Authors: Michael P. Spradlin
V
an Helsing was an energetic sort. He shook hands, rapidly moving from Chee to Hollister and finally Pinkerton.
“Mr. Pinkerton. So gud to see you! It has been far too long.” Pinkerton had mentioned that Van Helsing was visiting the States from Amsterdam, but his words were only lightly accented.
No one spoke as Van Helsing inspected the interior of the car. He traced his fingers over the markings surrounding the nearest window. “Yes. Ah. A devil’s trap . . . Babylonian, I presume?”
Pinkerton nodded.
“Gud!” He turned, slowly inspecting every visible part of the car. “Excellent work! You followed my instructions to the letter.”
“No expense was spared, I can promise you that,” Pinkerton said.
“What is all of this for? What does it do?” Hollister asked.
“In gud time, Major, I assure you. In the meantime, just know that, hopefully, it will keep you from getting killed,” Van Helsing said.
“How will some paint stop one of those creatures?” Hollister pressed. He was curious now. And annoyed.
“We haff learned some things, Major. A great deal, actually. But first some questions.”
Van Helsing seated himself at the small writing desk, and Pinkerton made no fuss over the fact he had just lost his seat. He pushed a button on the chair railing beneath the window, a panel in the wall slid open, and a wooden rack holding several folding chairs emerged. In no time, all of them were seated around Van Helsing who was pulling several journals and papers from his valise.
“First things first, Dr. Van Helsing, if you don’t mind?” Pinkerton asked. He pulled a small silver coin from his pocket and handed it to the doctor, who handed the detective his own similar piece. Both men held the coins in the palms of their hands for several seconds, then nodded as if satisfied that some unspoken test had been passed.
“What . . .” Hollister asked. Only to be interrupted by Chee.
“Silver?” Chee asked.
Van Helsing smiled. “Ach! Yes, silver! Very gud, Sergeant!” From his pocket he handed each man a silver coin identical to the ones he and Pinkerton held. Hollister inspected his. On one side was an engraved picture of a man with a halo about his head. A saint, he guessed, but which one he didn’t know. Hollister had grown up Presbyterian. The small words engraved around the edge read, T
HE
O
RDER OF
S
T.
I
GNATIUS
. On the other side were the words A
ETERNAM
V
IGILANTIA
. Hollister hefted it in his hand. It was solid silver.
“Mr. Pinkerton and I are part of a . . . society or perhaps association of sorts. We have an interest in the very things you witnessed in Wyoming, Major Hollister. There are many of us, and these coins, forged in solid silver, are one of the ways we can identify ourselves to one another,” Van Helsing said.
“I don’t understand . . . a society?” Hollister asked. He glanced at Chee, but the sergeant was still inspecting his coin.
“From the time of St. Ignatius. The first to fall. Many years ago we learned of the existence of . . .”
“Deathwalkers?” Chee asked.
“Vampires,” Pinkerton said.
“What the hell is a vampire?” Hollister asked, flipping his coin back on the desk, where it rolled around until falling on its side in front of Van Helsing.
“These creatures are called by many names,” the doctor said, pushing the coin back toward Hollister. “Your sergeant refers to them as Deathwalkers. As good a description as any, but most of Europe knows them as vampires. The living dead. Beings who were once human but are no longer, and must survive by drinking the blood of the living. As I believe you saw firsthand, Major.”
Hollister felt a chill fall over him. The car seemed smaller all at once and his mind’s eye flashed on the image of Lemaire dying as the white-haired thing chewed at his throat, its lips and fangs covered in blood. For a while he’d tried to tell himself he had imagined the whole thing. That he and his platoon really had been ambushed by Lakota, and in order to accept the destruction of his command, his mind had concocted an elaborate fantasy to disguise and excuse his shame. But what he’d seen was real.
“I saw . . .” he started to say, but couldn’t finish.
“You are familiar with vampires, Sergeant Chee? You knew about silver?” Van Helsing asked.
“I’ve heard of them, sir. My grandmother was a slave, from Haiti. I mostly thought they were stories told to scare us, but she insisted Deathwalkers were real. According to lore, wood and pure silver can poison them, and I know silver bullets are used for werewolves . . .” the young man said.
It was too much for Hollister. “Werewolves? What the hell are those?”
“Sir . . . they’re . . .” Chee stammered. He could sense the major’s rising confusion and he had no desire to contribute to it. “A werewolf is a man who has been bitten by another werewolf . . . and when . . . during the full moon . . .” Chee gave up, the stunned expression on Hollister’s face making him think he was going to get a dressing-down.
“You’re kidding me, right?” Hollister said. “I’ve been in the army a long time and I’ve heard all kinds of stories around the campfire at night, but that’s all they are: stories. Right?” He turned his attention away from Chee and studied Pinkerton and Van Helsing.
“Much more than stories, I assure you. Nevertheless, the two of you are now the newest members of our society. The Order of Saint Ignatius. You should keep the medallion at all times. We mint them under special instructions with the purest silver available. You will likely come across other members in your travels. We have some of the best minds of our age at work on the study of this . . . phenomenon. The test, holding the pure silver coin in the hand, will tell you if the person is who they say they are. If a comrade has fallen under the thrall of . . . anyone . . . or thing . . . the silver will burn them. It would be an indication for you to immediately . . . kill them,” Van Helsing said.
“You can’t be serious,” Hollister said.
“I assure you we are deadly serious, Major,” Pinkerton said. “But there will be time for you to digest this later. Dr. Van Helsing, why don’t you begin?”
“Da. Gud. Major Hollister, I have read your report many, many times. I want you to know I believe you. Our order has for years gathered much information on these creatures, not only to verify their existence, which I assure you is beyond doubt. But to discover what their intentions might be, as well as how to defend ourselves against them.”
“I think their intentions are pretty clear,” Hollister said. “From what I saw, these things didn’t have much else on their mind but killing people.”
“Yes, but the question is, why? How did these creatures you encountered get here? Where are they from? Have they always been here? If so, why reveal themselves now? Since your incident, Major, we have tracked and chased and followed every lead, no matter how minor, and we have come up with exactly nothing. Those . . . demons responsible for killing your men simply vanished. Not to be seen nor heard of until the Torson City Mining Camp incident one month ago. We believe the same group killed several humans and disappeared without a trace again. It is most odd,” Van Helsing said.
“I’ll grant you that. But now that you’ve busted me out of the pokey, how do you expect me to find them, if you’ve got a whole ‘society’ trying to track them down and they aren’t finding anything?” Hollister asked.
“I’ll be frank with you now, Major,” Pinkerton said. “Basically, we don’t have any other options. Aside from Declan’s son, who survived the last attack, you’re the only person we know of who has encountered these vampires and lived to tell about it.”
“No one believed me,” Hollister said matter-of-factly.
“Yes. Unfortunate but true,” Pinkerton said. “Now you have a chance at redemption.”
“I don’t need to redeem myself,” Hollister said. “I told the truth. Exactly as it happened. I lived in a hole every day for the last four years, knowing that, and it’s the only thing that kept me sane. Save the redemption speech for Sunday school, Mr. Pinkerton.”
“Very well. If not redemption, how about vengeance?” Pinkerton asked.
Hollister reached inside the folds of his cavalry blouse and removed a small flask he had purchased that afternoon and filled at the hotel. He took a long swig of bourbon, then capped the flask and returned it to its hiding place. It warmed his gullet as it traveled down to his gut. Maybe General Sheridan had it right. Maybe a good stiff drink wasn’t so bad now and then. Especially when you’re about to ride off to face eleven kinds of hell. Maybe not a bad idea at all.
“Now you’re talking,” Hollister said.
T
he rest of the night was spent around the desk, mostly listening as Van Helsing detailed the history of the vampire as compiled by the Order of Saint Ignatius, with occasional prodding from Pinkerton. At one point, Van Helsing read a passage from his journal.
Their appearance is normal and quite human, until feeding on a human—then their facial structure changes. The chin grows longer, and fangs descend from the roof of the mouth. Their speed and strength is remarkable, but it is possible to kill them. Fire is one way, beheading is another, although given their strength and speed, getting them in a position to remove their head proves extremely difficult.
“I killed one with an arrow,” Hollister said.
“Ya. Ve have taken note of this, Major. Yours is the first verifiable recording of killing one by this method. Can you tell me exactly how it happened?”
“There wasn’t much to it. It was a woman. She was strong. Unbelievably strong. With one hand she held me up in the air. I couldn’t breathe. Her face . . . changed . . . fangs . . . I pulled an arrow out of her thigh and stabbed her through the heart,” Hollister related.
“Then what happened?” Pinkerton asked.
“She . . . just . . . disappeared. Her body turned to dust and all that was left was a pile of her clothes and the arrows.” Hollister pulled the flask out again and took a little swig.
“Is there anything else? Anything you might have forgotten or something you might have kept to yourself?” Van Helsing let the words hang in the air, the implication clear. No matter what shape Hollister had been in at the time, he had to know how ridiculous his story sounded.
“No, I . . . you said these things could be killed by beheading them?” he asked.
Van Helsing nodded.
“When I pulled my saber, the big one with the white hair paused. It was only a moment, but he reconsidered. I’d already shot him, twice. I might as well have been throwing stones. He shrugged it off like a bee sting. But he took notice of my saber,” Hollister said.
“Da. Decapitation is one method of killing them. I would think a saber would give such a creature pause,” Van Helsing said.
“And . . .” Hollister started. He was there again, on the side of that hill, watching the god-awful mouth descend toward his neck. And then it was gone. Just as the sun came over the horizon.
“Major?” Pinkerton said quietly.
“The sunlight,” Hollister answered.
“What about it?” Pinkerton asked.
“It was just before dawn when they hit us. I was down. The big one, I’ve been referring to him all this time as White Hair, had clubbed me to the ground. But the sun rose. He got up right away. They all, the rest of those . . . things . . . jumped into the back of the wagon, to get out of the sun. White Hair put on some kind of heavy cloak, covering himself from head to toe. But just before that, his skin, his clothes started to smoke. Like they were about to catch fire,” Hollister said.
“Why is this the first time you mention this?” Pinkerton asked suspiciously, ever the detective.
“I didn’t remember, he’d beaten me pretty good at that point. I passed out right after that. I just . . . it wasn’t there at the time,” Hollister stammered.
“Sir,” Chee interrupted. “Begging your pardon, sir. But my grandmother, when she used to tell us stories of Deathwalkers, she said they could only come out at night. They slept in the dirt during the day because they would burn up in the sun. They were night creatures.”
Van Helsing nodded. “Da. This makes sense. And tells us why they have been so hard to find. We are not looking in the right places. Good. Very good, Major. Thank you, Sergeant.” Van Helsing nodded his head vigorously and started to make notes in a journal.
“So where does all of this leave us?” Hollister asked.
“I think we can pick that up in the morning,” Pinkerton said. “Let me show you to your quarters and give word to the engineer to get us under way. If you men are hungry, there is food in the galley.
At the mention of food, Dog stood up and stretched, his giant body nearly reaching from side to side of the car. He pushed his nose into Van Helsing’s lap, forcing the doctor to stop his writing. Van Helsing laughed and scratched him behind the ears.
“Very sorry, sir,” Chee said, stepping forward and nudging Dog away with his hip. “He’s not usually so rude.”
“Ach. No troubles, sergeant, he is a fine beast. Magnificent animal.”
“Thank you, sir. Come on, Dog,” he mumbled, following Pinkerton to the rear of the car. Hollister stood and was about to follow Chee, when Van Helsing put up his hand, stopping him momentarily.
“Major, you are sure you are ready for this assignment? It will be quite dangerous, I assure you.” Van Helsing studied him.
Hollister considered the man a moment, wondering when he had ever seen such piercing black eyes. It was unsettling. But Hollister had learned to read eyes in the war, on the plains, and in prison. The eyes said everything. Who would fight and who would run, who told the truth and who lied, who was scared and who was without fear. Van Helsing, he decided, was without fear. Whatever these things were, he was determined to kill them.
“No, Doctor, I’m not. I’m not ready at all.” He reached out to the gun rack and removed one of the short-barreled Greener ten-gauges. He snapped it open, confirmed it was loaded then flipped the breech shut again.
Hefting the gun, he sighted down the barrel. Then he looked at Van Helsing.