Night of the Vampires (22 page)

“We're not here to fight for either side, Father Costello,” Cole assured the man.

“I believe you, and that's why I've spoken freely. Come with me. He resides in the rectory.”

They followed him toward rear of the church, through what had been a schoolroom in better times, and on back to the priest's dwelling. Father Costello lived modestly, with worn furniture kept neat and clean. He brought the pair out back, to an enclosed porch area, where a man sat in a chair and stared out at the mountains and rivers.

The man turned when he heard them coming. He was pale, nearly white, but beside that fact, he seemed to be whole. His hair was long and blond and his beard was roughly cut. His eyes were a dull brown, conveying a world of confusion and loss.

“Father?” he said quietly, surprised that visitors had been brought to him.

“These people are here to help, Daniel,” Father Costello said. “Cole Granger, Megan Fox, please meet Daniel Whitehall.”

“Hello,” Daniel said, trying to rise.

“No, please!” Megan said, dropping down beside him. “Please, don't stand up. I'd just like to ask you some questions.”

Daniel looked doubtful, and stared at Father Costello again.

“It's all right,” Cole said quickly. “We're not with the army.”

“Really,” Megan said gently. Whitehall seemed to be taken with her. He stared at Megan and waited. “You were hurt during the Wilderness campaign?” she asked.

He didn't look away. He nodded.

“I was there,” she said softly.

He didn't reply. His bony fingers tightened on the arms of his chair.

“What happened then, can you tell me?”

The man winced, closing his eyes. “I remember the fires, and the stinking smell of burning flesh, and the men screaming when they were caught in the woods and knew they were going to burn to death. I was disoriented, I couldn't see. I couldn't breathe…. You can't imagine the smoke. I think I fell, passed out, and then…”

“And then?” Megan prodded gently.

“And then there was something, someone on me. And I came to in the darkness, and felt something at my neck….” He touched his throat. “I looked up and it seemed there was a beast on me. Some strength came to me and I screamed, and I hurled it from me…and then I heard it scream because I had thrown it into the fire….”

“And then?”

“I passed out again. When I came to, I was alone, with the remnants of the burned and smoking forest around me. And I was…”

Megan didn't speak. They all waited.

“Hungry,” he whispered.

His eyes focused on Megan again, and tears stung his eyes. “I was hungry—for blood.”

She nodded, watching him with caring eyes.

“I am not a monster!”
he said. “There were injured, and I wanted to tear into them, and I couldn't and…I ran.” He paused for a minute. “I couldn't try to find my regiment. I couldn't surrender. I…oh, God. I found a pathetic old horse and I—I bit its neck. And it screamed—and I
stopped—and the horse died anyway, there on the spot—blood streaming from its neck and I…God, help me! I lapped it up, and then I ran and I ran and I…I didn't let myself kill the next horse I found. I traveled by day and night and it seemed to take forever, and I…came back to Father Costello.”

“How did you survive, back here?” Megan asked him.

“Rats are always plentiful,” Daniel Whitehall said. “Squirrels, possums and one time a cow that was loose near Front Royal.”

“We manage to keep the rat population down around here now,” Father Costello said drily. “And I take what raw meat supplies I can get from the soldiers' mess.”

“I can help you,” Megan told him.

The sickly man looked at her with disbelieving eyes.

Cole clamped a hand on her shoulder. “Megan can help you, but it will have to be tomorrow.”

“He needs help now, Cole,” Megan insisted.

“You can't,” he said firmly. “You have helped two people in the last two days. You'll weaken yourself, and that could be very dangerous.”

“You know how quickly I heal.”

“Give it a day.”

“How are you going to help him?” Father Costello asked.

“A blood transfusion,” Megan said.

Father Costello wasn't surprised, but he was somber. “I've heard of doctors performing such operations. I've also heard that men often die after the treatment. There is one learned doctor up in Massachusetts who suggests that some men have blood that is compatible with others, and some do not.”

“He won't die from my blood,” Megan said.

Father Costello was silent for a minute.

Daniel Whitehall spoke up. “Father, I can't bear this existence. I'd have died long ago—if I weren't willing myself to stay alive, despite the terror of what I might become. Please, I am more than willing to try anything!”

“Then we'll do it. Early
tomorrow
morning,” Cole said firmly.

She looked at him, ready to argue.

“I have to be on that field for archery practice,” Cole reminded her. “And you must give yourself some time. There are bigger issues at hand than just one individual, if you may accept my apologies, Mr. Whitehall.”

“Tomorrow morning,” Father Costello said. “I will be ready to assist.”

Megan started to rise. Daniel Whitehall grabbed her arm. “I am so afraid. Can you save me from the nightmares?”

“Yes.” She looked at Cole.

“Tomorrow. Early,” she said. “We're due to head out now, and I wouldn't want the general to think that we're not doing all in our power to find the beasts now lurking around Harpers Ferry.”

She stood, resigned, it seemed, to his logic.

“At daybreak, we'll come back up,” Cole said.

“Thank you,” Daniel said.

Father Costello led them back through the church and then out. It appeared he didn't want anyone knowing that they'd been through the church, should someone be near. The ill man was the priest's secret.

When they came down the church aisle to the door, they bade the priest goodbye.

Father Costello nodded. “I am glad to meet you, and glad that you have come here.”

“We'll be back, Father,” Cole said.

“I admit, I still fear for Daniel's life,” Costello said. “But not as much as I fear for his soul. He is a good man.”

“And he will be again,” Megan assured him.

They started out. Father Costello stopped them. “One more thing. A young man did come to see me this morning. A Private Dickens. Please tell him that he has done his duty as a friend. I read burial services over the graves you dug last night just an hour ago.”

“We'll tell him, Father,” Megan said.

When they were far enough from the church and could just spy the drill field, Megan turned to Cole. “He knows what I am, Cole. He knows!”

He set his arm around her and pulled her close to him. “He knows, and he gave you a blessing, Megan. He's a priest. He has an amazing faith—and an amazing mind. He knows what we're up against. He's a wonderful ally.” He paused. “Megan, you must remember how valuable you are, yourself, and you can't risk that many transfusions.”

“That man must be saved.”

“That's fine, and I understand. But you do understand that you're not invulnerable yourself,” he said.

“Of course,” she said.

“All will be well.”

She laughed. “I don't know about all, but…as for Daniel, we have a chance!”

They walked on down the hill, and all the while, Cole thought it was sadly wrong that while others did not, Megan saw herself as a monster. And he wondered if she
was so desperate to find her father and prove that he was not evil because that might clear her own name, too. And maybe she could forgive herself…for merely
existing.

He didn't know how to voice his words, to assure her that he'd seen many an outlaw who had killed ruthlessly yet left behind children that grew and became nothing but an asset to humanity.

He just pulled her closer.

As they neared the street, Megan pulled away from him. “There's your friend, Lisette. All ready for archery practice.”

Lisette was on the street with the general. She had changed into a man's shirt and breeches and seemed focused and ready to work. Her hair was tied into a knot at her back, and she wore a wide-brimmed hat to protect herself from the heat of the sun.

As he watched, shy little Trudy stepped out from behind her. She, too, was dressed in a man's clothing, though she appeared to be horribly uncomfortable and not sure how to stand.

“Maybe you could help Trudy,” Cole said.

“And you'll help Lisette?” Megan asked, smiling though her voice was sharp.

Cole laughed. “You really dislike Lisette.”

“I'm sorry. I know the two of you are—
friends.
”

He turned her around to face him, smiling. She was jealous. He rather liked that. Not if it seriously harmed their relationship, but it was nice to know that she had been noting the woman, and was wary of her—in many ways.

“I met her as a starstruck young man, watching a play. There were half a dozen of us, admiring her, enjoying a little after-the-show party. Back then, she was just an
actress, charming and intent on storming the world—becoming more famous than Jenny Lind. When it came to war, she focused all that energy on the Union. I don't know when she actually went to work for Pinkerton, or how she knew exactly what had happened in Victory, Texas. But she was involved in bringing Cody, Brendan and I to Washington. But that's really about it. She's an actress, Megan. And when she's not spouting fire, she's the kind of woman who needs to believe that every man fantasizes that she's in love with him. There was never anything between us.”

Megan flushed and winced, meeting his eyes openly. “You wouldn't lie to me, would you?”

He shook his head. “When I met you, Megan, I thought you were dangerous, conniving and that we should have put you down or thrown out on the street.”

“Well,
that's
honest.”

“I'm sorry. You asked.”

“It's all right. I thought you were an arrogant, pigheaded bastard. So I guess we're even.”

“I don't know,” he said softly. “Because now I think you're the most beautiful creature to ever draw breath, and that you've got a soul that glitters more sweetly than the sun on a bubbling brook.”

She inhaled sharply, studying his eyes.

“Well?” he asked.

“Well? I think that was amazingly romantic and poetic for a longhorn cowboy!”

“And?”

“You're still pigheaded,” she told him.

He laughed. “At times. But only when I know that I'm right.”

“And I guess I've waited my life to meet someone like you,” she said softly.

He wanted the world to drop away. He wanted to drag her into his arms again, ravage her with kisses and feel the remarkable sexual thrill when she did the things to him she had learned to do throughout last night.

But the earth was not going to slip from beneath their feet. A general was waiting for them, and he could hear the shouts of men as they set up the targets and gathered armaments. “So, are
you
going to teach Lisette what to do?” he asked.

“Not on your life. You're far better with a bow and arrow, I'm certain. But, believe me, I do know the art of archery. No, this is your class, cowboy. Go to it.”

“Wait,” he said, eyeing her suspiciously. “What are you going to do—you're not training Trudy?”

“I'm going to rest. Trudy's a particularly smart girl—she'll learn faster than Lisette, no matter how much attention you give
her.
Besides, I had a particularly invigorating night, and I wouldn't mind a bit of sleep,” she said, smiling. “One of us should have some energy left for tonight,” she told him, the golden color in her eyes sparkling mischievously.

“My reserves can be endless, you know, when properly motivated,” he told her.

She grinned and walked away in the direction of their lodgings. He frowned, wondering what she might really be planning, but it was nearly ten hundred and he knew that the military moved like clockwork when it came to drilling.

“Mr. Granger!” General Bickford bellowed. “The men
are assembling. If you would be so kind as to accompany me?”

He strode to General Bickford, who was briskly heading down the street toward their hastily prepared archery field.

Cole looked back, though.

He wanted to make sure that Megan went into the house where they were lodging. She did.

Still uneasy, he went on to take command of the men.

M
EGAN DECIDED THAT
she would let at least half an hour go by before heading back up the hill. She wanted to make sure that Cole was heavily involved in his activities first.

She needed to get back to the church where Father Costello could assist her. Cole just might try to stop her…. As far as Daniel Whitehall went…

She also figured she should go on over to the cemetery afterward, though that could wait. It wasn't often that the dead came back to life in the morning, but the way the priest had spoken, she was certain that he believed that certain “undead” had been abiding in the cemetery for some time. It would be interesting to see what was going on there, though they had not come across anything during the burial detail of the night before.

As far as Daniel Whitehall went, she didn't believe that she could wait. Yes, the young man had been holding his own for a long time. But he was so gaunt and pale, and so tormented. The way he spoke, she knew that he would have rather died in the agony of the flames that had taken so many lives at the Wilderness than face the demons tormenting him now. Perhaps he could wait. But she couldn't, now that she had seen him.

She hurried first to find the bag with the reserves of blood that Cody and Alex had packed up for her; now was
the time to make sure that she was at her best, strong. She sat at the table in the parlor area and sipped the contents of one of the canteens. Noting that there were old newspapers lying shoved into a stand by the door, she drew one out. It featured a caricature of Abe Lincoln holding a ship and firing on New York. The headline read, Draft Riots Tear Apart New York City.

The paper was from July, 1863. On one page, it extolled the virtues of the Union army at Gettysburg, but the headline had been written by a Northerner who was against the war. The article went on to read that New York City had given the most men to the Union at the beginning of the war, but with recruitment and fighting numbers down, the increasingly frequent practice of conscription made some question whether laws that permitted such were unconstitutional and should be argued in court.

New York seemed so far away.

The author of the article tried, however, to write without bias. He noted that the riots had not just been caused by the conscription laws, but that overcrowding, decades of corrupt city politics, a lack of sewage and the astounding death toll of civilians living in tenement houses were all part of the problem.

She leaned back, finishing the contents of the canteen. She wondered what the horror would be if the
disease
were not stopped, and if it began to infect a city as huge, crowded and congested as New York. What would newspapermen write about then?

That thought brought her to swift movement. Daniel Whitehall, at least, could be saved, and she was determined that he be saved immediately. The priest had been keeping him alive, but if he were to pass away in the
night, there was no way of knowing what would happen. He'd not killed a human being—she believed him on that—but he
had
felt the vampiric hunger that ripped into one with such viciousness that they became mad and assaulted the first available human being.

Cole didn't really understand that. He knew that there was salvation, and knew that it was rare, because it was. And she knew that under the circumstances in which they had found themselves,
being
a good vampire was incredibly difficult. Cole acted like it was a matter of choice, or even chance, possibly. Megan knew it was a matter of struggle. A pressure under which not just everyone could hold out indefinitely. Daniel could start out okay, but the hunger might overtake him, especially in the early weeks following infection.

She glanced at the clock above the mantel. Cole had been with the troops at least thirty minutes. She went into his room and found the medical bag and slipped outside.

The street was uncannily quiet.

She hurried back toward Church Street and headed uphill. When she reached the church, she took a minute to adjust to the dimmer light.

“Father Costello?” she called softly.

He didn't answer her, but she knew the path through the church and schoolroom and outside to the rectory out back. Approaching the small building, she heard a low murmur of voices. She hurried toward the sound.

In a ground-floor bedroom, Daniel was in bed, the priest murmuring prayers at his side.

Hearing Megan's arrival, Father Costello looked up. He crossed himself and rose and spoke softly. “He weakened when you left, so I brought him in here. I didn't want
to leave him alone, and he said that he'd never risk your life for his.” He paused a moment, seeing the medical bag. “You're not supposed to be here, Miss Fox. It could be dangerous.”

She shook her head. “Please, Father, though I respect the opinions of others, I do know myself best. But I'm afraid you're going to have to help me.”

Father Costello hesitated, and she knew that he hated going against Cole's warnings, but that as a man and a priest, he had to make a decision.

“I know myself better than anyone, Father. I will be fine.”

He made his decision quickly, and once he did, he was all business, demanding that she describe the entire procedure first, and then take him step by step again as they went through it. Megan arranged the supplies and explained the tourniquets and that the process used gravity to keep the blood flow moving in the proper direction. They moved Daniel down to the floor for expediency's sake—he was already unconscious and his face was deadly pale. Megan situated herself against a wall, using pillows as a prop for her arm.

Father Costello was concerned about the needles, but he had apparently dealt with enough war injured not to be squeamish at the sight of blood. He was an intelligent and adept man, and once they began, there was little instruction Megan needed to give him. He was concerned that he set the tubes properly—concerned not to stab her or Daniel needlessly—but, once he concentrated, the entire thing went smoothly.

Megan leaned back, feeling the flow of blood. She wondered if it was something that she really felt, or just something that she knew, and it was a feeling by way of
imagination only. It didn't matter, she assured herself, as long as the blood flowed from her into Daniel.

As she watched Daniel's face, to her vast relief, she began to see color slowly return to it.

“It's been some time now,” Father Costello stated.

“A little longer,” she murmured.

He looked at her and then shook his head. “No. Now, tell me, what do I do to stop it?”

He was firm, so she gave him the directions he requested, and he pressed the small towel he had given her against the puncture wound in her arm, then tended to Daniel.

She closed her eyes and waited for several long minutes, aware that she was weaker than she had expected. Looking at Daniel, though, she saw that his eyes were open and he was looking at her.

His lips formed two words. “Thank you.”

She smiled.

But she wasn't able to reply.

Father Costello stood, frowning. “Did you hear that?” he asked quietly.

She hadn't been listening, but at his soft warning she focused her attention to any outside sounds.

Something was prowling around the rectory.

The father looked down at Megan. “We've got to get into the church itself. The church is consecrated, it's truly God's house, and we'll be safe from those creatures there.”

She nodded, and nearly passed out trying to get to her feet. She had to find strength. They had to get Daniel up and into the church. Whatever was out there, she couldn't fight it now.

Father Costello steadied her. “Daniel, drag Daniel in!” she told him in response.

It was broad daylight; the night had been quiet. She shouldn't have to be afraid now. Only a vampire of some experience could easily be about and on the prowl in the strong sunlight of the morning. This was no new being.

Father Costello did as she directed him, setting an arm around Daniel. Daniel tried to help, but he didn't have much strength. They made it through the rectory to the schoolroom. Something was prying at one of the windows.

“Take Daniel in, please, go!” Megan begged. “Bring back holy water, Father, in your hands…any way that you can!”

There wasn't time for the priest to reply. He rushed through as best he could, dragging Daniel along.

The first of the creatures burst through the window.

It was a man dressed in the suit of a businessman or banker, though the suit was ragged. He was covered in dirt, mud from the cemetery, she presumed. He may have been an accountant once; he was a being thirstily bent on survival now.

She rifled through her pockets, but she hadn't come armed. She watched him come at her until, finally, she drew back her lips and displayed her fangs, hissing in warning.

That gave him pause, but another muddy creature—a woman with ferocious features—crawled through the window behind him. She had been middle-aged in life, and her graying hair was in tangled skeins around her pinched face. Her calico dress seemed at once too festive and sufficiently morbid for her actions. Behind her came a soldier in the remnants of a Confederate
uniform—Louisiana militia—though with pants replaced at some time with those probably stolen off a clothesline.

There were so many of them. She tried to hiss out another warning that would give them all pause, but they knew they outnumbered her and that she was the one in danger.

She had managed to buy herself a little time, though. Father Costello came rushing back in, his hands cradled with a scoop of water. He raised his voice in prayer, and again the creatures gave momentary pause. But then they came forward.

Father Costello aimed the water in his hands the best he could, catching the first man in the face, which elicited howls of agony. The others fell back, but then, as Father Costello stared at them—empty-handed—they started forward again.

Megan found the strength to reach for a child's wooden chair and slam it against the wall at her back, breaking off one of the legs to use as a bat and praying she might manage to make it work as a stake.

The woman came at her. Megan picked up her weapon and prayed. She was aware of a whoosh of the air…and the creature didn't reach her. It fell, just inches before her. She stared in disbelief, then looked up to see Cole at the window. He was armed with a bow and notched another arrow from his quiver.

Another swift movement, another and another. Not thirty seconds had passed, and Cole had killed the entire horde, so quick with the weapon was he, and so accurate with his aim in the close quarters.

Finally he crawled through the window…staring at her with his features hardened in anger.

Father Costello sank to the floor, his prayers of thanksgiving mere whispers.

Megan stared back at him. “Thank God,” she said simply herself.

The words didn't appease Cole.

He walked from corpse to corpse, rolling each over, impaling it with a stake from the supply inside his coat. “We'll need to finish up here quickly,” he said curtly.

“Of course,” she said, and moving forward, wavered. He came to her and grabbed her roughly, with little tenderness in his touch.

“You just won't listen to me, will you?” he demanded. She didn't remember the blue in his eyes as being so much like cold steel as when he looked at her then.

“Daniel was dying,” she said. “Ask the father.”

“You couldn't have known that, and you ignored me anyway.”

“But he would have died or been taken. Cole, it's a
good
thing that I didn't listen to you this time!” she pleaded.

Whatever her logic, he wasn't interested.

“Father, get her into the church for now, please,” Cole said. “Dickens will be here in a minute and can help me manage in here.” He ruffled through the pocketed lining of his coat again, producing another of the canteens. “Make her drink this,” he said to the man, ignoring her completely. “Please, get her into the church now. Who knows? There might be a grand old tea party rising from the graveyard.”

Father Costello didn't argue. He set a supporting arm around Megan and led her into the consecrated area of the church. He sat her down on a bench and handed her the canteen.

Megan held the canteen and looked at the altar. She was tempted to weep. Something felt so wrong.

“Drink it, please!” the father urged her.

“It feels…wrong.”

“Ah, well, the Great Almighty supplies what we need, and there is nothing wrong in your efforts to save your fellow man. Drink, child, and with His blessing, I am sure!” the Father told her.

She did so. She felt strength seep back into her body and limbs. The world still seemed to be so—vague. Spinning before her.

Father Costello eased her down to lie on the pew.

She was vaguely aware of Daniel Whitehall's face before her.

Against it all, she was gratified to hear his words.

“Thank you. You have saved my soul,” he whispered.

She allowed blackness to engulf her.

 

C
OLE TRIED HIS HARDEST
to tamp down the fury he felt. He knew that it had to do with fear. It had been terrifying to see Megan and the father facing down the ravenous vampires that had boldly broken in by daylight.

He was shaking.

“Heads off, sir?” Dickens asked quietly.

Cole managed to nod. “Drag them out to the cemetery first, Dickens.”

The church and the cemetery were close enough that it wasn't a major project. Even though they had been staked, Cole wasn't comfortable with leaving the dead unattended. He and Dickens took turns dragging the bodies back to the cemetery where their graves—looking as if the sod had burst open—were easy enough to find.
Dickens was a fast learner; as soon as they were both at the graveyard together, he got busy sawing away at the necks of the creatures and decapitating them. Within thirty minutes, they had completed the task of assuring that the dead stayed dead and weren't going to return to the realm of the living.