Free Blood Riders by Michael P. Spradlin Page B

nodded.
    “When I pulled my saber, the big one with the white hair paused. It was only a moment, but he reconsidered. I’d already shot him, twice. I might as well have been throwing stones. He shrugged it off like a bee sting. But he took notice of my saber,” Hollister said.
    “Da. Decapitation is one method of killing them. I would think a saber would give such a creature pause,” Van Helsing said.
    “And . . .” Hollister started. He was there again, on the side of that hill, watching the god-awful mouth descend toward his neck. And then it was gone. Just as the sun came over the horizon.
    “Major?” Pinkerton said quietly.
    “The sunlight,” Hollister answered.
    “What about it?” Pinkerton asked.
    “It was just before dawn when they hit us. I was down. The big one, I’ve been referring to him all this time as White Hair, had clubbed me to the ground. But the sun rose. He got up right away. They all, the rest of those . . . things . . . jumped into the back of the wagon, to get out of the sun. White Hair put on some kind of heavy cloak, covering himself from head to toe. But just before that, his skin, his clothes started to smoke. Like they were about to catch fire,” Hollister said.
    “Why is this the first time you mention this?” Pinkerton asked suspiciously, ever the detective.
    “I didn’t remember, he’d beaten me pretty good at that point. I passed out right after that. I just . . . it wasn’t there at the time,” Hollister stammered.
    “Sir,” Chee interrupted. “Begging your pardon, sir. But my grandmother, when she used to tell us stories of Deathwalkers, she said they could only come out at night. They slept in the dirt during the day because they would burn up in the sun. They were night creatures.”
    Van Helsing nodded. “Da. This makes sense. And tells us why they have been so hard to find. We are not looking in the right places. Good. Very good, Major. Thank you, Sergeant.” Van Helsing nodded his head vigorously and started to make notes in a journal.
    “So where does all of this leave us?” Hollister asked.
    “I think we can pick that up in the morning,” Pinkerton said. “Let me show you to your quarters and give word to the engineer to get us under way. If you men are hungry, there is food in the galley.
    At the mention of food, Dog stood up and stretched, his giant body nearly reaching from side to side of the car. He pushed his nose into Van Helsing’s lap, forcing the doctor to stop his writing. Van Helsing laughed and scratched him behind the ears.
    “Very sorry, sir,” Chee said, stepping forward and nudging Dog away with his hip. “He’s not usually so rude.”
    “Ach. No troubles, sergeant, he is a fine beast. Magnificent animal.”
    “Thank you, sir. Come on, Dog,” he mumbled, following Pinkerton to the rear of the car. Hollister stood and was about to follow Chee, when Van Helsing put up his hand, stopping him momentarily.
    “Major, you are sure you are ready for this assignment? It will be quite dangerous, I assure you.” Van Helsing studied him.
    Hollister considered the man a moment, wondering when he had ever seen such piercing black eyes. It was unsettling. But Hollister had learned to read eyes in the war, on the plains, and in prison. The eyes said everything. Who would fight and who would run, who told the truth and who lied, who was scared and who was without fear. Van Helsing, he decided, was without fear. Whatever these things were, he was determined to kill them.
    “No, Doctor, I’m not. I’m not ready at all.” He reached out to the gun rack and removed one of the short-barreled Greener ten-gauges. He snapped it open, confirmed it was loaded then flipped the breech shut again.
    Hefting the gun, he sighted down the barrel. Then he looked at Van Helsing.
    “But I will be,” he said. “I will be.”

Chapter Ten
    C hee sat on the bunk in his sleeping quarters. He had grabbed some beef jerky from the galley, and Dog sat on