99 Coffins: A Historical Vampire Tale

by David Wellington

  Howell spun around, his face white and his eyes wide. He had nothing clever to say this time.

  Caxton wanted to mock him—but she caught herself. He was just scared. She understood that perfectly. He knew Glauer might be right, just as she did. She needed to get control of herself. Needed to keep it together, just as much as Howell did.

  “Good thinking,” she told Glauer, her voice barely audible to herself.

  “What do you want us to do, Trooper?” one of the other guardsmen asked, quietly. His name tag read SADLER. Slowly, careful not to make too much noise, he climbed to his feet and the others followed.

  There were two corridors, one for guided tours and the other for the electric map. There was no reason to choose one over the other. Whichever one she chose, though, could be the wrong one. If she took her people to the guided tour office, a vampire could sneak up behind them and kill them before they even knew he was there. Assuming there even was a single vampire still in the visitor center. They might have devoured the LEOs and then left.

  She needed to think.

  “We need to secure this place. We’ll split up, just for a little while. Howell, you take your people down the hall on the left. Glauer and I will take the one on the right. If you make contact don’t wait for us to catch up, just engage.” She looked at her partner. He was pale and breathing hard, but he was still mobile, and his right arm—his shooting arm—was okay. He saw her sizing him up and gave her a reassuring nod.

  “Okay,” Howell said. He looked at his own troops. “Guys, get your asses up.”

  With Glauer at her back she headed down the dimly lit corridor toward the electric map. The way turned around a number of corners, almost instantly hiding the guardsmen from view. It led them past glass display cases full of artifacts from the battlefield—cannon, racks of antique rifles, a whole wall of white-corroded bullets and black tarnished uniformed buttons. She turned another corner and brought her weapon around, her breath catching in her throat. Before she fired, though, she saw what had scared her so badly—a posed group of mannequins wearing replica uniforms both blue and gray. The mannequins’ faces were as white as plaster.

  “Jesus,” Glauer said from behind her. “Don’t scare me like that.”

  “I’ll do my best,” she promised.

  A few moments later, the corridor opened into a waiting area. There were turnstiles and a ticket taker’s podium and several broad double doors leading into an auditorium beyond. As they watched one set of doors slowly creaked inward, just an inch or two.

  Caxton’s blood froze. She dropped to a firing crouch and held out an arm to keep Glauer back. She waited for the doors to crash open, for dozens of vampires to come bursting out, but nothing of the sort happened.

  The doors just stood there, slightly open. It could have been nothing. The building’s furnace might have switched on and a sudden puff of hot air could have pushed the doors open.

  Not likely, she thought.

  “Cover me,” Glauer said, moving in. She stayed in her crouch, her weapon ready. He pushed his back up against the wall just to one side of the slightly open doors and peered through the crack. “I don’t see anything,” he told her. He held out his rifle and used it like a stick to push one door open all the way.

  Caxton could see something of the room beyond—a big open space lined with rows of seats. The doors opened on the top level of a square amphitheater. Anything at all could be waiting below, hidden from view.

  Duck-walking forward, she moved closer to the doors. Glauer stepped through them, his rifle moving from left to right as he covered the room. “Clear,” he said, and she got up to her full height again and moved in, her own rifle still at the ready in case he’d missed something.

  She scanned the blue seats and the flights of steps that ran between them, made a note of all the fire exits from the room, then looked down. The electric map lay at the bottom of the amphitheater, an enormous topographically correct rendering of the town of Gettysburg and the battlefield to the south. An operator could switch on and off a series of lights to indicate where various regiments and battalions had stood on each day of the battle. It was hard for Caxton to see much of the map, however, because it was obscured by coffins.

  Lots of coffins. Some were broken open but most remained intact. They lay without any real organization on top of the map or on the floor around it. A lot of them had been laid across rows of seats or stood propped up against the steps. She didn’t need to count them to know there must be ninety-nine in total.

  She had finally found the coffins. Too late to do any good.

  84.

  While I was off to war, much transpired behind me, at my previous lodgings. I was only to learn much later of how sorely I’d underestimated my new friend. I was able to reconstruct most of what happened. The following I took from the official record of the special court martial of Private Jack Beecham, transcribed from his own words:

  “It was right after midnight, right after her night’s feeding, that it happened.

  “I really have no explanation for it, sir, other than it seemed right. The man who came had a bad wound on his face and he looked sickly, but we just thought he was some poor casualty bastard put to use by the quartermaster ’cause he wasn’t fit to fight anymore. Some of the men working as cooks here have worse injuries and ailments, as I’m sure you know. This fellow said his name was Bill something. He was a yank soldier and he used Colonel Pittenger’s name, said he had orders to pick up a coffin and take it away for burial, that’s all I know. No, sir, he hadn’t any papers, but that’s not so rare in wartime, when things aren’t often done to a nicety. He had a wagon with black bunting, you know, a funeral hearse, and a team. Oh, how those horses got themselves up when we brought out the coffin, as if they’d been at by a whole nest of hornets. We was all glad to see him go, as you might imagine, for it meant getting rid of those maddened beasts.

  “It seemed alright, honest. I didn’t know Miss Malvern was inside that coffin, or I’d have put up a real fight. He said he was going to take her home and bury her proper, but where he actually got to, I have no notion.

  “I’ll take my punishment now, if that’s alright.”

  Private Beecham was made to ride a donkey backward around the whole of the camp at morning rolls, with a dunce cap over his eyes. Then he was flogged, given six stripes, and had his week’s pay taken away. It was lucky for him I was so far away; my punishment would have been far graver. Perhaps I’d have introduced him to my new acquaintances.

  —THE PAPERS OF WILLIAM PITTENGER

  85.

  Glauer headed down the steps toward the map. She circled around the top of the amphitheater, scanning the exit doors. She tried one, found it locked. Moved to the next one. That was a dangerous game, she knew. To try the doors she had to lower her weapon, leaving her vulnerable. She needed to do this the way she’d been trained—which meant she needed help. She needed Glauer to cover her while she opened each door.

  “Glauer, let’s keep together, okay?” she called out. The big cop had made his way down to the level of the map to stand in the middle of a group of coffins. Though she was sure they were empty, she didn’t want him down there. “Glauer?”

  He didn’t even seem to hear her. His rifle was pointed down at the floor, but his face was turned upward, his eyes focused on a glassed-in booth above her head, where the map’s operator would have sat.

  His jaw slid open as if it had come unhinged. His massive arms fell lifeless at his sides.

  “Glauer!” she shouted, but he didn’t even flinch.

  Oh shit, she thought, even as his rifle lifted, even as he brought up the hand of his bad arm to grip the heat shield. She recognized the look on his face just fine—she’d worn the same expression often enough herself. There had to be a vampire up there in the booth. Glauer had made eye contact and now the vampire had him hypnotized. She rushed down toward him, thinking she could snap him out of it.

  Then she noticed th
at his rifle was pointing right at her. Still he looked upward as if transfixed by some religious vision. He wasn’t aiming at her. He probably didn’t even know what his hands were doing. She saw his finger slip through the trigger guard and just had time to drop to the floor as his rifle spat bullets across the wall behind her.

  “Trooper?” she heard him call, his voice watery and indistinct. “Where are you? I can’t…I can’t see you.”

  Caxton crawled forward on her elbows and knees, protected only by the row of seats between Glauer and herself. He fired another burst that tore at the upholstery of the seats, sending yellow fluff into the air.

  She had no idea what she was going to do next. He had her pinned down—if she stood up he would blow her away. If she moved forward or backward too far she would come to one of the sets of steps that ran down to the map. To the side there were two doors, the locked fire exit she’d just tried and the door she’d intended to investigate next, a total unknown. It might be open. There might be fifty vampires waiting behind it. It didn’t matter much, since to get to it she would have to dodge bullets.

  “Trooper…did you say…something?” Glauer asked. His voice sounded different, and she realized he was moving. Coming toward her, climbing the steps.

  She couldn’t move—but if she didn’t move he would just come to her and kill her where she lay. Her only choice was to try the mystery door. He would have plenty of time to shoot her while she reached for its handle, but she was out of options.

  No—she had one option. She could shoot him first. Arkeley would probably have done just that, but she didn’t know if she had the nerve.

  So instead she waited for his next burst—just two bullets this time, one of which knocked chips of plaster out of the wall right over her head—and then jumped up and ran as fast as she could for the door.

  She glanced back as she ran and saw him six feet away, his rifle barrel trained right on her. His face kept looking up at the booth. She slammed into the door with her hip, hoping to trigger the push bar and propel herself through in one motion. There was only one problem: there was no push bar.

  The door was narrower than the fire exits she’d seen, painted the same color as the walls. A sign at eye level read ELECTRIC MAP PERSONNEL ONLY. PLEASE! Instead of a push bar it had a brass knob. She grabbed the knob and tried to twist it, but found it locked.

  In the next moment, she knew, she would be shot in the back. She drew her Beretta and tried to point it at Glauer, but her arm couldn’t complete the motion.

  He took a step closer and squeezed his trigger. The patrol rifle clicked, but there was no round in the chamber. He had emptied his clip. It would take only seconds to reload, seconds during which she could still shoot him. She raised her pistol. If she shot him in the arms it would keep him from shooting. He had already lost a lot of blood, though. There was no guarantee that new wounds wouldn’t send him into shock or even kill him. It was her or him, though—

  His hands worked at the rifle, moving the fire control selector back and forth pointlessly. He held the weapon by its heat shield and looked right down the barrel.

  What the hell was he doing? But then she understood. Glauer could have ejected the spent magazine and slapped a fresh one in place with a blindfold on. But Glauer wasn’t in control of his own body. The unseen vampire was—a vampire who knew how to load a musket rifle and even a breech-loading Sharps rifle, maybe, but certainly not a Colt AR6520.

  “Caxton?” he asked. “Did you—did you leave me here alone?”

  Ignoring him, she smashed at the door with her hip and shoulder. If she could get through she could get up to the control booth. She could get to the vampire who had Glauer hypnotized. She could kill said vampire and break the spell.

  Behind her the local cop took another step toward her. He threw the patrol rifle away, let it clatter on the ground. Reaching down to his belt, he took out his ASP baton and extended it to its full length.

  “Laura?” he called.

  The door failed to collapse under her repeated attacks. As Glauer lifted the baton to strike her, he looked like a bear coming at her.

  “Oh, fuck this,” she said, and kicked him right in the chest. The air went out of him and he fell backward, hitting the ground like a big sandbag.

  She turned back to the door—and that was when the lights went out.

  86.

  General Hancock, who had nominal charge of me and my wards, came to me just as the dark of the battle was turning to the dark of night. I had a tent of some bigness within which my coffins were propped up on sawhorses. From within them already I could hear my men stirring, getting ready for their baptism in fire.

  “By Judas Iscariot,” the general swore. He was a young man, no more than forty years in age, with a long full beard but his cheeks were clean shorn. He waved his hat at Griest and took a step back. Could any man blame him? The first time one sees a vampire is always hard. One does not expect the protruding teeth, nor the red eyes. One feels immediately the suspect coolness, the prickling of the hairs on one’s arms. I rushed forward to assure him.

  “Secretary Stanton sends his warmest regards, sir,” I said. “Does the battle go well?”

  Hancock’s eyes lit up. “We have not yet lost, and Lee is on the field, so I shall count this day a victory. I’ve come to tell you to stand down for the night.”

  Griest’s face fell. I could see he longed to speak but he was still a corporal, even if he was no longer human. Instead I spoke for him.

  “The men are ready to fight, sir. They’ve made a great sacrifice, all of them, to be here.”

  “I know it well. Yet I cannot loose them on the Rebels tonight. I’m counting on a grand surprise from your fellows, and I dare not spring it too soon. Stand down, man, but be ready.”

  He could not seem to get away soon enough.

  —THE PAPERS OF WILLIAM PITTENGER

  87.

  It was dark—so terribly dark. There was no light anywhere, not even a glimmer of starlight. The electric map auditorium had no windows and no light could even sneak in around the edges of the fire exits.

  She was trapped in the dark with a vampire and her partner, who was hypnotized and trying to kill her.

  Caxton staggered backward, blind and terrified. She fought down a scream and then dug in her coat pocket for her flashlight. She held the Beretta straight upward—without light she had nothing to shoot at.

  The door she’d been pressed against a moment before flapped open and something cold and inhuman shot past her, into the dark. The vampire had come down from the booth.

  Glauer was still down on the floor, she thought. He was a sitting duck. The vampire would have had to break his hypnotic connection with the local cop to come down, but most likely Glauer was still dazed and unable to defend himself.

  Well, there wasn’t much she could do for him if she couldn’t see. Even less if she was dead. She found the flashlight and switched it on before it was even out of her pocket. The beam twitched in her hand and she realized just how scared she was. Fighting to control herself, she pointed the flashlight down toward the electric map. Her light barely gleamed off the broken coffins down there, the beam illuminating nothing of use. She moved the light slowly across the floor at her feet, toward where she’d left Glauer. She didn’t worry about giving his position away—or her own. She knew the vampire could see their blood glowing in the dark, a fine tracery of red where arteries and veins pulsed faster and faster.

  The vampire laughed at her, an animal noise like a hyena would make. A cold and violent growl. She shuddered, her whole body shaking. Then she went back to looking for Glauer.

  She found his ASP baton, abandoned on the floor. There was no sign of the cop. She thought about calling out his name but couldn’t seem to get her voice to work.

  It was just too much. She’d been shot at, grabbed, even bitten. She was operating on no sleep and little food and there were vampires everywhere, vampires who had already killed most of
her army. And now they were coming for her.

  A sound leaked out of her throat, then. It sounded a lot like a whimper.

  Stop this, she told herself. You’re a trooper of the Pennsylvania State Police and you have killed more vampires than this asshole has killed humans.

  She willed her hand to stop shaking. Her chest was shivering as it dragged more and more oxygen into her lungs. She would start hyperventilating soon. She would get that under control too, but first she needed her hands. The flashlight beam steadied, moved slowly across the metal seat backs. She had to find the vampire.

  She was covered in weaponry, but she didn’t think that would scare him off. In the dark he was at a distinct advantage. He could have killed her already, several times over. If he hadn’t attacked yet it meant he was toying with her. Playing with his food. Vampires were like that—real assholes. She concentrated on the fact that she was still alive. That was good, and useful. It meant she could still, possibly, save herself. She could worry about Glauer later.

  The flashlight lit up another row of seats and then bounced off a white face. She saw squinting red eyes and a very toothy grin, and she yelped in fright.

  The vampire leaped out of her light even as she brought her pistol around to shoot him. He moved with an awful grace, his limbs contracting and then extending like finely machined springs. She heard him land with a gentle thud, somewhere to her left. She spun on her heel, tried to follow him with her light, but she had lost him.

  From very close by she heard him laugh again.

  She tried desperately to remember her training. She needed to try to control the scene. That was something they’d taught her in the state police academy, in almost every class she took. You didn’t run into a dark alley until you knew who was waiting in the shadows. If someone was shooting at you, your first instinct should not be to return fire but to find cover.