Vampire Seeker (9 page)

“She’s d-,” Zoe started, but before she could finish, the preacher had cut over her.

“She doesn’t ride with us no more.”

“Oh, really?” Drake smiled again, although his eyes didn’t. “Why not?”

“It was my fault,” Harry said, and we all turned to look at him. “She loved me, but I didn’t feel
the same way. It became too dangerous for us to work together.”

“Dangerous?” Drake said, seizing on the word that Harry had used. “Why dangerous?”

“A girl ain’t gonna shoot real straight if she is thinking about cock all day long,” Harry said, meeting
Drake’s curious stare.

There was a pause for silence, and then Drake laughed and said, “I guess not, Turner, I guess not.”

With his face as serious-looking as ever, Harry stared across the table at Drake and said, “Now let’s talk business.”

Drake ordered more drinks to be sent from the bar. Once they had arrived, he seemed to sink further into the shadows. Or perhaps
it was simply that it was turning dusk outside and there was a little less light coming in through the windows – I couldn’t
be sure.

The bartender went about the saloon, lighting the oil lamps that were fixed to the walls. The pianist continued to play some
kind of honkytonk music, and the saloon seemed to liven up as the day headed towards night.

“I am a wealthy landowner from the southwest of England,” Drake started and took of a sip of whiskey from the
glass which he held in is pale hand. “For many generations, my family has mined copper and tin from the land. But sadly,
Cornish mining is in decline and many of my kinsmen have immigrated to more profitable mining districts overseas. As you may
already know, many Cornish miners have already started mining in the copper districts of northern Michigan, and have started
to spread to many other mining districts. It is rumoured that over ten-thousand miners have already departed Cornwall to find
work overseas. It is a shame, as Cornwall is such a beautiful and vibrant land,” he said. Then looking across the table
at the preacher, he added, “Even the Lord himself saw fit to visit my homeland.”

As if sensing that he was being tested somehow, the preacher’s eyes twinkled as he sat back in his chair and said, “You
speak of the legend of Joseph of Arimathea. I know of that fable. It is said that Joseph of Arimathea, who was a tin miner,
brought a young Jesus to the Ding Dong mine in the parish of Gulval to speak to the miners. But there is no evidence to support
that. It is just a legend – like I said – a mere fable.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Drake’s mouth and his green eyes almost seemed to gleam at the preacher. “You
really are a holy man,” he said.

“I’ve never claimed to be anything else,” the preacher said.

I looked sideways at him. Was he really a priest – a preacher? He certainly knew his stuff, but what preacher carried
guns, slept with women, and drank hard liquor? If he was a figure I’d created inside my head, then something had gone
wrong somewhere. Some wires had gotten crossed.

“So what you’re trying to tell us,” Louise cut in, “is that you’re interested in mining gold
here in Colorado?”

“Yes,” Drake nodded and that beautiful smile of his faded again. “But not just any mine. I have it on good
authority that the Sangre de Cristo Mountains far north of here have mines that are rich in gold and are yet to be truly explored.”

The preacher shot a sideways glance at Harry, then stared back at Drake. “And how are you planning on crossing those
mountains?”

“With your help,” Drake said. “I’ve heard the rumours about what lives high up there. I have listened
to the stories about the nests.”

“If they are just stories, why do you need our help?” Harry asked.

“You are vampire hunters, no?” Drake said, and he dabbed at his lips with the hankie that he had earlier offered
me.

No one replied, they just sat and stared back at him across the table.

“Okay,” Drake smiled, taking the hankie away from his mouth and placing it back in the breast pocket of his suit.
“Gunfighters, gunslingers, call yourselves what you want, but I have heard the legends about all of you. How you are
responsible for tracking down those that come out from their nests in the mountains and kill.” Then, turning his eyes
on the preacher, he said, “Or are those stories just fables?”

“Do you know why those mountains are called the Sangre de Cristo Mountains?” the preacher asked him. “Do
you know what Sangre de Cristo means?”

His mouth might have been smiling, but his eyes weren’t when Drake looked back at the preacher and said, “Blood
of Christ, that’s what it means, Preacher. It is said to come from the red colour of the mountain at sunrise and sunset.
The colour red is said to be even more vivid when those mountain peaks are covered with snow.”

“Some say the red is caused by the sun rising and dying each day,” the preacher said, his voice now dropping to
a harsh whisper, “but others believe that it is real blood that runs over those mountains, like fast-flowing streams.”

“And where would the blood come from?” Drake asked, as if trying to stifle a chuckle.

“From the men that the Vrykolakas snatch in the night and feed on,” the preacher said, his voice still low, but
controlled. “There is a good reason why those mines in the mountains have been left untouched.”

“Leave them be,” Zoe broke in, her eyes wide. “You will regret waking them from their nests.”

Taking his hankie from his pocket again, he pressed it to his beautifully formed mouth, as if hiding a smirk. “Vampires?
Nests? Mountains that are awash with the blood of men? Surely, Preacher, just like the story of Jesus and Joseph of Arimathea,
it is nothing more than a mere legend.”

“I thought you said we were just legends,” the preacher breathed, “but you still came looking for us.”

Taking the hankie from over his mouth, Drake looked at us, and said, “I will pay you well.”

“We don’t want your gold,” Harry said grimly. “It’s no good to the dead.”

“Dead?” Drake queried. “You are not dead.”

“Not yet,” Louise said back. “The journey you consider making is one of suicide. How are you planning to
cross the mountains anyhow? On horseback?”

“The Royal Gorge Railroad,” Drake said.

“You intend to travel by steam train?” Zoe asked him. “No one is going to let you run a train up into those
mountains. They stopped running trains up there when the miners stopped coming back down again.”

“I have chartered my own train,” Drake told us.

“What train?” the preacher asked him.

“The Scorpion Steam,” Drake smiled with a sense of pride. “The fastest steamer there is – nothing
will catch us – not even those creatures you claim nest in the mountains.”

“And who is going to run it for you?” Louise asked him with suspicion. “Not us.”

“No, no, no, my dear Louise Pearson,” Drake chuckled again. “I have hired my own crew.”

“What crew?” Harry snapped. “You wouldn’t find anyone insane enough to take you up there.”

Then, reaching into the outer pocket of his suit, Drake removed something and cast his hand across the table. The bright yellow
nuggets scattered towards us. They were so bright, they cast a glow across our faces. “Gold,” Drake said his voice
now serious. “People will do anything for gold.”

Zoe made a whistling noise through her teeth as she looked down at it in awe.

“So where do we fit into all of this?” the preacher asked, ignoring the gold that lay before him. “You seem
to have everything planned real good already.”

Looking out of the shadows in the corner of the room, Drake said, “Now let’s just say for argument’s sake
that your stories about the vampires are true; then wouldn’t it make sense for me to have you on board? Wouldn’t
I benefit from your knowledge of these creatures? Who wouldn’t want the help of gunfighters, gunslingers, vampire hunters,
or whatever you truly are?”

The preacher glanced at the others, then at me. I looked back. Then, draining the last of his whiskey from his glass, he thumped
it down on the table amongst the rocks of gold and said, “When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow night,” Drake told him.

The preacher pushed his chair back from the table and stood. “Until tomorrow night then.”

“Where are you going?” Drake asked, bemused.

“To make camp for the night,” the preacher explained.

“There is no need,” Drake smiled again. “I have taken the liberty of booking you each a room here tonight.”

A bed! A real bed!
I screamed inside. I really could have kissed Drake now.

“That was rather presumptuous of you,” Louise said, looking at him. “How did you know that we would accept
your offer?”

Pushing the gold towards her with one long hand, he winked at her and said, “Gold, Louise Pearson. Gold!”

But as we each got up from the table, leaving Spencer Drake to the shadows, I knew the preacher wasn’t going up into
those mountains in search of gold – he was looking for something else altogether.

My room was far better than I imagined it to be – but hey, if I was creating all this stuff up in my head – then
why not give myself some luxury? There was a bed, and diving onto it like a kid at a slumber party, I was surprised by its
softness. The floor was covered in a thick rug, and I yanked off my boots so I could feel it beneath my tired feet. Beside
the bed, there was an oil lamp with a glass shade. The lamp had already been lit for me. There was an open doorway leading
off from my room, so I took a peek inside. To my amazement, it was a bathroom. There was no toilet, but a china bowl on the
floor with a covering over it. But there was toilet paper! And more than that, there was a tin tub in the centre of the small
room and someone had filled it with hot water.

Pulling off my clothes, I sunk beneath the water. The tub wasn’t long enough for me to stretch out fully, I had to draw
my knees up slightly, but it was better than the river with the grizzly bear. With my shoulders beneath the water, I rested
my head back against the rim of the tub and thought of how Harry had rescued me. I closed my eyes and tried to remember him
running along the riverbank. He seemed to have moved very fast, but had that been the water distorting my view of him? But
the bear - Harry had almost torn it to shreds. The water had turned almost black with blood. But these people were different
than those back home – back in the London of 2012. We didn’t really have to fend for ourselves. We could have
anything and everything whenever we wanted it. We were spoilt. We didn’t have to face down bears while taking a wash.
The preacher and the others were rougher – hardened – they lived in a world where they had to survive from day
to day.

And what of Spencer Drake? He was definitely good-looking, and I suspected he knew it. Whereas his looks were more refined–gentlemanly,
Harry was rougher looking – but hot. It was a shame that both came across as being arrogant jerks. Why had I gone and
created two hot guys, but given them both zero personality?

With the water starting to turn cold, I reached for a towel that hung from the wall, and climbed from the tub. Wrapping the
towel about me, I headed back into the bedroom. It was then I noticed that one of the windows was open and the curtain flapped
slowly in a cold breeze. Shivering, I crossed the room to shut the window. Looking out I saw the preacher and the others standing
in the street below. The preacher was unfastening the horse which had drawn the wagon. He then went to the rear of the vehicle
and reappeared, holding a saddle in his hands. I watched him saddle up the horse then mount it. The others followed. It was
then I realised that they were leaving; but why weren’t they taking me with them? With a sense of panic rising inside
of me, I pushed open the window and shouted, “Hey, Preacher, where are you going?”

Without so much as a glance back at me, the four of them raced out of town. I dropped the towel and pulled on my clothes and
gun belt. Perhaps they had told Spencer Drake why they were leaving. I left my room, rushed along the upper balcony, down
the wooden stairs, and back into the saloon. I headed through the throng of drinkers who sat at the tables and into the corner.
The table where Drake had sat was now deserted; he had gone just like the others. I headed back towards the bar, and drawing
the bartender’s attention, I said, “The people that I arrived with earlier, did they leave a message for me?”

The bartender shook his head without looking up from the glasses that he was wiping with a cloth. “No message,”
he said.

“Have they booked out?” I asked him. “Are they coming back?”

The bartender put aside the glass and took a leather-bound ledger from beneath the bar. He thumbed through it. Looking over
the rim of his spectacles at me, he said, “No they haven’t checked out. I guess they’ll be back from wherever
it is they’ve gone.”

Feeling a slight sense of relief, I left the bar and headed back out into the night. I descended the steps that led down to
street level. It was cold, and it didn’t take long for my nose and ears to turn numb. The main street was almost deserted;
the only sound was of people coming from the saloon behind me as they laughed and sung along to the honkytonk music which
continued to be played. I looked at the wagon, and guessed that the preacher and the others would be back. But where had they
gone? What sort of cowgirl was I going to be if I couldn’t even control the characters that I had created inside my
head? I looked up at the night sky and there seemed to be less stars out tonight, hidden by a swath of cloud that streaked
across the sky. I had been here three days, I guessed. But how long had I been missing from home? If I wasn’t lying
on the floor of that tube train waiting to be discovered, and I really had been snatched back in time, had anyone noticed
that I had gone missing yet? Both my mother and father were dead. They died within a year of each other, two years ago. They
had me fairly late in life, but that had never stopped them giving me a great childhood. In fact, I had been spoilt by both
of them, particularly my father. But my mum had gotten cancer. It ravished her – ate her up – in the space of
a few short months. She went from being a rather buxom woman to a mere skeleton. To watch her fade away like that had been
agony; but nothing compared to the pain I felt watching my dad pine for her once she had left us. He had also been active
in his retirement, but once on his own, it was like he gave up. He couldn’t live without my mum. Then, on the anniversary
of her death, he went to bed and never woke up. The post-mortem report stated that he had been in good health – but
I knew he had died of a broken heart; but how do you record that on a form?