Dracula 1912

  ***

  Art mounted a metal ladder fixed to the wall of the officers’ quarters and stood atop the poop deck for a moment before the massive forward funnel, digging in his pockets for loose bullets. Off in the distance, a ball of light shone on the horizon, an approaching steamship; it seemed that Dracula would not have his holocaust after all.

  Barely noticing Seward and Van Helsing in tow, Art snapped the cylinder shut and walked to the edge of the deck.

  The forward most part of the boat deck was empty, eerily so. A daunting wave of humanity, becoming more and more panicked as the list grew, pressed closely aft. But here, there was...

  There! Two figures along the fore-bridge, one of them exaggeratedly tall. Surely, Dracula.

  “…Kill ‘em, that damn Lord Bastard was heavy, I tried my best to get him over, but…”

  Apparently, some ice had been left on the deck after the collision, and Art had the queer misfortune of stepping on a crisp chunk as he sneaked up behind Murdoch and Dracula. With a muttered curse, realizing that his plans had been foiled, Art raised and fired the gun, even as the two men simultaneously swung around.

  The first bullet sang harmlessly over the bow and into the night, the second hit Dracula in the back of the head, knocking it forward and bringing a small cry of pain from his throat. The third took Murdoch in the head, and with a leaping heart, Art was sure that he had killed the son of a bitch. But, with drawling horror, Art watched as Murdoch, his hat carried over the barrier by the bullet, steadied.

  “Bastard!” Murdoch screamed, raising his own pistol and firing twice in rapid secession, both bullets whizzing past Art’s head. Up the deck people screamed.

  Ducking behind a wall, Art aimed and squeezed the trigger.

  Click-click.

  “Goddamn it!” he howled. Another bullet whizzed by him.

  He dug in his pocket for more bullets, but Murdoch, emboldened, started coming forward. With a muttered curse, Art abandoned his position and rushed up the deck, nearly knocking into Seward and Van Helsing, who joined his flight.

  Glancing over his shoulder, Van Helsing saw that Murdoch and Dracula were close behind. Thinking fast, hoping that Dracula would keep after Art,Van Helsing ducked in the next doorway, mashing himself up against the closed door to the wireless hut. Dracula, in his rage, had outrun and passed Murdoch, and flew by the door without so much as a second glance.

  Please let me do this right, Van Helsing silently prayed. Gripping his cane in one hand, Van Helsing emerged from the doorway like jack-in-the-box, just as Murdoch was passing. With a grunt of exertion, Van Helsing swung the cane, and delivered a noisy whack to the back of Murdoch’s right leg. With a pitiable howl, Murdoch dropped to the deck, the gun sliding away.

  Van Helsing, cane raised high, fell on Murdoch. But after only two light smacks to the legs, Murdoch lunged, wrapping his arms around Van Helsing’s ankles and upsetting him. With a cry of shock, sure that he was as good as dead, he toppled back...