"Yes. What brings you here, so far from your ruin?" Nicolai had more important things on his mind than chitchat. Plus, Coltrane and the thing behind him were unnerving.
"I wanted to be with you on the momentous day, the proclamation of your Banshee Free State."
"Our Banshee Free State."
Coltrane quivered and made a noise that sounded like a laugh. "Of course. It's a magnificent thing. You've made the Reapers into so much more than I ever dreamed all those years ago."
"I am only completing what you began."
"What's your next step?"
"Temptation."
"Hmm."
"You disagree?" Nicolai regarded his mentor irritably.
"No. Temptation must fall. But taking it by storm will be expensive. We discussed this at the last gathering. Avernus was insulted by your absence. As was I."
"I'm busy."
Coltrane nodded with understanding. "Don't take our support for granted, Nicolai. Avernus and Tekkeng are powerful allies."
"Magic is all well and good," Nicolai responded with the bland superiority of an academic, "but only steel takes ground and holds it. They need the Reapers. And I command the Reapers now. I've sent word for all Reapers. They are gathering at Domburg. And they are ready to assault Temptation. That city is the natural target for so large a force."
Coltrane turned and paced thoughtfully. Nicolai stared at him with annoyance.
"It's impossible to overestimate your leadership qualities," Coltrane said, "but I beg you not to equate that with the quality of your forces. You haven't had real opposition for some time. In my foolish younger days, I took the Reapers into battle against EXFOR and the Hellstromme Marines. It was a mistake that I was lucky to live to regret. The Reapers are not an army. They are an armed mob. At best, there are cadres within it that constitute an excellent guerilla force. But at their heart, they are a collection of mercenaries and idealists and nomadic anouks. They are perfect for destroying a mining town such as this or raiding caravans. They strike and move. They are fast and versatile. They can melt before opposition only to reform and attack from another direction. Used properly, as you have always done, they are a supreme fighting force. But Temptation is well defended; it has walls and a large contingent of Colonial Rangers."
Nicolai felt rage growing in him. Coltrane had taught him most of what he knew about military tactics, but leadership was his own contribution. Coltrane could not possibly grasp the fact that properly motivated troops could do the impossible. Coltrane had never been a spiritual leader. He was not a firebrand who could use words to spark a fire in a man and bring out a spirit and fervor the man never knew was there. Nicolai was such a leader; he believed that his Reapers would follow him anywhere and do anything for him when Coltrane went off to "learn" from Avernus in the ancient anouk ruins in the hills above Domburg.
Still, Coltrane was an organizational genius. He had built the Reapers from a band of robber mercenaries into a formidable military force. And he had chosen Nicolai personally to succeed him. If Coltrane chose to reappear at this time, it must be for a reason.
Nicolai suppressed his anger. The stakes were too high to cloud his planning with a clash of personalities. He had to be objective and make sound judgments if his Free State was to flourish. If a power struggle for the Reapers was in his future, he could wield a dagger with the best of them. The early days of statehood were treacherous. One false step could doom a glorious future.
"What do you suggest?" Nicolai tried to keep his voice from sounding stiff and uninterested.
"What is the key to power?" Coltrane questioned instead.
"Force," Nicolai responded quickly, irritated that the discussion had turned into a quiz.
"Fear," Coltrane intoned. "Force wanes. Fear, if properly tended, lasts forever. All authority, all power, stems from fear. Without it, there is nothing."
"And Temptation?"
"I would ask you to wait. My time among the tannis ruins has given me certain...abilities. Perhaps one day I will teach you. But for now, it's my pleasure to put my abilities at your service. Temptation fears you now, but it's a fear that will make them fight. While you probably could take the town, your losses would be great. There is a better way. I have put forces into motion in Temptation that will literally bring them to their knees with horror. I have the power to make it so they will no longer fear your coming; but rather, they will live in horror that you will not come. So wait. Use these mines to build your arsenal. When the time comes, Temptation will cower like a beaten child at your feet. Then, use them as you will."
Nicolai asked in surprise and concern, "You have your own agents inside Temptation?"
Coltrane laughed again. "You could say that."
"How long must I wait?"
"I don't know. The human mind is a fragile, but deliciously unpredictable thing. It shouldn't be long. But, after all, we have all the time in the world."
"Very well," Nicolai said hesitantly. "I await your word."
"Good," Coltrane said. "Oh, by the way, I found some people hiding here when I arrived. Common thieves mostly."
Nicolai started at the mention of thieves.
Coltrane continued, "I had to kill them. But they told me something interesting before they died. A caravan passed through here a few days ago. These thieves discovered it carried a supply of the black guns that have been appearing around Banshee recently."
Nicolai was staring at the ground, lost in thought.
"Did you hear me?" Coltrane asked loudly.
"What? Sorry, yes, a caravan. Black guns."
"This caravan was bound east to Makeshift and then turning north to Temptation. I want it intercepted. I want those guns."
"Very well. I'll send word to have it ambushed at the Bosporus Straits." The feeling of taking direct orders again was offensive to Nicolai. He was laboring to construct a worldwide state and completely redesign society on Banshee, and Coltrane was obsessing over pirating a shipment of guns. Nicolai didn't have time to worry about caravans and guns.
"It's important, Nicolai," Coltrane interrupted Nicolai's reverie.
"I said it would be done!"
Coltrane froze in his tracks. Nicolai felt something strange and frightening surging in his old mentor. This was not the same guerilla leader and hardnosed politico he had known for many years. Seeing him outside the natural strangeness of the anouk ruins in the ghastly company of Avernus and the horrid Tekkeng only accentuated that fact. It was chilling. But Nicolai switched his mind to comfortable politics and immediately began to consider the possibility that the Reapers would welcome this man back as their leader. How far gone was Coltrane? What exactly had he become? Nicolai found himself staring into the darkness of the hood, trying to see Coltrane's face. It was impossible; and Nicolai was grateful.
"Forgive me, Nicolai," Coltrane said quietly. "I don't mean to burden you at this momentous time. But, please, trust me and you will learn aspects to power you never imagined."
"No doubt." Nicolai glanced away. "It will all be done as you wish."
"Very good. Now, I would like to have that Colonial Ranger you have tied to your tank."
Nicolai stood opened-mouth for a second, unsure what to think or say.
"Unless," Coltrane said, "you have plans for him."
"No. I ..." Nicolai returned to his tank. He slipped a long knife from his boot sheath and cut the ropes holding the Ranger. The man fell heavily to the ground where he grunted and lay still. It was impressive that he was still alive. Nicolai turned back to the mine entrance.
"Leave him," Coltrane called from the shadows. "We'll fetch him when you've gone."
Nicolai climbed back into his tank. The machine reversed and he was gratified to see the Vanguard falling into their normal positions around it. Nicolai didn't look back; he didn't want to see what Coltrane might be doing to the Colonial Ranger. He began to feel more relieved the farther away he moved from Coltrane's dark place.
Chapter 9
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"Grab your guns, boys! There's been a break out!"
Debbi and Stew looked up from their desks at Lyle Cassian who had just slammed open the office door. Hands flashed to pistols. They turned to the lockup behind them. Debbi expected the Reaper to come crashing through the door.
However, the door remained securely closed.
Stew was on his feet. He punched in the key code and pulled the door open. The five cells were all closed. There were only two prisoners— Borneo and a teamster who was sobering up.
Borneo immediately leaped to his feet and pressed his nose through the bars.
"Time for food?" he asked.
"Shut up." Stew closed the lockup and turned to face Cass. "What are you talking about? There's no break out."
"Not here," the old Ranger said in his graveled voice. "At the cemetery."
Temptation Cemetery was located on high ground several miles east of town. After the Worldstorm had left everything covered in sand, the cemetery was one of the first places excavated by general civic effort, an odd but necessary exercise in exhuming the memories of the dead.
Debbi skidded the speeder bike to a halt in front of the cemetery's wrought iron gate. Cass unclenched his hands from around her waist and peeled himself off the bike. He took a second to steady his nerves. Debbi's driving was a tad reckless to suit someone his age. Debbi just slapped up her goggles and pushed her way through the gate.
The cemetery covered more than six hundred sprawling acres. At one time it was a beautiful piece of country with rolling hills and a picturesque stream, partially surrounded by a high iron fence. Now it was stark and harsh. The fence was largely gone. Trees planted decades ago for gentle landscaping were still standing, but they had been stripped clean of leaves and bark by the ferocious hurricane force winds. Their naked, barren limbs reached out like dead fingers.
Here by the gate, headstones were haphazardly placed, demonstrating the frontier urgency that was responsible for the cemetery's foundation. Deeper in, the higher level of civilization that developed in Temptation was reflected in the neat rows of gravestones that stretched out to the horizon. Around the fringes, however, the chaos of the last year was sadly seen. There were no headstones, only mounds of earth covering trenches hastily dug for mass graves.
Cass touched Debbi on the shoulder and she flinched.
"Sorry." He looked out over the desolate cemetery. "I'm thinking Glenda Womble wasn't some isolated aberration."
"That's good. I hate isolated aberrations. Now, what's going on out here? I don't see anything."
"Keep walking. You will."
Debbi cast an annoyed glance at Cass. They pulled their sidearms and moved into the gathering of gravestones. They walked for several minutes, their footsteps crunching in the dirt. The wind whistled through the monuments. Nothing moved except clouds of dust wandering aimlessly around the cracked and broken headstones.
"Watch your step!" Cass exclaimed.
Debbi stopped and looked down. A partially open grave yawned at her feet. The earth was collapsed and sucked down two feet below the surrounding ground. More dirt was spread out haphazardly around the grave. In the center was a sinkhole leading to the darkness below.
Debbi's eyes slid sideways and the next grave was in the same shape. And the next. And the next. All around her, graves were uprooted.
She asked, "What is going on around here? Grave robbers?"
Cass said with mild incredulity, "Do those graves look dug up to you?"
Debbi understood what he meant, although she didn't want to. The graves had collapsed because the dirt was displaced from below. She felt a surge of nausea as she contemplated what appeared to be the horrible truth of what happened in this cemetery. The withering, violent figure of Mrs. Womble flashed in her memory.
She shook her head, trying to get her thoughts under control. "I don't...uh...so what happened to all the bodies?"
"Wandered off maybe."
Debbi didn't respond. She walked down the row of graves until she came to one that was undisturbed.
"What about this one?" she asked. "Why is it okay?"
"I don't know, darlin'." Cass shook his head and laid a calming hand on Debbi's shoulder. "Take a second and try to get your mind around this. Let me tell you, I've been around a long time and heard a lot of strange stories. Particularly in the years since the Skinnies showed up. I wasn't sure how much of it I believed. The stories always happened out there somewhere in the wastelands where it's hard to tell truth from fiction anyway. But it's hard to argue with your own eyes." He kicked a dirt clod back into an open grave.
"I don't know," Debbi argued feebly. It was beyond her experience.
Cass nudged her and pointed down.
A hand pushed up through the dirt.
She froze, staring at the undeniable sight of a corpse wriggling free of its grave. A second arm protruded and then a head, shoving dirt haphazardly aside.
It was a man. The face was gaunt; skin stretched tight, teeth prominent. Its hair was black. Its eyes flashed about wildly. It used clawlike hands to shift dirt aside, digging itself out to its chest. Then it placed its hands flat against the ground and began to push, dragging itself inch-by-inch, free of the confining grave.
Cass just watched as the cadaver stood and shook the dirt from its decaying frame. Then the Ranger jerked up his Dragoon and shot the thing in the chest. It staggered back against its gravestone. Its gaze turned and locked on Cass. It surged at him with surprising speed. Cass fired again, blasting a hole through the thing's chest. It already had its bony fingers on Cass's throat and its teeth snapped inches from his face. The old man grimaced; he struggled to avoid the teeth and bring his gun to bear again.
Debbi placed her weapon against the rotting head of the zombie and pulled the trigger. Brain matter exploded out the other side of its skull. It quivered and fell in a heap. She aimed again and fired, blasting most of its head away.
Cass massaged his throat, his eyes wide with shock. "Did you know to do that? Or do you just shoot everybody in the head?"
"Seemed like the thing to do," Debbi answered. She wouldn't say that it was because a head shot had finally put down Glenda Womble. She didn't want to start drawing rational conclusions from this irrational situation. It would be the final step to believing it.
Cass stepped over the body and read the headstone. "Hm. I knew this fellow. Considering he's been dead for six years, he's getting around real well."
Debbi wiped her forehead with her sleeve. She was sweating. "How many people do you think are buried in here?"
Cass whistled. "Quite a few over the years. Four, five hundred maybe. Most people sent their loved ones back to Earth for proper burial, back when they could. There's also a section devoted to the fallen military. And, of course, that doesn't count the hundreds more planted out here after the Worldstorm."
The thought of all those in the mass graves undulating with new life under their feet made the sweat on Debbi's brow turn cold.
They continued walking, warily eyeing their surroundings. They came to one of mass graves of the Worldstorm dead. It was a low mound of earth that was about four feet wide, but well over forty feet long. She kicked at the dirt.
Debbi covered her eyes against the sun and peered back toward Temptation. She was looking for some sign that other Rangers were coming; she'd sent Stew to fetch Ross.
She felt something touch her foot. Fingers protruded from the mass grave and seized the toe of her left boot. When she tried to pull it away, she fell forward onto the mound. Another hand held her right ankle.
"Debbi!" Cass yelled. He rushed to her side as a third hand from below grabbed her arm.
She screamed, pulling against the strong hands. She felt something moving in the mound of dirt under her. Earth shifted, revealing a face staring up at her, close enough to kiss her cheek. Its mouth worked soundlessly and one eye was missing. A second mouth appeared through the dirt near the gaping black eyehole. A head worked its wa
y clear. But it wasn't one head; it was the grotesque fusion of two.
She pulled with all her strength and freed her wrist. Her efforts dislodged more dirt from the thing. Its shoulders and abdomen jerked clear with her as she tried to pull away. Flailing arms protruded from the wrong places. It seemed to have four arms and Debbi saw a leg twitching from the ribcage. Its horror-stricken face was a blend of a man and a woman, and perhaps a third person. And beneath it, deeper in the mass grave, more fused, mutated cadavers wriggled and thrashed, struggling up toward the air.
Debbi was aware of Cass's hands under her arms, pulling with all his strength. He tugged her to her feet, but a clutching hand still held her ankle. Cass pulled his large knife and slashed the heavy blade deep into the dead wrist. He sliced halfway and sawed through the rest. Just as Debbi came free, more fingers pushed out and grabbed for Cass's arm. Debbi pulled the old man out of their reach.
The two Rangers stood back and watched the mound quivering with grotesque life. Cadavers gasped and stretched, their misshapen limbs and heads forever tangled. Their movements were pathetic and horrific. Each arm and leg struggled to propel the torso in a different direction. They writhed and twisted, attempting to lift themselves to their feet, but never accomplishing more than a few halting steps before collapsing like a newborn calf.
"Those poor people," Debbi whispered.
"They're not people anymore," Cass said. He shook his head a second later. "I think I'm gonna be sick."
Debbi said, "Let's get back to the gate so we don't get cut off."
The two Rangers retraced their steps. Debbi saw several cadavers in the distance moving among the gravestones. They seemed to be gathering into small groups. They weren't walking with great purpose; they milled first in one direction and then another. They seemed confused.
Debbi shuddered. She could no longer cling to the hope that there was an explanation other than the obvious. The dead were getting out of their graves in Temptation.
A dust cloud roared toward Debbi and Cass. It was a Stallion. She saw Ross and Stew through the windshield. The Stallion hummed in near Debbi's speeder and lowered to the ground. The doors flew open, and Ross and Stew piled out either side of the cab. Stew scanned the distance. Ross approached Debbi and Cass. His ripped duster flapped in the wind and his hand rested on the butt of his six-shooter.
Banshee Screams Page 9