Banshee Screams

by Clay Griffith

  Debbi struggled over to him and tried to help, but there was little she could do. There were bite holes all over him. His upper body was like putty in her hands. Without the top of his spinal cord and ribcage, the weight of his own flesh was crushing his windpipe; he was slowly suffocating. That didn't matter though. The mounting pressure on his brain sealed his fate.

  Cold and shaking, Debbi was quietly sick in the dark corner. She was both grateful for its obscuring shroud, but also petrified at what lay in its murky ceiling. She hunched there trembling until she felt a hand on her shoulder. She jerked.

  It was Stew.

  "Oh God, Stew, what are these things?" She wiped her mouth.

  His face didn't look much better than hers, as if he had just experienced the same reaction. Stew shook his head, his face locked into stiff mortification, as if it was the only way to keep his terror under control.

  "I don't know," he whispered.

  Weapons fire from across the street startled both of them. They turned to the front window.

  Across the street, the door to the mercantile flew open. Someone emerged screaming, covered with the creatures. Debbi couldn't tell who it was. She and Stew struggled to their feet, using each other for leverage. They ran for the door.

  Ngoma raced out into the street and tried to help the hapless soul who fell to the ground in front of headquarters. The figure shrieked in pain and terror. Ngoma couldn't risk a shot, so he used his bare hands to pry the creatures off.

  Debbi flung open the door and dashed out to help him. Stew lifted his sidearm and didn't wait to find out if the two creatures lurking under the sidewalk overhang would strike. He shot them both straight away.

  "Don't let any of them bite you!" Debbi shouted to Ngoma as she used the butt of her pistol to knock off some of the creatures.

  He looked sharply at her and then continued to pry them off, switching to his rifle stock as a means of dislodging the bat-things.

  Stew stood under the awning and fired in the air, hopefully discouraging any airborne creatures from pouncing. He heard the beating of their leather wings in the darkness above him.

  Curtiz appeared in the street and was shooting the creatures that Debbi and Ngoma flung aside. They writhed in the dust for a moment as bullets ripped into them. Then they were still.

  As the last one made its final shrill and expired three feet from Debbi, she and Ngoma wasted no time. They heaved up the blood-soaked man and dragged him into Ranger headquarters, followed by Curtiz. Stew covered them and then slammed the door.

  Ngoma and Debbi deposited the wounded man on the floor beside the unconscious Fitzpatrick. There were numerous drill holes amongst the bite marks that covered the new victim. Blood seeped out of him like a sieve. There was little they could do; his skin was sinking already before their eyes as he flopped and twitched uselessly, his voice only a gargling sound.

  "Christ." She wiped her mouth with her sleeve, her hand gripped by tremors.

  "They're poisonous?" Ngoma uttered, his tone flat. His eyes were locked on the man he thought they had saved.

  "Yeah, you could say that." She was fighting the tears in her eyes. It was then she saw the smear of blood on Ngoma's leg. "Damn it!"

  Debbi turned to Stew. "Quick, get me a tourniquet!"

  She pushed Ngoma to a sitting position with his back against the wall. Ngoma complied emotionlessly. He wasn't panicking nor was there a hint of fear in his face. He was numb.

  "It's all right, Debbi." He regarded her calmly.

  "No, it's not!" she snapped out in a near sob. Her eyes flashed up hard and angry with him; her hands fumbled with the tourniquet.

  He grabbed her shoulders and repeated gently, "It's all right." He reached down and helped her tie the strap around his thigh.

  It was done. For all the good it would do.

  Debbi slammed a hand down hard onto the floor in abject frustration.

  "We need to get a handle on this, Dallas," Ngoma said with remarkable clarity.

  "How?" she shouted. "There are too many of them!" She raked a shaking hand through her hair, feeling the grit of sand that still lay between the strands. She took several deep breaths, desperate to think straight.

  She regarded Stew, who crouched beside her. "Okay! Okay. Let's think. First we need to get medical help. Stew, get on the horn to Doc Dazy. Maybe some victims have made it to him already. We need to know what to do to help these people. Second, ask Doc if he knows what the hell these things are!"

  She glanced at her people, praying that she was on the right track. Grateful for a direction, Stew tried to click his com onto the Doctor's frequency. Hopefully, Doc Dazy was wearing his comlink. Ngoma was lost in his agony, panting now as pain surged through his leg. He put his head back against the wall. Debbi gently probed the leg. He grunted, but didn't beg her to stop. The bite wound was bad, the flesh torn. It was still seeping blood. She looked up at Ngoma with dread.

  "It burns," he gasped. There were beads of sweat dotting his features. His teeth clamped together against the waves of agony.

  She closed her eyes as a wave of despair flooded her. She forced them open again and hardened her face, grabbing his shoulder and squeezing. "We'll come up with something. Doc will know what to do."

  Ngoma gave a very small laugh. "Yeah, just like he did with the zombies."

  There was a flurry of gunshots from above.

  Ringo and Cass! They were up in the radio shack on the roof. Debbi grabbed her pistol and ran for the stairs.

  Ringo tossed the headphones back on the table. He had broadcast the warning to anyone who had his or her radio on. This time of the day, hopefully people were at home eating a late supper and checking the local bandwidth for occasional news, people with generators at any rate. The lights had gone out as he and Cass arrived. Most likely the creatures had run into the relay station and blew out something. Thankfully, the radio's battery backup had kicked in so they still had the power to broadcast the warning.

  Ringo's nerves were still on edge. The thought of those things flying around out in the dark made his skin crawl. He was glad to be inside away from them.

  He looked up at Cass who was standing next to him behind the glow of a flashlight beam. The elderly man, usually laid back and light-hearted, was now grim and morose.

  With the equipment now turned off and its deep hum silent, other sounds crept in. Distant screaming and intermittent, frantic gunfire filled the night air. The flapping of wings was still audible outside like dead leaves rustling in a dry wind.

  A shiver gripped Ringo as he stood.

  Cass hefted the flashlight in one hand and his sidearm in the other. "Let's get back to the others."

  "Do we have to?" Ringo asked. He really didn't want to go back outside. Cass was about to respond with a sharp answer, but Ringo held up a hand. "I know. I know. It's a Ranger's duty." Ringo gave a halfhearted smile. "It was just wishful thinking was all."

  Cass offered one of his trademark grins and laughed. "I don't remember it ever saying that we had to be vermin exterminators. Maybe we should stay in here."

  Ringo looked almost hopeful, and then he realized Cass was jesting. His expression fell.

  "Come on, kid." Cass clapped him around the shoulders. "There's more work to be done." He was about to head for the door when his flashlight flickered, dipping the room into blackness. It immediately brightened again.

  "Great! That's all we need." Ringo pulled his weapon in closer.

  "Don't worry."

  The light faded again. Cass cursed and shook the light, trying to bring it back to life. It did, barely. The dissipating beam cast wildly around the room.

  Ringo looked up, following the beam of light and he felt his heart seize in terror. Through the darting light he saw a nightmare. The ceiling was filled with the writhing bodies of the bat-things. They were wall-to-wall, clinging to the tiles with their hands and feet. They began to shrill when the light hit them. Their gaping mouths opened, sharp tongues darted o
ut and quivered like rattlers' tails.

  Ringo couldn't help it. He screamed. The flashlight finally went out and the room plunged into darkness.

  The bat-things swarmed.

  "Move!" Cass opened fire and shoved Ringo to the door.

  Ringo fumbled for the latch. He felt the creatures all around him. Wings beat around his head. Clawed hands gripped his hair and screeching filled his ears. He yanked the door open.

  "Cass!"

  "Keep going, son!"

  Ringo fired out ahead of him to clear a path, but as fast as the creatures swerved away, more would drop down to take their place. A stiff hand shoved Ringo out the open door of the com shack and almost sent him sprawling to the rooftop.

  Then the door slammed behind him.

  "No!" Ringo shouted. He reached back for the door handle and struggled to open it. It turned, but he couldn't move the door more than an inch inward. Something was blocking it. "Cass! Get away from the door. Cass!"

  The rustle of wings behind him made him duck and roll. The night sky was abruptly peppered with muzzle blasts and flying lead as he pulled the trigger of his Dragoon.

  He scrambled to his feet and ran back to the radio shack, shoving his shoulder hard against the jammed door. It wouldn't budge. He could just see inside through the slit. By the pale green glow of the transmitter panels, he saw a mass lying at the foot of the door. It was Cass. He was covered with roiling, black furred bodies. There was a sound from inside that Ringo couldn't identify. He thought maybe it was Cass whimpering, but then he realized what it was.

  It was the sound something makes when it's suckling.

  Ringo's limbs went weak and he slumped against the wooden door. He was going to be sick.

  He felt the rustle of wings behind him, but he couldn't move.

  Suddenly the air shattered and bits of blood and gore drizzled on him. Debbi stepped out of the shadows onto the roof.

  "Ringo! Get inside!"

  He turned to her, his face ashen in the pale light of the lamp she held, dripping with flecks of black fur and blood. He tried to speak.

  "C-Cass."

  "Where?" She stepped forward. "Inside the shack?"

  Ringo nodded. "He's dead. They...they ..."

  Debbi's stomach rolled. Oh God, not Cass, she cried silently. She pulled on Ringo's arm, maneuvering him out of the way to look inside with the bright glare of her lamp.

  "They were in the ceiling, hundreds of them. All over. They fell on us, on Cass."

  Only half-listening to Ringo, she held the lamp up high to the slightly open door. The creatures were still swarming over Cass's body. As the lamp light fell over them, they squirmed back hissing, blood soaked lips curling back.

  Cass laid there, his body sunken, soaked in blood. A lot of blood.

  Ringo screamed as more rustling was heard above them.

  With tears streaking her face, Debbi grabbed Ringo and dragged him to the roof access door. She put the lamp in her gun-hand and turned the handle. "Get ready to run in. I'm not keeping this thing open for long. You got it?" She was yelling; she couldn't help it.

  Ringo nodded, his gun trained upward. He fired a few rounds for effect into the darkness. Debbi yanked the door open and Ringo darted inside. She followed, slamming it shut.

  Ringo swung his gun wildly around at the ceiling. Debbi was shaking again and fell face forward against the door. It took a few seconds, but she gathered herself, thinking more of helping Ringo than of her own misery. The poor kid must be terrified. She pulled back and found him sunk to the floor, clutching his gun to his chest and staring at the high ceiling of the supply room.

  Debbi looked up in panic, but saw nothing. It was empty.

  She sank to her knees beside him. "It's okay, Ringo. You're safe."

  He turned huge, tear-filled eyes on her. "He saved me, Debbi. Pushed me out. But then...they got him. They were all over him. He made a noise. I couldn't get to him. I couldn't!"

  Debbi struggled to hold in her own tears. Everything clamored for release, for panic, for hysteria. But she wouldn't give in. She couldn't. Emotions were running high for both of them. They needed to gear down.

  "It's okay. Shhh now." She put her arms around the boy. She sometimes forgot just how young Ringo was. Barely eighteen. It was a miracle he had stayed steady this long. Even veteran Rangers were being affected by this horror. She squeezed her eyes shut at the sudden thought.

  Cass was gone.

  She shoved her grief away roughly. There was no time for it. Lives were at stake. She forced her mind to work. "You said, you said they reacted when they saw the light?"

  Ringo nodded against her shoulder. "As soon as the light dimmed, I heard them. I looked up and when the flashlight beam went out, they attacked."

  Debbi's mind latched onto a thought. When she held up her lamp, the creatures fell back.

  Light! They didn't like the light.

  "Come on!" She stood and heaved Ringo to his feet. "I've had enough of this. Time to start killing these little sons of bitches!"

  Chapter 25

  Small spheres of light moved through the ebony streets of Temptation like ghostly wraiths. Stew and Debbi comprised one of those circles. Stew lifted a lantern high while Debbi walked close beside him, shotgun held at the ready. The lantern light didn't penetrate far into the darkness, but it was enough to deter the creatures from swarming. Occasionally one darted in for a wild attack, but the light would disrupt it and the creature would veer away, usually to be shot from the air.

  Death was widespread in the town. Lumps of flesh lay sagging in the streets like giant slugs. Some were covered in grotesque furred blankets as the creatures fed on ill-fated victims. And there were some victims in the streets not yet dead.

  Debbi had gathered the remaining Rangers, the militia, and the Night Watch. The militiamen and Night Watchmen were dispatched to find the injured and get them to the infirmary for the overworked Doc Dazy to attend.

  Meanwhile, Debbi split the Rangers into squads, exterminator squads as Miller so aptly named them. They were to make a house-by-house sweep to search for injured, inform any people who hadn't heard the warning, and to kill as many of the creatures as they could. The trouble was, thanks to the Worldstorm, most buildings had more holes and cracks than people even knew about. The creatures could scuttle into countless homes without anyone being aware until it was too late.

  Olivares had taken a militia squad and escorted a repair crew to the power relay station in hopes of getting the electricity back on. If they could get the lights, it would help immensely in diminishing the number of attacks.

  There was a great deal to do. The sun was due to rise in two hours. They had to hold out until then.

  Debbi was headed to the infirmary to talk to Doc Dazy, but she had to stop at home first. In the back of her mind, it troubled her that she was thinking about personal concerns. But, in the final analysis, it didn't matter. She had to make sure Miss Etta was safe; she couldn't abandon someone she loved.

  Stew had volunteered to go with her, unwilling to leave her side for any reason. He hadn't been himself the last few hours. He seemed to be coming undone, but then he would rally for a time. Even now, Debbi could see the shakes grip him as the lantern light shimmered in his hands. She couldn't blame him. There was a side of her that begged to break down also.

  She needed Ross. She had always been able to count on his strength under pressure no matter the situation. Fear was something he controlled as if it was nothing more than an irritation. Not once in all the months she had known him had his veneer broken. She needed that kind of resolve now.

  A fluttering of wings interrupted her thoughts as Stew wildly swung the lantern to deter the attack. It swayed so badly that Debbi was afraid he would drop it and they'd be plunged into darkness, prey to the creatures swarming around them. She grabbed his arm and stabilized it.

  "Stew, calm down." She could hear his harsh breathing in the oddly mild wind. A quiet sob was released and t
hen silenced. The lantern steadied. "We'll get through this. You and I have to trust in each other."

  Stew's eyes held something more than fear. She knew that look. She had once seen it in her own face. It was guilt, a terrible, soul-eating kind.

  "You can't trust me." He stared unseeing into the gloom around them. "I'm going to get you killed."

  She hadn't let go of his arm yet and squeezed hard on it. She gently urged him to keep walking.

  "Jesus, Stew, don't fade on me now. I need you. Don't let me face this alone." The silence that followed that plea made Debbi nervous.

  Finally, he answered. "I won't." But as he turned back to her, she could still see a lingering sense of shame. "I have to tell you something, Debbi."

  "Stew, it doesn't matter right now." She hated the darkness that surrounded them. It created a sense of isolation that was false and deadly. "We're too vulnerable right now. It can wait."

  "No, it can't!" he snapped. "I missed the shot! I almost got you killed."

  "What are you talking about? What shot?"

  Stew dragged in a deep breath. "The worm or the octopus or whatever the hell that thing was."

  "That's old news. Forget about it." She walked on.

  Stew raised a trembling hand to his head. "No, you don't understand. It wasn't me. It was Olivares who killed the thing. I screwed up the shot. I choked and almost killed you!"

  Debbi was stunned for a moment. She knew something had happened up on that rooftop, but there hadn't been time to find out what.

  She shook her head gently. "It was a tough shot."

  "Bull! I failed you! Plain and simple. You were counting on me and I cracked. You can't trust me. I failed you just like I failed my."

  As Stew's voice drifted off, Debbi at last understood. What she feared had come to pass. She had hoped that she would have time to deal with it in a quieter moment, one less strewn with strife and death. But life wasn't that kind. Stew's problem had chosen the worst time to manifest.

  "Stew," she said emphatically, "you didn't fail anyone, least of all your father."

  He didn't respond right away.