Banshee Screams

by Clay Griffith

  Quantrill regarded Tekkeng expectantly. The tall, gray thing stared back with his large, black unblinking eyes.

  "A glorious victory, Quantrill." The strained voice came from the shaman. His spine stiffened and he suddenly stood upright as if he was a marionette on strings. The Skinny was using the shaman as speaking vessel. It was not uncommon for Skinnies to use others in this way. While Skinnies could use their enormous psychic powers to transfer their thoughts directly to targets, the way he had used Coltrane before, this was known to cause damage. It was also a possible sign of deference for Skinnies to use mouthpieces rather than intrude on the mind of a perceived social equal. Quantrill preferred to assume this latter interpretation.

  The shaman uttered more of Tekkeng's thoughts. "Your sykers are skilled at slaughtering women and children in their beds."

  Quantrill bristled and sneered at the gray thing. The syker held up the tannis talisman he had pulled from the dead Skinny. "Not just women and children, Tekkeng. So watch your mouth." The General nodded at the bewitched shaman. "Or watch his mouth."

  Tekkeng inclined his head slightly to the talisman and sniffed it. The shaman said, "Ah. I knew him. He was old and sick. No wonder you succeeded in killing him."

  Quantrill snapped, "What are you doing here, Tekkeng? Surely Avernus's lap is getting cold."

  Tekkeng lifted a clawed finger. "I have come with your next target."

  "I will decide my next target. Not you."

  "Avernus wishes it too."

  The syker General exhaled. "What is it?"

  "The Asai clan."

  "Never heard of them. Where are they?"

  "Castle Rock."

  Quantrill took a step forward, fist clenched. "You liar! There is nothing at Castle Rock. I should know. I destroyed it!"

  "You are wrong, Quantrill. It has been reclaimed by the Asai. They are a secret clan of shaman warriors taken from all other clans. The greatest fighters and the strongest shamans. They were created to destroy the humans. The Asai are preparing to kill every human on Banshee. They are dedicated to what your UN used to call genocide."

  "That's impossible. Your people should've learned from the Worldstorm that you couldn't wipe humanity off this planet."

  Tekkeng nodded with a toothy grin and the shaman intoned, "Yes. We tried. But the Asai are powerful too. Their shamans have powers even we Skinnies do not."

  Quantrill considered for a second. "If we move against the Asai, I expect your support. Your active support. You know what that means, don't you?"

  "Yes. All my power will be yours."

  The syker rubbed his flaking, dead face. "Very well, I'll send scouts to survey. And I'll contact Avernus with my decision. If it checks out, we'll march on Castle Rock."

  Tekkeng rubbed his hands together gleefully. "Yes. Yes."

  Quantrill asked, "What's the name of the Asai war chief?"

  "Martool. Her name is Martool."

  Chapter 15

  The bright morning sunshine glared down at Debbi as she crossed the street, her arms laden with a heavy tray. She enjoyed the sensation of the early morning heat. Everything felt good for a change. The oppressive air of occupation was gone and the wind had been working hard at dispelling the stench from the streets. It almost smelled fresh again.

  It had been six days since the liberation and slowly life was showing signs of returning to normal. Ross was even showing signs of improvement. He woke up yesterday more like his old self, prickly and irate, but definitely more rational. Debbi basked in it. His appetite had returned in a rush too.

  Using a hipbone, she nudged open the door to Mo's, balancing the tray precariously. It nearly toppled, but a swift shift in stance brought it back under control as the door swung shut behind her. She had missed her calling as a waitress, thought Debbi.

  Then she spied Miller standing at the bar yakking with Mo.

  "Hey!" she yelled. "What the hell are you doing down here? I left you with Ross."

  Miller spun around in shocked surprise. The glass in his hand splattered its drink about him. He daubed morosely at his liquor-saturated tunic with long, thin fingers. "Aw, shoot, Dallas! Look what you made me do?"

  "You can't be trusted with the simplest things, can you?" She adjusted the tray and stormed up the stairs.

  "He's fine, Dallas! Sound asleep." Miller stroked his thin moustache and regarded Mo who was drying a glass. "She's so damn bristly lately."

  Mo was unsympathetic. "Your hide's as good as tanned, Ranger."

  "Oh, what do you know? Me and her are best buds."

  Mo snorted. "In your dreams."

  Debbi marched up the stairs and then stopped dead. Ross was weaving down the hallway while attempting to stuff his shirttail into his rumpled pants, head bowed and deep in concentration at the simple act.

  "Where the hell do you think you're going?" she snapped.

  Ross jumped like a frightened cat. "Jesus, Dallas! Scare another ten years offa me."

  "I've got your breakfast. So back inside."

  "I've got work to do. Now get outta my way." He made a move to slip past her.

  Debbi was a tad faster and cut him off with a single step to the right. The tray was large enough to block the hall and bring him up short.

  What little color was in Ross's cheeks faded as the room spun slightly at his sharp movement. Debbi felt no remorse.

  "Knock it off, Dallas." He moved to go around her other side.

  "Everything's under control out there." Debbi took a side step to the left and effectively stopped him again. She could see sweat breaking out on Ross's forehead. Then she noticed that his beard was neatly trimmed again. Given Ross's weakened state, such precision grooming must have taken him hours of enormous concentration. He was pushing himself too far, too fast. He was just too bullheaded to realize it.

  "Quit dancing around and let me by," Ross snarled. He had to hold the wall with a steadying hand. He drew in a deep breath and pushed himself off only to find Debbi in his way again. It was too much for him. The hallway spun to a blur and he slumped to the floor, breathing heavily in short gasps.

  Debbi shook her head in exasperation. "Miller!" she called out.

  "Yo."

  "Get up here." As Miller bounded up the stairs, Debbi stepped over Ross.

  "Bring him back inside please."

  Miller stared down at his slumped boss and then sharply up at Debbi as she strode down the hall to the room. "What the hell did you do?"

  She glanced back over her shoulder with a wicked eye. "The same thing I'm going to do to you if you don't do your job. Got it?"

  Numbly, Miller nodded and reached down to heft a stirring Ross to his feet. "This way, Ross."

  "Damn it, Miller," Ross mumbled. "Show some backbone in front of her." The Ranger Captain's head was pounding so badly he could only stumble placidly along with Miller.

  Miller snorted. "When I see it working for you, I'll try it." He deposited Ross back into bed and then slinked off to the side to hide from Debbi.

  She waved a dismissing hand at him. "I'll take over now. Go help Ngoma on the south wall."

  "Yes, sir...I mean, ma'am."

  Debbi just rolled her eyes and Miller darted out of the room. She lifted the cover off the tray.

  The smell of rich, thick soup stock wafted up into the air. Ross's belly immediately reacted with a hungry growl. It smelled that good. Debbi shoved a spoon at him.

  Ross regarded her with a contrary eye. "Give you a little rein and look what happens to you."

  "Yeah, I become just like you."

  He scowled. "I don't need you here. I'm fine."

  "So fine you can't even manage the two-step."

  Ross was about to snap back with a retort when a memory flashed across his vision. He was waltzing with a slim, red-haired woman, his hand resting lightly on her hip as they danced across the floor. He didn't look up at her; he was engrossed with not stepping on her delicate feet. But there was something else outside of his vision. H
e could sense it watching, waiting.

  A shudder wracked Ross. A tall, gaunt man was on the edge of the dance floor. Ross lifted his head and stared at him and that's when the pain struck. It was a deep, penetrating agony that ripped across his skull. A small moan slipped from his lips.

  He felt the barest of feather touches on his forehead. He snapped open his eyes to find Debbi observing him worriedly. He exhaled slowly and reached for the soup, twisting his head away from her hand. Debbi sat back. He could tell she was hurt. He ate for a few moments in silence.

  After a few mouthfuls, Ross glanced over at Debbi. "Is the office cleaned up yet?"

  Debbi immediately balked. "You need to rest, Ross. It's only been a couple days since all this went down. You're pushing."

  "There's too much to do, Dallas. Quantrill isn't going to let our little rebellion go without reciprocation. He's coming back."

  "I know that, but there's nothing you can do that we haven't already started doing. We have some breathing room. Use it. We'll need you soon enough. Just be ready when we do. That's your job right now. One more man isn't going to make a difference today."

  "It will for me," Ross said quietly.

  His eyes took on a haunted look that Debbi couldn't turn away from. With deliberate care she pulled off her com unit and tossed it on his lap. "Listen in from here then."

  Ross picked up the com and settled it on his head, flicking it on with his thumb. There was a crackle of static first, but then it quieted down and he could hear the voices of his men going about their duties. He was able to distinguish each of his men's distinct voices and their banter calmed him. They brought back his past life, full of duties and responsibilities. His eyes slipped closed and his breathing evened out. Debbi observed Ross's passage into the depths of calm sleep.

  When she finally left him a few hours later, she was content in the fact that he would stay where he was now. All he needed was to be a part of the network again, a living, breathing network of people he cared about and that cared about him. He wouldn't lose that again. She swore it.

  Later in the afternoon, Debbi was refereeing an argument in the Depot that promised to become a fistfight. She stood with arms crossed watching the caravaneer who had told her about conditions at Stryga Wells, a short, meaty woman named Corday, who was working herself up to assault an unfortunate, bleary-eyed minor official named Thomas Orton, who had been conned by the Town Council to replace Randolph Peck as the "interim" Caravan Administrator.

  "Exit fee!" Corday screamed. "You're gonna need an exit fee to get my foot out of your ass!"

  Orton's reply was red-faced and thick-necked from strain. "It's the law! I can and will seize your goods if you refuse to pay!"

  "What goods?" the caravan boss yelled. "There's nothing here I want to take away! The only thing this stink hole of a town produces is cannibalistic lepers! And there ain't no market for that! I risked my life and my goods to bring my train in here when nobody else would. You wouldn't have food if it wasn't for me. And this is how you pay me back?"

  "Look," the administrator began. "Plague aside, you're still liable to this town's rules and regulations."

  It was fascinating to Debbi that people like Orton and Corday were already trying to rationalize away all the horror that had happened with the Legion. Many had just accepted the concept of the walking dead and went about their business. However, a story was circulating that the Legionnaires weren't undead, but rather suffering from some terrible wasting disease. Debbi supposed it was the mind's way of coping with the horrific. What the brain couldn't logically accept it altered. For some people, it was either that or go insane.

  Corday jabbed a finger at Debbi. "And I gave you a heads up on Stryga Wells. What the hell does that count for?"

  Debbi said to Orton with a conspiratorial smile, "Let's just give her a pass this time, okay?"

  "Thank you," Corday said emphatically.

  Orton opened his fishy mouth wide with mock realization. "Oh! I see! I'm sorry! I just didn't understand the finer points of this job. From now on, I'll check with the Colonial Rangers to find out who their friends are before I enforce the law." He made a show of clicking his pen and holding it poised over his clipboard. He stared at Debbi with a maniacal glare. "Are you my contact person, Ranger Dallas? Or should I poll all the Rangers before I make any rulings?"

  Debbi calmly met his eyes. "If you're looking to get beaten to death with that clipboard, you're doing just the right thing."

  Orton started to retort. Then he shut his mouth. He shook his head, turned on his heel, and walked away.

  Corday laughed and adjusted her cloak.

  "Come back soon," Debbi said to the caravaneer. "And please tell your friends that Temptation is now one hundred percent cannibal free."

  Debbi's com crackled and Ringo's voice said, "Dallas. Ringo."

  "Go ahead, Ringo."

  "Hallow's in bad shape. He's at Doc Dazy's." There was a pause. "You'd better come."

  "On my way." Debbi was already running.

  Debbi stood with Doc Dazy in a laboratory staring at an x-ray that the Doctor was holding up to a sunny window because he had no working light board.

  "See that?" The Doctor pointed at an indistinct, dark blur on the x-ray image of a human head.

  "Yeah."

  "That is a lesion on his brain. And that is another one."

  "Are they serious?"

  "Very."

  "What caused them?" Debbi looked at the spots.

  "I don't know. Injury perhaps. Maybe some infectious agent."

  Debbi asked, "Can you tell how long the lesions have been there?"

  "Not with any authority. From the size of them I'd say he's had them awhile."

  Debbi shook her head. "I can't believe it. He seemed fine just a few days ago."

  "That's what I understood from Ringo when he brought this fellow in. But brain injuries can be odd things. It can be a slow decay or a sudden attack. His was sudden."

  "What's his condition now?"

  "His motor coordination and speech have been severely affected. Cognition seemed okay. When he came in he could understand me, but he couldn't speak. He is breathing on his own, which is good because after the batrat epidemic I don't have a working ventilator left."

  "Is he in pain?" Debbi continued to stare at the film, just beginning to feel the dread that came with associating the ghostly white outline with the features of a friend.

  "He was in a lot of pain, but I pumped him full of opiates and that helped some."

  "Do you think he's going to die?"

  Doc Dazy breathed out of his nose and paused, obviously trying to frame his response. "Let me say this to you, I am not that knowledgeable about syker neurology. I do know that the biochemistry and even physiology of their brains is not like yours or mine. If I were looking at an x-ray of you and saw lesions like these, I'd say it was taken six month ago because that's when these things would've killed you. But he's still alive."

  Debbi looked at the Doctor and repeated, "Is he going to die?"

  "Yeah, I'd say so."

  "Soon?"

  Doc Dazy nodded.

  She asked, "Is there anything you can do for him?"

  "Keep him comfortable."

  Debbi ran her hands through her long, red hair. She stepped away from the window. Doc Dazy laid the x-ray on a table and leaned against the wall, watching the Ranger. He understood she had been through a lot. She had made sacrifices for this town. She was bound to make a lot more too before it was all over.

  Debbi said, "What the hell are those?" Her attention was elsewhere.

  "How's that?" The Doctor arched his neck to see beyond her. "Oh, that's just a little science I'm working on."

  On a long table on the shadowy far side of the laboratory, partially hidden by a curtain, were five large beakers containing human heads floating in a viscous fluid. The heads were in various stages of decay. Their eyes were open. Flesh was torn in places revealing bone beneath. T
eeth were prominent. They all had severe head wounds and several were missing most of their craniums.

  In the middle beaker Debbi saw Captain Marat's head. He looked almost alive even though his cranium was obliterated. He bobbed just slightly in the liquid.

  "A little science?" Debbi said with alarm. "This is science? Where did you get them? Ross ordered them all burned."

  "I have ways. I figured it'd be a good time to initiate a study of syker neural anatomy. I just wish you guys had left a little more brain for me to examine."

  "Don't let Ross find out or he'll put your head in a jar."

  Debbi found herself crossing the room and staring into Marat's eyes. She expected him to blink and smile. She waited for his strained voice to emerge from that misshapen mouth. She could still feel his presence as he stood over her with her Dragoon clutched in his hand ready to shoot her. If it hadn't been for Ross . . .

  "What about the black needles?" Debbi said suddenly.

  "What about the what?"

  She pulled her Dragoon and unscrewed the needle reservoir from the base of the black gun. She shook needles out into her hand and held them up to Doc Dazy.

  "These." She tapped Marat's beaker. "This guy shot several of them into Hallow. If these needles have such a powerful instant effect on sykers, isn't it logical they could have some long lasting effect too?"

  The Doctor stepped to Debbi's side and poked at the needles in her hand. "It's possible I suppose. You told me they were made out of a mixture of tannis and ghost rock. Tannis is a key component in blackline and that drug can give normal people syker-like abilities. And ghost rock is just plain weird stuff from the get go."

  "What if you removed them from his body? If they're poisoning him, that would work, right?"

  "Well, maybe, but I'm afraid there's not a chance in hell of doing that. These things are tiny. We don't know how many are in him or where they are. It'd be like hunting needles in a haystack." Doc Dazy laughed.

  Debbi glared at him and he instantly stopped.