Banshee Screams

by Clay Griffith

  Dave Ross couldn't move. He flexed his fingers, but didn't feel his rifle. He concentrated on shifting his leg. The pain from his recent injuries lanced through him. He took stiff, quick breaths. The air around him was fetid. Putrid flesh pressed against his face.

  Suddenly, light appeared. Leering eyes peered down at him. The weight of the bodies shifted off. Just as he could move his arm, strong hands grabbed him. Two lunatics dragged him out of the pile of corpses. Before he was even set on his feet, he was reaching for his pistol.

  A searing pain spiked the rear of his head. His eyes blurred and he wanted to throw up. His fingers stiffened with rigor. He couldn't do anything but breathe, and he could barely do that. He thought of Olivares taking the Stallion back to Temptation to tell Debbi that he was dead. It was an odd thought to have. His knees buckled and the lunatics let him drop to the hard floor.

  Military boots caked in red mud appeared in front of his helpless eyes.

  "Captain Ross," a voice said. "Dave Ross of the Colonial Rangers."

  Ross agonizingly twisted his head to see.

  A red haze filled his vision. General Quantrill looked down through it. His face was decayed with several molars showing through a gap in his cheek. A faithful lunatic stooped behind him holding a lantern near Ross's face.

  Quantrill said, "Good thing I recognized you before I killed you." He waved an easy hand in Ross's direction.

  Ross instantly felt the pain slacken. His body drooped flaccidly. The Ranger couldn't speak or move.

  Quantrill regarded a nearby inmate. "Put him in a room. Restraints won't be necessary. But make sure you take his weapons. And then get someone to clean up this mess."

  Amidst cackling laughter, rough hands grabbed Ross's arms and pulled him over the sprawled bodies out the door into the corridor. He saw Quantrill watching him curiously as the inmates dragged him away.

  Chapter 28

  "Help us. They're killing everyone."

  "That's all they said?"

  Curtiz nodded. He fiddled with knobs on the radio console and pressed the headset earphones to one ear.

  "Nothing but static now. It was low gain. I barely picked it up." He shrugged. "I'm not as good with this equipment as Ringo."

  Debbi leaned against the table and looked at the Rangers' main transceiver. She and Curtiz were in the radio shack on the roof of the headquarters. The door was open. She heard the sound of the emergency generator humming outside. Bright sunshine poured in and the whipping wind kept down the stench of death. Her eyes wandered to the dark stain on the floor that marked the spot where Cass had fallen.

  "And you're sure of the location?" Debbi asked abruptly.

  "Well, I couldn't triangulate it. But I'm sure they said New Hope."

  Debbi bit her lower lip in concentration. She wished Ross were back from Newcomb's farm. Attempts to call his Stallion had failed, but that wasn't a reason for alarm yet given the distance and the temperamental state of those ships' systems.

  A few days ago Stew told Olivares that she was in charge. And nobody argued about it. It was time to put up or shut up.

  She took a nervous breath. "I'll head over to New Hope and check it out."

  Curtiz asked, "You want to partner up?"

  "No. With Ross and Olivares gone, Fitz down, Ngoma hurt, and Cass gone, I need everybody in town to keep the exterminator squads going."

  "All right. I'll get a Hoss saddled up for you."

  "No. I want all the Stallions here too." In case the Reapers return, she left unsaid. "I'll catch a ride."

  "So we're flying into a Reaper stronghold? Is that what you're telling me?" Hickok shook her head with a sour look. "Because I got to tell you, that doesn't sound good to me."

  Debbi studied the control panel of the Deadwood. Watching Hickok fly distracted her from thoughts of what she might find in New Hope. Hickok gripped the yoke with one hand while her other flashed over toggles and touch pads. The pilot wasn't even paying attention, but she flew the ship as soundly as a virtuoso pianist playing a familiar Mozart sonata.

  "Are you listening to me, Dallas?" Hickok asked.

  "Yeah, yeah. Reapers. New Hope joined the Banshee Free State, so we can assume the Reapers are there in force. What do you care? They're your pals."

  "I don't usually have a Colonial Ranger in my vessel when I drop by. What do you think you can do against a town full of Reapers anyway?"

  "Beats me," Debbi said. "They called for help. I'm going to help." She leaned on her fist and stared out into the dusk sky.

  Hickok looked over at Debbi. She had known from the time Debbi had threatened her in the saloon that this Ranger had a toughness in her, more than Debbi even realized. The best never knew they were tough. It wasn't just an image; they didn't cultivate it. They just were. Ross was like that, although sometimes Hickok suspected he was playing up the strong, silent bit. But Debbi was a complete natural. Her fire was probably born of sadness or loss; there was something hard buried down there that she was trying to forget or to live with.

  Even now, streaking headlong into an unknown and dangerous situation, her eyes didn't show fear. Hickok could see from the way Debbi unconsciously dug at her fingernails that she was nervous. But nothing showed in her face. Hickok admired that.

  Hickok had been about Debbi's age when she came to Banshee and started flying UN Green Dragon dropships during the Anouk Wars. She flew a lot of heavily armed young EXFOR troopers into anouk villages and then picked them up again after the massacres. It got bad.

  But the Skinnies were the worst. There was a line that even war shouldn't cross so that the combatants can at least retain their souls. When the Skinnies came and EXFOR answered with the Syker Legion, the war on Banshee moved so far beyond the line, it wasn't even a memory for those involved.

  Debbi's voice broke her from her reverie. "You call this ship Dead-wood Two?"

  "Yeah."

  "Was there a Deadwood One?"

  "Yeah."

  "What happened to it?"

  "It's not important." Hickok paused. "But on moonless nights, you can still see the fireball in the northern sky." The pilot winked and went back to her business.

  "What's that?" Debbi gestured to a blinking light on the console.

  "New Hope coming up." Hickok tapped a readout panel. "Good. No fighters in the air. I'll take us down outside their scanner range. You ever been to New Hope?"

  "No."

  "Then how are you going to find your way around? Look, I'll take you to a place I know where you can scope the joint out. Give you the lay of the land. But that's it. You're on your own after that."

  Hickok brought the Deadwood down on a wide, white, barren flat and she went out to secure a camo-net over the ship. They checked their packs, and then the Ranger and the pilot left the ship to hike across the salt flat. It was a stunningly bright night. Banshee's dual moons both glowed bright in the sky. The two women stood out in sharp relief against the white ground. Despite the fact that it was night, they both wore shaded goggles against the glare.

  After two hours of hiking, Debbi scanned through binoculars and saw the faint outline of the adobe walls and buildings of New Hope a mile and a half away. New Hope was much smaller than Temptation, but it was a similar structural mishmash with a mixture of prefab polymetal buildings surrounded by squat homes and huts made of native adobe. It was basically a crossroads, a salt station, and a caravan stop. Gigantic silos full of salt took up a third of the space inside the walls.

  Debbi saw no lights burning in the town. She could detect no activity of any kind. The town offered a sinister prospect squatting dark and silent in the middle of the desert.

  She extended the aerial on a mobile transceiver and adjusted the frequency. Homing in on the beacon, she sent a click response and waited. After a minute, Debbi sent the click response again.

  The reply was a weak voice. "Identify yourself."

  "I am Colonial Ranger Debbi Dallas from Temptation. I am responding to a distr
ess call sent on this frequency eight hours ago. Over."

  There was a long static-filled silence.

  Finally the voice came back. "Thank God. We're all that's left. The whole town is dead. There're only a few of us. Help us. Get us out before we're killed too."

  "Are the Reapers still in New Hope? Over."

  "I don't know. We've been hiding for two days since the killing started. I don't know what happened out there."

  Debbi asked, "What is your location? Over."

  "We're hiding in a storm-cellar under a saloon called the Salt Pan. Please hurry!"

  "I'm on my way. Stick tight. Out." Debbi turned to Hickok. "Will you wait here and monitor the radio?"

  Hickok impulsively said, "Or I could come with you. I know the Salt Pan. I've been in that stinking hole before. Plus, an extra gun wouldn't hurt."

  That took Debbi by surprise. She hadn't expected Hickok to behave so selflessly. But she wasn't willing to contest it either. Another gun certainly would be welcome.

  They started toward New Hope across the windy flats. As they came closer, they saw the gate standing open. The dark town waited inside.

  Debbi hefted her Hellrazor. Hickok pulled her heavy autopistol. They entered the gate, one at a time, covering each other. A dust cloud blew out, revealing objects littering the town.

  Dead bodies were everywhere.

  Debbi held up her hand for Hickok to stay put. She slipped along the side of a building and knelt next to a dead woman. The body was completely intact; there was no blood, no apparent bullet or slashing wounds, and no sign of physical damage. The dead woman's eyes were open and her mouth was stretched wide in a scream of rigor.

  Debbi suppressed a cry in her throat. A few feet from the woman was the body of a small girl, about twelve years old. The youngster's face was frozen just like the woman.

  Debbi's eyes burned as she looked up to study her surroundings. She longed for a Reaper to kill, but she saw nothing moving. The town itself was untouched, nothing burned or blown apart. There were no signs of looting and pillaging. Vehicles sat undisturbed. She saw a man sprawled with one leg in the cab of a truck as if he'd been struck down while stepping from his vehicle. A dog lay still in the middle of the street, its fur ruffled by the wind.

  She motioned Hickok forward. When the pilot's eyes locked on the little girl, she froze in place. Her mouth hung open and she slowly stood fully erect.

  Debbi grabbed her and tried to pull her lower. Hickok fought; she didn't want to be any closer to the small body. Debbi relented and stood too, pushing Hickok away from the dead mother and daughter and into an alley between adobe buildings.

  "Where's the saloon?" Debbi asked immediately.

  "What happened to them?" Hickok was still looking in the direction of the bodies, although they were no longer visible.

  "I don't know. Where's the saloon?"

  "They just killed a little girl." Hickok was flooded by images of human children killed in anouk raids and anouk children lying dead in smoldering villages as she dusted off Syker Legionnaires after another successful engagement. "This damn planet! Damn it!

  Debbi grabbed Hickok and shook her. "Yes, they killed a little girl. There's nothing we can do for her. But we can help those people in the saloon. I need your help to do it. We've got to go now. Now!"

  Hickok gathered herself. "Uh...the Salt Pan is about two blocks down and over one. Down by the silos." She stuck out a thumb for direction. "That way."

  "Can we get there through the alleys? So we can stay off the main streets?"

  "I don't...yeah, probably."

  Debbi took Hickok by the arm and led her farther up the alley. They came to the back edge of the building.

  The sound of thunder rolled across the sky.

  Debbi looked up. The night sky was clear. Both moons shone brightly, not a sign of a cloud. The last thing she needed was a sudden rainstorm. Flash floods on this desert were not common, but when they came they were savage.

  She and Hickok cut across an open lot. To their left, they saw a lightning flash followed by a harsh crack. It hit close, just outside the walls.

  Hickok stopped and stared. Debbi ran on a few steps before realizing she was alone. She came back to Hickok.

  "What? Did you see something?" she asked.

  The Chinese woman watched the distant skies. "That's not lightning."

  "Come on, let's go." Debbi grabbed the pilot's arm. Perhaps it would've been better if she had stayed with her ship. Debbi had figured Hickok to be made of stronger stuff.

  Finally, they came to an opening onto a main street littered with corpses. Behind the row of structures across the street rose a line of massive cylindrical salt tanks, gleaming in the moonlight.

  Debbi saw a small, windowless, prefab dome across the street with a cheap, handmade sign over the door-"Salt Pan." She glanced left and right again.

  "Cover me," she said to Hickok.

  The pilot nodded and raised her gun. Debbi scrambled low across the street, leaped over a dead man, and hit with her back beside the saloon's double doors. She studied the street, saw nothing, and then waved Hickok across.

  When Hickok was beside Debbi, the Ranger pointed to the door Hickok nodded again. Debbi turned, checked the doors to the saloon, found them unlocked, and shoved them open. She rushed through, rolled, and came up with her rifle ready.

  There was no movement. No sound. The saloon was empty, nothing but scattered tables and chairs and a makeshift bar at the rear of the dome.

  Debbi returned to the door for Hickok. When she did, she saw someone moving in the street. A man staggered around the corner to her left. He wasn't armed; he didn't appear to be a Reaper. His face was turned upward as he stumbled down the center of the street.

  Thunder shook the building.

  Debbi made a move toward the man in the street. Hickok stopped her.

  "Don't." Hickok's eyes were wide with fear. "Don't go out there."

  "That man needs help."

  Another peal of thunder rattled.

  "Get inside!" Hickok pushed Debbi back into the saloon.

  "What is wrong with you?" Debbi tried to get around the panicking woman.

  "No! Stay here!"

  Debbi fought her way back to the door just as a bolt of greenish lightning struck at the far end of the street to her right. It hit the ground with an ear-splitting snap and a bright flash that splattered whiteness in her eyes. Instead of dissipating, the lightning remained rooted to the ground like a living column of light. Then it moved. It slammed past the saloon, gouging a ragged canal in the street.

  The man was briefly encased in the white-hot streak. The lightning vanished. The man was gone, obliterated from the spot as if he'd never been there.

  Debbi stood stunned in the doorway.

  Hickok pulled the Ranger inside and closed the doors. When she faced Debbi again, the pilot's face had settled into terrified acceptance.

  "It's what I thought," Hickok said. "We're not getting out of here alive."

  Chapter 29

  "There's a Skinny here."

  Hickok's statement didn't register on Debbi at first. She was still thinking about the man she had just seen incinerated by a bolt of lightning.

  "I knew it when I saw the green lightning." Hickok's voice trembled. "They used it against us in the war. And all those dead people outside, they've had their brains fried by a Skinny."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes." Hickok recovered some of her calm. "I saw all of this on too many battlefields."

  Debbi tried to remember everything she knew about Skinnies, anything that might help. They were thought to be weird forms of anouk that served as witchdoctors. They were said to be fantastically powerful. As the Anouk Wars dragged on, her father became almost afraid to talk about them out loud.

  Debbi said, "Skinnies are like sykers, aren't they? They don't have the power to make lightning."

  "They have the power to do anything. I once saw a single Skinny dest
roy two battalions of UN regulars."

  "What can we do to stop them?"

  "Nothing."

  "Well, how about we try." Debbi's irritation was plain as she used the butt of her pulse rifle to pound a standard EXFOR all-clear code on the floor. She waited thirty seconds and then repeated the code.

  Near the bar, a section of the seamless polysteel floor quivered. Then a square appeared and a trap door flew open. A man's head popped up.

  He stared at Debbi like a stunned animal.

  Debbi asked, "Are you all right? Do you have injured down there?"

  "Are you the Colonial Ranger?" the man asked.

  "Yes," she replied.

  He climbed out of the trap door and then reached down to help a woman who carried an infant. Debbi groaned aloud before she could stop herself. Four more adults, three women and a man, and two adolescents, a boy and girl, emerged from the cellar.

  Debbi approached the bar, placing her elbows on it, next to where Hickok poured a drink. She said with soft despair, "Nine people to save."

  "Ten." Hickok met Debbi's inquiring eyes and bobbed her head forward.

  Debbi looked over her shoulder and saw another man climbing from the trapdoor. He was black, very tall, and bald. He wore clothes that were little more than rags. He stared straight ahead, eyes wide and glazed with a hint of pain. The broken figure walked gingerly, his hands outstretched, as if he was blind and was trying to keep from bumping into the furniture.

  "Syker," Hickok whispered.

  The man who had been first out of the hatch stepped up to Debbi and stretched out his hand. "Name's Luke Bolley. I reckon we're all that's left of New Hope."

  Debbi shook his hand. "We need to get moving, Mr. Bolley. Is everyone here fit to travel?"