by Robert Ryan
They looked behind them.
More undead had entered the clearing and were continuing their relentless advance.
“Do it,” Quinn said. “Quick.”
Johnny squeezed the trigger. A small fire fluttered to life, searching for oxygen in the dense tangle of wolfbane. While Johnny waited to see if it would catch, Quinn kept an eye on the undead.
They were twenty yards away. The flames spreading behind them made them look like demons emerging from Hell.
“We’ve got to go,” Quinn said.
Johnny’s attention was on the flame still struggling to stay alive. “The fire might not catch.”
He pointed to the approaching horde of undead. At least ten of them now. They had begun to slow as they got closer to the mound, finally stopping several yards away. “The natural fumes are having an effect and the coffin fires are spreading. That’ll have to do. We need to get out of here.”
Johnny extinguished the flamethrower to conserve fuel. She and Quinn squeezed through the space between the mound and stairs. Before heading up they took a last look at the Garden.
The fire kept spreading. In the orange haze of smoke, several more of the undead had risen from their coffins. Some were encased in flame and howling in agony. Others that had escaped the fire were weaving their way through the coffins. One was missing an arm; another half its face. A few of the remnants, gone from the waist down, had emerged from nooks and crannies and were wriggling along the floor.
Loyal subjects to the end, Quinn thought. Conqueror worms.
“If Markov’s cameras are still recording,” Johnny said, “he couldn’t have written a better scene to show his deepest level of Hell.”
“Time to change the ending.”
Quinn had the halberd and bag of weapons, Johnny the flamethrower, and they headed up the stairs like angry villagers storming the castle.
CHAPTER 67
Senses fully alert for anything lurking in the shadows, they moved through the fireplace that led to Johnny’s apartment. They stopped at the threshold before entering the bedchamber, scanning to make sure none of the undead or Markov’s creations were on the loose.
All was still and appeared undisturbed.
Even though no threats were visible, Johnny spoke in a whisper. “If the spear gun is still in the corridor, I’ll go in first and harpoon Markov. Then I can get the pistol off him.”
“Once we open that door, we’ve got to be fast. And ruthless.”
“I’ve got a lifetime of pent-up anger. Ruthless will not be a problem.”
“You’ll have your hands full with the spear gun. I’ll open the door, you charge. I’ll be right behind you with the halberd and flamethrower. You finish Markov, I’ll torch Elinore. Once we eliminate the Lord and Lady, their followers won’t know what to do. We can’t give them a second to breathe.”
She nodded. “This is the moment Markov has been aiming for his whole life. He’ll be super alert, and he won’t go down without a fight.”
“Got it,” Quinn said.
They took a last look around to be sure nothing was stirring, then quickly made their way through the apartment and into the corridor.
The spear gun was still lying where Johnny had dropped it when fighting the Grim Reaper. She re-armed the gun with the spear, and they continued down the hall until they stood at the door to Markov’s studio. They set the things they were carrying down and Quinn pulled the skeleton key from his pocket. Johnny slid her finger onto the trigger of the spear gun.
Quinn eased the key into the lock and gave her a nod. She nodded back. In one swift movement he turned the key and opened the door. Johnny charged in. Quinn shoved the bag of weapons inside with his foot and followed fast behind with the flamethrower and halberd.
Twenty-five yards away in the long rectangular room, Markov sat at his editing console with his back to them. His hands played over the keyboard and oversized mouse like a pianist lost in the crescendo. Standing beside him, looking very much like a mummy in her grave wrappings, Lady Elinore was absorbed by whatever was happening on his computer screen.
The six undead she had brought from the Garden moved to block the charge. Much sturdier and more nimble than the ones below, they formed a protective phalanx with such quickness and precision it looked as though they had been handpicked and trained for exactly that purpose. Within seconds they stood shoulder to shoulder, showing no fear.
Johnny stopped several yards short of the inhuman wall. Seconds later Quinn was by her side. He put the halberd and bag of weapons down and ignited the flamethrower. Just beyond the line of bodyguards, Markov sat unfazed with his back to them. At the far end of the room, the full-sized movie screen showed him editing the last of the new footage onto his film: Quinn and Johnny escaping the dungeon and fighting their way through the Garden.
They watched Markov casually move his hand from the mouse to pick up the pistol that lay beside it. Next to the pistol sat the gloves and goggles he used to manipulate his special effects. Next to them sat Vlad Dracula’s crown. He slowly swiveled his chair around to face them.
He was wearing Lon Chaney’s mask from The Phantom of the Opera. Perfectly re-creating Chaney’s iconic moment in horror cinema, he stood and ripped it off.
Quinn and Johnny stared in shock at the repulsive thing that Markov had become.
He was the hideous Dracula from his own movie—The Blood of Dracula—which was actually Lon Chaney’s from The Un-Dead.
The madness had won.
Quinn shook himself out of his daze. He backed the undead out of the way with a five-foot jet of flame, waving it from side to side.
Markov and Lady Elinore stood unprotected. Johnny raised the spear gun. Markov aimed the pistol at her.
“Drop it,” he said.
“You first.”
The spear hissed through the air. It went through Markov’s heart with such force it pinned him to the wall. Johnny followed the spear and went to watch her father die. Twitching death throes began. The pistol fell from his hand. Elinore moved to pick it up, but Quinn backed her away with the flamethrower and grabbed it. As he held Elinore at bay, he was stunned to hear Johnny taunting her father with words from Poe’s Conqueror Worm:
“It writhes! It writhes!”
Elinore lurched toward her. “Using the Poe he taught you against him. You ungrateful witch.”
Quinn jammed the pistol in his waistband and swung the flamethrower around. He looked at Johnny before squeezing the trigger that would incinerate her adopted mother.
“Do it,” Johnny said.
The burst of fire turned Elinore’s bandages into a flaming death shroud. The waxy exposed flesh above the neck began to melt, until only a charred skull was left. The two fangs were still white and glistening in the rows of rotting teeth.
The skull made a creaking sound as it swiveled to face Johnny. Elinore used the last gasps from her soul to repay Johnny’s taunts of her husband. Staying in the spirit of the moment, she retaliated with Poe’s words from his poem to his adopted mother:
“In the Heavens above … the angels can find no term of love … so devotional as that of Mother….”
Johnny got as close to Elinore’s charred skull as the flames would allow. “You turned on me when I needed you most! You were no more a mother than he was a father!”
Elinore collapsed to the floor. Only her skull remained intact in the center of the smoldering pile of cinders. A final burst of flame sprang up from the ashes to do a fiery dance of death on the last of her mortal remains. Rather than screams of pain, the fire brought a hint of a smile to Elinore’s frozen rictus. With another creaking sound, the mouth opened.
“I’ll be waiting for you in Hell.”
Johnny raised the spear gun to smash the grinning skull. Before she could bring it down, one of the undead slapped it away and shoved her into Quinn. The impact knocked the flamethrower from his hand. As Quinn pulled the pistol from his waistband, Markov’s loyal minion yanked the
spear from his master’s chest. The others hovered several yards away, waiting to see if removing the spear would bring their master back to life.
Markov’s remains fell to the floor as a red mist. The mist quickly separated into thousands of digital bits, blinking and fluttering like the tiny eyes of a swarming horde of demons.
“Dear God,” Johnny said. “The red is blood. He’s part human, part digital.”
As Markov turned to digital dust, another horror appeared. The severed hand of the Creature from his Lagoon materialized in the pile.
Johnny spoke in a barely audible whisper. “He was right. His soul and the Creature’s are mingled together.”
The hand shot up and clamped onto her throat. She tried to pry it off but couldn’t.
The minion that had removed the spear started toward her. Quinn fired.
The silver bullet did its work. A look of disbelief came onto the undead thing’s face as it saw the blood and dust spilling from its chest. Seconds later it fell over dead.
Johnny’s face was reddening as she frantically tried to pull the hand off her neck.
“Move your hands,” Quinn said. As soon as they were out of the way he pressed the pistol against the Creature’s hand and fired. It fell to the floor on its back side, struggling to get turned over. He handed Johnny the pistol. “Keep an eye on them.”
Quinn pulled the hammer and a stake from the bag. With three vicious blows he nailed the wriggling hand to the floor. Finally it stopped moving. “That’s enough of that bullshit,” he said.
One of the undead charged. Johnny fired. It staggered toward Quinn. He stepped aside and it fell beside Markov’s mutated remains. Either the silver bullet had not hit a vital spot, or this one was stronger than the first, because it was still alive and struggling to get up. Or maybe silver bullets don’t kill them.
The four others hovered a few yards away. Johnny went to help Quinn.
“Use the rest of the wolfbane and garlic,” he said. “Get it all around them while I take care of this one.” He pulled another stake from the bag. “Then we can finish the rest together.”
Johnny created a circle of wolfbane and garlic around the four remaining vampiric creatures. They backed away from the toxic fumes and huddled together in the middle.
The wounded one had gotten to its knees. A ferocious kick sent it tumbling backwards. Quinn was on him in an instant with the stake poised over his heart.
The thing’s red eyes blazed at Quinn. “Our master will not let us die,” came the defiant whisper.
Quinn leaned to within inches and returned the stare. “Your master no longer has anything to say about it.” A vicious blow from the hammer drove the stake home.
A hollow shuddering moan erupted as blood bubbled up around the base of the stake. Quinn pounded like a man possessed until the eyes closed and the abomination lay still.
He picked up the sputtering flamethrower and started toward Johnny. Odd movement along the floor stopped him. “What the—?”
Johnny followed his gaze.
Markov’s disintegrated remains were starting to re-integrate themselves. One leg started to form, then the other. The flesh knitting to cover the legs slowly crept upward. Before it got above the waist, Quinn and Johnny saw the skeleton and internal organs taking shape, as though looking at an animated x-ray.
The rib cage slowly formed. The puncture from the spear was clearly visible in the lifeless heart.
The hole began to close. The heart twitched.
A beat. Then another. And another. The heartbeat became steady. The pace of regeneration quickened. Flesh covered the torso in seconds. The mouth began to reconstruct itself. First came the gums. Slowly, two fangs pushed through.
White. Glistening.
Johnny stammered out, “Dear Christ … the magnetism…. It’s mixed with the elixir. God only knows what he is now. Part human, part digital … part vampire.”
The regeneration was almost complete. Markov was recognizable as himself. As he got stronger so did the undead that were still inside the circle of wolfbane and garlic. Their signs of decomposition were disappearing. They appeared younger, stronger. They inched closer to the wall of toxic vapor.
Quinn raised the flamethrower. The flame sputtered and went out. Several attempts to re-ignite it failed. Johnny had the pistol, but three rounds had been expended. The pistol held six, but Quinn wasn’t sure if it had been fully loaded. There might be three rounds left—or there might be none. However many were left, they weren’t enough to stop Markov and his four protectors if they got loose.
The extra bullets were in the bag.
“Look,” Johnny said.
Markov had fully recovered. The eyes of his four remaining minions were locked onto him—loyal subjects awaiting their command. As Markov had regained strength, their rejuvenation had continued. Now they were the young strapping physical specimens they had been in life. Markov extended an arm toward them, as though he were a hypnotist establishing control.
“My power is now in you. Come!” With his palm facing up, he drew them to him by simultaneously closing his hand and pulling it closer to himself. They left the wolfbane-and-garlic prison—not as shambling half-dead, but as sure-footed warriors going into battle. They quickly formed a protective semicircle around Markov. He drew himself up to his full height and spoke with a triumphant air.
“Do not waste your time trying to stop me. I am no longer something that silver bullets or fire can destroy. Do you remember my hypothesis, Mr. Quinn? That the magnetism seeping into me during all those years of remastering had further altered my body chemistry—which had already been drastically altered by the elixir?
“My hypothesis has been proven correct. The magnetism pulled all the animating forces inside me together to create a new life form. I’m talking about altering the molecular structure of my very soul. The essential It that drives us all.”
A look of satisfaction welled up from the depths of his remastered soul. “I have succeeded in both of my goals: to bring Dracula back to life, and to eliminate the boundary between movies and reality.”
He turned his attention to Johnny. “You are right, dearest daughter. I am part human, part digital—part vampire.” He gestured at the goggles and gloves. “I no longer need those. Now I have the power. The digital part has given me control over my body down to the atomic level. I can modulate the energy waves of my body however I wish. Even amplify their power to a superhuman level. I can synchronize them with the energy waves of the material world.
“Do you comprehend what I am saying? Through sheer will, I can adjust my wavelengths until they are in phase with wavelengths of surrounding matter. I have achieved the goal attained by Morbius’s mighty Krell on Altair 4: creation by mere thought. Gloves, goggles, a mouse—they are no longer needed. I am the input device. The ultimate interface between man and matter. I can manipulate reality with the energy emanating from my bare hands. Watch.”
On one of his editing monitors, he had frozen the confrontation in the dungeon between his Creature from the Lagoon and the Frankenstein Monster. They stood glaring at each other in a face-off.
Markov inserted his hands into the monitor and pulled them out. He plucked off their heads and put the Creature’s on the Monster and the Monster’s on the Creature, then re-inserted them into the dungeon. His expression became almost childlike.
“All the horrors ever shown in the movies will be available to me. I can cut and paste them to create any alien lifeform I wish. Think of the possibilities!
“I have created a new Dracula for the digital age! A Dracula infused with the genius of Markov—Maker of Monsters!”
His moment of triumph was cut short by the smell of smoke. It was coming from the corridor. Markov shot a glance in that direction. “What have you done?”
“Started the hellfire,” Johnny said.
They all looked at the monitor of the Garden.
The vast chamber was a raging inferno. Dozens of the un
dead staggered around encased in flame.
The smell of smoke was getting stronger. “This hellhole will burn to the ground,” Johnny said. “Your reign has ended.”
“My reign here,” Markov placed the crown on his head. “I shall begin a new reign as Vlad Dracula IV.” He gestured at the four remaining undead. “I have what I need. Two strong men and two strong women, specifically cultivated in the Garden to continue the Dracula bloodline. My breeding stock.
“Don’t you see? Bits of my soul and Dracula’s have become part of the elixir that flows through them. Their veins are conductors of our psychic energy. We have total control, because our commands don’t just come from some detached other. They flow from our mind to the mixture of myself and Dracula that flows through them. It has made the elixir much more powerful. It compels them to do whatever it takes to keep the bloodline alive. Mesmer would be proud. I have turned his animal magnetism into the ultimate mind control.”
Johnny raised the pistol.
Markov shook his head and looked at her with pity. “You still do not understand. Your silver bullets will do you no good. I am indestructible.”
“We’ll see about that.”
She fired the three remaining rounds into him. He winced as each one hit him, then pulled up his shirt to look at the holes in his chest. Very little blood came out. He calmly inserted his fingers into each hole, pulled out the bullet, and flung it at her feet.
“You are nothing if not stubborn, Johnny.” A hint of something like affection flickered across his face. “You get that from me.”
A crackling noise made them all turn their heads.
Tongues of flame were licking the bottom of the door to the corridor.
“That’s our cue,” Markov said. “We must leave you now to fulfill our”—he looked at Johnny—“you know.”
His minions maintained a protective barrier around him as he went to his editing console and made a few clicks on his specially designed mouse. “A camera on the roof has recorded the Blood Moon,” he explained, “and the cameras in here have recorded our final confrontation.” He unplugged a pocket-sized external hard drive from a USB port. “I just downloaded it all onto onto this. Along with all the other edited footage.” He held the hard drive up as though submitting it for Best Picture consideration.