Banshee Screams Page 10

  "What's the story?" he asked.

  "It's not good," Debbi answered. "It's really not good."

  "Are you all right? You look pale."

  "I'm fine. It's just ..." She let her voice trail off.

  Ross started to say more to her, but something behind her caught his sharp eye.

  "Holy God," he said quietly.

  Debbi turned. A dead woman was striding vigorously toward them from between the tombstones. Her black funeral dress was in tatters.

  "It's Margaret Cowling!" Cass cried. "Kill her!"

  Debbi raised her weapon, tried to steady her aim, and fired. She missed. Margaret Cowling pushed past the metal gate and broke into a lunatic run at the Rangers. Debbi again attempted to draw a bead on the dead woman. Her hand was shaking.

  Ross stepped up beside her. He pulled his pistol, straightened his arm, and squeezed off a shot. Margaret Cowling's forehead blackened and she flopped to the ground.

  Ross started to lower his pistol. Then he cast a sidelong glance at Cass with an eyebrow raised slightly. "Margaret Cowling was dead, wasn't she?"

  "Three years."

  He holstered his weapon. "Good."

  Debbi wondered aloud, "First Mrs. Womble. Now all this. Why is this happening?"

  Ross said, "Who the hell knows. But it doesn't matter why." He pointed at Stew. "Get on the horn and alert Temptation. Tell the militia to close the gates." He turned back to Debbi. "How many we got in there?"

  "Only saw a few, but there are plenty of open graves."

  "Damn it. All right, we've got about four hours of sun left. It's likely some of these things have gotten into Temptation already, so I'll head back and get some teams started sweeping the streets. I'll send a couple of guys out here to link up with you three." He paused to think and then pointed at Debbi. "First off, you, Stew, and Cass take this Hoss and circle the graveyard. See if these things are heading off in any particular direction. Then I want you sitting on the road to Temptation until I get some sharpshooters out here. Intercept any of these things you see making for town. Wherever you find them, I want 'em dead."

  "Well, technically ." Debbi began.

  "Deader. When your relief gets here, Dallas, I want you and Stew back in town."

  As Ross turned to the speeder, Debbi grabbed his arm. She looked into his face. "Ross, doesn't this bother you at all?" She indicated the late Margaret Cowling. "That woman died three years ago. Now she's walking. Just like Mrs. Womble. How can you act like it's a prison break?"

  "Yeah, it bothers me. But as far as I'm concerned, it's just another crazy Skinny power. We don't have time to figure things out. We've got to protect those people." He waved his hand in the general direction of Temptation as he straddled the speeder bike. His words were clipped and sharp. "Dallas, we're surgeons, not doctors. We don't diagnose; we just cut where it hurts."

  Ross was composed and sure of himself. His eyes didn't betray any confusion or fear. Everything he said was true for him, and the fact that he believed it so strongly gave Debbi a sense of purpose. She didn't always agree with his narrow view of their duty, but that wasn't important now. This was an unbelievable emergency and if she stopped to think about it, she might never start moving again. It was calming to have this horror turned into a series of manageable tasks. She suddenly appreciated the importance of leadership in a way she never had before. She gave him a single hard nod.

  "Go to work," Ross told her. "Keep your comlink open." He fired up the speeder and roared off across the grim, windy landscape toward Temptation.

  Stew stepped out of the back of the Stallion and tossed Debbi a sniper rifle. It was a Cody .74, a superior long-range weapon, but far too automated for her. She had never trained on half the settings. She tossed it back to Stew.

  "You use it," she said. "I'll slap a scope on a Hellrazor."

  Stew shrugged and said, "Cass, take the wheel. Dallas and I will take the roof." He winked at the old Ranger. "Drive safe."

  Cass regarded him with a smug grin.

  Debbi and Stew climbed up onto the rear section of the Stallion. They faced opposite sides and secured themselves as well as possible. The Stallion started thrumming and lifted off the ground.

  "Is Cass checked out on this Hoss?" Debbi asked.

  Stew didn't answer. His bicep bulged under his jacket as he tightened his grip on the handhold.

  The vehicle jerked forward, tilting wildly. Debbi suppressed a scream. Stew cursed under his breath. Cass got it relatively under control and the Stallion moved out.

  Debbi was facing the cemetery. From her vantage point atop the Stallion, skimming about thirty feet off the ground, she saw a group of dead people milling around in the graveyard. She pounded on the roof of the vehicle with the butt of her rifle. Cass brought it to a wobbly stop and lowered it to the ground. The vehicle vibrated far too much to be a useful sniper platform when it was floating. Debbi and Stew stretched out on their stomachs and sighted carefully down the rifles.

  "Try to take head shots, if you can," Debbi said. "That seems to put them down and keep them there."

  "What? That's seventy-five yards easy. On moving targets."

  Debbi said, "Don't worry. The Cody won't let you miss."

  He shook his head. "Maybe it won't let you miss."

  Debbi breathed out nervously. She placed her eye to the scope. She had trained, as had all Rangers, both with and without technological support. She actually preferred aiming with iron sights, but this was too important. There was no time to zero in the weapon. She needed kills with the first shot and the scope compensated for a lot of human slippage. She let her breath out and held it. Steady. Fire. Shift aim. Steady. Fire. Shift aim again. Steady. Fire.

  At first, the zombies stood insensibly as the heads of their companions exploded. But soon they realized the danger. Some fell to the ground or dropped behind gravestones. Others scampered away, disappearing in the rolling hillocks. Debbi was terrified to see them move so fast.

  With the killing zone now empty, the Stallion hovered on, setting down again when Debbi sighted more of the undead. Stew slipped next to her and they raised their rifles.

  Debbi snapped off a shot that dropped a woman with one arm at one hundred yards.

  "Male. Three o'clock," she said. "Near that mausoleum with the angel."

  "Got him." Stew settled in behind his rifle. He pulled up, took a breath, and resettled. Then he set the rifle down and stared numbly at the figure.

  Debbi watched him raise his binoculars. She didn't like the look that had come over his face.

  "It's my father," Stew said softly.

  "What?"

  "It's my father." He lowered the binoculars and looked at Debbi. His clear, blue eyes seemed lost. "You know, I didn't even think. He's buried here." He laughed humorlessly. "Or he used to be."

  Debbi reached over and touched his arm. "Let him go."

  Stew pursed his lips. "It'll have to be done eventually. Right?"

  Debbi glanced at the distant figure. He was a small man with a palsied limp. He looked weak, small, and harmless.

  Debbi said, "I'll take the shot."

  Stew glared at her. She kept her face emotionless. He mechanically turned back to the Cody, took a sighting, and squeezed the trigger. Forty yards away, his father jerked slightly to one side. Stew immediately fired again and the target's head exploded. Stew closed his eyes. He lifted a fist and pounded the roof of the vehicle with one bone-rattling blow. The Stallion rose obediently and moved on. Stew's breath was harsh and strained as he turned his face away from Debbi.

  They continued with this emotionless, rote procedure until they made the circuit around the cemetery. Debbi hit twenty-four and Stew seventeen, with most of those probable kills. It was disturbingly clear to Debbi that these dead things were aware and conscious of their surrounding. Oddly enough, the distance threatened to increase her sympathy for these creatures because they seemed confused and helpless, like hunted animals.

  She forced he
rself to forget they had ever been human. They were just targets. And she was just a trigger.

  The Stallion finally returned to the road that ran between the cemetery and Temptation. The vehicle settled down several hundred yards outside the gate. They hadn't seen any zombies outside the general confines of the cemetery, but had noticed footprints of small groups and individuals moving out into the desert, away from town. They were not at liberty to pursue; their priority was safeguarding Temptation. The Stallion provided them an excellent vantage point to watch the territory sweeping down from the cemetery plateau to the walls of the town visible in the distance.

  Debbi and Stew crouched on the roof of the Stallion, cradling their rifles. Debbi looked at her partner. He was lost in thought, pretending to study the landscape through binoculars. She didn't want to talk either. They waited silently for their next target.

  Chapter 10

  "I want everybody working in pairs. First priority is to get people off the streets. Our cover story for now is that there's a danger of Reaper scavs in town. Second priority is to clean out the things from the cemetery wherever you find them. Investigate anything and everything that strikes you as suspicious. Don't worry about breaking down doors or ruffling feathers; we'll explain it tomorrow."

  Ross paused and surveyed the group of six Rangers, four men and two women, gathered in the main office. Most of them looked shell-shocked by the news Ross had brought back from the cemetery a few hours before.

  Debbi and Stew stood in the rear of the crowd having just returned to town after several militia members with sniper rifles joined Cass to watch the cemetery road. They were tired and nervous, already all too accepting of the unbelievable events of the evening.

  There were currently sixteen Rangers in Temptation. Ross had turned them all out for this. Six stood before him in the office. Eight Rangers, with information on how to deal with undead intruders, had been sent already to bolster the Night Watch and the militia. Even though the Night Watch was composed of the toughest members of the town militia who perversely welcomed the dangerous job of guarding the walls after dark, they weren't as skilled as Rangers.

  Meanwhile, Ringo was manning the com shack, which was literally a shack on the roof of the Ranger headquarters. It contained a surprisingly sophisticated long-range broadcast system cannibalized from abandoned military equipment. And it actually managed, on occasion, to broadcast long range, depending on the weather and whether any of the relay stations set up many years ago by the colonial government were operating. For the most part, the shack tied together a makeshift network of radios laughingly called the Temptation Broadcast System. Most of the sets in the network were cobbled together from spare parts and junk, and were in the hands of various townsfolk. They operated in times of emergency as a surprisingly effective alert system; provided the operators were sober.

  The sun was nearly down. The streetlights that still worked were flickering on in a town that didn't realize the scope of the emergency they were in. Only the Rangers knew the truth. Nervous members of the town militia, a volunteer body with a limited store of courage and armaments, were stationed around the Depot with portable searchlights to sweep out the desert darkness. They were responding to rumors of a Reaper attack. Caravan bosses were hustling as many of their goods as possible inside the town gates.

  Ross told the gathered Rangers, "It's highly likely a number of these things are inside the town. Dallas and I encountered one last night. We thought it was a unique event." He stared out over his people. "But it ain't."

  "What are they exactly?" Ranger Patrick Ngoma asked. He was young and inexperienced. His black, strong-featured face held that touch of trepidation that all newbies had.

  Ross tilted his head and worked his jaw for a second. "They're dead. That much we know. We don't know why they're here. We don't know how many. We don't know how long they've been...walking around."

  Debbi considered asking 'Is there anything about this job you do know?' but it seemed out of place. Still, it brought an inappropriate smile to her face. Her eyes moved up to see Ross looking at her curiously. She covered her mouth and coughed, and shifted her gaze elsewhere.

  He didn't alter his expression. "Like I said, Dallas and I met the late Mrs. Womble last night. She killed her husband with her bare hands and then ate part of him. Then she tried to kill Dallas and me with an ax."

  Ty Miller shook his head. "That little woman's a real dynamo."

  Ross didn't even bother to look at Miller. "Don't be fooled. These things are fast and mean. They are extremely aggressive. And they don't hurt easy." He put his index finger against his head. "When you can, take a head shot."

  Several of the Rangers rolled their eyes and blew disturbed breaths. They were not all the crack shots the job's gunslinging reputation made them out to be. They looked at each other with mouths agape or nervous grins on their faces.

  Miller laughed uncomfortably and elbowed Stew. "What'd I tell you?

  This job is nothing but animal control."

  Stew didn't respond. He just stared at the floor.

  Ross walked between his people. Every eye followed him. Debbi noticed that he cast a sharp glance at Stew. Then he actually put his hand on Stew's shoulder as he passed. The move startled the younger Ranger. They locked eyes briefly and Stew nodded almost imperceptibly.

  Ross stepped to the front door and faced the assembled Rangers. "These things may not all be interested in killing, but they don't get the benefit of the doubt. Assume the worst. Your job is to protect the citizens of Temptation. And yourselves. If you see these things, don't hesitate. Destroy them."

  He threw open the front door like he was releasing the hounds. "All right, pair up and go to work. Dallas, with me."

  Debbi and Ross walked side by side down the dark street. They both carried shotguns.

  They were in an older, residential part of town and many residents stared out of windows as the Rangers passed. They intended to sweep this densely populated area and end up at St. Calixtus, the ruined and abandoned Catholic cathedral over a mile away. The old Catholic burying ground at St. Calixtus was the only cemetery inside the town walls. Ross had dispatched several militiamen to the cathedral as soon as he arrived back in town from the main cemetery. He had heard no word from them about undead activity.

  "What's with Stew?" Ross asked.

  "Out at the cemetery, he had to kill his father. Or, um, shoot his father." The act still horrified her.

  "Jesus." Silence filled the air for a moment before he asked, "How's he gonna hold up?"

  Debbi was surprised Ross asked her. "He'll be fine. This whole thing's kind of a shocker to everyone. But that made it an extra shock for him."

  "All right." Ross accepted her assessment without question.

  They continued on. The wind howled through the jagged buildings. Ross's duster flapped noisily. Debbi found the sound comforting.

  They had seen no sign of the walking dead so far.

  The streets were quiet. Word of the general curfew had spread rapidly; the core of Temptation was small. No doubt, however, the Depot and the port and the saloons were still thronged with people eager to ignore the authorities or with no place to go. Perhaps there were even a few who had not heard about the curfew. Ross and Debbi would pass that way next and force the saloons to shut their doors for the night. Even a team of regular Rangers would have trouble clearing Mo's; it would take Ross to enforce it.

  "Hold up," Ross said. "Lemme check this alley." He held out his scattergun and stepped into the dim, dead-end alleyway. Debbi tried to keep an eye on him and the street too. She could make him out in the darkness kicking aside boxes and rubbish.

  Ahead of her, Debbi saw a small boy running down the street. He wasn't running toward her; he was just running. First one side of the street, then the other.

  "Ross, something out here."

  The boy was no more than seven years old. He was dirty and his clothes were disheveled. He climbed onto the porch of
a refurbished house and peered into a small window next to the front door.

  As Debbi approached, the boy turned and stood staring at her. His face was blank.

  She was about to step onto the porch. Ross grabbed her arm and pulled her back. He pointed his weapon at the child.

  "Hold it!" he snarled. "That could be one of them."

  Debbi shook off his grip and whispered, "Are you crazy! He's a scared little boy. Put down your gun. You want to shoot a child?"

  "A zombie child, yes."

  "He's not a zombie child." Though the statement was said with conviction, there was still a part of her that was unsure.

  "He's dirty," Ross argued.

  "All children are dirty. Don't you remember being a little boy?"

  "No. Talk to him from here." Ross's eyes never left the child, nor did he lower his shotgun.

  The boy was blonde and cherubic. He stood on the porch watching the Rangers, glancing at the gun with all the obliviousness of an innocent.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Debbi purposefully shoved her uncertainties aside. It was just a lost child.

  She leaned forward. "Are you all right? What's your name?"

  The boy looked past her to Ross.

  "Put your gun down," Debbi commanded over her shoulder. "You're scaring him."

  "It's mutual." Ross lowered the riot gun and took a step to the side to better cover Debbi.

  Debbi dropped to one knee and smiled. "What's your name?"

  "Stephen." The boy's voice was quiet.

  "Stephen? That's a nice name. What are you doing out here, Stephen?"

  The boy rubbed his elbow. "Walking."

  "Walking? Do you live around here?" She scrutinized him carefully for any signs of decay. A sense of horror fluttered momentarily at the concept. Thankfully, she didn't see any.