Blood Riders

by Michael P. Spradlin

  “Nothing . . . sir . . .” Chee said. “It’s just I . . . would it be all right if I waited outside while you inspected it?”

  Hollister tried hard not to chuckle. “Really, Chee? You’ll take on a thug like McAfee. Deathwalkers don’t seem to give you pause at all. But you don’t like the dark?”

  “It’s not that . . . I . . . no, sir. I don’t like being closed in like that.”

  “Well, we’ll try not to go too far in. But I’m afraid you need to come with me. I might need you to shoot something.”

  “Yes, sir,” Chee said, the reluctance dripping from his voice.

  They found two torches in the general store and Hollister retrieved the Ass-Kicker from his saddle. Since Winchester had left it, Monkey Pete had tinkered with it a bit, affixing a sling to the barrel and the stock. It hung at precisely the right position so Hollister could work the action and have one hand free. In truth he would have liked to use his Colt for the other hand, but they needed light. He would have to use his free hand to hold a torch, which they lit once they reached the entrance of the mine. Chee removed the ten-gauge shotgun he had strapped to his back and held his torch in the other hand.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Hollister asked.

  “Unlikely, sir,” Chee answered, the sweat appearing on his forehead and dripping down the sides of his face. He held the torch out in front of him, brandishing it like a sword. The thumb on his other hand nervously worked over the trigger on the shotgun, ready to cock it and fire at a moment’s notice.

  About fifty feet inside they saw the first signs that the killing hadn’t been confined to the town below. Here there were more dark brown stains scattered on the walls and in the dirt floor and on some of the timbers holding up the roof of the shaft. It was everywhere. Hollister thought this meant the first killings must have taken place here—which meant the creatures might have hidden in the mine to avoid the sun and waited for the miners to venture inside it before striking.

  “Dear God,” Hollister whispered.

  “Yes, sir,” Chee murmured.

  “Chee, why do you think there is so much blood here and not in the buildings?” Hollister asked, working his torch over the sides and ceiling of the shaft looking for anything that might provide a clue.

  “They were hungry,” Chee said.

  “Hungry?”

  “Yes, sir. Deathwalkers need to feed on blood. They were waiting here for the miners to arrive. And they were consumed with blood lust. They killed the men in here and fed enough to get themselves under control. Then they attacked the town. By then they were more in control, able to kill the men in the camp more quickly and efficiently and with less waste. A hungry man, someone who hasn’t eaten in days, is going to eat his first meal much more eagerly. Once his hunger is sated, he’ll be less crude at his next meal. A little neater. A little less of a savage. I think that’s what happened here.”

  Hollister nodded his head in admiration for the young man’s intuition. “I think you’re right, Chee. I think that’s exactly what happened.”

  A loud thump came from somewhere up ahead of them. Hollister raised the Ass-Kicker, thumbing back the hammer, hearing a reassuring hiss as steam filled the firing chamber.

  “Sergeant, be ready,” he said.

  Chee needed no other instruction. Although he wished that Hollister would suspend his examination of the mine and return to the outdoors. What more could they possibly discover here?

  Hollister took the lead, the Ass-Kicker resting on his hip, his other hand holding the torch. The thumping noise sounded again, closer this time, and to Chee it very much felt like something was coming toward them. More noises filled the chamber, and try as he might, Chee could not determine what they were. He had grown up mostly in Louisiana, in swamp and bayou country, and hadn’t spent a lot of time in mines or caves. The whole environment felt foreign to him.

  The individual thumps merged, like a drumbeat, then came a rushing sound, and all Chee could think of was a flock of birds; perhaps some starlings or sparrows had gotten shut up in the mine somehow.

  The bats hit them full on. There were hundreds of them.

  “Look out!” Hollister tried to shout but the flying creatures hitting his face and chest muffled the rest of his words. He dropped the torch and the Ass-Kicker and fell to the ground, the bats flying over and around him, wanting nothing but to reach the entrance of the mine and fly off into the open air.

  To Chee it felt like hundreds of them were striking his face, chest, and arms, and he shouted, waving the torch back and forth trying to keep them off. Hollister was on his hands and knees, his hat lying in the dirt and Winchester’s special gun hissing on the ground beside him.

  As quickly as the bats were upon them they were gone, rushing past and exiting the mine shaft to their rear, their squeals dying out as they flew away.

  Hollister stayed on the ground, breathing hard. He looked at Chee. The young man had restored the usual tranquil look to his face.

  “Good Christ,” Hollister said, retrieving his hat and using it to fan the embers on the torch and get it burning again. He finally stood up, smacking the grit from his duster and pants. He picked up the Ass-Kicker, which on examination looked none the worse for wear.

  “I don’t know about you Chee, but I could use a little sunshine right about now,” Hollister said.

  Chee tried hard to keep the happiness out of his voice. “Yes, sir,” he said.

  They strode quickly back to the entrance, and were relieved to step out into the fresh air, the sun warm on their faces even in the cool mountain breeze. Both men were quiet for a few minutes, the sun creeping slowly across the sky as they made their way cautiously back down to the shed where the three bodies lay. Each tried to piece together a situation that got more curious by the day. As Hollister was about to inform Chee of his overwhelming desire to be away from the mine before the bats returned, their thoughts were interrupted by a bark as Dog loped into the town, coming from the north. He ran up to Chee and pushed his head into the young man’s hand briefly before going to the bodies on the ground and working them over with his nose.

  “Good boy,” Chee said.

  “Not so sure about that,” Hollister said, pointing to the mountain ridge to the north and above the town that Dog had just returned from.

  A ridge that was now lined with nearly forty Ute warriors. All on horseback and looking mightily pissed off.

  “Well, shit,” Hollister said. “I suddenly got the feeling we should have stayed on the train.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  To the east on the mountainside just above the mine shaft and well hidden in the trees, Shaniah sat astride Demeter, watching the scene below and cursing her bad luck. Her plan had been to follow Chee and Hollister and see if they had a plan for finding Malachi. In her mind, she hoped the witch-man Chee would be able to conjure some clue from the scene of the rogue Archaics’ last massacre. Any indication that would tell him where they had gone. It was her only hope. The trail had gone cold and Malachi’s time was drawing ever near. At the age of fifteen hundred years he would become an Eternal. Virtually unable to die unless killed in battle by another Eternal, and she would need to wait more than a hundred years before she herself became Eternal. By then it would be far too late. His plan to wreak havoc on humankind was foolish and would only succeed in destroying her people.

  For now, Archaics lived in the shadows. Hidden high in the mountains. There were nothing but whispers and legends, scary stories told to children to keep them afraid of the night things. Malachi was ruining all of that. If they were revealed, if humans learned of their actual existence, they would use their technology, armies, and superior numbers, and her people would cease to exist, all because of Malachi’s vanity. She could not allow this.

  She should have hidden the looters’ bodies more carefully. Killing the three men had been easy, but she had been careless and in a hurry to find Malachi. In her haste, she had almost forgotte
n the bodies were still there. And Chee had found them in a matter of minutes. It was becoming clearer to her by the minute that she would need to kill Chee before he discovered who she was and stopped her.

  The Indians’ arrival gave her pause. She wondered what Hollister would do. Would he try to fight his way out? Or talk? Should she help them if it came to a fight?

  The next few minutes would prove interesting, at least.

  Slater and his men stayed well back in the trees. The mining camp was in a small valley near the river, and from the rise to the south they could see everything unfolding before them quite clearly. He was certain Hollister and the breed knew they were being followed. And in fact, Slater and his men had made no real effort to conceal themselves other than staying far enough back so as not to be visible to the naked eye. Seven men on horseback weren’t easy to hide, and besides, he knew Hollister and Chee were experienced enough to know they would be coming.

  He had not counted on running into forty mounted and armed Utes, however.

  One of his six men, Baker, a heavyset, slow-witted thug, nudged his horse forward until he was next to Slater.

  “What we gonna do, Boss? Should we help ’em out?” he asked.

  Slater shook his head. “Not my orders. Mr. Declan wanted them followed, he didn’t say anything about fightin’ Utes.” But he was conflicted. At first, Senator Declan had wanted this whole affair swept under the rug. Let everyone think his son was a coward, a drunk who had run away from an Indian massacre. Eventually all the excitement would die down and things would go back to normal, and the Torson City killings would become just another ghost story.

  It might have worked, but Slater had visited the camp and seen signs for himself. This wasn’t something that was going away. It hadn’t. People were talking, gossip was spreading. A few farmers and ranchers had already picked up and left. Whether they believed what had happened at Torson City had been because of monsters or Indians didn’t really matter. People leaving the territory was bad for business and bad for the senator.

  And since his own fortunes rose and fell with those of Declan, he needed to make sure this was handled. The only way to do that was to let Hollister and Chee find these creatures and kill them. Then Slater would step in.

  Down below, the two men stood rooted to their spots, neither they nor the Utes moving. It was an uncomfortable standoff. Slater had momentarily forgotten his interest in the three bodies they had pulled out of the shed. He was waiting to see what happened next and wishing he could hear what they were saying.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  “Chee, you got any ideas?” Hollister whispered, his eyes glued to the line of mounted warriors.

  “No, sir,” Chee whispered back.

  Hollister cursed himself. He had been so eager to get here, to find a trail to follow, that he’d acted without any common sense. He had the Ass-Kicker and his Colt, and Chee had his two pistols, all of them loaded with the special ammo Winchester had given them. He wasn’t sure how accurate the new guns would be at a distance. And Winchester had said the Ass-Kicker only had four shots before it needed to be recharged by the steam engine, which of course was all the way back in Denver. Crap on a biscuit.

  The Ute leader, a tall, regal-looking man, nudged his pony forward as he pulled his rifle from the saddle scabbard. It looked to be a breech-loading Sharps. Hollister cursed again. Favored by snipers and buffalo hunters, it would be accurate at a great distance. The Ute made no other threatening move, but kept his pony striding toward them at a slow walk. After a few paces, the rest of his war party drew their weapons and followed suit.

  “Chee, I think we . . .” Hollister started to say, but never finished—for out of the woods to their right and up above the mine shaft, plunged a lone figure on horseback. The horse was a large, black stallion, and the rider was cloaked in a hooded duster, covered in black from head to toe. The horse ran impossibly fast, and whoever guided it was obviously experienced in the saddle.

  “What in God’s name . . .” Hollister muttered.

  “It is the woman,” Chee said. “She has followed us here.” He had no proof of this, but he was sure of it just the same.

  “Get ready, Chee,” Hollister said.

  Chee said nothing, unsure of what he was supposed to get ready for, but he took a few short steps back, easing his way toward the horses and the cover of the buildings.

  She reached the outskirts of the camp, reining the horse around the buildings, barrels, empty wagons, and other obstacles. Surprisingly, she headed straight toward the Ute war party. Dog was up now, his hackles raised and a low growl sounding in his throat as he watched the mysterious rider confront the Indians.

  “Dog, hold,” Chee said. Dog moved so that he was now in front of Hollister and Chee, his rump pushing into Chee’s legs. He quieted but never took his eyes off the rider.

  The woman spurred the stallion again and it bounded forward another thirty yards, where she reined to a stop. The Utes looked as surprised and confused as Hollister and Chee did. But after a moment, they regained their senses and started forward again.

  The woman threw back the hood of her duster and her long blond hair unfurled.

  Chee and Hollister kept backing toward the horses and the general store, taking advantage of the diversion. Dog crept along with them, his muscles tensed and coiled.

  A Ute war cry pierced the quiet and the sound of it nearly made Hollister jump. To his surprise, the Utes turned their horses and rode hard back to the north instead of charging. In shock, Hollister and Chee watched until they disappeared from sight.

  Their eyes went to the solitary figure on the horse. With the Indians gone, the woman dropped her head, slumping at the shoulders. Hollister wondered if she might be praying, but then she raised back up, stretching back and forth as if she had just woken from a nap. She turned the horse and slowly trotted back toward where the two confused and surprised men stood.

  Hollister couldn’t be sure, but he could almost swear that smoke was rolling off her face and hair.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Shaniah could not guess what instinct had commanded her to intercede on behalf of Hollister and the man-witch. When she saw the Ute warrior advance toward the two men, it became clear to her the situation was rapidly deteriorating. If Hollister was killed here, she might never find Malachi and his band. Without thinking, she spurred Demeter to action and raced down the rise toward the oncoming Utes.

  Her desperate charge had momentarily surprised and stunned the mounted warriors. When she pulled back her cowl, unleashing her long, flowing blond hair, they were further confused. Who was this strange white woman riding to her death toward them? they must have thought. When she skidded to a stop, perhaps thirty yards remained between her and the startled Ute leader. She had only a few seconds. The sun was already heating her skin and she could not be without the cover of the cloak for much longer.

  With her back to Hollister and the man-witch, she was able to transform, showing her Archaic face to the Utes. Knowing the superstitious nature of the people confronting her, she was sure they would be frightened away. As her eyes blazed and her face moved, her jaw dropping and her fangs descending, the Indians went wild-eyed with fear. The leader’s horse reared and whinnied, nearly tossing him from its back. With all the strength he could muster, he steadied the animal and retreated toward his men, their shouts joining his as they rode off the way they had come, not sparing the quirt to their horses.

  When they were gone, she sat still on her horse, feeling her facial features return to normal. Archaics could survive for a limited amount of time in the sunlight. And unlike some other vampire species, it would only burn and weaken them, not kill them. But she could not afford to let it weaken her any further. She raised the cloak back over her head, turning Demeter and spurring him at a trot toward Hollister and Chee. She reined the horse to a stop twenty yards away from the two men.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chee kept his ha
nds on his pistols as the woman advanced toward them. He knew it was her, without question, could sense it without having ever seen her face. She was the one who had followed them, had come to the warehouse in Denver, for reasons he didn’t know. And he was fairly certain she was a Deathwalker. The cloak, hiding her face from the sun and light—all of it pointed to her being one of Van Helsing’s vampires.

  “What the hell just happened?” Hollister whispered to him.

  Chee didn’t answer, never took his eyes off the woman, who sat on the great stallion as still as a statue. He was tense, instinct telling him to pull his guns and shoot her down, but he remained calm, waiting to see what the major wanted to do.

  “Can I help you?” Hollister said to the woman.

  “Sir, I don’t think we . . .” Chee started to say, but the major held up his hand, silencing him.

  Don’t do this, Chee thought. Don’t bring her into your circle, Major. She is death. He was more certain of this than he’d ever been of anything in his life. The woman on horseback before them was death.

  “I say, can I help you?” Hollister repeated. The woman on the horse said nothing. A few paces behind him he heard the squeak of Chee’s holster as the young man gripped his pistols so tightly Hollister thought he might shatter them. The sergeant was tensed and anxious, ready to fight.

  “Easy, Chee, let’s see what she has to say,” he said quietly, “and see if you can steady your friend there.” Dog was still on alert, ready to pounce on the woman.

  “Major, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Chee said.

  Hollister turned away from the woman to study the young soldier.

  “Maybe not. But she just chased off forty Ute warriors without a weapon. I have a feeling if she wanted us dead, we’d be dead already.” When he gazed again at the woman, she removed her hood, revealing her face.