Blood Riders

by Michael P. Spradlin

  Jonathan and Lucas were both dead, he was told. Before him stood an Archaic who had once been a Blackfoot Indian. He had been turned when Malachi and a few of the others had stumbled across their hunting camp the previous winter. His Blackfoot name had been Walking Cat. He looked as though he had been in a fight.

  Most of his chest and face had been burned. Two small wooden stakes stuck out of his right shoulder. Malachi removed one of them to study it. It was made from a hardwood, likely oak, and sharpened to a deadly point. Walking Cat’s left arm hung loosely at his side, although it was already beginning to heal. The flesh on his burned face and chest was returning to normal, and a few seconds later the other wooden stake popped loose from his shoulder and fell to the ground.

  “Tell me what happened,” Malachi said.

  “We went for the train, as you instructed. It was stopped at the end of the spur, as you said it would be,” he said. Malachi’s followers had learned that he loved to be flattered by being told he was or had been right about things.

  “We pushed trees onto to the track behind them, big trees, ones humans could not move or lift, so they could not escape. We were lining up, readying ourselves to attack when . . .”

  The young Indian stopped. Though he had not been turned long, he should be fearless, Malachi thought. Archaics were afraid of nothing. Yet this man was afraid. As if he was reliving something horrible and could not bear to think of it.

  “Go on, tell me,” Malachi prodded.

  “They opened the doors of the train and . . . they . . .” Walking Cat stammered. Malachi was growing impatient. Wanting to snap the man’s neck if he didn’t start talking.

  “They did what?” Malachi demanded, his voice taking on an angry tone and rising in pitch. The other Archaics were watching now, they were spellbound by Walking Cat’s story, but they also grew restless and nervous at the thought of Malachi’s anger.

  “Fire came from inside the train. Before he died, Jonathan said two of the humans were the same ones from Absolution. They had weapons that shot flame, a great distance. I . . . we caught fire. Another human shot a gun,” he stopped and picked up the wooden bullet that lay in the dust at his feet. “The gun, I have seen them before, when I fought the bluecoats. It shoots many bullets, and between this gun and the fire, we . . . many of us died. We kept attacking, but we could not get inside the train for some reason. It was like the doors were blocked somehow. No matter how many times we tried, no matter which direction we attacked from, we could not enter the train.” Walking Cat bowed his head and his shoulders slumped when he finished his report.

  “Where are the others? Those who came back with Walking Cat? Step forward,” Malachi said.

  Six Archaics made their way toward him, reluctant looks on their faces. The crowd parted until the seven of them stood in line facing Malachi. Most of them bore similar injuries to Walking Cat, burns and cuts and broken bones, but they were also starting to heal. None of them faced Malachi, they were afraid and disappointed they had let him down, and stood there with their heads hanging low

  “Tell me,” he said to them. “Is what Walking Cat has told us true?” He spoke loudly so all of the remaining Archaics could hear him.

  All of them mumbled yes or nodded their heads, still unwilling to face their leader.

  “As Archaics, you were ordered to attack Shaniah, to find her and kill her and you did not. You returned here like whipped dogs with tales of weapons and fire and human tricks, instead of stories of a great victory! Is this not true?”

  The seven of them stood motionless. There was nothing to say, they had no defense. Their leader had given them a command and they had failed.

  Malachi moved so quickly, the seven Archaics were dead almost before anyone could blink. From somewhere in the folds of his cloak he pulled a long gleaming knife and with the speed of an Olympian god he decapitated all of them in seconds. Where there had been standing, living beings, there were now only bodies and heads, and their screams died before their heads hit the ground, their faces still showing the death grimace of surprise.

  The crowd was silent. Malachi looked at the remaining group.

  “It will be sunup soon. We will wait until the darkness returns, then we will find Shaniah and the humans who assist her. And we will kill them.” He spun on his heel and entered the mine. Leaving the Archaics behind him, the sun just beginning to peek over the eastern horizon.

  Chapter Sixty-three

  Monkey Pete had shooed everyone away, telling them he could construct the cart on his own, and that they would just be in his way. Hollister had suggested they get some sleep while taking turns standing watch in the gunner’s bubble above the armory car. Chee had volunteered to take the first watch. He sat in the seat, his hand on the handles of the Gatling, ready to shoot in an instant if the Archaics reappeared.

  Chee was too wired to sleep, so keeping watch had been a good thing for him. But it didn’t sit right with him, knowing Shaniah and Hollister were not sleeping. Hollister had made a show of heading for his bunk and Shaniah did the same, leaving the main car and following Monkey Pete, giving every indication she was going to the guest quarters.

  Chee was willing to bet one of the two was not in their bunk. She had made her way to Hollister’s quarters or he had gone to hers, but they were together somewhere on the train. They were lovers. Chee had seen it almost immediately when they returned from their ride the previous night. It should not bother him. The major was an adult, his own man, and not to mention Chee’s superior officer. He could sleep with whomever he wished. The sergeant just wished it was anyone but Shaniah.

  He reached inside the folds of his shirt and fingered his medicine bag, and he could still feel the cord with the coin tied around his ankle. He muttered both a Shaolin prayer and a Creek war chant. Neither made him feel better. He wished his grandmother Annabel were here so he could ask her more questions. How could he protect all of them from this Brujería—this witch— in their midst?

  Monkey Pete lowered the door on his “lab” car, slowly rolling the cart he’d built down the ramp onto the ground. One of the spare Gatlings was attached to it. Chee continued to marvel at the engineer’s ingenuity as he yawned and stretched.

  It was almost time to fight again.

  Chapter Sixty-four

  Shaniah lay next to Hollister in his bunk, with her leg draped over his torso. Hollister questioned his judgment in making love to her again, right before the biggest fight of his life. It was a fight he knew he might not survive.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked, her fingers tracing the scar on his shoulder from the bullet he’d taken at Five Forks, right before the end of the war.

  “I was wondering if I was still alive,” he said.

  She laughed. “Oh, you are alive, all right.”

  “I might not be for much longer,” he said. “Is this . . . I mean . . . your people . . . do they always . . . is their lovemaking always this . . . intense?”

  “Yes!” she teased him. Enjoying making him uncomfortable.

  “You’re kidding. It’s always this . . . vigorous?”

  “Yes, most of the time,” she said.

  “Dear God,” he groaned.

  “I’m pleasantly surprised,” she said.

  “About what?”

  “You shouldn’t worry, Jonas, your stamina and . . . skill is quite remarkable.”

  He sighed. “At least there’s that.”

  He had no idea what time it was, but he should probably get up and relieve Chee of the watch and allow him to get some sleep, although he had begun to wonder if Chee ever slept.

  He sat up on the bed, feeling weak and dizzy after making love to Shaniah. Was that what it would always be like? The truth of it was, he couldn’t remember anyone like her. It was like the women he’d known had all been wiped from his mind and no other woman had existed for him before her. Strange, he thought.

  “I’ve got to relieve Chee,” he said. “It is almost . . .” />
  “He knows, Jonas,” she said.

  “Knows what?”

  “About us.”

  Hollister tried not to react.

  “Chee knows a lot of things,” he said. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised he figured this out.”

  “He ‘figures things out’ because he is a Vrajitoarea,” she said.

  “A what?”

  “It is what my people call . . . your word for it would be ‘witch.’ ”

  “Chee’s a witch?” He looked at her, smiling.

  “Yes.” And from the look on her face he could tell she wasn’t joking.

  “Like a ‘bubble bubble, toil and trouble’ witch?”

  She frowned, not understanding his reference.

  “It’s from Shakespeare . . . a play . . . a story written . . . never mind. I’m pretty sure Chee is not a witch.”

  “Do not take this lightly, Jonas. You have now come to realize the world is more than what you thought. I am an Archaic, there are many more . . . species outside the human world; Vrajitoareas, the wolf people, vampires, the undead . . .”

  “Whoa!” he said, holding up his hand. “I’m having enough trouble dealing with your Archaic pals. I’ve read Van Helsing . . .”

  “You are not listening to me! You have more to worry about than my ‘Archaic pals’!” She nearly spat the words at him.

  “And you’ve got a lot to learn about Chee. He’s not a Vera . . . whatever . . .”

  “Jonas. I am an Archaic. I have been alive for nearly fifteen hundred years. I was a widow, taken in a raid on my village by Archaics. Our society is not structured like yours. We live by rules of strength and guile. Your people, people like Chee, are the ones who found the ways to kill us. To drive us into the mountains and force us to live as we have the past few centuries. Why is that so hard for you to accept?”

  “Whoa. Why are you so angry all of a sudden? All I’m sayin’ is Chee is just a man, like me . . .”

  “No! He is not like you, Jonas,” she was angrier now, getting off the bed and putting on her clothes. “Yes, he is a human, but he has a connection to the world that you don’t. And if you are smart, if you live through this, you will be wise to remember that there are far more things in this world that can kill you, not just Archaics or humans . . . or grizzly bears!”

  “Look,” he said, trying to calm her. “I’m trying to understand here . . .”

  “No, you are not,” she declared, fastening the buttons on her blouse.

  “Listen to me, I believe you . . .” He tried to placate her.

  “You do not believe me, Jonas Hollister. You have seen plenty of my kind. You have killed them, watched what they can do, and yet you consider me crazy because I tell you of witches and wolf people and vampires and that your man Chee is a witch?”

  “Whoa! I didn’t mean . . .” He stepped toward her and tried to take her in his arms. He didn’t want to fight with her. But she was too quick and dodged away from him. She glared at him and left his bunk, gone so fast it was almost like she’d never been there.

  Chapter Sixty-five

  Hollister found Chee in the armory. Since it was in between his bunk and the guest quarters, where Shaniah was supposed to be sleeping, he wondered how she had gotten past Chee without his seeing her. He guessed it didn’t matter though, because according to Shaniah, he already knew about them.

  “Chee, we’ve only known each other a short time. And its become clear to me you know a lot of things about the world that I don’t,” Jonas said.

  “I’m not sure I understand, sir,” Chee said.

  “You know things. When Van Helsing was here, not a lot of what he told us surprised you. You knew about Deathwalkers, as you called them. And you’ve got that Chinese fighting style and . . .”

  “Kung fu, sir,” he said.

  “Yes . . . Kung fu. My point is that a lot of what we’ve learned about these Archaics and the other things we’ve seen hasn’t appeared to surprise you,”

  “I suppose not, sir,” he said.

  “Why is that?”

  Chee shrugged. “Maybe it is just how I was raised,” he said. “I grew up in New Orleans. I am . . . my grandparents were . . . from many cultures. My grandmother Annabel was a former slave, born in Haiti. Her husband, my grandfather Lu Chi—it was misspelled on the deed of the first property he was allowed to buy—was from China; my mother’s father was half Cajun and half Mexican, and my other grandmother was a full-blooded Creek Indian.”

  “So you’re saying . . .” Hollister said.

  “I’ve learned from many cultures. What may seem strange to someone is not so strange to me,” he said. “Some believe when we die we are gone. Others say there are ways for the dead to return, as spirits, and through voodoo, which is a type of witchcraft my grandmother Annabel often spoke of. My grandfather Lu Chi believed death was a doorway. It could be opened and closed and walked through both ways. There are many ways of understanding and examining the other worlds we call heaven, hell, the afterlife. Some are different, some are the same, but it all depends on the culture and your point of view. But if the question you are asking me is if I believe in these things, my answer is yes. And hasn’t what we’ve seen given proof to it?”

  Hollister smiled. Chee had talked to him about something personal for almost an entire minute. It might have been the longest conversation he had had with his sergeant. He looked at him with a rueful grin.

  “Well, did all those grandparents teach you anything about understanding women?” Hollister said.

  “No, sir, I don’t think any culture has an answer for that question, sir,” Chee said.

  Hollister thought he might be joking, but the expression on Chee’s face was always the same so it was hard for Jonas to tell.

  “Shaniah has told me some things, about other creatures, like these Archaics, witches, and what she called wolf people and—”

  “Werewolves,” Chee interrupted.

  “Yeah, werewolves. Bad enough I’ve got super-strong, nearly indestructible Archaics on my ass, now I got to go to sleep at night worrying if Monkey Pete or somebody else I know is going to turn into a wolf at the next full moon and come after me like I’m a walking pork chop.”

  “I don’t believe Monkey Pete is a werewolf, sir.”

  Hollister gave a derisive snort. “How can we be sure of anything?”

  “Well for one, Dog would know, sir. And he likes Monkey Pete.”

  “Dog would . . . of course. Dog would know. Damn dog is probably the smartest one of us on this damn train,” Hollister muttered. “Anyway, it’s past sunrise, I should have relieved you. I’m sorry about that, Chee.”

  “No worries, Major. I don’t sleep much anyway,” Chee said, almost cheerfully. “Besides, I think Monkey Pete is ready to show us something.”

  Hollister started toward the door of the car, but Chee stopped him.

  “Major, since we are on the subject of witches and wolf people and whatnot, I feel there is something I must tell you,” Chee said.

  “What is it?” Hollister asked, slightly surprised. This was the first time Hollister could remember Chee offering an opinion or a statement without being asked.

  “The woman, Shaniah, you are with her now . . .” Chee hesitated. Hollister said nothing, realizing there was no sense in denying it. Shaniah had been right. Chee knew.

  “Go on,” Hollister said hesitantly.

  “She is different. Not just because she is an Archaic, but even among them, she . . . has power,” he said.

  “What kind of power?” Hollister asked.

  “I’m not sure I can explain it, sir. She could kill us easily if she wanted to, but she has not. In fact, she has gone out of her way to help us. At great personal risk. Yet she is holding something back. I do not yet determine what it is. She is dangerous. I wish I could tell you why this is, but I can’t. I simply know it. She is not like the Archaics in some important way. It may be the very reason she is here.”

  �
�I’m sure she is holding something back, I don’t doubt it. But she doesn’t seem dangerous to me. I . . . she . . . when . . .” Hollister stumbled over the words.

  Chee held up his hand. “Do not worry, and do not try to explain, I understand your confusion. But, Major . . . I will be watching her,” Chee said.

  “I guess that’s probably not a bad idea,” he said.

  “And, Major, if I see she is . . . if she looks to be ready to betray us, to turn on one of us for any reason or to threaten you in any way, I will kill her.”

  Hollister looked at his young sergeant, knowing the man had just told him something that had been hard for him to say. Hollister would not belittle him by arguing the point.

  “I understand. Now, let’s go see what Monkey Pete has to show us.”

  Chapter Sixty-six

  Monkey Pete was proud of what he’d pieced together. As Chee had seen earlier, he had taken two of the spare flywheels for the gear assembly on the engine and created an axle out of a spare piece of pipe. The cart was about four feet wide, and he’d apparently stripped some planks of wood from inside the car and made a platform about six feet long.

  The metal wheels were thin and weren’t likely to travel well in the soil, so Pete wrapped them in several layers of rope to thicken them so they would roll more easily over whatever surface they needed to travel.

  He had bolted one of the Gatlings to the cart. The surface of the platform stood about three feet off the ground so the gun could swivel with a 360-degree field of fire.

  A Fire Shooter was also strapped to the cart, along with several boxes of ammo, silver, and wooden and holy-water bullets. The cart itself looked lethal just sitting there, and for a second Hollister let himself feel encouraged. They were going in against an enemy more powerful than anything he’d ever faced. But they could be killed, and he might just have the firepower to do it. But then he pushed the thought from his head. No use getting cocky. It would only get them killed.