by Lari Smythe
Chapter 23 Izzy's final journey
The decisions that had driven me out of Boonsboro weighed on me, but I knew they were right. It was necessary to lie to Elizabeth. I needed a head start, and Jason, Jason would forget me in time. I had a small backpack with a few changes of clothes, some money, and a three, thousand, mile journey ahead.
"Jason," I moaned. I had to stop thinking about him. He was the past, a mistake—no, I could never think of him as a mistake—he was a diversion, a diversion from my reality, a reality that had to end.
The sun was low on the western horizon, the direction I was headed. In my haste to leave, I hadn't really considered the time it would take to get across country. It was true that I wouldn't fatigue, but it would probably take weeks to get to Washington State on foot. I stared down into the valley and the caravan of eighteen-wheelers headed west. That was an option, I could hitch. A shrill whistle broke the evening silence, a freight train; a better option, no human contact. I followed the ravine down from the mountain peaks until it intersected the tracks, hanging back in the underbrush until the engine passed. Once the last car clattered by, I sprinted out on the tracks and closed the short distance. For now, I sat straddling the coupler of the last car. It was true I could run faster, but the train would give me time to concentrate on a plan.
Jason had convinced me that I needed to focus my search on the western side of the Olympic Peninsula—Jason, just thinking his name made me yearn to turn back, another good reason to be on the train. On foot, I might unconsciously turn back. Even if he was correct, it only placed me on the peninsula at some point in my human life and that, by no means, translated into where I grew up, or where I might have been killed.
My focus had been on trying to find some record of my demise, a death certificate, a grave or a newspaper clipping, but I hadn't considered that it had only been five years since my death. There would be those I left behind, parents, siblings, friends that could recognize me—I had to avoid that. The other obvious problem was that most vampires were transient, so it was likely whoever killed me, was just passing through. The more I thought about it, the more hopeless it seemed. What about the Faulkner's? More precisely, Elizabeth—how was she tied in? And why all the secrecy? Why not just tell me? I'd been so wrapped up in my thoughts, I didn't notice the train had stopped. A bum appeared from the edge of the train. He stopped—back to me—and urinated on a tree.
"What you doin' there?" he asked as he turned around, pulling up his zipper. He rubbed his eyes like he didn't believe them. "Someone there?"
I slid off the coupler.
"Well, hello there." He rubbed the stubble on his face. "You can't ride there, they'll see you."
"They?"
He motioned toward the boxcar and then looked around, the confusion in his face had turned to fear. "Recon, we be near Cincinnati—rail yard there—they like the yards." He extended his hand toward me. "Come on, you'll be safe inside."
I followed him to the open door. The train was on a curved section of track so we weren't visible from the engine.
"Go head." He motioned toward the door.
Another man appeared at the door and helped him up into the car. The train lurched.
"We gotta close the door, you comin'?" He held out a gloved hand as the train began to move.
I let him think he pulled me up. Once I was inside, he and the other man slid the door closed. It was pitch black, but I could see the faint shapes of the two bums. "Why do you have to close the door?"
"Don't be afraid," the other man said. "We can open it once we get past Cinci."
"What's in Cincinnati?"
The train had moved far enough around the turn that the sun now shown through the cracks around the door. The two men moved into the light. Once they could see each other they began to whisper.
"It gonna be dark by the time we git there."
"Shhhh, you'll scare her."
"What are you afraid of?" I interrupted.
"Vampires," one whispered.
Okay, I wasn't expecting that, but figured it was just the delusional—or maybe inebriated—ramblings of two old men. The only thing—the fear in their eyes when the word was spoken aloud.
"Don't worry though," the bum who helped me into the box car said, "as long as we keep the door closed they won't see us." The train finished the curve and the light vanished.
"You believe in vampires?" I questioned.
"They hunt the rail yards," the other bum said.
"You've seen them?"
They looked at one another. "No one's ever lived to say, but folks have seen the bodies—bit—bit in the neck and left white as ghosts. Gotta be quiet now—don't want 'em to hear ya—we'll talk on the other side of the yard." True to their word, they didn't say another word until we were well outside of Cincinnati. The train settled in to an even speed—the car a rhythmic side-to-side sway.
"Where ya headed?" The one who'd helped me up into the car asked. "By the way, names Hershel."
"Well Hershel, I'm headed to Washington."
"Seattle—yep train goes to Seattle, awful cold up there this time of year. Me and Jones here is headed to Phoenix for the winter."
"That's nice. Have the two of you been friends long?"
"Since Pittsburg?" Hershel said.
"That's right, Pittsburg," Jones confirmed.
The two unlatched, and then pushed the door opened a few feet. It was dark out now, the sky clear, a nearly full moon was perched on the eastern horizon. They both stared out into the darkness.
"What are you looking for?" I asked.
"Just makin' sure," Hershel said. "So what's a young lady like yoself doin' hopin' trains?"
Suddenly the stale air smelled like whiskey. "Don't see women on the trains," Jones added, shaking his head.
"I need to get to Washington—I don't have any money, so this seemed like a reasonable option."
They both laughed and Jones passed Hershel a bottle of amber liquid. "Well, it's cheap, that's for sure."
"You don't really believe in vampires do you?"
The train unexpectedly lurched, sending both men tumbling across the floor.
"Dang it Hershel, don't spill it!" Jones yelled as the bottle hit the floor.
There wasn't much left by the time Hershel got to the bottle. Both men scooted over to the spill, sopping up the liquid off the dirty floor with their sleeves and then sucking it out. Hershel held up the bottle to me. "Keep the chill off," he offered.
"No thanks, I'm fine."
"Suit yourself."
"She's a kid," Jones groaned, "against the law for her to drink."
"That's the dumbest thing I ever heard," Hershel replied.
"Guys, guys, its okay. Really, I'm fine. So, tell me about the vampires."
Neither said anything.
"You've seen them, or are they just boxcar stories?"
"I only heard the stories," Jones said. "You?" He nodded toward Hershel.
"Well, I ain't never seen no vampire—ain't no one ever lived that did—but I seen a body." He and Jones scooted closer to me. "Guy was white as a ghost, teeth marks on his neck."
"Was they fang marks?" Jones asked.
"No."
"Maybe he froze to death and the rats got him?" I suggested.
"Was summer and ain't no rat got a mouth that big."
"Where'd ya see it?" Jones asked.
"Georgia, I think. Happens more along the coasts, figure the huntn's better—more people, ya know?"
Jones looked at me and nodded. "Makes sense."
"Years back, they was more active in the northwest," Hershel continued. "Hey, ain't you said you was goin' to Seattle?"
"Yes," I answered.
"You be careful up there, these things go in cycles, they might be up that'a way again. You know where to change trains?"
"No."
"Next city is Saint Louis, then we git to the big rail yard, gotta change there."
"Don't worry, it should b
e daytime when we get there. Vampires don't like the sun ya know—burn 'em up."
The sun could be a problem. I had on a long sleeve blouse, but my hands and face would be exposed. There were a couple of old blankets on the floor, so I could probably cover myself with one of them if I had to.
"Don't worry, me and Jones—we'll help you get on the right train. Ya jist gotta stay put till ya gits to Seattle."
"I can do that."
The conversation fell off as the alcohol took effect. Their story about vampires seemed at least plausible. The rails would provide a source of food that wouldn't be missed. I made the mistake of reminding myself not to think about Jason—of course that had the opposite effect—you just cannot not think about someone. The air inside the boxcar was stale, but the human scent faint, even so, my thirst was growing. I would need to feed soon. Hershel and Jones fell asleep, snoring peacefully through the night.
I was in luck. By the time we reached the rail yard, a light drizzle was falling. I was surprised how knowledgeable Hershel and Jones were. They knew exactly which tracks went where. They led me through the yard, keeping hidden from the security cameras, and always being cautious near open cars. They obviously believed there were vampires lurking in the yards.
"This one should get you to Seattle. Ya go through the mountains to Denver, then Salt Lake, then Seattle. Ya member to stay put and keep the doors closed when ya round the yards."
"Thanks guys. I'm sure I'll be fine."
They waved and started across the tracks. "Poor thing," Hershel said, "she's awful young to be livin' like this."
"I think maybe she got more to worry about than just vampires."
The center of my new boxcar was bare, but there were what appeared to be empty, wooden crates on either end. Not needing to worry about human comforts, I slid in between the crates and the side of the car to keep out of sight. It wasn't long before a rail-yard security guard came by to check the car. Soon after, the car groaned as the train began to inch forward. The guard had closed the doors, so it was pitch black. Suddenly the door screeched open and I heard someone clamber into the car.
"Come on! Hurry up," he yelled. There was a scuffle. "Get the door closed." It was dark again.
"What about the other dude?" A different male voice said.
"He can catch the next one." They laughed.
"Where's this one going?"
"Denver, I think."
"What the heck? I thought we were going south. Denver's freakin' cold."
"Something wasn't right back there. Creeped me out."
"You felt it too?"
"Yeah."
"What was it?"
"Death? I don't know, but whatever it was, I didn't want to be there."
"But Denver?"
"I didn't care where, just outta there. We'll get one goin' south next stop."
We went over a switch, and the crates shifted. "We alone?"
"We look alone?"
"Yeah, I guess."
I glanced over my shoulder toward the center of the car. The boxcar was rusted though in several places, dust hung in the bands of light that shone through the holes. There was a hole just to my left. I scooted toward it and peered out as the flat countryside rolled by. My companions talked for a little while, but eventually fell asleep. Hours later we started a long, slow climb toward the mile high city. As the sun went down, the temperature dropped dramatically. My thirst was on a definite rise, but still within my control—the rust ventilated boxcar helped keep the human scent in check. The car shuttered and squeaked as we passed through the switches in the Denver rail yard.
"Dang it," one of my companions yelled, "we didn't stop."
"Want to jump?"
"You kidin'? Sprain an ankle and you'd freeze to death."
"What do we do then?"
"Guess we'll have to ride it out til the next stop."
They settled back down, not seeming to have much to say—or maybe it was the cold that sapped their energy. The mountains were beautiful, but more than that, they signified I was getting closer to my revenge. I couldn't help myself and kept looking for that outline I held in my memory, even though I knew it was too soon. Our progress continued to be agonizingly slow on the other side of Denver. It was snowing when we pulled into Salt Lake City around midday. My two companions didn't move even after we stopped. I slapped the wall, knowing they wanted to change trains and I needed them away from me while I still had some semblance of control.
"What the—hey, wake up, we stopped."
They both got up, stiff and sore from sleeping on the hard floor.
"Come on, give me a hand."
It took them several tries, but the door finally squealed open. I scooted closer to the edge of the crates and glanced over my shoulder toward the glare from the open door. Suddenly one of the men flew across the boxcar and slammed into the wall next to me. He crumbled to the floor in a breathless heap. A sharp scream drew my attention back to the door as the other man flew out of the car. His second scream was cut short by a gurgling gasp. It was quiet now except for the labored gasps of the guy on the floor. I stepped out from behind the crates.
"What do we have here?" A new male voice inquired.
I looked up to an older man—in his forties, by human years—standing in the doorway holding the other bum like a rag doll. The bum's head hung at an odd angle, his neck definitely broken, a bloody bite mark across his jugular.
"I'm Izzy, and you are?"
"Alexander." He stared, assessing me. "Forgive me, I did not realize these two were yours."
"No, it's fine. I fed earlier."
His stare focused on my eyes—his were crimson—I turned away.
"That's very generous." He grabbed the one he was holding by the head, letting the twisted body dangle, and drew the man's wound to his mouth.
I glanced back at him. Beneath matted hair, his face was dirty, so dirty that not even the sun penetrated the grime. He glanced up, his face smeared with blood. Finally he dropped the bum's body and kicked it out the door.
"Forgive my rudeness, but it has been awhile." He wiped his sleeve across his mouth. Again he stared at me. "You're young?"
"Yes."
"Yet you tolerate the close confines with these two?"
"Yes." I wasn't sure where he was going with his questions, but he seemed to be evaluating me.
"Your control is impressive. Where are you from?"
"The east. I was in the mood for a change of scenery," I added.
"You've chosen well. The west, particularly the northwest, is quite breathtaking."
"How about you?" I asked.
"British Columbia, but the hunting is sparse during the winter months so I migrate south."
Could he be the one? Was his scrutinizing stare one of recognition? Just thinking about the possibility triggered a low growl in my stomach.
"Is that a problem?" he said.
"Depends on whether we've met before."
He hesitated before responding. "That would be a problem?"
"It could be."
"Ahhhh," he acknowledged, nodding his head. "Vengeance."
That surprised me—the fact that he picked up on my intentions so quickly. "Maybe."
"So you're not happy with your lot." He stroked his chin. "I doubt you're old enough to make a rational decision, perhaps after a decade—"
"Maybe, but I still want to know who and why."
"You were abandoned?" His tone was one of disgust. "I'm surprised you survived."
"I'm not exactly sure how, but I wound up with a coven."
"Fortunate, very fortunate. What was the name?"
"Faulkner."
"Ah, the Mid Atlantic." He looked puzzled and once again focused his attention on my eyes. "The Faulkners observe the Cullen philosophy don't they?"
"I'm not sure what you mean, I've never heard the name Cullen."
"Carlisle Cullen has created an... alternative existence, one of commingling with humans. He refers
to his followers as vegetarians. Perhaps this is why you were able to tolerate the close confines?" The question was phrased as an accusation.
"Yes."
"That explains your eyes lack of color. Perhaps your displeasure with your existence is due to this choice. I have hunted animals when there is nothing else, but there is nothing as satisfying as human blood. It is like the difference between water and wine."
"No, I'm certain that has nothing to do with it." It was easy to say, but I couldn't help think how delicious Jason's blood would taste.
"So sure." His gaze took me in from head to toe. "I've missed the pleasures of a woman, human females are so frail." He scraped the scum off his front teeth with his fingernail and then pushed back his matted hair, tucking it behind one ear. "What do you say?"
"No, thank you," I said trying to keep an even tone.
He smiled as if my refusal was a challenge. "You don't know what you're missing."
"Tell me about the Cullens," I said, changing the subject.
"They mingle with the humans, relocating only when their obvious lack of aging becomes an issue. I don't understand the attraction. It's like humans living in the fields with cattle—twisted."
"You've never tried it," I defended, "you might be surprised. Humans can be very engaging." I momentarily thought of Jason, but quickly shook it off. "Do you know where I might find the Cullens?"
"Somewhere in the northern part of Washington, I believe."
"Not the Olympic peninsula then?"
"No, why?"
"Is it possible one of them might have—"
He laughed. "Impossible, they go to extreme—" He stopped in mid sentence as if considering.
"What?" I urged.
"Sometime ago—I believe they added a new member—you know how uncontrollable young vampires are—and the Cullen choice is not natural."
"When they were on the Olympic peninsula?"
"I believe so," he nodded.
"How long ago?"
"That, I'm afraid I can't help you with."
I had what felt like an important piece of information, a connection between the Faulkners and the Cullens and a wild, bloodthirsty new vampire. It all fit, almost too perfectly. I'd expected this to be very difficult to figure out, but why couldn't it be just that easy? "The Olympic peninsula it is then," I muttered.
"Do not go there," he warned.
"Why?"
"There is a local Indian tribe, the Quileutes if I recall—very dangerous."
"Dangerous? To us?" The idea was ridiculous.
"Their young warriors have the ability to transform into wolves—they hunt in packs, lethal to our kind."
I fought to refrain from smiling. There it was, the other piece of my puzzle, self-destruction. Once I found this new vampire and destroyed him, the Quileute wolves would be there to finish the job.
"Heed my warning, young one, this is not a place you want to go."
"Sure—yeah. I get that," I covered. "Thanks for the warning."
His eyes probed me again. "Give it some time, perhaps you will discover purpose in what you have become." His gaze sank to the floor as the remaining bum began to moan. In one quick motion, Alexander snatched him off the floor and buried his teeth into the man's neck.
I panicked and lurched away, slamming into the side of the boxcar sending a shower of blistered paint and rust raining down on us. My thirst instantly boiled to the edge of control.
This seemed to amuse Alexander, and he pushed the man toward me. Blood spurt from the gaping wound with the final beats of his heart. Alexander lunged toward me, pressing the man against me. His hot, blood spattered my face, and chest. Alexander burst out laughing.
I flailed my arms wildly trying to push them away, but another spurt of blood splattered across my open mouth. The fire in my throat was insane. I grabbed the man's arm, losing all control and tugged. Alexander resisted—I felt the man's shoulder pop out of socket.
"That's it. That's it." Alexander coaxed as my tongue washed across my blood spattered lips. He had me pinned against the side of the boxcar.
"No!" I screamed, bringing my feet to his chest and then pushing with all my might.
The boxcar shook violently, as Alexander flew through the open doorway, laughing. I pressed back into the gap between the empty crates and the side of the boxcar, staring at the mutilated body precariously hanging from the open doorway.
"Au revoir!" Alexander called from outside the open door. His laughter faded as the train accelerated.