Dead of Winter

by Lee Collins

  Running after them, Cora entered the kitchen in time to see her husband's fingers clamped around the priest's collar. Father Baez beat against the vampire with his wrinkled hands, but the creature didn't flinch. Teeth bared, the head crowned with Ben's hair lowered itself toward the old man's neck.

  Cora kicked the vampire in the ribs as hard as she could and knocked it off balance. Before it could right itself, she kicked again, the toe of her boot smashing into Ben's face. She shoved the crucifix into his undead eyes as a scream welled up inside her. The vampire recoiled from the holy symbol, cowering against the cabinets. Cora kicked it again. It hissed and snapped at her with Ben's teeth. Squeezing her eyes shut against the oncoming tears, she brought her Colt up and pulled the trigger.

  The scream exploded from her lungs. She pulled the hammer back and fired again.

  The big revolver fell from her limp hand as she collapsed to her knees, her scream breaking down into sobs. A warm hand touched her shoulder, but she shrugged it off. She struggled to her feet and staggered down the hall in a near run. Her boots stumbled at the porch steps, but she managed to keep them under her until she made it to where Our Lady stood. The mare staggered as Cora crashed into her side. She pulled herself into the saddle and gave Our Lady her heels. Her vision swam in the growing darkness, and she squinted through it to point the mare down the right road.

  The night air dried the tears from her cheeks as she rode. Cora gave Our Lady her head, unable to focus on anything aside from staying in the saddle. In her mind, she kept repeating the same desperate creed, the words falling into rhythm with the horse's hooves. She hadn't just killed her husband. She hadn't just shot him in the head. She hadn't. She hadn't.

  Our Lady soon caught wind of Ben's horse and changed her course. Her easy gallop came to rest next to the other mare, who still stood faithfully outside the abandoned house. Cora rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and dismounted. The front door of the vampire nest yawned open before her like the mouth to Hell itself. Whispering a desperate prayer, Cora plunged headlong into the darkness.

  Pale shafts of light from the windows cut through the darkness. Cora's footsteps echoed through the house as she made her way to the basement entrance. Pausing at the door, she took a deep breath, staring down into the absolute blackness. In the shadows, she thought she saw Ben's dead eyes staring back at her. His pale face floated like a phantom in the darkness, his mouth still curled in a savage, animal snarl.

  She shook her head to clear the image, her hand reaching for her revolver. Only when her fingers closed on air did she remember that she left it lying on the kitchen floor of the farmhouse. She pulled out her rosary instead, her knuckles white around the wooden beads. At the same time, her other hand pulled the silver dagger from its soft leather sheath. Another breath left her lungs as a prayer, and she began her descent.

  The darkness closed in around her, forcing her to take one step at a time. Holding the rosary in front of her, she felt her way forward. Her fingers touched cold earth at the bottom of the stairs. She turned to her right and took a cautious step forward. Meeting no resistance, she took another. The air beneath the house was cold and stale, and the scent of death seemed to seep from the walls. Her eyes strained against the absolute blackness. Swaths of color flowed across her vision like gleeful phantoms.

  In the stillness of the basement, the memories of the farmhouse wrapped around her mind with crushing black fingers: the hideous hissing of Ben's breath through his teeth, the inhuman hunger in his eyes, the gray shade of his face. That wasn't really him, she told herself. Her mind had been playing tricks on her. Ben wouldn't have threatened her like that, even if he had been turned. His gentle soul would have prevailed over the vampiric curse. No, Ben had to be down here somewhere, hiding with the other survivor.

  Her foot struck a metal object, sending it skittering across the floor. She followed the sound, patting the ground with each step until she felt something beneath her boot. She knelt down and reached forward, the rosary dangling from her wrist. Her fingers closed around a cold piece of metal. A sword hilt. Sheathing her dagger, she picked it up in both hands, feeling the length of the blade with her fingers. It was Ben's saber.

  "So that's where I dropped that."

  A small scream escaped her lips as she whirled around in the darkness, holding the saber out in front of her. Without thinking, she began backing toward where she remembered the stairs to be.

  "Where are you going?" the voice asked, and she paused. When it spoke this time, she heard it more clearly.

  "Ben?" she asked. "Ben, is that you?"

  "Sure is," the voice replied. "Can't you tell?"

  "Where are you? I can't see you." Cora felt a shock of excitement run through her like a gunshot. "Why are you still here?"

  "I was waiting for you, darlin'."

  Cora allowed herself a short laugh. "Well, no point in waiting, then. Let's find us some matches and kerosene and send this place to hell along with any of them bloodsuckers that might still be around."

  Without waiting for his answer, she turned and began walking toward the faint hint of moonlight shining in the darkness. Her spurs jingled in the still air of this house of death, singing out her relief. She hadn't shot her husband. Just as she'd thought, he had been in hiding, waiting for her to kill the rest of the vampires and come rescue him.

  At the bottom of the stairs, she turned and looked behind her. "You coming?"

  Ben made no reply. She strained her eyes in the dim light, hoping to see his face emerge from the shadows. It never came.

  "Hey!" she called. "You still there?"

  Something rustled in the darkness. Leaning forward, she searched for his face, a faint smile coming to her lips. A heartbeat later, a dark shape flew out of the shadows. It struck her in the temple, knocking her into the dirt wall. Stunned, she made a feeble attempt to pull herself up, but before she could get her boots under her, another blow rained down on her skull. Darkness flooded her mind, and she remembered nothing more.

  Cora lifted her head from the priest's shoulder. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying. She took a deep breath, drawing fresh air into her lungs. Looking at Father Baez, she offered a sheepish smile.

  "I'm so sorry, Cora," he said. "I know the memories are painful."

  She shook her head, confused. "I don't get it, Father. I could have sworn Ben was with me all these years. Why, I saw him just yesterday, and he seemed as real as you do now."

  "I wish I could explain it," Father Baez said.

  "But I saw him that night, too," Cora said. "Or I heard him, anyway. He was in the basement of that house."

  Father Baez shook his head. "I'm sorry, my dear. I examined the body in the farmer's kitchen, and it was your husband. I'm sure of it."

  Another sob shuddered through her body as she nodded. Wrapping her arms around herself, she sat for a few minutes in silence, thinking about the memories she had just regained. She didn't want to believe them, but she couldn't deny the truth. Father Baez would not lie to her, and her memories fit with what Fodor Glava had said.

  "I still don't get one thing," she said. "If what I remember now is the way it happened, how did I get out of that house alive? I remember getting hit over the head, and I must have blacked out."

  A glimmer crept into the priest's dark eyes. "I followed you to the house that night," he said.

  "What?" Cora asked. "What about that family?"

  "I decided they would be safe," Father Baez said. "You had killed the vampires, and I figured any that remained would follow you. I prepared a lantern, tucked my crucifix into my belt, borrowed one of their horses, and set out for the nest."

  "Did you see what hit me?"

  The priest nodded. "When I arrived at the house, I heard you speaking to someone in the basement. It took me a few moments to find the right door, but when I did, I saw a figure crouching at the bottom of the stairs. I called out, and the man turned and looked at me. I'll never forget his face." />
  The priest paused, taking a deep breath. "He looked like any other man, even handsome, but his eyes were aflame with an unholy presence. They shone like gold medallions as he grinned at me. Without waiting for him to speak, I raised my crucifix and began quoting scripture. The man flinched, baring his teeth at me before running back into the shadows. When he did, I made my way down the stairs and found you lying on the floor, bleeding from your head."

  "How did you carry me out?" Cora asked. "You ain't exactly built like a bull."

  "I was a good deal younger then," the priest said, shrugging. "I crushed a garlic clove and spread it on the ground to keep the vampire from returning, then I dragged you back up the stairs and outside."

  "And the vampire didn't follow you?"

  "If he did, I didn't see him," Father Baez said.

  Without warning, a fresh wave of sorrow washed over Cora. She lowered her head, but no more tears came. In their place, a dull ache spread behind her eyes. She wanted to curl up on the pew next to the priest and never move again. Everything was wrong. Her Ben was dead, and she was the one that killed him. She had pointed her gun in his face and pulled the trigger. It didn't matter that he was a vampire. Maybe she could have saved him somehow, but she didn't even try. She just shot him like a dog, snuffing out his life forever.

  She couldn't take this. Standing to her feet, she began making her way back up the aisle.

  "Where are you going, Cora?" Father Baez asked, rising from the pew.

  "I got to find me a bottle," Cora said. "Ain't no way I can handle this on my own."

  "Whiskey won't help, my dear," Father Baez said. "Please, stay with me and mourn your husband with dignity and grace." He tried to get in front of her, but she was walking too fast. "I will take you to his grave, and you can honor his memory there."

  "I ain't fit to honor his memory," Cora said. "Not when I'm the one that shot him."

  "He was already dead, Cora," Father Baez said. "You were purging the demon from his flesh so he could rest in peace. You saved him from the damnation of a false immortality."

  "Ain't never saved nobody by shooting them in the face, Father." She reached the door and turned to look at him with empty, bloodshot eyes. "You should have left me there to die with him."

  Before the priest could reply, Cora pulled open the door and stepped into the cold afternoon sunlight. Father Baez watched her disappear into the traffic on the street, sorrow filling his heart.

  "Blessed Mary, bring thy comfort to Cora," he said. "Blessed Son, be Thou her strength and her light. Guide her back to Your way." He pulled the door closed.

  EIGHTEEN

  Wash Jones stood in front of the Pioneer saloon, his blue eyes glowing in the evening light. He watched the miners, the businessmen, and the whores shuffle through the saloon's door, feeling the warmth of their blood in his teeth. Each one glowed with a new vitality that his mortal eyes had never seen. Better yet, that vitality existed for the one reason of satisfying his hunger.

  Even as he stood exposed to the winter night of a mountain town, Wash felt no cold. The freezing air felt as comfortable as a firelit room had in his previous life. Ever since Fodor Glava had awakened him to his eternal life, his true life, Wash had never stopped marveling at the new power and perceptions coursing through his body. His eyes pierced the deepest shadows, and his arms could easily heft a horse and throw it across the street. He truly possessed the power of a god, and he loved every second of it.

  Wash felt a presence lingering near him. Turning his head, he saw a young whore leaning against a hitching rail, watching him. Her face was plain and her figure bony, but Wash no longer lusted after such things. The blood in her veins flowed hot and sweet.

  "You look awful lonely out here," she said.

  "Care to relieve me of that?" he asked with a grin, his fingers twitching.

  She smiled and took his arm, and he led her into the saloon. Patrons filled the room, laughing, drinking, and arguing over cards. Somewhere in the room, the piano tinkled away at a melody, its notes lost beneath the din. Wash stood in the doorway for a moment, taking in the sounds of life, and his grin widened. Glava had promised him that they would soon rule this town as kings, dictating who would live and who would die to feed their hunger. Mere humans, so weak and ignorant, served no other purpose to him now.

  His whore tugged at his arm, urging him toward the stairs. The heat from her body drove him mad with desire. Watching her slim figure ahead of him, he trembled with anticipation at the thought of his first kill. Glava had taken him to feed the night before, but this would be his first time alone with his victim. The elder vampire had also told him of how the bodies of his victims would rise again to serve him, an unquestioning army to eliminate his enemies and bring him fresh meals. Skinny though she was, the whore would make a fine slave, the first of many.

  She led him into an empty bedroom, and he closed the door behind them. The bed was unmade and the sheets dirty, but he didn't mind. They wouldn't be in use for long.

  The whore turned to him. "So, you got your money?"

  "Let me see what I'm buying first," Wash said.

  "Fair enough," she said, her pale arms reaching down and pulling her dress up over her head. Her cotton undergarments were stained from many months of use. They fell to her mid-thigh, leaving her knees and lower legs exposed. Holding her hands out, she gave a quick turn, allowing him to get a good look at her. "Well?"

  Wash didn't reply as his hands fished around in his pocket, jingling the coins inside. His eyes burned with desire. She noticed, and a grin spread across her face. Slipping her shift off of one shoulder, she approached him, swinging her slim hips.

  With a cry of desire, he rushed at her, pushing her backward onto the bed. His hand clamped down on her mouth to stifle her scream. He savored the feeling of her warm body squirming beneath him for a moment. She was fighting with all of her strength, but it took little effort to keep her pinned. He grinned at her, baring his fangs, and watched terror fill her eyes. Her screams emerged as pitiful squeaks from beneath his hand, and he laughed.

  Then the hunger overtook him, and he sank his teeth into her neck. The taste of his first kill flooded his mouth, filling every fiber of his being with pleasure. Her vitality flowed into him, and he could feel his body being reborn, tingling with sweetness and warmth. The whore's final breath ebbed out over his fingers, and still he drank.

  When her body had given up the last of her blood, Wash stood to his feet. He ran his tongue along his mouth, collecting the stray drops that lingered on his lips. He grinned. This new life was going to be perfect. He could kill whoever he wanted, turn them into his slaves, and bring himself to the heights of delight whenever he wished. He looked down at the whore's body. She was but the first of many, and it was time to add to that count.

  "I am glad to see you have no reservations about killing."

  Wash turned to see Glava's golden eyes gleaming at him from the shadows. "I didn't in life, and I ain't got no reason to change now." He offered his sire a bloody grin. "Hell, if I'd known that being undead was such a thrill, I'd have found one of you vampires to make me into one a long time ago."

  "You would not be what you are now," Glava said. "Your fate would be like hers."

  Wash looked at the corpse on the bed. "So why am I different now?"

  "Because my needs are different," Glava said. "This town is overflowing with degenerates and hedonists of every trade, each looking for quick riches, quick pleasures, and quick thrills. They are easy to tempt and easy to trick, so I have all the necessary ingredients to build myself an army."

  "Sweet, ain't it?" Wash said. "Why, the two of us will be unstoppable. Them damn lawmen ain't got what it takes to bring us down now."

  "I did not turn you so you might have your petty vengeance," Glava said. "You are what you are because I have need of another nosferatu at my side if I am to defeat the hunter."

  "The hunter? Who's that?"

  Glava's eyes burned wi
th hatred. "Cora Oglesby."

  "That's right," Wash said. "I owe her one, too. What was it she did to you?"

  "She destroyed my fledgling army ten years ago," Glava said, "and with it my most promising acolyte."

  "Your what, now?"

  "My apprentice," Glava said. "Had she not killed his mortal form, he would be the one at my right hand, not you."

  "Guess that's good for me, then," Wash said. "Who was he?"

  "Her very own husband," Glava said. "I took a calculated risk when I should not have. Years ago, she and her husband hunted our kind together. The two of them separated in my nest, and I saw my chance. Assuming the guise of the family's late butler, I lured him to me and fed on his lifeblood. He rose again a short while later."

  Glava's gaze took on a distant look. "I should have made him nosferatu then, but I felt it would have been too hasty. The honor of a vampiric rebirth does not always appeal to some when their souls are first restored, and so it would have been with Benjamin Oglesby. He was a religious man, wholly dedicated to his self-righteous cause of hunting our kind. Had I restored his soul to him that night, he might have attempted to rejoin his wife, or even destroyed himself out of loathing.