The Arcanum, page 29
Abigail jumped to her feet. “What’s happening?”
“Sit down,” Bess said soothingly. “It’s only—”
A curdling squeal echoed down the car, and a flash through the windows revealed a trio of demons flowing down the aisle, their ruby eyes glinting, sickles biting into anything in their path. Bess watched in horror as the conductor caught a blade under the ribs and was flung forward like a rag doll, to land atop a family of five.
Abigail scrambled over Bess and toppled into the aisle.
“Abigail!” Bess screamed, then cursed herself for revealing the name. For amidst the screams of the passengers came squeals of discovery as the demons located their prey.
ABIGAIL KNOCKED OVER a waiter as she ran, sending wine-glasses tumbling. As she reached the car door, she looked back and saw creatures following, heard the screams of frightened passengers. She pushed open the door and darted into the windy gap between cars. Abigail could see the train tracks flashing by beneath her, and the steam whistle shrieked as it announced the Empire State’s arrival at the Tarrytown station. Abigail lunged across the pedestrian bridge above the couplers and stumbled into the next passenger car, the train whistle blurring into the howling of her pursuers as they burst through the door behind her.
And still Abigail kept running, until she came to the engine cab and slammed into the iron instrument panel. This close to the engines, the noise was deafening.
The engineer scowled at her. “Get back to yer seat.”
Abigail touched a hand to her bleeding forehead. She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t find the words.
Something about her expression must have alerted the engineer, for he leaned toward her. “What’s the matter?”
His answer came in the form of a long neck, which swiveled around the doorway, topped off by a lean head in a sackcloth hood, with rubies in place of eyes.
The engineer cast his eyes from the creature to Abigail and back again. He released the air brake and climbed off his chair, placing himself between them.
“What the Christ is going—?” he began, then the demon raised its blade. Abigail saw the sickle bite deep into the engineer’s gut. Something splashed on the floor. Then a wet, red hook lifted, and the engineer fell into a corner of the cab.
“Water,” the engineer begged.
The creature then reached for Abigail, who sprang onto the engineer’s chair and scuttled out the open window, out of reach of those long fingers.
Wind screamed in her ears and tugged at her oversized coat. She looked down at the tracks flashing past beneath her. Should she slip, she would fall beneath the train and be ground into chopped meat.
With shaking hands, she reached along the outer wall of the cab and grabbed a maintenance railing as the demon lunged after her. Half of its lithe body dangled from the cab, arms swinging for Abigail as she leaped onto the rounded neck of the K-4 engine—the vibrating, superheated, 242-ton power core. She slid her small feet along the narrow ledge, fists affixed to the steel railing, standing over the chewing cylinders and valve chest, the crisscrossing rods, links, and reversing gears. Her hat flew off her head, bouncing off the body of the demon that followed her onto the engine. Its robes rattled in the wind as it gurgled, uncertain, jewel eyes glancing down, bandaged feet sliding, cautiously, on the ledge.
INSIDE THE ENGINEER’S cab, two more demons studied the complex tubing of the instrument panel. Their heads swayed as wet purrs sounded off the iron walls. Then one took hold of the throttle lever, which was currently pointing up, slowing the train down to less than thirty miles per hour. With a squeal, the demon pulled the lever back down, and the engines kicked in protest. Valves shuddered and cylinders trembled as superheated steam was introduced from the steam dome into the boiler, forcing the pistons through the piston rods, which, in turn, pushed and pulled the valve rods, freeing more steam.
With fresh plumes of exhaust rising from the chimney, the Empire State Express began speeding up.
EVEN AT SIXTY miles per hour, Houdini feared he would not catch the train. The landscape on either side of him, the rising highlands, he knew as the approach to Tarrytown. The railroad tracks turned away from the river and headed west. Houdini knew the Empire State would have to circle through Irvington before the Tarrytown stop. His only hope of catching up would be a direct route through the rolling countryside. So, taking a deep breath, Houdini opened the throttle and soared off the tracks, passing over a rocky embankment, landing ugly on his front wheel in a river valley pasture with only mud roads. Houdini toppled from the Scout and struck the ground some twenty feet away, landing on his back. The Scout wheezed on its side as its wheels spun. Favoring his ribs, Houdini ran to the cycle, righted it, straddled the seat, and tore across the field.
Cresting a promontory twenty minutes later, surrounded on all sides by lush valleys and cornfields, Houdini caught sight of the Empire State Express and the spires of the tallest church in Tarrytown. The train tracks plunged through the heart of the village, and from his high vantage, Houdini could see the thick puffs of steam as the train started to move faster.
Houdini surged straight into the cornfields. The Scout’s wheels battered and bounced off the dried mud, spitting chunks of dirt and loosening wheel bolts, while Houdini propped himself above the seat, knees bending to absorb each impact. Then the cornfields parted, and Houdini roared onto the main road.
Thanks to the shortcut, he had arrived in Tarrytown in advance of the train. The Scout flew down a residential street, engines whining and straining. The whistle of the train pierced the air.
Gradually, the estates of Tarrytown gave way to the village center—to restaurants, drugstores, and clothiers, all closed for the evening. Between the buildings, Houdini could see the Empire State building up speed, blasting past the train station at fifty miles per hour and climbing.
Knowing the area, Houdini realized that he would have one shot—and one shot only—to overtake the locomotive. He throttled the motorcycle for one final, all-out surge.
The few pedestrians still on the streets dove for safety as the Indian V-Twin rocketed for the cobblestone bridge spanning the train tracks. The Empire State had already passed halfway under the bridge. Houdini had mere seconds to act.
He steered the cycle onto the bridge, turned his body toward the train, tucked his legs under him, feet on the seat, fingers grazing the handlebars. He knelt down into a crouch, measuring the distance with his eyes, and dove from the motorcycle. The world’s greatest magician cleared the bridge wall—arms waving to control the trajectory of his flight—soared through the night air, and plunged thirty feet down onto the last passenger car.
His body spun on impact and rolled wildly left. In the blink of an eye, Houdini was dangling off the side, one hand attached to the maintenance railing, the rest of his body pitched above the rushing ground.
THE SILVER GHOST skidded to a stop on the dirt shoulder of a hilly road in the Hudson Highlands. Doyle, Lovecraft, and Marie spilled out of the car and raced to the edge of the lookout. From the crest, they could see the waters of the Hudson and, to the south, the distant lights of Tarrytown. Then a whistle blew, and the Empire State Express snaked around a wooded corner, its headlight gleaming fiercely.
Lovecraft suddenly pointed. “Look!”
All eyes went to the third-to-last passenger car, where a man in a tattered linen shirt was battling the winds, running the length of the roof, and diving to the next car.
“That’s Herry,” Marie exclaimed.
“He’s mad,” Lovecraft said as Houdini made another perilous leap.
“Yes, he is,” Doyle said, a small smile on his lips. “And thank God for it.” He turned to the others as the train vanished around another bend. “Back to the car. We’ll catch them in the hills.”
44
ABIGAIL HUGGED THE rounded top of the engine car. Tarrytown was nothing more than points of light now, lost in the distance. An occasional punch of wind landed in the depths of her coat, threatening to fling her off the train. So, she wormed free of the garment and it flew away, cartwheeling across the train roof.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t shed the demon quite as easily. With a squeal of rage, it locked its hand around her ankle. Abigail tried to kick it away, but the demon pulled at her with unexpected strength, slowly dragging her closer. At the last instant, she wrapped her arms around the bronze bell set between the chimneys, clinging tightly. But far from deterring the creature, this only encouraged the demon to use her as a ladder, climbing up her body and onto the roof of the cab.
She couldn’t leap clear; the land dropped away sharply to either side of the tracks. And the train was moving too quickly.
The demon freed its sickle and clumsily swung at her. The blade clanged loudly off the bell. Keeping her grip on the bell, Abigail let her body swing down along the side of the train, then hooked the railing with her foot and used that to scamper up the other side of the bell. The demon was not so agile, and seemed reluctant to follow.
Abigail, however, had run out of train. Gouts of steam erupted from the chimney stack only a few feet from her head. The heat was unbearable, and the sound deafening as the train screamed down the tracks at ever-increasing speeds.
Abigail looked up at the stars. Though it went against all she had trained herself to believe, flight was an option. But to do so was an admission of her inhumanity. It threatened to burst wide a psychological dam, holding back two thousand years of abandonment and shame. Her wings were a reminder of what had been lost. The sky was not her escape but her prison. If she was to die, she would die human.
The demon raised its sickle again, and Abigail moved her hand just in time to prevent it from being hacked off. But the demon continued to target her handhold, forcing Abigail to switch hands and then, finally, to release the bell altogether. There was nothing to hold on to anymore. She was backed up against the chimney, hotter than any furnace. At the next burst of wind, she’d be thrown off the train.
The glowing eyes of another demon peered over the engine roof. It was less hesitant than its fellow, pulling itself onto the maintenance railing then climbing onto the roof.
Abigail could see more demons lining up on the narrow ledge outside the engineer’s cab, their robes whipping about like curtains in a storm, their keening squeals a victory cry. One by one, they advanced on her.
When the next set of gem eyes broke the plane, whatever crumbs of hope Abigail had left blew away in the winds. It writhed onto the roof, its robes like a cape of living shadow. It called to her like it knew her, gurgling in that spit-clogged voice, reaching out with long-bandaged fingers.
Abigail felt despair fill her. She’d done all she could to avoid them, but it seemed they wanted her to die more than she wanted to live. Because what was she, after all? She was neither human nor angel. She was the last of the Lost Tribe, an affront to God—as much a disappointment as the abominations of the Flood. And Abigail was tired. She stared at the approaching demons and imagined the killing blow, hoping that it would be fast and painless.
The closest demon reared back, and its sickle cut across the silver moon. Abigail could see the engineer’s blood still dripping off the steel. But as the creature leaned forward to strike, something pulled its robes, and the demon flew off the train and into the path of an oncoming telephone pole. Flesh met wood pillar with a sickening thud, and the demon fell away into the brush.
Houdini dragged himself up the side of the train and into the demon’s place. He took Abigail’s hands and locked them around the bell once more. “Hang on, sweetheart.”
Then Houdini spun around, balancing on his fingertips, and swept a leg into the knee joint of the next approaching demon, snapping its leg like kindling. It squealed and flopped backwards, inadvertently knocking the third demon from its feet. The wind did the rest. The third demon slid over the side, somersaulting over a dozen jagged boulders before vanishing over the side of the hill.
The demon with the broken leg sat up and took hold of Houdini’s shirt, yanking him forward. Houdini collided with the rear chimney, scalding his hands. The demon pulled Houdini down on top of it and they wrestled, rolling perilously back and forth near the edges. Houdini coughed and gagged as the demon stuck its fingers in his mouth, perhaps trying to tear out his soul. His stomach recoiled at the taste of its rotted hands. The keening demon scrambled on top of Houdini and dug its sharp nails into the flesh of his neck, pressing, strangling. Houdini clawed at the creature’s face, snatching one of its gem eyes and ripping it free. The demon wailed as the gem eye dangled from living veins and fabric strings.
Then Houdini curled into a ball, wedged his feet under the demon’s ribs, and launched it into the air. The demon’s robes snagged in a passing oak, and Abigail watched the body snap into a dozen shapes around the massive branches.
THE SILVER GHOST fishtailed out of the forest and onto a narrow strip of dirt road that ran parallel to the railroad tracks and the Empire State Express. The left-side wheels of the Rolls bumped over loose rocks, grazing the edges of a long trench that ran between the tracks and the road.
The train howled and burped smoke like an Abyssal dragon.
The driver’s door of the Silver Ghost swung open as Doyle pressed the accelerator to the floor, measuring the distance between the train and the car.
“What are you doing?” Lovecraft exclaimed.
“Howard, take the wheel,” Doyle commanded.
“Good God.” Lovecraft nervously grasped the wheel as Doyle turned to face the train, hands braced to either side of the car door.
“Arthur, non!” Marie pulled at his jacket, but he shook her off. He could see the frightened faces of the passengers pressed to the windows, beating with their fists for release. He knew the time had come to act.
Long weeds whacked the tips of his shoes as Doyle looked down into the rock-strewn trench as it flew by. The train was slowly passing them.
Then Lovecraft gestured frantically to him; the train was entering a tunnel, and the road they were on ended in a wall.
Realizing he could wait no longer, Doyle turned back to the train. A passenger car was pulling level with the Rolls, the hollow of the doorway steps as close as it would get.
Doyle stood up in the doorway of the Silver Ghost as Lovecraft slid into the driver’s seat. The car swerved, nearly pitching Doyle out, but he held fast. The wind whipped his jacket as he leaped for the passenger stairwell. He landed hard, knocking the air from his lungs, then slid down the stairs—stunned—and grabbed the edge of the railing just in time. His body bucked off the gravel on the side of the tracks. The ground tore at his clothes and stripped his skin. His legs bounced along the side of the train, slipping closer to the chewing wheels, as his arms pulled with all their strength.
Then slender hands wrapped around his wrists, and Bess Houdini appeared. “Arthur!”
The extra leverage gave Doyle the strength he needed to pull himself onto the steps. There he collapsed, panting, while Bess draped her body over his in relief.
LOVECRAFT SLAMMED BOTH feet on all three pedals as the Empire State Express vanished into the tunnel and the stone wall rushed up to meet him. The wheels locked, kicking up a cloud of dirt, and the car twisted and threatened to roll over as Lovecraft fought the wheel. Then the Rolls-Royce came to a squealing halt mere inches from the wall.
Lovecraft wiped the sweat from his brow, and sat back, exhausted. But Marie slapped his shoulder as she squirmed into the front seat.
“What you waitin’ for, Howard? Turn us around!”
AS THE EMPIRE State Express reemerged from the tunnel, Houdini lifted his head. He had been crouched protectively over Abigail, but now he saw the roof of the engine car was awash in demons. They advanced in small steps, using their numbers to shield them against the wind.
Houdini pulled Abigail to her feet, surveying the sweeping cornfields to the right and the woods up ahead.
A sickle hissed within inches of their faces, then another. Houdini yanked Abigail behind him, knowing that he couldn’t fight them all.
They wailed at him like a single organism: a wall of fluttering black with dozens of gleaming eyes.
Houdini turned and hugged Abigail tightly. “Close your eyes,” he told her, “and relax your body into mine. I’ll hold you.”
As Abigail sagged into Houdini’s arms, he scooped her up, one arm under her knees and the other wrapped around her waist. He dodged a sickle, and it clanged off the chimney stack. Three more blades rose up as Houdini pulled Abigail close, then jumped off the train.
A cloud of dirt burst from the side of the hill as they landed, their bodies flopping and tumbling into a swaying sea of corn-stalks.
Houdini flew like a cannonball through the first several rows of stalks, crumpling, finally, into a bruised and battered heap. He tried to climb to his knees, but toppled back onto the ground—spent. When he called Abigail’s name, a fork of pain cut off the word. He looked down at his left arm lying weird and crooked on the dirt—dislocated. Wincing, he gripped his left biceps and jammed his shoulder back into its socket.
DOYLE PULLED BESS through train cars teeming with hysterical passengers. The sound of breaking glass occasionally punctuated the panicked screams, as some desperate souls attempted to dive out the window to safety. Bloody bodies lined the floor, marking the demons’ path.
The number of wounded increased as they arrived at the door to the engine car. In front of the door lay a bespectacled man, clutching his slashed face. He grabbed at Doyle’s pant leg.
“Some kind of monsters . . . don’t go in there.”
Doyle turned to Bess. “Stay here.”
“Please be careful, Arthur. They’re not human.”
“Yes, I know.”
Bess knelt down to tend to the wounded man as Doyle forced open the door, letting in the screech and howl of the winds. He shut the door behind him and clung to the rails of the small bridge above the couplers. The last door lay straight ahead. He crossed to it and wrenched the handle. The door slid open. Soot and steam filled the car, and it smelled heavily of blood. And no wonder, for there was a wide swath of it on the floor, and the engineer lay curled there—dead—though his stomach still hiccupped blood.
