Michael Spradlin - Blood Riders

“Follow me, Sergeant,” he said. He and Chee went back inside the main car. A second later, Chee’s head and torso appeared on the roof above them, the sergeant having popped through a trapdoor inside. Directly in front of him, with a hiss of steam, a large, cylindrical cannon-shaped gun came up out of the roof.

“A portable cannon?” Hollister asked, incredulous.

“A water cannon,” Pinkerton said.

“Water? What the hell?”

“You’ll learn more from Van Helsing, but his research shows vampires don’t like water very much. It won’t kill them-well, maybe it will, we don’t know yet-but it will keep them away. Water, fire, and sunlight. Remember that and you might stay alive.”

Hollister was happier when he saw the next weapon Monkey Pete had altered. Four Gatling guns, modified with a lot of gauges and hoses Hollister didn’t understand right away, were mounted on the roof and sides of the car. Whatever the energetic little engineer had done to them, it made them look even more lethal.

Pinkerton pulled back the slide on the magazine of the closest gun. He removed one of the rounds and handed it to Hollister. Jonas was surprised to find that in every other way it looked like a normal round with a brass casing, except the bullet was made of wood.

“You remember how you killed that thing in Wyoming, Major? We believe wood stabbed into their heart is another way to kill them. They will turn to dust, as you saw. So we’ve made modifications on the weapons aboard the train. Everything here is new technology developed by some of the best minds in the world, and given a practical application by those men, some of it tested and improved upon by Monkey Pete here, who if you haven’t noticed already, is a genius in his own right. He’s also a crack shot with pistol or rifle, a munitions expert, a better field medic than most doctors you’ll meet, and a hell of a cook. And let’s just say he’s developed an abiding interest in Dr. Van Helsing’s work and is becoming something of an expert on these things. If he weren’t so crippled up, I might have been tempted to send him after them instead of you.”

Hollister’s eyes narrowed, and he studied the detective’s face for any sign he might be joking. There was none. He was working up a retort, but swallowed it down. It wasn’t the time, and he was sure he’d rather chase the things that killed his men than dig wells all day long. Well, reasonably sure.

Pinkerton met Hollister’s stare without flinching.

“All of these things are going to come in handy if you find those creatures, believe you me.”

Hollister wasn’t quite sure what to say. He’d hoped to have a chance to clear his head a bit this morning, given all of the changes that had taken place yesterday. But that seemed impossible now. He could barely grasp what he was seeing.

“It all looks fancy, Mr. Pinkerton,” he said. “But I think I’ll rely on my Colt.”

Pinkerton looked at Hollister for a moment. “Major, do you remember what happened on that ridge in Wyoming? How effective your sidearm was against those things?”

“Yes… I-”

“The answer is not effective at all. If your report was accurate, you shot one of those creatures at least twice at point-blank range. To no effect. Do you really want to pursue these things, who may have grown in numbers to God knows how many by now, with just your Colt?”

Jonas had to admit the detective had a point.

“You make a convincing argument, Mr. Pinkerton. What else should I know?”

When they’d finished, Hollister had a basic understanding of most everything. Chee was like a drunk in a brewery, reveling in the guns and asking Monkey Pete questions about each aspect of every single system. It was clear to Hollister that Chee had been overlooked and ignored by the army because of his race. A capable soldier, certainly, but they had failed to notice his natural curiosity, intelligence, and creativity. He may have served ably for many years, but had Hollister not rescued him, he would have languished in prison and been dishonorably discharged, if he was ever released. The army, especially the post-war army, was not an intelligent or progressive institution. And though the war against slavery had been convincingly won by the North, racism was still alive. Good men like Chee were still going to be chewed up by it.

Hollister hadn’t realized Chee’s dog had disappeared until it returned, loping around the engine with a rabbit in its mouth. Apparently it was still hungry.

“I’ll be damned,” Monkey Pete said. “That is some critter. I’ll cook us up a nice pot of rabbit stew.”

Dog sat on his haunches next to Chee and growled low in his throat when Monkey Pete made to take the rabbit from his jaws.

“Whoa,” Monkey Pete said, scrabbling backward.

“Dog…” Chee said, snapping his fingers twice. Dog stood and stepped toward the engineer and placed the rabbit at his feet.

“Sorry, Mr. Pete, sir,” Chee said. “I forgot to tell him you were a friend. He won’t growl at you again.”

“How can you be so sure?” Hollister asked.

“He just won’t, sir, and he won’t growl at Mr. Pinkerton or Dr. Van Helsing either. Once I tell him, that is,” the sergeant replied.

“You, ‘tell him’?” Hollister asked, incredulous. “How, exactly?”

“I just tell him like I’d tell anyone, sir,” Chee replied. “He speaks English. And Creole. And a little Chinese. I didn’t have a chance to teach him French before I was… I had to go to Leavenworth.”

Hollister and Pinkerton stared at each other, then Pinkerton laughed.

“He speaks English, does he?” Hollister asked.

Chee just shrugged as if it were something beyond explaining. It just was.

“Let’s get under way, Monkey Pete,” Pinkerton said. “And see if Dr. Van Helsing is awake. If I know Abraham, he was up all night scribbling away in his journal.”

“Where are we?” Hollister asked, noticing for the first time that the train had pulled off on a siding in the middle of nowhere. Except for the train and the track, which disappeared on the horizon, there was no sign of civilization.

“We are about four hours away from Denver,” Pinkerton said.

Hollister was stunned. They had traveled over four hundred miles during the night. How was it possible?

“What… that can’t be! We just left Leavenworth…” Hollister was unable to keep the shock out of his voice.

“It has guns, armor, and an extended range,” Pinkerton said. “And there is one other thing you should know about your new train, Major.

“It’s fast as hell.”

As the prairie rolled by, Van Helsing and Pinkerton briefed Chee and Hollister with their accumulated knowledge of vampires. The information was sketchy, much of it second- and thirdhand. There was a great deal to digest, and Hollister found Chee’s contribution to their discussions both surprising and informative. He’d made a snap judgment about the kid, based on how he’d handled himself with McAfee. Of course he’d seen him around the yard and on other work details, but Chee was quiet and kept to himself. Now he had turned into a different person, and Hollister smiled to himself at the good luck of his choice.

They had worked straight through lunch and gone through Van Helsing’s book several times. He handed Hollister a portfolio.

“Da. Very gut! Major, here is a copy of my journal. I’ve had it transcribed for you. It contains all of the knowledge of the vampire we have accumulated. If and when you track down these vile beasts, I hope you will be villing to share your experiences with us,” Van Helsing said.

“Sure, Doctor. I don’t mind that at all. ’Course I’ll have to survive my encounter first, won’t I?” Hollister replied.