Bureau 13: Damned Nation Page 2

  The book hit the werewolf in the haunches and harmlessly bounced off, the creature seeming more confused than annoyed.

  "Oh crud,” Joshua muttered, backing away quickly. I'd best leave this to the men with guns. The butler had a 1776 Manton horsepistol in his room, but the .75 gun was loaded with gravel and arsenic for the rats in the basement. Somehow, the butler felt that mixture would not do much against a monster from the deepest pit of the Unholy Abyss.

  Slamming aside the office door, four Union soldiers burst into the room, their rifles at the ready.

  "Shoot it!” Mr. Stanton shouted, yanking a sword from the ornate scabbard hanging from the belt of a paralyzed Naval officer. “Shoot the damn thing!"

  Seeing the bloody corpse on the floor, the Union bodyguards needed no further prompting to aim their Sharps rifles and start rapidly firing. The new-fangled repeaters unleashed a hellstorm of hot lead at the animal until the office was foggy from the black powder discharges.

  Finished with their reloading, the soldiers in the corner added the strident firepower of their big-bore Springfield rifles, and the devil dog was driven backwards against the wall again, howling and snarling like a lunatic in Bedlam.

  "Summon the battalion!” President Lincoln commanded, rising to his feet, an arm pressed to his chest as if cradling a wound.

  At the sound of his voice, the werewolf turned and charged through the smoky gunfire, knocking aside Stanton. Pulling out a silver-plated Colt with an ivory handle, Vice President Hamlin blew flame at the passing demon. Nicolay threw an ink bottle at the beast, and Hey added a wooden stool. Both of the impromptu missiles hit the target, but bounced off doing no more appreciable damage than the lead miniballs.

  Scrambling over the map table, the monster paused in surprise as President Lincoln dropped into a boxing stance and hammered a rock-hard fist at the sensitive nose of the canine.

  Blinded by the searing pain, the werewolf backed away, only now spotting the sterling silver ring on the hand of the bony politician. Curse the luck, the prey was wearing death metal!

  Stepping between Lincoln and the devil dog, two soldiers raised their double-barrel shotguns and pulled the trigger. Caught pointblank, the werewolf literally flew off the table, blood gushing from a dozen wounds, huge chunks of flesh torn off, revealing the pulsating organs inside his body.

  Sprawling on the floor, the beast landed in a pool of moonlight streaming through the broken window, and once more the impossible occurred as the monster regenerated, the ghastly wounds closing and healing even faster than before.

  "Eat steel, devil dog!” General Scott cried, swinging his saber.

  Then the steel blade hacked off an arm of the werewolf, and it howled in anguish. The shiny sword was edged with silver! But catching the limb in his other paw, the man-beast simply shoved the arm back into place, bones, tendons and torn flesh rejoining instantly.

  "Lord, love a duck,” the general muttered, going pale, lowering the useless saber.

  With a low moan, Nicolay fainted, and a Union private dashed out of the room screaming hysterically. But the rest of the War Department moved closer. General Halleck began to empty a pistol into the devil dog, hitting it with amazing regularity, while others threw knives, bottles, and random pieces of furniture. For a moment, the beast was driven backwards into a corner by the sheer mass of assorted projectiles.

  "Get the president out of here!” Joshua ordered, shoving a stunned soldier towards the panting Chief Executive. It was obvious that the president had received injuries from the first attack. Broken ribs if they were lucky, but there could be internal bleeding. Please don't let him die. The nation would fall if Lincoln perished.

  As the guards closed around the president, a mob of soldiers knelt in formation to hammer the beast with concentrated volley fire. Snarling in rage, the werewolf ignored the lead miniballs, and started forward once more.

  The air in the room was becoming thick with gunsmoke, and Joshua's ears were painfully ringing from the constant fusillade of the indoor battle. Guns, swords, footstools, could nothing stop this thing? Looking over the devil dog to see if it had received any lingering damage, Joshua noticed the small cut on the monster's forehead that wasn't healing like the other wounds. Less than an inch long, the tiny gash was still bleeding, and was oddly surrounded by a smear of green ink.

  Joshua blanched. The bulletproof monster had been injured by an inkbottle? The butler felt his mind whirl in confusion. Then he saw the twinkling shards of the silver crystal laying on the filthy floor. And the president was wearing a silver ring on the hand that made the demon bleed. Silver hurt demons?

  As the cursing Union soldiers paused to reload, the werewolf dove forward to rake a pawful of claws at Lincoln. The president escaped, but only by the thickness of a prayer.

  Icy cold adrenaline flooded his body as Joshua grabbed the sterling silver tea tray on the sideboard, flipped off the food, and insanely stepped between the onrushing monster and the leader of the Republic. Joshua raised the tea tray just in time, and the metal bent from the impact of the beast. The butler was shoved backwards into Lincoln and nearly fell, but the president caught him by the arms.

  "Thank you, sir,” Joshua panted.

  "No problem, son,” Lincoln replied tersely. “But what in tarnation are you doing?"

  "I'll explain later, sir.” Jerking free, Joshua peeked around the tray to see the devil dog crouching on the dirty floor, cradling the busted paw. White bone showed through the matted fur, blood flowed freely, but most importantly, the wound was not healing. Checkmate!

  "Look there!” General Halleck cried out, pointing with a shaking hand. “The beast is wounded!"

  Without conscious thought, Joshua rushed closer to slam the silver tray over the head of the hairy hellhound.

  The monster rocked from the blow as his skull cracked, and the werewolf turned to rush blindly through the gunsmoke, only to stumble over the body of his first victim and slammed into the fireplace. Moving fast, the Vice President snatched a brass lantern from a table. Pitching it sideways like a cricket ball, he saw the lantern hit the monster, the glass reservoir shattering to cover the beast with burning kerosene.

  Howling in agony, the flaming werewolf tried to reach the window again, but volley fire from the soldiers drove it back once more. When the soldiers stopped to reload, the fiery monster charged, only to find the way blocked by that darn butler again, still holding the tea tray. As the werewolf headed for another window, Joshua swung the tray sideways and caught the beast squarely in the throat with the edge. Hacking and coughing, the smoldering beast doubled over, and Joshua raised the tea tray to bring it down upon the head of the monster with every ounce of strength he possessed!

  The embossed metal bent from the staggering impact, and with a guttural moan, the monster dropped to the floor, trembled once, then went still.

  Eagerly rushing forward, the soldiers and officers shouted a battlecry as they used swords and bayonets to ruthlessly hack the crackling monster into pieces.

  "Keep going, lads!” General Halleck shouted, trying to get a clear shot at the beast with his Colt. “Dice the hairy bastard into mincemeat!"

  But the group of men slowed in the mutilation, and started backing away. Many of the soldiers dropped their weapons and starting whispering prayers, or pulling out religious icons.

  "Impossible...” President Lincoln whispered, lowering the fireplace poker he had snatched up to join the fight. “That ... this can not be happening!"

  His hands still vibrating from the killing blow, Joshua looked down to see that the pieces of the animal laying on the floorboards were changing shape like wax melting in the sun. The fur was retreating, the decapitated head altered, and the pulsating limbs were shrinking. Talons retreated into furry paws. Hair withdrew into pink skin. The rear legs straightened, the pointed ears dwindled and the battered face took on a startlingly human appearance.

  Reloading his rifle, a soldier gasped, dropping the paper cartridge from his mouth. General Scott used a blistering oath, and a colonel tried to sheath his sword, but missed the scabbard entirely, stabbing the blade into an Ottoman instead.

  Barely able to believe what they were seeing, the men stared at the incredible metamorphosis until the devil dog was gone, replaced with the vivisected body of a naked man laying in a spreading pool of red blood.

  CHAPTER THREE

  "What the Hades is going on here?” President Lincoln murmured, laying the dirty poker on the war map of Pennsylvania. A single drop of blood flowed off the tip to drop onto some little town by the name of Gettysburg, completely obliterating the place.

  "Hades is properly correct. This is magic of some kind,” Joshua said with a tight throat, lowering the tea tray. Then the butler hastily added. “Sir."

  "Mayhap you're right,” Lincoln muttered, warily looking about. “Or was the animal disguise a magician's trick, like that French fellow Houdin? Merely a clever stage illusion?"

  "No sir, Mr. President,” a major replied, draping his uniform jacket over the mutilated face of the dead soldier. “Private Anderson has his throat ripped out, sure enough, and not by human teeth. That's no goddamn illusion!"

  "Major Connors, your language is unseemly!” Mr. Stanton cried angrily.

  "Such vulgarity is quite understandable under the circumstances, Edward,” President Lincoln countered, walking uneasily towards the disassembled corpse. Several soldiers moved between their Supreme Commander and the body, drawing their handguns from sheer force of habit.

  "Well done, Mr. Calvert!” General Scott stated, slapping Joshua heartily on the back. “Bloody well done, indeed!"

  "Witherspoon, sir,” Joshua corrected, massaging his stinging palms. There was still a faint ringing in his ears from
the killing blow. “My name is Witherspoon. Calvert was the butler that I replaced."

  Frowning slightly at being corrected by the household staff, Scott then nodded in remembrance. Oh yes, the fellow who stole all the dinnerware. What was it with butlers and silver?

  Gallantly, the general flipped a hand to dismiss the matter. “Call yourself anything you like, son, it was a brilliant move. How did you know the tea tray would stop him ... er, it ... I mean the assailant?"

  "I had no idea,” Joshua said honestly, a cold sweat breaking out over his body now that the danger was passed. “I was simply defending my president."

  "Your employer,” a soldier retorted gruffly to the civilian.

  Turning about, Joshua arched a stern eyebrow. “No, sir,” he replied firmly. “My president."

  "Good man,” Vice President Hamlin stated, tucking both thumbs into his belt. “By Gadfrey, I haven't seen a mess like this since Bullrun! Remember those photographs in the newspapers?"

  At the memory, Mr. Hey started to gag, and lurched for the open window. Sticking his head outside, the man began to loudly lose his dinner, his legs shaking from the sheer force of the expulsion.

  "Ignore him, just a touch of Soldier's Flu,” General Scott said, jerking a thumb at the shuddering secretary. “A lot of men do that after their first taste of combat."

  "Taste ... ow...” Mr. Hey groaned, redoubling his efforts.

  Embarrassed at the slip, General Scott winced. “Sorry about that."

  The reply from the window was non-verbal.

  Exhaling deeply, President Lincoln sat down in a chair filled with bullet holes, tufts of wadding sticking out like cottony vitals. “By thunder, it was a good thing that Gustav or Charles weren't here. They're fine men, but my secretaries would have wet their trousers."

  "Not exactly troopers, eh?” Navy Secretary Gideon Welles said as a question, mopping his damp face with a linen handkerchief.

  "Neither am I,” Stanton muttered honestly, brushing back his hair with stiff fingers. The man felt queasy, and debated going to join Hey, but forced himself to refrain from such a lewd public spectacle.

  "Is ... is this what the rebel bastards are throwing at us?” General Halleck raged, starting to reload his revolver. “Perhaps our men aren't dying of poison bullets. Just think about it! A wounded soldier, bleeding on the battlefield, alone, helpless, and then suddenly that appears...!” He gestured angrily. “Who wouldn't die of mucking fright?"

  Everybody in the room frowned in consternation at the notion, and a long moment of silence passed in which the only sounds were the ticking of the wall clock, and the visceral expulsions of Mr. Hey. One of his shoes had fallen off by now, a single bare toe sticking out of a worn sock.

  "Mrs. Lincoln gets a bee in her bonnet if one of the rooftop guards can't reach the privy in time, and, ahem, ‘waters’ her oak trees,” a lieutenant muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “When she learns about this, the First Lady will want poor Mr. Hey strung up for treason."

  "My family!” President Lincoln shouted unexpectedly, jerking up his head. Stifling a groan of pain, the politician rose stiffly from the tattered chair, and started shuffling for the door. “I must see to my wife and sons!"

  "They're fine, sir,” Sgt. Montgomery reported from the hallway, tamping down a reload into his shotgun. “When I heard the ruckus, I sent half of my men there in case this was a kidnapping attempt."

  "Bless you, sergeant,” the president sighed, gratefully collapsing back into the chair. “My sincerest thanks."

  "Quick work there, Monty,” General Scott said, finished with the reloading of his LeMat pistol. With a flip, he deftly slipped the French hogleg into a holster. “You there, Chesterson! Sergeant of the guard!"

  "Sir?” a soldier replied with a crisp salute. His uniform was spattered with blood, the lid to the ammo box on his belt open, showing it almost empty of paper cartridges.

  "Double the guards around the Executive Mansion until further notice,” Scott ordered brusquely, then frowned. “No, triple them!"

  "Yes sir!"

  "Then raid the pantry,” the general continued. “I want all of the silverware brought here at once."

  "And coins,” Joshua added, dabbing at his bloodstained coat with a handkerchief. “You might try loading a few shotguns with silver dimes."

  "Deuced clever idea,” Mr. Stanton complimented, twirling his waxed moustache.

  Coins and silverware? The confused sergeant looked hopefully at the president.

  "You heard the orders, son,” Lincoln said, gingerly opening his shirt to peek at his bruised chest. The skin was already starting to turn a mottled purple, but no bones showed. Thank the lord for small miracles. Then his fingers fondled his beard to find a chunk was gone about the size of a partridge. Just one inch lower ... In his mind, Lincoln could still feel the hot breath of the dire beast upon his flesh. Ghastly. The president tried not to shudder, but did anyway. This had almost been a successful attempt on his life, he realized somberly.

  "Move with a purpose, sergeant,” Vice President Hamlin added curtly. “If there's one, there could be two of these things. If your troops spot so much as a stray dog on the grounds, shoot to kill, then set the body on fire."

  Snapping his boot heels smartly, Sgt. Montgomery gave a salute. “Sir, yes sir!"

  "And summon a priest,” Joshua added, tucking away the dirty cloth. “We need all the help we can get."

  Nodding in agreement, Sgt. Montgomery departed at a run, already shouting orders.

  "Why a priest? The Holy Bible did no damage to the thing before,” a general growled petulantly, nudging the disassembled body with the toe of his boot.

  "That may have been more the fault of the holder, sir,” Joshua commented dryly. “Rather than the author."

  "That is might close to blasphemy,” Stanton declared with a stern frown.

  "So was this,” Lincoln replied curtly, gently massaging his sore chest.

  "Should I fetch a physician, sir?” Joshua said, kneeling by the politician.

  "Just bruised,” Lincoln said with a dry smile, brushing aside the offered assistance. “I suffered much worse learning how to split rails back in Illinois. Wood chips have the darnedest tendency to fly back at you.” The politician offered a hand. “Thank you for saving my life."

  Thoroughly embarrassed by the unexpected honor, Joshua struggled to find some way to escape from the socially awkward situation, but he was trapped. Placing aside the dented tray, Joshua accepted the offer and hesitantly shook hands with the leader of the nation.

  "By the way, I voted for you, sir,” Joshua said crazily, unsure of exactly what to say at a time like this.

  His tired eyes twinkled in amusement. “So you were the one?” Lincoln said with a chuckle. “My thanks again."

  "The election wasn't that close, sir."

  "Nonsense. If the results had been any tighter, the numbers would have squeaked."

  With a low moan, Mr. Hey pulled himself out of the open window and collapsed in a chair. His shoes crunched on the shards of glass covering the floor. A chill breeze rich with the scent of flowers was blowing in through the smashed window, and the clouds of gunsmoke were beginning to dissipate in the office.

  "Feeling better?” Vice President Hamlin asked solicitously.

  "No,” Hey groaned weakly, slapping a hand over his mouth and rushing to the window once more.

  "All right, you, you and you!” General Scott snapped, pointing at the remaining group of soldiers. “Get on the roof, and warn the guards to stay sharp! This could be a diversion! A prelude to a full invasion!"

  "Do you really think that President Jefferson Davis sent a wild animal to assassinate me?” President Lincoln asked in disbelief, gingerly flexing his bandaged hand. “I mean a man disguised as a ... that is.... does anybody know what the deuce this fellow was?"

  "Don't know, don't care,” Stanton commented rudely, using a sleeve to wipe some specks of blood off his cheek. “You there, private! Close the shutters on that window, and block it with the sideboard! Lieutenant, build up the fire in the hearth in case anything tries to come down the chimney!"