Banshee Screams

by Clay Griffith

  She passed the corner of the house and tried to look in a front window, but she couldn't see in. She climbed the two steps onto the porch. Her footsteps echoed off the wooden planks. To her right, two high back rocking chairs sat empty.

  She knocked on the door. It creaked open.

  Debbi caught the door with her hand and leaned in. Off a small entryway, the front room was compact and homey with a comfortable sofa and two chairs around a small table. A vase of flowers sat on the table. An oval hooked rug covered much of the wooden floor. She could also see straight down a short hall into the kitchen where white lace curtains billowed in the wind. The breeze made it cool inside.

  "Hello? Anyone home?" Debbi heard nothing so she stepped inside. She felt like an intruder.

  The house was clean and orderly. Everything was in place. It was much like Ross's office had been. It was efficient, but not sterile. However, the upholstery and the flowered wallpaper, although tasteful, didn't strike her as Ross.

  On the mantel above the fireplace, she saw several framed photographs. One was Ross.

  Debbi smiled when she saw it. He was so young in the picture. Not a boy, but a much younger man with a grin on his clean-shaven face, his hair a bit longer, and what must have been a stylish suit in that day. He looked tall and strong, as always, but more unguarded and open than the man she knew. He stared into the camera with a direct eye and welcoming frankness. This young man had nothing to hide and everything to look forward to.

  Next to the picture of Ross was one of an older couple, standing close together, shoulder to shoulder, with sedate smiles. They must've been his parents. She saw his eyes in the woman and the man was a heavier version of Ross's strength.

  Then there was a picture of a woman. She was tall and beautiful, with long reddish auburn hair. She wore a simple white shirt tucked into jeans, but there was an unstudied elegance to her that transcended the simple clothing. She stood next to the paint horse Debbi saw outside. The woman had one sure hand under the muzzle, pressing her cheek against the horse's soft nose. Her smile was comfortable and delighted.

  Debbi found herself staring at the woman, trying to imagine the sound of her voice. She pictured the arch of her eyebrow and wondered about the easiness of her manner with that younger Ross down the mantelpiece.

  Debbi turned away and stood quietly for a moment. She was in the home of a stranger.

  She forced herself to continue looking around. The kitchen was functional and ordered. She turned down the hall and leaned into the bedroom. The large, substantial bed was made of dark wood. The high mattress was covered with a quilt and crisp white sheets. Cut flowers rested on a bedside table. A warm, sweet wind blew in the open window.

  Debbi withdrew into the hall, uncomfortable with the intimacy of the bedroom. She felt a tightness in her throat and her eyes began to burn with tears. She heard the thuds of her heavy boots on the polished wooden floors. Her mud-stained clothes and the leathery creak of her heavy gun belt seemed terribly inappropriate in this quiet, peaceful home. She was a trespasser here.

  Debbi let the screen door slam behind her as she stepped out onto the porch. She caught her breath as, in the distance, she saw Ross walking through the high grass. Adrenaline flushed through her. Just from his posture, she sensed the health and carefree power he radiated. This was a Ross she had never known. The auburn-haired woman from the photograph stood beside him. Debbi could hear the woman's laugh rise over the prairie.

  The two distant figures stopped at the hollow whack of the screen door. They turned and stared at Debbi.

  Ross immediately came toward the house. The auburn-haired woman took a few steps to follow, but he turned and reached out to her. Ross took the woman's arm with a light grasp that Debbi could feel by looking at it. The woman nodded and waited. Ross sliced his way through the flowering field and out into the clearing.

  As Ross approached the house, Debbi saw the brash, young man begin to fade away. The closer he came to her, the more emaciated and haunted he became. She felt a tinge of guilt.

  Debbi felt a hand on her shoulder. She started. Hallow stood behind her.

  "Trouble," he said.

  "But . . ." She turned to look at the approaching Ross. And she looked beyond him to the woman who waited for him.

  Suddenly, Debbi was standing in the dark office in Temptation. After the fresh, sweet scent of the prairie spring, she realized just how strong the stench of death was in this reality she shared with Ross. She saw him lying at her feet with Hallow kneeling next to him, lost in concentration.

  The doorknob rattled. She dove behind Ross's desk as the center of the door disintegrated in machine gun fire. Splinters filled the air. The remnants of the door were kicked open.

  Debbi popped the leading figure with a black needle and immediately squeezed off several rounds from her Dragoon. The front zombie slammed back into a second one. The second figure kept its feet and a blast of energy flashed from its forehead, obliterating the desk.

  Debbi covered her face and fell back hard into the rear wall. She held out her weapon and squeezed the trigger, punching the zombies back. At the same time, she heard a crash. The window shade flew aside amongst shattered glass and a hand reached in above her. Putrid fingers tangled themselves in her red hair.

  She tried to pull away, but the grip was strong and yanked her back against the wall. She pointed the Dragoon back over her head and fired. The sound was deafening and hot shell casings rained down on her.

  She tore away from the grasping hand and rolled over the wreckage of the desk. She struggled to one knee, swiping an overturned chair aside. There was no room to maneuver, but she had to hold them off. She risked a glance at Hallow and Ross. They hadn't moved.

  The Ranger saw the two troopers at the door again. The first one was recovering already. She needled it again, but missed the second zombie. She took the split second she needed and sent a round through the first one's forehead, blowing brain matter over its companion.

  The second trooper was unfazed by the carnage. It didn't try to physically force its way into the room over the collapsing body of its companion. From outside, it stared at Debbi and she felt herself consumed by heat. The effect was horrendously quick, as if she was instantaneously immersed in flames.

  She screamed and convulsively squeezed the trigger. The gun opened up. A barrage of bullets shattered the wall and the doorway. The zombie quivered as shells tore into him. A hole opened in its chest and most of its right arm was blown away, but its gaze didn't shift from Debbi.

  The gun clicked empty. Debbi felt as if her flesh was bubbling. Her vision wavered. On the edge of rational thought, she thumbed the black gun pad. She couldn't see the target, but she felt a cool rush as the heat vanished.

  Without thinking, she ejected the empty clip and slammed home a fresh one. She noticed that her hands were bright red. Bringing the gun up, she fired at the stiff zombie in the doorway. She hit it in the shoulder. She paused, aimed, and fired again. Its head disintegrated.

  A large shape roared through the window in a shower of glass and wood. It scrambled at her in a dark montage of bony claws and snapping teeth.

  She whirled and needled the thing. It jerked to a stop and collapsed on the floor. She shot it. Then she dragged her battered body over to it and placed the muzzle of her Dragoon against its rotting head and shot it again.

  The exhausted Ranger pressed her hands against the floor. She had to stand. There would be more of them coming.

  Debbi felt a pressure in her hand. She thought about it for a second. Then the Dragoon tried to slide away from her. She tightened her grip on it. It pulled again. She yelled angrily and tried to clamp her left hand around the gun, but with one last powerful pull, it was torn from her aching hand.

  She watched it fly across the office and slap into the hand of Captain Marat who stood at the door. He had one foot resting on the body of one of his troopers.

  Debbi reached for the knife in her boot.

>   She found herself pulled off the floor with a pressure that tore the breath from her. She slammed into the ceiling. And then she was rammed back down into the floor so hard the floorboards cracked under her.

  Fighting for consciousness, Debbi looked up as Marat kicked his way past his dead trooper. He calmly pointed the Dragoon at the kneeling Hallow. Debbi heard the faint whoosh of the black gun and Hallow went rigid.

  Marat grinned and regarded the weapon in his mottled hand. "That is magnificent. I may keep this for Quantrill."

  The Captain reached down and pulled Hallow over onto his back. The syker's eyes were open and staring up, but Debbi didn't know if he was conscious. Marat stared down at him with disgust.

  "I don't know you," the Captain said. "But you were no doubt a deserter from the Legion and deserve death. Don't worry, though, once you're dead, you can rejoin your unit." He fired several more needles into Hallow. He laughed like a child with a new toy.

  "And you," Marat said as Debbi felt more weight drop onto her back pushing her deeper into the decimated floorboards. "I'm not sure what to do with you. I could wait until my men have rounded up your Rangers and provide them with a little show before I kill them too. Or I could just kill you now and avoid the risk. Yes, that seems smarter."

  Marat knelt in front of her. He grabbed her by the face, wrenching her head up, and stared into her eyes. She didn't look away. She wouldn't give him the pleasure of seeing her afraid. He pointed the barrel of the Dragoon at her.

  She heard a loud crack and she flinched. Part of Marat's head disappeared.

  The zombie actually looked surprised. He shook his head, showering Debbi with droplets of viscous ooze. He released her face and turned at the same time. He moved slowly, as if the gaping head wound had only made him a little groggy. He raised Debbi's sidearm.

  Ross stood in front of Marat. Debbi heard a metallic clank as Ross used the six-gun Peacemaker in his hand to slap the Dragoon aside. Then Ross raised his pistol and shot Marat between the eyes. The zombie slumped back, but he was still moving. He tried again to bring the heavy gun up. Ross stepped on the zombie's wrist and shot him again. And again.

  With little brain left intact, Marat finally lay still.

  Debbi looked up at Ross. He stood listlessly, his pistol dangling at the end of limp fingers.

  She let out a small breath and smiled. "Hey, Ross."

  He glanced wearily down at her with a short nod. "Hey. How's it going?"

  Chapter 14

  Absolute recognition rested in Ross's eyes and Debbi suddenly felt overwhelmed. Everything she had believed in, clung to, and fought so hard for had come to pass. She had won.

  Ross was back.

  She couldn't catch her breath. It was as if she had forgotten how to breathe.

  He stood in front of her. Tall, dark, and above all, himself. There was no sense of outsider control, no trace of the terrible battle he had been waging internally for more than a month. He appeared worn, drained, and older, but the barest trace of a smile curved his lips as he looked down at her. It lifted Debbi's soul from its dark mooring.

  "Helluva save, Dallas," Ross said in a strained whisper. He exhaled slowly as if getting to know his body once more. It had felt like there had been someone else living in his skin. It had talked like him, moved like him, but it had said all the wrong things, and then did nothing to stop the terrible consequences. He raised a trembling hand to touch his face. Deep hollows were etched there. He could feel them beneath his fingers. He was a stranger even to himself.

  But he remembered everything. His captivity in the dank cell at the Sanitarium. Quantrill gloating about how he killed Reuben Olivares, Ross's old friend and fellow Ranger. The fantasy world he built to block the syker probes. Then Dr. Lupinz slipping through those defenses. The days of merciless conditioning by Quantrill. Then the return to Temptation at the head of the Legion.

  The Colonial Rangers had stepped aside and let the Legion into the city, just because he told them to. He tried to scream at them; couldn't they see he wasn't himself? Do something, he urged them uselessly as he watched them follow his orders and play into Quantrill's hands. Do something, he wanted to shout, even if it was just to kill him. Anything would have been better than the life he was living.

  Ross barely held off a shudder of revulsion in front of Debbi. He couldn't let her see it. He wouldn't let her see how much it affected him.

  Debbi had held this town together and never lost sight of her goal, no matter the cost. He could see that it left scars on her as well. Her red hair was a little duller, her green eyes marred now by profound creases at the corners. Now that he got a good look at her, she looked like she had been sucked up by a worhul and then spit out again. Her skin was bright pink as if sunburned. There was blood dripping slowly from both nostrils and a rather large bump beginning to protrude on her forehead above her left eyebrow. But to Ross, she could have been a fierce angel with a fiery sword who had liberated him from a dark madness.

  He reached down a hand to help her up.

  Debbi hesitantly reached out to touch him, something she hadn't done in a very long time. Ross was solid and warm. She closed her eyes for a moment and just relished the fact that he was whole again. He was back among the living. She opened her eyes to find him staring at her He coughed, breaking the tension. "You look like hell." His throat was dry and rough.

  A genuine laugh bubbled from Debbi's lips. "I could say the same of you."

  "Yeah, but you won't." There was that gleam of mischievousness again, the one that was always present when situations seemed hopeless, or when insane battles had been fought and miraculously won. She cherished its reappearance.

  Debbi glanced around and took in the devastation in the office. Decaying bodies were everywhere and the place reeked with splattered gore. Then she saw Hallow. He was beginning to come around. She went over to him and helped him sit up.

  "You okay?" she asked.

  He nodded and looked toward Ross. A grin split his dark features. "It worked."

  "Yes, it did," Debbi said. "Thank you."

  Ross came and stood over them. He locked his attention on the syker. "I know you," he said matter-of-factly, bloodshot eyes narrowing.

  "No, not really." Hallow stood and reached out a hand. "I'm Hallow."

  Confused, Ross cautiously took the hand, his gaze centering on Debbi's beaming face. If she trusted this man then he was willing to go ahead with an act of camaraderie. But the bottom line was this man was a syker, and right about now, dead or alive, Ross had little acceptance of them.

  However, he somehow sensed this man was responsible for freeing him. He had seen both of them in the secret place where he had locked himself away during Quantrill's reign over him. That fact disturbed him. Not so much that the syker had been there, but more because Debbi had been. That place was his alone, his memories, his dreams. No one should have been there, least of all her. He tried to dismiss it by believing it probably had been a figment of his tortured mind.

  Ross released the syker's hand abruptly. His mouth worked around an emotion he found difficult to communicate, but he managed it finally in a quick, terse "Thank you." He tried to smile but it felt more like a grimace.

  Hallow nodded. "I'm just surprised it worked." He jerked his head at Debbi. "On the other hand, she didn't doubt it for a second."

  Ross's gaze slipped to engage hers again. He wanted to say how much he appreciated all she had done for him, but he felt he was walking on eggshells. Every sensation, every memory, every emotion was whirling inside him as if the long confinement of his mental prison gave rise to a sudden revolution of freedom. Feelings that weren't normally allowed free rein threatened to break through. The more he tried to clamp down on them, the worse it got. His control was tenuous and he knew it. He felt as if he would go mad with the effort of restraining it.

  He gave Debbi a curt nod of thanks. Thankfully, she silently returned the gesture. She understood.

  She said ins
tead, "Ross, we need to get you to Doc Dazy. Let him check Ross abruptly cut her off, turning away to the squad room. "There are still zombie sykers on the streets of my town. I want them off. None of them are leaving here alive or dead. Get a hold of the others. Set up teams. And someone get me a comlink!"

  "But . . .." Debbi exchanged a quick look with Hallow. The syker shrugged. He didn't seem surprised.

  Debbi shouldn't have been either. She shook her head.

  Ross was back.

  Six hours later and Ross was still at it, borrowing stamina from an unknown source. The last of the Legion had been dispatched. The militia was making a final sweep to make sure; the rest of the Rangers were crowded around Ross and Debbi inside Mo's where they had convened a temporary headquarters until they could clean up the gruesome mess in the real one.

  There was new fire in the faces of all those around Ross. His liberated presence reignited dedication and resolve in everyone. To Debbi, it was a joy to see. But she could also tell it was wearing Ross down. His face was ghost white and lines of tension cut deeply into him. A thin sheen of sweat covered his brow. His hand would occasionally release its death grip upon the table to press against his forehead, eyes squinting. It would quickly drop to gesture to the map laid out on the table before them. He lobbed orders as if they were hand grenades.

  "I want the militia on the walls after the sweeps. Here, here and here. The rest of you shore up some of the smaller groups, particularly on the south gate." There was a pause as he rubbed his head again. "I want advance scouts down at the Bosporus Straits to warn us if the Legion returns."

  "You don't think they will, do you?" Miller asked.

  "Hell, Miller, I don't know. What do you think?" Ross snapped. His head throbbed incessantly.