“I know the feeling,” I said, frowning. “I thought they’d sent in the National Guard to keep the law.”
“The Guard is mostly handling all the people who got out of Chicago,” he said. “Suburbs are full of tent camps and portable toilets. We’ve got soldiers around the Gold Coast, the city’s landmarks, and such. They bring food into the stadiums where more people are staying. But the law ain’t coming back anytime soon to eighty percent of the city.”
“Can’t you get more Guard brought in?”
Stallings snorted. He walked me a little way from the uniformed officers, out of easy earshot. “Look. The governor is the one in charge of that. And he’s assuring everyone that everything is under control.”
“Oh,” I said. “Politics.”
Stallings looked exhausted and furious. “Yeah. News is covering the concerts they’re having out in the suburbs, for Chrissake. But they don’t let camera crews into town. And there’s a reason there ain’t no cell service or internet back yet.”
“Can’t hear all the gunfire over concerts. Hear no evil, see no evil,” I said. “People don’t get out and talk?”
“Gets chalked up to heebie-jeebies,” Stallings said. “Nerve toxin causing hallucinations and paranoia, gotta be sympathetic for such folks, offer them care, keep them safe from self-harm, that kind of bullshit. People learned to keep their mouths shut and be glad they ain’t in town anymore.”
I burned with shame for my city. For the people still suffering. I felt furious at myself for my weakness. For my inability to do something. And I felt tired, tired of all of it, of the struggle, of the pain, of the suffering.
I wanted to go somewhere dark and cold and wait it out.
But I couldn’t do that.
“How can I help?” I asked.
Stallings just looked at me for a second. He closed his eyes briefly. Then he took a breath and opened them again. “There’s things on the street at night, making people disappear. Looked into it. We’re talking maybe a thousand victims in the last month that we know about. Mostly the very old and the very young.”
“Ghouls,” I spat quietly. “There’s always been a few. But all this death and chaos have drawn them like flies.”
Special Investigations, in normal times, had the job of explaining away supernatural weirdness. Stallings and the other men and women on the team knew about ghouls and other common threats from the preternatural side of the street.
“Well,” he said, glancing back at the uniformed officers and lowering his voice, “there’s too many of them for SI to handle alone. And if you try explaining what’s really going on to regular cops, you get suspended and sent for a heebie-jeebies evaluation. They don’t let you come back until you’ve ‘stopped hallucinating.’ ”
“Tell them it’s a cult on PCP and HBGB,” I said. “That they watched too many monster movies and became what they feared in order to escape it, yada yada.”
“That ain’t gonna keep uniforms from getting torn to pieces,” Stallings said seriously.
“That’s the PCP angle,” I said. “Tell them they need to carry shotguns loaded with slugs. That nothing short of that will stop them.”
“Christ,” Stallings muttered. “Ghouls are tough.”
“Get tougher,” I said quietly. “I don’t see much choice.”
“Don’t know if that’s going to fly with city hall.” Stallings sighed. “Governor’s got them by the balls.” His voice was too flat and tired to be called “pleading.” “I had hoped you could do something.”
“I’m just one guy,” I said.
“Bullshit,” Stallings said.
I exhaled slowly. Then I said, “When’s the last time you had a hot meal?”
“What’s a meal?” Stallings said.
I nodded. “Bear,” I called.
The Valkyrie walked over to me.
“These men need some hot food. Ask the ladies in the kitchen to help?”
Bear nodded affably, smiled down at Stallings, and lumbered out.
