99 Coffins: A Historical Vampire Tale

by David Wellington

  “I…I’m not sure. I think so.”

  Arkeley leaned on his head.

  “Yes! Yes,” the half-dead screamed. “It had to be! That was why—why he wanted to kill her so badly. Oh God! Tell him to stop!”

  “I will,” Caxton said, “but first I need something more. Something we can use. You have to tell me what he’s going to do next. Will he try to kill Malvern again?”

  “Y-yes. I think—I mean, I know he will. It was the one thing he wanted to accomplish. He knows you’ll catch him eventually. He wants to kill her first. That’s all I know—I swear!” His eyes swiveled to look past her. “Oh, God, please please please please please…”

  Harold had returned. He had a long red toolbox in one hand. The other held a big power drill.

  “You don’t have much time left,” she said. “You need to tell me something more. Just think, okay? Don’t guess, but think. Will he come back tomorrow night?”

  “I don’t know—I don’t know,” the half-dead creaked.

  “Think!” she shouted.

  “Yes yes yes, he will, he’ll come back, he’ll—he mentioned something once, he just said it in an offhand way, but but but—”

  “But what?” she asked.

  “That night you chased him. When you chased him onto the battlefield, he came back, he came back and we talked a little. He said you were dangerous. He said he might not be able to do what he needed to do by himself. That he might need help.”

  “Help.” Caxton made a hard line of her mouth. “You mean reinforcements. More half-deads like you?”

  The thing on the display case managed to wiggle its head back and forth in negation. “No. He swore he would never make a half-dead. He swore it a hundred times—I think—I think there was something there, some story he didn’t tell me. He seemed to think that killing people and drinking their blood could maybe be okay, but that calling them back from the dead was the real sin. I don’t know why.”

  “Then where would he get reinforcements?” Caxton demanded. A high whining, grinding noise startled her. She looked up. Harold had stretched an extension cord across the floor and had plugged in his power drill. “We’re out of time,” she said.

  “Other vampires!” the half-dead screeched. “He’ll come back with more vampires. More—maybe lots more.”

  Arkeley grabbed his hair again and pulled his head back. “He’s going to make new vampires? That’ll take some time. At least another night. That’s good, that’s useful to us.”

  The half-dead stared up into Arkeley’s hard eyes. “Why would he do that? Why make new ones when he already has ninety-nine of them waiting to strike?”

  54.

  A courier met me with certain papers, hastily-made copies of letters from the Ranger Simonon to his masters in Richmond. One of my spies had intercepted them en route and made the copies, then sent the originals on, as were his standing orders. I read the letters with a growing fear, that was not alleviated when I’d finished. I asked the soldier if he knew where this place was, the Chess plantation, and he said he did not, but could direct me on to Gum Spring, at least. I listened closely to the directions he indicated, and then was off again. My horse needed rest. I needed food, and perhaps a nice cigar, and time to smoke it. They say misery loves company, but I doubt the horse was capable of appreciating the sentiment.

  —THE PAPERS OF WILLIAM PITTENGER

  55.

  “I,” Arkeley admitted, his face blank, “may have made a mistake.”

  “What are you saying?” Caxton demanded. She knew, of course. She just had to confirm it.

  “The other vampires—the ones in the cavern—” the half-dead spluttered out. “They’re not dead. Just sleeping.”

  “And you think he can wake them,” she said, speaking slowly to buy time. Time to think. Time to get her stomach under control.

  “Yes, yes! He was quite clear on that.” The thing squirmed in its bonds. It seemed to think this was the simplest, most logical thing in the world.

  “But there were no hearts,” she said, when she could speak again. “There were no hearts in the cavern—just bones. I checked every coffin. He can’t revive them unless he has their hearts.” At the time it had been reasonable to assume that the bones were dead. That the vampires were dead, permanently dead.

  Her reasonable assumption was wrong. If a hundred vampires got loose—how much damage could they do before she could stop them? Could she even stop that many?

  Arkeley was staring at her with a look of horror on his face. She didn’t need to say what she was thinking, because she knew he was thinking exactly the same thing.

  “There were no hearts there,” she insisted again.

  The thing that had once been Geistdoerfer was happy to fill her in. “When I entered the cavern there was a heart laid out on every coffin. Dipped in tar, wrapped in oilskin. I originally wanted to replace them all but he said no, I should let the others sleep. Together we gathered up the other hearts, to keep my students from disturbing them. We numbered them carefully and then we put them in a barrel.”

  “I’ve seen that barrel,” Caxton said, turning to face Arkeley. It was in the specimen room of the Civil War Era Studies department of Gettysburg College. She remembered silver wood and hoops weathered down to rust stains. She had thought it was just one more artifact from the dig. “I’ve seen where it is. I know exactly where it is.”

  The two of them stood there, looking at each other.

  “If I can get somebody there in time, they can destroy the hearts. We can stop this before it even begins.”

  Arkeley nodded as if he liked what she said. “This doesn’t have to end badly. Not if we can get to the hearts before the vampire does. You can call the Gettysburg police, tell them where it is, tell them how to destroy the hearts.”

  She nodded and grabbed for her cell phone. Dialed a number she knew by heart. Finally someone picked up in Harrisburg. “This is Trooper Laura Caxton,” she said. “Put me through to the Commissioner, please. No, wait, he won’t be in yet. Just get me the duty officer in charge.”

  The dispatcher didn’t ask any questions. After a couple of seconds a bored-sounding man answered from the operations desk. She explained quickly what she needed.

  The duty officer grumbled, “We’ll need a warrant for that.”

  That would take time. Maybe hours. They would have to wake up a judge—and the judge would want some paperwork. Some kind of evidence to justify barging into private property and seizing an old rusty barrel. It would take more than one trooper’s panicked testimony. “There are exigent circumstances. The barrel is going to be used in the commission of a violent crime. Maybe a lot of violent crimes.”

  “That would be a first. I don’t know, Trooper—”

  “Listen,” Caxton said. “Listen closely.” She closed her eyes and tried to think of the words to light a fire under the OIC. A hundred vampires. Caxton had once seen what just two vampires could do. They’d eaten the entire population of a small town, leaving only one survivor. A hundred vampires—vampires who had been starved for more than a century, vampires who would wake up emaciated and cold and very, very hungry—could depopulate Gettysburg in a single night. “Listen,” she said again. “I will take personal responsibility on this. You get a patrol unit down there now and get that barrel. If you don’t a lot of people are going to die. They’re going to die painfully and all their families are going to grieve for years. Because you wouldn’t trust me right now. Do you understand?”

  “Yeah,” he said, finally. “Hey—yeah, you’re that Caxton, aren’t you? The gay lady supercop they made that movie about. How much did you get paid for that?”

  “Send the fucking unit right now!” she screamed, and flipped her phone shut.

  Arkeley and Harold were both staring at her when she looked up.

  “They’re sending a unit to look for the barrel,” she told Arkeley.

  “It’s still dark out,” he replied.

  “I kno
w.” She fumed silently. “They’ll send one man in a patrol cruiser. He might think to take his shotgun with him, but probably not. If the vampire is there, if he’s beaten us to it, he’ll take our guy apart piece by piece. We just have to hope our man gets there first. I’ll go there as fast as I can and try to stop anyone from dying, but I can’t fly. It’ll take me hours to get back. What could I have done differently?”

  Arkeley shook his head. He didn’t have a nasty comeback, didn’t so much as call her an idiot.

  She checked her things. Her Beretta, fully loaded, was back in its holster. She’d gathered up her pepper spray as well, her handcuffs and her flashlight, recovered from Geistdoerfer’s pockets before they’d revived him.

  She turned to look at the half-dead one last time. When she was gone she knew Arkeley would destroy the reanimated corpse, smash in its head and cremate the remains. He wouldn’t bother trying to contact the professor’s family, at least not until afterward. Fine, she thought. Let them sleep in. Let them get one last night of peace before they had to hear about how John Geistdoerfer had met his grisly end a second time.

  She stepped over to where he lay on top of his wooden case. “I have one last question before I go,” she said. “No torture this time, no threats. I just want to talk to the man who used to own that body.”

  The half-dead’s eyes were dry and yellow in their sockets. They focused on her as if they were glued in place.

  “When you searched me, Professor, you took my weapons away. You took my handcuffs, too. You found my cell phone, but you left it where it was. I don’t understand why you did that. You must have known what you’d found.”

  “Oh, yes, Trooper. I knew what it was,” he said in that irritating high-pitched squeak.

  “Why, then? Were you trying to help me? Did you think that might have made the difference, and helped me stop the vampire?”

  The half-dead licked his dry lips with a gray tongue. His nose crinkled as if he’d smelled something foul. “Maybe,” he said, finally. “If I say yes, will you let me go?”

  “No,” she said, frowning.

  “Then maybe I just didn’t think you could call anyone. Not while we were both watching you.” He turned his head away from her. “I’m a villain. If you’re done with me, just kill me already!”

  She shook her head and grabbed at his shirt and his jacket. He struggled to pull away, to get his face away from her, but she wasn’t interested in that. Instead she shoved a hand in his pocket and pulled out his car keys.

  Moving quickly, she went to the front door of the museum building and pushed it open. Outside a bright blue light filled the sky—the color of night just before the dawn begins. Everything that had happened since she’d gone to Gettysburg College to interview Geistdoerfer had happened in a single night, but now that night was over. A layer of frost lay over the cars in the street, on the wooden utility poles, ready to melt into morning dew. Nearby a bird was chirping, a repetitive, shrill little sound that made her scalp feel tight. She really needed some sleep.

  Behind her she heard the rustling of clothing, and her hands twitched in paranoia. When she turned around it was only to see Arkeley filling the doorway. “I should be going with you, but I can’t.” His eyes burned in the blue light. Cold, fierce, angry. “This should be my case, but I was too frail to finish it. You need to be my hands on this one.”

  It was her case. Caxton was sure of that. Still she could understand his frustration. He’d been working most of his adult life on trying to drive vampires to extinction. He must have watched her failures and mistakes with growing dread, knowing he could have done a better job. If only his body still worked, if only he still had his strength.

  “I’ll get what I can out of Geistdoerfer—if he comes up with anything else I’ll call you. I’ll help as much as I can from a distance.” His face fell. “Do it right,” he said. “Be smart, and don’t get yourself killed.”

  It was the closest thing he could manage to wishing her luck. She just nodded and moved on to the next task. That was how she would get through this—one simple decision at a time.

  She hurried down the alley to the parking lot, where Geistdoerfer’s car with its suggestion of tail fins waited for her. Its windshield was covered in a thin layer of white frost, which she wiped away with her sleeves. Then she climbed in and started up the powerful engine, listened to it purr. The sky was brightening by the minute. When she felt the car had warmed up enough she put it in gear and headed out, laying her cell phone on the passenger seat beside her. There were a lot of calls to be made.

  Her stomach growled noisily. She hadn’t eaten in a very long time. Her brain was fighting her, squirming painfully in her skull. Her body was breaking down. It needed sleep, and food, and peace.

  Not a lot she could do about that. But maybe, something.

  She couldn’t sleep, not yet. Peace was an abstract. Food, though, was a possibility. There were few diners in that stretch of Pennsylvania—mostly there were family restaurants, the kind that didn’t open until the farmers started their day. Not for a while yet. She found a fast-food place that was open all night, decided to waste a few minutes if it meant her body would calm down a little. If it meant getting some energy back.

  She pulled up to the drive-through bay. Cranked down the old car’s manual window and let cold air blast inside, across her face. It woke her up some. She shouted her order at the microphone, but nobody answered. After a while she tapped the horn. The big pneumatic noise it made drew tiny birds out of the trees across the road. Finally a sleepy voice croaked out of the speakers. “How can we help you?” it asked.

  “Give me an egg sandwich and a cup of coffee,” she said.

  “Do you want milk and sugar?” the voice blurted. There was a bad feedback whine that nearly drowned out the words.

  “No,” she shouted back.

  “Hash browns for only thirty-nine cents more?”

  Caxton grabbed the bridge of her nose and squeezed. “People are going to fucking die if you don’t just put a fucking sandwich in a fucking bag for me,” she said.

  The speaker cut off with an electronic belch. Then the feedback returned. “I’m sorry, I missed that.”

  Probably a good thing, too. Caxton exhaled noisily. “Yeah, give me some hash browns,” she said.

  “Thank you, pull through.”

  She drove up to the next window, took her food and paid for it. She tore into the greasy sandwich before she’d even gotten back on the Turnpike.

  The road disappeared beneath her wheels. When she got to the toll plaza she pulled into the purple E-ZPass lane. The toll went on Geistdoerfer’s tab and she was through.

  56.

  Storrow regained his footing & grabbed at the degraded side of the cupola. “No reason we can’t go back the way we came, now,” he said, a smile on his face. “It’ll be a hard slog back through partisan country, but lackin’ Simonon, them horsemen we saw’ll be disorganized. Maybe we’ll actually make it back to the lines.”

  I wiped my face with my hands. What would I do now? For what purpose should I go on? Bill was dead. I had my duty, I supposed, to my country. I could draw on that for strength, I told myself. I reached out a hand for Storrow to take. He did not accept my grasp, but instead loosed an anguished cry. I turned to look at him.

  In that same instant all hope died. Chess rose up again with a fury I could scarce credit though I saw it myself. The vampire’s head was fully re-formed, though he was hatless now.

  “Sweet Jesu,” Storrow barked. “We’re done for!”

  “Get,” I told him, because suddenly I wanted him to live. We had argued, Storrow & I, & been at loggerheads, yet I wanted him to live so badly I would sacrifice myself to make it happen. Which is exactly what I thought I was doing.

  I ran at the vampire with my head down, as fast as my hurt leg would allow. Under normal conditions this would have had all the effect of blowing on him with my breath. He was stronger by far than I, massively so, &
invincible as far as I knew. Yet on the pitched roof I gained momentum as I ran heedless of my footing, & when I collided with the vampire we both were launched into lightless space.

  For one moment only I felt suspended between Heaven and Earth, a spirit of the air. A moment after that I struck the dry Virginia soil below, which felt much harder than I recalled.

  Pain was my portion, but for one moment more only. Then all feeling left my legs & aught below my chest. My back was broken. I needed no physician to tell me as much.

  —THE STATEMENT OF ALVA GRIEST

  57.

  Leaves stirred up into the air, splatted across her windshield as she pulled off Route 15 and into the Gettysburg borough limits. The streets were empty, the day’s traffic not yet begun. It was well after eight and the sun was already above the treetops, a white glare in a sky full of dark clouds.

  The Gettysburg College campus was just up ahead. She had not heard back from headquarters, did not yet know whether they’d beaten the vampire to his prize. She held her phone against the steering wheel, ready to answer it the second it started to ring.

  She crested a low hill and eased off the gas as the car surged down into a dark hollow. The trees were buffeted by a stiff breeze and their half-naked branches lashed against each other, against the surging air.

  It wasn’t much farther to the edge of the college. She pulled into the parking lot below Geistdoerfer’s old offices and jumped out, looking around for any sign of the patrol cruiser she’d had dispatched there. It stood a bit away, at the end of the lot, its lights off. She approached it carefully, not knowing what she expected to see. Occasionally she glanced at the tree-lined sidewalks of the campus, at the darker shadows. There would be nothing there, of course. Her vampire would be asleep now, hidden tight away in some stolen coffin, waiting for the newly risen sun to go away.

  She got up to the car, bent down with a hand over her eyes to look inside. A trooper in a wide-brimmed hat sat in the driver’s seat, hunched over. His hat obscured his eyes, but she could see his mouth was open.