He tried to remember what he knew of vampire lore. It seemed to him that the vampire’s victims became vampires themselves, members of the undead who prowled the night in search of fresh victims. He thought of the guards who’d been killed, and wondered if they were on the prowl. The autopsies performed on the first two might have prevented that, but he believed the third victim had been quickly buried with only a perfunctory examination.
One thing was certain—this entire matter must be reported to Colonel Rausch at the earliest opportunity.
Colonel Rausch.
Suddenly he remembered the suit and cape that Count Dracula had been wearing, stolen from Colonel Rausch’s quarters.
While most of the other officers at Bergen-Belsen were housed in plain wooden quarters little better than the enlisted men’s barracks, Rausch and a few other high-ranking camp officials had taken over older homes in the area that dated from the turn of the century. Although Rausch had no family at the camp, he resided in a two-story stone house where a cook and an orderly came in each day to see to his needs.
The house was near the entrance to the camp, just inside the gates, and somehow Schellenberg knew that was where he would find the vampire’s daytime resting place.
He waited until shortly before sunrise to approach the house, fearing what he might find there. Armed with his Luger and the bayonet he circled the place, searching for any sign of forced entry. In the back he found what he was looking for. A cellar door was unlocked and there was dirt on the steps, suggesting that something had been dragged down to the basement.
He was about to enter when a hand reached out to grab his arm, sending a chill through him. He whirled, ready to defend himself, and saw it was the old Gypsy woman from the camp, Olga Helsing. “Do not go in there,” she warned.
He shook off her arm and reached for his pistol. “What are you doing out of the prison compound? How did you get here?”
“Colonel Rausch brought me in his staff car. I must watch over Vlad. You cannot harm him.”
“Rausch? Rausch would never bring you here! Be gone, woman!”
“To enter that house is to die.”
He shoved her out of his path. If she interfered again he would kill her. Quickly he went down the stone steps to the basement. He saw the oblong box at once and approached it cautiously. The sun was not yet up.
He heard a sound to his right and turned in time to see a young soldier in a guard’s uniform hurl himself from the darkness, his voice the snarl of some animal on the prowl. Schellenberg didn’t hesitate. He brought the bayonet up and ran the man through with it. Then he pulled it free, letting it drop to the floor.
“Captain Schellenberg! What’s going on here!”
Startled by the sound of his name, he looked up to see the bald-headed Colonel Rausch standing at the top of the basement stairs, holding a flashlight. The captain sighed with relief. “Colonel, something terrible has happened! I’ve found the cause of the guards’ deaths, and he’s here in this house.”
He ran up the steps to join the colonel and try to explain the astonishing story. “Step up here and tell me about it,” the colonel said.
Schellenberg found himself in the dim kitchen, where the first hints of daylight were beginning to filter through the windows. “Colonel, I have discovered that one of the Gypsy prisoners is—”
Colonel Rausch’s mouth curved into a wide grin, then opened. Schellenberg could not remember having seen a larger mouth on a human being. He felt the hot breath on his face as the colonel’s teeth sank into his throat.
Then he was fighting for his life.
His hands closed around the colonel’s throat as he tried to pry the teeth from his skin. They struggled there, toppling against the icebox and stove, finally falling through a swinging door to the dining room’s polished floor. By sheer force Schellenberg pried the teeth free as they rolled over and over. Then he broke away and struggled to his feet, gasping for breath. The colonel, or what had been the colonel, was on his knees, bracing to renew the attack.
Schellenberg saw the first rays of the risen sun creep across the outside yard as Rausch hurled himself forward. He sidestepped and slashed down at the colonel’s neck, propelling him through the dining room window. His body hurtled out and he landed, dazed, on the grass as the first light of morning turned his flesh to dust.
Captain Schellenberg took a moment to regain his strength, still breathing in painful gasps from the ordeal. When he felt better he made his way to the basement stairs once more and descended. The horror of it almost overcame him, but he knew what had to be done. The guard’s body had crumpled to dust, and he retrieved the bayonet. Then he walked deliberately to the oblong box and lifted the lid.
Count Dracula rested there, looking much as he had when the captain first saw him in the bunk at barracks 52. He raised the bayonet and pressed it against Dracula’s chest, placing both hands on it to drive it through the flesh to the vampire’s heart.
This would be the end of it.
But he hesitated momentarily, remembering how Dracula had spared the life of Florence Stoker more than fifty years earlier. He remembered too the vampire’s final words to him. Look at me and see yourself, Captain. My deeds are no worse than yours.
He took one hand off the bayonet and touched the teeth marks in his neck, feeling for the first time a strangeness in his blood. Then he let the bayonet slip to the floor.
He stood up and closed the lid of the oblong box.
Then he went upstairs and out into the sunlight, wondering how much longer he would see it. The Gypsy woman Olga emerged from her hiding place behind a tree, and he said simply, “He is yours to care for.”
He walked back slowly to the camp, where the prisoners were already lining up for the labors of the day.
The Future Is Ours Page 25