Rip burst through the back door and the gunman in the rear car suddenly realized he was on the train.

They traded shots.

In the flashes of gunfire, Rip realized the man was a Septic Rat, dressed in a ragged suit coat. He sprayed a handful of bullets at Rip and Blair. They all flew wide, popping into the car’s ceiling before his magazine depleted.

An ominous click! filled the car as the gun stopped shooting.

Rip said, “You’re out.”

He turned his gun around slammed the butt of the stock into the man’s jaw, breaking it and knocking him down.

They looked around the car and found no seats or anything else, just a hollow tube filled with metal parts.

A narrow trail between tools and machinery led to the far door, and the next car.

Rip walked that way, gun out and wending his way between the piles of scrap. Sconces of flickering light whooshed passed the windows intermittently as the train continued speeding down the tunnel.

He looked over his shoulder at Blair and said, “You know what I was thinking back in that room with the doors?”

“No. What were you thinking?”

“We used to watch a game show where the announcer would say, ‘What’s behind door number three?’ There was a whole channel devoted to old game shows. Anyway, contestants would win different prizes depending on what door they chose.”

“We went through all of them, did we not? Does that mean we win all the prizes?”

“Maybe.”

“What’s a channel?”

“Never mind. It would take too long to explain. Let’s go into the next car low, in case someone shoots at us there, too.”

She agreed and they both squatted when opening the far door. It slid open, breaking in the middle. It opened to the back of the next car and another closed door.

Rip abandoned the squat, deciding to stand on one side. Blair mimicked his movements, standing on the other side of the next door with her gun. She nodded at him and he threw it open.

Darkness lit up with muzzle flashes as someone inside the second car opened fire.

Rip pulled back, grateful to have avoided the barrage. Lead bounced off the metal of the cars and cargo.

Whoever it is, they’re not very smart, Rip thought as once again the enemy’s gun ran out of ammo.

He ducked his head through the door, squinting in the dark and lining up the Tommy gun’s iron sights in the direction of the flashes.

At that moment they passed a pair of sconces in the tunnel wall, flames flickering in the train’s wake. In the brief burst of light he saw a Septic Rat, a middle-aged man in a stained suit coat with a look of surprise plastered on his face.

Rip squeezed off a three-round burst, obliterating the face. The man’s body slumped behind a pile of metal pipefittings, coating them with blood as light from the sconces faded away.

Rip slipped deeper inside the car in the darkness, figuring it would help hide him just as well as anyone else who might be waiting for them.

He heard Blair move in behind him, then he felt her body heat as she pressed close.

A third of the way through they heard a scream from the next car, just as the train passed another pair of sconces lighting up the interior.

Rip saw no one else lying in wait. He hurried past the dead body, covering the distance to the next door in the rapidly fading light.

Blair followed right behind him.

As they moved to cross over into the next car, the screaming picked up again. Above the sound of wheels clacking on tracks, they heard a voice rising in anger.

“You don’t deserve to live! You’re not even human!”

They heard the thwack of something striking flesh, and the vampire screeched in pain again.

Rip pulled the door open as they passed another pair of sconces, lighting up the scene in macabre detail.

Both girls were strapped down on their stomachs on top of metal poles glinting silver. Shackles held their hands and feet tight, wrapping their bodies around the poles.

Both were topless, their backs exposed to the air. Hilda looked passed out, dark splotches and whip marks all over her skin.

Liza remained conscious. Standing over her, the King Rat held a quirt. Instead of leather straps, thin silver chains were attached to the end, making a metallic cat o’ nine tails.

He swung down, the long chains biting into Liza’s back.

She screeched in pain.

“Suffer, foul beast!”

Rip squeezed off another short burst, filling King Rat’s chest full of lead.

The older man staggered back, surprised, dropping the quirt.

But he did not fall down.

Instead he cracked his neck and smiled, ignoring the blood seeping out of four bullet holes in his torso.

“Ah, Sergeant Coulter. So good of you to join us. Our client will be most pleased. He will be receiving quite the delivery today.”

King Rat glanced down at the two bound vampires, as if regretting the interuption.

“You must be enhanced,” Rip said, noting the man’s blood had already coagulated.

“Indeed. Our friends the Darhaven have provided us with another of their rather exclusive benefits. The Lyceum would never do that for the likes of us. Someday I hope to have all my boys enhanced. Until then . . .”

He burst forward with a surprising amount of speed, grabbing the barrel of Rip’s gun in the tight space, and pushing it up.

Rip squeezed the trigger reflexively, emptying the rest of the magazine in the ceiling of the car, just as King Rat’s fist slammed into his chin.

Rip tumbled down, landing on his back.

King Rat jumped on top of him, fists pummeling the sergeant’s face.

Blair stepped up in the dark and aimed for the older man’s head, pulling the trigger on her gun.

The back of King Rat’s skull exploded in a red mist, and he keeled over backward between the two vampires.

On his back, on the floor, Rip locked eyes with Blair as they passed another pair of gaslights, brightening the car.

She said, “Good tip about shooting at their eyes. Although, I still don’t really understand what that has to do with anyone’s heel.”