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Book: The 1000 Souls (Book 1): Apocalypse Revolution by Michael Andre McPherson
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Authors: Michael Andre McPherson
Tags: Action & Adventure
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on it? What would the cops get for helping, well, these freaky blood drinkers you're talking about. Is this all some weird cult?"
Nolan heaved up and went over to the fridge to grab a beer for Bertrand. "I don't know what's going on, man. But I can tell you this: something is going on—something really big. And I know that you can't trust the cops, and you can't trust the government and you can't trust your neighbors."
"What can we do, though?"
Nolan passed him the beer. "We sit tight 'till morning. I don't know if they can come out in daylight and all, but all the crazy stuff so far is happening after dark. I came to get you only because I didn't want you cut right on my front doorstep. I don't go out after dark anymore. In fact, I'm not leaving this room till sun up and neither should you."
Bertrand thought about the trip back, about the chaos that was outside. Here he was safe and there was beer. He'd leave at dawn.
Eight - Night Shift
Warm sun spilled into the front hall when Nolan opened his front door, still in his bathrobe and still holding a shotgun, although it no longer pointed at Bertrand.
"I'm starting a blog about this, calling it 'My Undead Neighbor,'" Nolan said. "You should follow it, and maybe you can guest post about your neighbor. And listen, don't go out at night again, all right?"
Bertrand shook his head. "I can't promise that. They're out there at night. If we don't go out at night, how can we fight them?"
Nolan just shook his head and closed the door.
Bertrand walked through a very quiet city, the traffic very light even for early rush hour. After a quick shower and change of clothes at his house, he caught a train into town after a twenty-minute wait. There was no announcement to explain the delay, and when the train arrived there were many empty seats. How could Chicago Transit survive such a downturn in ridership?
Jeff joined him in the elevator, looking drawn and hungover. Oddly, they had the car to themselves.
"What happened to you last night," Bertrand asked as the elevator doors slid shut.
"Oh this woman could drink." Jeff hid his hands in his face for a moment and scrubbed at his cheeks as if he could massage away the hangover.
"Where'd you go?"
"Oh, just her place. She has a thing about not going out to clubs these days—likes to joke about vampire dancers hogging the floor and showing off. She keeps a well-stocked bar, though."
"Well, that makes her a cheap date, I guess."
"Yeah but I'm paying for it now. I have to quit this drinking-crap before it kills me and take up a safe hobby like sky diving."
The doors slid open on a quiet office.
"Where the heck is everyone?" Bertrand led the way out of the elevator and toward their nest of cubicles and, more importantly, the kitchen beyond.
"I don't smell coffee," said Jeff.
Whitlock was washing out the coffee pot when they turned the corner, his military bearing incongruous with his domestic task.
"Thank God. At least I still have three loyal employees." He began to fill the pot with water.
"Where the hell is everyone?" asked Bertrand.
"So far we pretty much are everyone. Only Destiny showed up for the New York shift and she doesn't drink coffee. She's out there now trying to manage calls for three. Get in the queue and give her a hand, for Christ's sake. I'll be your waitress and bring you coffee."
"Black for me." Jeff filled a large glass from the cupboard with water from the tap. He gulped it back while holding one hand against the side of his head in pain. "That'll have to do," he said before refilling the glass and heading out of the kitchen.
"Oh come on, John," said Bertrand. "Three of us can't manage the day's contact load. We've got to get somebody else in—a temp or someone."
Whitlock poured the water into the coffee maker. "I'm trying, but I'm not having much luck. This weird summer flu is affecting everything from the 'L' trains to the power stations. New York had blackout an hour ago, and they're blaming not
Nolan heaved up and went over to the fridge to grab a beer for Bertrand. "I don't know what's going on, man. But I can tell you this: something is going on—something really big. And I know that you can't trust the cops, and you can't trust the government and you can't trust your neighbors."
"What can we do, though?"
Nolan passed him the beer. "We sit tight 'till morning. I don't know if they can come out in daylight and all, but all the crazy stuff so far is happening after dark. I came to get you only because I didn't want you cut right on my front doorstep. I don't go out after dark anymore. In fact, I'm not leaving this room till sun up and neither should you."
Bertrand thought about the trip back, about the chaos that was outside. Here he was safe and there was beer. He'd leave at dawn.
Eight - Night Shift
Warm sun spilled into the front hall when Nolan opened his front door, still in his bathrobe and still holding a shotgun, although it no longer pointed at Bertrand.
"I'm starting a blog about this, calling it 'My Undead Neighbor,'" Nolan said. "You should follow it, and maybe you can guest post about your neighbor. And listen, don't go out at night again, all right?"
Bertrand shook his head. "I can't promise that. They're out there at night. If we don't go out at night, how can we fight them?"
Nolan just shook his head and closed the door.
Bertrand walked through a very quiet city, the traffic very light even for early rush hour. After a quick shower and change of clothes at his house, he caught a train into town after a twenty-minute wait. There was no announcement to explain the delay, and when the train arrived there were many empty seats. How could Chicago Transit survive such a downturn in ridership?
Jeff joined him in the elevator, looking drawn and hungover. Oddly, they had the car to themselves.
"What happened to you last night," Bertrand asked as the elevator doors slid shut.
"Oh this woman could drink." Jeff hid his hands in his face for a moment and scrubbed at his cheeks as if he could massage away the hangover.
"Where'd you go?"
"Oh, just her place. She has a thing about not going out to clubs these days—likes to joke about vampire dancers hogging the floor and showing off. She keeps a well-stocked bar, though."
"Well, that makes her a cheap date, I guess."
"Yeah but I'm paying for it now. I have to quit this drinking-crap before it kills me and take up a safe hobby like sky diving."
The doors slid open on a quiet office.
"Where the heck is everyone?" Bertrand led the way out of the elevator and toward their nest of cubicles and, more importantly, the kitchen beyond.
"I don't smell coffee," said Jeff.
Whitlock was washing out the coffee pot when they turned the corner, his military bearing incongruous with his domestic task.
"Thank God. At least I still have three loyal employees." He began to fill the pot with water.
"Where the hell is everyone?" asked Bertrand.
"So far we pretty much are everyone. Only Destiny showed up for the New York shift and she doesn't drink coffee. She's out there now trying to manage calls for three. Get in the queue and give her a hand, for Christ's sake. I'll be your waitress and bring you coffee."
"Black for me." Jeff filled a large glass from the cupboard with water from the tap. He gulped it back while holding one hand against the side of his head in pain. "That'll have to do," he said before refilling the glass and heading out of the kitchen.
"Oh come on, John," said Bertrand. "Three of us can't manage the day's contact load. We've got to get somebody else in—a temp or someone."
Whitlock poured the water into the coffee maker. "I'm trying, but I'm not having much luck. This weird summer flu is affecting everything from the 'L' trains to the power stations. New York had blackout an hour ago, and they're blaming not
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