Dracula Lives (35 page)

Quinn dismissed the thought of people being burned alive with a curt nod. The sympathy he’d originally felt toward them as innocent victims had been smothered by seeing what they’d become. They were no longer human. They were mutant abominations that needed to be exterminated.

His brain was so permeated with lines from movies that even the worst situations could bring one to mind. As he watched the hideous mockery of life shambling and wriggling about, the Monster’s famous line from
Bride of Frankenstein
popped into his head:

“We belong dead.”

Quinn gripped the halberd. “While you’re starting the fire I’ll be watching for anything coming after us. Hopefully the wolfbane and garlic we have on us will keep them away, but—if not I’ll be doing some Grim Reaping.”

Johnny reached for the bag but Quinn shook his head. “I’ll carry this. You need both hands for the flamethrower.”

“If these things come at us, you’re going to need both hands too.”

Quinn picked up the bag. “I’ll put this down when I have to.”

Movement in the Garden got their attention. Two more of the undead were struggling to get out of their coffins.

“You ready?” Quinn said.

Johnny made one quick nod.

They descended the stairs and plunged into the Garden of Evil.

They entered the nearest of the four aisles that converged on Lady Elinore’s tomb. “Torch the ones with their eyes open first,” Quinn said.

Johnny ignited the flamethrower. She went to the first body with its eyes open—a thick-chested man wearing the camouflage of a hunter.

Before she could squeeze the trigger, his hand shot up and grabbed the barrel of the flamethrower. The fierce tug of war lasted only a few seconds before he wrested it from her hands. Apparently able to use only one arm, he struggled to turn it around so he could use it on Johnny. She snatched it back just as Quinn came up with the halberd.

Johnny thrust the flame a few inches from the thing’s face. A bottomless howl of pain erupted as the fire caught and quickly spread. She spoke loudly to be heard over the final groans of a long-postponed death.

“Kindling,” she said. “I’ll have to be more careful.”

Quinn retrieved the canvas bag and they went to the next pair of open eyes. No hands came up as Johnny shot fire into the coffin. Shuddering moans mingled with the crackling of the flame as the undead corpse writhed in agony. Johnny showed no emotion and moved on to the next. Quinn walked beside her, continually scanning the Garden. They were about twenty-five yards from Lady Elinore’s tomb when he saw movement ahead.

Her minions had left the bier and were shambling toward them. The first had just entered the aisle. The other two were close behind.

Quinn turned to get Johnny’s attention. She had just started the fourth fire. The three she’d set earlier were spreading. The howls from the burning undead grew louder. One sprang up in its coffin. Encased in fire, it groped about wildly before falling back out of sight. As the hungry flames continued to devour coffins, more of the undead caught fire. Their agonized wails were merging into a rising crescendo of death.

All three of Elinore’s undead minions had entered the aisle. Twenty yards ahead and coming toward them. “Get ready,” Quinn said. Ten yards away, they began slowing down. “The wolfbane and garlic we have on us must be having an effect.”

“Maybe,” Johnny said. “Whatever it is, let’s hit them while they’re confused.”

They charged.

Johnny set the first one on fire. Screaming, it staggered through the coffins, knocking several over as it frantically tried to brush off the flames. Quinn stormed toward the next one. It held out its hand to protect itself, but Quinn knocked the hand aside with the halberd’s blade and plunged the pike into the thing’s heart. Surprise flitted across a face that was more bone than flesh. A hollow gasp escaped the lipless mouth when Quinn yanked the pike back out, but the thing made no further outcry as it fell to the floor.

The last one started backing away. Johnny passed Quinn to go after it. Before she got there a hand shot out from a coffin and grabbed her shirt.

Quinn came up beside her and brought the battle-ax down, severing the hand at the wrist. Still it held on. He stabbed it with the pike. It released its grip and fell to the floor, still clutching. “Look at that,” he said, pointing to the blood and dust spilling out from the wrist.

“I’ve seen it before,” Johnny said. “It’s the natural forces of life and death fighting it out. Parts of them decompose, parts of them don’t.” She blasted the hand with fire until it lay still.

The last of the undead continued its retreat, weaving its way back among the coffins.

“Looks like he doesn’t want to play anymore.” Quinn picked up the bag and they entered the clearing, stopping to see if anything else was moving to intercept them before they could get to the continuation of the aisle on the other side.

Johnny reduced the flame to conserve fuel, then pointed to an area about twenty yards to the right. “Look.” Two of the undead were clambering out of their coffins.

Quinn nodded. “There’s another one over here.” To the left, several rows from where they stood, one had just gotten out of its coffin and was looking around in a daze, as though it hadn’t gained full control of its faculties. “We’ve got to get to those stairs before any of these things can pull themselves together.”

They crossed the clearing and entered the aisle that would take them to Johnny’s staircase, slowing only long enough for her to torch two more whose eyes were open. Ten yards from the end of the aisle, something darted out from under one of the coffins to block their path.

A half-corpse, gone from the waist down, began wriggling toward them.

Quinn was upending the halberd to stab the squirming thing with the pike when it suddenly reared up and launched itself, clamping both hands onto his neck. He dropped the halberd to pull them off but their grip was too strong. Johnny started to use the flamethrower but she couldn’t without burning Quinn. She set it aside and grabbed the atrocity by the waist, pulling with all her might.

Still it held on.

Quinn saw what she was doing and tried to help by pushing on the thing’s shoulders while she pulled.

The hands held fast.

Johnny’s fierce tugging ripped the torso from the arms at the shoulders. She stumbled backwards and fell. The torso landed on top of her, stumps wriggling as though trying to wrap arms that were no longer there around her. She shoved the undead freak aside and scrambled to her feet.

The arms that had been ripped off hung down in front of Quinn as the hands still held on. Blood and dust trickled from the ragged ends of the severed limbs. No longer connected to their life-giving source, the hands finally released their grip and the arms fell to the floor.

Johnny had retrieved the flamethrower and was aiming it at the torso.

“Wait.” Quinn pointed to the legless, armless remnant of a human being. The last spark in the eyes went out and a milky curtain came down. “Save the fuel.”

The two that had been rising from their coffins had just entered the aisle behind them. The one that had seemed dazed was focused now, weaving his way through the coffins to join the others. Quinn picked up the bag and halberd. “Let’s go.”

They moved quickly across the final clearing. Between them and the stairs was the mound of wolfbane. “Markov must have put this here to keep these things from getting up the stairs and disrupting his work,” Johnny said. She swung the flamethrower around. “If we set it on fire, the pungent smoke will make it even more effective.”

They looked behind them.

More undead had entered the clearing and were continuing their relentless advance.

“Do it,” Quinn said. “Quick.”

Johnny squeezed the trigger. A small fire fluttered to life, searching for oxygen in the dense tangle of wolfbane. While Johnny waited to see if it would catch, Quinn kept an eye on the undead.

They were twenty yards away. The flames spreading behind them made them look like demons emerging from Hell.

“We’ve got to go,” Quinn said.

Johnny’s attention was on the flame still struggling to stay alive. “The fire might not catch.”

He pointed to the approaching horde of undead. At least ten of them now. They had begun to slow as they got closer to the mound, finally stopping several yards away. “The natural fumes are having an effect and the coffin fires are spreading. That’ll have to do. We need to get out of here.”

Johnny extinguished the flamethrower to conserve fuel. She and Quinn squeezed through the space between the mound and stairs. Before heading up they took a last look at the Garden.

The fire kept spreading. In the orange haze of smoke, several more of the undead had risen from their coffins. Some were encased in flame and howling in agony. Others that had escaped the fire were weaving their way through the coffins. One was missing an arm; another half its face. A few of the remnants, gone from the waist down, had emerged from nooks and crannies and were wriggling along the floor.

Loyal subjects to the end
, Quinn thought.
Conqueror worms
.

“If Markov’s cameras are still recording,” Johnny said, “he couldn’t have written a better scene to show his deepest level of Hell.”

“Time to change the ending.”

Quinn had the halberd and bag of weapons, Johnny the flamethrower, and they headed up the stairs like angry villagers storming the castle.

Senses fully alert for anything lurking in the shadows, they moved through the fireplace that led to Johnny’s apartment. They stopped at the threshold before entering the bedchamber, scanning to make sure none of the undead or Markov’s creations were on the loose.

All was still and appeared undisturbed.

Even though no threats were visible, Johnny spoke in a whisper. “If the spear gun is still in the corridor, I’ll go in first and harpoon Markov. Then I can get the pistol off him.”

“Once we open that door, we’ve got to be fast. And ruthless.”

“I’ve got a lifetime of pent-up anger. Ruthless will not be a problem.”

“You’ll have your hands full with the spear gun. I’ll open the door, you charge. I’ll be right behind you with the halberd and flamethrower. You finish Markov, I’ll torch Elinore. Once we eliminate the Lord and Lady, their followers won’t know what to do. We can’t give them a second to breathe.”

She nodded. “This is the moment Markov has been aiming for his whole life. He’ll be super alert, and he won’t go down without a fight.”

“Got it,” Quinn said.

They took a last look around to be sure nothing was stirring, then quickly made their way through the apartment and into the corridor.

The spear gun was still lying where Johnny had dropped it when fighting the Grim Reaper. She re-armed the gun with the spear, and they continued down the hall until they stood at the door to Markov’s studio. They set the things they were carrying down and Quinn pulled the skeleton key from his pocket. Johnny slid her finger onto the trigger of the spear gun.

Quinn eased the key into the lock and gave her a nod. She nodded back. In one swift movement he turned the key and opened the door. Johnny charged in. Quinn shoved the bag of weapons inside with his foot and followed fast behind with the flamethrower and halberd.

Twenty-five yards away in the long rectangular room, Markov sat at his editing console with his back to them. His hands played over the keyboard and oversized mouse like a pianist lost in the crescendo. Standing beside him, looking very much like a mummy in her grave wrappings, Lady Elinore was absorbed by whatever was happening on his computer screen.

The six undead she had brought from the Garden moved to block the charge. Much sturdier and more nimble than the ones below, they formed a protective phalanx with such quickness and precision it looked as though they had been handpicked and trained for exactly that purpose. Within seconds they stood shoulder to shoulder, showing no fear.

Johnny stopped several yards short of the inhuman wall. Seconds later Quinn was by her side. He put the halberd and bag of weapons down and ignited the flamethrower. Just beyond the line of bodyguards, Markov sat unfazed with his back to them. At the far end of the room, the full-sized movie screen showed him editing the last of the new footage onto his film: Quinn and Johnny escaping the dungeon and fighting their way through the Garden.

They watched Markov casually move his hand from the mouse to pick up the pistol that lay beside it. Next to the pistol sat the gloves and goggles he used to manipulate his special effects. Next to them sat Vlad Dracula’s crown. He slowly swiveled his chair around to face them.

He was wearing Lon Chaney’s mask from
The Phantom of the Opera.
Perfectly re-creating Chaney’s iconic moment in horror cinema, he stood and ripped it off.

Quinn and Johnny stared in shock at the repulsive thing that Markov had become.

He was the hideous Dracula from his own movie—
The Blood of Dracula
—which was actually Lon Chaney’s from
The Un-Dead
.

The madness had won.

Quinn shook himself out of his daze. He backed the undead out of the way with a five-foot jet of flame, waving it from side to side.

Markov and Lady Elinore stood unprotected. Johnny raised the spear gun. Markov aimed the pistol at her.

“Drop it,” he said.

“You first.”

The spear hissed through the air. It went through Markov’s heart with such force it pinned him to the wall. Johnny followed the spear and went to watch her father die. Twitching death throes began. The pistol fell from his hand. Elinore moved to pick it up, but Quinn backed her away with the flamethrower and grabbed it. As he held Elinore at bay, he was stunned to hear Johnny taunting her father with words from Poe’s
Conqueror Worm
:

“It writhes! It writhes!”

Elinore lurched toward her. “Using the Poe he taught you against him. You ungrateful witch.”

Quinn jammed the pistol in his waistband and swung the flamethrower around. He looked at Johnny before squeezing the trigger that would incinerate her adopted mother.