Banshee Screams

by Clay Griffith

  The river flowed south out of the harsh, broken plateau land where its red waters cut the awesome natural phenomena known as the Red River Valley. With every mile northward, the canyon grew deeper and darker until it reached the region around Castle Rock where it was several miles wide, with savage gorges miles deep that remain unexplored. It was a place that frightened grown men and terrified all those that remembered that ungodly battle. Strange sounds and horrible things seemed to emanate from there.

  Today, however, something else was moving around in the valley. And Ross wanted to know what.

  Taking the glasses from Ross and raising them to her eyes, Debbi saw what he was talking about. Newcomb had indeed encroached upon the trade route. This slow, shallow section of the river had been a caravan ford for decades, but now both banks were pockmarked with huge, shallow pans dug to trap water and grow algae.

  "Newcomb's got a problem." She handed the glasses back to Ross.

  "It's his own doing."

  "Well, he might have gotten away with it if he hadn't lost his farm hands. They might have been able to get in the harvest before Sharif left Temptation."

  "Life's a gamble," Ross retorted. "Newcomb lost." He turned his attention up river. "But at least it gave us a heads-up that something's going on up there." He turned the craft toward the canyon land in a swirl of dust. "Geologists my ass. I bet we'll dig up something a whole lot more interesting."

  Two hours later, with the Stallion ditched in a canyon crevasse, the Rangers stealthily worked their way through dry gullies and rocky crevices. They approached an overlook where they hoped to have a good vantage point to see the river. Debbi scuttled along after Ross. She noticed that the vegetation was already waning, although it wasn't as barren as it was reported to be further up where the fighting had been the heaviest. There were no animal sounds, not even the buzzing of insects.

  But Debbi heard distant voices echoing against the canyon walls.

  Ross signaled to her to keep near to the ground and stay close together. They inched forward on their bellies over a small rise and looked down onto a bizarre sight.

  The river was 150 feet below them. Long stretches of sandy ground lined both banks, dotted by an occasional tree or small patches of weeds. The river was much wilder here than near Newcomb's farm. It roiled and spit over hidden rocks, but it was still only a shadow of the monster it would become miles up river nearer the ruins of Castle Rock.

  At least twenty figures moved along the valley floor. They were hunched over and shambled with odd, shuffling gaits. It appeared as if their clothes were too large for them. Debbi's eyes narrowed as she maneuvered her binoculars up. She gasped quietly. They were in straightjackets, the arms unbound, their sleeves dragging the ground. Their faces were either slack or wild. Some wore bite masks.

  Ross touched her arm and she couldn't help but start. She looked quickly over at him. He pointed out a lone figure below in the distance. The figure was ramrod straight and gazing out over the river. There was one thing that stuck out immediately about him.

  He was dead.

  He wasn't as decayed as some of the walking dead they had recently encountered. In fact, he looked fairly well off, by comparison. His flesh was a mottled gray in color, flecked with darkening patches of decay, almost like liver spots. The hair was all gone, not a clinging tendril to be seen on the skullcap.

  The uniform he wore was wrinkled and possessed a few holes as if something had eaten through it. The clothes hung large on the cadaver's frame; obviously the flesh had shrunken slightly during his incarceration in a casket.

  Debbi heard Ross mutter something. She tore her gaze away from the disturbing scene. "What was that?"

  "Quantrill," Ross whispered softly, more to himself than to Debbi.

  "Quantrill? General Quantrill? The guy that commanded the Syker Legion? It can't be General Quantrill. He's dead, isn't he?"

  Ross raised his eyebrows, reminding her of how impotent that excuse was these days.

  "Oh," she said. "Never mind."

  Ross said, "Not only is he . . . was he dead. He was buried right outside Temptation. And we know that cemetery ain't exactly escape proof these days. No, that's Quantrill, all right. Even half rotted, I'd know him anywhere."

  She heard a trace of admiration in Ross's voice. She asked uncertainly, "You knew him?"

  Ross shifted slightly to look at Debbi face to face. "As much as anyone can know a syker."

  Sykers! Debbi had never really known one. There were few sykers left on Banshee. Back when the war started on Earth, before the Tunnel collapsed, most of the Legion went home to fight there. But she certainly knew of General Garrett Quantrill. He was a black footnote at the end of the Red River Campaign. He was the main author of the Syker Legion's final assault on the anouk rebels inside the fortress of Castle Rock. His Legionnaires were an uncaring fist of humanity shoved into the gears of an anouk meat grinder. Debbi's father, who also fought at Red River, always considered Quantrill to be an inhuman savage, which was a charge of enormous proportions from someone as inured to brutality as her father. But then, her father hated sykers almost as much as he hated anouks.

  Glancing at Quantrill with a slight scowl, Debbi was grateful she hadn't met a syker. And she didn't want to start with a dead one.

  Noting her expression, Ross scuttled closer and whispered in her ear. "I don't think Quantrill was really what they made him out to be. After the Red River campaign, he was drummed out of the army and lived near Temptation for a few years before they sent him off to die in Lupinz's booby hatch. Everybody said he was a monster, but I thought he seemed like he really cared about his men." His warm breath brushed against Debbi's cheek. "I don't think he deserved the bloody reputation he got at Red River."

  Debbi didn't answer, her eyes locked on the figures moving down in the basin. It was becoming hard to focus on the situation with Ross so close, their bodies touching.

  She coughed quietly in an attempt to find her voice. "So what are they doing?" She brought her glasses back up. Her peripheral vision showed her that Ross had done the same. She breathed easier even though his right leg was jammed next to hers. She could feel the heat of it even coming through his duster.

  "I'm not sure." He removed his hat and wiped his sleeve across his forehead.

  He didn't seem fazed at all by their contact. The bastard.

  Quantrill was walking along the edge of the river. He stopped suddenly. Bending his knees, he lowered himself to the ground and put out a hand to the dirt as if seeking for something beneath the loam.

  The asylum figures crowded around behind him, swaying and grunting. One held a device clumsily in mittened hands, but didn't move until Quantrill rose to his feet.

  With a nod from the General, the inmate rushed forward and placed the device into the spot indicated. They then repeated the process several times.

  "A beacon?" Debbi suggested. Ross grunted his agreement. "For what?" she wondered in frustration. She shifted slightly, intending to move to a different position, convinced it was merely to get a better visual and not to inch away from Ross.

  Ross grabbed her shoulder and she froze. Her eyes swung back to Ross, but instead noticed the distant Quantrill staring straight at their location.

  "Damn," Ross whispered.

  "Sorry," she hissed through clenched teeth, cursing herself for being so stupid. Her movement must have given them away. But she couldn't see how Quantrill could have spotted them. They were too far away.

  Ross just shook his head in absolution. Debbi's small movement hadn't given them away. They were dealing with a powerful syker, dead or not.

  Quantrill turned sharply to an inmate beside him. The inmate bounced up and down, swinging his arms wildly back and forth against his chest, the metal buckles on the sleeves slapping harshly against him. Quantrill lifted a hand toward the ridge where the Rangers were hidden. His eyes showed white as they rolled back.

  "We're leaving. Now." Ross wrenched his hat on his
head and inched back off the ridge, pulling Debbi with him.

  Debbi followed, keeping her movements deliberate and quiet. When they were sure they were out of Quantrill's line of sight, they stood and hurried down the slope. Ross was mumbling, berating himself for being so foolish.

  "Should have known he could sense us."

  "I guess being dead didn't lessen his power," Debbi said bitterly.

  They were several miles from the Stallion. The fact that their backs were to a reputedly bloodthirsty syker and a mob of the insane that might be coming after them made Debbi's spine itch. Her feet fairly flew over the rocks as they climbed up another slope.

  At the top, they trudged along the edge as it swerved in the direction of the Stallion. Ross looked down the jagged hill to his left and swallowed hard. It would be tough going there, scrubby needle trees and cactus-like bushes. To their right was a sandier slope with the occasional rock and bush, stretching away from the river to the desert.

  Halfway to where the ridge flattened out, something waited for them.

  Ross stopped abruptly, his arm snapping out to halt Debbi's advance behind him. She peered around him. The blood drained from her face.

  A large dark shape stepped onto the ridge.

  Debbi immediately flashed back to the miners' camp. Her fingers tightened on her weapon even though it wouldn't put a dent in that thing. Then she realized that this wasn't the same creature. It wasn't as tall or as loose-limbed.

  This thing was catlike in nature, lithe and sinewy, covered in black and orange fur. Its tail switched angrily behind it. Its teeth and claws were huge and glistened in the sunlight.

  From within its dark shadow emerged a second creature. Both cat creatures eyed the Rangers and dropped their ears against their heads. They crouched at the shoulder. Their tails switched back and forth.

  Ross took a step back. Then another. His hand dropped immediately to his holster and came up with his Dragoon, which he brought specifically for this mission. Debbi followed suit.

  "Is this what you fought at the miners' camp?" Ross asked, keeping his attention on the creatures in front of him.

  "No," she quickly answered, continuing her backward gait. "But they look just as bad."

  The creatures prowled after them on all fours. Shale and debris skittered off the sides of the ridge as they passed.

  Debbi and Ross were now cut off from the ship. She glanced behind her, expecting to see the shuffling inmates appear over the rise at any moment and trap them on this precarious ridge.

  Ross leveled his weapon at the snarling cat-things. Debbi grabbed his arm.

  "Wait. We might have a back door."

  "What's wrong with making a front door?"

  "Gun fire will give our position away. I've got another idea." She tugged on his duster. On the way to the river they had passed another ridge, which meandered along a cliff wall deeper into the valley. It would be dangerous. They would have to head deeper into Red River Valley before doubling back toward the ship.

  Debbi pulled a phosphor grenade from her belt. Ross caught a glimpse of it and his eyes immediately locked with hers. He nodded. Debbi took the liberty of packing extra ordnance on this trip thanks to clear memories of her last field mission and the monster at the miners' camp. She handed the grenade to Ross who was in a better position to use it. He quickly thumbed the code without taking his gaze from Debbi's. The grenade was now armed. He kept his index finger firmly on the release, preventing it from starting its countdown.

  Debbi smirked in a cocky, devil-may-care grin and Ross eagerly returned it.

  They turned and ran back the way they had come along the ridge. After a minute of scrambling over the uneven ground, Debbi indicated a narrow ledge leading off the ridge.

  Ross turned back to the creatures. They were closing the gap and began a high-pitched mewling, almost like laughter. It gave Ross chills to hear it.

  Debbi's sharp eye caught some movement from the direction of the river. The inmates.

  "Great. We got company."

  The treacherous ridge was their only escape now. A sudden screech sounded behind her and she turned back to Ross and the creatures. They had finally realized that they might lose their prey. The beasts leaped forward as one, their claws scrambling against the loose shale.

  Ross waved frantically at her. "Go! Go!"

  She ran out onto the narrow ridge.

  He released the switch on the grenade and counted to three as he rapidly backpedaled. Then he stopped and heaved the grenade at the beasts bearing down on him. Not wasting time, he immediately spun and ran for the same path Debbi had taken. From this vantage point, he could see the inmates scrambling up after them from the river's edge. He knew they were being flanked, but the cliff shelf offered a good position from which two people might be able to hold out.

  He saw Debbi sprinting ahead. The trail was angling down. He counted in his head and hunched his shoulders as he hit zero. A second later, the air exploded behind him. A superheated punch slammed him between the shoulders and pushed him to the ground.

  An inhuman screech echoed behind him. Phosphor grenades were designed to melt through polymetal armors, so they could easily fry flesh in microseconds. He felt no remorse for the screaming things engulfed in the fiery substance. He scrambled on, ignoring the sharp stones digging into his hands. He matched Debbi's pace a few yards ahead of him.

  The cliff wall was craggy and peeling. The narrow shelf along which the two Rangers ran was less than four feet across and dotted with fallen detritus.

  Ross risked a glance behind him.

  The inmates, chittering and yelling, lurched onto the shelf, not fazed by the dizzying height as they scrambled high above the surging river.

  Just behind them one of the monsters shambled into view. Smoke rose off its burnt flesh. The hair was scorched in areas, revealing blackened charred flesh. The skin on half of its face was gone, showing white bone beneath. Its one eye was fixed on Ross.

  The Ranger knew hatred when he saw it.

  The monster shoved its way through the inmates in its rush to get its prey. Two inmates fell screaming off the cliff, their useless covered hands scrabbling futilely for branches and rock outcrops. The rest tried to get out of the creature's way. Furious, it ripped its way through one, a swash of crimson soaking the straightjacket as the figure fell limp to the ground and rolled bonelessly into the ravine.

  Ross ran, but he knew he would never be fast enough. He felt rather than saw the cat-thing roaring up behind him. His gun was halfway around when it swiped at him and its long reach connected with his side.

  Thankfully it struck with its right forepaw and Ross was bounced against the cliff wall. He fell onto the shelf, feeling a warm rush of blood soak his side. He quickly tried to turn over, intending to get to his feet.

  Debbi was ten yards ahead. She must have realized Ross was in trouble. To his horror, she stopped dead and turned back for him.

  "Keep going!" he shouted at her.

  Either she ignored him or didn't hear him. He suspected that she would claim the latter regardless.

  Debbi lifted her Dragoon in one smooth motion and sighted down the barrel. It was a tight shot. Ross was directly in front of the monster that was lifting its claw to land the final blow. She let out her breath to steady her aim and sent a quiet, desperate prayer. She pulled the trigger.

  The bullet pounded the monster's breastbone and threw it upright, screaming. She thumbed the black gun and sent two needles into it for good measure. Ross scrambled to his feet and fled unsteadily onward, not looking back. He kept his gaze focused on Debbi as he ran.

  Debbi met his eyes briefly, silently urging him to hurry. Then she shifted her attention again to the beast. It surged forward, more enraged than ever. Debbi took aim again just as it leaped for Ross.

  Oh God! No!

  She fired and saw the spray of red on the cliff wall as the beast went limp.

  But there was no way for Ross to avoid its fall
ing body. It landed heavily on the Ranger and slammed him to the ground. Together they slid wildly toward the edge of the cliff in a tangle of limbs and bodies.

  Debbi screamed and started running for them, ignoring the pain that seared her tired muscles.

  Ross wasn't even trying to slow himself down; he looked unconscious. Debbi was still just out of reach when he and the creature tumbled over the edge.

  "Noooo!"

  She skidded to a stop and fell to her knees, her breath a mere sob.

  "Ross!" she howled. The name echoed through the canyon.

  It was soon replaced with the loud chattering of inmates as they rushed Debbi.

  Through blurry, tear-filled eyes, Debbi scrambled to her feet, bringing the gun up. With a hoarse shout, she fired into the inmates with both regular shells and the black gun, stepping forward to meet them.

  Three dropped before her onslaught. The remaining dozen came on, swarming over their fallen brethren and onto her. She struck one with the butt of her weapon and sent him careening over the edge. Two grabbed her arms while another one wrestled the gun from her grip. Two more leaped on her and bore her to the ground. She kicked out at those grabbing for her legs. She connected again and the inmate lost his balance and slipped over the edge, holding by sheer will to a small rock protrusion. He screamed for help. None came. The rock crumbled and the inmate fell away, his shriek following after.

  Then came the blows. The inmates pounded her with their wild arms; their shouts and inane guttural noises filled her hearing. They were strong. A few blows found her head and her vision blackened. Another slammed onto her chest and she felt bones give way under it.

  She heard a dim rumbling sound and then a scream. It wasn't her; at least she didn't think it was.

  Suddenly the weights were gone. She breathed deep and her vision swam back in a semblance of clarity. Her chest felt like it was filled with shards of glass. She pulled an arm over to brace it, gasping. She looked up and purple filled her view. It took a second to realize why.