Horror Express

by David O'Hanlon

  “That’s fair, except I haven’t killed you. If I was the creature that would be my number one goal at this point.” Saxton sat on the edge of the desk and held his foot off the floor.

  “Because I shot you?”

  “No. That is the reason I, the very human Alexander Saxton, wish to kill you. Tremblay is out of commission, Jones is dead, Pietro is possessed, and Mirov is incompetent. If I’m that thing, we can assume Irina is dead and that I have the Count’s knowledge. That means the only person trying to stop me is you. So why wouldn’t I kill you when I had the chance?”

  Wells clicked his tongue and set about pacing the floor.

  Saxton sighed. “Bloody hell, just kill me if you’re going to insist on your infernal pacing.”

  “It was dark.”

  “Not helpful. What was dark?”

  “Oh, I saw it when the thing changed bodies.” Wells tossed a hand into the air. “Finally. I thought I might succumb to old age before I got to a memory of any importance. But I did. I saw myself shooting Otis. Everything was blurry after that. It was scared, but not of dying.” Wells shoved the pistol into his pocket angrily.

  “There are much worse things.”

  “Indeed. It was scared we’d dump the body in the cold. That it would freeze again. Someone leaned over Otis and the thing took him.”

  “I was in Mirov’s custody at the time.”

  “Yes, yes you were. Damn. My memory and the thing’s memories, they’re all mixed up. I can’t straighten them out.” Wells retrieved his flask.

  “I’m sure the laudanum is helping the situation,” Saxton said while pulling himself to the desktop.

  “To an extent. The thing can’t stand toxins like medicine and alcohol. It’s like a vaccination, that’s what it is.

  “You are the doctor here.” Saxton watched the blood trickling from the hole in his shoe. “I can’t believe you shot me.”

  “You could hardly expect a fair fight at my age.” He tucked the flask away and went to the desk, then offered Saxton his arm. “I’m not going to apologize, if that’s what you’re waiting for. Let’s go meet our saviors.”

  ***

  The knife split the flexible gangway cover, and Pietro pushed through the narrow opening. Ice clung to his hair, beard, and brows, and his lips were blue. Swollen blisters had formed along his fingers where the frostbite was settling in in.

  “I’ve lost her, Master.”

  Mirov rested on the door, gawking at the maniac before him. “I don’t know who she is. How did you find me?”

  “I’ve been watching, through the windows.”

  Mirov looked into the previous car. He hadn’t noticed the clerestory windows that topped each of the passenger spaces.

  “It is very cold outside.” Pietro held up his palms, raw from the skin being peeled away. “I hope you will find this penance enough for my years of ignorant, ungracious servitude of the false god.”

  Mirov shrugged. “Sure.” He pursed his lips. “Actually, there’s still one more thing you need to do. The British men managed to call for help. It appears to have arrived.”

  “You want me to kill them?” Pietro rocked in place against the cold oozing in behind him.

  “Not immediately. I need a distraction, and I need them to leave. The scientist was extremely helpful, but I still need the alchemic formula for the Count’s metal. I wish to take him wholly, however. Tremblay seemed to think him quite powerful.”

  Pietro spit, but it didn’t go far and dripped from his cracked, bleeding lips. “Marion Petrovski is vermin.”

  “All humans are. Tremblay knew much about propulsion, but without the Count’s metal—”

  “It is not his metal.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “He found it, my Lord.”

  “Found it? Found… no, it couldn’t be.” Mirov grabbed him by the beard and pulled him face to face. “What do you mean?”

  “Petrovski’s miners hit a hollow. I overheard the Count discussing it with the survey man. He said it was a crater. Inside, they found the ruins and artifacts. Petrovski’s been melting it all down and shipping the bars back as Svarium… his Polish steel.”

  “Crater?” Mirov’s fingers twisted tighter into the wiry growth. “West of here?”

  “I did not hear the location. I am deeply sorry.”

  “You are a pestilence.” Mirov released his unwanted servant and slicked back his platinum hair, smiling at nothing in particular. “Still, this is joyous news.”

  Pietro’s confusion wavered. He covered a gasp with his damaged hands, falling prostate before Mirov. “It is where you fell, my Lord!”

  ***

  Captain Kazan traced his fingers along the bar, scooping a random glass and swishing the liquor in his mouth before spitting it on the carpet. He arrived at a young lady shivering on a barstool.

  “I was told there were dead bodies aboard this train. I would have come faster had they mentioned your body instead.”

  He pinched girl’s chin and admired her features gluttonously before turning to the rest of the crowd. The Captain pointed at Mountie Hicks, who leaned out the window and whistled sharply.

  “There is a killer among you and before you.” The train whistle bellowed ahead of them and the car lurched forward before Kazan continued, “When this train stops again there will only be one of us still standing. I am told that there are lawmen aboard. Where are they?”

  “Why are we not being released from this train?” a striking older woman asked, whipping her bounding curls away from her face.

  “We are in the middle of nowhere, I should think that would be reason enough,” Kazan said. “But what do I know? Perhaps you would prefer to trudge through knee-deep snow all the way to your destination.”

  “Well… no, that’s not it. That’s not what I meant at all,” she quickly responded.

  The Cossack moved toward her, his heavy boots falling like hammer-blows as he crossed the floor. He stretched one of her locks and released it with a grin as it sprang back into place.

  “What is your name, miss?”

  “It’s Bennett, Eleanor Bennett.”

  “You speak funny.”

  Miss Bennett gasped and straighten her back. “I am from the great state of Texas.”

  “That explains much. Once I have found and killed the terror of this train, you are free to disembark. Until I have accomplished that task,” He pressed the woman’s shoulders until she sat down, “you are from the great state of this fucking bench.”

  The gangway door opened again, and a tall man limped through with a septuagenarian trying to keep him off an injured foot. Kazan’s men steadied their rifles at the new faces.

  “Is one of you Inspector Boris Mirov of the Dominion Police?” Kazan asked as he casually strolled through the lines of fire.

  “Why, do we look like assholes?” the tall man asked.

  “I’m Doctor James Wells and my eloquent friend here is Professor Alexander Saxton. We’re the ones that sent you the telegram.” Wells eased Saxton to the floor.

  “I see.” Kazan removed his goat-fur cap and tossed it to the lady by the bar. “And who shot the professor?”

  “I did,” Wells said, matter-of-factly.

  The Cossack massaged his polished scalp and laughed. “Well doctor, that is certainly one way to cure a hangnail.”

  Saxton grunted. “I’m pleased that you’re all enjoying yourselves. May I have some medical attention now?” He let his head thump against the bar.

  “Hicks!” Kazan shouted despite being only six feet from the Mountie. “Treat this man’s wounds. Doctor Wells, I suggest you find me the conductor and the inspector.”

  “The inspector is guarding a friend of ours who has been grievously injured. Why are we moving again?”

  “To ensure that no one leaves the train until I have stopped your murderer.”

  “That’s absurd. We need to get everyone isolated and in the care of medical professionals,” Wells protested
.

  “You British believe in free speech.” He wagged a finger in the air. “But this is not Britain.”

  Kazan leaned close and shoved Hicks’ arm, ramming the man’s rifle butt into Wells’ sternum. The doctor stumbled into the arms of another Mountie who quickly seized him and moved him to a nearby seat.

  “Until I say otherwise, you’re all under arrest,” Kazan bellowed. “No one is leaving this train!”

  The opposite door burst open. Breasts bounced dangerously close to the low neckline of an evening dress as the woman ran to the Mounties, drawing Kazan’s attention and a smile. The woman pushed two commuters out of her way, calling for help. Kazan seized her arms, lifted her, and swung her onto a stool effortlessly.

  “Now is hardly the time for hysterics, lovely.” He pushed the chestnut hair from her eyes.

  “Irina?” Saxton sat up to see around the medic treating his foot. “What’s happened?”

  “Pietro,” she cried. “He’s tried to kill me and Marion.”

  “That bastard,” Saxton grumbled.

  “Marion is trying to kill me as well.” Irina sobbed into her palms.

  “I here I thought the English didn’t know how to throw a party.” Kazan looked from her to Saxton to Wells. “Where is the law and order on this goddamn train?”

  “I hadn’t thought of it earlier.” Saxton stared at the ceiling. “Where the hell are the other Mounties?”

  Wells scratched his chin and then shrugged. “Haven’t seen them in a tick.”

  ***

  “You’re a fool, a goddamn fool.” Johnnie Voss shoved the Mountie across the open space and into the metal door with ease.

  The other red-clad soldier tried to unsling his rifle, but bumped into the furnace and howled in pain. Johnnie rapped the kid’s knuckles with a wrench.

  “You don’t pull a long gun in close quarters, you dumb shit. There’s a bitch of a mountain ahead and we’ll be damn lucky to get to speed now that you all’ve stopped us. So, you’re going to be my fireman until that damn Limey gets his wrinkled old ass back up here with Chuck. You hearing me, boy?”

  “Umm… yes, sir, I can do that,” the Mountie stuttered.

  Johnnie pointed the wrench at the first man. “And you, you fucking nitwit, you’re going to go and find your superior officer. He needs to get someone to either stop the manual cars or cut them loose, and I mean yesterday. Otherwise, we’re going to come down the mountain so fucking fast that our balls are going suck up into our goddamn sinuses and won’t that just make for a merry fucking Christmas.”

  The Mountie by the door straightened his uniform. “Sir, you need to understand that our captain doesn’t take orders, or even suggestions, from anyone. He says we’re using the tunnel, so we’re using the tunnel. The telegram was sent from our offices before we even left. Men are on their way to switch the track right now, if they haven’t already.”

  Johnnie threw the wrench to the floor and leaned against his seat, stroking his beard.

  The Mountie smiled smugly. “We’ll be bypassing your next stop and going straight to Calgary, where more members of the Mounted Police will be waiting to receive the culprits from Captain Kazan.”

  Johnnie’s laugh was comparable to an elk’s bugle more than any human noise. He slapped his knees and shook his head. “Well shit, I am happier than a two-dicked dog in a leg-humpin’ contest that you was here to tell old Johnnie how it’s all going to work out.”

  The Mounties exchanged glances, and the one by the door spoke up first. “Well, you’re most welcome.”

  “Yeah, glad as can be.” Johnnie stood up and laughed again. “Course, there’s a slight problem in that there was an avalanche yesterday morning—fucked the bridge like a quarter whore on half-price night. We go through that tunnel and the only thing we’re coming to is a very sudden stop.”

  The Mounties gulped and spoke in unison, “Oh.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Saxton rubbed Irina’s shoulder and promised her it would all be okay. He knew he was lying. There was a body-snatching monster somewhere on the train, and her husband was trying to murder her. He finished his Scotch and felt a little more of the pain ease away from the nub of his missing digit. He glared at Wells who was laying out the details of the story to Captain Kazan. The burly Mountie just nodded along with the fantastic tale.

  Saxton raised the glass to signal for a refill, but Irina pushed his arm back down and shook her head. The Mounties had already given him a wonderfully generous dose of Heroin, after all. She traced her fingers along the veins of his wrist and smiled at him softly.

  “I think I should go fetch the inspector and check on Tremblay,” he said.

  “No, that’s not necessary, Alex.” Wells gestured for him to stay at the bar. “I need to change his dressings and collect some things anyhow.” He turned back to the Captain. “That is, if you’re finished with me.”

  Kazan’s laugh made some of the passengers flinch. He gave an exaggerated bow and gestured to the end of the car.

  “By all means, Doctor Wells. Your story has been quite entertaining,” he sucked air through his teeth, “and entirely unnecessary. You could have simplified the entire issue by saying, ‘Kill the priest, he’s a maniac.’ That would have been good enough for me. Take Hicks with you, he went to medical school.”

  “It was veterinary school, Captain Kazan.” Mountie Hicks rubbed his temples like he’d said that repeatedly.

  “A veterinarian?” It was Saxton’s turn to laugh. “James, remember that buffalo?”

  Wells sighed and started for the door. “Please be sober when I return. As much as you ever are, at the least.” He exited with Mountie Hicks in tow.

  “No, James, don’t go. You have to tell them.” Saxton slapped the air and tried to drink from the empty glass again.

  “What happened with the buffalo?” Irina asked softly, as she peeled the glass from his long fingers.

  Saxton’s smile soured a little, but remained. “Some damn fool in our regiment shot one. A great big pregnant heifer out for drink. The soldier shot her for no other reason than simple cruelty. James called for an immediate halt and pulled the calf from her. It was a couple of weeks premature, but still weighed a bit more than you, I imagine. James didn’t care though and carried it on his shoulders all the way to the next encampment.”

  “Why didn’t he just kill it?” Kazan prowled when he moved and leaned on the bar next to Irina. “You were at war, were you not?”

  “Yes, we were.” Saxton nodded slowly. “Most people would have shot it too, I suppose. Plenty suggested it. That’s not James, however.”

  Kazan started to speak, but Saxton slurred his way back into the conversation.

  “He can kill a man faster than anyone on this train, don’t forget that, but it takes both fire and ice to make a sword. Maybe it was all the people he killed or all the ones he didn’t save. Hell, I don’t know. He made sure to keep that calf alive. He named the stupid beast MacDuff. It became the mascot for his little field hospital. I’m pretty sure that buffalo was the only friend he had to that point.”

  “What of the man that shot the cow?” Kazan asked, though his eyes were focused on Irina’s bare neck.

  “Friendly fire, I’m afraid. He was wounded in the buttock. James amputated both the man’s legs. Fire and ice. That’s when I met him.” His smile perked back up. “I was the one that wounded the man. When I saw him deliver that calf, I knew the truth about James.”

  Kazan seemed genuinely intrigued by the Heroin-induced ramblings of the professor and stepped around Irina to speak to him directly. “And what is the truth about the good doctor?”

  “He’s a cocksure lush on the very best of days. On the worst, he’s a drunken man-whore with the manners of gypsy and a propensity for instigation.”

  “I see why you two are friends,” Irina chirped.

  “True. But when everyone else is screaming ‘fire,’ he’ll already be running towards the smoke. That’s Jame
s Wells. There have been many times I’ve thought about pushing him down a flight of stairs, and admittedly I have on two occasions, but he’s the best man I know. He will do what’s right, no matter what the cost, and the costs have been high. So, your help is appreciated, but unnecessary. James is going stop whatever this damned thing is, because when the dust settles, he’s the last goddamned hero in all the Empire.”

  ***

  Wells stared at Tremblay’s body for a long moment. He wanted to skip to the part where he killed Pietro, but he forced himself to focus. Removing the possessed priest needed the same clinical detachment as amputating a gangrenous limb. Tremblay’s white eyes looked off at an angle and his body was still under the blankets—he had known his killer and wasn’t scared of his presence. That didn’t line up with Pietro being the host.

  There were bubbles in the pooled blood trapped in his mouth, meaning Wells couldn’t have missed the killer by more than a few minutes.

  “It seems he’s passed away, Doctor Wells,” Mountie Hicks said solemnly.

  “I hadn’t noticed.” Wells ran a hand through his hair—silver and gold, Natasha called it.

  He remembered the young thief’s seductions the way he remembered Zululand—as a lifetime ago. It didn’t feel like the same trip anymore, and he was still a long way from home. His hand stung beneath the dressing, and he massaged the raw tissue with a thumb to help focus himself.

  He picked up his elephant rifle from the corner, tossed it to his left hand. Pain jolted up his arm as he gripped the weapon. The sensation was better than coffee. With a raised eyebrow, he rolled the long gun into a cradle carry. He walked into the hallway and inspected the blood spatter on the wall. The window was gone and so was the body. There weren’t any drag marks, so he assumed the victim was dumped outside.

  “Why would you start hiding bodies now? You’ve never done that before.”

  “Excuse me, sir?” Hicks leaned over Wells shoulder to see what the doctor was inspecting.

  “The killer has been sloppy up to this point.” Wells thumbed a splintery bullet hole in the wall. “When it was occupying the corpse of Tom Brandt, two of your Mounties vanished and then it killed several people and left their bodies in the open.”