Eight.
Keene Presco began to laugh.
It began almost as a low stutter, then it went high and wild, and the bearded bear of a man staggered and almost fell and suddenly in his laugh there was a choking sound that might have been the birth of a cry of terror.
“Hold on to yourself!” To Lawson’s surprise, it was the reverend who’d spoken the command. Easterly’s voice rang out so forcefully that it stopped Presco’s cry in mid-choke. “There’s no use in that!” Easterly continued. All eyes were upon him. “Whatever this…man is,” he said, motioning toward Lawson, “we’ve got to trust him.” His face betrayed the disgust he felt at saying that. “Before God I never imagined such a company as this, but here we are.”
“I’ve got this rifle!” Rooster said. He had turned his back on the bloody window. “I’ll take ’em down bullet by bullet!”
“Like I told you, lead can hurt them but it can’t kill,” said Lawson. “Ann, how many silvers do you have?”
She checked her holster, counting with her fingers. She had one silver to every three leads. “Five in the cylinder, eight in the holster. Twenty more in my bag.” She took the opportunity to slide a sixth silver into the pistol.
“Good. I’ve got thirty, plus the four in my gun and two in the derringer.”
“How many would you say are out there?”
“I couldn’t tell.” Lawson balked at saying Very many, because the truth would only further fray raw nerves. He didn’t want anyone panicking and trying to run for their lives through the snow…they’d end up like Tabberson, if the vampires were in a mood to be merciful. He saw in her face that she wanted to ask another question… My father, among them? He looked away, and on this subject Ann did not pursue him.
“This ain’t happenin’!” Rebinaux’s voice was as choked as Presco’s had been. “Man alive, I’m sittin’ in the Palace drunker’n eight skunks! This just ain’t—”
There came the sound of someone walking on the front platform.
The door’s glass inset was dirty with coal smoke, but through it could be seen the top of a small boy’s head, the wind-touselled hair, and the blurred upper portion of the pallid face. A hand rose up, became a fist, and knocked at the glass.
“That’s the boy?” Mathias asked. He had gotten himself under control and was eerily calm, as if at the bottom of his barrel had been a courage that he’d not expected to find.
“He calls himself Junior,” Lawson answered. “And remember, he’s not a boy.”
“Boy, warbuck or blood-sucker,” said Rooster, “I’ll put a slug right ’twixt his eyes!”
“Steady.” Lawson took two strides toward him, reached out and grasped the rifle’s barrel. He pushed it toward the ceiling. “All you’re going to do is make him mad.” The fist knocked again on the glass, with insistence. With no effort Junior could shatter that glass and let the wind in to gnaw at everyone whose veins carried human blood. “Let’s find out a little more about him and our situation.”
“Our situation? We’re at the damned gates of Hell, ain’t we?” Gantt asked.
“Everyone be easy,” Lawson cautioned. He approached the door. “Rooster, take your finger off that trigger. Eric, put your gun down.” The young Cavanaugh failed to respond. “Eric!” Lawson said, in a sharper tone, and this time he was obeyed.
Lawson opened the door. The wind and snow blew in past Henry Styles Junior, who smiled up at his opponent with boy-sized teeth that had a space between the front two.
“Are you free to talk?” Junior asked.
“I am.”
“A fine assortment here.” The creature had quickly taken appraisal of the passengers, as if he’d just opened a box of candies. His gaze snagged on the wounded girl. His chin lifted and his nostrils flared. “Oh,” he said, “she smells delicious. But she’s dying, isn’t she?”
“I’ve heard what you want. Is there anything else?”
“Yes indeed.” He came in and closed the door behind him, but he ventured no further into the car. He locked eyes for a few seconds with Eli Easterly before he returned his full attention to Lawson. “We don’t want these blood-puppets. We want you and Miss Kingsley. They’ll be free to go, as soon as you disarm yourselves and we have you. You know, her father wishes to see her. Would you like that?” He offered Ann a ghastly smile, but she made no reply.
“And your sister too,” Junior went on. “Eva’s here. Yes, that’s right. This will be a family reunion.” When Ann still gave no response, Junior’s gaze shifted to Lawson. “What point is there to resist, Trevor? You’re searching for LaRouge; she wants to see you. All will be taken care of, all will be as it should be. But…Trevor, let these humans go on their way, won’t you? And that girl there…shouldn’t she be getting to a doctor?”
“We both know that you won’t let this train pass,” said Lawson. “Granting life is not in your nature. I know, Henry…because part of me is what you are. Didn’t you ever want to fight it? Didn’t you—”
“It is a losing battle,” came the answer, in the voice of a little boy grown cold over the span of decades. “A foolish endeavor, leading to extermination. Miss Kingsley?” he called. “Would you like to see your father and sister now?”
“My father and sister,” she managed to say, “are dead.”
“You have that wrong…Ann, if I may. What they have found—and all of us have found—is true life. A life of abundance and power beyond the dreams of blood puppets and their faulty beliefs.” He fired a quick scornful glance at Easterly. “What you think of as life is death, Ann. Look at your friend Lawson here. He knows it’s true, because part of him wants to take hold of this life, to revel in it, to experience the fullness of our rapture, to never perish. Don’t let him lie to you and say he does not. And here he is now, making his stand.” Junior grinned; it was not a pretty sight. His eyes glinted red and his lower jaw appeared misshapen, as if near jumping out of joint. Lawson figured the blood smell of Tabberson had fired them all up into a frenzy, and now this aroma of Blue’s blood was working on him in the close confines of the car.
“Making his pointless stand,” Junior said, “and dooming all of you fine people to a tortured fate.” The child-vampire swept his arm across in a motion that seemed to be pulling his audience into his chest. “Well, he’s just plain selfish! What your engineer got was a quick release. Yours will be a long experience.” His smile, like a jagged razor slash, centered upon Lawson. “Ten minutes, sir. That is your…shall we say…deadline.”
“Here’s your damn deadline,” said Rooster, and fired his rifle from the hip.
The blast made an explosive sound within the car. A bullet hole appeared in the wall behind Junior, along with a splatter of thick black ichor. The Winchester slug had passed through his body on the left side.
Junior rocked back on his heels, then righted himself. His smile had faded only a fraction. He touched his shirt where the black stain was spreading. Lawson knew that the ichor would stop flowing within a few seconds, sealing the wound at both entrance and exit. Already the ichor would be healing any damage to the mysterious dead-in-life internals of the vampire. Lawson knew; he himself felt as if he were withering from the inside out.
“I think that broke a rib or two,” Junior said. “Ohhhhh…you will so regret—”
Ann’s gun had come up. Her face was a study of cold fury. She pulled the trigger.