What was she to him? What was anyone in this car to him, but an opportunity to feed, to grow stronger, to revel in his path toward godhood?
“I am Trevor Lawson,” he said to the floorboards, and to the silence that was cut only by the wind and to the vampire the sound of beating hearts and lifeblood flowing. “I was born in Alabama. I have…I had a wife and daughter. I fought in the war, at Shiloh. I am a man. I am a man. I am a man.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds. “I swear…that’s all I want to be.”
When he lifted his head he looked directly at the conductor. “I’ll go with you to find Tabbers, but for the sake of your life, stay close to me.”
“I’ll go,” Rooster offered. “Mr. Tabberson been a very good man, I owe him plenty.”
“I’ll go too,” Eric said, but Lawson waved him away. They had not come so far to lose the young man to what lurked out there waiting.
“Load up with silver,” Lawson told Ann. “Save your bullets and keep watch on that back door.” Then, to the others, “I presume no one will be stupid enough to try to leave this car.” He fired a red gleam at the reverend. “Now would be a good time for prayer, concentrating on your own soul,” he said. “All right, let’s go.”
Lawson led the way, with Gantt and his lantern following and Rooster right behind with his rifle. Lawson had the sensation that the rifle was trained at his back most of the way. As they got up alongside the engine, Lawson looked back and told Rooster, “I’m drawing a pistol,” so no nervous finger jerked on a Winchester trigger. He smoothly drew the Colt with the grip of yellowed bone. Six silver slugs would finish off six members of the Dark Society, if he was lucky.
If.
They walked along the track, into the wind and snow. Already the pile of boulders and smaller rocks looked to be frozen together. Gantt’s light picked out the prints of Tabbers’ size-twelve boots, heading around to the right side of the obstruction. A shift of the lantern further to the right showed a rocky decline stubbled with gnarled pine trees, junipers, aspens and a ground covering of sagebrush and greasewood shrubs. Lawson figured this was a perfect place for an ambush, be it from bandits, Indians or other.
“Tabbers!” Gantt shouted. “Tabbers, answer up!”
“Mr. Tabberson!” Rooster called. “Where are you?”
“Don’t go any further,” Lawson advised when Gantt started to walk around the blockage, and the conductor obeyed without question.
“Tabbers!” Gantt lifted the lantern and swung it back and forth. “We’re here, Jack! Answer us!”
Lawson caught a movement to the left, over where the rugged cliffs started to rise. Then there was a movement to the right, down among the pines and the thicket. No one else could have seen these flashes of motion but he, for he knew they were creatures moving at rapid speed from one hiding-place to another. How many had gathered here? His senses told him forty…fifty or more…and not all were of human shape.
He heard a sound at the center of the wind.
“Help…help me…help…”
It was coming from further down the embankment, in amid the underbrush.
“Help…help…”
A pitiful cry, nearly a sob of terror and agony.
“Hear that?” Rooster obviously had good ears as well as good eyes. “Comin’ from down there!” He raised his voice to a ragged shout: “Mr. Tabberson! Where are you?”
“Help…please…help…”
“I hear him!” said Gantt. He called out, “Jack, are you hurt?”
The cry for help faded. The wind took it, and it was gone.
“Maybe he’s got a broke leg! Took a tumble, that coulda busted his leg!” Rooster was taking measure of a way down the embankment without breaking his own bones. “I gotta get to him!”
“Listen to me!” Lawson put a hand on Rooster’s coat collar before the man could start down and held him in an iron grip. “You don’t know what’s down there! Tabbers is finished. Even if they let you get close to him, you wouldn’t find him…but they’d have you!”
“Lemme go! Hear me? I said I gotta—”
Rooster pulled to get loose; he was strong, but to the vampire it was like restraining an infant. “You’re not going. Neither of you are. I told you…he’s finished.”
The cry started up again, only now it sounded further to the right and closer.
“Help me…please…help me…”
“They’re moving him. Come on, we’re getting back inside.”
“No sir! No sir!” Rooster tried to push Lawson away but it was like one man trying to move the biggest boulder on the track. He said fiercely, “Mr. Tabberson’s hurt and he needs help!”
“You can’t help him. I can’t either. Gantt, start back. You follow him. Go on!” In spite of the Winchester, he gave Rooster a shake when the fireman didn’t obey. “I’ll carry you if I have to! Or I’ll knock the hell out of you first! Move!”
“Help…Jesus…help me…”
And again the voice faded away.
The Winchester’s barrel went up under Lawson’s throat.
Rooster’s face was right up in the vampire’s, and if he saw anything fearsome at close range to that visage he did not flinch.
“I’ll move, Mister Alabama,” he said through gritted teeth as the snow whitened his cap. “For now, I won’t pull this trigger. But when we get inside there…I don’t care where you’re from, who you fought for or what the damned hell you are…you’re gonna tell everybody straight what you know to be true ’bout this. Are you hearin’ me?”
“I am. Now do what I’m telling you.”
Rooster peered down the embankment again. Once more Lawson thought the young man was going to try to go after Tabbers, but then the rifle’s barrel left Lawson’s throat and Rooster followed Gantt and his lantern back toward the locomotive and the passenger car.
The vampire gunfighter stood alone.
But he was not alone for very long.
He sensed rather than saw the movement behind him, and in a blur he whirled around with the Colt full of silver angels ready to fire.
“You don’t want to do that,” said the little boy who sat atop the biggest boulder.
Seven.
The boy was maybe twelve years old, but Lawson knew that was only in appearance. He had been taken and turned young, that was for sure. The boy wore a white shirt with a ruffled collar and ruffles down the front; at least it had been white once, before it had become matted with dried blood. He wore gray short pants and cream-colored leggings, with old-fashioned buckled shoes. Above the pallid and grinning face the mass of curly, touselled hair was straw-colored, and the boy’s eyes were light. Except now they held centers of crimson, and they were aimed at Trevor Lawson with not only malicious intent but a touch of true merriment. The boy was thin and awkward-looking; he had not been given time to fill out his bones.
“Hello,” he said, in his high-pitched, childish voice. “I’m Henry.”
Lawson nodded. His gun was ready. “I imagine you know my name.”
“I do. We all do. Let me introduce myself a little better. I am…was…Henry Styles, Junior. You can call me Junior, if it pleases you.”
“Nothing pleases me right now.”
The little boy cackled and clapped his hands together. The fingernails were long, dirty claws that Lawson figured could rip the head from a human being in a matter of seconds.
When he was done laughing, Henry Styles Junior said, “Do you know how many there are of us out here?”
“Many,” was Lawson’s answer.
“We—I,” he corrected, “brought an army. After what you did to LaRouge and the others at Nocturne…I kinda figured we needed to be more careful.” The grin widened, so much that the fangs almost slid out. “I always liked the snow,” he said. “Makes me think of Christmas in Philadelphia.”
“Oh? That’s where you’re from?”
“Born in Philadelphia in the year…” Junior paused. “What year is this?”
&
nbsp; “1886.”
“Hm. Born in Philadelphia in the year 1781. That makes me—”
“Older than you look.”
“Smarter than I look, too,” Junior said. “They say you’re smart too, Mr. Lawson.”
“Nice of them to say.”
“Are they correct?”
“I’d like to think so.” While he was speaking, Lawson was scanning his surroundings; at any second he expected some monstrosity—similar to the shape-changing vampire he’d faced on a rooftop in New Orleans last summer—to attack from any direction.
“Ease yourself,” said Junior. “We want to be gracious.”
“Grace from one of you? I doubt you understand that concept.”
The thing that looked like a boy laughed. A black tongue that might have been forked slid out from the mouth and caught some snowflakes before it withdrew.
“Your situation,” the creature said, “is hopeless. You do realize that.”
Lawson was about to deny it, but in truth he could not…at least not yet.
“And there you are. The truth of the matter. Let me tell you what we desire: yourself and Ann Kingsley. When you give yourselves up to us, we’ll clear the track. The others can go on to wherever they’re going, and long life to them.”
“Does that include the man who’s lying down in that brush? Or have you already drained him and torn him up?”
“Tut, tut,” Junior said, with the fixed grin upon his warped mouth. “Sacrifices must be made, for the good of the many. I believe I recall President Washington saying such a thing.”
“He’s dead.”
“Regrettably so. I wish we’d gotten to him first. What a leader he would’ve made for us!”
“I doubt that LaRouge would like to share the honor. Is she here?”
“As much as you would like her to be…no. She is at a distance, but you can be sure she’s with us, in her own way.”
It was disconcerting to Lawson, talking this way to a creature who looked like a little boy, spoke like an older man and thought like a monster. He had to get away, calm himself, and try to reason things through.
“Our terms,” said Junior. “Give yourself and your lady friend up, or we take everyone. We’ll take you and Miss Ann anyway, but I know you’ll bring some of my tribe to harm and I dislike that certainty.” He swung his legs back and forth on the boulder as any rambunctious tyke might, who didn’t mind the wind temperature in the single digits. “We won’t wait very long, Trevor. So for the sake of your newfound—”
“You won’t have to wait at all,” Lawson said, but even as he was squeezing the trigger to send a silver bullet through Junior’s skull the creature whirled away so fast it was a white blur…then only empty space and a ripple in the snow where the body had been. Lawson had never seen one of them move so quickly as that, and he was both shocked and in awe of Junior’s speed; so much so that his finger had not had time to depress the Colt’s trigger to its firing point.
And then when Lawson turned away the thing that was crouched on top of the locomotive behind him sprang into the air, and from the rags of its shirt two ebony wings that had been folded in wait now exploded into their span of ten feet width.
The thing resembled a human being only for its having two legs, two arms, a torso and a head in addition to the wings; everything else was, as Easterly had said, an abomination. It was dark-fleshed and muscular and gnarled and greedy, and as it swooped in silence down from its perch upon Trevor Lawson the mouth gaped wide open to ready the curved fangs. Above it the eyes with their crimson pupils were hypnotically horrific, and the claws at the ends of the long fingers twitched in anticipation.
It came at him so fast that, again, Lawson was stunned and mostly for the fact that he had let himself be beguiled by Junior as this shapechanged vampire had crouched atop the engine. His Colt fired with a sharp crack but his aim was off. The bullet streaked past the thing’s left side and continued on into the night like a small blue-flamed meteor. Lawson’s own fangs slid out. He threw up his free arm to protect his face and throat. The claws reached for him and were only inches away, but the desire to survive sped Lawson’s actions.
And also steadied his aim.
The second shot took the thing in the head, just above the left eye.
It was upon him before the sanctified bullet could take effect. It bore him to the ground. Lawson put his hand against the thing’s chin to keep those fangs away. The claws dug into the shoulders of his coat and the batlike wings fought the air.
In what seemed an agonizing length of time but was only a matter of seconds the creature shuddered and writhed and began to crack apart beginning at the hole above the left eye. Within the cracks a pulsing red heat glowed, as if the power of the consecrated silver was attacking the vampire’s ichor. The misshapen face crisscrossed with cracks like that of a dried-up mummy. The thing tried to pull away from Lawson, as if getting back into the turbulent air would save it. Lawson did his best to hold onto it but it tore away from him with a strangled scream. Its eyes imploded, the left and then the right, even as the wings powered the body upward with the last of their massive strength. The face collapsed upon itself, the mouth caved in, the arms and legs flailed as more seething red fissures opened in the body.
Another pistol cracked. A large piece of the vampire’s head with black hair attached to it blew out and burst into flame in midair. This second silver bullet sped the process of destruction, and even as Ann bent over Lawson to help him to his feet the creature was torn apart by the wind. The last to be dissolved were the wings, which fell into the snow in patterns of ash. What remained were the rags of the shirt, a pair of gray trousers and a pair of ordinary brown boots.
Lawson struggled up. Did he still have his hat? Yes, the leather chinstrap had held. His Colt? Yes, in his hand. Two bullets fired. Three, with Ann’s. A pair of silvers wasted. He was dazed and for a terrible moment had been back in time on the battlefield at Shiloh, crawling away in desperate terror from the nightmarish army that grinned and capered with glee as they pursued him across a landscape of the dead.
“Get inside,” he told her. “Hurry!”
“I heard the shots. I knew—”
“Come on!” he said, pulling her. There was no time. They were everywhere. A dark shape streaked through the air ten or twelve feet above their heads. The embankment to the right was coming alive with figures that appeared from the cover of trees, shrubs and rocks. On the left side, where the cliffs rose up, more figures seemed to be emerging from the very stones. As Lawson pulled Ann with him, his gaze fell upon one of the dead shapechanger’s boots lying in the ashen snow.
It held a spur.
“Move!” he said, aware that on both sides the earth was vomiting forth a hideous horde. They had reached the engine when a single voice cried out through the wind.
It said, “Ann! Annie! Wait for me, Annie!”
She caught her breath and might have fallen had Lawson not been holding her.
“Trevor!” she said, as the tears streaked down her cheeks. “It’s my father!”
“No, it’s not.”
“They have him! Listen to him! He’s still alive!”
“Annie! Please…don’t leave me…!”
“Let’s go!” He was prepared to pick her up if she resisted but she did not, though her knees had weakened and she staggered the rest of the way to the passenger car.
Ann had left Rooster with his rifle and Eric with his pistol in charge of keeping everyone where they needed to be. When she and Lawson came into the car, Reverend Easterly was on his knees beside Blue, who had regained consciousness and was holding his hand. Eric stood over him, his pistol drawn but held down at his side. Gantt was sitting toward the front, the lantern on the seat beside him, his face seamed with worry. The others were still sitting where they’d been when Ann had left the car. Rooster’s rifle swung toward the door.
The fireman said, “Put that gun away and get to talkin’!”
; Lawson ignored him. He holstered his Colt and shut the door, then he helped Ann to a seat and went back to see about Blue.
“Did you hear me, Alabama?” Rooster had shouted it; his patience had shredded with the sound of the shots. “Who were you shootin’ at out there?”
“Not who,” Ann managed to say, her voice listless. She slid her revolver into its holster. “What.”
As Lawson approached, Easterly started to stand up and retreat but instead he corrected himself. He remained where he was, his hand still grasping the girl’s. Blue’s eyes had opened, though they were still nearly swollen shut with pain. “Where am I?” she whispered. “Where am I?”
“I’ve told you,” Easterly said gently, “you’re on a train. You’re being taken to Helena, to the hospital there.”
“A t…train?”
“Yes.”
There was a pause. Blue tried to lift her head, but it was too much effort for her.
“Where am I?” she whispered. And then, “Ohhhhh…I’m h…hurtin’.” The swollen eyes searched, and what they could see or not see was anyone’s guess. “Am…I…dy…dy…” She gave it up, for again it was taking too much precious strength.
“Have faith,” said Easterly, in as soft as voice as Lawson had ever heard a man speak. “We’re going to get you to that hospital. Aren’t we, Mr. Lawson?” His heavy-lidded eyes moved up upon the vampire.
“That’s the plan.”
Blue shivered. “C…c…cold,” she whispered, though the blanket was still around her and the passenger car was so sturdily built as to let only a few small shrills of wind in. She began to cough…once…twice…a third time more violently even as Easterly tried to calm her. A little thread of blood ran from the corner of her mouth, and Lawson found himself staring at the vein that gave a weak pulse at her throat.
Her coughing subsided, but her breathing had become harsh. Lawson took from his coat the small bottle that Fossie had given him, and was grateful his clash with the winged monster hadn’t smashed it. “The doctor gave me this for her,” he said as he offered it to Easterly. “It’s morphine and whisky, to help her sleep.”
Last Train from Perdition Page 8
