethrower to make sure the tunnels were clear. In some ways, it was almost easier than if the city was up and running. Back then, they would have had to work hard to avoid the rushing trains and electrified third rail. Now, Tommy could walk straight up the center of the tracks.

He passed the signs of the battles. Huge piles of dead rats. Misty pockets of pesticides, where the dead bugs created a swamp nearly two feet deep. Bodies of soldiers. Bodies of subway passengers, caught by the rats or bugs before the evacuation. The bodies of the infected, who had crawled down into the musty gloom to escape the noise and light from above.

He untied Grace and cradled her as he slipped through a crack that took him down nearly twenty feet. This particular tunnel had not been used in years, and the tracks were covered in dust. No bodies of humans, but plenty of dead rats. And always, always, the bugs. They swarmed over Tommy and Grace, sensing heat and blood inside. Tommy moved slow, careful not to snag their suits on anything sharp.

He retied Grace on his back and studied the tunnel before him. It split in two, and Tommy’s gaze went back and forth between the two dark channels. “Goddamnit.” His metallic whisper echoed around the chamber. One of the tunnels eventually hooked up with north branch of the Blue Line at Clinton. The other dead-ended back in the massive cavern where Lee had been dumping all the illegal trash.

He couldn’t remember which tunnel was which.

The blackened railroad ties under his feet shivered, and he heard a distant, deep rumble. The cracking roar grew louder. Dust sifted off the walls and filled the air. The ground started to shake in earnest, as if Chicago was suffering an earthquake.

There was no time left.

He picked the left tunnel and started running.

When Dr. Reischtal hit SEND, they heard a growl of thunder somewhere far off on the horizon. But that was all. A few minutes later, there was a gentle rocking as the warship rode the lazy swells that had been pushed into the lake from the blast.

Ed ran his palm over the smooth, transparent plastic and ignored Dr. Reischtal. Qween clutched her bundle of rags, sat at the table, and just watched the man inside the sterile room.

Dr. Reischtal was hitting buttons, making phone calls, but no one was answering. Ed wasn’t surprised.

Earlier, they’d come up out of the subway across Clark and quietly made their way east to the lake. Ed had called Arturo. Arturo sent a police launch for them and told Ed that somebody in the upper levels of the federal government, somebody with some juice, maybe even somebody in the joint chiefs of staff wanted the mess in Chicago over. They couldn’t trust Dr. Reischtal anymore and they were more than willing to let someone else do their dirty work for them.

Whoever it was had called ahead. No one on the boat stopped them. The soldiers stood silent and still and watched as Ed helped Qween along. One soldier had escorted them down to Dr. Reischtal’s safe room, then stood aside while they went in.

Dr. Reischtal said, “I know your names. As before, I will find you. I will finish you.”

Ed didn’t say anything. He studied the bubble of plastic, feeling for any cracks, any stress fractures. He settled on the curve along the upper right corner, then hefted the fire axe he’d picked up on the way down into the bowels of the ship.

Dr. Reischtal almost laughed. “You do realize that this material is virtually indestructible. This warship could sink to the bottom of Lake Michigan and I would still be sitting comfortably inside when the divers came.”

Ed peeled his hazmat suit down to his waist, hefted the axe and swung it sideways in the cramped room, as if he was swinging for a high fastball. The blade bounced off the plastic with the sound of a boat propeller hitting a frozen pond. Ed looked like he expected nothing less. He pulled the axe back and swung again.

And again.

Dr. Reischtal said, “Even if you manage to crack it, it will take you days to create a hole large enough to fit inside. And I have no intentions of leaving. I have enough rations to last weeks, if necessary. When the authorities do show up, I will make you wish you had died back in that city.”

Ed never stopped. He kept swinging, smashing the axe blade into the same spot, over and over. After nearly half an hour, sweat was pouring off of him and he was breathing in short, whistling bursts. He swung again, and this time, it sounded slightly different.

A tiny sliver of plastic landed on the table in front of Qween. She picked it up and sleepily inspected it. She smiled. Ed stepped up the pace, swinging even harder. When the blade struck, it now sent up a flurry of plastic shards.

Before long, the blade broke through, puncturing the surface.

“Not so airtight now, are you, motherfucker?” Qween asked.

Dr. Reischtal didn’t answer. He tried his phone again, but it wouldn’t function at all.

Ed didn’t stop. He worked at the hole, created a jagged rupture nearly a foot in diameter. He stepped back, gasping, and dropped into one of the chairs. The axe clattered to the floor. Then, as if remembering something else, he picked the axe back up, walked over to the locked door that led into Dr. Reischtal’s safe room, and wedged the axe handle up under the door handle. He kicked it tight, then went back and sat down.

Qween rose with all the regal elegance her name implied, and approached the hole. She still carried her bundle. She gave Dr. Reischtal another chilling smile, untied the bundle, and pulled out a rat by the tail.

Hundreds of bugs wriggled through the coarse hair.

The rat blinked, dazed, trying to shake off the deep sleep. She gently pushed it through the uneven hole and dropped it inside the once sterile room.

As Dr. Reischtal gave a hoarse cry, she turned to Ed and leaned on the table. “I need to breathe some real air.”

He stood and took her arm. They left Dr. Reischtal scrabbling around, stomping at the bugs that were flowing off the rat. He slapped his phone down, squashing four or five at a time. But they kept coming, covering the floor. He climbed up on his chair, then to his table. All of the monitors had gone dark.

As they were leaving, Ed turned out the lights, leaving Dr. Reischtal alone with the bugs.

Dr. Reischtal still had lights, of course, but the darkness beyond the plastic bubble filled him with a horror he hadn’t felt since his parents had used to lock him in the basement closet.

For a few brief moments, he thought he might actually be able to kill all of the bugs, until he spotted one nestling into the cleft between his toes. He snaked a finger down there, squashing it. His finger came back up with just the hint of a smear of blood. It was enough.

And while he stared at the fresh blood on his index finger, more bugs swarmed his bare feet and ankles, and started up his legs. He knew it was over and knelt back down on the floor, clasped his hands in front of his chest, and closed his eyes.

If he could only see the stars.

Ed and Qween made their way to the bow, faces lit by the glow of the fires in the Loop. The skyline was so different, as if a child had come along and swept his building blocks away, leaving some stacks barely standing, dashing others to the ground.