Hell Train

by Christopher Fowler

  ISABELLA WAITED UNTIL the soldiers had sauntered off, and tried the door. Once again, it opened by itself. The train was like a mechanical trickster, opening and closing passageways at will, manipulating all those held within its grip. She and Nicholas had become a part of Miranda’s challenge. Could she now become a part of Nicholas’s?

  Checking to see that the coast was clear, she stepped out into the swaying corridor. It was empty now. She could hear soldiers laughing further along the carriage. Making her way back along the train, she reached the guard’s van and tried the door, but it was shut.

  ‘Thomas,’ she begged, ‘open the door, it’s me.’

  Thomas released the catch and sat down beside the shattered coffin, closing his eyes. He looked terrible.

  ‘Thomas? How are you feeling?’

  ‘I really don’t know. Quite odd, if you must know. Everything’s a terrible mix-up. Where’s Miranda? Why isn’t she here?’

  Isabella hardly knew where to start. ‘You don’t remember?’

  Thomas unsurely pulled himself to his feet. ‘What happened to my wife?’

  ‘Thomas, I am so sorry—’

  ‘My God, it’s all coming back to me. That ghastly thing in the casket; the fight.’

  ‘Miranda is dead. And Nicholas is now in danger.’

  ‘Dead. She shut me in—no, the creature did.’ He tried to piece together what had happened.

  ‘Your wife was dragged beneath the train. She had a golden chain in her hand—’

  ‘That’s horrible. She was determined to steal it. Wouldn’t take any instruction from me. She never did.’

  ‘At least her end was quick.’ It wasn’t entirely true, but the occasion called for a small lie.

  ‘Mind you, she hadn’t been happy since I married her.’

  ‘She was kind to me.’

  ‘Kind? Let’s be honest. She was a greedy bitch and she made my life a misery.’ He slapped himself awake. ‘Right, let’s get out of here.’

  Miranda went to the door, but now found it had somehow locked itself. ‘It’s the train,’ she explained. ‘It’s keeping us apart.’

  ‘What are you talking about? The corpse in the coffin was still alive. Epilepsy. It had nothing to do with the train.’

  ‘How can you say that? It was not of this world, Thomas! You saw what happened!’

  ‘Mass hallucinations. Hysteria. It happens all the time in the church. You should see some of my parishioners after hymn practice. You’d think the Angel Gabriel himself had come down and made advances to them.’ Pushing her aside, he grunted at the lock. ‘Let me have a go. It’s just jammed.’ He picked up the shovel and started to smash at the hasp. ‘Stand back, we’ll be out of here in no time.’

  THE MAJOR LED Nicholas to the toilet at the end of the corridor and let him inside. A ceramic bowl, a basin, no towels, a narrow window. Nicholas looked around for a means of escape. He tried to force the window, but it proved impossible to open.

  One of the young privates who had escorted Isabella away came running up. ‘Sir, the Brigadier wants a word with you. Wants to know our destination. Some kind of problem.’

  The Major glanced back at the shut toilet door, weighing up the odds. ‘All right. Stay by this door. Don’t allow him out of your sight. Wait here with him until I get back.’

  Nicholas heard the Major’s response. He waited, listening for the boy on the other side of the door. The private had shifted closer, also listening. Nicholas gripped the handle and opened the door hard, slamming the private in the face. Swinging himself around the door, he grabbed the young soldier and rammed his head into the wall twice, three times, until he was knocked out.

  Nicholas moved up through the train, searching the compartments one by one. When he reached the Brigadier’s compartment, he saw the white blind spotted with crimson. He slowed down, filled with apprehension.

  He rested his hand on the door handle. He was sure that if he opened it he would find himself face to face with his worst nightmare.

  Your test waits inside.

  Twisting the handle, he looked in.

  The Brigadier was standing in the swaying compartment, hunched over the boy. The soldier’s boots were beating against the floor, as if he was having a fit. What was going on?

  When the Brigadier heard the door open he slowly rose and turned around, the sconced wall lights casting an eerie glow on his face. His chin was bearded with crimson blood. His right hand contained an open straight razor. His eyes glittered with madness. Nicholas looked down to the floor. There was a deep hole in the prone boy’s throat. The floor was slick with dark blood.

  ‘Come in,’ said the Brigadier, clearing his throat in an effort to speak without the thickness of passion. ‘It’s good to see you again, Lieutenant. I remember you well from the Piccadilly trench.’

  ISABELLA AND THOMAS took turns to hack at the guard van’s door, but it was no good. Thomas was panting from the exertion. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t locked.’

  ‘I told you, the train needs to keep us all apart.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘So that we can’t unite against it.’

  Thomas continued to hammer at the lock with the shovel. Finally, a piece broke off. Then, incredibly, the lock mechanism rebuilt itself, folding back wood and metal, fusing into a solid piece once more. Thomas stood back, aghast. He thought for a moment. ‘Um, perhaps I was wrong. I suppose we could be in the realm of the supernatural. In that case, how can we save ourselves?’

  ‘Right now I’m more concerned about saving Nicholas,’ said Isabella.

  NICHOLAS STOOD IN the compartment doorway, facing the bloody Brigadier and his prostrate victim. The boy soldier had tried to rise but had fallen across the seat, a second bloody mouth gaping at his throat. The Brigadier took another swipe with the razor, spraying blood. He dipped his hand in the wound and sucked his fingers as if finishing a plate of buttered asparagus.

  ‘Brigadier...’ Nicholas began.

  The soldier fell back to the floor and released a terrible, agonised gurgle. Turning his attention to Nicholas, the Brigadier advanced stealthily, a wily old panther stalking a deer. Nicholas knew enough to start backing up. The Brigadier seemed suddenly to realize that he was covered in blood, and wiped his chin.

  ‘I got a taste for it in the trenches,’ he explained.

  ‘What you’re doing is against God.’

  ‘The world has grown too dark for gods. You’ve never killed before.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then you don’t know what you’re missing.’

  Amazingly, the boy on the floor was not quite dead. He tried to sit up, but a startling spill of crimson fell from his slashed throat. The Brigadier grinned, thick blood leaking between his teeth. He came toward Nicholas.

  Nicholas turned and ran, heading off down the corridor with the Brigadier in pursuit.

  ‘Deserting the fight again?’ called the Brigadier. ‘Show some spirit, lad.’

  The Brigadier was almost upon him when Nicholas crashed into Major Carstairs coming the other way.

  ‘What on earth are you doing unescorted?’ said Carstairs. ‘Where’s my boy? I can’t leave you alone for a minute, can I? Get back in there, man.’

  The Major shoved him back into their compartment and swiftly locked his wrist to the door handle once more, pocketing the key and stranding him back where he started.

  ‘He’s struck again,’ said Nicholas. ‘If you don’t believe me, go and look in the next carriage. The man has become completely psychotic.’

  ‘Are we to have this nonsense again? I really think it has gone far enough. Get some sleep. Give your nerves a rest.’

  Nicholas couldn’t rest. He peered anxiously out at the corridor, expecting to see the Brigadier at any moment. Pinned once more within the carriage, there was nothing he could do but wait for the attack.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  THE LOOP

  THE BRIGADIER STUCK his head from a
nother compartment doorway and checked to see if the coast was clear. His eyes were as wild as the night. The blood he’d consumed had only made him thirsty for more. It burned in his throat, swelled his chest and gave him an erection. He had passed two years of active combat in some of the worst spots in Europe, and it had changed him. Something about the ease with which innocent life was taken had altered the way he viewed the world. Killing the young private had appalled him, but had also made him realise how easy it was. He had fought down the impulse to do so again, and the urge had remained buried until he had boarded this train.

  Suddenly, shockingly, it seemed that his purpose had crystallised, and he could do as he pleased. The train would sanctify his behaviour because he could actually do good, preventing these poor lads from the horrors of having to return to the frontline. He would take their lives here on board, swiftly and easily, letting no-one else know.

  Except that damned lieutenant, Castleford. He would have to take care of him. He watched the trees and mountains rushing at his back, thinking.

  THE MAJOR HAD started to doze again. Nicholas waited until his head nodded to his chest, then reached over and very carefully unthreaded the handcuff key from his chain. He had one advantage; the men on board were dog-tired.

  He unlocked the cuff as quietly as he could and pocketed the key. Then he quietly let himself out into the corridor.

  The Conductor was watching him.

  Neither of them moved. Is it his job to stop me? thought Nicholas, or must my actions be taken alone?

  As the train trundled over points, the lights in the corridor flickered and went out. Nicholas knew he was in grave danger. He tried to understand the rules that would govern his own survival. He was being tried, just as Miranda had been tried, and would forfeit his soul if he failed. The train was a soul-catcher, racing around the countryside, scooping up the most vulnerable and putting them to the test. Carpathia was in turmoil as never before—virtually everyone’s soul was up for grabs. The deck was stacked on the Arkangel’s side. He had to show he was up to the task.

  Returning to the compartment where he had last seen the Brigadier, he now found it empty. Where had his nemesis gone?

  He opened and closed each compartment door in turn, looking in until he had reached the end of the carriage. Closing the last, he found the Brigadier standing right behind it, grinning at him through a beard of cracked dry blood. In his raised right hand was the gleaming blade of the bone-handled cut-throat razor.

  The Brigadier took a wild swipe, slashing Nicholas’ cheek. Excited by the smell of fresh blood, he attacked again. Nicholas ran, but the Brigadier was faster. He punched Nicholas in the face, flooring him. Honing the blade on the line of his trousers, he leant over to slash Nicholas’s wide, tanned throat.

  A private came out of the compartment behind him just as the blade descended.

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ he began, then ‘Oh, Lor!’ as he saw what was going on. The Brigadier spun smartly on his heel, the blade slicing the air. The private’s face was gashed wide, soaking Nicholas on the floor. He watched in horror as the Brigadier sucked noisily at the soldier’s wound.

  His instinct was to flee. Struggling to his feet, Nicholas prepared to go to the next carriage, then stopped, realizing that he had fallen into a trap. It was what had been expected of him. He would run and the Brigadier would pursue, placing those who remained behind in danger, just as Miranda had done with Thomas. It was time to stop running away.

  End this now, he thought, closing his eyes, turning and opening them—only to find that the Brigadier had somehow vanished. Standing astride the corridor at the end of the carriage, he looked back along the mist-filled passage.

  The private’s bloody corpse was being dragged away; he saw its feet disappearing around a corner. A moment later he heard a door bang back, and the body vanished, kicked out into the rushing night. The Brigadier was cleaning up as he went.

  So that’s how it’s to be, he thought. No-one else will see his carnage except for me.

  Reaching a decision, he set off in that direction. Head toward your fear, not away from it. The thing must be tackled and beaten, face to face. He was almost at the spot where he had seen the body shift when the Major stuck his head out of his compartment and made a grab for him.

  ‘Seems I can’t trust you to behave like a gentleman,’ said Carstairs. ‘Give me back the key. Come on.’

  Nicholas was horrified to see the Brigadier appear, approaching from the Major’s back.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘he’s behind—’

  ‘Don’t make this any worse than it already is.’

  ‘—behind you.’

  ‘I didn’t come down with the last shower. Give me your wrist.’

  ‘He’s right behind you!’

  ‘It’s not panto season. I know most people think I’m soft—’

  Nicholas could only point. But it was too late. The Brigadier‘s razor came straight through the Major’s throat from the back of his neck, opening it in a spray of arterial blood. The amount he drank merely fed his lust. The Brigadier wiped his mouth and grinned. ‘Enough men,’ he said, ‘I need something more full-bodied.’

  Nicholas had not had time to formulate a plan. There was no way of grabbing a straight-razor from a man who knew how to wield it. He could only turn and flee. The silent, desperate chase continued down the corridor.

  A peasant couple appeared in a doorway, struggling with their bags. The man was carrying a live cockerel. The Brigadier grabbed Nicholas by the throat and held him close until they passed.

  ‘I am your commanding officer,’ he hissed. ‘Find me a woman.’ He dug the razor into Nicholas’s throat and nicked him. No, it’s blood-lust, thought Nicholas, if he sees my blood flowing it will set him off again. He tried to twist away but was held in place.

  A pair of soldiers came into the corridor with heavy kit-bags and had to squeeze by them. The Brigadier slipped the razor away but retained his grip. Killer and victim waited for them to leave.

  That’s it, he thought, the nature of my test. For some reason, the Brigadier can’t take action without giving himself away, and I can’t accuse him in public without being recaptured. It’s a stalemate. We could go on like this for all eternity.

  BACK IN THE guard’s van, Isabella and Thomas stared incredulously at the rebuilt lock.

  ‘This is ungodly,’ said Thomas. ‘Bloody clever trick, though.’

  ‘Your crucifix. It worked on the coffin, and on the creature that attacked your wife. We have to get out, for Nicholas’ sake.’

  Isabella searched the floor where it fell, found the gold cross and pressed it into the lock. The metal hissed and recoiled. ‘If the train is from Hell, it needs to be fought with the opposite,’ she said.

  She kicked out at the lock, shattering it easily. Together they fled into the corridor.

  AS SOON AS the soldiers had passed them, Nicholas brought his elbow back into the Brigadier’s solar plexus and fought his way clear of the flailing officer. This was no mindless monster, like the thing that had attacked Miranda. There was something different about this peculiar turn of events. He needed a moment to think, but there was no time.

  As he watched to see what his foe would do, he was horrified to see Isabella coming toward him with Thomas. He called out to her, but was too late. The Brigadier had stepped out in front of her.

  ‘Isabella, no! Stay out of my test!’ he protested.

  But the officer had been presented with a dilemma. He was in the middle of the passage between two potential victims. He wanted the girl—those eyes, that body!—but he needed to silence his opponent. Whirling, he shoved Nicholas into the Major’s old compartment and snapped the dangling handcuffs shut with practiced ease.

  ‘It’s been too long,’ he hissed. ‘A man can go strange without a woman. I’ll be back for you in a minute.’

  He glanced back at Isabella. ‘Make that fifteen minutes.’

  Nicholas looked down, appalled, at the han
dcuffs he could never seem to escape. It’s a loop, he thought, it will go on forever unless I can find a way to break it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  THE HANDCUFFS

  THE BRIGADIER CLOSED in on Isabella. Her innocent flesh seemed to glow in the corridor lamplight. In the trenches he had been surrounded by bone and wasted skin. Village girls were plump and tanned and ripe.

  ‘Please,’ said Isabella, ‘There’s been a mistake. Nicholas is not who you think he is.’

  The Brigadier was not interested in discussing the matter. ‘My dear, you shouldn’t concern yourself with him. His mind has turned. He’s seen terrible things.’

  ‘What has he seen?

  ‘I can show you.’ The Brigadier smiled at her; blood was leaking between his teeth. Slamming Isabella against the carriage wall, he clapped a hand over her mouth and tore at her blouse. As she tried to fight him off he licked at her breast, leaving behind a wide crimson smear on her skin. ‘I hope you taste as good on the inside,’ he said, offering her a bloody leer.

  NICHOLAS TRIED TO squirm his way from the handcuffs, but the ratchets were too tight and cut into his wrist. ‘Thomas!’ he called, twisting about, ‘Christ, man, where the hell are you when I need you? Get me out of these damned things!’

  He kicked against the door handle, each blow burning and digging into his flesh. Straining as much as he dared, he smashed at the handle with his boot heel and threw his body weight against the door. The handle came free, but a great spear of wood tore away with it. He had no choice but to drag the fragment of door with him.

  Heading out into the corridor, he found the Brigadier sucking at Isabella’s bared breast. She had fainted, and lay draped across his arm.

  ‘Let her go, you filthy brute.’

  Nicholas swung the chunk of door, slamming it around the Brigadier’s head. The blow barely affected him, but at least it caused him to stop feeding for a moment. With a cough of blood, he flung Isabella aside.