Hallow continued without seeming to take notice. "The sykers I knew wouldn't have permitted the kind of mental linkage this Legion seems to have. Not that Quantrill wouldn't have liked to do it. But since the Legionnaires are dead now, I suppose Quantrill can do whatever he wants. The General has finally made them into the inhuman machine he always wanted them to be." Hallow clutched the top of the wall with white knuckles.
Debbi also noticed a pained look on Ross's face. She wanted to call this meeting to a halt, but that would be pointless. Ross wouldn't have it, and she sensed Hallow had a similar defensive stubbornness. But any discussion of syker powers, and Quantrill in particular, made Ross look as if he had a hot poker jammed into his gut. The cold fact was, however, that Ross was right. They needed to know everything they could about sykers, and they needed it fast. It couldn't matter what demons were dredged up in the process.
Debbi quickly said, "If they Legionnaires are linked together, is there any way to unlink them?"
Hallow seemed diverted for a moment. "Well, that's what your black guns do on a small scale. But on a larger level. Hm. That's an interesting concept."
Ross exhaled with annoyance. Despite having gratitude for Hallow's role in saving him, Ross wasn't able to help himself from treating Hallow with barely disguised suspicion born of his newfound hatred of all sykers.
The Ranger commander growled, "I'm not interested in concepts. Can it be done?"
"Not by me," Hallow said. "I don't have that kind of power. The network Quantrill is overseeing is very complex. Frankly, I'm amazed he can do it. I knew Quantrill when he was alive; he was a powerful syker, but not particularly dexterous. Apparently dying made him more intelligent." Hallow bit his lip thoughtfully. "And there's something else out there. I
don't know what it is, but I sense something odd and distant feeding into the maelstrom that's swirling inside the Legionnaires' minds. It can't be Quantrill. It can't be."
"Dr. Lupinz," Ross suggested.
Hallow didn't respond. He continued to gaze out, lost in thought.
"Do you know Dr. Lupinz?" Ross asked in a louder voice.
"Lupinz? No, I've never heard of him. Who is he?"
"He's a syker. He's the son of a bitch who got inside my head. Although, unlike the rest of you people, he's got some hair on his head."
"Then he's not a syker, " Hallow said. "The baldness is a side-effect of the ability. What is this Doctor Lupinz a doctor of?"
Debbi stepped in because she could see Ross was bristling at Hallow's questions, interpreting them as intentional obtuseness. "Dr. Lupinz runs a sanitarium not too far from Temptation. The Rangers have always used it to house the men and women who suffer from the various mental disorders that Banshee breeds."
Ross shot Debbi a silencing look. "But he helped Quantrill create this Legion. Quantrill oversaw the retrieval of the bodies from the Red River valley and brought them back to the Sanitarium where he and Lupinz brought them back to life. Somehow. I was investigating the Sanitarium when I walked into a trap. Cost the life of a fellow Ranger and a good friend. But they weren't satisfied with just killing me. Quantrill interrogated me for a few days and got nowhere."
"That's not surprising," Hallow said dismissively.
Ross clenched his teeth. Both the interruption and the implication that Ross had withstood Quantrill only because the General was weak enraged the older Ranger.
"Anyway," Ross said curtly. "When Quantrill couldn't break me, Lupinz came in. He didn't have much problem, so I assume he's a syker. I don't mean to tell you your business, but when the UN brought you brain burners to Banshee to slaughter anouks, the Colonial Rangers started training in anti-syker techniques. And they're pretty good."
Hallow shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you, Captain Ross. I don't know anything about this Lupinz fellow."
"Yeah, well, thanks for your interest anyway." Ross turned his full attention to the landscape beyond the parapet. The talk was over.
Hallow glanced at Ross briefly and then shrugged to Debbi in exasperation. The syker began to climb shakily down the steps.
Debbi followed and when they were out of earshot she said, "Sorry about that. He's very frustrated and still feeling the effects of Quantrill's possession."
The syker replied, "You don't have to apologize for him. I understand completely. But he's not helping himself. He's heading for physical and mental breakdowns if he doesn't get hold of himself. You and I both know he's alienating Martool, who is your most powerful ally here. Your only ally. And despite my best efforts, he's alienating me as well. The fact that all of you Rangers follow him so instinctively shows that he's clearly a remarkable leader and a man of great resolution. But I'm afraid I can't stand him."
Debbi blew out a long breath. "He is an acquired taste. And you're not seeing him at his best right now. I know he has a lot of respect for you and your abilities."
Hallow held up an indifferent hand. "Please. I'm not searching for validation from him. I am only here because of you. If you weren't here, I
would leave."
Debbi asked, "Could you leave?"
"Of course. I could walk out straight through those Legionnaires and they would never see me." Then he suggested hopefully, "I could take you with me if you wish."
"I'm afraid I'm here for the duration. But you're not committed. I brought you here for Martool to heal you. If you're well and you can escape, you're under no obligation. There's absolutely nothing to hold you here."
"There is. I despise Quantrill. Captain Ross pretends he has a monopoly on outrage, but I served in the Legion during the Anouk Wars. I know what Quantrill and his ilk are all about. That's why I deserted. Trust me, I'd love nothing more than to wander back out into the desert and stay there, but when I think of that abomination out there, I know I have to destroy Quantrill and put all those poor men to rest."
Debbi nodded. "Try to get some sleep. Nothing personal, but you still look like hell."
"Thanks." Hallow smiled wanly. "I will after I go up with Stew on another recon flight."
"Are you sure you're up for that?"
"There's no stress involved. I just sit in a chair and protect Stew from psychic attack. He does the rest."
As Hallow limped painfully away, Debbi returned to the lone figure at the parapets. Ross remained silent, his eyes locked on the darkening sky. He even moved his shoulders away from her, a clear indication that he was through talking. He wanted to be left alone with his thoughts and ghosts. Debbi dug into her pocket and pulled out a small case. She set it on the wall in front of him. Then she turned and climbed down the steep steps and moved away across the courtyard.
Ross pulled his attention down to the small silver case and then tracked Debbi just as the night swallowed her. He turned back to the delicate case and thumbed it open. Inside were some aspirin tablets. His eyes closed tiredly.
He picked up four of the tablets and swallowed them dry, grimacing against the bitter taste and against the sharp ache that still pierced his skull. His temples were sore to the touch and it was difficult to keep his thoughts straight. At times, doing so made the pain flare so bad small pinpoints of light burned in his vision. But he refused to relent. He didn't want to sleep, that way only led to memories and nightmares. No, it was better to just keep going. He held onto the thought of ripping Quantrill's head from his decaying body and feeding it to Debbi's chanouk.
That eased the pain in his head somewhat and he even grinned at the mental image.
Hours later, Debbi strolled back toward the sun gate. Scanning the wall, she saw no sign of Ross's ever-present silhouette against the night sky. She felt a momentary stab of panic, not sure if the emotion was because she was afraid of losing him again or just that he might go off and do something irrational like taking on Quantrill all by himself.
She saw Sahrin huddled at the base of the wall with the group of anouks. All the warriors ignored her except for Sahrin.
"Have you seen Ross?" she asked
the warrior.
Sahrin gestured to one of the Rangers' tents which was dimly lit from inside.
Debbi entered through the flap, expecting Ross to be hip deep in strategy and reports. But instead, she found him slumped in a chair, head back and in the grips of Morpheus. She let out a sigh of relief. They needed Ross healthy and in control. Sleep was the way to get him there.
Debbi took a seat across the camp table and quietly watched him, relishing the steady rise and fall of his chest. Each line that had been held so tightly on his face, one by one had relaxed. His age and trauma fell away from him.
Ngoma entered the tent with a handful of data slugs. He pulled up when he saw Ross.
Debbi held up her hand. "Let him rest."
"Is he okay?" Ngoma asked in a whisper.
She nodded. "Are those the new reports?"
Ngoma handed her the data. "I haven't viewed these, but Stew said it didn't look good."
Debbi rubbed her eyes.
"Maybe you should get some sleep too," Ngoma suggested.
"I will. Later."
Frowning, Ngoma slipped out of the tent, leaving her quietly to her thoughts. She was cut from the same bolt of cloth as Ross.
Debbi slipped a data slug into a palmcorder that lay on the table. She muted the audio. The scene she viewed was something she hadn't expected. Stew and Hallow had been making fly-bys through the canyon, taking intel photos and videos of Legion positions. It was hazardous duty, but Stew handled it with typical low-key aplomb. It helped that Hallow volunteered to be strapped into the co-pilot's seat to protect him from psychic assault.
Debbi had flown most of the earlier recon flights since she seemed virtually immune to syker manipulation. But she was too important to relations with Martool so Ross grounded her, and Stew and Hallow offered to take her place.
Debbi studied the surveillance footage. Normally it was low altitude shots of Legionnaire positions. But this was different. The perspective was still, rather than sweeping. It had been taken late in the evening and the sun was fading. It took Debbi a moment to understand what she was seeing, but she knew instantly as the camera struggled to focus that it was unnatural.
Twenty living anouks were bound, either tied to poles made from gnarled trees or strapped to rocks. Some of the anouks held their heads high and refused to show emotion. Others screamed in terror. Legionnaires mingled nearby in an orderly fashion. Suddenly Tekkeng appeared amid the crowd. Debbi flinched.
The Skinny floated along the line of captured anouks. He paused to study one, then another. Finally, with a grin, he laid a gentle finger on one anouk. The prisoner silently screamed and began to melt. Flesh dripped like wax. Organs were exposed and they collapsed, oozing from the ribcage. Tekkeng withdrew his hand and licked his teeth with gustatory satisfaction. He turned and slowly withdrew out of sight.
Now the Legionnaires came forward again. One zombie stepped to the first captive and produced a long knife. The poor anouk was butchered alive. The undead soldier carved through the prisoner's flesh while he screamed in agony. Slicing off a generous portion of the anouk's bicep, the zombie served it to a waiting Legionnaire who took it and moved away to begin feeding.
The Legionnaires were standing in line like soldiers at a mess hall.
Debbi wanted to turn away, but couldn't. Is this what it was like for Ringo at the Bone Camp? No wonder he was a mental recluse now. It was amazing the kid was operating on a rational level at all.
Mercifully, Stew swiveled the camera off the grisly scene. But, perhaps even worse, the lens then zeroed in on the wall of Castle Rock. The battlements were crowded with anouks. They were all speechless. Some were angry, their outraged faces contorted. Others cried or shielded their eyes. Others had fallen to their knees. Among the crowd, Debbi saw Martool watching the horrendous butchering of her clansmen. Stew zoomed in on her. The shaman seemed frozen except for the tears steaming down her otherwise impassive face.
Debbi ejected the data slug. She sat breathing heavily for a moment, unsure whether she felt fear or rage. She couldn't feel anything just yet.
A soft moan from across the table drew Debbi's attention. She straightened in the chair and looked toward the sound.
Ross's face was drenched in sweat and his head thrashed back and forth.
Debbi stood and came around the table. Ross just couldn't seem to find any peace. As he thrashed, words fell from his lips; they spoke of torture, hatred, and terror. It made Debbi pale to hear the suffering from his mouth. She knew it had been bad, but listening to him, she realized it was more horrible than even she had imagined.
She couldn't bear to hear Ross in agony. She laid a hand on his shoulder and gently shook him.
"Ross."
He wouldn't wake. He only thrashed more.
She tried again more insistently. "Ross, wake up. You're dreaming."
He jerked awake, his breathing deepening, his eyes wide and confused. He was disoriented, returning from a place that seemed more reality than nightmare.
She used her voice to lure him back. "It's okay, Ross. You're safe. It was just a dream."
It slowly worked. His eyes centered on her and eventually recognized her. "Debbi."
"Hey there. You okay?"
"What time is it?" He sat up in the chair, wincing against the ache that throbbed in his bones. His headache resurfaced also, but it wasn't as bad as before.
She checked her watch and suppressed a yawn. "Couple of hours before daybreak." She stretched her arms up, grimacing at the crack that move elicited. "You haven't been sleeping very long."
Ross scrubbed at his beard roughly. "Let's grab some chow and get back up on the wall."
Debbi picked up the palmcorder from the table. "I'm not hungry, but I'll sit with you. Got some new shots from Stew."
"The Legion didn't march away, did they?"
"No." She shook her head. "They're still out there."
"Bring 'em." He adjusted his gun belt and picked up the Hellrazor and the bandolier with the scattergun. "It just doesn't feel like breakfast without some bad news to read."
Ross threw back the tent flap, but then stopped and looked back at her. "You know how to dance?"
"Dance?" She tilted her head in confusion. "You want to dance?"
"No. Just asking."
"Sure. I can dance a little. You?"
He shook his head. "Nah. Not really."
"Well, it doesn't take any more coordination than riding a horse. You can do that, right?"
He stared curiously at her.
Debbi knew he was recalling the refuge he'd created in his mind against Quantrill. The prairie. The house. The horses. The woman. Ross suddenly seemed on the verge of saying something important. But then, just as quickly, it submerged.
"Yeah. I ride." His eyes went thoughtfully to the ground for a moment. Then he arched an eyebrow at Debbi. "Kinda like to try one of those chanouks one day."
Debbi nodded. "I'll show you. Dancing too, if you want."
He grunted and tugged on his hat. Then he went out and let the tent flap drop behind him.
A faint sense of hope sparked in Debbi. She'd just seen a glimpse of a man she recognized beneath the terror that controlled him. It was a very small thing, but it meant something, particularly given the horror that surrounded them. Every little bit helped preserve some sense of humanity.
Then she chuckled at the ludicrousness of it all. When had their lives turned so bizarre? Debbi mimicked Ross's gruff Texas twang, "Honey, once we save ourselves from this army of flesh-eating, psychic zombies, we'll do us a little dancing." She gathered the data slugs and maps with a sad, ironic smile. "Every girl's dream."
She followed Ross outside, muttering to herself about career choices.
Chapter 19
Chow for the Colonial Rangers in Castle Rock had become a relative concept. Food it was, but it was small in nature and simple in state. Rationing had been imposed at the beginning of the siege nearly two weeks ago. The anouks were cons
erving what they had since it might have to last them for a very long time.
The Rangers had only a small cache of rations. They had taken it upon themselves to eat sparingly from the anouk supplies, but they were grateful for anything the anouks provided them, particularly barka meat.
As always, Ross and his group sat apart from the anouks. Separated and segregated. The Rangers habitually gathered around a campfire even though the early evening was still quite warm.
Only Fitz was not present around the fire. The big Irishman was across the courtyard trading with a young male anouk, barely a teenager in human years. Debbi recognized him as the same kid who loved algae bars. Now the boy apparently had gained an inexplicable soft spot for the stale Colonial Ranger staple. Fitz willingly traded his store of the bars for an anouk breastplate made of flat pieces of tannis strung together. The adolescent anouk darted off with a victorious whoop and immediately found a quiet corner to consume his bounty.
"What are you going to do with that, Fitz?" Ngoma queried the burly Ranger about his newfound accessory when he returned.
Fitz answered by slipping the ring of interlocked stone plates over his head. It was a tight squeeze over a head as square as his, but he pulled it down onto his shoulders with a firm yank. "Any bit of added protection is game in my book."
"Protection against what?" Miller griped. "Hell, there's been no action here since they told us to stay inside the walls last week."
"Makes you look fierce, Fitz," Debbi said from the other side of the campfire, ignoring Miller's comment even though it was the truth.
"Looks like that kid took it off a chanouk," Ngoma commented to Fitz. The sheer size of the armor plates made the young Ranger wonder how the anouk boy could've even carried it.
"And it still barely fits him." Everyone joined Stew in his laughter.
"Laugh it up, folks, but it will be me, not you, still standing when the crap starts flying again." Fitz sat up a little straighter in his new getup.
"If it ever does." Miller stretched his feet out and reclined a bit.
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