Free Blood Riders by Michael P. Spradlin

are one of the ways we can identify ourselves to one another,” Van Helsing said.
    “I don’t understand . . . a society?” Hollister asked. He glanced at Chee, but the sergeant was still inspecting his coin.
    “From the time of St. Ignatius. The first to fall. Many years ago we learned of the existence of . . .”
    “Deathwalkers?” Chee asked.
    “Vampires,” Pinkerton said.
    “What the hell is a vampire?” Hollister asked, flipping his coin back on the desk, where it rolled around until falling on its side in front of Van Helsing.
    “These creatures are called by many names,” the doctor said, pushing the coin back toward Hollister. “Your sergeant refers to them as Deathwalkers. As good a description as any, but most of Europe knows them as vampires. The living dead. Beings who were once human but are no longer, and must survive by drinking the blood of the living. As I believe you saw firsthand, Major.”
    Hollister felt a chill fall over him. The car seemed smaller all at once and his mind’s eye flashed on the image of Lemaire dying as the white-haired thing chewed at his throat, its lips and fangs covered in blood. For a while he’d tried to tell himself he had imagined the whole thing. That he and his platoon really had been ambushed by Lakota, and in order to accept the destruction of his command, his mind had concocted an elaborate fantasy to disguise and excuse his shame. But what he’d seen was real.
    “I saw . . .” he started to say, but couldn’t finish.
    “You are familiar with vampires, Sergeant Chee? You knew about silver?” Van Helsing asked.
    “I’ve heard of them, sir. My grandmother was a slave, from Haiti. I mostly thought they were stories told to scare us, but she insisted Deathwalkers were real. According to lore, wood and pure silver can poison them, and I know silver bullets are used for werewolves . . .” the young man said.
    It was too much for Hollister. “Werewolves? What the hell are those?”
    “Sir . . . they’re . . .” Chee stammered. He could sense the major’s rising confusion and he had no desire to contribute to it. “A werewolf is a man who has been bitten by another werewolf . . . and when . . . during the full moon . . .” Chee gave up, the stunned expression on Hollister’s face making him think he was going to get a dressing-down.
    “You’re kidding me, right?” Hollister said. “I’ve been in the army a long time and I’ve heard all kinds of stories around the campfire at night, but that’s all they are: stories. Right?” He turned his attention away from Chee and studied Pinkerton and Van Helsing.
    “Much more than stories, I assure you. Nevertheless, the two of you are now the newest members of our society. The Order of Saint Ignatius. You should keep the medallion at all times. We mint them under special instructions with the purest silver available. You will likely come across other members in your travels. We have some of the best minds of our age at work on the study of this . . . phenomenon. The test, holding the pure silver coin in the hand, will tell you if the person is who they say they are. If a comrade has fallen under the thrall of . . . anyone . . . or thing . . . the silver will burn them. It would be an indication for you to immediately . . . kill them,” Van Helsing said.
    “You can’t be serious,” Hollister said.
    “I assure you we are deadly serious, Major,” Pinkerton said. “But there will be time for you to digest this later. Dr. Van Helsing, why don’t you begin?”
    “Da. Gud. Major Hollister, I have read your report many, many times. I want you to know I believe you. Our order has for years gathered much information on these creatures, not only to verify their existence, which I assure you is beyond doubt. But to discover what their intentions might be, as well as how to defend ourselves against them.”
    “I think their intentions are pretty clear,” Hollister said.