Horror Express

by David O'Hanlon

  Wells threw up his hands. “My guess is the same thing it was trying to accomplish when it climbed into that caveman forty-thousand years ago, Alex. The bastard’s trying to survive.”

  “We didn’t find a parasite in any of the bodies, though.” Tremblay eyed the corpses suspiciously and scooted away from them as best he could. “I don’t think I like where you’re going with this.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid you won’t.” Wells leaned on a crate. “I think it’s escaped. It could be anywhere on this train, or more pointedly, anyone on this train.”

  Jones picked up a scalpel and went to Otis’ body. “You said his eyes were glowing when he attacked you, yes?”

  Wells nodded.

  She peeled back the lid. “Human eyes don’t glow, which means that this thing might leave traces of itself in the previous host. Maybe some part of it was retained in the ocular fluid. You were seeing its memories, Jim.”

  Wells bobbled his head, weighing the options. “That seems valid. The images were… well, they were bizarre and not in any sort of order. They could have been memories, yes. There were flashes of faces and the train… then there were other things that weren’t as clear. Unrecognizable structures and colors.”

  “Older memories perhaps,” Saxton offered. “Strained or misshapen by the age of the thing or perhaps corrupt by its long stint as a snowball.”

  “Perhaps.” Wells nodded. “Miss Jones, what are you doing to that poor man now?”

  Jones held up Otis’ remaining eyeball by the optic nerve. “I have a theory, and you’re not going to like it.”

  “I rarely do.”

  “Only because my theories are always correct.” She rested the organ in her palm.

  Wells pouted. “They are.”

  “If the parasite can absorb memories by consuming the gray matter of the host, then you might be able to absorb its memories by consuming its flesh as well.”

  Saxton snapped his fingers and smiled widely. “You’re going to have to eat that eye.”

  Wells blanched. “Like hell I am.”

  “I’m afraid it’s the only plan we’ve got, Jim.” Jones held the orb up in her palms like an offering—a pulpy, hazel truffle for his consumption. “We can’t risk losing the material by heating it, so you’ll have to do this raw.”

  Tremblay nodded along with the others. “You’ve already shared a moment with the thing, so there could be enough shared material between the two of you to act as a proper conduit. This should work. Hypothetically. We really don’t have time not to try it, Doctor Wells. We must hurry.”

  The cargo door opened and the priest swept in. He stared at the bodies, then at Miss Jones with the eye. “What barbarism have you blasphemers committed now?”

  Saxton pointed at the disembodied organ. “We’re trying to make Doctor Wells eat this man’s eye to find out what drove him to murder all these people. We think it’s a parasite like a worm.”

  “Not a worm, but a snake. A hell-spawned serpent.” Pietro pointed at the eye. “The eyes contain the souls of all things. Satan has besieged these people and will have tainted their souls with his evil.”

  “You see, we were all wrong. It’s just Satan.” Wells smiled nervously. “Nothing to worry about and no reason to eat the dead man’s eye.”

  Pietro held up a finger. “On the contrary, if you consume the soul of that man you will be able to confirm the Devil’s presence here.”

  “Of course I will.” Wells kicked a crate.

  “The Adversary is still at work, hiding in some poor fool. We must exorcise him from this realm and banish him back to Hell’s bottomless abyss. To do that, we need to know where he has gone. You must eat the eye, doctor.”

  Saxton pointed at the priest. “See that, James? Even the priest agrees with us, and he’s a buffoon.”

  Wells took the ball delicately between his fingers. His stomach churned noisily. “I hate you all, so very much.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Wells put his tongue to the eyeball. It had mostly dried, but there was still a salty, copper tinge that crept along his taste buds straight to his gag reflex. The taste test caused him to heave violently, but only the whiskey came up in a steaming splash against the wooden floor. He braced himself on a narrow shelf next packed with assorted luggage.

  “Damn it, Jim you’re a doctor. Act like one.” Miss Jones shook her head. “You’ve just vomited in our operating room.”

  “Precisely why I say to never eat in an operating room to begin with, my dear.” Wells wiped his mouth on the tweed sleeve of his jacket. “Especially when you’re eating parts of the person whom you’ve just operated on. How do you know this isn’t going to give me some horrible disease?”

  “At your age, it hardly matters.” Saxton offered him a handkerchief. “Besides, you might be seeing the memories of a previously unknown species. You’re at the cusp of scientific discovery, old chap.”

  “Then this should be your honor, Alex. After all, you’ve already lost one major find today. I would hate for you to miss out on another.”

  “Oh, he won’t.” Tremblay offered Saxton a tin mug.

  Wells’ peaked face twisted into a poor attempt at a smile. “What is that?”

  Saxton scrunched his face at the odiferous fluid. “Something I won’t be imbibing.”

  “Yes, you will.” Tremblay pushed the mug into his hand. “It’s important that we try every option, Professor.”

  “Archie’s correct, Alex,” Jones said with a short nod.

  “What if his works? Then it wouldn’t be unnecessary.” Saxton pushed it back toward Tremblay.

  The physicist clasped his clammy hands around Saxton’s so he couldn’t release the cup. “Every good experiment needs a control group. Drink the damn drink, Professor.”

  “I’m a man of science. You should give it to the priest, for a proper control. He believes in magic and all that nonsense.”

  “All the more reason not to give it to him. We’re out of time.”

  “It is against my religion to desecrate the body of the dead.” Pietro cleared his throat. “Though I know it would be forgiven in the eyes of the Lord if it were done to stop the Adversary. I will drink with the professor.”

  “Oh, now you wish to be agreeable,” Saxton grumped.

  “I suppose we do have sufficient resources to make another. Give me three minutes.” Tremblay spun and jabbed a finger up at Saxton’s face. “Then you will toast and drink your anatomical aperitif with the priest like a proper gentleman.”

  The cargo car’s door squeaked open, interrupting Saxton’s argument. Irina Petrovski seemed to float into the room with the flowing scarlet skirt hiding her feet as it swept across the dusty floor. Her alabaster complexion somehow fell to another shade of white when she saw the rows of corpses. She swooned and leaned against the door.

  Pietro dashed to her side, clasping her arm, and bracing her against his robed form.

  She pointed an accusatory finger at Wells, who held the eye before his open mouth.

  “What atrocities are you committing here?” She fanned herself and straightened up.

  “I assure you, Irina, it is not what it looks like,” Saxton said in his monotonous tone.

  “Forgive me, Professor. The infirmity of my femininity must be taxing my vision. Apologies for any misunderstanding.” She spread her hands to frame the scene. “It looks to me, however, that you’ve all been desecrating the dead with these vile dissections, and that the good doctor there was steeling himself to swallow a man’s eye. I’m sure that you are completely correct, Alexander, it must not be what it looks like at all.”

  Saxton’s shoulders sagged. “Actually, that’s a fairly accurate assessment of where we’ve arrived.”

  “Oh, I do like her.” Jones chuckled. “I hope she doesn’t get horribly murdered like the other young lady.”

  “Of all the things you bloody colonists stole from His Majesty, subtly wasn’t one of them.” Saxton held up the mug. “We hav
e a theory on how to find the culprit and stop it once and for all.”

  “I was told this was over,” she said. “The inspector was just in our car”

  “The inspector is a fool,” Saxton answered.

  “The professor is a heretic and his beliefs are the lies of Lucifer. However, of the inspector, we agree. The man is a moron of the highest quality,” Pietro conceded.

  “This cerebral cocktail, or that eyeball, might give us the insight we need to stop this thing.” Saxton sniffed it again. “Jove! It gets worse the longer it sits.”

  “Perhaps we should trade,” Wells offered.

  “Eye think not,” Saxton said with a grim smile.

  “The Devil is among us, Countess. You must return to the safety of your own car.” Pietro snapped his arm out straight and pointed to the door.

  Irina cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow.

  “Poppycock! There’s no devil. Not on this train or anywhere else,” Saxton scoffed. “There’s a scientific explanation for all of this.”

  Pietro stepped forward, red-faced. “And do you know what it is?”

  Saxton straightened up. “Not at the moment. That’s why we’re experimenting.”

  “You still hold onto the false idol of science!”

  Irina snapped her fingers and swept between them.

  “I’ve had enough of this. Your conviction that everything has a scientific explanation is no more close-minded than Pietro’s belief that this does not. People are dead, and while I absolutely believe in the Devil, I do not believe he is aboard this train. Something else is, and that something is killing people. Not knowing what it might be, makes it momentarily more dangerous. I suggest you keep an open mind to the possibility that this is not so simply resolved, but if you think your drink or the doctor’s cannibalism can aid in the destruction of this monstrosity, then it is your duty to do so.”

  Wells, Saxton, and Pietro exchanged glances and then hung their heads while the scolding continued. Jones chewed her lip and tried not to laugh at their predicament. Tremblay tried melting into the cargo to spare himself the ire of the Countess.

  “That’s right, you should be ashamed.” Irina spun in slow circle, taking in the faces of the three men. “This bickering is the argumentative prater of spoiled children and solves nothing. There are other people on this train and they are all frightened—and they all matter more than your damn discovery. They’re whispering of monsters and madmen now, but how much more will it take before they’re all in a full-blown panic? How long until they start turning on each other? Madness or demon or parasite matters not. Anyone could be the next killer and soon they will all turn to murder to protect themselves. There is no more time for your egos and opinions. Let us get on with this!”

  “Yes, I think I like her quite a lot.” Jones nudged Wells in the ribs. “Eat the damn eye, Jim.”

  Wells nodded and shoved the orb into his mouth. He suppressed a gag as he rolled it between his molars and bit down with a splat-pop that made Miss Jones shudder and Pietro wretch. Saxton maintained his calm composure, albeit in a pale shade of green.

  Irina sat down and fanned herself frantically as the good doctor chewed. She put her head between her knees and mumbled prayers. The physicist casually stirred his concoction as if the day’s events were perfectly normal.

  “It’s actually quite minty, but very tough and gamey. A bit like gristle on a stag.” Wells rolled the gnawed tissue with his tongue causing a spurt of ocular juice to trickle between his lips. He dabbed it with Saxton’s handkerchief and apologized. “It’s making my face tingle.”

  “That’s probably some sort of residue from the parasite.” Jones nodded as she scribbled the observations into a notepad. “Maybe even eggs or some other means of reproduction.”

  Wells swallowed the pulp. “I assure you my dear, it was a horrible enough experience without any further conjecture on what bodily fluids might have been infused with that poor fellow’s eye. Other than that, I’m not feeling any different. Alrighty Alex, your turn.”

  Saxton raised his cup. “Our turn. Tremblay, would you bring the priest his goblet. Man was not meant to suffer alone.”

  “That is why God made woman,” Irina offered.

  “And woman alone is why that man suffers. Alex is only doing this to impress you, my dear. I hope you can appreciate that.” Wells picked at his incisors. “Who knew eyes clung to the enamel in such a way.”

  Irina caught Tremblay’s sleeve. “If this is some parasite, could the drink not infect them as well?”

  “It is a possibility, my dear Countess.” His eyes darted to the floor and he sighed. “I’m afraid we can find no other way, however.”

  “And if it does?” She looked to Wells and then to Jones. “Does anyone have a suggestion for what to do if this experiment turns them into murderers as well?”

  Jones knocked on the large sliding door. “We’ll throw them from the train.”

  “That’s reasonable.” Wells nodded in agreement. “Not preferable, but reasonable.”

  “Arguably,” Saxton conceded.

  “This thing survived freezing once before,” the priest offered. “Beheading might be a prudent measure, before throwing us off the train.”

  “Not a horrible idea.” Wells looked around. “Where did Mirov leave that ax?”

  “Can you not be so damned jovial about it?” Saxton grumped.

  Tremblay shrugged and handed the mug to Pietro. “Just think of it as a custard. Actually, it’s probably best if you don’t think of it at all. It smells much worse than it tastes, I imagine. Sociable.”

  “Pretty sure you have to drink too, if you’re offering a salute, my friend.” Saxton glared at the congealing fluid, making his face sour instantly. “You see, James, this is what happens when people meddle with business that they have no hand in. If you’d left my Neanderthal alone, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  “May this blasphemous alchemy send the dragon back into the abyss.” Pietro scrunched his nose at the odious brew. What shall we drink to, Professor Saxton?”

  “Why, killing the Devil, of course.”

  “Of course. Saluti!”

  “Cheers, mate.”

  “This is madness.” Irina slumped against the wall, keeping her hand close to the door handle, ready to purge the men from the boxcar should they turn.

  The mugs came together in a clank and the men downed the physicist’s potion in singular gulps. Saxton leaned against a shelf and bit a knuckle trying to keep down the ghastly brain juice. Pietro’s heavy beard hid his ashen complexion as he staggered to find a seat on Tom Brandt’s coffin. Saxton opened his mouth to speak, snapped it shut instantly and held up a finger while he composed himself. The priest belched through tight lips and swayed in place. Irina moved to check on them, but was intercepted by Jones. The doctor gently guided her away.

  “It’s probably best to give them their space, sweetie. I think their dinners might clash with the rest of your outfit.” She gently guided the Countess back to her seat and shot an accusatory glance at Tremblay. “You milked the cysts, didn’t you?”

  “Well, of course I did. If the creature was going to leave any trace of itself, especially its memories, it would be in the tumorous growths it caused in the limbic region. Just because I’m a physicist doesn’t mean I’m not familiar with the more outdated medical sciences.”

  “Putz.” Jones rolled her eyes.

  Saxton rubbed his watering eyes until they were clear and stood up straight. “We’re no closer to the parasite than before, but at least we’ve found a wonderful new anorectic.”

  “I was so sure that was going to work.” Tremblay took off his glasses and polished the lenses. “Strange. Everything made sense in my head anyhow.”

  “Damn science. We need only to p—arrgghh!” Pietro crashed to the floor, blood spattered as his nose flattened on the boards. His limbs contracted, pulling him into a tight ball.

  Saxton followed him down li
ke a broken marionette, curling in agony as he landed. Dust hovered around the two men as their limbs started to twitch. Tremblay and Jones rushed to their sides as the convulsions started. Their bodies thrashed in horrific spasms. Jones clapped and pointed to Irina.

  “Start counting. Archie, keep Alex from bashing his head open.” Jones scooped Pietro’s head into her lap and made soft shushing noises—a forgotten maternal instinct.

  Spittle flew into the air with half-realized words by the two stricken men. Jones watched Tremblay try to wedge a billfold between Saxton’s teeth. She leaned hard and punched him in the ear.

  “Ow! What was that for?”

  “Don’t stick anything in a person’s mouth when they are seizing.”

  “A man could swallow his tongue during such a paroxysm.” Tremblay forced the professor’s jaw open with his fingers.

  “No, they cannot, you ninny. Just keep his head from hitting the floor.”

  “Well, there’s no harm in being cautious. I’d rather be saf—” his argument turned into a high-pitched squeal when another spasm racked Saxton’s body.

  The professor’s mouth slammed shut like a porcelain portcullis on Tremblay’s left thumb. The meat of the finger parted in a sanguine gush, and teeth etched the bone.

  “Get your finger out of his mouth before he breaks his teeth on the goddamn bone, Archie!” Jones grabbed the physicist at the elbow and jerked his arm away.

  His hand came away from Saxton’s mouth with a moist snap. The muscle was ragged and exposed where the teeth stripped the skin from his thumb. Tremblay’s eyes glassed over and he toppled backwards. Jones cursed the situation and called for Wells, but didn’t get an answer. Saxton’s body stiffened, then Pietro’s, and the convulsions turned to steady shaking. And then nothing.

  Stillness.

  Jones let out a long breath. “How long?”

  “What?” Irina blinked and shook herself. “Oh, fifty-seven seconds. Give or take.”

  “Put that in the notes, Jim.” Jones stared at Wells and her jaw quivered.