Hell, it was a bad sign when not even the poor and homeless wanted to stay in Temptation. A town couldn't get any lower than that.
The Depot looked almost clean and civil.
Debbi hated it. And she wasn't going to stand for it. Ross had sworn allegiance to this town years ago and, now that he had fallen, Debbi picked up the town's colors and brandished them proudly in the Banshee wind. She refused to allow all that she had worked for so hard to maintain to fall to ruin.
Debbi crossed into the old spaceport. There was no traffic. The skies were empty, nothing but clouds. All around her was the same; even the parking bays were vacant. Most of the ships were privately owned and, fearful that the Legion would confiscate them for their own purposes, pilots had fled Temptation in search of safer beds in which to lie.
The saloon called the LAX loomed ahead of Debbi and she set aside her laments and strode into what used to be the town's favorite pilot hangout. It was as derelict as the spaceport. The interior was dismal despite the rising sun. A huge window covered in a clear, plastic tarp let in the light, but there was no one around to enjoy it. Debbi counted five people in the place and half of them were running the joint. Thankfully, no sykers were in sight.
Debbi spied Hickok's thin frame in the corner. It was the same corner where she had found her the first time. The older woman's face lit up at seeing Debbi arrive. She waved the bartender over who immediately brought the Ranger a brew. Debbi took a seat in front of it and took a long drink. She didn't care it was so early. She wanted something to settle the rattle in her nerves. After the night's fiasco, she actually debated ordering something stronger, but she settled for the beer. It would do her no good to be drunk.
The preliminary ritual over, Debbi set the glass on the table and regarded the attractive Chinese woman across from her. Where once there had been an arrogant, almost regal, air about Hickok, today there was only weariness. Her oval face was shadowed and drawn.
"What's up, Hickok?"
Hickok drew in a heavy breath and ran a hand through her short black hair. "I'm leaving."
Debbi didn't move. She had expected this. She had expected it a long time ago actually, and she couldn't blame the pilot. If Debbi didn't have such a cockeyed view of loyalty, she'd be on the same ship heading out. A part of her wanted to, but it wasn't a side she listened to often. She had responsibilities that she couldn't shirk. Loyalties that she wouldn't abandon. She was jealous that Hickok had none of these things. It enabled the pilot to be as free as the wind.
"Can't blame you," Debbi finally admitted.
"I just can't stand it anymore. All this death, the stench . . . It reminds me of the war. It's time to get out of Dodge. Besides, they're friggin' sykers." The last word dripped with loathing. During the Anouk Wars, Hickok had witnessed firsthand the destruction sykers could create. It still haunted her to this day. Their being dead only compounded the disgust.
"I understand."
Hickok was relieved. She honestly was concerned what the Ranger thought about her. It was important that Debbi didn't think she was running out. Not only because of their past history, but because she genuinely liked Debbi. And that surprised the hell out of her.
Hickok and the law didn't usually mix all that well. The only law officer she had had even the remotest thread of respect for was Dave Ross. And she had tossed that up to the fact that he was male and good looking. A lot of bad women liked Ross.
She regarded the overworked young woman in front of her. Yes, a lot of women liked Ross whether they admitted it or not.
"Any change in Ross?" Hickok asked.
Debbi merely shook her head. Both women fell silent. This thing with Ross was a blow to each in their own way. Debbi knew that Ross and Hickok had a history. How far back and how deep it went, she had no idea. But from the sadness on Hickok's face, Debbi knew it was not that far back and it had been pretty deep at one time.
Debbi was surprised to feel a small spark of jealousy. She smothered it quickly.
She locked eyes with Hickok. "Have you seen him?"
"Yeah, a week ago." Hickok's slight frame shuddered then stilled. "He's gone, you know."
A ripple in Debbi's jaw was all the indication of how harsh that statement cut her. "Are you sure? I mean absolutely sure."
Hickok nodded curtly. "Once your brain is zapped by a syker, there's nothing left. He's a shell and that's all. What they had to do to break him . . . God." She regarded Debbi with despair. "You know he fought, but against sykers, no one can hold out for long, not without getting your brain fried in the process. He's gone, Debbi. I've seen anouks and Reapers wandering like goddamn vegetables after syker attacks. They never recovered." Hickok grabbed her drink and roughly threw it back, wiping the excess from her mouth with her sleeve. The memories of those horrible battlefields flared up and got her gut churning again at the carnage and waste.
Debbi stared out through the clear plastic window. Her mind struggled to ignore what Hickok was telling her. She desperately wanted to hold onto the fact that there was hope for Ross. Debbi couldn't just abandon Ross without trying. She had to know without a doubt that he was gone forever, one way or another.
The Ranger scrutinized the room noting all who were inside. When she was satisfied, she regarded the pilot once more. "I need to ask you for a favor, Hickok."
Hickok stiffened slightly. She knew that during times like these favors were usually dangerous. She asked cautiously, "What is it?"
"I want you to find Hallow."
That took Hickok aback. "You mean that crazy syker from New Hope?"
Debbi nodded.
"What the hell for?" Hickok asked, but then immediately knew why. "Jesus, Dallas. He was a deserter. Can you really trust him with Ross?"
"He came through for us at New Hope."
"Yeah, because his neck was on the line too."
"Hallow came out of the desert to help those people. He didn't have to, you know."
Hickok picked up her glass and was irritated to find it empty. She dropped it back onto the table in frustration. "How do you expect me to find him? He's not exactly a guy that keeps a high profile."
"He's living out on the Musselman Breaks."
"He told you that?"
"No. I just . . . know." Debbi couldn't explain it. When she had thought of Hallow just now, an image of the rugged Breaks a hundred miles to the northeast had immediately snapped into view. The syker must have implanted that tidbit of information in her head before he left Temptation.
Debbi should have been furious. It was a violation of her privacy. Hallow knew how strongly she felt about that in the wake of the abuse she suffered at the hands of the Skinny. But she was just grateful. He represented a lifeline and a shred of hope that she clung to tenaciously, for Ross's sake.
"You've got to be kidding," Hickok was saying heatedly. "That syker was in your head, wasn't he? Damn it, Dallas! What if it's a trap?"
"To what purpose? He saved our skins. I trust him. And he's Ross's last chance." Debbi leaned forward, her face firm. "I think it's worth the risk, don't you?"
Hickok huffed out a breath, scowling at the pigheaded Ranger. Debbi was playing on Hickok's recent acquisition of scruples. One day not so long past, Hickok would have flat out refused and not felt one whit of guilt in doing so. Suddenly, she was failing miserably in the art of remaining uninvolved. Debbi's desperate attempt to save Ross struck Hickok in a place she had long thought dead. When the hell had that changed?
"Alright, fine. I'll go look for him." Hickok raised a finger. "But if I get into trouble, I'm holding you personally responsible. You hear me?"
Debbi said, "I hear you."
"So what the hell do I do with him once I find him. He's not going to want to come back here, not with a bunch of zombie sykers running the place."
"They're not running the place," Debbi argued before she could stop herself.
"Yeah. Right. Whatever makes you feel better."
Debbi fought her ri
sing ire, but she couldn't deny that the pilot was right. The Rangers had about as much control over the present situation as a field mouse in a catfight. She relented. "Just get Hallow to Sharif. You know him, right?"
Hickok bobbed her head. "Caravan master. Tall guy dressed all in black."
"That's him. When you find Hallow, hook up with Sharif in New Culloden. I know he stops there on the way across the eastern desert. Tell him I sent you."
"Then what?"
"Then wait. Stay with Sharif. I'll find you."
Hickok scrutinized the woman across from her. "You're planning something." It wasn't a question.
"From day one," Debbi admitted. "But now's not the time. I'm entrusting this to you, Hickok. Don't let me down."
Hickok's fists were clenched together tight under the table. Dread rose in steady increments. She shouldn't get involved. Instinct told her so. Everything about this operation cried disaster. Worse yet, the plan rested on her shoulders. Dear God in heaven.
"Why the hell did you choose me for this?" she bluntly asked.
Debbi smiled. "You're the only one leaving town at the moment."
"Bull." Hickok laughed away her fear and leaned back, studying Debbi with the old critical eye of a world-weary mercenary. "I'll find him for you and drop him off in New Culloden. Then you guys are on your own." She actually debated for a moment asking for a reward then stopped.
"Understood." Debbi stuck out her hand. "I owe you."
The pilot shook her head as she rose. You are slipping, she chastised silently, but reached out to grasp Debbi's outstretched hand.
"Yes, you do," she told the Ranger. Hickok's lips curled upward in a knowing smirk. "And I never forget a debt."
"I'll remember that." Debbi glanced around. They'd been lucky. No sykers had wandered this way. It couldn't hold forever. "Now, let's get you into the air and out of Temptation."
Hickok nodded and grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair. "I couldn't agree more."
Chapter 4
"Where's Ringo?"
In the squad room, Captain Marat slowly raised his eyes from paperwork. Debbi stood in the entrance to the lock-up where the cell recently occupied by Ringo was now empty.
"He's not here," Marat said, his voice whistling slightly through the jagged hole in his throat.
"I know he's not here!" Debbi said loudly. "Where is he?"
The Captain purposefully closed a folder and placed a flaking hand on top of it. "He has been taken to the prison camp."
"What?" Debbi shouldn't have left him. She should have stayed here and fought until they gave in to her. She had failed Ringo; she'd left the poor kid to the mercy of the merciless.
"He was processed last night. Everything is in order if you would like to inspect the papers." Marat held up a folder.
Debbi took it from him with numb fingers and thumbed through the papers. There were several "eyewitness" depositions from citizens attesting that they had felt threatened by Ringo's wild behavior and that they feared for their lives if he returned. Each deposition was virtually identical. The depositions were all typed with scrawled signatures at the end. The file concluded with a guilty resolution against Ringo on the charge of public endangerment and an official sentence of six months incarceration. It was handed down by the Committee of Public Safety and signed by General Quantrill, Lester Atkinson, and Dave Ross.
Debbi threw the file back at Marat, scattering the papers across the room.
She shouted, "You moved him fast, didn't you! What were you afraid of?"
"Obviously, the General didn't want to take a chance that you Rangers would do something stupid to protect your friend."
"This won't stand!"
He gathered the papers together. "The law is the law." Then the Captain turned his oozing eyes on Debbi. "However, I for one would welcome a final resolution with you and your thugs. I didn't like your type when I was alive, and I don't like you now. So, if you want a fight with the Legion, please, by all means, start one. I want an excuse to crush your bones into the dirt!"
Debbi pictured herself putting a black needle through Marat's forehead and then blasting his putrid head off. She opened her mind so that he could see the image too. He reared back momentarily at the force of violent images, but then he smirked. She instantly felt the tentative proddings of his syker probe in her consciousness. She sensed his excitement at finding her mind unblocked. Just as he began to dig, she closed him out.
Debbi noticed with evil glee the look of frustration that came across his face.
"You want to settle this, Marat?" She took a step back and laid an easy hand on the butt of her Dragoon. "You're wearing a gun."
The Captain sat back in surprise. "You'd better reconsider. You're outnumbered. When you start shooting, your Rangers will all die."
"I'm just talking about you and me, Captain."
Marat's hands twitched where they rested on the desk.
Debbi smiled. "Go for your gun. You know you want to."
Marat kept his eyes glued to the Ranger. She stood a few yards away in a relaxed posture, hips swayed, hand lightly on her gun. She arched an expectant eyebrow.
The door to Ross's office opened. Ross crossed the floor and yanked Debbi's weapon from its holster.
Captain Marat's chair scraped back and his hand flashed to his side.
"Don't!" Ross shouted. A red dot appeared on the zombie's forehead. Ross held the Dragoon out at arms length, his thumb hovering over the touch pad that fired the black needles and his finger on the trigger.
Marat hesitated. Debbi watched Ross. His face was drawn in pain and bright red from enormous exertion. He trembled and bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. The veins in his neck bulged.
"Don't," Ross repeated in a strangled voice.
Captain Marat slowly lifted his hands away from his sides. He watched Ross curiously, fascinated by this display of resistance. He knew what such an act was costing Ross. The pain of resisting Quantill's control must be deliciously excruciating. And was it all over this woman? Marat considered reaching for his weapon just to see if Ross could resist further or if the man's brain would liquefy from the effort. But that included the risk of dying again at the hands of the Ranger, and Marat wouldn't take that chance. He sat down and placed his hands on the desk as if in prayer.
Ross dropped his arm heavily and stumbled forward a step, catching himself on the corner of the desk. Ross shakily handed the Dragoon back to Debbi.
"Get out of here," he gasped to her.
"But what about Ringo?" Debbi watched her commander helplessly. The pain of his movement and shuddering frame was horrible to witness. But if he had the strength to confront Marat than maybe he was coming back to them. Maybe he could help Ringo.
"I said go now!"
Debbi's face fell. She held the weapon down and sidled across the room, never turning away from Marat. She fumbled behind her for the doorknob, opened the door, and stepped outside.
She straddled a speeder bike and roared off in the direction of the temporary prison the Legion had set up several miles outside town - the Bone Camp.
Debbi was not far beyond the town walls when she gunned the speeder over a rise and down into the rows of unmoving Legionnaires. The bulk of the Legion stood like statues here on this plain. She noted that only their eyes moved, following her as she roared through them as if conducting a macabre review of troops.
Suddenly something moved. Debbi skidded abruptly to a halt. Out of her peripheral vision she caught movement as a stupefied Legionnaire next to her jerked upright, as did all of them around her. Her hand flew from the handlebars to her sidearm. Apparently, Marat wasn't about to let her get to Ringo.
Debbi came to the stunned realization that the entire Legion was mobile. Men and women, who had once stood like decaying tree stumps on the desert plain, were now all moving.
The entire Legion had been reactivated!
Debbi watched their frightening revivification. They made no
more noise than their rattling weapons and the wind rippling their tattered uniforms. The lines of undead troopers began to march in perfect lockstep away from Temptation. The Legion wasn't responding to Debbi's presence. The undead had no interest in her at all.
Cautiously, Debbi holstered her gun. Something big was happening, but if the Legion was leaving, what would they do with their prisoners? She kicked her bike forward and sped through the lines, not caring if she ran over a few of the undead troopers in her haste. To her ire, they made way for her and soon she was out of their ranks and racing toward the Bone Camp.
Fifteen minutes later, she saw the makeshift prison camp rise up over the horizon as she ripped across the stony, desert ground on the speeder bike. The camp consisted of twelve-foot poles with chain fencing stretched between. Inside the fence were several simple tents that offered the only chance of shade from the brutal Banshee sun and protection from the skin-stripping desert winds. Zombie troopers walked the perimeter both outside and inside the fence. She noticed the troopers didn't respond to the sound of her bike as she approached. Nor did they appear to be in the process of breaking camp.
She pulled to a stop just outside the gate and throttled the engine down. She left her goggles and bandanna in place. Only when the officer in charge approached the gate from the inside, did several troopers surround her.
As with all things associated with the Legion, the prison camp smelled like a charnel house.
"Open up!" Debbi shouted. "Colonial Ranger!"
The undead lieutenant peered at her through the fence. Its face was swarming with flies.
Debbi yelled again, "I said open up! I want to see one of the prisoners." She lifted herself on the footpegs and scanned the prison yard where she saw only a few Legionnaires.
The lieutenant shook its head and worked its jaw for a moment. Sounds came out, but she couldn't understand.
"What did you say?" she asked.
The zombie mumbled something else.
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