Banshee Screams

by Clay Griffith

  The memory of the abused state of the house filled Debbi. Was Mrs. Womble so crazed that all she could think of was how her husband ruined her once beautiful home?

  Debbi took a step forward, her weapon dropping slowing. "Mrs. Womble?"

  The ax immediately switched hands and Mrs. Womble threw herself at Debbi. In midair, another blast hit the woman's side and she was knocked away by its impact. She dropped in a heap on the cold ground beside the shaking Ranger.

  Ross took a step forward, gun smoking. He heard the cracking of the broken glass under his boots. "Dallas, you okay?"

  "Yeah. You?" Debbi stepped nervously away from the still form.

  Ross fingered the sore spot on the back of his head and nodded. He approached the body, shining his light on it to see if she was still alive.

  But there was no rise or fall from her chest. The last shot killed her. He knelt down to look at her.

  Debbi asked, "Is that really Mrs. Womble?"

  "I'm not sure. She's so emaciated." His own stomach was churning at the thought that quiet Lee Womble was in reality a very, very sick man. He straightened, using a nearby support beam as leverage. "Let's get out of here."

  Nodding, Debbi moved to leave.

  The body on the ground twisted around, hand still clutching the ax.

  "Look out!" Ross shoved Debbi aside frantically. The air whistled with the speed of the ax head.

  It missed Debbi by less than an inch and thunked into the support beam next to Ross, firmly pinning his duster. He backpedaled and went down.

  Immediately, Mrs. Womble screamed again and scrambled toward the trapped Ross, her lips curled back over black and rotting teeth.

  Debbi brought her gun up and started firing repeatedly. The woman was so insane or so drugged that there was no hope of reasoning with her.

  Each bullet that slammed into Mrs. Womble slowed her advance, but didn't stop her. She kept wailing in that horrible, strangled sound and reaching for Ross, who had dragged himself back as far as his pinned coat would allow. He was in the process of shucking it from his shoulders in a frantic attempt to get away.

  Debbi was on her last few rounds and she knew it. The little blinking red light in the darkness told her so. "Die, damn you!"

  Finally, her last bullet slammed into Mrs. Womble's head and the woman flopped on her side like a boneless animal. She didn't even twitch.

  Debbi wasted no time in ejecting her empty clip and slapping home a new one. Her gun was down and back up again in record time, her harsh breathing echoed only by Ross's a few feet away.

  He was crouched and his weapon trained unwaveringly on the woman's body.

  It was a few long minutes before either of them made any move. Finally, Ross felt his legs steady enough to rise. He licked his dry lips and slowly took a step forward, his Peacemaker still aimed at the target.

  "Sir?" Debbi warned. She still didn't trust it.

  "Has to be done, Dallas." Ross took another step forward. The body made no movement. He came close enough to toe her with his boot. Still no reaction. His breathing became steadier. "I think that last shot did the trick."

  The woman's skull was almost completely caved in by the blast from Debbi's Dragoon.

  Ross wrenched the ax free of the beam and reached warily down for his duster. He flipped it over his shoulder. "Let's get her over to Doc's. I want an autopsy done on her, too. I want to know what happened here."

  The woman's flesh was flaking off everywhere he prodded at it with the ax handle. She looked like she was rotting.

  Debbi looked Ross in the eye. "There's a tarp over there." Her gun was still pointed at the body and the determination in her face deemed it would remain so.

  Ross got the tarp. The woman's body weighed hardly anything. It wasn't hard for him to maneuver it onto the tarp and wrap it up.

  Ross had to admit he was grateful to have Debbi's single-mindedness backing him up. He dragged the tarp toward the ladder and glanced upward. "Now comes the fun part."

  Ross threw the tarp-covered bundle onto an empty table in the doctor's examination room.

  Doctor Walter P. Dazy glanced up at them in surprise. He was a man in his fifties, hair thinning and gray, but his blue eyes were sharp and clear.

  "Busy night, eh?" he noted.

  Ross just grunted and pointed at the tarp. "I want an autopsy done on her right now."

  "Now?"

  "While we're here," Debbi added.

  "Sure," Doc muttered. "Autopsies in fifteen minutes or they're free." He went to the tarp and methodically began to open the folds. It didn't miss his notice that both Ross and Debbi aimed shotguns while he did so. He paused and regarded them curiously. "Is there something I should know?"

  "Just open it, Doc." Ross stood next to the table with his weapon leveled pointblank at the wrapped cadaver.

  The Doctor did as he was ordered and flung back the tarp. The body of an emaciated woman with multiple gunshot wounds to her body and head lay before him. He glanced up at Ross with one raised eyebrow. "You're afraid of this?"

  Ross just stared stone-faced at the body.

  Doc shrugged and leaned over the body to study the remaining features. He frowned and pulled the tattered remnants of her clothing from her torso. He looked up puzzled.

  "Uh, you want me to do another autopsy on her?"

  "What?"

  Doc chuckled and pointed to the signs of an incision running from the woman's thorax to groin, half of it decimated by bullet holes.

  "This is Glenda Womble," he said and gestured to a covered body on another table. "His wife." He cocked his head at the two Rangers. "I performed an autopsy on her five years ago. I don't think she needs another one."

  Ross scowled deeply. "Are you sure about her identity?"

  "Look, she's not at her best right now, but I never forget a face, dead or otherwise. That's Glenda Womble. Trust me."

  "And you swear it was really her that died five years ago?" Debbi asked.

  "Um, yes." The confusion on his face was evident. "Why? Did someone dig her up and shoot holes in her?"

  Debbi and Ross exchanged a look. The implications of what Doc was telling them just started to sink in.

  Ross rubbed his jaw roughly. "What did you find out about Mr. Womble?"

  Doc glanced back at his other patient. "Oh, he definitely died of a broken neck. Looks like it was snapped clean by someone's bare hands. That takes some strength, let me tell you."

  "What about the bite marks?" Debbi asked.

  Doc actually frowned. "That's the odd thing. They're human, not animal. Ripped off some good chunks too. Must have been a hell of a struggle."

  Ross lowered his weapon. "Check Mrs. Womble's teeth. I bet you'll find a match." Without another word, he stormed from the examination room.

  Debbi dragged her gaze away from Glenda Womble only to find a curious Doc waiting for an explanation.

  "The Wombles had issues," was all she could offer. Then she followed Ross.

  Chapter 8

  Ghost Rock City was burning.

  Reaper gunships hovered in the smoke-darkened sky. Armed men dragged goods out of buildings and fights ensued over the spoils. Mounted anouks scoured the town, pursuing those who tried to flee. The bodies of the dead littered the streets.

  Nicolai perched atop an armored vehicle as it rolled slowly through town. Tall and grim, dressed entirely in black, he rested a hand on the .50 caliber machine gun on the open turret of the tank. He stroked his goatee and felt the sun beating down on his bald pate. His steely eyes darted about, watching his Reapers go about their well-practiced business. He viewed the carnage with a sense of accomplishment.

  A contingent of twelve of Nicolai's personal bodyguards, his Vanguard, formed a ring around the tank. They were a quiet, stoic group, unlike the generally boisterous Reapers who roamed the streets. They were covered head-to-toe in heavy body armor, not a hint of flesh was visible. They were outfitted with the best electronics and carried the finest pul
se rifles that Nicolai had been able to buy or steal, Hell-stromme Industries Hellrazors. The Vanguard had once been Coltrane's bodyguards, and only Nicolai and Coltrane knew they were high-level Hellstromme Industries automatons.

  A large group of heavily armed men gave Nicolai a leisurely salute, waving their mixed collection of firearms. They wore layers of looted clothing, carried silver plates under their arms, and were festooned in jewelry taken from the few female townsfolk. Each one had burlap sacks or wooden boxes filled with ringing metallic booty.

  "Congratulations, Nicolai!" one of the men shouted. "Another victory for the Reapers!"

  "We have liberated another town from the shackles of colonialism!" Nicolai smiled his broad, charismatic smile and applauded his fighters. Then he reached into the tank and pulled out a folded cloth. He took it by two corners and dramatically snapped it out. He climbed up onto the top of the turret and stood wide legged, letting the winds catch the flag and unfurl it from his hands. The flag was golden with a large violet sunburst in the center representing Banshee, and two smaller violet spheres near the sunburst symbolizing the two moons of Banshee.

  "Listen to me, my brothers!" Nicolai shouted. "Let your triumph over the forces of colonial brutality in Ghost Rock City be remembered as the birth pangs of a new epoch!" The crowd of Reapers cheered. Passing Azeel tribesmen reined in their mounts to listen.

  Nicolai stretched out one arm, fingers clenched. "My soldiers! You are the fists of a new order and the shields of a new world! No longer will we toil under the burden of the illegitimate Earth government! No longer will we suffer their savage oppression! This planet is Banshee! We are Banshee! And it is we of Banshee who will determine the planet's fate! Not the genocidal forces from Earth!

  "Today, I proclaim a new Order! The Banshee Free State! This is our flag! This flag represents free humans," he pointed dramatically at the Azeel warriors, "and free anouks working together to make a future of plenty and wonder! You are the ones who have made it possible, my brothers! You have forged this mighty future for our world! Hail to the Banshee Free State!"

  Nicolai stretched wide his arms in great satisfaction and triumph. The flag fluttered in the wind.

  The gathered Reapers cheered and fired their weapons into the air.

  Nicolai tied the flag to the aerial of his tank. Then he reached into the turret again and, as if by a miracle, pulled out more flags. He threw them into the crowd. The Reapers reacted in paroxysms of patriotic fervor. They unfolded the flags, draping them over their shoulders and ran down the street flying them out behind them.

  The mob chanted, "Nicolai! Nicolai! Nicolai!" He waved with both hands and instructed his driver to move on through the charred town.

  The armored vehicle clanked to a halt in front of the mine offices. Ghost Rock City was a boomtown set beside the pits of a series of rich mines. It had existed for two decades and been quickly reoccupied after the Worldstorm because the shafts in the nearby tannis hills produced vast amounts of very pure ghost rock.

  That was also why Nicolai set his sights on this town as the first step in constructing his ambitious designs for Banshee. Power required ownership of the means of production of wealth. On Banshee, wealth meant ghost rock. Nicolai needed lots of ghost rock to fund the expansion he planned. He used his men and weapons to get ghost rock and would use the ghost rock to buy more men and more weapons. Politics was an expensive business. And totalitarianism was more expensive still.

  Nicolai dropped down from the tank and strode into the mine offices. The Vanguard spread out mechanically around the building, rifles at the ready.

  Inside the dark lobby, one of Nicolai's lieutenants amused himself by spinning around in a swivel chair. His name was Baku and he was a bearded, fat man of enormous appetites, but limited attention span. Six men knelt on the floor at Baku's feet with their hands tied behind their backs. They were all half-dressed, having been dragged from their beds when the Reapers stormed into town with the morning sun. They all looked up at Nicolai's entrance with faces of terror. Nicolai smiled at the recognition.

  Baku dug his heels into the floor and came to a halt. He grinned at his boss. His boss didn't smile back. The lieutenant pointed to one of the half-dressed men.

  "That's the mine administrator," Baku said.

  Nicolai stood in front of the administrator. "Your mines are now the property of the Banshee Free State."

  "Go to Hell," the man said.

  Nicolai pulled his pistol and shot the man. Then with the smoking pistol in hand, he turned to Baku and asked, "Who is the assistant mine administrator?"

  Another prisoner, with his eyes glued on the dead man and the stream of rich, red blood flowing across the floor, screamed, "I'll sign anything you want! The mines are yours!"

  Nicolai turned and shot him too. "I cannot abide a man without loyalty. I could never have trusted him to run my mines." He holstered his pistol, bringing sighs of relief from the other men. He pointed at one of the prisoners and said to Baku, "Kill everyone but him. He is my mine administrator."

  Nicolai departed the office.

  Baku picked up his rifle off the floor and laughed. "Good news! Only one of you has to go to work today!"

  "A Colonial Ranger!"

  Nicolai watched with suppressed delight as an approaching group of Reapers dragged a beaten and bloodied Ranger. The lawman was thrown to the ground at Nicolai's feet.

  "Well," Nicolai announced, "here is one of the oppressors of the people."

  Struggling to raise himself partially off the ground, the Ranger looked up defiantly. His face was swollen and bruised, his lips torn, blood streaming from his nose and mouth. He spit on Nicolai's boot.

  Nicolai brutally kicked the Ranger in the face. Then he gently wiped his boot on the man's torn shirt.

  "Tie him to the front of my tank."

  The mob laid greedy hands on the Ranger. Rope was soon produced and the lawman was bound with arms outstretched to the front of Nicolai's armored vehicle. His feet hung loosely on the ground; he didn't have the strength to stand. Nicolai brought out another flag and tied the upper corners to the prisoner's wrists, draping the flag across his body. The Ranger's bloodied head lolled weakly above the golden cloth.

  "I'll have to get more tanks," Nicolai said, "so I can have one for every Colonial Ranger in Temptation."

  The Ranger's head bobbed weakly with a laugh. "Ross's boys'll grind you up."

  Nicolai leaned closer to the prisoner. "I would prefer my prognostication from someone who isn't an utter failure. Your day is done. The people revile you and your kind."

  The Ranger opened one swollen eye and said quietly, but with remarkable clarity, "Nice vocabulary. But you're still just a thief."

  Nicolai was taken aback. He had hoped for begging. He expected profanity and mindless resistance. He glanced around. Apparently no one else had heard the Ranger's comment. He climbed up on the tank and signaled the driver to move.

  As the tank roared to life and began to roll forward, the mob cheered. The Ranger's body bounced and shook from the vibrations of the vehicle and his booted feet dragged in the dirt between the grinding treads.

  Nicolai made a triumphant parade through town, waving to the Reapers who celebrated the humiliation of the passing Ranger. He then left the mob behind and rode out of town to the nearest mineshaft, followed only by his Vanguard who jogged alongside the tank.

  His mind was already off the Ranger's comment and back to the difficulties of constructing his new state. There would be a day of looting to appease his men, then he would appoint several of his most idealistic and brutal underlings to get the mines operating again. He needed ghost rock to sell. The merchants and caravaneers of Banshee would trade guns, blackline, and food for ghost rock. Merchants feared the Reapers, as well they should, but business was business. Money was their god. And in another world, perhaps, that would have made them the strongest. But this was Banshee and wealth was a god of limited influence. Nicolai's god was power,
and power came from force. The greedy bourgeoisie middlemen would eagerly buy and sell with Nicolai until the day he cut their throats. He smiled at the justice of the concept.

  The tank approached a black cave dug into the black tannis hill. Nicolai saw a figure moving inside the opening of the mine. He signaled to his driver to halt. The Vanguard swept around in front of the tank and took up positions.

  The figure stepped into partial sunlight. He was tall and robed, with a hood obscuring his face. The Vanguard immediately lowered their weapons. Nicolai's first thought was of betrayal and assassination. Alarm gripped him. He peered at the man.

  "Coltrane?" Nicolai's hand rested on his pistol.

  Coltrane kept his hands buried in the sleeves of his robe. "Nicolai! Congratulations on yet another splendid victory. And on one less Colonial Ranger. I waited here for you so we could have a quiet word. I thought you might come to view your new mines. I remember those heady days of conquest. Nothing makes a man feel more like he's had a good day than liberating new property."

  Nicolai slid off the turret. He purposefully refused to look at the Ranger as he passed. He paused when he realized the Vanguard weren't moving with him. Not wanting to appear weak, he strode on. But he suddenly felt very vulnerable.

  Coltrane had not appeared outside his black ruin for more than a year. Was he going to attempt to resume control of the Reapers? Nicolai wondered. How typical of the great opportunist, to return at the moment of Nicolai's greatest triumph.

  "I see the Vanguard are still with you," Coltrane said.

  "Yes. Their programming has held up. And, clearly, they are pleased to see you. As am I, comrade." Nicolai paused outside the cave.

  Coltrane shuffled back into the shadows. "Feel free to stay where you are. I know ghost rock vapor sickens you."

  "Thank you." Nicolai could barely see Coltrane's form in the darkness of the cave. He was startled when something very tall moved in the shadows beyond. Nicolai heard the sounds of an animal eating coming from inside the cave.

  Coltrane took a deep breath. "I, on the other hand, have come to enjoy it. And I like the strange screaming sound that raw ghost rock makes when it burns. Have you ever heard it?"