The two Rangers stalked back to town. Actually, Debbi stalked. Ross just kept pace, his dark duster flying out behind him like an ominous sail. Debbi's anger still hadn't dissipated. Now it was turning toward Ross.
She stopped dead in the street and faced him, hands curled into tight fists. "Why didn't you step in?" Once again, her actions were being questioned. It hurt. Self-doubts leapt up.
Ross didn't stop. "You were handling things just fine."
Debbi stared after him in surprise as he brushed past. Then she hurried to catch up, matching him stride for stride.
She asked, "What were you doing there anyway?" There was a slow burn of resentment in her. It had been a long, hard day, but she still had fight left in her.
Ross was taken aback to find her temper aimed at him and he bristled. "I beg your pardon?"
She immediately sensed the change in him. He was insulted that she dared to challenge the boss. That was a wrong response for him to make.
She spat out what was eating her. "Were you backtracking my work? Asking her about the black guns?" She was a raw nerve. She had no sense of propriety and wouldn't be backed down by his gruff voice.
He replied, "Last time I looked, Dallas, I don't check procedure with you. But yeah, I was gonna ask a few questions about the black guns. Didn't have a chance because you came in."
They walked on. Debbi's breath was hissing between clenched teeth.
Finally, she asked, "What'd she say?"
"I didn't get two words with her before you got there." He fought a scowl. "She seemed kinda strange."
"I'll bet. She was waiting to hear that I was dead."
"Maybe." Ross stopped walking and waited for Debbi to notice.
She stopped twenty feet ahead and turned. She put her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows in a brash challenge.
Ross stepped slowly toward her. "There's not much more you can do to Hickok short of throwing her out of town or killing her."
Debbi narrowed her eyes and murmured, "Either sounds good."
"Sorry, can't just do what we want," Ross said. "We're the good guys. That's our burden. If you can't handle it, move on."
Debbi stared at him, wide-eyed with amazement that he was lecturing her after what she'd been through. She was almost killed thanks to Hickok, and there he was having drinks with her. And he had the nerve to get on his high horse about order and social contracts.
She spoke in an angry, strangled voice. "I was attacked by three Reapers because of her. Did you get that part? At the very least, I should arrest her right now for conspiracy."
"Then do it. Arrest her. Hold her for the circuit judge. He may be in town in a month or two. Or maybe never. The court system here isn't exactly up to speed. So like I said, short of killing her, you got nothing right now, Dallas. You did the right thing. You backed her down. That was your option and you played it." He jabbed his finger at her. "Just get past it and keep watching your back. Unfortunately, that's gonna be your job description until you die."
Debbi took a deep breath and said without harshness, "That stinks."
Ross quieted, his bluster gone. "Welcome to Temptation." He gave her the commiserating look of a fellow law officer who understood her problem. "Hickok's spent her life walking the edge. One day, she'll fall permanently off one side or the other. If it's the wrong side, we'll get her."
"Well, maybe now she's learned that Rangers won't stand for backstabbing."
Ross suppressed a laugh. "Doubt it." He looked like the words left a bad taste in his mouth.
They started off again and turned onto the main street, avoiding traffic and easily skirting the various pitfalls. Stepping up onto the boardwalk, they aimed toward Ranger headquarters. Despite the late hour, the office was lit but locked. Upon entering, they discovered there was no one inside.
"Where's Miller?" Debbi glanced around. "Wasn't he on duty?"
Ross nodded, but said nothing. He checked out the cells in the back. Their Reaper prisoner sat in the cell staring at them through black eyes. With his hand hovering near his Peacemaker, Ross tested the cell door just in case. It was still locked. The Reaper grinned manically at him, rocking back and forth on the floor. Ross ignored him, emerging once more into the outer office.
From Ross's expression, Debbi suspected that all was in order, but that still didn't explain why headquarters was unattended. Ross disappeared into his office.
Debbi's eyes caught sight of a note in her pigeonhole. She relaxed. The note was probably from Miller with an explanation. She flipped it open with her index finger and her right eyebrow lifted in surprise.
It wasn't from Miller. It was from Hickok.
It was direct and to the point. Reapers know about item. Watch your back. H.
Debbi scowled. Why the hell hadn't Hickok said something about the note at the saloon? Arrogant little flyer. Debbi irately stuffed the note into her pocket. It sure as hell hadn't done her any good. When did Hickok write it? Five minutes before the Reapers attacked?
A note didn't fix matters. The bottom line was, Hickok was untrustworthy and dangerous. And Debbi would relish putting her away one day.
The front door opened and in walked Miller. He glanced up at Debbi from adjusting the front of his pants. He looked guilty.
"Where the hell have you been?" Debbi snapped angrily, still stewing about Hickok.
"Outhouse." Worse than disrupting the court system, the Worldstorm had done major damage to the sewage facilities. Not all of the facilities were back up and running yet.
"Is he in?" Miller glanced at Ross's door with a great deal of trepidation. He knew he was in big trouble.
Debbi cocked her head and smiled. "Of course, he's in."
Suddenly, her headset crackled to life.
"Base. This is Stew. You read me?"
"This is Dallas, Stew. Go ahead."
"Oh, Dallas. There's been a murder. Ross with you?"
"Yeah. He's in his office. Where are you?"
"South side of town. Border Street."
"Eighteen Border Street?" A feeling of dread crept over Debbi. Her eyes locked with Miller.
He wasn't wearing his com so he only heard Debbi's part of the conversation. The address brought a grin to Miller's face. He hadn't believed Cass's explanation of Debbi's actions; Miller maintained she'd been fooled by old Womble's story of his dead wife threatening to kill him.
There was a pause and then Stew asked, "Yeah. How did you know?"
Ross's door banged open. He had obviously been listening. "Stew, is Miller with you?" He caught sight of Miller standing in front of him and frowned. "Never mind." His eyes pinned Debbi with a curious look. She could tell he wanted to know why she knew about the location. "We're comin' out."
"Okay," Stew said. "I'll meet you in front. Out."
Ross grabbed a scattergun off the rack and tossed it to Debbi. She caught it out of the air one-handed.
"Might be more of your Reaper buddies," he said to her.
"Uh, sir," Miller began hesitantly. "Might not have been Reapers."
Ross's steel visage swung on Miller and the subordinate Ranger cringed.
"And why do you think that, Miller?" Ross intoned.
Debbi stepped forward. "Lee Womble came in earlier today, claiming his life was in danger."
Ross stared hard at Debbi; surprised to see she had a part of this. "And?"
Miller gave a nervous laugh. "Well, he claimed that his wife was after him."
Ross, still not understanding, waited with ever dissipating patience.
Miller stumbled over the words in a rush to get them out. Clarity was gone. Debbi finished for him.
"His wife's been dead near five years."
Ross exhaled slowly and made stiffly for the front door. Miller jumped out of his way. Ross paused only a moment to snarl in his direction. "Stay put this time. And monitor your com."
"Yes, sir!" Miller slunk back to the desk and slipped on his headset.
"Dallas. Let's
go."
Chapter 7
Nights in Temptation were cold. Like most desert climates on Earth, temperatures dropped dramatically without the cloud cover to hold in the heat. Debbi's breath hung in the air before her as she hurried after Ross. She was beat. But still, she marched gamely on to the next emergency.
Stepping onto Border Street, Ross and Debbi immediately saw Stew standing on the boardwalk, one hand resting on a nearby post. She saw the faded number eight on the sand-scoured building behind him, the one Womble had mentioned to her in the office only a few hours ago.
"Whatcha got?" Ross commanded as he approached.
Stew stepped down with one foot and answered, "One dead male. Lee Womble. Neck's broken by the look of it." He hesitated and Ross frowned.
"What else?"
Stew shook his head, and then spoke the last. "It looks like he's been...gnawed on some too, sir."
Ross said nothing. He entered the house.
"He's in the back." Stew followed him. "In the kitchen."
Debbi trailed behind them.
The Womble kitchen was compact, cluttered, and filthy. Dishes encrusted with old food were stacked everywhere. The floors and tables were covered in piles of papers and junk. Debbi could see that it had once had a woman's touch. The dishes and towels were beautifully patterned and matching, but they were now all cracked and soiled. Fake flowers, once bright and colorful, were covered in a thick layer of cloying dust. The house had an awful stench too. Mr. Womble had obviously not been much of a housekeeper after the death of his wife. If Mrs. Womble had been alive, she would've killed her husband for allowing her carefully planned house to become so disgusting.
Debbi stepped up to where Ross and Stew were examining Mr Womble. The man's neck lay at a very odd angle and deep bruises were already formed on his neck. The attacker must have been incredibly strong. Her mind immediately flashed back to the blacklining scavs she fought before. Their drug-induced strength made them a definite possibility. She fought the instinct to massage her own aching throat. Perhaps they had come here first for some unknown reason.
While the other two Rangers investigated the body, she eased herself through the kitchen, side-stepping more clutter to search another part of the house for signs of a break-in or possibly the intruder himself.
Her sweep of the house turned up nothing. There was a heavy smear of dirt near the back entrance. That's probably where the intruder had entered.
She eased open the back door and peered out into the darkness. Her flashlight intruded into corners where things could hide, but she saw nothing. Unfortunately, her brain kept flashing on the large black shape with long limbs and sharp teeth. She half expected it to emerge from the shadows. Despite Ringo's insistence that the creature had disappeared into Reaper territory, Debbi still felt it was tracking her. She clamped down on that wild, irrational fear.
This was not the work of that beast. This attack was a little subtler. No separated torsos here, she reminded herself with a nervous chuckle. She tightened her grip on the shotgun and squatted down over the dirt in the doorway. Her nose wrinkled in disgust. Whatever it was stunk as if it had come from a compost heap or maybe an outhouse.
She heard a footfall behind her and she whirled, but lowered the weapon immediately at seeing Ross.
He raised an eyebrow at her reaction, but declined a response. "Stew took the body to Doc Dazy for an autopsy. What did you find?" He bobbed his chin toward the floor.
Debbi calmed herself and told him. Then he, too, hunched over the mud. He said nothing for a few minutes, playing over possibilities in his head.
Needing to break the silence, Debbi finally asked, "So was Womble, um, you know, gnawed on?"
Ross nodded.
"Has he been dead long?" she asked in confusion. "Rats and stuff don't normally go right at a corpse. It takes some time." Rats had come to Banshee on the transports and thrived.
"Less than an hour, I think," Ross replied. He looked her square in the eye. "It must've been a mighty big rat."
Debbi fought off her disgust. "I didn't see any signs of forced entry. If it was an animal ..." She offered with a shrug. "I don't know what to tell you."
They heard a loud thump from the kitchen. They both rose as one and glanced at each other, their weapons ready. Ross took the lead and they eased back toward the front of the house. They moved as quietly as possible, flanking each other.
Pausing just outside the kitchen, they listened. There was only silence again. Ross signaled to go in and keep to the left. Keeping low, Debbi scuttled inside and found a niche, her shotgun sweeping the area.
Nothing.
Ross entered and took the opposite side. He shook his head, indicating he didn't see anything. Debbi sank down slowly to the floor, dropping her gaze low to search the corners. If it was an animal of some sort, it might be hiding under something.
An overhead bulb in a yellow filtered shade dimly lighted the room, so she flicked on her flashlight and cast it around. Ross did likewise.
Debbi's beam fell to the floor once more and it was then she saw something. There were spaces between the warped floorboards. She hunched forward and shown her light straight down.
A milky white eye stared back at her.
"Geezus!" Debbi jumped up. She landed on her feet with her gun pointed down. "It's under the floor."
A dry, rasping cackle reached their ears accompanied by a scuffling sound as something moved beneath their feet.
Debbi searched the floor and found the handle to a trap door recessed into the floorboards. There was a basement under the kitchen.
Ross took up a position with his shotgun, and nodded curtly at Debbi. She flung the trap door open and stepped back.
It was pitch black inside. She hunted for and found a switch, hitting it. It did nothing.
"The power's been cut down there," Ross said, peering into the shadowy interior. There was a ladder leading down.
Good lord, he thought, had Mr. Womble lied about his wife's death and kept her locked up in the basement all these years? If it was Mrs. Womble down there, then who was buried out in the graveyard?
"Mrs. Womble," Ross called out. "It's Dave Ross, Colonial Ranger. Can you answer me?"
There was no response.
Ross sat on the floor and swung his legs onto the ladder rungs, easing himself down. The smell wafting up from below was overpowering. He suppressed a cough. The rungs of the ladder were coated with something, but he didn't bother to look at it. Instead he kept his mind on what was down there waiting for him.
"Cover me," he said.
Debbi's heart was thundering in her ears, relieved that he hadn't asked her to go first. She placed her shotgun on the table and pulled her Dragoon. With such close quarters, the shotgun's spray would hit Ross too. Easing nearer the trap door, she aimed past Ross into the basement, her flashlight illuminating the way.
He climbed down quickly, moving his head to see beneath him as he went. His foot hit bottom and he stepped away from the base of the ladder. He could barely see into the darkness beyond the ring of light from above. He raised his scattergun and flicked on his own flashlight.
It was a typical basement, lined with shelving and rows of canned goods. Mrs. Womble must've been an avid canner. Some of the glass jars had been smashed open and the sweet pickle aroma mixing with some horrific odor almost made Ross gag.
"Show yourself now," Ross ordered in a stronger tone. There was still only silence. He stepped over a sticky mess and explored deeper.
It was bone-numbing cold down here and it seeped through Ross's duster and into his skin. He could feel it in his fingers.
Ross caught a glimpse of something out of his peripheral vision and swung his gun toward it. An impression of something thin and wiry was all he got before it ploughed into him. His finger reflexively pulled the trigger and the shotgun boomed. The ground came up fast and he landed heavy and hard thanks to the extra weight on top of him. The back of his head cracked on the ed
ge of one of the shelves and bright lights filled his eyes. The shotgun clattered into the dark. He felt rather than saw bony hands fumbling at his throat. One got a grip and pressed his Adam's apple down deep. His breath was cut off. He pulled at the hands on him, but couldn't move them.
Remembering the brutalized Mr. Womble, he desperately kicked the figure off him and struggled to a crouch. He pulled his Peacemaker and tried to find the attacker through watering eyes. What he saw was a projectile aiming for his head. He ducked and the jar of preserves crashed above him, splattering moist fruit and sticky juice all over him. Glass shards fell down inside his collar.
"Geett oouut!" rasped a woman's garbled voice.
At the initial gunshot, Debbi had leaped straight down into the basement, sans ladder. She hit hard and rolled, coming up against a stiff, wooden shelf. Her light beam immediately illuminated Ross crouched in a corner, his hand to his throat. He looked dazed but okay. She swung the light elsewhere and found a figure rushing toward Ross, ax in hand.
Debbi fired. The shot echoed in the small, stone-lined basement. The figure stumbled and then rose again, swerving now toward Debbi.
The Ranger's eyes widened. It was definitely a woman. Her dress was in near rags and she was covered in filth. The woman's skin was like dry leather, shrunken over bones that stuck out at sharp angles. The long hair clung to the tough skin only in clumps. Both eyes were milk white.
The woman staggered as another bullet hit her high in the right arm. Ross had recovered enough to fire. The woman screamed, but didn't seem fazed by the pain, just enraged. Her hand still clutched the ax even though half the upper flesh of the arm was gone. But there was no blood. It was then Debbi noted no breath either. There was no telltale cloud filling the air in front of the woman's mouth, only a deep blackness. Confused, the woman turned her head again toward Ross.
Debbi fired straight into the woman's chest.
The woman rocked back and stood swaying, guttural noises sounding loud in the still air.
The woman straightened and tried to speak. It came out unintelligible except for one word - "Mine."
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