99 Coffins: A Historical Vampire Tale

jerked in place as if pulled by strings, but he was firing blind and had little or no chance of getting a clean heart shot. She screamed at him, but she couldn’t hear herself over the noise, could barely see from the muzzle flashes. She grabbed at his arm, trying to pull his hand off the trigger, but even as she did his weapon went dry.

“I’m out,” he called, and turned around, to go back, maybe to get more ammunition, maybe just to run.

She grabbed a spare magazine out of her pocket and brandished it at him, but then she heard a local cop on her other side scream.

Her heart stopped beating in her chest as she swiveled around to see a wave of white skin and moldering cloth crash over her head.

So fast—they moved so fast, even after a century and a half in the ground—they were—they were everywhere—

The men bellowed and fired wildly, their muzzles pointing in every direction, tracking, trying to find targets. Caxton ducked low as a hot flash hider swung over her head. The noise as it fired deafened her, but she looked up and saw a vampire not ten inches from her face, watched as his red eyes flickered out.

His pale hands beat at her shirt, at her arm, but there was no strength there.

“Come on,” Glauer said, right next to her.

Around her men were dying, left and right. Much faster than the vampires had. She saw a guardsman get torn in half, saw a white face bury itself in his red flesh. She saw necks twisted, saw vampire teeth ripping through navy windbreakers, digging through Kevlar vests. She heard screams all around.

She heard someone praying, a sound that ended abruptly.

Glauer grabbed her hand and she nearly dropped her rifle. “Regroup! Regroup!” she shouted, even as she danced away from a vampire running right at her, his shoulder down, his claws scooping at the air where she’d been. She managed to get her rifle back up, fired three shots, without aiming, into his face, his chest, his groin. The vampire jerked spasmodically and tripped over his own feet. She lined up a shot on his back, fired, watched him jump and fall face forward on the cold grass.

“Fall back,” she shouted, unsure if anyone was listening. The field was a mess, a chaos of bodies struggling in the darkness.

“Spread out,” one of the guardsmen shouted. “Get clear!” A vampire’s fingers were tangled in the combat webbing of his body armor. He swung around, trying to get free, and the vampire’s other hand snatched off his helmet. Blood fountained from his neck and Caxton saw his head dangle forward, attached by nothing more than scraps of flesh. The vampire leaned forward to lap at his blood.

“Help me!” someone barked. She turned and saw an LEO surrounded by three vampires. He was firing his patrol rifle from his hip, his other hand holding a big shiny Desert Eagle. He shot out a vampire’s eye and the vampire smiled wickedly, then grabbed him up in a bear hug so tight that Caxton could hear the man’s vertebrae pop inside his windbreaker.

She tried to go to his aid when a cold hand grabbed her leg and pulled her off her feet. It was the vampire she’d shot in the back, rolled over and facing up now. She had lined up a perfect shot—but now she realized her mistake. From behind she’d gotten her left and right confused. At worst she had shot him through a lung he didn’t need anymore.

His face opened wide, his mouth enormous. He pulled her toward him, hand over hand. His eyes blazed and she felt her spiral pendant warm up in her hand. He was trying to hypnotize her.

A vampire leaped over her head, deeper into the fray. She looked back down to see two bony white hands dragging her ankle up toward that gaping cavern of a mouth. She struggled to spin around, to get her weapon up. Swung the flash hider down between her knees, jabbed it like a bayonet into his flesh even as the teeth sank effortlessly into her calf.

She squeezed the trigger and the vampire screamed, releasing her leg. She rolled away from him and onto her knees, her weapon pointed right at his chest, right at his heart. He was already dead. It didn’t matter.

There were plenty more all around.

Two came at her, one from either side. Their hands came up, ready to tear at her, to pull her apart. She shot one in the chest and he fell away, screaming, but the other collided with her, his fingers grasping at her tie, her shirt. He yanked and her throat closed up, her own tie crushing her windpipe. She tried to pull her weapon around, but he was right on top of her. She could feel his cold flesh against her own, smell his stink of putrefaction. She started to scream but the noise couldn’t get out of her throat. White spots drifted across her vision.

She heard gunshots. They sounded as if they’d come from far away. She could barely connect the sounds to the fact that the vampire’s head had split open in a white, pulpy mess, brain and bone flicking away in pieces. The vampire let go of her and she slid out from underneath him, tore open her tie. But even as she tried to get her feet under her the vampire was healing, his head knitting back together, his eyes glowing with pure rage.

Glauer grabbed her arm and helped her up. He brought his patrol rifle up and ready. He brought his arm up, sighted, and shot the vampire right through the heart.

74.

This is the sworn affadavut of Rudolph Storrow, of the 1st US Sharpshooturs, and all of it tru. On 27 Joon I came to Maryland to visut with my old pal Alva Griest, who was sick and in bed. Cornel Pittenger sent me.

They gave Alva a littul room at the garrisun and it was clean and it was bright with windas and nice enuff, yet full of stink, for his woond had ternd gangreenus, I am told. I sed nothing of the smell, for me and Alva are old frends.

We sat and talkd one quartur of an hour on what we seen and did in Virginy at the vampier’s house like I told Cornel Pittenger. We even laffd, a litul. Then I askd Alva if he was sure, and if he still wantud to go threw with it as he had said he did.

He told me he was not long for this life anyhow, with his woonds and all, and that he wantid to help his cuntry howevur he culd, and that he was reddy. He askt me if I thot it was a sin he did, and I sed no, I did not think so. Lots of othur men have volunteerd for this dutee, I sed, and the Cornel asshured me they wuld go to the good plase, and not to Hel after. So the Armee says its alrite.

He sed that was good enuff for him.

I had my canteen with me which I had filt with Prussic Asid, which I got from the Cornel, and I pored him a cup. The stuff smells over strong of almunds, if you ask me, and does not recumend itself for drinkin.

He sed he was tierd and missd his friend Bill. Then he drank his fill, which was not much. In a cuple minits he died. Then I rote this out as I am sposed to, and now its dun, and I am goin to pore myself a cup, and be dun too. God sav America, and Mistur Lincon, and all our boys.

—AFFIDAVIT OFRUDOLPHSTORROW

75.

Glauer got Caxton on her feet, but she was already moving. There was no time to talk, no time to thank him for saving her life. They moved fast, crouching low, heading for a big round building she could just see in the dark. Behind them the vampires were feasting on the dead and the dying and they didn’t bother pursuing them. She cast the occasional glance over her shoulder and saw bodies strewn across the field.

Some were pale in the starlight, their heads hairless and their eyes dark. Many, many more of those bodies belonged to her troops.

She would feel guilty in the morning, if she lived that long. She kept running.

When they had gotten far enough away that she dared to make a sound she said, “I thought you’d never shot anybody before.”

“On-the-job training works wonders.” Glauer favored her with a short-lived grin that transformed into a rictus of pain. Was he hurt? She couldn’t see. It didn’t slow him down if he was. How many vampires had he killed? She had no idea.

As tight as her plan had been, as disciplined as she’d made herself, she’d seen very little of what had happened on the field. She’d been fighting herself, too focused to keep an eye on anyone else. She had no idea how many of her troops were still alive.

Up ahead the dark curved mass of the Cyclorama building blocked out the stars. She needed to get there, as