Banshee Screams

by Clay Griffith

  Fairchild went to the door without turning his back on the Rangers. Atkinson scrambled out ahead of him, watching the bright skies outside. Fairchild smiled sarcastically and nodded his head.

  He said, "Yeah, give 'em a gun and a badge and they think they run the world."

  He slammed the door and marched down the street with Atkinson ducking beside him.

  Debbi exhaled heavily and slumped onto a desk. She shook her head and chewed on a thumbnail.

  "You did the right thing." Stew settled back into his chair. "Don't worry about it. It'll get straightened out after all this is over."

  Ringo spoke up. "That Fairchild's just a blow hard!"

  Debbi saw Ringo's eyes were red. She had heard him sniffling in the background when she mentioned Cass's death.

  "He is a blow hard," she agreed. "But he's also right in a lot of ways. I had a screaming match with Ross over the same thing, only I was on Fairchild's side. It was the last time I talked to him before he left for Newcomb's farm." That thought cut sharp pains in her chest. She took a deep breath. "I'll tell you, boys, I'm not sure I'm cut out for this job."

  The door opened again. Debbi looked up with frustration to see the syker from New Hope enter.

  Stew and Ringo both froze at the sight of the bald man. They looked at each other in amazement.

  The syker looked nervously at Debbi.

  She stood up, fighting a brusque attitude. "Hello. How are you?"

  "I'm fine, thank you. Before I left, I wanted to thank you for what you did for the people of New Hope."

  "You're leaving?"

  "Yes. I value isolation. I lived in the desert outside New Hope; I only came to town because I sensed the Skinny approaching. I knew what he would do. I wanted to try to help, if I could."

  She softened a little. "So where will you go?"

  The syker shrugged. "Somewhere. Out there."

  Debbi extended her hand. Then she felt self-conscious; perhaps sykers didn't like touching.

  The syker stared at her hand for a moment and then took it. He hadn't expected it from her, not after what she had been through.

  "Are you all right?" he asked.

  She knew what he meant. In the rush of her return to duty and her fatigue, she had actually managed to forget the Skinny's attack. She hadn't mentioned it to anyone; it wasn't even in her written report. The syker's question brought it back in a sickening rush.

  He suddenly looked ashamed and flustered.

  Debbi felt Stew's eyes on her back, his concern aroused by Hallow's question.

  She took Hallow's hand in both of hers. "I'm fine. Thanks for your help. None of those people would be alive without you." She thought of the wonderful sounds of a cooing baby and arguing children that had lulled her to sleep on the flight back.

  He leaned close and whispered, "I could remove the memory of it."

  She was startled. "No. I...no. Don't."

  The syker swallowed and stepped back, pulling his hand away. "All right, I didn't mean anything. Well, I have to go."

  "Wait. I don't know your name."

  He hesitated and then said, "Hallow."

  Debbi said, "Well, I hope you'll feel free to come back to Temptation."

  "Thanks." He turned nervously and slipped out the door.

  Ringo raced to the front window and stared at the syker until he was out of sight. He turned back, mouth agape.

  "That was a syker!" he exclaimed. "I didn't know there were any left! I thought they all bugged out with the Legion after the war! What's he like? Did you see him do anything? You know, weird, with his head?"

  Debbi chuckled. "No, he didn't do anything weird with his head. There are a few of them around, deserters from the war. Or discharged before the recall and forgotten."

  And then there are the dead ones like Quantrill at Red River, Debbi thought with a flutter in her stomach, reminding herself of Ross being missing.

  Stew watched her thoughtfully. When he opened his mouth, Debbi knew he was going to ask about New Hope.

  She stood up instantly. "I'm going to see Doc Dazy. See if he's got anything new on the batrats."

  Stew accepted her reluctance to talk, as she had his, and let it pass. Then he said, "Okay. I'll go try Ross again."

  Ringo looked confused. "Um. Didn't you just do that an hour ago?"

  "Well, I'm doing it again, okay?" Stew stated.

  Ringo shrugged as Stew rose.

  Debbi looked at Stew gratefully as she stepped to the door. They exchanged a silent glance before she left.

  "The Colonial Rangers have the black guns," Avernus snarled at Coltrane. "And they know how to use them."

  Coltrane peaked his fingers under his chin and lowered his head into a magisterial glower at Tekkeng.

  "Perhaps," Coltrane offered, "that Ranger in New Hope was just lucky."

  Tekkeng laughed a harsh snort and Coltrane felt himself mouthing the Skinny's thoughts. "I was in her head, human. She knew what she was doing."

  "If you were in her head," Coltrane replied peevishly to his own voice, but staring at Tekkeng, "how did she get off a shot?"

  With a snap of his robes, Avernus extended his arms and slammed a burst of energy into the tannis walls. The crack boomed through the chamber. Tekkeng involuntarily ducked. Coltrane cowered back in his throne.

  "Be silent, Coltrane!" Avernus shouted. "This has gone too far. Temptation continues to resist! Tekkeng informs me that the female Ranger who stood against him in New Hope is the nexus of the resistance. I know the strength of Tekkeng's power, so I know his belief to be true. As long as she lives, there is no chance Temptation will fall. She must die."

  The Fallen stalked toward his minion. He grabbed Coltrane's robe and pulled him off the throne.

  Rage flashed in Coltrane's eyes.

  Tekkeng grinned and rubbed his clawed hands in delight, pleased to see Avernus's anger directed in the proper direction.

  Avernus held Coltrane a few inches from his face. "They have weathered all your storms. I tire of your games! You and your Reapers have accomplished exactly nothing for me. I had such high hopes for you, Coltrane. Perhaps I should explore new options." Avernus released Coltrane and the Reaper collapsed to the cold stone floor in an embarrassed heap.

  The hulking gray shape of Coltrane's pet monster clambered around the throne and crouched next to its master. It snarled and exposed its dripping teeth. Tekkeng scuttled away in fear.

  Avernus scowled down at the creature and took a step back despite himself. "Are you threatening me?"

  Coltrane struggled to regain his dignity and his feet at the same time. He used the beast's bristling, muscular shoulder to push himself up. "Of course not. It's just that my pet is over concerned for my continued welfare."

  Avernus snapped, "As well it should be." The Fallen backed away and then turned. He strode from the chamber with Tekkeng in his wake.

  Coltrane settled back onto his throne, muttering and cursing under his breath. He waited and, in time, felt the presences of Avernus and Tekkeng vanish from the area. He laid a scabrous hand on his creature's fawning hand. It was time to act.

  Nicolai sat at a vast conference table covered with maps and reports of ghost rock output and food stores housed in various parts of his fledgling Banshee Free State. Since the embarrassing and infuriating tableau outside Temptation, he had buried himself into the minutiae of governance, even though he longed for the blood of conquest. His head ached with the pressures of statistics and factory reports and warehousing information. Information of weaponry and ammunition stores tumbled through his head. He closed his aching eyes on the cascading numbers and thought back to the feeling of the wind as he stood atop his tank in Ghost Rock City, the feeling of the flag in his hand, the sound of his men's tumultuous cheers. He smiled.

  "Nicolai."

  The revolutionary started and looked up. Who could enter without the Vanguard stopping them?

  Coltrane.

  The former Reaper chieftain stood in
the door to Nicolai's inner sanctum. His hood was back, revealing the full extent of his scabby, pustulant face.

  Nicolai flinched at the sight, reminded of his disgusting alliance with this inhuman and his horrid colleagues. What was the price of ambition? It was bad enough to be summoned to Coltrane's pretentious presence, but now the thing was coming here to his private place. Was there no place Nicolai could go to be away from this horror?

  Coltrane stepped to the edge of the table and fingered several maps. "We have to talk now."

  "What do you want now, Coltrane?" Nicolai asked abruptly.

  Coltrane's head snapped around and his blood-red eyes fixed on the human. He growled. The parasites under his skin wriggled, creating moving trails in his face.

  "You're risking your life mouthing off to me!" Coltrane extended a misshapen hand. "Do you think you're indispensable? Don't get too high an opinion of yourself, my old lieutenant, just because you've read a book or two. The Reapers are full of pseudo-intellectual thugs with messiah complexes. I could walk outside and swing your dead body and hit ten more just like you!"

  Nicolai didn't respond. He stared openly at Coltrane, trying to keep from flinching at his disgusting appearance.

  Coltrane snarled at Nicolai. "You have twenty-four hours to assemble the Reapers and march on Temptation."

  Nicolai tilted his head in confusion. "March on Temptation? Are we going to fight? Or do we wait for an invitation to a party?"

  The rotting man ignored the sarcasm. "Storm the walls. I want blood and suffering."

  Nicolai straightened with resolve. "The flying columns can be ready to move in four hours. But it will be at least another thirty-six before the full army can be in position. And you realize we may take heavy casualties. The Colonial Rangers will resist."

  "Just move your army and stand ready." Coltrane sneered. "I know their weak point now. I'm going to gut the Rangers from the inside."

  A dark, hunched shape appeared in the doorway behind Coltrane and licked its lips.

  Chapter 31

  It's only been five days, Ross thought.

  General Quantrill came and went at odd intervals. Sometimes he stayed for hours, other times for less than a minute. Sometimes he would come in to wake Ross from an exhausted sleep and then leave. Standard interrogation techniques.

  There had been no physical attacks, no torture or even the threat of torture.

  Of course, Quantrill was a syker and it was tempting for Ross to ponder if all these experiences were even real. Perhaps he had been tortured. Perhaps he was suspended in a fluid tank somewhere only thinking he was in a dank cell. Perhaps it had been longer than five days. Time could lose meaning in this room.

  "No," he said aloud. "Five days. You can count. You spent a week under a damn rock in the Glass Wastes and never lost count. This is a helluva lot better than that was."

  Five days. Plenty of time for Olivares to bring the Rangers from Temptation. But they hadn't come. So either Olivares had been captured too or the situation in Temptation had gotten worse.

  Either way, Ross thought, I can't control that. I can only control me. And I'm the only one who controls me. Certainly not Quantrill.

  He rubbed his hands over the damp floor stones. The walls and floor were covered in a slime that kept them wet and cold. He had no bed or blanket. But he relished the hard touch of the stone against his fingers and his back; the reality of it kept him grounded. He was in a room in the Lupinz Sanitarium. Beyond the stone wall were the air, the scrub forest, the desert, and Temptation. This cell was a real place. It wasn't a good place, but it was real. And he was in it. No reason to lose perspective.

  Ross looked at his cellmate, a thin, quiet man with unmoving eyes who sat hunched and staring in the corner. Shortly after being tossed into the room and recovering from Quantrill's brain blast, he had tried to talk to the quiet man, but with no success. Aside from the occasional blink, the quiet man hadn't moved in three days. He didn't eat. He didn't relieve himself. If nothing else, his stamina was impressive.

  Ross rolled over and started doing push-ups. After fifty, the pain from his injuries seized him. He did ten more before he felt he had to stop, but he gutted out two more, no three more, two wasn't enough; that was like giving in.

  He sat back against the wall and sucked in deep breaths. He felt perspiration slipping down his face. His arm was on fire and his ribcage hurt. He liked the pain. It came from his body and he knew it was real.

  Ross smirked at the quiet man and, through heaving breaths, said, "You ought to give it a try. Little exercise would do you good. No? Maybe later."

  A key jangled outside the door.

  Ross sang in a loud voice, "From this valley they say you are going."

  The door opened and General Quantrill stepped in. The quiet man's eyes darted from Ross to Quantrill and back.

  Ross stared at the floor between his knees and continued his off-key warbling, "We will miss your bright eyes and sweet smile."

  Quantrill grinned with his dead mouth. "You can stop that ridiculous singing now. Your friend Olivares was smart. He talked."

  "For they say you are taking the sunshine."

  "The black guns are very interesting. But I need to know more than he could tell us. I have only one question and then I will let you and your friend go. How many black guns do you have?" Quantrill's mental powers flicked into Ross's mind, seeking fissures to split open, watching for memories slipping unbidden through his thoughts.

  "That brightens our pathway a while." Ross closed his eyes against the intense pressure growing in his mind. He could hear the blood surging in his ears. "Then come sit here a while 'ere you leave me. Do not hasten to bid me adieu."

  Quantrill knelt in front of Ross, grabbed his head at the temples, and pushed it up. Ross smelled the scent of the grave. Other fingers probed his face and pulled his eyelids apart. He could see Quantrill's face a few inches away. He quickly plunged his eyes as low as possible. Quantrill moved his head in front of Ross's eyes again.

  The General repeated, "How many black guns do you have?"

  The pressure intensified. Ross sang louder, "But remember the Red River Valley. And the girl that has loved you so true." He focused on the song. The roaring of his beating heart and his lungs filling and expelling air was replaced by the distant, tinny trill of a single violin. He heard the scuffling of boots and shoes against a pinewood floor. He was waltzing. With a red-haired woman.

  Quantrill pressed his rotting fingers into Ross's head. "Give me what I

  want to know! I will flay you alive like I did Olivares. He died cursing your name! How many black guns do you have?"

  "I've been thinking a long time, my darling." He sang to his waltz partner. He felt her small hand wrapped in his and his sweaty palm against her waist. But his eyes were cast nervously downward on the tops of his feet sliding over a wood plank floor. He had to keep his boots away from his partner's delicate feet. He couldn't afford to look stupid in front of her, or worse, embarrass her. "Of the sweet words you never would say."

  Quantrill let Ross's head drop. He dropped something to the floor, stood, and wordlessly left the cell.

  Something hard brought Ross back to the present. He lifted his right hand and saw a glint of metal on the gray stone. It was Olivares's badge. It was bent and scored from searing heat. Quantrill must've left it there, although Ross couldn't remember anything the General had said. Ross picked it up and stared at it.

  "Well damn, Reuben. I'm sure sorry about this. I guess you should've kept running." The veteran Ranger clutched the badge reverentially and then slipped it into his shirt pocket. "I'll beat the son of a bitch for you."

  "It's an old trick," Quantrill said. "But it can be effective. And he is good at it. He goes very deep, very fast."

  Avernus swiveled in a leather chair and regarded the undead soldier, "What about the other Ranger we captured outside the wall?"

  "He's dead. He gave up easy."

  "You think t
hat this Ross fellow could be useful. Yes?"

  The two men, the robed Fallen and the mouldy-uniformed syker, looked oddly out of place in the Earth-style doctor's office. It was dark and well-appointed. In the center was a large globe of Banshee. Bookshelves lined the walls. The former occupant of the office, Dr. Lupinz, probably owned more books than anyone else on the planet, as well as a variety of more common electronic data sources. Avernus found the books oddly comforting and he used them often; they usually lay open on his desk as he randomly flipped pages.

  Quantrill parted the heavy drapes and stared out over the bleak landscape outside the asylum. "Captain Ross is an extraordinary Colonial Ranger. I knew him when I was alive. In seventy-six, after I broke the anouks at Red River, I spent time in Temptation. My own people saw me as a monster. It didn't matter that I had just followed orders, that I gave up my humanity to preserve their way of life. However, Ross was one of the few humans who didn't judge me based on rumors from the war; he treated me decently. That's the reason I didn't kill him outright when I found him in the cadaver storeroom."

  Avernus nodded and smiled a toothy smile. A cat leaped onto his lap. He absently stroked its back with his long, knobby fingers.

  Quantrill continued, "But then I realized he was likely one of the Colonial Rangers in the canyon spying on me during the early recovery phase. I had hoped your patients and your cats had disposed of him, but apparently not. So, there's a danger that the Colonial Rangers will come looking for him. Hopefully, they won't come here because of the images you implanted in that other Ranger who came asking questions last week. But his value to us if we can turn him is incalculable. I think we can use Ross to control the Rangers in Temptation and we won't need Coltrane and his mercenaries."

  "But you haven't been able to break Ross?" Avernus asked in a mild, non-accusatory manner.

  "Not yet."

  Avernus leaned forward, sending the cat skittering from his lap. His appearance changed. The molecules of his body and garments shifted into a new arrangement. His robe became a long, white lab coat and his uniform an almost quaintly old-fashioned Earth-style suit. His face became older, but still thin and with wispy hair on a speckled pate. He was now Dr. Lupinz, the proprietor of the asylum.