Bride of the Night (16 page)

She thrust the poor seaman forced to do the monster's bidding far behind her, and set a hand on the bedpost. The seaman would see her, of course, but she had no choice. When the monster took a step toward her, she tightened her grip on the bedpost. The changed
thing
stared at her.

“I'll enjoy every minute of this, the lead up to the taste of your sweet fragrant flesh…?.”

P
ETE STOOD WITH
F
INN
high upon the wall. From that vantage point, they could see below to the yard, onward to the town and south to the sea.

Finn pointed to the inner yard, and the level of rooms up a short flight of steps. “You must rest assured that Tara is well. They are offering her no discomfort. Calloway is not a bad man. Most men cannot be convinced that such an unearthly danger exists, especially men who have fought the years he has. So many of the captains and commanders are old warhorses from the Mexican War, and the enemies they know are guns or cannons, or they've seen men die of yellow fever and dysentery and other horrible diseases. Death is all too final for them. They can't imagine a disease that causes the once-dead to ravage and murder with heedless delight.”

“Except for Tremblay,” Pete said, looking at him.

Finn nodded.

“Tara saved his life.”

“Yes.”

“You let her.”

Finn nodded. “Tara is still…learning. It was her choice, Pete.”

“She is like my child.”

“I know.”

Finn was surprised to realize that he was feeling like an errant suitor; he didn't have to explain himself. And yet, he felt that he should. “There was not really a choice, but what there was, Tara made it.” He inhaled. “I would do whatever it took to save her, Pete.”

The Indian turned away. He was a strong man; in the dim lights from the fort and the sky, his face seemed etched in character. Finn found himself touched by emotions he hadn't felt in years. He wondered what Tara's young life had been like, and he was glad that she'd had such a man to watch over her—even if her own strength far excelled his by the very nature of the being he tried so hard to protect.

“I swear, I would never harm her,” he added, and he heard the tremor and the passion in his own voice.

One night…

Just one night. And it was changing him. He had to take care, because he needed the single-mindedness he had maintained throughout the war, and he needed to remember that his quest was greater than either of them.

But even as he looked at Pete, he felt an odd shift in the air.

Pete, somehow attuned to things that other men re
fused to see, looked at Finn. “There's a change in the wind,” he said.

Tara.

 

T
ARA HAD GONE THROUGH
her life knowing what she was. She knew human ways more than anything, however. She had not imagined the truth of what she might have been, or what her father might have been.

This man—newly turned, she thought—had a ravenous, crazed hunger in his eyes. He spoke, he moved, but he was…off. Finn said that some survived and learned to be crafty, to take care and live and move in the world. But not this one. Someone was behind everything that was happening here, someone so adept at what he had become that he didn't look anything like one, with fangs visible, saliva dripping, eyes burning with insanity.

“Let's play, pretty girl. Let's play!” he said.

Behind her, the seaman who had brought her supper tray was sniveling in terror.

She tightened her grip on the bedpost, hoping that her strength would not fail her at this moment.

The man watched her, and took a step closer.

She grasped the bedpost and jerked at it, using all her strength. The wood came clear, a nail protruding off the knobbed side of the post.

The undead man gave pause.

She didn't.

She swung the bedpost, knocking it against his head with all her might. He stumbled back, and she stepped forward and thrust her makeshift weapon into his chest.

She set her weight against it, and impaled him, creating a massive hole in his torso.

“Holy Mary, mother of God!” the terrified man behind her yelped.

Again, Tara slammed the post harder into the creature now flailing on the floor. He went still, eyes open, but the gleaming flame dissipated. He was truly dead at last, at peace, she could only hope.

She turned to the seaman. “Get up. Sound the alarm. The fort is under attack!”

He didn't move.

“Seaman!
Get up.
Our lives remain in the balance!”

He still stared at the dead man, shaking and stunned. Tara reached out a hand to him, and he looked at her with uncertainty.

“Please, man! The battle we're about to engage in may be far more horrendous than any you have seen at war.”

He looked into her eyes, nodded, grasped her hand, and rose.

 

F
INN WAS ON THE WALL
when he heard the cry to arms.

He realized that he was heedless of who might be watching as he tore across the grounds and up the steps to the rows of rooms and barracks there. Pete ran behind him, though he could not keep up.

Finn paused when he reached the landing. Men were running in from all directions. They were armed with their swords, as instructed, but they surrounded
Tara
.

“She's killed one o' us!” a man cried, pointing at her, and the men seemed ready to advance on her.

Just as Tara was about to speak, another stepped forward. “No—no. It's Irving Watson, and
he
threatened my life, forcing me to open the door to her chambers. He weren't Irving no more, I can tell you that for sure!” the second man said. “She saved my life, she did, and how she did it I do not know, except that God Himself intervened, and that's all I'll ever say!”

The men seemed convinced by the plea, but before further action could be taken a commotion down in the yard rang loud. Finn turned.

“It's happening,” he said. He looked at the man on the ground, and saw that he had been armed with a rifle and saber. He drew the saber from the man's sheath and tossed it to Tara.

“I'm going for the prisoners!” she cried. “Richard…he, the others, they'll have no defense.”

They rushed down the stairs.

In the parade ground, Finn quickly saw that two haggard men had fallen some of the other soldiers, who, forewarned, kept their distance and managed to behead both of the enemy.

From the cells where the prisoners were kept, there came a scream as if Satan had squeezed a banshee. Finn turned quickly, following Tara, both racing to the stairs faster than most men could fathom.

Tara beat him there and was wrestling with the bolt
on the iron door leading to the prison cells when he caught up.

“Let me,” Finn said.

She stepped back. He moved forward, glanced behind him and shoved the door in, breaking the bolt.

Richard was doing his best to keep the three infected men in the cells from attacking the others, but one already lay on the ground, gurgling as blood bubbled from his throat. Richard was using the leg off the single small stand in the room to battle off the two prisoners who had turned. He was holding his own, but he was pinned atop the pallet that had once served as someone's bed.

Finn rushed in, sword at the ready, decapitating the man nearest the blockade runner. Richard gave him a nod of gratitude, and Finn turned to the next being in the room. When he had finished off the last attacker, he turned to see that Captain Calloway had rushed into the prison cell, as well. Looking at the man, he said without pomp, “Sir, as you can see now, the truth is just as we have warned.”

Calloway looked ill. “They were my men who died tonight, and these fellows were simple prisoners we had taken in. One had hurled tomatoes at my men, and now he is on the floor, in a pool of blood. This can't be real. Disease makes a man sick. It makes him weak.”

The commander's voice died. For a moment, Finn just watched as disbelief turned into a sick truth within Calloway's mind.

“Captain Calloway, a rabid dog is dying. But as he
dies, he becomes vicious and will attack against any odds.”

Calloway swallowed hard, staring at Finn. “So, you have seen this before.”

“Yes. And you must be prepared to deal with this situation. I've known of such outbreaks in the past, as does the government, which gives me authority to dispatch it. I believe that most likely there is one individual who has hidden his contraction of the disease and perpetuates this chaos. He thrives on the death—and the blood. This will not end until the host is brought down—that individual who kills and creates death and mayhem for his amusement, or to reach a goal. You
must
be prepared to deal with it—as I have instructed you.”

Calloway nodded, still watching him as he did so. “As you have warned, Agent Dunne, so we are already preparing.”

“The mayor must be warned, too,” Pete said, standing behind him. “Now.”

Calloway nodded again.

“I'll go with you,” Finn told the Seminole.

He looked across the cell. Richard was still panting from his exertion, and holding Tara against him. Something bittersweet twisted in his heart. He had her in a way that Richard never would; Richard had her youth, her history and her loyalty. He held something that Finn never could.

“Let's go,” he said to Pete.

“I'll send men with you,” Calloway told him.

“No,” Pete said. “We will best manage this mission alone—not military.”

“Bring horses,” Calloway commanded. He turned and looked at the dead men on the ground, and at the other prisoners who were huddled against the floors or walls, terrified.

“If your home is on these islands, go there. Protect your families.”

Some of the men scurried out. One, and landless man, remained behind, wishing to join the fight.

Calloway would have to handle the problems in the fort. Finn looked at Tara. Her eyes met his with understanding. He was fairly certain they had quelled the danger in the fort for the night, but she knew she had to keep guard, and he knew that she was up to the task.

He turned and left with Pete. Outside, horses were ready for them. He and Pete mounted up; the gate was opened, and they rode across the island, seeking the civilian authority.

Crossing the causeway, Finn found himself looking back at the fort. The high walls rose in the night, and the water and the moat surrounded the fort; the guns stood tall and dark and ominous up on the ramparts.

They rode through the night. The island was a mix of paths and dirt roads, and there were simple homes in the shotgun style; in summer, the front and rear doors would be open—so that a shotgun's bullet could pass clear through—allowing for the ocean breezes to cool down the inhabitants. There were enormous mansions,
built by wealth made off the business of salvage. Barns were scattered here and there. Dogs barked, and the whinny of horses could be heard as they moved along. Pete knew the way.

The mayor's house was a handsome edifice, elegantly built with trim in mahogany, brought in from the Caribbean. A boy rushed out to take the horses, and the pair hurried up the wooden porch steps. Someone was playing a piano from a salon highlighted by elegant bay windows. They were stopped by a manservant in the doorway.

“We must see the mayor,” Pete said.

“My name is Phineas Dunne, Pinkerton, and we have urgent business with the mayor.”

“What is the ruckus?” someone demanded from the salon before the servant could reply.

A middle-aged man suddenly filled the entryway. He looked at the two of them with indignant query.

“We have come to warn of an attack,” Pete said.

The man looked at them, his brows rising higher. He almost smiled. “An attack? By whom? The people have long claimed to be on the side of the State of Florida first and foremost. The Union sits hard in the fort. We tend to go about life here, Pete, and you know that well. Now, you're interrupting my niece's parlor piece, and she's a shy girl—”

“This is an attack by neither North nor South, sir,” Finn explained. “You will not be prepared for the strange horde that has inflicted the fort, and which may
well take to the people of Key West. These sick men, they do not die, but awaken to feed on others.”

“Feeding?”
the mayor demanded.

“This is not an idle warning,” Pete said.

“You must see that the people are prepared. There must be safety for them,” Finn said.

“Danger? What is this danger?” the mayor demanded.

“Please, can you sound the alarm?” Pete asked.

“You've just said that the fort was diseased. What would you have me do? Bring Southern citizens to bide in a Union fort, where this ‘disease' has already run rampant?”

“Bring them to the church,” Finn said.

“This is preposterous!” the mayor said. “Is this some plan to harass the citizens yet further?”

“Neither of us is part of the Union military,” Finn told him.

An attractive woman came to stand at the man's side. She appeared slightly pale. “What will it hurt, to be safe? Edward, please. Sound the alarm. Bring the citizens to the church. We'll let these men have their say.”

“
Preposterous.
Utterly preposterous!” the mayor said. “This is Key West! We've had scalawags and pirates, and every form or brigand in between. Union and Southern. But a disease in which the stricken rise and kill…such madness. Will the Union soldiers laugh at us, and say, ‘Ah, the citizens of Key West are but simpletons!'?”

“It is no laughing matter to any man within the fort,” Finn told him.

“You are responsible for the citizens,” the woman said quietly.

The mayor was silent. He inhaled. “The commander at the fort knows of this?”

“Once again, we've come from the fort,” Pete said. He stood solidly before the mayor. “I am a citizen of Key West. I've seen this. Call the people.”

The mayor looked to his valet. “Get to the rectory. The father is away on business, but wake his curate, young Father Timothy. Have him sound the church bells. See that all are summoned to meet at the church.”

The valet looked at them all with wide eyes. He nodded and hurried out.