Debbi's chanouk moved off to pounce on some syker cadaver protruding from a rocky outcrop. The thick, crunching sound the beast made carried over the valley and Ross cringed slightly.
Ross stared around at the fortress and its surrounding area. It reeked of the heavy, cloying odor of death. He felt as if he hadn't been free of the stench of decay since the Temptation graveyards had risen up in defiance of all that was natural and holy.
He was tired of the chaos. It had been a hard year in Temptation, from the Worldstorm to the walking dead and from the Reapers to the Legion. Ross felt a longing for the simple life that he hadn't known in a long time. Barely a month ago, he had told his old friend and comrade-in-arms, Reuben Olivares, that he was thinking about becoming a shepherd. He was only half kidding. Then he remembered with a stab that Olivares was dead now too. Ross spat on the ground to clear the foul taste in his mouth brought on by the memory. For the first time in a long time, he actually longed for a taste of the old days rather than pushing away the memory. He wanted to smell new life in the air— grass growing, trees blooming, the slippery scent of a newborn foal; he wanted a cool, clean breeze to carry such things along like a harbinger of birth.
It wasn't that Ross wanted to give up Rangering and settle down. He had done that once and it worked. Then. In that time. In that place. With that person. But he didn't think he could do it again, no matter the temptation.
Over to his right, Debbi's chanouk huffed in satisfaction and Ross looked. A wind was rising. Debbi's flame hair was spreading out around her head in a halo of red. Pushing a wad of it away from her face, she saw Ross's gaze and waved at him, grinning from ear to ear with a smile that made Ross ache. She loved the Banshee wind.
Debbi was so alive and carefree, seemingly unmarred by the horrors of the last few months. She drew on a strength that Ross couldn't even fathom. There were times that he too clung to her strength. It had gotten him through a lot of hard times.
Despite her physical appearance, she was unlike—
A wall of wind slammed into Ross from behind. Even the powerful chanouk staggered under its force. The beast roared in shock and dug its claws into the ground to steady itself. The wind was all around them, hurling debris with it. Brush and thorny scrub flew wildly along with sharp rocks and tannis shards. A boulder missed Ross by inches. He clutched the saddle ring and realized with horror the direction it was taking.
"Debbi!" Ross's shout was whipped away by the wind. It never reached her.
The boulder rushed toward her and slammed into her mount. The roaring wind seemed to be centered on her. It swirled around her, filled with so much debris that she was almost obscured from his sight. The harsh wind seemed alive with energy, sparking great arcs of lightning.
Ross tried to open his eyes against the stinging sand and blinding glare. His hands fumbled to pull the reins on his chanouk and maneuver toward Debbi. The beast didn't want to go, but Ross wasn't about to let that stop him. He kicked it hard and heard it roar in pain.
"Move, damn you!" He saw Debbi struck by stone after stone. Her chanouk was slammed up against the side of the rock cliff and it collapsed to the ground where it lay limp and unmoving. Debbi struggled to her feet beside it, her arm flung up to protect her face as knife-like shards of stone whirled about her in an unnatural tornado. Her mouth was open in a scream, but Ross could hear nothing except the shriek of the wind.
Finally, Ross's chanouk moved in her direction. The force of the wind was so strong that it was physically shoving the huge animal to the side. Ross heard the scratch of its claws on the rocks as it fought to keep its feet on the ground.
Ross kept his head up, pulling the bandana over his nose and mouth. His hat was gone, torn off and adrift. His hand was above his eyes, shielding them as much as he could from the cutting sand that assaulted him.
Another large, jagged rock swirled within the maelstrom. It roared down ever nearer to Debbi. Ross tried to urge his mount faster, but he also knew the great beast was trying its hardest to comply. Every muscle was clenched so tightly that it felt like he was riding a beast made of stone instead of flesh.
Debbi was bleeding as her body was beaten and broken by countless wind-driven rocks that battered and twisted her like a puppet. Wave after wave of razor tannis shrapnel sliced into her. She didn't even seem to be conscious anymore, hanging limp in the tearing fist of the whirling tempest. It refused to let her fall.
Above Debbi, on the top of the cliff wall, a figure appeared.
General Quantrill stood on the precipice and glanced down at Ross. The syker's eyes were blazing with energy. It was obvious he was responsible for the telekinetic storm that engulfed Debbi.
Ross yanked his pistol from its holder and fired even though he felt there was no way the bullet could maintain a true path through the wind. Quantrill only stood there laughing at Ross's feeble efforts. The Ranger fumbled for his comlink to alert the others, but the wind would not allow him to be heard.
A large rock spinning inside the psychic tornado slammed into Debbi's head. She spun from the force. Blood spattered into the wind. She dropped in a crumpled heap. The storm immediately fell apart and the air screeched into silence.
Ross's chanouk now tore across the rocks. Ross fired bullet after bullet at Quantrill. The General stumbled back, raising a hand out in front of him to ward off the barrage. The shots pinged harmlessly off a psychic shield.
However, Ross saw that Quantrill was weakening. The General couldn't hold up a shield for long. Ross let out a terrible shout as he barreled up the path toward Debbi and Quantrill. He clenched his hand tight around the tannis ring, knowing that the chanouk would have to climb to get to syker.
A loud rumble filled the air and a Ranger Stallion rose behind Quantrill. Ross yelled in triumph. Stew must have seen what was happening and gotten to a vehicle in record time. Quantrill was going to pay.
The rear door of the Stallion slid open and to Ross's horror he saw more zombie sykers inside reaching for their General. The vehicle was the commandeered Stallion the Legion had taken from Temptation.
Quantrill was going to get away!
The undead General slowly stepped into the waiting Stallion, his decrepit face smirking in triumph. The door slid shut and the engines flared with power. The ship lifted and roared away across the canyon.
Ross's chanouk slid to a halt.
"No!" Ross was still pulling the trigger, but the Peacemaker was clicking on empty. His arm dropped. He stood there numbly for a moment. Quantrill was gone.
Then Ross remembered.
Almost afraid, he turned his head toward Debbi.
She lay limp and bloody on the rocky ground. The dust caked on her face soaked up the blood. Ross slipped off his mount; his legs almost didn't hold him. She was so still; there wasn't even a shuddering rise or fall in her chest. He stood frozen, facing her, knowing she was gone and terrified to touch her and confirm it.
She couldn't be.
He heard sounds behind him in the distance. Others must have seen what had happened and were coming.
Finally, he moved, rushing toward her, dropping onto the hard rock. An unsteady hand reached for her, touched her shoulder. His glove immediately soaked up the blood. He couldn't feel anything. Ripping off the thick, saturated glove, he frantically searched for a pulse.
None.
He couldn't breathe. Oh God, no.
Gathering her slowly in his arms, he trembled, afraid of facing a future without her. She slipped away regardless of how tightly he held her. He stared unseeing out over the canyon, just clinging to her body. His eyes filled with moisture and after a time a lone drop succumbed to gravity and traced a wild steak down his dust-covered face. He was drenched in a layer of sand from the storm, giving him a harsh, yellow pallor.
"Not again," he whispered to no one. "Not again."
So many dreams, so many hopes, unfulfilled. Now they were lost to him. He hadn't realized he had been building anything, but he had. He hadn'
t thought he wanted another life, not until this very moment. Now he would give anything to have her back.
But she wasn't coming back.
Rage built up inside him. Rage at Quantrill. And rage at himself for not saving her.
The scream that erupted from him shattered the silence of the canyon walls and reverberated throughout the valley. When he was spent, he hunched over Debbi's lifeless form as the echo of his cry rolled away. He pressed his wet cheek against her torn one.
"I'm sorry," he whispered roughly.
He just held her, not moving, not saying anything more because there was nothing left to say that would change what happened.
He had failed her.
He heard a scrambling of footsteps and then Stew's voice.
"What happened? Oh God. Medic! We need a medic! Tsukino!"
Ross didn't move, didn't acknowledge any of them as they crowded around the two slumped figures.
There were hands pulling at Debbi and prying her out of Ross's arms. He didn't resist. His body felt drained of energy.
Placing her flat on the ground, Tsukino ran a medical scanner over Debbi's body. Slapping back his hat, Stew began CPR while Fitz initiated mouth-to-mouth, anything to buy them time and allow Tsukino to revive her. The medic scrabbled through his first aid bag and pulled out an injector of Digilin; a mixture of digitalis and adrenaline. He pressed it against the bloody skin of her chest and squeezed the reservoir. He watched her eyes and placed his practiced fingers against the artery in her throat.
It was too late. Ross knew it. He was pushed back by the growing crowd, all desperate to help save Debbi. He rose and stumbled back stiffly. Ringo stood over Stew's shoulder, his face stricken at the sight of Debbi's torn and broken body.
Martool arrived at a dead run along with a well-armed Fareel. The look of horror on the anouk shaman's face was a terrible thing.
Tsukino finally sat back, defeated. "She's—she's dead."
"No!" Stew shouted at him. "She's not. Help her!" There was a desperation in Stew's voice that none had ever heard before. "Damn it, help her!" He grabbed at Tsukino's arm, furious at the man's indifference.
Fitz brushed aside Debbi's hair, pulling it from the bloody cuts that marred her once beautiful features. Then he looked over at Stew and laid a hand on his shoulder. "She's gone, Stew." There were tears in the big man's eyes.
"No! She's not!" He spun on Fitz. "Give her a chance. She's strong. She's fighting to come back and we're not helping her!" He began CPR again in wild, erratic jerks. Fitz let out a painful breath and then leaned down to help again, breathing for a body that would never do so again. Tsukino looked up at the faces around him and shook his head.
The last shred of hope that lay with the group shattered and fell. Martool's face twisted into outrage. Looking around, she found the person she sought. Striding over to where Ross stood off to the side, she confronted him.
Ross's eyes remained fixed on the body on the ground.
Martool delivered a forceful slap across his face to get his attention. His head rocked at the blow. He didn't try to defend himself, too numb with shock.
"This is your fault!" Martool shouted at him.
Ross straightened slowly, his eyes finally coming to rest on her. A wash of red seeped through his dark beard. Martool's nails had opened a gash from his cheekbone to his chin, but Ross didn't acknowledge it.
"So consumed with your revenge! You have damned her!" Martool's tone was sharp and scathing, enough so to draw the attention of the rest of the grieving Rangers. "This area isn't clean; she wasn't supposed to die here. How much plainer could I have been in that one simple fact. Now she is gone and you alone are responsible!"
The Rangers expected Ross to react, but he just stood staring at Martool with red-rimmed eyes that held only anguish and pain.
Martool deflated, her anger spent, her aged body still burdened by the signs of her struggle to repel the undead Legion. Wiping away the tears that had begun falling steadily, she shook her head. She waved a hand at the anouks behind her, gesturing to Debbi's inert form. "We will bury her here at Castle Rock in honor of her valiant efforts."
Fareel stepped forward to carry out Martool's order.
"No!" Ross's eyes flashed angrily and his voice shouted hoarsely. He became animated for the first time since Debbi had fallen, shoving an arm out to stop them.
The Rangers immediately took a defensive position around their deceased comrade. Their hands rested on their pistols, but they didn't draw them.
Fareel raised a glowing atax and drew closer to Martool, protecting his weakened shaman. The space between the two groups was volatile. Finally, Stew stepped back and gathered Debbi gently in his arms.
"I'm taking her home to Temptation," he told everyone. "Where she belongs." That said, he turned and strode away across the bleak, hellish landscape. Ringo and Fitz immediately flanked him, backing away while keeping their eyes on the crowd of angry anouks. The rest of the Rangers followed after. Only Ross remained standing in front of Martool.
The shaman wasn't willing to force the issue, though in her mind, the Rangers had lost the privilege of caring for Debbi's soul. She belonged now to Castle Rock.
"Her blood is on your hands," she whispered harshly to Ross.
Ross backed away, his eyes locked on Martool. They weren't defiant, only desperate and stricken. His face was stoic and betrayed nothing, but his eyes were windows to a soul that had lost the one thing that kept him sane.
Ngoma was waiting for them with the Stallion. They boarded silently. Stew still clutching Debbi. No one, not even Ross, tried to take her from him. Ross took a seat in the back and watched his crew tend to Debbi's torn body, laying her in the rear berth, wiping away the blood, and covering her with a blanket, her features prominent as the cloth draped over her face. It was tucked it in around her like she was merely cold.
Ross was lost in his own head. Quantrill had found the one chink in his armor, the one thing that mattered to him. Ross was just starting to realize that maintaining order and achieving his personal revenge meant little in the face of this tragedy. Quantrill wanted to break Ross, and with a simple act of violence, he had finally accomplished it.
Time had ceased to move forward. Ross couldn't think beyond the still form opposite him. No one approached him though they all stole glances in his direction. Grief saturated the air as each Ranger tried to deal with their loss.
Fitz was weeping openly, his one hand touching Debbi's shoulder as if unable to let her go. Chennault sat with eyes cast to the floor. She had lost friends in battle before, but that didn't make this any easier to cope with. She was already thinking more of the people she would make pay for it.
Miller sat awkwardly consoling the sobbing Ringo. The young Ranger had endured so much only to be broken by this. Ngoma flew the Stallion with stiff precision, using the opportunity to distract himself from the pain as best he could.
Hallow sat off to the side, separate from all of them. His eyes were lost in a world that only he could see. He had come out of his self-imposed exile in the desert on a mission of mercy and stayed to fight for a lost cause because of a single woman. Now she was dead. The call of painless seclusion beckoned again.
Stew sat beside Debbi's body and just stared at it, tears falling of their own accord down his face. He was motionless, not even lifting a hand to wipe away the steady stream. He couldn't believe it. She was gone. One minute she was larger than life and now she looked so incredibly small. Stew reached out and gently drew the thin blanket slowly from her face.
He didn't know what he expected. Maybe he thought her eyes would open and she'd smile at him. The dead were rising all over Banshee, why couldn't she?
But her eyes remained closed, her mouth partially open, her torn blue lips. She was slowly losing color. Her cheeks were pale and the red blood was drying to a thick, dark film.
Ross watched Stew's tender ministrations and his rigid expression almost shattered with the ache of it.
Rubbing his forehead, he found that the throbbing agony had returned and engulfed him like a black shroud. Small drops of crimson dotted the gunmetal floor beneath him as blood dripped slowly down his cheek like unholy tears.
He regarded all his Rangers. They all hung their heads with shoulders slumped. The only sounds in the Stallion were the muffled sobs of Ringo and the heedless mourning of Fitz.
They should have all been celebrating today. This was to have been a victory. Now it was hollow. Their one day of grace and Quantrill had destroyed it.
A surge of anger welled up in Ross; he choked on it. Quantrill was going to pay. Ross swore it. He would hunt down the bastard and twist the General's rotting head from his body with his bare hands.
Temptation be damned. Banshee be damned. Nothing mattered to Ross anymore, only revenge. There was nothing left to stop him from tearing this planet apart and Quantrill along with it.
Ross's gaze fell on Debbi once more, still and serene in death.
Rest in peace, Debbi, because I sure as hell won't.
Book III: Fraternity of the Grave
Chapter 1
The Banshee winter was deathly cold. With winter's breath had come icy darkness that held no heat. There was no insulation from cloud cover, and any heat garnered in the daylight hours dissipated quickly into the starlit skies above.
Captain Holt of the Temptation Nightwatch stood on the wall and listened to Banshee moan. The wind always moaned and Holt was sick to death of hearing it. It was inhuman; Earth wind rarely shrieked so. Its incessant noise made his skin crawl. But still he held his ground. It would take more than that to make him run.
His eyes quickly caught a shape moving in the darkness. His heart leapt to his throat but then quickly sank again.
It was Captain Ross. Holt recognized his shape and paid little attention to it. Late at night, regardless of the weather, Ross wandered. It was downright creepy. But Holt understood what drove the man. They all lost a piece of their souls over the last few months, but for Dave Ross it was much worse.
Banshee Screams Page 63
