Blood Riders (31 page)

Chapter Seventy-six

T
hey were dead now and Hollister knew it. Nothing worked. The Ass-Kicker had one shot left and it would be the least powerful. Chee was wearing the Gatling somehow slung over his shoulder, but who knew if that would even stop Malachi? It appeared that nothing short of a mountain dropped on him would work. And maybe not even that.

Chee raised his Henry and shot Malachi in the face. The bullet collapsed Malachi’s left cheek just below the eye and the force of the shot staggered him backward. But almost instantly, his wound started healing.
For the love of God
, Hollister thought.
How much blood has this asshole drunk?
The way it was going, he must have drained the entire city of Chicago.

“Sir!” Chee shouted. He tossed Jonas the Henry and with both hands free, turned the Gatling toward Malachi.

“The Gatling, Chee! Now!” Hollister shouted.

Jonas had one speed loader for his Colt left and that was it. He loaded it up. They needed to get the hell out of here.

Hollister shot Malachi again, to distract him, but the Archaic paid him no attention; he jumped across the chamber toward Chee and tried wrestling the Gatling from his grip. Chee saw his chance and opened up with the Gatling at point-blank range.

The wooden bullets had effect this time. They drove Malachi back. As he staggered toward the opposite chamber wall, Chee advanced, and as the belt of bullets writhed through the action of the gun, Malachi actually cried out. The stone wall finally stopped him, and Chee, from no more than five feet away, fired and fired, until the gun was completely empty.

Malachi staggered toward Chee, and Hollister took careful aim and shot him in the eye. He dropped to the floor of the chamber. Hollister shot again trying for the heart, and again and again, and then he pulled the trigger and his heart sank as he felt the hammer land on an empty chamber. He pulled the trigger again and again. It was no use: the gun was empty.

Malachi looked up at them from the stone floor.

“You’ve done well, humans. I will grant you that small satisfaction. You’ve killed far too many of my people and no one has damaged me to such a degree in centuries. But you cannot kill me. I will leave here and heal, and raise more followers; then I will kill all of your kind. Every last one of you. Remember . . . in a few short days I shall have lived for fifteen centuries. Nothing will stop me then,” he said.

With a degree of strength Jonas could not fathom, he climbed to his feet. He backhanded Chee, who tumbled backward onto the ground and was still. He was upon Hollister in an instant, pressing him against the wall of the chamber. His hand closed around Jonas’s throat. Somehow, through it all, he had maintained his grip on his blade; he thrust it into Hollister’s gut and Jonas remembered thinking that he should have told Pinkerton to go fuck himself when he’d come to Leavenworth that day. Digging wells was far better than having your guts strung out by this pompous asshole. Malachi pulled the blade out. Hollister clutched his gut, blood seeping out of his stomach, as he slowly slid down the wall toward the floor.

“You will all die,” Malachi said “Remember that . . .”

But Malachi died first, as Shaniah rose behind him, swinging her blade with all of her might, connecting at the spot where his neck met his shoulders, and his head came cleanly off his body.

His face had one last instant of surprise and shock as it rolled onto the chamber floor.

“You know what, Malachi? Go fuck yourself,” Hollister said as the head rolled to a stop a few feet away from him, the empty eyes taking on a curious look of amazement.

Chapter Seventy-seven

S
haniah stood over Malachi’s dead body, holding her Archaic blade. Jonas pressed at his wound, but the blood still seeped through his fingers. He’d seen enough wounds like this in the war to know he wasn’t going to make it.

She secreted the blade in her boot and rushed to his side. Dog came to then, standing on unsteady feet and shaking his head. He went to Chee and licked his face, but Chee didn’t seem to respond much.

Shaniah held Hollister’s face in her hands. He was gravely wounded, but she knew a way to save him. The blade Malachi had stabbed him with lay on the ground a few inches away. She picked it up, and drawing it across her palm, she opened a cut.

“I thought you told me your blade was all you needed,” he said.

“I lied,” she said.

“Hmm. Lied about a couple of other things too, apparently?” he said. “You forgot to mention the whole married to the evil mastermind thing.”

“Would it have mattered?” she asked him, putting her hand on his cheek.

He tried to focus on her face but it was hard. It seemed like someone was taking great pleasure in making the world spin. He finally found her, with one eye closed. She was still beautiful.

“No, it wouldn’t have made an ounce of difference,” he said.

She held her hand, the cut seeping blood up to Hollister’s face.

“You need to drink this,” she said.

Without warning there was a gun against the side of her head. Chee stood there, his Colt pressed against her temple. Dog was next to him, growling. How she hated that goddamned dog. Chee pulled back the hammer on the pistol.

“What are you doing?” Shaniah said.

“Don’t move,” Chee said.

“He’s going to die,” she said.

“He might not,” Chee answered back.

Hollister was losing blood and getting the giddy, nearly drunken feeling one can only experience with too much blood loss.

“What are you two doing? You need to stop arguing and start getting along. And stop calling each other witches. I mean it,” he said. Then he giggled, slightly delirious.

“Archaic blood can heal him. He only needs a little,” she said.

“Better he dies than turns into one of you,” Chee said.

“He won’t. He can’t become . . . he won’t turn. He has to be bitten first, then he has to drink the blood of the one who bit him, the sire. That’s the only way it works. But this will keep him alive, it has healing powers.”

“I don’t believe you,
Brujana
,” he said.

“Chee,” Hollister said. His voice was weak. “It’s all right. Let her do it. It might work, it might not, but I’m done otherwise.”

Chee stared at Shaniah hard. Dog still looked like he wanted to see if he could fit her entire head in his mouth.

Finally, he lowered the gun. “Dog, off,” he said. Dog stopped growling instantly and sat on his haunches.

Shaniah pushed her bleeding hand to Hollister’s mouth. She pulled open his lips and squeezed blood into his mouth. She kept at it until his face was covered with it. He slipped into unconsciousness.

“What now?” Chee asked.

“We wait,” Shaniah said. They waited several minutes. Chee checked Hollister’s pulse.

“Shit,” Hollister said, his eyes open again. He had slumped over onto the floor when he had gone unconscious, and now he came to, staring face to face with Malachi’s dismembered head. Staring at the head locked in a death grimace, he said, “Remind me never to make you angry.”

“You’re alive,” she said, falling to the ground beside him and taking his head in her hands.

“Either that, or we’re all dead. Can dead people talk to each other? Chee, you know a lot about dead people.”

Chee shook his head. “I don’t know, Major.” But he smiled. Glad that Hollister was alive.

The color slowly returned to Hollister’s face. “All right. I think we’ve killed everyone we were supposed to, so let’s get out of here. Help me up.”

Chee and Shaniah lifted him slowly to his feet.

“Getting stabbed sure does hurt,” he said. “Got stabbed a couple times in the war and it always hurt more than getting shot. Which always surprises me.” Hollister realized he was babbling, but he was so happy to be among the living he didn’t care.

Shaniah laughed. They slowly left the chamber behind, Dog in the lead, Chee and Shaniah on either side of Hollister, holding him up.

“Wait, I forgot something.” He reached into the pocket of his duster and pulled out the two bundles of dynamite. There were six sticks in each bundle and the fuses were wrapped around the bundles.

“What do you say we make sure old Malachi stays put?” Hollister said.

“Keep going, I’ll back up and set the charges,” Chee said.

Every step brought Hollister searing pain, but he could also tell he wasn’t going to die anymore. Shaniah’s blood was bringing him some relief. They were a few feet away from the entrance when Chee came sprinting back.

“Probably best if we hurry,” he said. He took Hollister’s other arm and they picked up the pace, wanting to be outside before the dynamite went off. Twenty yards or so ahead of them, Dog starting barking and growling, sniffing the air ahead of him, the hair on his neck standing up.

Chee racked a round into the chamber of his Henry. Shaniah took hold of her blade with her free hand. “You think some Archaics survived out there?” Hollister asked.

“Don’t know,” said Chee. “That’s not his Archaic bark.”

Even though it hurt, Hollister had to laugh. “He has different barks?”

“Yes, sir,” Chee said. “That is his ‘bad man’ bark.”

They finally cleared the entrance and found why Dog was barking. It wasn’t Archaics. Standing just outside the mine was Slater, holding the Fire Shooter Hollister had abandoned before he entered the mine.

“Howdy,” Slater said. “Good to see you survived.”

Chapter Seventy-eight

S
later was standing in front of six mounted horsemen, deployed in a semicircle behind him. Some of them held torches, painting the area in a flickering orange-blue light. Slater was pointing the barrel of the Fire Shooter at the ground but in their general direction. All six of his men had their guns pointed at the three of them.

“Mr. Slater,” Hollister said, trying not to grimace as he spoke. “It’s awfully nice of the senator to send you here as our backup. But as you can see we managed to put these things down and everything’s fine, so your service is no longer required in this campaign.”

Slater lifted the barrel of the Fire Shooter, studying it, running his free hand over the barrel if he were inspecting a horse he wanted to buy. He smiled an ugly smile and looked at Hollister.

“I think you know he didn’t send me here for no backup,” Slater said. “You don’t look so good, by the way.”

Hollister could only imagine what he did look like, his shirt and face covered in blood and his body battered from being tossed around by Malachi inside a room made entirely of rock.

“Never better, actually,” Hollister said. “We got a lot of paperwork needs doing after all the shooting and exploding we did here. And Pinkerton and his men are on the way. So we’re going to get to it, if you’ll excuse us.”

Slater snorted. “I don’t think you got any backup coming. And even if what you’re saying is true, it’ll take Pinkerton a while to get here. And you’ll be dead and we’ll be long gone before he arrives.”

“Chee, why the hell hasn’t the dynamite gone off yet?” Hollister muttered quietly.

“What’s that? Didn’t quite catch it,” Slater said.

Chee had his Henry held at port arms and would never be able to get a shot off before one of Slater’s gun thugs shot him down.

“I was just telling Sergeant Chee here to shoot you first, once the shooting starts,” Hollister lied, trying to buy time until he could think of a way to stall Slater and his men. He tried to stand up straighter, but his wound sent another wave of pain through him and he bent forward again. The dynamite must have been duds, because there was no explosion.

“You know Shaniah here, she’s impervious to fire, plus she’s fast. Faster than Chee.”

“Well, Major Hollister, I never went to West Point, so I don’t reckon I know what ‘imperialist’ means . . .” Slater started to say.

“Impervious, not imperialist, you moron,” Hollister interrupted. “Means fire can’t kill her.”
Where is the damn dynamite?
he thought. “Chee,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth. “You still got ammo?”

“Yes, sir,” Chee replied. “Six shots.”

“Crap on a Cracker,” Hollister said. “I’m out.”

“As soon as you two finish your little conversation there, please let me know. I’d like to get to the part where I kill the three of you,” Slater said.

“Kill these men,” Shaniah said. “Burn me with your contraption there, empty all of your guns into me. I will not die. And when I heal, which will only take a matter of days, I will find you, Mr. Slater. I have your scent. I will hunt you down and I will kill you. Without any hesitation.”

Hollister was growing impatient. Standoffs like this were not his forte. In the war, on the plains, he attacked or retreated to find a better tactical position. Waiting for the fighting to start was annoying as hell. It also led to stupid mistakes, he reminded himself. He wanted his explosion, he wanted his stomach to stop hurting like a bitch, and he wouldn’t mind putting a bullet in Slater’s head just to top off his day. He was out of ideas though.

Slater stared at Shaniah, his reptilian eyes slitted nearly closed, as he considered her words.

“You know, I’ve done a lot of killing over the years,” Slater said, looking at the barrel of the Fire Shooter again. “Shot people, strangled a few, stabbed a fellow once in Wichita . . .”

“Was that you?” Hollister said. “Because I’ve heard Wichita doesn’t usually get a lot of stabbings, but this one year . . .”

“Shut your mouth!” Slater shouted. “Like I was saying, hung folks, pushed a rustler off a cliff, pretty much killed every way you can. ’Cept I ain’t ever burned anybody to death before.”

He lowered the Fire Shooter and pointed it at Chee. “While we was watching you fight these . . .” He looked around at the piles of dead bodies. “ . . . whatever the hell these things are, I got real interested in your little flamethrowers here.”

“Hey. Flamethrower, that’s a pretty good name. We were calling them Fire Shooters, but I didn’t much care for that. I like flamethrower a lot better, don’t you, Chee?” Hollister said.

“Yes, sir,” Chee said, never taking his eyes off Slater. Next to him he could sense Shaniah growing tense, waiting to spring. Chee held Dog in check some way Hollister wasn’t sure of. Probably by using his mind, for all Hollister knew.

“But wait,” Hollister said. “Did you say you were watching us fight these things? And you didn’t help us? Well, excuse me, but that’s just rude.” The dynamite was a goddamned dud; that was the only explanation. Hollister was angry he wouldn’t live long enough to tell Monkey Pete they had survived fighting a billion Archaics but were thwarted by faulty dynamite. If the three of them survived, Monkey Pete was going to get an earful. Hollister gave a sideways glance at Chee and rolled his eyes toward the mine, but Chee only shrugged.

“Shut up, Hollister. You ain’t funny. I ain’t the one sat in prison all them years like an idiot. I get to kill people and get paid for it and ain’t never got caught once. And now I’m gonna burn ya’ll, starting with the breed.” He looked at Chee “What do you think, Breed?”

“I think you better not miss,” Chee said.

Slater laughed, he turned the knob on the handle of the flamethrower and pulled the trigger. At that instant the dynamite inside the mine went off with a mighty blast. What Slater didn’t know was that the weapon Hollister had left behind had a barrel jammed with dirt and mud. The pressure mounted inside it, exploding in a burst of flames and engulfing Slater. Screaming in agony, he dropped to his knees as Monkey Pete’s fuel mixture burned the flesh from his bones.

The explosions threw the horses into a frenzy, their riders trying desperately to regain control of their mounts. The dynamite’s pressure wave knocked Shaniah and Hollister to their knees. Yet somehow Chee remained standing, and he fired the Henry shot after shot, killing five men. The rifle was empty. The last man tried to keep his horse under control and draw his pistol at the same time, until he was knocked backward out of the saddle by Chee’s bowie knife landing in the middle of his chest.

Then it was quiet. Dust filled the air. The torches had fallen to the ground and there was a little light left. Dog walked over to Slater’s remains and sniffed at him. Then he lifted his leg and peed.

“Good boy,” said Hollister. Even Chee laughed.