Chapter 2 - Beginnings

In the dingy and dirty little space that would be generous to described as a room, Marc Walters opened his eyes and let out a groan. He twisted back in forth on a beaten and worn twin mattress making up his bed in an effort to get comfortable. He could tell he'd been asleep for far too long from the crick in his neck. Rolling on to his side he made a quick glance at his watch. The battered old watch showed the time to be after eleven AM. Not bad considering they had made it back from the raid just after four in the morning. He considered the possibility of going back to sleep and trying for noon, but his stomach wasn't cooperating. A loud gurgle came from his body's midsection and Marc gave up the fight to go back to sleep.

Rolling off his bed, Marc stumbled through his makeshift bedroom. He picked up a pair of trousers and gave the clothes a tentative sniff. He recoiled almost immediately from their smell and dropped them in a heap. Going through a pile of clothing, he managed to assemble an outfit that would not be completely repulsive by its odor. Laundry was going to have to be done sooner than later. Marc briefly wondered who he might con into doing his wash. Paul…Yes, he was pretty sure the man owed Marc a favor or two.

Rolling his shoulders Marc worked to remove the last traces of the discomfort in his neck. He laughed to himself, his moment of good humor brought on by his pain. It could be far worse. He could have a little silver alien in his neck which attached to the back of his brain instead of a tight muscle. Of course, no one seemed to be in pain when the little aliens, who called themselves Souls, were inserted. Marc had seen it done more than a few time. Also came close to having it happen to him. Whether it was painful or not, the idea of the insertion was terrifying to Marc. Once inserted the alien Soul would take complete control of the body and mind. The parasite would know everything the person knew, every little secret. It was why the Souls had so successfully conquered the planet.

Grabbing a few toiletries he opened the door from his makeshift bedroom and stuck his head out to examine the tunnel. The old brick and mortar passageway was well lit with a series of electric lamps strung at regular intervals. A quick scan of the hallway showed it to be empty and Marc was out the door and down the passageway taking wide strides. If he were lucky he could avoid running into Mary-Margret. Making his way down the tunnel he came to a small alcove with a ladder leading down into shadows.

With expert ease, Marc jumped onto the ladder and then hooking his feet to the side rails of the ladder he slid into the gloom. His short ride led him into a new tunnel beneath the main. Here there were fewer lights and the sound of running water filled the hole with a continuous echoing babble of noise. Walking slower in the dim light, Marc made his way into low ceiling chamber. The room was subdivided into multiple stalls by a mismatch of different colored shower curtains. On one side of the room ran a large pipeline labeled 'City Water.' Tapping into this tube was a chaotic network of pipes running to each stall, ready to provide a steady stream of water. Their little community's bathroom area left a lot to be desired, but at least it had clean running water.

Stepping into one of the alcoves, Marc quickly stripped off his clothing. He toyed with the old valve that control the flow of water from the spigot above his head. It groaned in protest and the entire network of tubes shook as water pressure shifted in the plumbing. The air was cold and damp in the room, and Marc fought his body from shivering as he waited. Without warning, a sudden downpour came from the shower head.

"Ahhhhggg…." Came the cry from Marc's throat. The water was freezing.

The stocky head of Jason Millan popped up from several stalls down. He grinned at Marc's tall form as the man thrashed about, vainly trying to get used to the icy water. "It's running extra cold today."

Jabbing a finger at the cluttered network of pipes, Marc sputtered out, "I thought we were putting a heating coil into that mess to warm the water?"

"Yeah, as soon as we figure out how to do it and not electrocute ourselves," came Jason's reply as he washed his face in a trickle of water from his tap.

Marc's only response was a tired grumble. Giving up trying to make himself tolerate the water, he instead took to quickly jumping in and out of the freezing spray as he washed various parts of his body. Dirt and grime from last night's activities washed away and pooled around the floor's single drainage grate. The water was slowly draining away, to be channeled through makeshift pipes till it reached a nearby sewage tunnel. When done, Marc quickly toweled himself off and redressed in an effort to warm his chilled body.

Joining Jason above the grate, Marc began to brush his teeth. The shorter man ran a brush missing half its bristles through his short, thick black hair. Regarding his crumbling hairbrush that didn't do a very reliable job with his hair, Jason asked, "You think the next time you're topside you can get me a new comb?"

"Prone thwang app a thime," answered Marc, his mouth full of toothpaste.

Jason had been friends with Marc for many years and easily understood the man's distorted words. Sarcastically he responded, "What else you got to do?"

Spitting away the foamy toothpaste down the drain Marc rinsed his mouth out before answering. "Funny guy. Why don't ask Mia to get you one? She's good a scrounging things up."

Jason's nose wrinkled at the thought. "I hate to think where she gets half the stuff she finds."

Marc shrugged, "It's either Mia's mystery collection or wait till I have time to swipe some miscellaneous bathroom supplies."

Deciding to get to the point, Jason asked, "So how are we doing on the food front?"

His arms out in a 'What can I say,' expression Marc said, "I'm working on it."

"You talk to the Nun?" queried Jason.

Marc made a weary sound at the question. "I'm doing my best to avoid her until I have a plan."

Jason snorted at Marc's answer. "You? Plans? God, we're doomed."

Having taken enough abuse from his friend, Marc left down the dimly lit tunnel with a small grumble. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Jason." Making his way back from the community's shared bathroom to the ladder leading to the main tunnel, Marc peeked above to make sure there was no one around. Quickly ascending the ladder Marc turned to head back to his room when he nearly ran right into Sister Mary-Margret.

Marc bit his tongue to stop himself from cursing out loud in surprise. Mary-Margret didn't react well to foul language and even in her old age she was quick to whack you across your hand if she caught you. Even Dell and his mouth treaded carefully when around the Nun. With her stooped posture, many would consider her frail and feeble, but she still could move lightning fast. Her small size let her sneak up on Marc, something few people could claim to do. He tried a small smile, but she was not having any of it.

"About time you got up, nearly noon, everyone else is long up and about their chores," said the elderly gray haired nun as she eyed Marc speculatively.

"I know, I know," said Marc trying to soothe her. "We were out late last night, you know, raiding and all."

"And?"

Marc sighed. She wasn't going to let him off easy today. "Not much," he admitted weakly under the Nun's intense gaze, "just some Seeker equipment and weapons."

With a soft sigh, Mary-Margret asked, "Marc, what about the food?"

It wasn't a question nor was it an accusation, but just the Sister's way of guiding the conversation. Marc had long ago given up trying to argue with her when she started with her non-questions. In principle, he was their leader but even with just thirty humans in their little underground society Marc relied on Mary-Margret's ability to help unify their numbers and keep some of his hotheads in line. So he was going to have to give her a meaningful answer.

"Okay, look," began Marc as he pulled himself together to give a cohesive response. "I know food supplies are starting to run low. But last night was a setup. The Seekers were trying to set a trap." Here Marc couldn't help but let his a grin form on his face. "So I changed their plans up a bit."

The wrinkles on Mary-Margret's face twisted in displeasure. "You should have just ignored their trap," she scolded Marc.

Marc felt his grin slink away and scowl replace it. "Oh, come on, they've had it coming. Let's not forget we're running low on supplies because of the Seekers."

Mary-Margret leaned in and shook her head sadly, "Marc, this fighting with the Seekers is only going to lead to trouble, escalating with them…"

"Me!" Marc shouted, interrupting her. "I'm not the one who keeps chasing us, trying to trap us, starve us, and then stick brain parasites in us."

"I know," she replied as she put her hands together in a pleading gesture, and her words grew soft. "None of us asked for this, but we need to find a way to calm the situation. We lived here for years, under their radar, co-existing without their knowledge."

Nodding Marc let some of his growing anger drain away as he recalled their last few years. The network of tunnels existing under the city of Chicago provided the members of their little family the only real defense against the horde of Souls above. Miles of water, sewage, old cable car, and freight tunnels under Chicago combined together to created a labyrinth with multitude of places to hide and allowed access to areas all over the city.

Not long after the alien Souls had conquered the city and taken over the general population, Marc, and a few others escaped into the tunnels to hide from the Seekers. Early on in the invasion there had been more than a few close calls with the ever hunting Seekers. But the pursuing Souls eventually turned their attention elsewhere, and Marc's people worked very hard at maintaining a low profile. Over the years, their numbers had slowly grown as they managed to save a few of the remaining humans on the surface.

To survive Marc and the others often had to steal food and supplies from stores and warehouses, all of which were controlled by the Souls. They had carefully perfected the practice of taking just enough to remain unnoticed. For the aliens were meticulous record keepers, even a small amount of missing goods would draw their attention. Feeding thirty people would require a considerable volume of theft, so they had taken to building hidden food caches around the city. Storing food for when times grew lean, and a raid wouldn't be possible.

It had worked well when the Seekers' attention was elsewhere. But ever since Marc's favorite Seeker Bright Moon on Fallen Snow had entered the picture, she had hunted for them relentlessly. Two weeks earlier the Seekers had located and confiscated one of their food storage sites. Since then they had to make do with other sources, and everyone was beginning to feel the pinch.

"Okay, point taken," replied Marc with a nod of his head.

Mary-Margret folder her arms and looked patiently at Marc's tall form. "So, what will you do?" Another non-question.

Marc grinned like a little boy who had just gotten caught tracking mud across a pristine clean floor and was proud of his accomplishment. "I have a plan," he announced.

The nun didn't even remotely react to his performance. She remained standing still, arms crossed, and waiting. Finally, Marc's grin broke and admitted, "Alright, I have an outline of a plan."

"You know what you need to do," chided Mary-Margret. Her expression grew serious. "She will help us."

"I know," replied Marc. Mary-Margret broke her stance and began to walk along the tunnel and Marc followed after the old woman. "But," he said with a raised index finger which he waggled in front of the Nun, "This is going to be delicate. I'll need to keep the Seekers distracted and juggling several teams on the surface. Careful planning."

"We so fortunate we have you for such planning," said Mary-Margret as they continued down the path. The old woman's voice didn't contain a trace of sarcasm, but Marc knew better. But any thoughts Marc had of a retort to the old lady's derision ended when his stomach gurgled unhappily. He needed to get something to eat.

Ahead in the tunnel there was a growing brightness, more intense than the single bulb lights in the passageway. A rising noise met both Marc's and Mary-Margret's ears as they approached the light. It was an echoing babble, not of falling water, but the noise of a congregation of people. The sounds of many conversations overlapping, arguing, laughing, and discussing. The sounds of humanity.

The tunnel sloped upwards, at first gradually and then steeply as the tunnel began to widen. Mary-Margret slowed as she made her way forward. Her old body was moving stiffly. Marc didn't offer to help her, he knew better. She would never have taken his hand if he had offered. Now at the end of the tunnel, both Marc and Mary-Margret looked into their Great Hall.

More than two stories high and over a two hundred feet long on a side, the Great Hall was their little community's crown jewel. What had once been Chicago's underground Pumping Station 13 now severed as humanity's last sanctuary in a city filled with Souls. From the ceiling hung a twisting mass of lights of every conceivable type, from clusters of small Christmas tree lights all the way up to several large flood lamps. The combined lights gave the entire hall a near daylight level of illumination. The concrete surface of the old station had mostly been covered with an assortment of rugs and carpeting to give the floor a chaotic patchwork design. Multiple tunnels exited from the chamber, off to other sleeping quarters and the hospital.

Their hall severed various purposes, one part dining room, one part gym, one part school, and almost anything else their small band of thirty humans could come up with. Right now Marc was mostly interested in a group of tables in one corner of the hall. A number of people sat at the tables, plates of steaming food before them. It was lunch time and before Marc did anything else he was going to get something to eat.

Stepping forward from the mouth of the tunnel Marc entered the massive room. He turned back to Sister Mary-Margret. "After lunch I'm going to sit down with Dell and work the details out. But I promise I'll get us food."

Her cool gray eyes held his for a long moment, but then she nodded wearily. "Alright, Marc. I will leave it to you." With a puff of breath from her short walk up the tunnel's incline, she began to walk to the section of the room which held their small school. She had not gone more than ten feet when she called over her shoulder, "Marc, if you see Mia, send her over. She skipped out on class today."

"Sure, not a problem," replied Marc absently as he made a beeline for the lunch table. Seeing that most people had already gotten their share of the food and were busy eating, Marc picked up a plate and looked over the food. On the counter there was a small pile of rolls, a half carton of butter, and a large steaming vat of…something. It smelled vaguely of boiled potatoes and bacon. Marc assumed it was one of Dell's creations and scooped a healthy portion out for himself.

At the tables sat nearly a dozen men and women. Sarah and her husband Mike sat chatting away. Sarah was at a good fifteen years younger than the middle-aged Mike. In another world, the beautiful blonde would have been far out of Mike's league. But the end of the world had away changing priorities and abolishing old societal norms. The two of them had been nearly inseparable since little Alexis was born. And judging from her swelling midsection it would not be long before they had another. Nearby sat Todd and Ross worked away at their plates of food. But Marc moved past them, spotting who he needed to next talk with.

Sitting down in front of Eric Sunders, Marc contemplated the man. Pushing nearly forty Eric sat with one hand on his laptop computer, and another one holding a fork over his plate. Not looking up from what he was doing on the PC, Eric blindly sought a boiled potato with his utensil. He made a half-successful stab on a spud and pulled it up to take a bite. Unfortunately, the vegetable slipped off the fork and plopped back down on his plate with a splat. The empty fork reached Eric's mouth, and the man paused, slightly confused at the lack of potato.

Marc shook his head in dry amusement of their resident computer hacker. "Did you get my present?"

Eric, who was back to getting his food on his silverware, looked up with a frown. "You mean that box of crap I found outside my door this morning?"

"Hey, I'll have you know that is top of the line Seeker communication gear right from one of their patrol cars," informed Marc proudly.

"Pfft," chuffed Eric as he bit down on his mushy potato. He chewed for a moment and swallowed. "That stuff isn't anything but re-purposed police gear. Nothing fancy."

"Well, if you don't want it," glowered Marc.

The older man just shrugged at Marc's irritation. "Nah, I'm sure I can use it, even if I just strip the stuff down for the wiring." He gestured with his fork towards Marc. "Now get me a hold of some real alien technology and then we're talking."

"Dream on," replied Marc as he dug into his plate of food. After getting down several chunks of tasteless mushy food, he continued. "I've hardly ever seen Souls use anything that would be called alien equipment. They almost always use our tools. About the only place that doesn't is a hospital. And I don't go to one of those unless I have too."

"Yeah, I know, they've got that crazy idea about 'experiencing the host race'. So no big changes or new technology," replied Eric with a sigh.

Marc shook his head and waved a hand around the giant room. "Ehh, if they had showed up with a bunch of super technologies we'd never have survived. Be thankful for small mercies." He paused to consider and then added, "Besides Simon's already trying to figure out how Souls' medicine works. You should talk to him."

"Blah," spat Eric, "Simon doesn't play well with others."

"Neither do you," pointed out Marc. Eric merely grunted, not arguing Marc's point. Their little family, last human survivors of Chicago, and they still could argue over petty things.

"So," Eric asked in a lowered voice as he finished his meal, "What are we doing about the food situation?"

Marc chewed on one of the rolls, it was more than a little stale. "Well, we are not down to eating rats just yet."

"I figured that," replied Eric, "But this has people worried."

With a sigh, Marc nodded slowly. "I know, but we've had a contingency plan for this for a while, just haven't wanted to pull it just yet."

"You mean Auntie," said Eric. His face twisting into a frown.

"You know she would do it for us if we asked," said Marc with a touch of defensiveness in his voice.

Eric's scowl didn't diminish. "Yeah, she would," he admitted after a moment of consideration. "But this is big. And asking a Soul for this…"

Interrupting Eric Marc stuck his finger up, pointing to the surface. His reply was terse and firm. "The number of Souls I trust up there I can count on one hand, and she is at the top of that list. She's been willing to help before. But I know this would be a lot for her to do, so I've held off till we didn't have other choices."

Eric was silent for a few moments and then let out a deep sigh. He realized they didn't have much choice. He asked, "So this is the plan? When do we start?"

Marc twisted in his seat, thinking through the steps of his plan. There would a lot of prep work that would be needed before they were ready. But first things first. "I need to run this past Dell and a few others, but hopefully we can start in a few days. We need to be real careful on this job. Speaking of Dell, where is he?"

Eric thought a second. "He's up at the duck blind."

"Perfect," said Marc getting up, "Need to stretch my legs anyway."