by Brock Law
of its torque.
A quarter mile ahead the van did the same. It became evident to both men that their pursuit had been noticed. The vampires advanced with increasing disregard for potential police activity. At Logan Circle’s enormous fountain, a fleet of communal gawkers distracted from poorly-painted lanes did nothing to slow their trek. They jerked around a statue-adorned median at the next juncture, and into the outside lane. Clear of lumbering semis, the isolated speedway took them straight to the steps of the Art Museum and the mouth of Kelly Drive.
Still mired in the harassed mergers of cars stirred up by the van, Will and Washington watched the Nazis pick up significant distance. The van was engulfed by the surrounding vehicles that stopped at a convergence of routes around the museum. With the indication to go, the glut was released all at once. The cars bunched on to the dim riverside boulevard, and faded from sight.
Once finally passing behind the museum, the way ahead was a stream of shapeless specks of luminance. To the tailing truck, the density and sway of the infinite commuters that expanded away signified the end of the hunt. It was impossible to tell which vehicle to follow, and there were no gaps big enough to shoulder through. The cause, however, was not lost. There was only one direction to go from here for the next few miles. Nothing but running trails and boat houses occupied the Schuylkill’s banks. At least they knew, or hoped they did at least, where the villains were headed.
On one side was the murky river, stripped of its natural sheen as the city blocked out the starlight. Its surface was constant with only a modest ripple to feed life into the Delaware Bay. On the other side was the craggy terrain at the edge of Fairmount Park. Above, rusty train bridges spanned the river. On the ground, tunnels were cut right through the rock that confined the water. No one dared pass Washington, whose truck was too large to drift through the skinny curves without cutting into the opposing side.
Without any definite proof that they were still within striking distance of the Nazis, Will pointed Washington towards the turn they needed to make. The road took them up the slopes of the watershed into wooded tracts of stately stone twins. Steep inclines peaked at tight kinks as the route twisted up into the suburbs. The land here was private and preserved. A person could enter the city from the end of their driveway, but never even know it was there from the vantage of their living room. As they drove up and away from the river, however, the condition of the buildings decayed. Will motioned to Washington for their final turn.
They bounced in their seats as the rounded cobblestones of Germantown Avenue shook the truck incessantly. Washington periodically checked his rearview mirror to verify that no other vehicle had joined their pre-dawn foray. Though he couldn’t stop yawning, Will was wired and searched attentively out the window.
On either side of the street, the composite of dwellings changed drastically from block to block. Some of the streetlights were out, so it was tough to see much past the sidewalks. They passed a pair of magnificent late nineteenth century stone mansions, vacant but with a pleasant outcropping of walled green space around. After those was a column of post-war row homes, some boarded up.
The local high school consumed the next block, likely originating from the same decade, and unlikely to have been updated since. Across the street a pillared governmental building, perhaps a century older, loomed with its hemispherical veranda shielded by construction barricades and newspapers pasted to the windows.
Through the next intersection old store fronts lined the trail, their windows empty and barred. Another old monumental estate appeared on an acre of land. Its roof was caved in and the terrain around it was overgrown. Small saplings hung bent in the yard and the grass stretched high up the masonry. What remained of the once regal property next to it was just a tall iron fence, cornered with stone pylons around a scraggly lot. Besides this, however, was a perfectly preserved colonial homestead, freshly painted with a historic marker out front.
More recently built homes appeared, renovated but quiet with their occupants asleep. A little school house with a cemetery leaned on a slope behind a crumbling retaining wall. A stucco apartment building flanked it, which was lit with human activity. A block down was another cemetery, the vintage of which was also revealed by small versions of the Continental Army’s standard flying next to many of the gravestones.
“It’s hard to believe this was all farmland once,” Washington remembered. “Now it’s cluttered suburbia. Equally hard to believe this road once connected Philadelphia and New York.”
Will remarked, “I didn’t think the Nazis would have taken up residence here. I figured they would be in a luxury hotel downtown.”
“I do recall it being more accommodating,” said Washington. “There were many good families here who invited us into their homes and fields during the campaign. It seems to have lost some of its charm.”
Will agreed, “It hasn’t gotten the same tourist treatment that other parts of the city have.”
“See anything that matches Vivie’s description?” Washington asked as his eyes patrolled the streets ahead.
“Nothing,” Will responded.
“There are so many things I remember. Even the bends in the road haven’t shifted. Used to be all mud though,” Washington admired. “Some of the original homes are still here, just without the beautiful landscapes between them. It’s incredible that it’s all so tightly packed together now.”
“So this was a fashionable rural retreat once?” Will enquired.
“Very,” Washington continued. “Just a short scenic ride from Center City. Our main line came right down this road during the battle, but this is a lot closer to the city than we ever got that year.”
“You haven’t been back since then?”
“Just after the war to visit friends,” Washington said. “As a matter of fact, I attended that church over there once. New things simply replaced old things when they fell down. No aggressive real estate venturing seems to have disturbed the natural flow of the populace. Odd to be within the borders of a major city. I’m more accustomed to seeing large tracks of land being developed all at once in Virginia.”
“Philly’s neighborhoods are unique that way. New communities popped up between the landmarks as the city’s expansion made agricultural space less desirable. Since any building that you guys utilized had to be preserved, everything up this way is kind of a strange a mix of historic and progressive trends of urban development.” Will supported.
“Now you sound like the son of a history professor,” Washington applauded then turned his attention to the passenger side, “Ah, there it is.”
Will recognized the surroundings, “The battle?”
“Where it ended. Cliveden House. Just as grim as I remember,” Washington answered.
Off to the right was what looked like an English country manor plucked from a serene private pedestal and dropped in the middle of the city. A high blackened spoke gate was chained shut at the entrance to the driveway. The trees and shrubs along the wall were well manicured and protectively thick around the perimeter of the home. The house sat back from the road, a decent jog from the gate and sequestered from the modern neighborhood with an ample lawn. Sporadically through the trees, portions of its white trimmed Georgian façade were visible. Its high dormers faced the avenue, providing a perfect vantage point for watching any traffic that threatened to intrude on the reserve.
“After eluding capture at Brandywine and our massacre at Paoli, 1777 did not end well. Even still if it weren’t for this house, we might have retaken the city and ended the war. Wayne firing wildly into the morning fog at his own army didn’t help either. Woke up half the county,” Washington recalled. “The Brits were retreating back to the Delaware River, except the hundred or so hulled up in that house, right in the middle of my line. Our light artillery couldn’t break the stones, and our advances couldn’t dislodge those damnable red coats. The Royal Army regrouped as we stalled, and we were forced to abandon the attack.”
“I remember,” said Will.
“Do you?” Washington said with a smirk.
Will corrected, “I remember learning about it. Dad used to bring me to the reenactments.”
“Seems fitting then, that our enemy would come back here.”
Washington couldn’t help but slow a bit as he took his eyes off the road, distracted by the haunting reminder of a bloody grief. The place stood still, impenetrable, looking right back. Once the house disappeared behind its elemental battlements, Washington repositioned himself to focus on the road.
The truck continued to bump along, cutting tread over the rough stones and abandoned trolley tracks. It bobbed past another strip of row homes, accented with green aluminum awnings. More empty stores, a gas station, an unplanted park and a barbed-wire-fenced public utility depot all drifted by in the early morning’s obscurity.
Eventually, the suburban layout broke again, separated by a graveyard of old mansions. Both men turned their attention outward as Washington slowed. Even with collapsed walls, holed roofs, broken windows and unruly thickets, the estates were still stately in an elderly way. Neither occupied nor demolished, they were appropriately undead.
“Slow down,” Will prompted. “Look at that place. Van in front.”
“I see it,” Washington said.
Washington pulled over and switched off the headlights. He rolled down his window and stuck his head out to get a better look. It was late nineteenth century, stone, with a central tower rising a half level higher than the two symmetrical wings on either side. It stood on the corner up a long horseshoe driveway, a moderate distance from the road.
While the rest of the block was deserted, there seemed to be a slight glow from this house. There were no direct lights shining outwardly, but there was some kind of activity. Most of the front was obscured by the overgrowth of the yard, which made it tough to map out the features of the home. The van, however, poked out from under the low branches of a tree. Its back doors hung ajar.
A large mass emerged from the home, teetered down the steps and approached the open tailgate. Behind the gangly trees and erratic bushes of the secluded ruin, a pair of figures carried something awkward and boxy. They heaved it inside the vehicle.
“That’s them. Vivie was right, they’re leaving. We’ve got to get in there somehow,” said Will.
“Let’s try around back,” said Washington as he put the truck back in drive.
He slid back out into the lane, crossed the center line and turned left down the side street that ran along the property. It was difficult to see though all the brush, but the place appeared livable. A ridge encircled the house. The foundation of a rubble enclosure was exposed and its fence was bent and curled. Three great willows grew in front, covering much of the exterior with a tangled overflow of branches that dragged on the ground. Washington parked alongside the property and shut off the engine.
Issue The Order Sir And I Will Storm Hell
Will cracked his door, keeping his eyes on the house for any responsive movement. Stepping out, he touched down gingerly and looked up the street. He crossed and climbed up the embankment. With a hand placed firmly on the trunk of the tree and the other on the corroded fence, he shimmied through the jagged opening.
Once through, he could only see pieces of the house ahead. He crouched in the grass and peered through the darkness. The trees swayed, altering his line of sight. Whether or not anything else was moving along with them, he couldn’t tell. Washington crept up and huddled next to him in the scrub.
Will whispered, “Stay with the truck just in case. I’ll wave if there’s a clear way in.”
He pulled back a branch and found a clearing in the overgrowth. A gravel path pockmarked with weeds and metal scraps led up to the house. Splintered trusses held in patches of dirt from where gnarly rose bushes hung. Broken terra cotta urns littered the ground. At the end of the trail was a shattered greenhouse that defined the remnants of a sad and forgotten garden, where even thorny brambles struggled in the dry soil.
Will scooted out through the flora. He dangled over the turf like a spider, his eyes hunting across the land with the same arachnid tenacity. Stopping to rest on his heels before venturing out on to the open plain, he planted his fist in the dirt. The house remained still. As he waited for a response to his presence, the nervous energy in his legs built up to a critical mass.
Another tense minute passed without disturbance, so he angled up and lifted off the grass with a quick spurt. He leapt over a long water trough and dashed up the pathway to the house. As he neared, the pebbles under his feet kicked out. He slowed and scurried up the last dozen paces. He pressed against the wall between two windows and waited.
Even though the minimal exertion was nothing compared to a normal day at practice, his chest heaved from panic. His heart had been thumping since the moment he left the tavern, but now it was finally getting to him, telling him to be afraid regardless of his sense of duty. Teeth gritted, he swallowed hard, drowning the alarm his body was trying to get across to his brain. He snapped his head around the window frame, but only saw his reflection in the glass.
“Damn it,” Will cursed angrily to himself.
He stood back from the wall, and looked up at the house. All the windows were shut and mirrored back at him. With a dejected huff he skirted the corner of the building. Around back was a door that was slightly ajar. He approached, tiptoeing over mossy slate debris that had fallen from the roof. It was only cracked an inch, but it was enough to see a beam of outside light shining into an empty room. He stuck his thumb in the opening, and slowly pried back the door. It didn’t creak as much as he expected. It was old but recently greased. Looking back, he waved frantically to Washington.
Will peeled out the door and stepped inside. It was just a little foyer. Clumps of dirt, scattered leaves, and a torn up pair of boots were all that decorated the space. An open archway expanded out into a much larger room. Carefully, he avoided the crunchy leaves, and stood in the opening.
It looked like an old dining room, though there was nothing left of its function but an empty cabinet. Instead, it was now full of even rows of metal spring cots. The thin mattress pads that were left on a few of them were a dark military green with rolling straps and tarnished grommets on the ends. Apart from that the room was barren, though there were hasty looking mud smudges trekking from door to door. The space looked almost like an abandoned army hospital.
The house didn’t reveal a single restless noise, so Will smothered his own breath in kind. Both hands dug into the door frame of the next passage. It was a cramped service hallway, anchored by a back staircase that was missing a few steps. Two foldable camping chairs rested against the banister, which further convinced Will of a swift retreat having been commanded of the home’s former occupants. Curiously, Will went to the railing. The stairs ended quickly at a small landing and curved overhead before reaching the second floor. He put one foot on the bottom step. Salty sweat curled around his lip and dripped into his mouth, giving him a second’s pause. He looked up to the landing again, strained his head unsuccessfully to see around to the second floor hallway and pulled back. A hot, reluctant exhale poured out of his mouth.
A growl droned from behind. Will’s body seized up, suspended by the frighteningly familiar sound. Another irate hum trickled into his ear and stifled his wits. He spun around to see a snarling vampire standing opposite him in the doorway.
This one suffered from a bad dependency on divine blood. By far the most malformed one Will had yet seen, it was barely human in its natural element. The snout was elongated, doglike. The eyes were ovular, and the sockets drooped over the cheek bones. No hair emerged from its scalp and none from its face. The teeth protruded from its crooked under bite, rendering it incapable of shutting its mouth completely. If ever it were comparable to a wanted poster from the Nuremburg Tribunal, that time had long passed from lack of regular feedings.
A roar erupted from its mouth as it instantaneou
sly transformed into an unconscious predator. It launched itself. Will dug in defensively and drew his fists close, but the uninhibited animal collided with him. Just as it made contact its leg inserted between Will’s and hooked its foot around his heel. The force of the impact rocked him, and knocked him out of his stance. Will tripped and stumbled backwards, then lost his footing. Lashing and shoving, his attacker grappled with him on the way to the ground.
Will clamped on to the Nazi’s wrists and held firm. Both their arms crossed over their chests. Unable to release itself, but with Will pinned to the floor, it chomped closer. Will pushed back with his forearm jammed in its veiny neck as the fangs bore down on him. The undulation from its throat and tongue wriggled on his skin. Saliva dripped from its teeth into Will’s face. Its muscles protruded from its chin and popped the bottom jaw, which swung lower. Blood gurgled out in red strands of hungry slobber as the choking monster snapped closer to Will’s nose.
A sudden swish in the darkness swung down and batted the Nazi’s skull. It contorted and fell lifelessly on Will. A hand reached down from behind and grabbed it by the collar. The figure of Washington materialized and dragged the demon off of the struggling quarterback.
Washington ripped it away just as it began to shake off the hit. He flipped it over, dropped a knee on its chest and plunged a hunting knife into its heart. Its head sunk back and released a deathly scream that increased in pitch with the evacuation of its lungs. Both hands shot up and wrapped around the blade. It tried to tug it out, but Washington forced it deeper. The clammy fingers grew cold and the beast’s grasp infantile. Hushed, the eyes grew black, the arms fell and the body went limp.
The immortal removed his knife, and wiped it on the creature’s shirt. He got up and went to Will who still watched from the floor. With a solid hand he pulled the young man to his feet.
“I got the other one outside. I didn’t see any more, but the rest could still be on their way back. We’ve got search for Franklin as fast as we can. Check down here, I’ll head upstairs,” said Washington.
Once agreed, Washington broke off. Several nimble leaps projected him up the staircase. The floor above creaked under the President’s weight. Will could hear him venture out from the landing to survey the nearest rooms. The shuffle continued until his footsteps echoed away to the distant parts of the house and silence returned.
Will looked over at the body of the Nazi, which had begun its rapid decomposition. With a repulsed sneer he crossed the hall and looked into a scant living