Horror Express by David O'Hanlon

Author:David O'Hanlon [O'Hanlon, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Poverty Row Entertainment
Published: 2021-02-16T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Chuck’s feet flew into the air and his back met the floorboards with a bone-jarring impact. The blood around him led back to the exsanguinated remains of a plump matron. He rolled away from her body and tried to crawl clear, only for his knees to slip and his face to splat into the bodily fluid. He pressed himself off the floor and looked back the way he came. The mad priest didn’t seem to be pursuing him, but he wasn’t going to take any chances.

He ran as fast as he could, throwing open doors and leaving them ajar as he made his way to the front of the car. Chuck should never have left the engine. The engine was always safe. The door was solid iron. Then there was Johnnie. No one could best Johnnie in a brawl. He should’ve stayed in the engine. He made it to the eleventh coach and froze instantly.

The lights were off.

The bloody carpet stuck to his shoes, making an odd sound as he took a tentative step forward. Chuck held his breath as he ventured into the gloom. He knew that the priest couldn’t get ahead of him. Even if he went back onto the roofs and ran across, the wind was too harsh to get this far up so fast. He certainly wouldn’t have time to disable the lights. The generator’s cables probably froze and snapped—it happened from time to time, or so he’d heard. A bit of moonlight danced through the windows along the roof. Dust particles sparkled in the light. Chuck steeled his nerve and took his final step.

***

Tremblay watched from the shadows as the man stumbled into the car. The passenger compartment provided plenty of cover. More so, if the man had come from the right direction. He had expected the creature to come from the front of the train. The idea that the killer was at his back the entire time twisted his stomach like Irish knotwork. He could have died at any moment. The killer, the man-thing that it was, could have just pushed him through when he was dangling beneath the train and no one would have even known where to find his remains.

He shuddered and tried to refocus. The moonlight wasn’t much help, but it was enough. The man’s body was slick with blood, turned black by the magnesium rays washing through the high glass. It was obvious that this man was possessed by the—whatever it was. He was practically bathed in the evidence. Tremblay held his breath as the man edged forward.

If the trap didn’t work, then he would surely be discovered. He was no fighter. The creature would murder him and possess his mind like it had so many others. What secrets would he give it? Wells’ commentary on atomic weapons scratched at the back of his mind. As did his previous research with Tesla and that horrid device they made. Would he arm this thing once it had his mind? His stomach lurched.

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