Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter

before they felt the heat of the fire as it ate through the walls and floorboards. As if answering this thought, Lamon exclaimed, “Look!” and pointed to the flickering orange light coming through the crack beneath the front door.
They had no choice.
Whatever horrors waited outside, they couldn’t be worse than certain death by burning. The flames were now visible all around them through the slats in the storm shutters.
I had a plan. Once through the door, we would remain shoulder to shoulder, three across, and charge straight ahead until we reached the tree line. I would take the center, using my ax to cut down whatever came at us from the front. Speed and Lamon would be on my right and left, shooting whatever came at us from the sides. It was a plan almost certain to fail (based on how quickly the shutters had closed around us, there were at least a dozen men, vampires, or some combination of the two outside), but it was the only one we had. I lifted my ax and steadied myself. “Gentlemen,” I said.
The front door flew open with a single blow of Abe’s ax, sending smoke and hot ash flying away from the porch.
The heat was immediate. It drove us back at first, blistering our skin and very nearly setting our clothes alight. When my eyes adjusted to the flames on the front porch (by now fully engulfed), I saw that the fallen door had provided a narrow path across. I held my breath and led the way, hurrying over the door, down the front steps and onto the grass below. No sooner had my feet touched the ground than I realized the hopelessness of our effort. For in the light of the burning house behind us, I discerned no fewer than twenty figures ahead—some aiming rifles, others wearing dark glasses to shield their eyes from the flames. Living men and vampires—conspiring to cut off all hope of escape. One of the living, an older gentleman, stepped forward and stood but ten feet from me.
“Mr. Lincoln, I presume,” he said.
“Mr. Davis,” said Abe.
“I’d be much obliged,” said Davis, “if your companions would put those irons down. I’d hate for one of my men to startle and fill the three of you with holes.”
Abe turned to Speed and Lamon and gave a nod. Both dropped their guns.
“The big one is concealing another pistol,” said one of the vampires behind Davis. “He’s thinking about reaching for it right now.”
“Well, if he does,” said Davis, “then I suggest you kill him.” Davis turned back to Abe. “Your ax as well, if you please.”
“If it’s all the same, Mr. Davis,” said Abe, “I don’t expect to live but a few moments longer, and I would very much like to die holding the ax my daddy gave me as a boy. Surely one of your men will shoot me if I raise it in anger.”
Davis smiled. “I like you, Mr. Lincoln—I do. Kentucky born, same as me. Self-made. As fine an orator as ever lived—and dedicated, my Lord! Coming all the way down here just to kill a man! Leaving your family alone and unprotected in Springfield… no, sir, let no man speak ill of your convictions. I could sing your praises till morning, sir—but some of my associates are rather sensitive to sunlight, and… well, I’m afraid we just don’t have that long.
“Tell me,” said Davis, “with your many fine qualities and famous mind, how is it that you’ve arrived on the wrong side of this fight?”
“I?” asked Abe. “I must have misheard you, sir—for of the two of us, only one is conspiring against his fellow man.”
“Mr. Lincoln, vampires are superior to man, just as man is superior to the Negro. It’s the natural order of things, you see. Surely we agree on this much, at least?”
“I agree that some vampires are superior to some men.”
“Am I wrong, therefore, to recognize the inevitability of their rule? Am I wrong to side with the greater power in the coming war? Sir, it brings me no pleasure to think of white men in cages. But if it must come to pass—if vampires are to be the kings of men—then let us work with them while time remains. Let us regulate the thing—limit it to the Negro, and to the undesirables of our own race.”
“Ah,” said Abe. “And when the blood of Negroes is no longer sufficient; when the ‘undesirables’ of our race have been exhausted—tell me, Mr. Davis… who then shall your ‘kings’ feed upon?”
Davis said nothing.
“America,” Abe continued, “was forged in the blood of those who opposed tyranny. You and your allies… would you not see it