Dead of Winter

by Lee Collins

  "I shall keep that in mind," he said. His hand reached for something beneath his shirt as he muttered something under his breath. Cora could make out the shape of a cross through the cloth.

  "You're a religious man, I take it?"

  "Well, yes. As much as I need to be, at least."

  "Is that right?" Cora crossed her arms. "How much does that come out to, do you find?"

  "Enough to keep me alive."

  "Well, ain't that an oddity? Most folk I met says they're into religion for what happens after death, not what happens before. What is it about religion as keeps you alive?"

  "I can't see how it's really any of your business."

  "Fine, have it your way," Cora said. "Just a mite surprised to hear a man give an answer that may as well have been mine."

  James gave her a sidelong glance, then pretended to find something on his shirt that needed his immediate attention. Cora watched him fidget, a smirk on her lips. After a few moments, her gaze fell to the trunk. "Say, why do you carry all them books with you, anyhow? Ain't it a pain to lug that old trunk everywhere?"

  "Well," James began, his eyes looking around the coach for words. "You see, I am something of a scholar, as you may have gathered."

  "A scholar?" Cora asked. "So you're a doctor, then?"

  "Well, not exactly. To tell you the truth, my area of expertise is somewhat… unusual."

  "What's that?"

  A furious blush crept across the British man's cheeks. "I expect you will find it rather odd, and I did so myself when I first learned of the discipline. It was a Dutchman who let me in on the secret, actually." He took a deep breath, then turned to face her, his dark eyes small in his round face. "I am what some might call a vampire scholar."

  "You don't say?" Cora said.

  "Yes," James said, nodding. "I know it sounds absurd, but it really is a valid area of study. As I said, it was a friend of mine, a Dutch physician, who opened my eyes to the existence of vampires. He is quite well-versed in the Occult, especially where the undead are concerned. He's actually hunted them in the past, and taught me some of his art."

  Cora burst out laughing, nearly falling out of her seat. The Englishman waited for her to stop with an unhappy look on his face. When she finally regained her composure, tears glistened in the corners of her eyes.

  "I hardly think it's a laughing matter," James stated.

  "I'm sorry," Cora said, wiping her eyes. "It's just the thought of a round little feller like you hunting down vampires."

  James lifted his chin. "I've battled my share of the undead, thank you kindly."

  "I'm sure you have," Cora said, suppressing another laugh.

  "Anyway, what would a simpleton like you know of such matters? You probably spend your days gambling and drinking, blind and stupid to everything around you."

  "No need to get a bee in your bonnet," Cora said. "As it happens, I've bagged me a few vampires in the past."

  "Ah, of course," James said, folding his arms and looking away. "And how long ago was this?"

  Cora thought for a bit. "Last one was about ten years ago, I'd say. Me and Ben here ran a vampire nest out of Denver. Ain't been none since then, though. Maybe they all got scared and hid away."

  "You ran a vampire nest out of Denver, you say?"

  "Well, burned it is what we did. Had to shoot a few of them in the process, though."

  "Hmph," James snorted. "A likely story. A real vampire hunter knows that a vampire can only be killed by running a stake through its heart and removing its head."

  "Maybe that's true where you come from," Cora said, "but out here in the West, we're right smart about it. All it takes is a bullet to the heart or the head."

  "Nonsense–"

  "Let me finish," Cora interrupted. "All it takes is a bullet, but it's a special bullet, you follow? Made of a silver alloy and blessed proper by a priest. Most of my bullets are even made out of silver that once belonged to crosses."

  James scoffed. "I've never heard anything so preposterous. What sort of vampire hunter travels without a stake? You must be mad to think that you can just shoot a supernatural creature and expect to live through the encounter. I expect you simply mistook some poor old man for your vampire and shot him.

  "If I did, I reckon I'd be rotting in some jail somewhere. We do got laws out here."

  "Yes, well, what did this vampire of yours look like?"

  "Like a proper one," Cora said. "Had him a pale face what looked like bread dough and a mouth full of nasty fangs. What was left of his clothes just hung off his body in tatters. Hated sunlight, had a thing for blood, and carried himself like a badger."

  "A badger?"

  "All fangs and drool and growling."

  "Ah!" James's face lit up with recognition. "I don't suppose he seemed to possess any notable reasoning faculties?"

  "If by that, you're asking if he could think, I'd say no."

  "Exactly as I thought, then," James replied, looking satisfied with himself. "What you encountered was a vrykolakas."

  "Pretty sure it was a vampire, King George. I happen to be an expert in spook hunting myself, and I know me a vampire when I see one."

  "To be sure, and you are correct, after a fashion. The creature you described is correctly termed vrykolakas, and it is indeed a type of vampire."

  Cora's brow furrowed. "A type?" she asked. "You mean to say there's more than one type?"

  "Naturally," James said. "If the ranks of the undead only consisted of the vrykolakas, I daresay they wouldn't command nearly as much respect and fear as they presently do."

  "I'm afraid I don't follow."

  James turned to face her, his earlier animosity forgotten in his scholarly delight. "Much like moths, vampires have two distinct stages of life. The first stage, vrykolakas, is by far the more common type, so it is little wonder you are ignorant of any other. These vampires are exactly as you described: powerful and fearsome, yet feral. This is due to the possession of the reanimated corpse by a blood-drinking demon."

  "Right," Cora said. "Vampires don't have souls like regular folk."

  "A common belief, but only partially accurate. As I said, the vrykolakas is the more common variety of vampire, so it follows that most folklore concerning vampires is primarily influenced by its characteristics and behavior. The vrykolakas has the intelligence level of a high-end mammalian predator, such as a wolf or your American grizzly bear. Smarter than your average cow, but by no means able to reason or strategize. In addition, they are usually solitary, which makes incidents involving them relatively simple to resolve."

  "Except when they gang up, like in Denver," Cora said, shifting her weight. "You ain't telling me anything new. If you've got a point, best be getting to it quick."

  "Yes, yes, of course," James replied, not skipping a beat. "So, if the vrykolakas is the only kind of vampire in existence, why has the vampire been feared above all other supernatural creatures for so many centuries?"

  "I reckon it's because they're scary. Watching a man get his throat torn out by a walking corpse tends to shake most folk up a good bit."

  "Quite true, but no more so than watching, say, a werewolf perform the same feat."

  "Just say what you're going to say."

  "Right. My point is simply that, left to its own devices, the vrykolakas would be no more fearsome than any other creature of the night. So, in order to garner the terrifying reputation the race of vampires possesses, they must have another ace in their hole, so to speak."

  "Another kind of vampire?"

  "Yes! Exactly!" James exclaimed, holding up a finger.

  "Just like you said awhile back." Cora shook her head. "Is all you Brits this prone to gabbing? It's a wonder you all ever get around to anything else."

  "I should be glad of the opportunity to learn my trade if I were in your position."

  "I would be if I'd learned anything. All you've done is talk my own knowledge at me."

  "Establishing context, my dear," James re
plied. "Without context, any further knowledge is useless at best, dangerous at worst."

  "Can't imagine it being no worse than not being shared at all."

  "Americans," James said with a hint of exasperation. "I don't know which is worse, your ignorance or your impatience."

  "We tend to get impatient when people as can relieve our ignorance take too long to get it done."

  "Not exactly the most welcoming attitude for those seeking to share their knowledge and insights with you."

  "You know, I think I changed my mind," Cora said. "I think I will throw you off a bridge."

  James went pale. "Of course, some might say your impatience possesses a certain roguish charm all its own." Cora glared at him, and he answered with a nervous smile. "I'll get right to it."

  "Glad to hear it."

  "Of course." He took a breath. "The second type of vampire, and by far the more fearsome, is a creature we call the nosferatu."

  "And what do they do?"

  "Quite simply, a nosferatu is a vampire whose human soul has been restored to his body."

  Cora frowned. "Ain't having a soul a good thing?"

  "One would think so, but it's actually quite dreadful. You see, the human soul may be restored, but the creature still possesses all of the characteristics of the vrykolakas, such as enhanced strength, enhanced speed, and the need to consume human blood. It's also theorized that they gain some new powers as a result of this unholy ascension."

  "What sort of powers?"

  "Transformation, for one thing. Most of the nosferatu recorded in history have had the power to assume other shapes, such as animals. This allows them to move undetected through a population to single out victims."

  "I ain't following you," Cora said. "Wouldn't the human soul make them go all soft on killing folk?"

  "Initially, yes, and I imagine there are some that never recover from discovering what they are. If any such vampires exist, however, they keep entirely to themselves." He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. "Although, between us, it is my belief that those who can't live with the burden of vampirism simply choose to end their own lives."

  "Maybe so, but why are you whispering? You trying to keep it from this snoring sop?" She kicked at Ben's bench.

  "My apologies," James replied, sitting upright again and adjusting his hat. "It's just that my theory isn't particularly popular among most vampire scholars."

  "There are other vampire scholars? And here I thought only us hunters and them musty old priests went in for such tales."

  "Oh, my, no." James shook his head. "Why, there's an entire fraternity of scholars at Oxford dedicated to unveiling the secrets of the undead. A secret fraternity, mind you, but very knowledgeable."

  "So that's your story, is it? You're running errands for this educated group? What, did they take a special interest in American spooks all of a sudden?"

  "Hardly," James said indignantly, "nor am I here at their behest. As I said earlier, I am in the employ of Lord Harcourt."

  "You never did say what you do for him. You some kind of property minder?"

  "Not at all. My services follow my interest."

  "So you tell him about vampires?" Cora asked, raising an eyebrow.

  "Essentially, yes. Actually, my line of work is remarkably similar to what I imagine yours might be. We're both mercenaries of sorts." Cora failed to hold in another gale of laughter, much to James's annoyance. "You've not much experience with manners, have you?"

  "All kinds," Cora replied. "I just never learned none."

  "So I see," James said, standing to his feet. "Well, I shall leave you to reflect on those encounters in the hope that you may learn from them still. Our tickets make us traveling mates, so I suppose I must leave my trunk here, but I believe a rather lengthy stroll about the train is in order."

  Cora watched him leave before resuming her vigil at the window. She'd met Englishmen before in her travels, but hadn't had the opportunity to speak much with one. The last one she'd run into had been in a St Louis sheriff station. He'd been bound for San Francisco when his train ran afoul of the James Younger Gang. Lost all his possessions, he'd said, and he was mighty angry about it. That sort of thing wouldn't have happened on a British rail, he'd said. Cora and Ben had been there chasing after a spook that ended up being another misunderstanding, so she'd stopped by the station to inform the lawmen there that they'd be moving on. The foreigner hadn't appreciated her cutting in on his time with the sheriff and made sure she'd known it. He could have been speaking Blackfoot for all the heed she paid him, which only made him angrier.

  This James Townsend was different. Cora had never given much thought to the possibility of actually studying vampires as a hobby. Leave it to a bunch of old English codgers to think that such a thing would be interesting. What little schooling she'd received in her life had come from Ben when he'd taught her to read. She liked it well enough, though she'd never taken to it like he had. She couldn't fathom someone devoting an entire life to reading books. Her back got itchy if she sat too long in one place, and besides, nobody ever did anybody else any good by reading. It was much better to ride through the world doing good for those as needed it. Better money, too.

  Cora glanced skyward through the window. A thick mat of cold, heavy clouds covered the peaks ahead. Old Man Winter was setting up for a tantrum, it seemed. She loathed the idea of hunting that wendigo creature in a blizzard. If Father Baez was right, the blizzard would only make it stronger. Still, when the special bullets arrived, she and Ben would hunt it, snow or no snow.

  Leaning her head against the wall, she pulled her hat over her eyes. Best to rest up before reaching Leadville. She closed her eyes and let the swaying of the car relax her, hoping she would be asleep by the time James Townsend returned to the cabin.

  SEVEN

  Mart Duggan's cold blue eyes bored into Cora as soon as she stepped off the train. "Where in the hell have you been?"

  "Where I said we was going," Cora said, taking a step backward.

  "Well, you should have been here doing what I'm paying you to do," the marshal replied.

  "You ain't paid us nothing yet."

  Duggan ignored the comment. "We had a run-in with that creature right here in town, and I lost me a good man to it."

  "See now, didn't I tell you that, marshal? I said it would start eating up your townsfolk. It's called a wendigo, if you want to know."

  "I don't give a damn what it's called." Duggan pointed his finger in her face. "What I want is to see it dead."

  "All in good time," Cora said. "Thanks to our little trip, we've got the means to do exactly that. Should be arriving in a few days."

  "A few days? What the hell are we supposed to do until then?"

  "What I done told you to do," Cora said. "Get yourself some silver bullets and fire."

  The marshal's fury waned a little. "You were right about that. I'll say that much."

  Cora nodded. "Tell me what happened."

  "Me and George Murray were settling a fight down at the Pioneer when we heard a scream from out in the street," Duggan said. "We ran outside to see this spindly-looking thing lurking about in the shadows. Somebody screamed again, and we saw it was a woman in the thing's hands. That scream was the last sound she ever made before the creature bit her head right off. The rest of her body was quick enough to follow it down that thing's gullet. Hell, we didn't even get a chance to fire before she was all ate up."

  Duggan paused for a moment to gather his wits. The memory still unsettled him. Not even a grizzly could have killed the woman so quickly. This monster, this wendigo, was far more savage than he ever imagined any creature could be. He could still hear the woman's screams and see her blood on the creature's jaws as it devoured her whole. Those images had even worked their way into his dreams, and he was not a man given to nightmares.

  He took a deep breath. "By that time, me and George was dug in by the saloon. George had his rifle handy, and I had my pistol. Between the two
of us, we put enough holes in that thing to bring down half the Cheyenne nation, but we might as well have been pissing on it for all the good we did. Jack Evans even came up and helped out, but it still wasn't no good." The marshal paused again. "I've been a lawman for a good number of years now, but I ain't never seen such a thing. That bastard done swept up my deputies and made to eat them both when I recalled what you said about the fire. I humped it into the Pioneer and pulled out a handy pair of burning logs from the fire. By the time I got back out, George had already been ate and Jack was staring down its gullet. I waved the fire at it, and it made tracks right quick. Once it cleared out, Jack and I scouted out the rest of town, but it must have run on back to its cave."