The 1000 Souls (Book 1): Apocalypse Revolution Read Online Free Page A

Gonsalves nodded. "I know what you mean. I've had those superhero moments myself in the last couple of weeks. Listen, between you and me, things are getting strange." He glanced at his partner again before he leaned in close to Bertrand. "Any other day we'd be bringing detectives in to speak to you. But they're all out on the Ripper case—top priority. And it's not just Chicago that's got this asshole. There are Ripper copycats in other cities, even up in Canada and over in Europe. There's talk that maybe there's a cult, a worldwide devil-worshipping cult. Buy a gun. Get an alarm system. We can't protect you anymore."
    Gonsalves hurried around to the driver's side, giving Bertrand a last glance over the flashing lights before he got into the car. It was an embarrassed look, or maybe guilt. He certainly wasn't behaving with the detached professionalism that Bertrand had expected.
    He watched the car speed away with a short squawk of its siren. Where were they rushing off to now? Another nuisance call? He went inside to finally retrieve the Lean Cuisine from the microwave. The pitcher of filtered water in the fridge sat beside a cold can of Milwaukee. Bertrand intended to reach for the water, but his fingers closed around the beer. He popped it open just a little too easily as he headed for the living room, sat down in his La-Z-Boy and flicked on the TV.
    "It's confirmed, Colin." The breathless blonde reporter spoke to a grave cable-TV news anchor via split screen. "This is already the third murder tonight, making this the ninth victim of the Chicago Ripper." Behind her, a stretcher with a white sheet covering a recumbent human form wheeled past, bound for a waiting ambulance. The scene was a confusion of flashing lights, police and firefighters tramping about the front lawn of a suburban house, and a crowd of curious onlookers held back at a safe distance.
    "So it would seem his need to kill is growing exponentially." Colin—the mature anchor with hair that looked younger than his cheeks—said exponentially with just a hint of pride, as if he'd just mastered the word.
    "Note to self," said Bertrand to the room as the photos of previous victims were splashed across the screen, people of all races and ages. "Tomorrow, buy a gun."

Three - Day Shift
    For the first time all year, Bertrand didn't have to stand on the 'L' train as it rocked along its elevated path into downtown Chicago. Usually the suburbanites had claimed all the seats by the time the train arrived at Armitage, not that Bertrand cared, because he lived only four stops from the Loop. This morning he not only had a seat, but the one next to him was empty as well. He had never worked down town through a summer before, so he assumed that many of his fellow commuters had fled the city heat for a week, taking their kids to cabins by cool lakes.
    Still, as he hurried down the steps, Bertrand did think it odd that the whole city seemed quieter than usual. Not that the noise of the train scrapping onward above his head on its way around the Loop was any quieter, but the bustle of traffic, both car and pedestrian, was subdued today, as if marking a day of mourning.
    Bertrand hurried over to Lasalle, walking quickly because he'd slept late. If he skipped his coffee, he could be at his desk before Whitlock made his grumpy morning rounds of the cubicles. Bertrand reached the building on Monroe—a white monolith emanating solidity and permanence, towering over the corner—and joined a few stragglers heading for the elevators. Again, he was surprised that he didn't have to squeeze on board. If only things could be this spacious in the winter, when everyone packed into the metal boxes with heavy coats and colds and flu.
    Any hope of avoiding Whitlock vanished as the gleaming elevator doors slide open. The man stood there as if waiting for Bertrand, checking the watch on his thick wrist, his normally tanned complexion a little redder than usual—a sure sign of stress. His