The flak jacket protected Debbi from broken bones in her chest, but her elbow struck a stone and it was on fire. Debbi staggered to her feet and raised her sidearm, pumping a grenade into the launcher. She fired it at the speeder lying atop the creature. She hit the fuel tank and it blew with a force that almost pushed her off her feet.
A scream of primeval rage erupted as flames enveloped the monster. She didn't wait to see if she had killed it, because in her heart she knew she hadn't. She ran unsteadily toward the cathedral.
Reaching the remains of the doors to the church, Debbi grabbed the jamb to hold herself up. She looked back. She watched in horror as a black, charred form stepped out of the flames. Its obsidian eyes locked on her. Its long, clawed hands seized the ground as it dropped to all fours and loped after her.
"Oh God!" She ran into the church, sending a prayer deep inside the tannis walls as a final plea for help and slapping a fresh clip into the Dragoon. She sprinted for the south transept and the staircase to the triforium. If she could get to the roof and the beast followed her, maybe a fall would kill it. St. Calixtus was covered with long spires; with any luck, it would fall on one and impale itself.
Long legs pumping, she slipped up the aisle and was six feet from the stairs when the stench of the creature filled the air. It was already inside.
She ran faster.
It was too late for plans.
She felt vibrations in the floor as the thing stalked after her. As it neared the crossing, she turned and lobbed a grenade. The monster sprang high up over the pews and landed in front of her just as the grenade exploded, sending bone-jarring echoes through the rock edifice. She felt it thrumming up her legs. It filled her ears with an abnormal sound that penetrated deep and rang with a loud voice.
Debbi brought her weapon down and squeezed the trigger, sending a spew of bullets across the tannis wall and sweeping over the creature. The wall sang as the bullets struck the stone. The monster flung out a claw and slapped her weapon away. The Ranger's whole arm went numb at the impact. The ringing stopped abruptly.
Debbi heard the gun skitter across the floor. She backpedaled. The monster's mouth yawned open and a moist tongue flicked out over its dripping teeth.
The floor shuddered again as it took a step closer. Debbi placed a hand on the railing of a low chapel wall to steady herself.
The floor buckled beneath them. The beast fell past, its long hands scrabbling at the collapsing ground, barely missing her.
Debbi let out a shout as she started to fall. She was jerked to a halt, one hand clutching the railing, her legs dangling over the precipice. She heard a creak and a groan. She looked up and saw the weakened railing come free of its mooring. Debbi fell into the catacombs with the creature.
The air was filled with dust as Debbi raised herself up on her elbow. She couldn't see a thing in the murky darkness. She looked up and saw the vague outline of the hole in the church floor fifteen feet over her head. She struggled to her feet, grasping the wall for support. Her hands felt a torch sconce. Grabbing the torch from its place, she paused just before lighting it. She knew the monster was down here with her. She knew it had probably survived the fall. Lighting the torch would pinpoint her location. Maybe it couldn't see in the dark.
She gave up the thought of having light and instead fumbled down the passageway, hopefully moving further away from the monster. With any luck, the heavy debris that collapsed on top of it had stunned it. She took the metal torch with her. It could serve as a weapon, pitiful as it was.
Once clear of the debris, she ran faster despite the agony radiating from her left knee. She rubbed it and her hand came away wet, an obvious sign of a deep laceration.
The catacombs smelled damp and musky. The tunnel was tight and confining, not even as wide as her outstretched arms. She thought again of the poor vagrants who had waited down here for death at the hands of Peck and his insane cronies.
This church wasn't going to have her as a sacrifice.
Debbi ran for what seemed like hours, though it was only seconds. There was no sound of pursuit. She put her back to the wall, chest heaving. She labored to control her breathing so she could listen, aching with the effort, but finally the creepy silence of the catacombs enveloped her.
She couldn't hear anything. Had the monster really been killed in the fall? Maybe she had done more damage with the bullets and the speeder than she'd thought. Please, she silently pleaded.
She had no idea where she was or how to get out of the catacombs. The exit Peck's people had used for their sacrificial victim should be ahead of her, although she was turned around from the fall. She might be heading in the wrong direction.
It didn't matter; she couldn't go back. She pushed herself off the wall and trudged on. After the tunnel had taken numerous twists and turns, she felt safe enough to light the torch. She had no choice. She was working in pitch darkness. She might miss the trap door.
With a flick of her lighter, the torch burst into flame. Debbi was blind for a split second, even though she had turned her face away. The phosphorus glare cut deep into her vision. She rode the wave of pain and then slowly opened her eyes.
The catacomb was more confining than she had thought. The ceiling was less than a foot above her head and filled with cobwebs. She saw things scatter away into the darkness. With a sickening thought, she realized that there might be batrats down here too. She began softly cursing a long blue streak as she set off down the tunnel.
The stairs appeared around the bend lit by soft moonlight through the iron grate.
She heard something. She froze, holding the crackling torch down so that it wouldn't interfere with her hearing. The sound was all too familiar. It was the scraping of claws on stone. Fear surged up inside her throat from her gut. She was shaking. All her nightmares had come to life. Her eyes closed in a fit of despair. She opened them a second later and steadily turned her head to look behind her.
The beast was crawling on the ceiling, spiderlike, filling the cramped space. Its face was split into a toothy grin as it came on.
Swallowing a scream, Debbi sprinted for the stairs, leaping up three at time, holding her pain at bay. She was grateful that her body was still numb in certain places. She heaved open the trap door and crawled out.
Long thin fingers grabbed her leg and hauled her back in. This time her scream shattered the sanctity of the church. Desperate, she whirled around and shoved the blazing torch straight into the face of the monster. The flame enveloped its face. She could smell burning flesh over the usual stench of the creature. It shrieked in agony, its claws digging into her tender flesh, refusing to let go. She pulled back the torch and slammed it with both hands into its fiery skull.
Its head snapped to the side and she felt its grip loosen on her leg. She jerked free and scrambled up the stairs again. She slammed the iron grate shut and shoved the torch through the iron rings to lock it in place. She lay there for a second, tears streaming down her face from the agony in her leg. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her gun on the floor four pews down.
She struggled to her feet and limped over as fast as she could, not able to hold back her cries of pain each time her injured leg supported her weight. A yell fell from her lips as the trap door smashed open and the creature roared out. Frantic, she dropped to the ground and reached for the pistol. It was just out of her grasp.
"Damn it!" she shouted hoarsely. Stretching herself as much as possible, she reached her arm toward her goal. Her fingers brushed against its barrel. She could hear the monster coming for her. Not turning to look at it, she concentrated solely on reaching her gun. Grunting at the pain, she shoved herself hard against the pew and at last her fingers closed round the weapon.
Sobbing in relief, she pulled it out, spun onto her back, and fired up. The monster was directly over her.
"Die, Goddamn you!" she screamed wildly. The last of her bullets flew out of the barrel. Their sheer number pounded the beast back. Debbi primed the la
uncher and fired her last grenade at it. She was too close to escape the blast and she knew it, but she had no choice. That would be a better way to die than in its clawed hands. The grenade roared past the creature's head.
She missed.
"No!" she yelled.
With a throaty snarl, the monster loomed over her again. She pressed back, kicking out with her feet. It was over. She had lost.
The thing reached for her Then the church sang.
The wayward grenade exploded high above them, and the resounding vibrations weaved their way through the tannis. The ensuing sound stabbed into the eardrums of both Debbi and the creature. The whole church shook with the power of its voice.
Debbi's eyes widened as she saw long, jagged cracks develop in the walls. The din intensified and pieces of tannis began to fall around them. The monster looked up at the cataclysm over its head.
Debbi took advantage of its distraction. Dropping her hands from her ears, she scrambled to her feet and ran for the exit. Debris rained down all around her. The church was falling apart.
The monster shrieked, chasing its escaping prey.
It grabbed her. Its long clawed fingers neatly wrapped around her torso. It held her out at the length of its thin, bony arm and squeezed. Debbi howled in pain as her chest was slowly compressed. Her arms batted futilely at it. She had nothing left to fight with, but she wasn't giving up. The creature ignored her efforts and its head hunched forward. Its putrid breath washed over her. Its long tongue slapped wetly over her face.
Debbi's eyes rolled up in her head. She was helpless and dying in its brutally strong, skeletal hand. Her head flopped back, her tortured spine arching. The gun dropped from nerveless fingers. Maybe she would see her mother. Her vision suddenly filled with a huge black spire, the breadth and width of a tree, falling like a missile. She was mesmerized. She stopped struggling.
The beast never saw it coming. The spire entered at the base of its neck, drove through its chest and impaled it firmly to the floor. Debbi fell to the ground, still clutched in its grasp. It screamed and writhed and Debbi felt the flak jacket shred to nothing beneath its twitching claws. Her chest filled with a white-hot agony.
Rocks and shards of tannis fell everywhere, some striking her; she only dimly realized it.
Finally there was a silence so great that Debbi lay there immersed in it, numb and detached. She stared up into the darkness above her and didn't move. Slowly, one by one, stars began to appear above her, like hushed sentinels in the night. She blinked back at them. Debbi dragged in a ragged breath and tried to stand. She couldn't.
Her senses agonizingly returned and she looked down to see the beast at her feet. Her guts tightened and she kicked herself free, unwrapping the long, loose fingers from around her chest. She grunted at the pain, but relished it. She was alive.
Debbi pulled herself to her feet. The monster was dead, its chest gone, its head obliterated by the sheer size of the spire.
She sank down into a pew, her muscles too tired to hold her. She laughed, enjoying the sound of it as it echoed around the church walls. Her echo merged with the sound of the wind as it gently slipped through the tannis, and the church's voice, softer now, sang sweetly.
It was the most beautiful thing Debbi had ever heard.
Chapter 33
"Anybody found Dallas yet?" Ringo climbed into the watchtower at the south gate.
"No." Curtiz kept his eyes glued to his binoculars. He swept them over the horizon and saw nothing but Reapers. They had materialized out of the night, a lumbering war machine. Among the lights of their distant camp, he could make out thousands of ground troops and heavy armored vehicles. He also detected the vague shapes of several long-range howitzers moving into position.
"Stew's getting the Stallions in the air," Ringo said. "He wants you back at headquarters to take one. I'll relieve you here." The young man leaned on the edge of the tower where lanterns and torches burned. He stared at the army forming two miles beyond the walls, visible in the moon-filled night. He could smell smoke from a fire that smoldered on the far side of town, set by the first strike that Reaper gunships made twenty minutes ago.
Curtiz climbed down.
The six Night Watchmen manning the gate tower exchanged glances and stared at Ringo. Captain Holt, the commander of the Night Watch, sneered at the young Ranger and tapped his comlink.
Ringo studied the Reapers as best he could. He had to use standard binoculars because the lights on the wall washed out starlite goggles. He saw lights blinking over the desert. Aircraft. He watched, trying to get a fix on their course. They were flying low and coming closer. The roar of their engines washed in.
"Ready on the guns!" he shouted.
The Watchmen wheeled the antiaircraft guns around and opened fire. The cannons pounded. Green tracers arced out into the crystal night sky, flailing like streams of water around the onrushing fighters. The Reaper craft unleashed their missiles and pulled up. One had its wing clipped by flak. It spun over and slammed into the desert floor.
Ringo let out a triumphant whoop until the yellow glow of the missiles reared up in his eyes. The walls shook, knocking him to his knees. A wave of heat engulfed him. He lay gasping on the floor of the tower. His lungs felt seared. Wreckage fell around him.
Holt pulled Ringo to his feet and mouthed something that Ringo couldn't hear because of the ringing in his ears.
Ringo said, "I'm fine. Everybody all right?" He couldn't hear the reply.
Holt had blood streaming down his copper-colored face. He immediately left Ringo to attend to another Watchman lying on the parapet holding his shoulder and writhing. He grabbed the first-aid kit and popped the injured trooper with a painkiller.
On the far side of town, more green tracers flew into the sky followed by the low thumping sound of the cannons. Ringo saw the lights of several Stallions as they rose into the air with their cannons sparking, aiming for the distant line of Reapers.
We're surrounded, Ringo thought with dismay. He'd never seen this many Reapers in one place. He'd never heard of them bringing their full army to bear for fear of losing it. This wasn't a raid. This was an invasion.
Where was Dallas? he anxiously wondered. Why hadn't Ross come back yet? He witnessed a smaller explosion near St. Calixtus. Its eerie voice could even be heard as smoke billowed above it. These Reapers had no respect. Taking out a church.
From two miles away came a deep rumbling boom. Ringo swung his binoculars, but saw nothing unusual. Then he glimpsed a flash from one of the long guns, followed seconds later by the same booming thud.
He heard the screaming of shells plunging down at supersonic speed. A fireball erupted in the center of town. A second explosion hit in the deserted Depot.
"Son of a bitch." Ringo stared at the dying glow of the blast that struck inside town. "With those big guns, they can sit out there all day and pound us to death." He clicked his comlink. "Base. Ringo at south gate. They're opening up the heavy guns."
"Roger that," came the confirmation. And nothing more.
He knew Temptation couldn't hold out. They'd lost too many Rangers and militiamen over the last few days. He was guarding a gate with six men, five now, against an army of thousands. They'd be overrun for sure.
He pulled his Dragoon and examined it. It was fully loaded and he had five extra ammo clips. He slipped his weapon back.
He knew what was expected. There were more important things than living.
"Hello the tower!" came a call from below.
Ringo peered down through the access hatch. He saw Donald Fairchild staring up. Ten militiamen carrying torches surrounded him.
"What do you want, Fairchild?" Ringo shouted down.
"In the name of the Town Council, I am taking charge of this installation!"
"What?" Ringo shifted his head in confusion.
He felt something tug at his belt. He turned slowly and saw his Dragoon being drawn from the holster.
"Hey! What are you doing
?" He stood up facing Holt who held his sidearm. Then he noticed the four other Watchmen pointing guns at him.
"What's going on?" he asked, dumfounded by the peculiar events. "We don't have time for this."
Fairchild emerged from the hatch. He had a satisfied grin on his face.
"You're relieved of duty, Ranger," he said. Then he reached out and pulled the comlink from Ringo's head. "You're under arrest for sedition."
Ringo just stood staring, with his hands out begging for an explanation.
Fairchild shook his head and turned back to the Night Watchmen. "Keep him here. Don't return any Ranger communications until you hear from me."
"Yes sir," Holt said.
"What are you doing?" Ringo asked Fairchild. "Are you crazy? Don't you know the Reaper army is out there?"
Fairchild grinned. "That's right, boy. Soon they'll be in here to support the legal government of Temptation. We're joining the Banshee Free State and there's nothing you Rangers can do about it."
Ringo gaped as Fairchild descended the ladder. Then he turned to Holt.
"This isn't right," Ringo pleaded. "You know it isn't right."
The Watchman remained silent.
"You can't go through with this. He's insane. You're not really going to let the Reapers in here!" Ringo started for the access hatch.
"Stop it!" Holt grabbed Ringo's arm and put the muzzle of the Dragoon against the Ranger's head. "Just shut up, kid. Somebody's got to do something. We can't go on like this! If we fight, they'll just kill us all and come in anyhow. I'd rather live."
Below, Fairchild conferred with his militiamen for nearly ten minutes; he gave orders and most of them scurried off into the night one by one. Then he took a large white flag from the last of them and walked to the door next to the gate.
"Get away from that door, Fairchild."
Fairchild turned to see Debbi standing in the middle of the street pointing her weapon at him. She was torn and beaten, her clothes ripped and blood stained. She looked at if she could barely stand. The hand holding the heavy Dragoon was trembling. But Fairchild noted that the red laser dot was consistently on him.
Banshee Screams Page 33