Horror Express

by David O'Hanlon

He was lying face down on the floor, fifteen feet away. His eyes closed tight and his body unmoving.

  “James Henry Wells, you get up right this instant!” Jones watched for any sign of life, whispering his name again. Demanding he rise and getting no response, she lowered Pietro to the floor and rose shakily.

  Wells eyes twitched open slowly and he pressed himself into a semi-seated position. “I’ve just had the strangest dream. I was travelling, but beyond any human concept of the word. I looked down and there was the world. Our world, our continents and oceans, spread out before me through a layer of clouds. It was as if I were looking at it from outer space.”

  “Heaven, you damn heathen.” Pietro rolled to his side suddenly and vomited. He coughed out the last bit of brain-stew and continued. “It was the view from Heaven. Satan is among us. He who sat at the left hand of God and stared down on the world in its formation. I saw it and I saw his demoniac servants, the antediluvian beasts that God washed away. There is no doubt. I saw the apostles of the Adversary, great dragons flitting through the air and towering over the Garden. I saw them as if his eyes were my own.”

  The others exchanged nervous glances.

  Saxton sat up with a groan and pressed his palms into his temples. He dug in his coat pocket for a tarnished cigarette case.

  “I saw what you saw, Pietro. But those weren’t serpents.” He lit a cigarette and took a long pull. The expectant faces all stared up at him. He blew the smoke with a tired sigh. “This thing killed the bloody dinosaurs. We’re all proper fucked.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “You’re overexaggerating, Alex.” Wells rubbed the back of his head and tried to shake something off. “It probably only killed some of the dinosaurs.”

  “Is that supposed to be calming in the least?”

  “Conservatively.” Wells brushed a hand through his hair. “There was a fire. It was all very fuzzy, but I remember looking down at the world. Then I was surrounded by flames.”

  Pietro raised a damning fist. “Because you saw the Fall! You witnessed, through Satan’s own eyes, his fall from the grace of God!”

  Wells patted at the air. “Do you have to yell in such a way? My head is in bits over here.”

  “Perhaps the priest is right,” Saxton said.

  Everyone cast unbelieving glances his way.

  “Irina was correct earlier.” Saxton huffed. “We need to be open to all possibilities, even the idiotic ones. We have to consider the Devil—I can’t believe I’m saying this—the Devil may in fact be to blame.”

  Wells’ jaw hung open for a long moment. “Dear lord, I think the brain cocktail infected him. Open the door and fetch my ax. He must be the thing.”

  Saxton held up two fingers. “Blow it out your ass, you senile bell-end.”

  Wells shrugged. “Never mind, it’s him.”

  “We must spread the word!” Pietro stood quickly and wobbled about. “We must tell everyone of the Adversary! They must all know what terrific thing is among us. It is my duty!” The mad priest darted for the door and clumsily stumbled out of it on his second try.

  “He’s going to cause a panic, hollering like that,” Jones added without looking up from her notebook.

  Tremblay sat up from the crates he was laying on. “Do you think we should retrieve him?”

  “No. No, we should not.” Wells pointed at the physicist bandaged hand. “How’s the thumb?”

  He sniffled. “The professor nearly bit it clean off of my hand.” He held up the appendage and its blood-stained dressing for effect.

  Jones smacked the back of his head with the leather-bound journal. “Next time don’t stick your extremities in someone’s mouth without permission, you ninny. In the meantime, I’m going to clean this mess up. There’s a stop coming, you know? Our operating room looks like an abattoir.” She swept her hand across the scene. “Not even a good one, at that.”

  “That’s insanity. We can’t let this train stop.” Tremblay rose shakily to his feet and wiped a strand of snot across his sleeve.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Tremblay.” Saxton tried to stand and then thought better of it. “The memories are coming in flashes and there’s a lot of them. It’s disorienting. They’re also coming in order, or so it seems. It could be a while before the three of us get around to who the current host is. If there even is one. For that matter, there could be more than one by now. We still know next to nothing, and we need help. There’ll be Mounties there that can isolate everyone while we come up with a proper test.”

  “What if this thing, this parasite, was on a meteoroid?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t follow,” Saxton said.

  “Wells said he saw fire, like an object entering from space. The force and heat generated by a meteoroid coming through our atmosphere and striking the Earth would be profound. There’s nothing that could survive it known to any discipline of science, that I’ll guarantee. Consider a parasite that can jump from host to host, continually gaining knowledge of our world. Now consider that it can’t be killed by even the extremes of space travel or crashing into a planet.”

  “That would be very bad,” Wells agreed.

  “What are you thinking, Archie?” Jones asked.

  Tremblay took his glasses off and scrubbed a splotch of bile from the lens with his jacket. “Two years ago, a flight was made between Paris and London in just over three hours. Imagine a parasite that could learn to build planes just by invading the mind of an engineer. How long until every living thing became a part of this thing?”

  “Not very,” Irina offered. “Marion, my husband, he is very fond of air travel. We own two airships ourselves, and he hopes to improve the capability of such machines with his new metal. He says that it’s only a matter of time before flight is the only way people will travel. If he is correct then the automobile may already have become obsolete. I think it’s madness, personally.”

  “Many things seemed madness before our journey began.” Tremblay paused. “Count Petrovski wishes to build airplanes?”

  “He already does. He does not consider me capable of understanding the complexities of his business. It benefits me to pretend he is correct. The company is currently attempting to build an airplane that can transport goods many times faster than shipping and to areas deep inland. They are getting very close.”

  Wells and Saxton exchanged suspicious looks.

  Saxton forced himself to his feet. “I’m sure other people know this as well?”

  Tremblay nodded. “I’ve seen several people from Count Petrovski’s party on board the train, aside from the thief that is. He made sure to mention aeronautical applications for his new metal on several occasions. Why do… oh.”

  “Exactly. The man has the knowledge and the means to make that nightmare scenario of yours a very true story. It’s the most logical target for this thing to go after, if it is still alive. I’ll take Irina to her car and keep an eye on the Count for the time being.” Saxton made his way to the Countess and offered his hand.

  Wells stood up. “And what if the creature comes for him?”

  “Then I’ll give him a bunch of fives.” Saxton cracked his bony knuckles.

  “Are you sure punching it in the face is the best solution?” Jones asked.

  “For almost every situation, my dear.”

  “A man that fails to plan, is planning to fail. It’s been my experience that the simplest plans are often the best. Aces, Alex. I’m glad we can count on you being simple.” Wells thumbed his nose and stretched. “I prefer a bit of redundancy, however. I’ll go see the conductor and try to convince him, without sounding like too much of a lunatic, that the train needs to continue moving until we can kill this thing.”

  “And do you have any idea how we can accomplish that, James?”

  “Why, with style and aplomb, of course.” Wells smiled brightly.

  “That’s a no, then.”

  Tremblay raised his hand. The makeshift dressing was bulkier than a boxing glo
ve and drew a snicker from Jones. “I don’t know about killing it, but I think I can trap it. I’ll be in the caboose if you need me—no one else should have any reason to be there, so it’ll be the ideal location.”

  “It’ll be the obvious one.” Wells scratched his chin. “It’s a capital idea, but the setting is all wrong. Have you ever hunted a tiger, Archibald?”

  Tremblay scrunched his face. “Dear God, no. I’m Canadian.”

  “Clever bastards—tigers, not Canadians,” Saxton grumbled. “They know when something is too good, too exact. You have to set the ambuscade in their killing field, not yours.”

  “Precisely, Alex. The monstrosity killed most of his victims two cars up. There’s no one there and only cargo and the empty colonist cars coming this way.” Wells nodded and turned to the physicist. “It would be a better place to set your snare, in my opinion.”

  “I see,” Tremblay said quietly. “That might work far better for the device I have in mind, as well. Yes, I think it will in fact. Let’s go kill us a… whatever-the-hell this thing is.”

  “Oh, Jim.” Jones held up her journal. “I want to get all my notes down while they’re fresh. Once they’re organized, I’ll put them in the usual place for you. In case you get back here before we catch up.”

  Wells nodded with a smile and stalked across the car. He patted Tremblay on the shoulder. “Good luck, my boy. And do keep your eyes open.” He exited the car followed by Irina and Saxton.

  “Do you need any help in here?” Tremblay paused at the exit.

  Jones shook her head. “Don’t be foolish. Go set traps with your friends and leave me to the medical hubbub. I’ll wrap up here.”

  “Of course. Good luck, Miss Jones.”

  ***

  Wells nodded as he passed Inspector Mirov who gave him a hard slap on the shoulder.

  “Doctor Wells, I need a moment of your time.”

  “Sorry, old bean, can’t talk. Got to save the world and all that. Alex will assist you, I’m sure. He’s just a moment behind.”

  Wells scurried through to the next car despite the inspector’s continued pleas. Saxton entered the car from the opposite end and swore loudly when he saw Mirov.

  “Professor Saxton, a moment. Please.”

  “That’s a wonderful scowl you’re wearing this evening, is it new? It’s much more intimidating and less constipated than your normal face.”

  Mirov’s eye twitched. “I have neither the time nor the patience for your witticisms. There’s a killer on this train after all.”

  “I thought you said there wasn’t?” Irina questioned.

  “After having discussed the matter with your husband, I feel I may have spoken in haste. What did your autopsies reveal?”

  “Quite a lot. Miss Jones is wrapping up in the baggage car. She can fill you in. I must be getting Mrs. Petrovski to her compartment. Her husband may be the next victim.”

  “That does seem likely. Carry on and I will go see your lady doctor for the information I need. Thank you, professor.”

  Mirov smiled and nodded as he turned toward the rear of the train.

  “Strange. I didn’t think his face was capable of such emotional range. Come, Irina.”

  ***

  The door hissed open and Jones glanced over her shoulder at the police inspector. “Wasn’t expecting to see you. I am glad you’re here however, Inspector Mirov.” She pursed her lips. “No one’s ever said that, have they?”

  Mirov managed his friendliest snarl. “Not that I recall.” He took out his tobacco tin and set it on a crate. “The professor says you have information for me.” He leaned on the crate and filled a long paper with a pinch of tobacco.

  Jones eyed the cigarettes in the tin and then smiled at Mirov. “Why yes, as a matter of fact, we’ve learned quite a bit. The caveman killed the baggageman, then Tom Brandt killed most everyone else. Except the thief, Natasha—she was killed by our friend Otis. They were infested with some sort of parasite.”

  “A parasite?”

  “So it seems. The thing we’re looking for came to Earth long before we got here. We found a way to share in its memories, you see.”

  “Is that so? That’s very clever of you. Did you see where it’s gotten off to?”

  “No, not quite. We’re waiting, but I believe the memories will surface in a sort of chronological order. The current host will be revealed quite soon. Little good it’ll do us. By the time the memories catch up, it will be too late, I’m afraid.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Humans are too frail. This thing used to gestate inside the mighty tyrannosaurus, after all. It burns through us too quickly. I believe it’ll find a new hiding place before we discover where it’s gone.” She pointed at the cigarettes in the open can. “Mind if I have one of those?”

  Mirov looked down at them and then up at Jones. He licked the cigarette he’d been rolling and twisted it between his fingers. “How about a fresh one instead?”

  “All the better.” Jones took it, gave it an appreciative sniff and stuck it between her lips. “Much obliged. It’s strange, this thing. It comes from a place beyond our understanding—a place right out of our wildest dreams, I would imagine. Yet, it’s so monumentally simple.”

  “Simple?”

  “Oh dear, yes.” Miss Jones laughed softly. “Bizarre as it is, as alien, it’s barely more than a pubic louse. It’s much more destructive to be sure, and it has the neat brain-melty abilities, but at the end of the day, it’s just a louse. Scurrying about, being a pain in my pleasantries.” She extended the cigarette towards him. “A light?”

  Mirov paused and reached into his breast pocket for the brass lighter. “Of course.” He struck the flame.

  She leaned in and took a few short puffs then a long drag. She smiled and blew the smoke in the inspector’s face. His face screwed and he hacked.

  “Mirov smoked more than this damn train. He was also a real asshole. That’s something you can’t fake, you ninny. It’s too human.”

  Mirov tried to laugh, but it came out as inarticulate groans. Then he threw down the lighter. “I know what laughter is, but none of you know how you do it. It’s a reflex that I can’t seem to get right. Maybe you can teach me.” It closed in on Jones, stretching Mirov’s face into an unsettling smile.

  “Come close and I’ll give you a lesson, that’s for sure.”

  “I do love the female mind. The fairer sex is so much more… aware.”

  “I’m not much for fair.” Jones snapped a stout leg up and kicked Mirov in the groin.

  Apparently, the creature shared the nervous system of its host. Mirov doubled over and caught himself on a box. Jones slashed down his forearm with an autopsy knife. Its pained shriek contorted into the distorted mock-laughter once more.

  “Please stop fighting. I promise, I really do love you for your mind. Do you like music, Miss Jones? I hear it’s quite soothing in times of distress.” He whistled softly, off key, but close enough.

  “You can’t have my mind, and you couldn’t handle my body, dear. James is going to kill you, I hope you know.”

  “Hmm, that’s cute. I was here when this world was fire and ash. I feasted on your great dragons. Survived their apocalypse and walked in the icy hell that engulfed this world. Before monkeys learned to speak, I shared words with beasts you’ve never known. I am forever and undying. What do you think I have to fear from a man?” His eyes burned bright red over a predatory grin. The thing inside Mirov’s body, a stringless puppet, stalked closer. “Enlighten me. Tell me all your plans, Miss Jones.”

  Jones rolled the knife between her fingers and tightened her grip. A smile creased her lips. “If you really are the Devil, then we’ll finish this in Hell.” She swung the surgical blade up, piercing her carotid artery and ripping across to the other side. A vermillion eruption washed across his grim suit.

  He shouted at her falling body and seized her collar. A flash of white beneath the cascading crimson caught his eye. The doc
tor had cut herself to the spine. The wound tore wide as her head fell back. The arteries spurted softer. The creature roared and cursed in a language human ears had never heard. He dropped the body to the floor and kicked it repeatedly. He stopped abruptly, leaning against a shelf. Mirov turned his nose up and sniffed the air.

  “Are you eager to die?” He slipped the bloody jacket off his shoulders and let it drop to the dusty floor.

  The figure moved out of the shadows slowly. “No, I am eager to serve.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Wells pushed through the crowd of commuters gathered in the lounge car. They barked demands and moaned complaints. Over the ruckus, he could only make out pieces of individual complaints. The general point being that they all wanted away from the murder train as fast as they could. Wells agreed. He slung a boisterous man out of the way by his coattails and stepped through the gap. He straightened his lapels and smiled pleasantly at the guard. The Mountie promptly jammed his palm into Wells’ chest.

  “No passengers beyond this point. That’s straight from Inspector Mirov’s mouth.”

  On a normal occasion, Wells would have explained that he was aiding Mirov’s investigation and had pertinent information to share with the engineer and conductor. However, this particular Mountie had put his hands on the good doctor twice since the journey began, and that altered the situation ever so slightly.

  “What about that gentleman there?” Wells pointed behind the scarlet sentry.

  Naturally he looked. Not a full turn, but enough to give Wells the angle he wanted. The knuckles landed right on the tip of the policeman’s square chin and spun him to the ground.

  “That’ll teach you to wrinkle an Englishman’s jacket, you knob head.” Wells rolled the man on his side as a courtesy. He turned to the crowd. “The rest of you just wait here. I’m going to have a word with the conductor.”

  A British accent and a sense of urgency had a way of sounding official, so they nodded or waved or cheered in affirmation. He tipped his imaginary hat and thanked them for their patience—it only seemed proper after all—and headed through the crew car and outside.