Blood Riders

by Michael P. Spradlin

  Now as she pursued the train, she wondered what Hollister had discovered and what course he was taking. She knew he was going to find Malachi. Of that, she was sure.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Hollister stood outside the rear door of the sleeping car, watching the landscape rush by. He was thinking about the woman. There was something in their encounter that had altered things, but damned if he could put words to it. She had upset everything. Chee was jangled up so tight he might gun her down the next time he saw her and that might just be the right thing to do.

  What had happened when she looked at him was something he’d never experienced before. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful. At the Point, he’d spent a great deal of time in New York City and he’d seen his share of gorgeous women.

  Right after the war ended, he’d been invited to a party in Washington. It had been a grand affair at the White House and General Sheridan had gotten him an invitation. He’d been allowed to shake the hand of President Lincoln just three days before the son of a bitch Booth gunned him down in cold blood.

  It had been the fanciest affair Hollister had ever attended. After four long years of war, people had been ready to celebrate, and the music, the food, the liquor, and beautiful women had been there in abundance. Some of the prettiest ladies he’d ever seen, in elegant gowns, with their eyes sparkling and their skin so clean and white it was like they’d been dipped in clouds. After months of nothing but the dirt, mud, blood, and gore of battle, the cleanliness of it had made his eyes hurt.

  He spent a great deal of time dancing with the daughter of an Ohio senator. She had night-dark hair piled high on her head and ice-blue eyes. He’d even asked her father if he could call on her, but then Lincoln had been shot, and he and his regiment were sent South to finish up with Johnston and he never got back to Washington. Many times, as he’d lain awake on his bunk in Leavenworth, he’d thought of her and of that night and how much he wanted to see her again.

  Tonight as the train whistled and picked up speed chugging out of Denver, he could not even remember the girl’s name. And as pretty as she had been, she wasn’t even in the same county as Shaniah. For the life of him, Hollister could not understand why this mysterious woman had affected him this way.

  Part of him wondered if Chee had been right. If she was a Deathwalker, it was certainly possible she could exert some kind of control over him. Mix him up so he wasn’t thinking straight. Perhaps this was how these creatures captured their human prey, through some kind of control over their thoughts. He remembered how he’d felt back in Wyoming, with that tall freak advancing on him. He’d felt paralyzed and unable to fight back. Maybe that was what happened.

  It made as much sense as anything, for he could not get the woman out of his mind. Closing his eyes and feeling the speed and power of the train move from his feet up through the rest of his body, he tried to clear his head. It was no use. Shaniah’s face floated in his consciousness.

  “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, opening his eyes and watching the night rush past. “What the hell am I doing?”

  Chee was right. The woman was trouble.

  Clear of the city now, the train whistle sounded again and Hollister heard the steam shoot into the baffles on the engine. He was almost shocked at how fast it accelerated. He smiled. The woman might be trouble, he thought.

  But my train kicks ass.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  They ran north through the day, running parallel to the Front Range. Hollister had no idea how fast they were going, but after about two hours they switched again and traveled due west, the elevation starting to rise. Hollister expected they’d be in Absolution by early evening.

  The countryside grew more wooded, with pine and aspen trees coming nearly down to the tracks. They slowed as they traveled through a few towns and villages but before long, most of civilization was left behind. Hollister found Chee in the armory car, the hatch in the roof open, seated behind the Gatling. He looked up at the young man.

  “Anything to shoot out there, Chee?” he asked.

  “No, Major,” Chee said.

  “Jonas or Hollister, Chee, don’t forget,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” Chee mumbled.

  “What are you looking for, Chee?” Hollister asked.

  “The woman, sir,” he answered.

  “The woman? Shaniah?”

  “Yes. She’s coming.”

  “Really? How do you figure? That horse she was riding looked fast, but I don’t think he could keep up with this train for very long.” Hollister pulled one of the Henrys from a rack and started loading it with wooden bullets.

  Chee merely shrugged and Monkey Pete, entering the car, interrupted them.

  “We’re fifteen minutes out of Absolution, Major,” he said.

  “Monkey Pete, if you’re here with us, who exactly is driving the train?” Hollister asked.

  “It’s got an automatic control system. Steers itself.”

  “Really? And does it stop itself if there’s a missing rail or a cow in the way?”

  “Yes,” Monkey Pete said, the expression on his face a mix of disgust and irritation as if he’d just been asked the most obvious question in the world. “Fifteen minutes, Major. We’ll be stopping at the platform in the town.” He left, returning the way he had come.

  Hollister looked in surprise at Chee, who just shrugged. “I have no reason to doubt Monkey Pete, it is quite an amazing train,” Chee said.

  “I’ll say,” Hollister muttered, returning to loading the modified Winchester. “Chee, I never did ask Winchester this, but I’m wondering about these wooden and silver bullets.”

  “Sir?”

  “Well, suppose we need to shoot something that isn’t a Deathwalker. What if we need good old-fashioned lead? Suppose I need to shoot Slater or one of his gun thugs, and these wood bullets don’t slow ’em down enough?”

  Chee racked a round into the chamber of his Winchester. “Whether it’s wood or silver, I suspect it’s going to hurt, sir.”

  A few minutes later, the train slowed, then stopped, as Monkey Pete had promised. It stood next to the platform, which appeared to be on the outskirts of town. The sun was moving behind the mountains to the west.

  “Monkey Pete, me and Chee are going out to have a look-see around the town. See if there’s a marshal or anyone can give us any information. You stay here. Don’t let anyone on the train unless it’s us.”

  Monkey Pete climbed up in the chair Chee had vacated behind the Gatling. He pushed the lever next to the seat forward and the roof hatch hissed open. The chair shot up and out the opening, giving him a commanding view and field of fire.

  “No worries, Major. I’ll be sure to keep a sharp eye,” he said.

  “If we run into trouble, we’ll fire off two shots from a Henry. You hear ’em, you lock this train up tight and don’t let nobody in.”

  “Don’t worry Major,” the engineer said. “I know how to keep trouble off my train. What do you want me to do if you don’t come back?”

  The question caught Hollister a little off guard. He hadn’t considered it. This felt more like a reconnaissance mission than an impending conflict. Still, he supposed there could be trouble ahead. It would be good to have a plan in place.

  “If we can’t make it back to the train, you stay locked down. Send a wire to Pinkerton and have him send the army. And I mean the whole army. If those things are here, we’re going to need artillery, cavalry, the whole shebang,” Hollister said.

  “Chee, I’d like Dog to stay with Monkey Pete. We don’t know what we’re up against. I figure Dog could discourage just about anyone from taking an unauthorized tour of the train.”

  Dog had been lying on the floor half asleep, but he sat up and stared at Hollister at the mention of his name. Chee instructed Dog to stay with Monkey Pete. Hollister couldn’t be sure, but he thought Dog looked disappointed at the prospect of missing the chance to eat someone. “He’ll stay here, Major, and I’ve told
him to pay attention to Monkey Pete.” Hollister looked at the engineer and shrugged.

  “I have no doubt,” Hollister said. “Chee, let’s go.”

  Hollister had decided to leave the Ass-Kicker on the train. It seemed too dangerous to carry it, walking into a town full of innocent civilians. Instead, he just carried one of the Henrys, as did Chee, both of them looping two belts of ammo under their dusters. One of the things Winchester had done to their Colts and rifles was to modify them so they were all the same caliber. They could use the same bullets to load either gun, but he hoped he wouldn’t miss the Ass-Kicker.

  There was no station, just a wooden platform next to the track that allowed them to step down off the train. In the center of the platform, a set of stairs led down to the dirt. Off in the distance the main street of the town stood rimmed by a half dozen two-story structures with one other street crossing it, and that was it. The whole town.

  A clicking sound came from behind them and they turned to see Monkey Pete still in the Gatling seat. He was working another series of levers. With a hiss of steam, steel panels appeared out of the sides of the train, covering the doors and windows. “I’ll be damned,” Hollister muttered. He looked at Chee in amazement, but the young man just shrugged.

  “Where to, sir?” Chee asked.

  “I’m not sure. Ain’t it kind of odd no one comes to meet the train? Monkey Pete said the Central and Pacific train comes once a week. I assume this isn’t the day the regular train comes, so wouldn’t people be curious?” Hollister asked.

  Chee shrugged. Hollister noticed the young man’s face had turned to stone. He was studying the town and the surrounding terrain like he expected trouble.

  It took them less than two minutes to reach the outlying buildings. They marched into the center of the town. A signpost named the street they stood on as First Street, while the cross street was Second Street.

  “Creative,” Hollister muttered gesturing at the sign.

  There was a hotel on one corner; a hardware store, bank, and assayers office occupied the others. Hollister counted three saloons, a laundry, general store, restaurant, and another building with a sign over the door that just said OFFICE, with no indication of what kind of office might be inside. This comprised the entire business district of Absolution.

  Beyond the two-story buildings lining the two streets were a few small houses and what could only be described as huts. There was no one on the streets. With dusk approaching, there were no lights, they could smell no cook fires or wood smoke, there were no horses tied to hitching posts anywhere they could see.

  “Where the hell is everyone?” Hollister asked out loud. “It’s going to be dark soon. We need to get back to the train. Wait till daylight.”

  Chee’s eyes went everywhere. To the corners, roofs, and every nook and cranny. He saw nothing and no one. Then a noise came from down the street.

  Hollister cocked the Henry and carried it at port arms. Chee did the same.

  “Saloon,” Hollister said.

  They separated, Hollister stepping up on the wooden sidewalk, Chee remaining in the street. The saloon was named the Rambling Rose. The swinging doors moved slightly in the breeze. Hollister waited as Chee backed his way up onto the sidewalk, taking a position on the other side of the doors. They quickly cut through the doors, rifles at the ready.

  The saloon was empty.

  But it looked like the last customers had left in a hurry. On the bar sat a few mugs of half-drunk beer. A bottle of whiskey stood at one end, an empty glass tipped on its side next to it. There was an abandoned piano along one wall and two of the nearby tables still had cards and chips and partially full glasses and ashtrays. To the left of the doorway a set of stairs led to the second level.

  Chee advanced slowly on the bar. Holding the Henry in his left hand, he drew his Colt. Hollister stood ready. Instinctively, he felt no one was here, but something was also very wrong in Absolution.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  As he stepped toward the bar, the major with his rifle up and ready standing at the wall to his right, Chee felt each step was bringing them closer to their ends. The woman, Shaniah, was coming soon. He was sure of it. Since they had left Torson City, every time he looked over his shoulder, he expected her to be there. Chee knew that the Deathwalkers could be killed. But the woman would endanger them somehow. He could not explain the feeling and had quit trying. It was just something that was given.

  He raised the Colt, his arm straight and the gun cocked and ready. There was a large mirror over the bar and he kept his eyes locked on it, watching behind them. Moving left toward the stairway, he approached the open end of the bar and swung around, bringing the gun down toward the floor, ready for anyone who might be hiding behind it.

  The man had been dead awhile. He wore a white apron with black pants. The front of the apron and his white shirt, was covered in blood. His neck had been torn apart and his face was covered in flies. A small sawed-off shotgun lay on the floor beside the man; four empty shells showed he’d gone down fighting. But not well enough.

  “I’ve got a body here, Major,” he said. “He’s been dead a couple of days at least. Shotgun, it’s been fired.” Chee set his Henry on the bar and picked up the sawed-off. He racked it open. It was loaded with two unfired rounds. He slid it into his belt with a feeling he’d be firing it before too long.

  Hollister came around the bar at the other end and stooped to examine the body. “Jesus Christ,” he mumbled. “All right, let’s check the rest—”

  Hollister was interrupted by a loud thump coming from the room above them.

  “Did you hear that?” Chee asked.

  “Yeah,” Hollister said, standing and looking up at the ceiling. “I don’t like this. We get halfway up the stairs and something comes out of one of those rooms, we’re fucked,” Hollister said. “I don’t want to go up there without more firepower. Let’s go back to the train and get the Ass-Kicker and Dog. He can give us a better idea what’s up there. We know what we’re dealing with now and we’re going to need the—”

  From outside a loud scream sounded. It lasted several seconds before fading away. Hollister couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like a woman. It was a long, eerie wail, more like anguish than alarm, and Chee and Hollister moved quickly, rushing back out into the street, standing back to back, circling slowly with rifles at the ready. It was quiet again.

  “You got any idea where that came from?” Hollister asked.

  “No, sir, none,” Chee said.

  “You don’t have some kind of fancy shaman way of figuring it out?”

  “I’m not a shaman, sir,” Chee said, embarrassment creeping into his voice.

  “Sergeant Chee, I meant no offense. But you do talk to your horse and your dog. I just figured you had a way of sensing this kind of stuff. All right. We’re going to have to do this the hard way. It sounded to me like the scream came from a ways off. We’ll start at the end of this side of Second Street. We’ll clear the buildings one by one and work our way back. We’ve got maybe an hour to sundown. Quick and careful. Let’s go.”

  Chee had no other suggestion, so they began their search starting at the end of the street and entering the last building, where the board sidewalk ended. Hollister studied the building itself while Chee kept an eye on the street behind them. It was getting late and the sun was balanced at the top of the mountains to the west.

  The first building appeared to be some kind of laundry. It was empty, as was the next and all the buildings on that side of the street. There were no people to be found, not even bodies, but all the signs said the residents of Absolution had left with little warning or preparation. In the back of the laundry a meal had been left to burn on the cookstove, though the fire had long since burned out. Everywhere they went, there was evidence of life interrupted. Dish tubs filled with dirty dishes, pots left on stoves, uneaten meals left on dinner tables.

  It took another half hour for them to clear all the buildings
on Second Street. Turning their attention to First Street, they headed toward the building with the “office” sign. Upon closer inspection, they discovered the sign had been broken in half, and upon entering, learned they had found the sheriff’s office. And it wasn’t empty.

  Standing there, letting their eyes adjust to dim interior, they heard muffled voices and cries coming from the back. Carefully they made their way to the door and threw it open.

  Neither man was prepared for what they saw. Four cells with iron bars lined the back wall of the jail. Inside the cells were several children and women. When they saw Hollister and Chee, they started to cry and scream. The women—there were seven of them divided among the four cells—moved to put the children behind them, out of reach of anyone who might try to grab them through the bars. Each cell door was wrapped with rope and chain as if someone had sought to make sure no one could get out.

  Or in.

  “Get away from us, you devils,” one of the women shouted, shaking her fist at the two men. All of them took up the chorus then, shouting and even cursing at Hollister and Chee.

  “Quiet!” Hollister shouted. “We’re not devils, we’re here to help you!”

  His words had no effect. They kept shouting and waving their arms. Some of the small children started crying. It was dank and cramped and smelled horrible, and Hollister, for the life of him, couldn’t figure out what they were doing here.

  “Hold it . . . calm down . . . stop shouting!” he yelled. After a few moments the fire went out of them and the women stood looking exhausted and defeated while a few of the children continued to moan and cry. The smell hit him then, the harsh and gamey odor of human beings forced to live in conditions like this.

  “My God,” he said. “What happened to you?”

  The woman in the first cell who had led the yelling when they first appeared crossed her arms and stared defiantly at Hollister.