Authors: Michael P. Spradlin
T
he few minutes Hollister had been gone were some of the longest of Chee’s life. He had watched from the shooting portal at the window until Hollister had disappeared in the darkness. The women and children were quiet. He could tell none of them believed the major was coming back, but he was glad for the silence. Even Rebecca was quiet. Billy’s mother had apparently cried herself out, perhaps coming to the realization that her boy was most likely dead.
A few minutes later, gunshots sounded and his hopes rallied. Then came a few more shots a short while later and he wondered if Hollister had been overwhelmed. Not long after that, came a faint howling sound he didn’t recognize. Not a Coyote or a dog. He had no idea what it meant, but it meant something. He hoped it wasn’t an indication that the major was dead.
It would be up to him to keep these people safe, and he wondered if they could survive the night.
The young woman named Sally was suddenly at his elbow, the heavy Colt still in her small hand.
“Do you think he’s still alive?” she asked quietly.
“I don’t know,” he said. Chee was uncomfortable conversing with people. With soldiers and the major, he had no problem, but white people, even whores, generally made him nervous.
“I think he’s alive,” she said. “He seems like a smart fella.”
Chee understood the young woman had gone sweet on Hollister in the few short hours they had been here in the jail.
He kept his eyes on the outside and straightened a little when he noticed several Archaics moving into the street fifty yards down from the jail. They moved slowly toward the intersection and in the moonlight it was difficult to tell what was going on.
But he was sure this meant the major was still alive. Otherwise they would be gathering to attack the jail, not heading in the other direction. A few moments later, he heard more gunshots.
Hollister
was
alive.
He strained to watch the activity in the street, trying to figure out what was happening. Instinct told him something was about to go down. He looked at Sally.
“Miss, I’m going to need your help,” he said.
She looked at him, her eyes going wide as if she could read his mind.
“I’m going to go out there and help the major,” he said. “You need to take my spot here and keep watch on the street out there. You’ll need to bar the door after I leave, and let us in when we come back.”
“I can’t do that,” Sally said, shaking her head.
“Yes, you can,” he said quietly. He tried to think of something that would make her believe she could do what he asked. “The major, he believed in you.”
Sally swallowed hard.
“But I thought he told you to stay here with us,” she said, the fear starting to creep into her voice.
“He did. But he’s in trouble. And if we’re going to have a chance, we need to help him. He’s counting on us. He’s counting on you. Can you do it?”
Sally looked down at the floor. Outside there was another gunshot, then another—then the Archaics in the street started running and jumping like a herd of frightened antelope.
“It’s now or never, Sally,” he said gently.
“All right, I can do it,” she said.
Chee went to the door and quickly lifted the beam, looking at the remaining women. “Sally is in charge,” he said. “If anyone gives her trouble, I will shoot them.”
He stepped through the door, waiting until he heard Sally lower the beam back in place.
Working the action on the big Henry rifle, he ran into the street.
H
ollister didn’t die. He opened his eyes, looking up to see the Archaic above him stabbed through the chest by Shaniah and her knife. It fell to the roof beside him and he scrambled to his feet, ready to shoot. The creatures were everywhere. He looked behind him; three more were coming along the roof toward them. They hadn’t made it very far; the jail was still a good thirty yards or more beyond.
He fired at the Archaics to his rear, hitting the one in the middle. The other two darted away, the one on his right jumping off the roof of the walkway to the top of a building and disappearing from sight. The one on his left jumped back to the street and he fired at it again, hitting the shoulder and spinning it around, and it darted up onto the walkway underneath him and out of sight.
“This was a bad plan,” Shaniah said. She stood holding the knife in both hands, with three Archaics ten yards in front of her, blocking their pathway to the jail. “We’re trapped.”
Hollister wanted to argue with her but couldn’t, deciding she had a point. Maybe he had been mistaken.
Down in the street an Archaic looked at him and growled, its eyes blazing. It leapt in the air and he raised his pistol, tracking it, when he heard a shot and it spun in the air, collapsing on the ground, groaning in agony. The three Archaics confronting Shaniah scattered, moving so fast, he had no idea where they went. Two more still waited in the street below, looking confused as their comrade squirmed in pain on the dusty street. Another shot sounded and one of them disappeared in a cloud of ash and dust. Hollister recognized the bark of the Henry. Chee.
My God.
They had an open path ahead of them now, the roofline temporarily clear of Archaics.
“Go! Go!” Hollister shouted.
Shaniah didn’t wait. She took off running faster than Hollister thought he’d ever seen a human being run. Of course she wasn’t quite human.
“Chee! It’s us. We’re on the roof. Don’t shoot us!” he hollered, wanting to make sure the trigger-happy sergeant didn’t gun them down by accident. Though he knew there was very little the young man ever did by accident.
He took off after her, his boots clomping across the roof. He hoped they hadn’t skimped on the lumber, as he would hate to plunge through, after he had managed to elude these vicious critters thus far. The Henry fired again, and another Archaic who had jumped toward them from below was knocked out of the air, tumbling to the street. There was a second of silence as if they had pulled back and slowed somehow. Hollister could only surmise that Chee’s sudden appearance and the withering fire he was sending their way had bought them a few precious moments as the creatures sorted through the confusion.
“Move!” Hollister shouted at Shaniah, not knowing why exactly, except that his cavalry training was coming back to him and he was used to shouting orders in combat.
Hollister took a glance backward and discovered two Archaics closing on them. He fired and one of his Colts clicked on an empty chamber.
“Shit!” He holstered the gun and ran faster, hoping Chee would see the two behind him and take care of them.
Ten yards to go until they reached the jail.
Another Archaic jumped in front of them but Shaniah took it out with her knife, this time swinging and connecting at the neck as the creature crumpled to the ground. She ran right through it and Hollister followed. He probably would have been ill at the thought of it if he wasn’t likely to die soon anyway.
“Hurry!” Chee called to them from the street below. He was firing his pistol now, having emptied the long gun. “There’s more coming . . . Oh My God!”
Shaniah and Hollister reached the roof over the sidewalk in front of the jail and leapt to the ground. Jonas landed hard, feeling the pain shoot from his ankles up to his knees as he spun, rolling on the ground and coming back to his feet.
Shaniah had landed cleanly without a problem and looked at Hollister, her eyes knitted and mouth flattened in a smirk. Hollister stamped his feet, shaking the pain out of his legs.
“Shut up,” he said, looking at her and trying to hide his bruised ego.
“Look!” Chee said, gesturing down the street toward the town’s intersection.
It was a couple of hours after midnight now, but the moon was almost straight overhead. About one hundred yards away from them were another twenty or more Archaics racing in their direction at a full-on gallop like a pack of rabid coyotes. All of them had obviously been townspeople a few days ago. Not any longer. They were coming to join the fight.
Then Jonas realized that was not the case at all. They were chasing something. His eyes shifted to a moving blur about twenty yards in front of the pack.
Billy.
“C
hee! Reload,” he shouted. “Jesus Christ, kid. Run!” He slapped another speed loader into his empty Colt, spinning the chamber, snapping it in place, and twirling the gun back into his holster.
The few Archaics pursuing them along the rooftops had paused momentarily, first wary of Chee and his rifle and now watching the activity in the street below. Three of them turned back and ran toward the oncoming pack, their eyes no doubt set on Billy, angling to cut him off. Predators went after the easiest prey, and right now, Billy, whose little legs were churning up the dirt as he ran, was a much less threatening target than the three of them.
“Chee!” Hollister said, pointing at the three retreating Archaics. The sergeant raised the rifle and fired three times in rapid succession. Hollister couldn’t remember ever seeing anyone shoot more effortlessly. Each of the Archaics went down, flopping like fish on the rooftop, the pain of the silver bullets working through them. They wouldn’t be down for long, though.
“Chee, cover me,” Hollister said. He ran toward Billy, Shaniah’s voice sounding behind him.
“Wait! What are you doing?” she cried.
“Going after the kid!”
“Stop! It might be a trap!” she shouted.
Both men could hear the fury in her voice, and it might have given them pause if they’d had time to think about it. Having just fought their way through a swarm of bees only to see Hollister turn around and head back into the hive had put her on edge.
As Hollister ran, he had to give Billy credit. The little bastard was quick. He must have gotten some kind of head start on the Archaics, but they were making up ground fast.
He’s going to get me killed
, Hollister thought,
but damn, the kid can run.
Jonas was fast himself. At the Point he’d often challenge his classmates to footraces and in four years he’d only lost once, to a plebe from New Hampshire. He couldn’t remember the cadet’s name now. Simpkins? Simpson? Funny the things you thought of when you were racing toward your doom.
The trouble was, Hollister hadn’t run much, if at all, in years. Not since before he was thrown in Leavenworth. There had been no place to run there, and besides, running inmates tended to make the guards trigger happy.
As soon as he started running he knew he wasn’t going to reach the kid in time. He hadn’t used those muscles in forever, and everything felt stiff and unlimber. He should have sent Chee after him. With all the sergeant’s face kicking and leaping around in the air, he would have been a better choice.
He could hear Shaniah calling after him, but her voice was drowned out in the noise of Chee laying down a spray of gunfire and trying to slow the Archaics’ advance.
Thirty yards to go, his legs churning, the kid coming at him like a little gray blur. He pushed harder, his boots digging into the dirt.
Something flashed past him on his right, there so suddenly he flinched and almost pulled his pistol to shoot it. It was Shaniah. She was moving even faster than she had on the roof.
She blew past him and Billy a few yards later and skidded to a stop, the Archaics nearly on top of her. Her long knife was in her hand as she threw back her head and shouted in a long, loud cry unlike anything Hollister had ever heard. A strange mixture of animal, human, and something else pierced the night like a blade.
The Archaics stopped in their tracks.
Billy kept running toward the jail.
T
he fool!
Shaniah cursed as she ran. Chee stayed behind her firing his bewitched rifle and she sprinted down the street in Hollister’s wake. He was fast for a human, but not fast enough. It was a surprise to find the human boy still alive. Convincing Hollister to abandon his search had not been easy. She looked foolish now, and had no choice but to attempt to rescue the child.
She rushed past Hollister and put herself between the Archaics and the two humans. This group rushing down the street was made up of initiates, and they might not have known it yet, but she was their queen. It was time for them to learn she would not be disobeyed. The alpha takes the prey first.
The change came over her, eyes burning red, fangs descending, and her jaw pushing forward. Throwing back her head, she gave a great bellowing cry, full of anger, rage, and challenge.
It worked. The Archaics stopped, confused. Crazy and wild-eyed with hunger, they eyed her warily, unsure what she was, but sensing her power.
Shaniah pitied them. When one is first turned, for days and sometimes weeks, the need for an initiate to feed is nearly all encompassing. The stress and metamorphosis the human body undertakes requires a nearly constant source of food.
But they were also a pack culture and there was an instinct toward hierarchy now imprinted on their newly Archaic brains. Shaniah was about to establish the pecking order.
There were thirteen of them standing. A few more staggered in the streets farther back, still fighting the effects of the man-witch’s elemental bullets.
“Hollister,” she said, knowing he stood a few yards behind her. “Run.”
He couldn’t see her face and she was sure he had no idea how she was holding the creatures in check, but for once he did something smart. Billy had already run past him like his tail was on fire, and Hollister spun and ran after him.
A few seconds later, Billy reached the jail and Chee hollered for them to let the boy back in. But he stayed in the street waiting until Hollister skidded to a halt next to him.
S
topping next to Chee, Hollister realized the last few minutes had taken a toll on him. His ankles and knees ached from his jump off the roof, he was winded, and his leg muscles were cramping up. He hoped they could get inside the jail and hole up until daylight, when they might have a chance to get out of this mess.
Yet, he had already decided he wasn’t leaving Shaniah out here alone. There were too many Archaics here, even for her, and if he was ever going to find the one who’d killed his men, he was going to need her.
“How do you suppose she is doing that?” Chee asked.
“Haven’t the foggiest,” Hollister said.
“Should I shoot?”
“Not yet,” Hollister said, drawing his pistols as he did. “Let’s see what happens.”
The Archaics from the rooftops had disappeared. One lay in the street about twenty yards away, apparently dead or severely injured and Hollister wondered if the silver or wooden bullets had found a way to kill it—something that was previously unknown to Van Helsing or the other members of the Order of Saint Ignatius who had studied these creatures. But Hollister knew there were more Archaics in this town than the dozen or so Shaniah somehow held in check.
In fact he was sure they were being watched. It was the same feeling he’d had in the army. He could remember riding the plains with the army, chasing Sioux or Cheyenne and knowing they were out there but never seeing them. It was unsettling.
He took his eyes off the drama up the street and studied the buildings, the alleys, the hiding spots, but he saw nothing.
“Chee?” he said.
“Yes, Major, I feel it too. She has done something to capture their attention and though we can’t see them, I have a feeling we are surrounded.”
“Well, shit, Chee, that ain’t comforting at all. How many rounds you got left?”
“Forty-seven,” he replied.
“Forty-seven. You’re sure. Not fifty-two or forty-three? Forty-seven on the dot?” Hollister asked, unsure if the younger man was pulling his leg.
“I like to keep track of my ammo, sir,” he said. “Doesn’t everyone?”
Hollister just shook his head, checking the loads in both of his pistols. He made a vow to himself that if he survived this, if he ever faced these creatures again, he would arm himself with far more than two Colts and a knife. Perhaps a pistol in each boot, a rifle and shotgun for his back. A sword. And maybe a cannon, if he could figure out a way to carry it.
“Well, Sergeant, I can tell you I have considerably less than forty-seven rounds, but I don’t know exactly. And I thought I left the train with plenty of ammunition. I guess from now on, we need to make every shot count.”
“Yes, sir,” Chee said.
Their attention went back to the street. Something was happening.
S
haniah stood her ground. She could not back up, shift her feet, or move in a way that showed any weakness. The Archaics were getting restless. She wasn’t sure where the attack would come from, but a big burly man stood out from the rest. He wore a leather apron, what was left of it, torn and covered in blood, and Shaniah guessed he might have been a blacksmith. Where the others had begun to fidget and prance back and forth, wild with hunger but confused and held in place by her appearance, he moved very little, watching her every movement.
She gave another loud howl and swung the blade through the air in a mighty arc. These initiates had not mastered speech yet, their voices stilled by their rapidly changing physiology. Most could not speak in Archaic form for weeks after turning.
“I am Shaniah, your Queen. In time you will come to serve me. Now you obey. You will feed when I allow it. You will follow my commands. This is how it has been and always shall be.”
Nothing she said was remotely true. Her position as leader of her people was an elected one. She was not “served” by her people. The Archaics of the high mountains were a small, self-sustaining society and while it was true that she could make decisions for her people, she had been chosen by the Council of Elders because she was the Archaic who was the best hunter, the strongest, the most cunning. She had earned her place through action and example, not by fighting it out as she had heard other groups like the wolf people did.
She needed to exert her will on this group. If they learned to shelter themselves from the sun, they could keep Hollister and the others penned up inside the jail until they starved. There was no time for that.
Her words caused some consternation among the group. It was almost certain they could understand her. Their primitive instincts were just in charge and difficult for them to control. They wanted to kill and eat Hollister and the rest in the jail. For them there was no other course to take.
The blacksmith had slowly worked his way to the front of the group, acting as if he had no interest in anything going on around him. Shaniah set her feet, tightening her grip on the blade. His attack was sudden, and even though she was prepared, his quickness surprised her. He leapt in the air the ten feet or so between them. The blacksmith had been one of the most recent to turn, so he would not disintegrate to ash yet. It was a lucky break for her.
Shaniah did not hesitate. Swinging the blade, she rotated her hips, her arms and shoulders pouring every ounce of strength she had into it. The big knife connected with the man at his neck and his head came off as if she had sliced through a melon. His body collapsed to the ground and with one hand, Shaniah snatched his head out of the air, her fingers twisted in his long dark hair. She held the head up, brandishing it at the Archaics, her eyes burning with rage.
“Do NOT disobey me!” she commanded, tossing the head at the assembled group, who scattered, stumbling over each other to get out of the way.
Now came the dangerous part.
She spun on her heel, walking toward the jail, her back exposed to them, but without haste, as if they were no threat to her at all.