Banshee Screams

by Clay Griffith

  Lithia, sensing a seed of success, added smoothly and in a quiet voice, "And I would add that Hellstromme fully intends to supplement your pay with a generous consultant's fee."

  Stew laughed. It was a deep laugh springing from the years of ludicrous, dangerous, impossible situations the Rangers had faced. Very little of it was done with the thought or the reality of a paycheck.

  Stew howled, "Now that is fantastic! I can buy that new car I've had my eye on. No wait! I sure could use a new refrigerator."

  Lithia bit her lower lip and smoldered. She didn't like being laughed at.

  Stew rubbed his chin. "What the hell do I need more money for? I can only wear one shirt at a time. We loot our ammo from old EXFOR

  dumps. And Mo gives me some of my food and all of my booze for free. Lithia, at the risk of forfeiting my consultant's fee by pissing you off, you better get your nose out of your quarterly reports and look around you. We live on a godforsaken, wind-ravaged rock."

  Lithia kept her cool. "Point taken, Stew. So if money means nothing, think about your town and your fellow Colonial Rangers. The more we cooperate to create a dependable, efficient system here, the better for everyone. For a dependable system, we need dependable people. And do you really think Ross qualifies? In his day, I'm sure he was excellent. No doubt, he was the epitome of the old, two-fisted frontiersman. But times change.

  "Hellstromme wants a renewed presence on the surface and, if we move forward, EXFOR won't be far behind us. And if that happens, the anouks can count their culture in months. The Worldstorm was their biggest shot. And it failed. At some point, the Tunnel will reopen and commerce with Earth will be reestablished. You've got to be ready, we've got to be ready, or the Colonial Rangers won't survive the coming transition. There won't be any room in a modern, colonial administration for a bunch of outdated gunslingers."

  Stew said, "You're getting ahead of yourself. We still get little space traffic here and I haven't heard any hint that UN troops are considering coming back to Banshee. The odd Marine raid doesn't equal an invasion. Now, if the Tunnel does reopen, sure, the smart money would be on EXFOR, but without it, I just don't know.

  "When UN forces bugged out during the Worldstorm, the Colonial Rangers stuck. It was this bunch of outdated gunslingers that held human society together. And despite what you imagine for the future, Temptation is not some sleeping metropolis waiting to explode with commerce. It's just a bunch of scared people huddling in the dark because they're afraid of monsters waiting to eat us. I'd say we need all the old frontiersmen like Ross we can get."

  Lithia replied, "I respect loyalty, Stew. But you need to have loyalty to something other than a man. You need to be loyal to an idea. That's how you stop huddling in the dark and start building fires to drive away those monsters."

  Stew huffed with a smile. "I imagine they made you an administrator because you can turn other people's metaphors back on them."

  "No, I became an administrator because I want to build good things on a big scale. It's a contagious feeling. You should try it. Captain."

  Stew lowered his head and stared at his hands. If Debbi was here, she'd take over without argument and there wouldn't be a problem. Of course, if Debbi was here, Ross would be on the job. He said softly, "Let me talk to Ross."

  Lithia tapped some data into her palmcorder. "All right, Stew. But remember, if you wait too long, you won't just lose your favorite table at a saloon. You'll lose everything."

  Stew tensed, preparing to lash out. Instead, he raised a cautionary hand and sank into thought.

  The liaison took the hint. She'd pushed enough for now. Without further comment, she retrieved her own coat and left the office, already late for a teleconference with her directors. She had wanted to drop the bombshell that the local Rangers were in her pocket, without having to lie about it. She was, however, prepared to lie about it. And it wasn't really a lie. Lithia was confident that Stew would sign on. He was clearly out of his depth trying to run this outfit. He might be a good soldier, but not a general. He didn't have his own vision of what the Rangers needed to be, so Lithia would supply one for him. She was actually glad that Captain Ross was out of the picture. From everything she'd heard about him, he was a difficult customer in the best of times with an unpredictable "go to hell" streak. Stew, on the other hand, was thoughtful and rational and he would realize that an alliance with Hellstromme was the only reasonable option for the future of the Rangers. And once she incorporated the Temptation Rangers, she would bring them in from all over Banshee and have a handy little company police force at her disposal. This would advance her long-range plan of Hellstromme making her the director of the entire planet of Banshee.

  Lithia smiled as her automatons fell into step behind her on the horrendously dusty main street. Townsfolk watched her pass with blatant stares, without even the common courtesy to hide their small town curiosity behind furtive glances. Gawking yokels, she thought with venom. Soon, Hellstromme would own this town and everything and everyone in it. Then this herd would know who was boss.

  Times were changing on Banshee. Cowboys like Ross were past and smart types like Stew would fall into line. If not, Lithia could find someone to replace him.

  Chapter 5

  It was a dark dismal day when Ross was prepared to say farewell to Temptation. He had spent the day making sure his transport was well supplied. Now he had one last thing to do.

  He wanted to say goodbye to Debbi and be off.

  The wind was blowing so hard it nearly drove him sideways. Ross tightened his hat's latigo around his throat in case the weather was strong enough to rip his hat off. He didn't want to worry about breaking in a new hat on top of everything else. It looked like any minute the heavens would bust wide open with a driving early winter rain. He wanted to get out of town before that happened.

  As he approached the cemetery gate, his hands idly fumbled with a gold chain and locket. It held a picture of him. He was going to bury it under the soil in Debbi's grave. Just in case he didn't come back. He wanted her to have something to remember him by. He had never seen Debbi wear jewelry, but it was either this or a holster. She might have wanted the latter, but Ross sought to give her something different, something special.

  A flash of movement caught his eye. At the top of the rise, dirt was flying into the air. Horrified, he ran.

  The chanouk was still there and the damn thing was tearing up Debbi's grave like some stinking stray dog. Ross picked up a fist-sized rock and threw it at the beast. It impacted on its hindquarters and elicited a grunt. The behemoth's head emerged from the hole and growled at Ross, showing sharp teeth. Then it returned to what it was doing. The dumb thing had dug a huge hole and its upper half was down in the grave.

  What the hell was the matter with the thing? Ross heard the scrape of the claws on the casket and it galvanized him into action. Furious at the sacrilege, he drew his weapon. He pointed at the chanouk, but got an image of Debbi playfully pounding the creature's shoulder from the saddle. He fired into the air.

  "Get out of there!" Ross shouted hoarsely.

  Startled, the beast jumped up and out, spinning around to snarl at Ross, its tail swishing angrily back and forth like a bristling cat.

  Ross aimed the Peacemaker at it, rock steady and clenched tight. The chanouk let out a loud huff and then eased back, casting its gaze back to the disturbed grave. The Ranger fought the fury that was churning inside him. He let his arm drop to his side. It was just an animal. It didn't know any better. It didn't even understand that Debbi was dead.

  "You poor dim-witted thing," Ross conceded. He shook his head. "You better get it through your thick skull. She ain't coming back. She's dead."

  He realized it was the first time he had said it aloud. It seemed so final. So real all of a sudden. He turned away and looked at the decimated ground, clenching his jaw.

  He had to bury her again.

  He sucked in a harsh, shaking breath. A string of curses issued forth from
him, all directed at the dumb beast standing off to the side making odd, anxious noises.

  "Goddamn your stinking hide!" Ross dropped to his knees in the loose mound of sand and soil. Trying not to look inside the grave, he started shoving the dirt back in with his bare hands. "I swear if I see you again, I'll shoot you. Now get out of here!"

  The chanouk snarled and came forward so quickly that Ross didn't have time to react. It knocked him sprawling to the ground and then stood over the grave growling, its hair rising up on end, giving the impression of something even larger and more deadly.

  Scrambling to his feet, Ross could barely hold in check his blazing hatred. He threw his hat at the animal in pure, uncontrollable fury. His gun was in his hand again and sighted the chanouk right between the eyes.

  The wind whipped at his eyes, drawing them so tight that moisture leaked from the edges at the strain. He was going to shoot the wretched thing. He swore he was!

  The animal just stared at him, its large dark eyes defiant and fixed. It had stopped growling and merely regarded the Ranger with detached insubordination.

  A full minute passed with neither of them moving. Ross was trying desperately to regain his composure. Why the hell was this happening? He couldn't deal with this all right now. It was a stupid, goddamn thing to happen.

  Then above the cry of the wind he heard it.

  It was soft and low and it came from the grave.

  The chanouk's ears perked forward and it trilled while Ross stepped back, his breath dragging in and out roughly.

  Oh God.

  It had happened! The soil of Temptation had finally reanimated her body.

  The sob that tumbled from Ross's lips was soulless and lost. The chanouk had most likely heard writhing and groaning beneath the soil and out of curiosity had dug it up.

  Ross forced himself to step forward. The chanouk moved aside even though its attention was still riveted on the coffin lying at the bottom of the grave. There were deep gashes on its lid from the chanouk's frantic digging, but it was still intact and sealed. Ross thanked God for small things.

  He heard it again. A small groan and something shifting inside the box.

  Ross bit down hard on his revulsion. Jesus, why now after all these months? He wasn't ready. He couldn't do it. He thought he could at one time. But not now. Damn it! It was a sick joke!

  The chanouk trilled and moved closer to the grave. Roughly, without thinking, Ross shoved it aside. He didn't realize how stupid that act was, and he didn't register the fact that the chanouk didn't seem to care. It sidestepped and merely continued to trill, staring expectantly at the coffin.

  The dirt lying on the lid shifted slightly as something moved within.

  Ross tightened his grip on his gun. He had to do it before she rose. He couldn't face her. It had been months. Her body would be. Oh God, it would be.

  It was best just to kill it in the coffin. Otherwise, its decaying face would be the last thing he'd have to remember about her. A tremor coursed down his arm to the pistol aiming into the grave. He could barely control it.

  A head shot. He needed a head shot.

  His aim shifted and rose to the top of the coffin. She was right there. All he had to do was pull the trigger.

  He could feel the sweat break out over his skin. Despite the wind, he couldn't find the air to breath. God, how had Stew done this with his father? He hated the man just for having more strength than he did when it counted.

  Gritting his teeth, he willed his outstretched arm to steady and then grabbed it with his other hand.

  Just pull the trigger. Pull the goddamn trigger!

  But he couldn't.

  Shooting her through the closed lid was too akin to murder. It was like shooting someone in the back. It didn't matter what she was now, she deserved better than that. It was still Debbi. He owed her body a quick, honorable peace.

  Ross drew his knife from its sheath and jumped into the grave. He swiftly jammed the blade under the coffin lid before he had a chance to renege on his new conviction. His resolve was tenuous on this matter at best. He had to do it fast.

  With frenzied jerks, he heaved on the lid. Finally it creaked open a bit. He braced himself for what was to come. She had been dead awhile, the decay and smell would be bad. Her beautiful features would be sunken and flaccid. Her hastily sewn wounds would be raw and unhealed.

  He almost stopped. It was too much for him to bear. He could get someone else to do it. But he knew he wouldn't. It had to be him.

  With one final heave, the lid opened. Ross flung it back making the coffin rock. His Peacemaker in his hand was a blur as he drew aim on the body.

  Pull the trigger!Don't think! Pull the trigger!

  But before he did, against all resolution, he looked.

  He had imagined her eyes would be open, her mouth locked in a black, gurgling scream, flesh decaying, bones protruding, clawed hands rigid and poised to strike.

  Yet they weren't.

  Her eyes were closed as if in restful slumber. Her skin was whole, her face unmarred by the damage of her violent death. There was even a slight rose glow to her flesh.

  Ross reared back at the sight, lost his footing and fell against the back of the grave, jamming his knee painfully between the coffin and the ground. His gun dropped from nerveless fingers. The contents of his pocket spilled into the moist dirt. He didn't care. His eyes were locked on the steady rise and fall of her chest.

  She was breathing!

  Blessed sweet air was flowing in and out of her in a regular manner that mocked his own desperate attempts to perform that same simple function. Instead, he felt the black edges of unconsciousness beat at him as his lungs refused to cooperate.

  The chanouk stretched down and sniffed her. Ross watched with stupefied amazement, waiting for the animal to attack her like it attacked all zombies, taking the head in its powerful jaws and biting through with a moist crunch.

  He was going to be sick.

  Ross reached out a weak, disconnected hand to stop the chanouk. To his relief, the animal only trilled softly again and licked Debbi's face.

  Debbi moaned and seemed to shift her face away.

  Air filled Ross again as he gasped in absolute joy. She wasn't a zombie! He scrambled on top of the coffin and reached out to touch her face. His hand paused an inch away, almost fearfully. Trembling fingertips caressed her skin. Then his hand rushed forward to cup her cheek. It was warm! She leaned into it slightly.

  "Debbi," he whispered in a near croak. She didn't stir. His hand trailed down to her neck and felt the steady pulse of life as her heart beat rhythmically.

  She was alive! Somehow she was alive!

  Grabbing her thin shoulder, he shook her gently. "D-Debbi, wake up." No response. She was being as stubborn as usual, lying there.

  The sky rumbled above him and opened up with its promised rain. It came down suddenly in sheets. Ross shrugged off his coat and placed it over Debbi, gently wiping the water from her face as he shielded her head from the elements with his body. Even the icy rain didn't wake her Ross didn't know why. She was breathing, alive. He tried to sort out what he should do. He couldn't just leave her here to go get help.

  Bundling her up in his long, black duster, he picked her up in his arms. He shifted his hold on her limp body and then reached up to grab the chanouk's bridle. It seemed to understand what he wanted and pulled back, dragging Ross and Debbi up from the muddy grave.

  The lightening cracked above them, splitting the dark sky. For a moment the light illuminated their mud-caked forms and then cast the sky back into its dismal state. It also reflected a small golden object lying unnoticed in the bottom of the hole, half sunk into the mud, its chain caught on the edge of the coffin.

  Ross carried Debbi through the graveyard, heading for town. He wasn't sure what he was going to do, but he didn't want anyone to see them. The rain would take care of that if he stuck to the back wall around town.

  They would think he was crazy, di
gging her up.

  He decided to take her home, figure out what the hell was going on. Maybe this was all just a dream and he'd wake up soon. Or maybe he didn't want to wake up. She was alive. Or something. Hell, he had no idea what she was. She wasn't human anymore and yet she wasn't a zombie either. Or maybe she would be soon. Maybe there were stages to go through.

  Ross stumbled as he slipped through the mud. He had to regroup, collect his thoughts and figure out what to do. He was just rambling. He knew it was shock, but he didn't seem to be able to do anything about it. His only instinct was to get her home.

  There was a place in the wall where he could slip in between the militia's watch. They wouldn't see him carrying a body in from the graveyard. He'd clean her up, see if he could rouse her and then from there make additional plans.

  He could hear the something else on the wind, just barely. It was the howl of the chanouk. Ross glanced back, he could just see the silhouette of the beast still standing by the grave, its snout lifted into the air and joined the storm in its joyous song.

  She was alive!

  Chapter 6

  Ross sat in his chair, his bone white hands gripping the wooden arms till he thought they would shatter beneath his fingers. His gut rolled in constant turmoil.

  His gaze was mesmerized by the steady rise and fall of Debbi's chest as air was drawn in and out in a semblance of life. Still there was doubt in his heart that she was truly and unbelievably alive.

  It didn't seem possible, even with all that was going on in and around Temptation. Yes, the dead were reanimating, but not like this. Not whole and fit.

  My God, what if she opens her eyes?

  Ross's gut clenched again. It had been three hours since he had found her alive in her satin-lined coffin. He didn't think anyone saw him as he carried Debbi through the streets. His clothes were still drenched in the graveyard mud, his hair still damp from the pouring rain, yet he didn't notice any of it. Even the bone numbing cold that encased his frame barely registered. His entire focus was on Debbi.