Banshee Screams

by Clay Griffith

  And she was starting to feel that the man in front of her was in her way.

  "The black guns went where?" she asked him.

  "They're in Temptation as we expected," stammered Thomas, her executive assistant.

  "However?"

  "The Colonial Rangers have them." Thomas leaned forward to launch into a self-exempting explanation.

  Lithia held up a silencing finger. "Your man lost them?"

  Thomas winced at being unable to explain in his own way. "Yes. He was killed. He was with a caravan."

  "They were unguarded?"

  "Well, no not completely. But we were trying to maintain a low profile. The Reapers attacked at—"

  She held up her finger again. "How many?"

  "Reapers? There must've been—"

  "Guns."

  Thomas consulted a palmcorder, hoping for some miracle that would keep him from answering. Lithia waited quietly. He exhaled. "Um. One hundred units."

  Lithia asked in a still voice. "What did the Rangers do with the guns?"

  "We have no evidence they've done anything with them yet. I'm sure they don't know what they are."

  "The entire run lost. No beta testing on site. We've now lost six months."

  Thomas nodded sympathetically, trying to be a commiserator rather than the one responsible. "Absolutely. We could've gotten those guns to a lot of miners and settlers if not for those damned Rangers."

  Lithia began tapping her keyboard. "You can go, Thomas. Thank you."

  He hesitated, studying her face for any hints. There were none. He left the office slumping.

  Thomas's incompetence already pushed aside for the moment, Lithia quickly computed production figures and resource allocation to her lab. It would be nearly impossible to replace those lost units without going to the directors for an amended budget line. And that was very undesirable. Not with other HI labs nearing roll-out on competitive projects.

  Why did it have to be Colonial Rangers?

  Lithia would rather work with the Reapers, and had, many times. Although she preferred Jesse Coltrane to the current leader. Coltrane was an old-fashioned thug, a thief. He was easy to deal with as long as you didn't show weakness and kept your hand on your wallet. But Nicolai was a thinker. He fancied himself a political philosopher with a gun. And those types were unpredictable.

  In their own way, the Colonial Rangers were worse. You couldn't manipulate their central command because they barely had one. They had never been well coordinated, but the Worldstorm had left them even more scattered and independent. One Ranger might be an anouk-hater with an itchy trigger finger while the next one was a colonist-baiter gone native. However, if you threatened any one of them, they pulled together.

  The Colonial Rangers had a terrible inferiority complex. Despite their hard-eyed bluster, they realized they were outnumbered by the Reapers, outgunned by the UN, and out-organized by Hellstromme Industries. But when it came to Banshee, they knew the ground better than any group except the anouks themselves. That advantage was undeniable and had to be overcome in the coming battle for mastery the surface.

  And now a mob of those quick-tempered, uncooperative gunslingers had her black guns.

  Lithia contemplated dropping a squad of HI Marines into Temptation to take back the guns by force. But then there was the unpleasant possibility of a nasty, public firefight between her Marines and the Colonial Rangers. She'd prefer not to raise the static level on Banshee. She didn't want the HI Directors or her UN liaison to know the guns had been lost. Even though Thomas was a fault, it would come back on her She was a firm believer in the maxim that you never fixed a problem by making it bigger.

  Perhaps she could make this work. She could reach out for assets in Temptation. In a stagnant, backwater hole like that, she should be able to buy anything or anybody she wanted. And that included Colonial Rangers. Lithia straightened a stray hair. Maybe she could play these gunslingers after all.

  Debbi approached Ranger headquarters.

  There had been a constant crowd outside the office for the last few days, shouting questions and demanding answers. Given the circumstances, Debbi felt that the Rangers had done a remarkable job safeguarding citizens of Temptation from the undead, both physically and psychologically. Still, there had been enough incidents, such as the melee at the First Ecumenical Church, to create a growing wave of horrific eyewitness accounts and fear-based rumors. There were grains of truth circulating, but the truth was so unbelievable that it was easy for other elements to sink into the story. Most of the crowd surrounding the Ranger headquarters didn't know what was really going on, but they felt compelled to be a part of the panic because of what they imagined was going on. And they were almost all armed.

  A woman yelled at Debbi as she tried to pass, "The Skinnies are in Temptation, aren't they!"

  Debbi recognized the woman as the ungrateful lady from the Ecumenical Church that she had shoved to the floor while saving her from a zombie. Her name was Mrs. Cochrane, a widow, and she had become a familiar presence in the outraged crowds.

  "Skinnies?" a man standing next to Mrs. Cochrane exclaimed. "You saw Skinnies? Here?"

  "There are no Skinnies in Temptation," Debbi asserted calmly.

  "You're just saying that!" Mrs. Cochrane retorted in near hysterics. "You're just saying that so we don't panic! I saw Skinnies in the church! They are going to murder us in our beds!"

  Debbi stared her straight in the eye. "There are no Skinnies in Temptation, Mrs. Cochrane. You did not see Skinnies in the church."

  "You were there! You saw them!" She turned to a man next to her. "She's lying to my face. You can see how scared she is."

  The man demanded, "What are the Rangers doing to help us!"

  He grabbed Debbi's jacket as she stepped toward the door. She tried to pull away, but Mrs. Cochrane seized her too.

  "Why aren't you doing something about the Catholic church?" Mrs. Cochrane raved. "It's the center of all this evil!"

  Debbi forcefully pulled her arm away. "The situation at the Catholic church is under control, Mrs. Cochrane."

  "Oh really? Then who are those people running around there at night? Devil worshippers, that's who they are! What are you doing about it?"

  "Ma'am, there are no people running around the Catholic church at night. Perhaps there were several days ago, but not now."

  "I'm sure!" Mrs. Cochrane grabbed a stubby little man from nearby and pulled him forward. "This is Mr. Hale, a fine gentleman and credible witness. Tell her, Mr. Hale."

  "My name is John Hale. Pleased to meet you." He extended a friendly hand to Debbi.

  Debbi smiled in surprise and shook his hand. "Debbi Dallas. Glad to know you, Mr. Hale."

  "Debbi Dallas? Well, that reminds me of some...oh well I..." His eyes strayed to her breasts.

  Mrs. Cochrane glared at the man and loudly cleared her throat.

  "Oh yes," Hale stammered under her baleful look. "I was walking past the church just last night. The haunted one, the cathedral. And I saw odd lights inside the church."

  "And?" Mrs. Cochrane prompted.

  "Oh. And chanting. A strange, otherworldly sort of chanting."

  "Otherworldly?" Debbi inquired with mock seriousness.

  "Yes. Quite otherworldly. And I noticed that the chain on the gate was unlocked."

  Debbi looked hard at the man. "What? Are you sure?"

  "He said the chain was unlocked," Mrs. Cochrane added in a shrill voice. "Devil worshippers have amazing powers. Unlocking chains being among them. So, are you going to do something about them, or are you going to stand by while we are all murdered in our beds?"

  Only in my dreams would you be murdered in your bed, Debbi thought, with a faint smile.

  Then she held up her hands. "We'll look into it."

  "You've got to do more than that!" Mrs. Cochrane yelled. "There is evil in this town! Evil! Devil worshippers and Skinnies! They are going to murder us in our beds and the Rangers will just stand by!"


  Debbi started for the door. "I said we'd look into it. Rest assured we will."

  Hands grabbed Debbi again. She instinctively reached for her weapon.

  "Now!" Mrs. Cochrane shouted. "You have to do something now! We may not survive another night of this horror!"

  The crowd began to rumble in a dangerous way.

  The front door to the office flew back and Ross stomped out onto the wooden sidewalk. The crowd turned their eyes from Debbi to him. He reached out and pulled Debbi free of the clutching mob and dragged her behind him. He stepped to the edge of the crowd.

  "Everybody listen to me!" Ross raised his hands. "I'm not having this kinda thing here!"

  Mrs. Cochrane shouted, "If you don't take action, we will!"

  Ross said, "The curfew's cancelled for tonight. That's the action I'm taking."

  The crowed became silent. They exchanged glances and a few smiles broke across worried faces.

  "The curfew's over?" Mr. Hale asked. "So everything is all right?"

  "The curfew is cancelled," Ross repeated. "Go about your business."

  With that he turned and virtually shoved Debbi inside the office and closed the door behind him.

  "Don't ever stop and talk," he said before she could speak. "Just let 'em see you doing your job."

  "But they're scared. They want information."

  "They'll get it when we get it."

  "So is the curfew cancelled?"

  "That's what I said."

  "Because of what just happened outside?"

  "Hell no." He gave Debbi a look that made her feel embarrassed for her stupid question. "There hasn't been a zombie sighted in town for two nights. Time to let some of the pressure off."

  Debbi glanced at Stew and Chennault who sat behind mounds of paperwork.

  Debbi said to Ross, "Mrs. Cochrane did say something you should know."

  Ross stood with arms crossed. "I doubt that. But go ahead."

  "She said, or rather a Mr. Hale said, that he was passing St. Calixtus last night and heard some odd sounds."

  "There's a shocker," Ross snapped. "People have heard weird noises there for a long time. Folks think St. Calixtus is haunted."

  Debbi continued without comment, "He also said that the chain you put on the gate was unlocked."

  Ross stood straighter with interest. He worked his jaw in thought. "Stew, anybody in the churchyard last night?"

  "No. Patrols on the walls. Nobody inside."

  "Well, far be it from me to ignore the complaints of concerned citizens." Ross chucked Debbi on the shoulder. "Stew, call Miller in to watch the house. Then arm up. We're all going to stake out a haunted church."

  Chapter 16

  It was an hour before sunset as Debbi, Ross, and Chennault approached the gate to St. Calixtus. Debbi scanned the interior area with binoculars and saw no undead lurking inside. There had been no zombies here for a day or two and the wall snipers had been shifted to more important duties. Debbi saw several bodies lying on the ground nearly obscured inside swarms of six-inch long black and green blowflies. And not far from the abbey, a pair of gray komodos, squat and bloated under their wings, feasted on the flesh of a dead woman.

  Being in the direct lee of the city wall, this area was often home to swirling and unpredictable winds. Or it could be abnormally still, as it was now. The stagnant air allowed the stench of decay to hang in the air like gobbets of flesh on a meat hook.

  Debbi said, "It looks clear. Disgusting, but clear."

  "All right. Let's go." Ross unlocked the heavy chain on the gate and led the Rangers into the churchyard. He looped the chain back through and locked them in. "Chennault, get on the roof of the abbey. We don't want any nasty surprises."

  Debbi watched the short woman trot off. Chennault was an ex-Hellstromme Industries Marine and never talked much about her past or even her present. Debbi was under the impression she may have been an assassin of sorts, rather than a line trooper. She was an excellent shot with the standard pulse rifle and physically stronger than any other Ranger, save perhaps Boston Fitzpatrick whom, it was rumored, had once wrestled a young chanouk to the ground on a dare.

  Debbi and Ross made their way to the front of the cathedral. The doorway was twenty feet high and fifteen wide. Sunlight streamed through the shattered roof and illuminated portions of the vast, empty interior. Debbi heard footsteps coming from around the side of the church and Stew appeared with his rifle cradled in his arms.

  He bobbed his head toward the church. "It's clear. No sign of anybody or anything."

  Ross said, "Let us pause a moment here while the Reverend Dallas gives us the layout of the interior of this, what do you call it again, church?" The barest glint of a challenge lit his expression as he sardonically regarded Debbi.

  Debbi smiled sarcastically at Ross. "It's a cathedral. It's shaped like a cross. More than that and you'll have to consult your travel guide."

  Ross's facial muscles tightened as he fought to remain stoic.

  Confusion flicked briefly in Stew's eyes at the interplay between the two Rangers.

  Slipping into their odd dialogue, Stew held out his forearm along the same axis at the main line of the cathedral as if pointing into the door. He crossed his wrist with his other arm. "This is the cathedral. It's a cross, like Dallas said. My forearm is the nave. The two branches of the cross are the transepts." He wiggled his fingers. "This is the choir."

  Debbi and Ross stared at him.

  Stew ran a hand through his close-cropped hair and looked up from under a down-turned brow. "I studied a few years with the Jesuits."

  Ross shook his head in wonder and finally said, "Okay. I want you two up in the second story." He glanced questioningly at Stew.

  Stew didn't look up, but said, "Triforium."

  "The triforium. Is there a crypt?"

  "There is," Stew added. "Entrance is in the floor of the north transept."

  "Does it connect with any tunnels leading off the grounds?"

  "Not so far as I know. At the time, it was assumed no one down there was going anywhere. Except up."

  Ross nodded and said, "I'll stake out the rubble on the main floor. We don't know exactly what we're waiting for, but it wouldn't be the first time a bunch of freaks have used the place for rituals."

  Stew asked, "Ross, you think it's possible some occultists are the cause of all these problems?"

  Ross paused and considered carefully what he was about to relate. "My grandfather was a Texas Ranger back on Earth. Like his grandfather before. And his grandfather." Ross brushed his hand over the Colt Peacemaker on his hip. "He gave me this old gun. He told me stories about his days as a Ranger and the days of Rangers gone by. Those stories talked about horrors in the Old West like we've been seeing in Temptation. Then on the day he died, he told me the worst yet. He said that he hadn't even talked about half the things he'd seen." Ross smiled quickly before resuming his grim countenance. "I used to think he was touched. But I'm starting to think he was the most well-balanced man I ever met because he didn't go flat-out crazy." He clicked his com so Chennault could hear. "People, we don't know what we're dealing with and the only rule that never changes is protect yourselves."

  Debbi and Stew exchanged a look. From most anyone else, Ross's story would have been deemed pure foolishness and dismissed. But since it came from him, both of them took it dead serious. It didn't quell their apprehension by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, it only heightened it.

  Ross led them inside through the portal. He pointed up to both sides of the church.

  Stew went to the left aisle while Debbi immediately went right.

  Debbi had the outer wall to her right and thick columns on her left. Along the wall were a series of stone sarcophagi, some made of tannis, some of marble imported from Earth. Some of the tombs were simple and others had exquisite statuary reclining on top. She heard a faint scraping noise. She stopped and listened. She could make out the sound of Ross and Stew moving stealthily u
p the cathedral.

  She strained to pinpoint the origin of the scraping noise. She realized it was coming from inside a sarcophagus. The corpse inside was awake, but the stone lid was too heavy for it to escape. She crept forward and heard the same scraping from the next tomb. And the next too.

  Stew's voice came across her com. "I hear undead moving inside the sarcophagi over here."

  "Me too," Debbi said. "But I don't think they can get out."

  "Then forget 'em," Ross said. "They can stay in there till hell freezes over."

  At the crossing, Debbi and Stew found doorways leading to narrow, circular staircases rising to the triforium galleries twenty feet above the floor. They climbed up through the cobwebs and settled themselves diagonally across the center of the church from one another so they could spy out most of the cathedral through stone arches.

  They watched as Ross strode down the center of the cathedral. His head turned side to side, carefully scoping the situation. He moved in and out of colored patterns on the floor cast by fading sunlight from the remaining stained glass. His boots rang off the tannis. His torn black duster flowed behind him like the robes of a flawed priest.

  The cathedral's sturdy altar had been dragged from the collapsed choir at the rear of the church and set up in the crossing. It was a massive piece, seven feet long and intricately carved from a white stone to contrast with the black tannis church. It was now draped in a sheath of black wax. Ross played his flashlight over it. He rubbed a finger on the wax and it came away damp. He licked his finger and spit.

  "Blood. Not too old." Ross left the altar and climbed over a pile of rubble in the rear of the church. He nestled behind some collapsed wooden pillars.

  They all settled into immobility and waited. Colored stains slid across the floor with the setting sun and finally disappeared into night shadows. With no wind outside, the sounds of the church slowly began to filter into their wary ears. The air filled with the whisper of dead hands scratching on the insides of their tombs.