The 1000 Souls (Book 1): Apocalypse Revolution by Michael Andre McPherson Page A

face and his eyes that demanded unflinching attention.
    His clothes were modern and black—not the garish apparel of many of the dancers—and they spoke of modesty and practicality. His cloak, however, was a total anachronism from the dark ages, a garment for drafty dwellings and bitter winters, with a hood hanging back that could be pulled up against the wind. His mustache also didn't fit the scene, a huge and rich handlebar, elaborately curled and waxed. Gaunt cheeks weathered by sun and wind framed his face, but his green eyes captivated Bertrand's attention. The man's left eye twitched involuntarily as he regarded them.
    "Thank you, Nicholas," said the man, his accent rich, more French than anything else, but not quite. Was there a hint of Eastern Europe? "Return to your work."
    The bartender nodded and put up the shotgun, hurrying away, his chain trailing like a tale. That left Bertrand and Joyce alone now, and they no longer stood back-to-back but shoulder-to-shoulder facing this new threat. The man clearly terrified the crowd, and Bertrand sensed that his and Joyce's fate rested with the boss's judgment.
    "You're very brave to come in here. Did you come for pleasure or for understanding?"
    Bertrand beat Joyce to the reply. "We came for information about the Chicago Ripper. We came to find out if there is a cult of murderers." He glanced at Joyce, who nodded her agreement. Bertrand had decided to go with the truth. This was the kind of man who would sniff out a lie and be angered by it.
    "And what have you learned?"
    "That this place is full of sickos and murderers, and that I should never come here again with anything less than an army." Bertrand knew he should be afraid, but the urge to fight hadn't left him. Here was the king of enemies, even though he had made no threatening gestures. Bertrand was sure of it, and he could barely restrain himself from snatching Joyce's Taser and charging despite the odds.
    "They are disgusting, aren't they?" The man gestured at the crowd. "These men and women, they're not like you. They live for themselves and their own gratification. They would never make a sacrifice for the greater good. They would never risk their miserable lives." He pointed a gloved finger at Bertrand. "Not like you."
    "But you're their boss." Joyce pointed the Taser in the man's direction.
    "In my country I was always a man of God. I would have executed people like this just for their lewd attire, let alone their lascivious behaviors. But I must work with what I can to do God's work, and I doubt you are the kind of man who would be seduced by the rewards that have ensnared them."
    Bertrand decided this wasn't the time to point out the man's chauvinism. Joyce was there too.
    "God's work doesn't involve murder," Bertrand said instead.
    "The life of Noah would tell us otherwise. Sometimes a scourge is required to cleanse the world of evil. It is time for you to go."
    The man pointed at the woman, the dancer with the knife who had intended to cut open Bertrand's throat. A flick of his finger in the direction of the bar was enough command. Two big men from the entourage rushed in and grabbed her.
    "No!" she screamed. "No. I'll never do it again, I swear!"
    They dragged her, kicking and screaming, from sight.
    The boss turned away without another word and followed his men.
    "Okay, Bert. We better get out."
    The crowd had opened up a path to the stairs, an invitation Joyce accepted immediately, lowering her Taser and pulling on Bertrand's arm. At the bottom, the door was opened by the doorman, who had one hand to his walkie-talkie earpiece, nodding as he received his instructions. He looked up and delivered his message.
    "The boss says you're never to return, with an army or without."
    Bertrand nodded and they fled into the night.

Ten - Guns and Hacking
    Bertrand stood in front of the North Chicago Gun Exchange, looking up and down the street as if he feared being observed entering the store. This little retail