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"Swamp Flower"
"Swamp Flower"
8/11- 8/12/1983
I.
The shack stood at the edge of the Swamp, near the bank of a sluggish murky river. A long narrow road, more mud than dirt, stretched back twelve miles to Ballinger Corners, near the Louisiana border. No telephone wires were strung here. The shack had three rooms and an outhouse with a crescent shape cut out in the door, but no electricity and no running water. It wasn't the worst by any means in this part of the county. Five months earlier, the lone occupant had been found in the doorway with his spine twisted like a stick of licorice. No arrests had been made and the death had faded from local gossip. No one in town knew that it had been purchased by Northerners just days ago.
Early in the morning, a black helicopter rushed down from the stagnant overcast sky. It made almost no sound, barely more than the rush of wind would. There were no markings on its sleek, sharklike shape, and it had twin vertical vanes instead of a tail rotor. The CORBY glided down to a smooth landing near the shack, its rotors slowing quickly and rising up slightly as they halted. The pressurized cabin slid open with a hiss of escaping cool air and the ship's two occupants hopped nimbly out on to the moist soil.
One was a man in his mid-twenties, six feet tall and lean as a runner, with short dark hair and pale eyes. Even in this muggy heat, he was dressed all in black... boots, slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket, somehow giving him the look of an executioner. The grey eyes swept over the scene with cold suspicion before he relaxed slightly and turned back to his partner. Jeremy Bane held out a hand to her. Cindy Brunner was several years younger, five feet one inch tall and weighing ninety-five pounds. She wore ankle boots, denim jeans and a red halter top which showed she looked fine without a bra. With blonde hair tied back in a thick ponytail and dark blue eyes gleaming in a freckled face, she was a pleasant sight in any case. Cindy swept her gaze around the area but in a different way than Bane's searching glare. She was trying to pick up mental activity.
Bane shrugged and turned to her. "Sensors in the CORBY reported no life forms bigger than a frog here. I sure don't spot anyone. Cin?"
"I can't feel any minds," said the telepath. "Even a sleeping person gives off waves I could pick up."
"All right then," the Dire Wolf said. "Let's unload our gear. Hopefully we won't have to stay here long."
"I hear you." The little blonde popped open a storage compartment on the side of the black helicopter and tugged out a knapsack, then a big duffel bag. The easy way she yanked them out and tossed them aside showed she was stronger than an observer might guess. "This is not my idea of honeymoon suite by any means, and I'd just as soon.." Her voice trailed off.
"Cin?"
"Just a second. Hang on, Jeremy, I'm picking up something." Cynthia Lee Brunner was a gifted telepath, with no other gralic abilities, but her powers often involved sensing faint residue at places where abnormally strong emotions had left an imprint. She called these residues "ghost emotions." Now she had caught something the way a normal person might sniff the air to try to identify a vague odor. "I feel it. Fear. And hate. Hate too strong to dissipate." Eyes slightly unfocused, hands held out before her like a walker in darkness, she began to head around the shack. As soon as she had spoken, Bane had snapped an odd-looking air pistol from the small of his back and he swung around ahead of her protectively. He spotted the corpse first.
It had been a young girl, black, maybe fifteen at the most. She had not been pretty in life and death had not improve that, but it did give her a sad vulnerability. The body lay on its back, fully dressed, knees drawn up and arms flung out to the sides; the face was contorted, jaws stretched open and eyes staring. It looked as if she had not died easily. Cindy swung around from behind Bane and caught sight, gulped and stepped back. She took a few deep breaths and folded her arms.
"Sorry. Sorry," she said. "I know I've seen my share of corpses these past few years, but I... I guess I wasn't expecting this. Poor child."
Bane did not answer for a second. "I don't think she's been here long." He knelt and pressed a finger to her cheek, then flexed her fingers. "In this heat, I'd say she's been dead less than twelve hours. Her neck is turned too far to the side for the bones to not be broken. Something nasty under her fingernails." He looked around at the muddy soil. "Footprints are a mess. Looks to me as if someone tried to obliterate the tracks by dragging something around. Not much in her pockets, no ID." He stood up and glanced at Cindy. "How are you doing?"
"Oh, I'm fine now. I was just surprised. Whew, well it looks as if there might be something to the legends of Dead End Swamp."
"Where you go in but you don't come out," Bane agreed. He went back to examining the dead girl's fingers and went to the CORBY to get a small equipment case. Carefully, he extracted samples of some dark tarry gunk from under a nail and bagged it, tucking the evidence in a side pocket. "Some kind of organic matter, decayed plant life I guess."
"I'm going to call the State Police," Cindy said. "They wanted us to look into this, we better cooperate with them as far as we can." She took out a flat metal device, thumbed a few buttons and walked away to start talking into it. As she made her report, Bane hauled their various bags and satchels into the shack. It was dank and stuffy in there, but he had certainly put up with worse. He opened the back door and the two windows to start airing it a little.
"They're on their way, Jeremy." The telepath inspected the inside of the cabin dubiously. "Maybe I'll just sleep in the pilot seat of the CORBY, hon. There's no furniture in here, unless you call that mattress on the ground and that table furniture. Ick. I can smell the mildew."
"Maybe we can settle this quickly," Bane said distractedly. He was looking out the windows to see from what angles attackers might come and how he could watch for them. His entire life had been a secret war. "We might not have to stay here at all."
"God willing! I am not excited about a week's vacation in Dead End Swamp, home of the local monster. Ugh. And that poor girl lying over there. We are going to track down whatever killed her."
A red and blue State Patrol car skidded up, followed by an ambulance. The next few minutes were almost comical as the officers and the EMTs stared at the unexpected black helicopter. No one said anything but they looked at each other uneasily. Then Bane appeared in the doorway of the shack, a dangerous-looking young man in black, with predatory grey eyes that stabbed out like weapons. He strode up to the officers and introduced himself. "Governor Healy called us here. Did you get your confirmation?"
The older trooper, a big man who looked like he was struggling to keep his weight down, scowled at the strange intruder. "Yeah, we did. He said we is supposed to let you investigate, to give you a free hand as much as possible. Mind you, that don't mean you can do whatever you want! You're a long way from home. We can handle our own affairs."
Bane did not comment on that. He turned to look over his shoulder where the EMTS were bending over the corpse. "You happen to know her?"
"As it happens, I do," said the officer. "That's little Melissa Davis. Nice girl. Her family lives a few miles closer to town, they are no trouble. Nicest colored folks you'd ever want to meet."
"And she was killed here," Bane remarked quietly. He had trouble sounding friendly. His voice and manner were naturally grim, even pugnacious. "The same place where that Collins man was killed a few months ago. Same way."
"Yes," agreed the trooper in a small voice. "Same place. Same way."
"The Swamp Man?"
"I don't like hearing that name! Look here, you government people with your fancy helicopters and official permits think you can just come down here and poke your noses in our business, then you got another think coming-"
The Dire Wolf did not want to start an argument. "We're here to help. My partner and I have had experience with this sort of thing. All we want is to protect the people in this area, and then we're out of here. Got that?" He snapped his head up, and the afternoon sunlight caught his eyes so they seemed to flash like silver.
Despite himself, the trooper stepped down. He'd been in his share of fights, going up against some big bruisers but he had never faced anything scary as this skinny Yankee boy. All the tall tales he had heard officer tell about Jeremy Bane suddenly didn't seem so far-fetched. "Well.. awright. I guess your help is welcome."
Watching this exchange, Cindy decided to step in. "Hi. Listen, we understand there have been four deaths in the past two years in this area. This will make the fifth. Another man has been missing since last winter has been presumed dead as well. Add to that the sightings of a so-called SWamp Man, and you have the makings of a national uproar. How is it that this hasn't been all the newspapers and magazines and cable news shows?"
The trooper did not quite smile at her, but he came close. Cindy was a remarkably attractive girl, as much for her easy manners as her appearance, and most men were drawn to her instantly. The officer's eyes descended to where her nipples were visible beneath the thin cotton top and he drew his gaze back up with an effort. Adding to the lure, Cindy had put just the faintest touch of a Southern accent in her voice, not overdoing it but throwing in just enough to be noticed.
"Well, little lady, you must know how it is. We're a proud sort. We like to handle our own affairs ourselves. We don't take well to outsiders. I mean, not all outsiders."
Watching with a faint hint of a smile, Bane broke in before she had him asking her out to dinner. "Excuse me. The governor's office briefed us on the deaths. We have names, dates, crosses on a map. But you must have more. Is there something you can tell us to steer us in the right direction?"
Turning away from Cindy, the trooper seemed a lot more cooperative. "Ah, yes, there is. You want to speak with the Widow Griswell. She can tell you more about this area than you might rightly want to know. Her hut's about two miles into the swamp, near a circle of dead cypress trees. Fire burning day and night, you might find her by the smoke."
Cindy cocked her head. "The Widow Griswell? Is she an expert on local history or something?"
The Trooper smiled down into her quizzical blue eyes and said, "Why, honey, she's a witch."
II.
An hour later, the remains of Melissa Davis had been taken away, the troopers had left without putting up yellow crime scene tape. Maybe they thought it was not necessary. Bane had said he and Cindy would be staying in the area to investigate but he had not elaborated. They had decided not to sleep in the shack itself, it would be healthier and safer to camp near the CORBY. The fact that two people had died near the shack frankly did not bother either of them.
Bane stripped off his usual jacket and turtleneck with unreasonable reluctance. They had become almost a trademark with him, but the heat here just made them unwearable. Instead, he drew on a short-sleeved crewneck pullover and an open denim vest fitted with several inner pockets to hold his specialized gear. The dart gun still could be holstered behind his hip but he unstrapped his treasured silver-bladed daggers from their usual sheaths on his forearms. He now wore them in a harness on his back, the hilts within easy reach at his right shoulder. Instead of a full suit of the Trom armor, he only had on a unit which covered his torso; this flexible material was not indestructible but it did give better protection against rifle fire than a stiff Kevlar vest would. Grudgingly, he carried their gear back to the CORBY to stow it away again.
Watching him fondly, Cindy also had changed her clothes. She now wore jeans, a bright blue T-shirt and an identical vest, also with special gear tucked away in it. Like Bane, had put on the flexible Trom armor; at first, she had griped about its discomfort but the first time it had kept a 38 slug from going into her ribcage, she had seen the light. Cindy checked her own dart gun and belted on a holster at her right side. With her telepathy, she didn't often find herself using the weapon but it was better to have it and not need than the other way around. She walked over to her man. "What's the plan, captain?"
Bane finished fastening down the duffel bag and knapsacks in the storage compartment of the CORBY, sealing the hatch shut. "I think we should do a survey from the air. Get the layout. See what you can sense."
"My little telepathic brain is so useful."
The Dire Wolf smiled at her. "Absolutely. Let's roll. It's past noon." They both climbed in, Bane taking the pilot seat. Inside the cabin, it was cool and dry and Cindy purred. "Oh man. Let's do this whole case from inside here." The warm-up procedure only took a minute. No one outside their team of Tel Shai knights knew it but the three CORBY craft were not exactly helicopters so much as airships powered and run by Trom technology not available to Humans. The rotor blades helped with steering but the CORBYs could function without them. They derived their lift and thrust from Trom engines running on principles Human scientists had not yet discovered. Bane pulled back on the stick, the CORBY rose smoothly straight up with barely a whisper to be heard and started gliding along the brown river, Just over treetop level, the Dire Wolf flew his craft at a speed not much more than what a car could reach.
He studied the terrain with deadly seriousness, memorizing paths and boggy patches and where a rather stunted alligator slid off a bank into the river. Getting location fixed in his mind was deeply ingrained in his approach. When fighting started, knowing his possible escape routes or attack angles could be vital. Sitting in the co-pilot seat, Cindy did not share Bane's technique. She was watching the swamp below with the curiosity of someone who had never been in this part of the country. All she saw was a lot of shallow dirty water, bushes and trees and little islands. Her mind reached out easily, not probing but just opening itself to impressions. Lots of birds, frogs, lizards, alligators, turtles... the blunt, direct thought patterns of lifeforms running more on instinct than consciousness. But there was something near. She sat up and peered out through the windscreen. "I've got it," she muttered.
"What's that, Cin?"
"Keep going. Two minds, one is dull. The other one.. it's wicked." Another mile blurred by beneath them, and there they saw a large clearing of solid ground. A ring of four dead cypress trees, drooping down over the bank. And a cabin of plain boards and tar paper, one widow covered with a towel, thin white smoke rising from a pipe in the roof. Two patched-up rowboats were tied in the waist-deep water near the edge of the island.
Bane circled. "Looks solid enough," he said. "More than enough room to land. What do you think?"
"Yes," she answered distractedly. "Go ahead. But be ready, Jeremy, there is a lot of anger boiling in the minds below us."
With that, the Dire Wolf lowered the landing gear and brought the CORBY down. The rotors slowed almost at once and swept upward slightly. As Cindy unstrapped herself, Bane had already popped open the cabin door and hopped out. An alligator stirred and ambled away. He watched it sharply. Compared to some of the creatures he had fought, that gator was a kitten but he still kept an eye on it. Behind him, Cindy swung her door open and jumped down to the ground. They started walking toward the shack, but before they got close, the crude door slammed open with a crash and a hulk of a man came running right at them. He had a big soft beer belly, but those bare arms showed lots of muscle and he swung an axe handle over his head. In an instant, he whirled it in a circle right at Bane's head but the Dire Wolf was suddenly not in its path. He had taken a quick step to one side, planted himself and threw a side kick that drove his boot deep into the man's gut. The air left the big man's lungs with a snort and he staggered. Bane stepped in, seized the axe handle and wrestled it away, then cracked a backfist with his free hand that snapped the man's head back until his chin was pointing up. The giant fell back into a sitting position.
"That's enough," Cindy put in sharply. "You don't have to hurt him."
Bane did not take his eyes off his opponent. "Hurt him? He's four inches taller and a hundred pounds heavier."
"It's still not a fair fight and you know it," she said. "Take it easy."
The brute had gotten his breath back and was struggling back to his feet. He was in fact about six feet four and easily two hundred and ninety pounds, with big square hands and sloping shoulders. He wore a ratty white T-shirt, overalls and work boots. His head was close-cropped to the point of being almost shaven, and the dull sullen face with its pushed-in features did not promise intelligence.
Using her most soothing voice, Cindy stepped closer. "Settle down. We're not here to start trouble. We certainly don't want to hurt you."
"Mama says to keep outsiders away," the man mumbled, keeping a worried eye on Bane.
"Who IS your Mama?"
"Folks call her Widow Griswell. I'm her son. Jeb, Jeb Griswell."
Bane cut in, "We need to talk with your mother, Jeb. Can you tell us where she is?"
"I can speak for myself!" barked a harsh voice from the cabin. An old woman, not more than five feet tall but standing straight and arrogant as she glared at the intruders. She had a full of head of curly hair white as cotton, pale blue eyes in a hawknosed hatchet face. "Who be you? What do you want with mme? I never said you could come here."
"My name is Jeremy Bane. This is my partner. We here to hunt down the Swamp Man."
The Widow leered, showing she had kept all her teeth. "Worse luck for you if you succeed. Ha! Many have gone with guns and dogs after the Swamp Man, and their bones rot in the water. No mortal Man can slay the guardian of Dead End Swamp."
"We'll see," Bane said plainly. "I've fought worse than him."
"Oh, a ghost hunter, be you? City folk. You think you are wise, but you know nothing of what walks in the dark of the moon beneath a sky that never knew electric lights. What do you know of the creatures that prowl in the night? The dead who walk, the shapes that change, the shadows that swirl and take form?"
"Oh, please," said Bane. "I've been fighting the Midnight War for years. I've bagged everything you mention and worse. Snake men, Darthim, Trolls."
"Eh? Then you really are smarter than you look. Darthim, you say? Snake men? You must be a dangerous young man, Mr Bane, to even know of such matters."
"Look, let's get down to business. What do you know about the Swamp Man?" demanded Bane.
"I will tell you, you young fool. This bog is a source of life. A focus for gralic force. If secret arts are known, a dead man need not remain dead. The swamp can cover him in its richness, restore him, give him greater strength than he ever knew in life. A man can merge with the swamp and live forever."
Bane never blinked. His eyes cut at her with icy intensity. "I've heard of these things happening. Plants that walk like men, corpses wreathed in rotting vegetation. It's rare but it does happen. But why the murders?"
Before Widow Griswell answered, she caught glimpse of Cindy over by a patch of strange flowers... purple mint-like blooms big as a hand, tilted up toward the sun. The blonde telepath was bent over to get a good look when the witch spotted her. As Bane saw where the Widow's gaze had shifted, he called out, "Get a sample, Cin."
"Don't you touch them!" the witch screamed. "Jeb! Jeb boy, make them go away. They know too much already."
Cindy had already plucked two blooms and was placing them in an inner pocket of her vest as Jeb stomped up and grabbed her by the arm. His paw went completely around her elbow. Cindy glanced up at him, not afraid or angry, and simply narrowed her eyes. The witch's son dropped his hand and reeled a few steps, almost falling as if he were drunk. He seemed confused. "What... I don't.." he babbled. Although Cindy could have stunned him with a telepathic blast, she saw no reason to hurt the big fool and was trying to just disorient him. But her mercy worked against her as he panicked and drew his open hand back above his head to slap her down. The big mitt swung... and stopped short in midair. Bane had stepped in. He gripped the man's wrist in a grasp few men could have broken. Jeb tried to wrench free but it felt as if his arm was pinned by a vise. Although shorter and lighter in build, Bane was much stronger. The muscles on his arm stood out tightly in long wiry striations.
Jeb bleated, "Mama! Help me!" and raised his free hand to strike at this strange outsider. The Dire Wolf smoothly hooked a foot behind the giant's ankle and flung him hard to the ground. "Stay down!" he growled.
Turning to Widow Griswell, Bane snapped coldly, "Listen! You claim to know all about the Swamp Man. I can bring you to the police for questioning as a person of interest. You wouldn't like a day or two in the slammer, would you? But all I want is a shot at the monster face to face. We'll be back. If you have any sort of control over the creature, summon it here tonight."
"You can bet your life I will. In fact... you already have!" She broke into a burst of malicious laughter. Bane said nothing further but simply spun around and marched back to the CORBY. With Cindy, he got in, fired it up and lifted the silent black helicopter into the air. The last he saw was Jeb slowly getting up and the witch watching them with a hateful smirk.
III.
Back by the shack where they had first landed, Bane brought the CORBY in. The craft settled down, the rotors slowed and folded up. As they emerged again into the steamy air, Cindy grumbled, "Aw hell, let's stay in the cabin, hon." But she was not serious. She opened the storage compartment again and brought out their sleeping bags, setting them up side by side in the shade of a gigantic willow tree. From a refrigerated compartment, she selected some items and plopped down. Bane opened the Link device and spoke into it for a minute, then joined her, leaning back against the trunk of the willow. They tore into ham and Swiss cheese subs, potato salad, some tangerines and iced tea. "Whew, that's better," she said. "I hadn't eaten since yesterday around five o'clock." She started tidying up, brushed her teeth with water from a canteen and went back to join Bane. For an hour, they sat quietly and chatted about trivia.
His Link buzzed. Bane held it up, a slim dark metal device that looked like a remote control. He spoke and listened, thanked his caller and put the device away again. "That was Ted back at headquarters. I asked him to see what he could dig up on our subject here. He says we're dealing with Olivia Griswell, sixty-seven years old, a longtime practitioner of gralic magick, She belonged to Red Sect. That bunch again. Three years ago, her husband disappeared and the police pestered her but couldn't prove anything and finally dropped it. He had been coven master for the local Red Sect and associated with Those Who Remember. He left her nothing, she went downhill and ended up here with her son who has, I quote, developmental problems."
Cindy said, "Huh. Those were some nasty friends she ran around with. Red Sect. Those Who Remember. You can be sure she is not some harmless old biddy selling useless love potions and telling fortunes... she is a no-fooling Witch."
"Yep. A years after Modecai Griswell vanished, the first Swamp Man sighting took place. Now, I'm not saying for sure there's a connection..." His voice broke off. "Let me see those flowers," he said. Taking them, he examined them thoughtfully. They were odd-looking, with sharp-edged blooms that shaded from deep red to purple. He sniffed them. "Tagra! No question. But they don't look like the Tagra plants we get at Tel Shai."
Cuddling up next to him, Cindy pulled off her boots and socks and wiggled her tiny feet gleefully. "That is more like it! No, you're right, those are different from the plants we use. Is that unexpected?"
"It is to me," Bane admitted. "I didn't know there was wild Tagra growing in the world. But then I don't know everything about these matters. Probably in Mr Dred's notes, there are details of these plants."
Cindy had untied her dark blonde hair and started brushing it. The humidity made it difficult to manage. After a minute, she said, "That's one of our Tel Shai secrets, it's the Tagra tea that gives us some of our abilities. The enhanced healing and resistance to disease. Teacher Anulka told me our lifespans will be extended if we continue the Tagra diet. Not that we won't get old eventually, but it will take much longer and we will be healthy and strong well past middle age. Teacher Chael is ninety and he looks maybe forty-five or fifty, and he teaches Kumundu martial art! So, if this Tagra is growing wild, can't regular Humans find the secret of the Tagra tea?"
"I don't know. I never thought of it. Maybe. My guess is that Widow Griswell there uses the Tagra in her potions. You saw how protective she was of it. I think maybe the Tagra goes into whatever has made the SWamp Man. Where it grows wild is where the Swamp Men have appeared."
Cindy wriggled out of her jeans and folded them up, then stretched out with her arms folded behind her head. "Huh. Are there are a lot of these Swamp Men running around?"
"Only five or six that I've read about. But again, I'm not the expert Mr Dred was. Maybe Garrison Nebel would know."
"So we have to wait until dark, then go back and see if this critter is out and about? Okay." She leaned in close and whispered in his ear. "I'd be okay with messing around a little, hon. No one's around for miles. No. No, I can see in your mind you're not in the mood. Dang."
"Sorry," he said, kissing her slowly. "I have a feeling we would be interrupted. Maybe the witch will send Jeb here with a shotgun, maybe the Swamp Man can stir in daylight when necessary. But I think we need to be a little watchful. Tell you what. We don't have to go straight back to New York when this is over. New Orleans is not far away. Have you tried Cajun cooking?"
"Never ever, not once." Cindy ruffled his hair with her little fingers. "Sounds good. A nice hotel room, dinner at a fine restaurant, maybe a little sightseeing, then lots of hot sweaty breathless sex."
Despite himself, Bane laughed. She was the only person that could break his reserve. "It's a plan. In the meantime, let me do my workout. I don't have any equipment here but I can do the extended DohRa form and get my exercise in."
"Eh. Not as good as getting naked and rolling around on each other," she said. "But yeah. You know what, I'll take a nap while you do that. When you're done, it'll be almost time to start getting ready for the meeting with Swamp Face guy."
She rolled over and curled up and went to sleep just like that. Cindy had a knack for snatching half hour naps whenever she got a chance, she claimed it kept her pretty. Gingerly, Bane rose to his feet and walked a short distance away. Fists at his sides, he bowed deeply to Teacher Chael farther away then mere miles could measure. Starting with poses and stances, he moved to slow stretching movements that eventually became blurringly quick punches and kicks in different combinations. He would never get his form completely right. Chael had told him that perfection was a target, not a place, but the more he practiced the smoother and more fluid each move became. His breathing remained steady, his heartbeat barely sped up above normal. After twenty minutes or so, the movement started slowing down again and he swirled to a halt, then bowed again. He was covered with sweat but he felt great. Stripping to the waist, Bane took water from the CORBY and a washcloth and wiped himself down, then dried off with a towel. It would be dusk soon.
Cindy yawned, stretched and grinned at him. "Hee, my batteries are recharged." She got up and clasped her heads over her head as high as she could reach. "Whatcha doing, Jeremy?"
The Dire Wolf had unloaded a large suitcase and was taking a uniform out of it. "I'm going to wear the full field suit. When we were dealing with cops, it was better to look reasonably normal. But going into combat, I want to be armed and armored." Stripping to the flexible torso armor and socks, Bane quickly pulled on tight black pants and a long-sleeved pullover shirt with a high collar, then a snug jacket that just reached the waist, made of a tough leather-like material. Without a word, Cindy got her own case out and got into her own field suits. In the pouches and pockets and slits were concealed a dozen tools and weapons. Now Bane again had his trademark silver daggers up his sleeves, hilts protruding outward.
Cindy checked her own equipment. She inspected her dart gun. "Jeremy, I don't think our anesthetic darts will be much use against the Swamp Man, if he's what you think he is."
"No. Tell you what, you keep the dart gun if you need to use it on Jeb or his mother. I'm going to pack something heavier." He ejected the clip of darts and clicked a clip of resonance caps into place. Digging in the equipment case, he opened a cylinder of their incendiary discs. These were the size of silver dollars. He pocketed a half dozen of them and gave the rest to Cindy. "You ever use these? Once you pull one out of the tube, throw it. It will explode on impact and burn hot enough to melt through a car door."
She picked up her war helmet, crafted to fit only her. It looked something like a motorcycle helmet, but the clear visor slid up inside the helmet itself. The helmet contained their communications, and a system of sensors that fed information to the visor on a heads-up display. She kept her helmet tucked under one arm, but Bane put his own on and thumbed the control pod. The visor lowered, and he checked its night vision capabilities. Retracting the visor again, the Dire Wolf reached his hand to his partner. "All set?"
"Where you lead, I will follow," she answered seriously, taking his gloved hand and then turning to climb into the co-pilot seat.
IV.
As they sped back over Dead End Swamp, Bane told Cindy what he knew about the Swamp Men phenomenon. It was not well understood, only a few instances had been known. Basically, a human corpse somehow merged with vegetation and rose as an undead construct. Often, fire was involved in the man's death, but not always; often, the victim retained some memories and awareness but not always. Usually, the resurrected being was peaceful unless provoked but two of the Swamp Man creatures had been murderous berserkers. "So," he said, "You can tell not much is known for sure."
"Oh well. Guess this is an argument against going vegetarian. One thing occurs to me. You know the human body the Swamp Man forms around? You wanna bet it belongs to MISTER Griswell, the Widow's late husband? I bet it does."
"Makes sense," Bane agreed. "She may have used his body after he died of natural causes or, who knows, maybe she killed him just so she could raise a Swamp Man and have an undead assassin to do her dirty work."
They came in over the small island of dry ground, settled down fast and climbed out of the copter. By her cabin, the Widow Griswell had set up a black cast iron pot suspended over an open fire. Seeing them, she tore off two Tagra petals and stirred them into the steaming broth. Two of the withered cypress trees stood beside her, seemingly almost to move in the flickering light,
"Jeb! Jeb!" she shrieked. "Stop them, son."
Again, the big goon lumbered toward the intruders, this time with an axe. Bane stopped him with just a look, His gray eyes gleaming menacingly in the gloom and Jeb Griswell stopped short at that glare. "No trouble from you, junior," he growled.
With her dart gun drawn but pointing down, Cindy approached the witch. Her telepthy was actually as much a vulnerability right then. So much venomous hatred was churning in Widow Griswell's mind that Cindy hesitated to pick up any impressions from her. She gestured at the bubbling pot. "Getting ready to feed your friend, huh?"
"Stupid child! Leave while you can. You don't know what power you are facing."
"Yeah right, I've heard that before," the blonde replied airily. "Look, how about we make a deal?"
Bane had turned away from Jeb for a second to watch the confrontation and he paid for his carelessness. The axe whirled up and then smacked down with all the strength the big man could muster, chopping right between Bane's shoulder blades. The Dire Wolf went to one knee, the jacket across his back split open. The armor beneath had held, dispersing most of the impact across its entire area so that Bane only received enough to knock him down. In that instant, Jeb swung past him and the axe went back up again, reading to chop deep into Cindy's exposed head.
Something brought that swing up short, something that seized the axe handle with superhuman strength.
Jeb Griswell felt something wet and heavy thump down on his shoulder and his mind went blank with raw terror. The foul rank odor. that swept over him told him what he would see when he turned. The Swamp Man loomed up way over even big Jeb, a seven foot pile of moss and mud and roots, filthy and stinking. It was shaped vaguely like a human being, but there were no features in the big round head. Only where the eyes should have been glimmered a pair of dim orange lights. The monster raised Jeb up overhead, and the man screamed in mortal agony as his body was bent the wrong way.
A sharp explosion cracked behind the Swamp Man. Clumps of mush flew loose. Jeremy Bane had gotten up and his arm was fully extended with the air pistol in it. The resonance caps the KDf used were designed to knock a man down, perhaps cracking a rib or leaving bad bruising but generally not proving fatal. Dropping Jeb, the Swamp Man lurched clumsily around as the Dire Wolf fired again. It tried to swat at the shell and lost a hand in so doing. A third time, Bane fired and a resonance shell plowed entirely through the Swamp Man's head. It did not stop the horror. The monster needed no brain, no human organs. Any part of it was as undead as any other.
Cindy was keeping the Widow covered with her own weapon. She saw the monster pause and half turn toward them. No, not toward them but the iron pot with the Tagra solution in it. "Jeremy!" she called out. "Here's the answer." The blonde telepath jumped to grab the simple framework holding up the pot and knock it down, spilling the bubbling broth over the fire and putting it out. With an outraged howl, the witch grabbed at Cindy with her sharp nails going for the girl's eyes. It was her mistake. All her training took over. Cindy planted one foot, twisted from the waist and met Widow Griswell with a tight hard fist right in the middle of the face. The old woman was thrown back so hard her feet went up in the air. Cindy looked down with mixed emotions; she wasn't proud of punching someone forty years older than she was but she did realize her technique had been very good.
Her satisfaction only lasted an instant. Looking up, she saw the Swamp Man was right on top of her. "Awk!" she yelled and backed away furiously. Another resonance shell exploded from Bane's gun, this time blowing away some of the creature's left leg and another shell tore off the rest. The monster crashed to the ground with a wet thump. As it began struggling up, Bane said to his partner, "Better step back, honey." He had put a fresh clip of resonance shells in his gun and now he fired them all in rapid succession. The monster's bulk spewed in different directions, revealing a broken human skeleton in the center of the foul mass. Bane kept it up until nothing recognizable remained.
"Curse or no curse, I do not think he's going to be coming back from THAT!" Cindy said. She went over to check on the Widow, and straightened up with an unhappy expression "This one is not going anywhere either. She's dead. I killed her with that punch, Jeremy. "
"She was attacking you and you defended yourself. Someone that frail should not be trying to claw anyone's face." Bane holstered his gun. "That leaves the son." Striding over to where Jeb had been manhandled, he only took a second. "He's dead, too. Back broken. Well, at least it was quick."
Cindy was staring down at the body of the Widow. "I guess I shouldn't be upset. She was responsible for the murders the Swamp Man committed. That girl we found at the shack, that was this witch's fault. How could we have brought her to trial? Courts can't deal with this sort of thing."
"This is all for the best," Bane said. "It's all over now." He turned to look at the cabin. "Okay. Here's what we have to do. First, we clean that hut of any mystic talismans, books of forbidden knowledge, any potions. Those we confiscate and take back to headquarters to examine.Then we leave these bodies and what's left of the Swamp Man just the way they are and bring the police out here at daylight. They can use canoes if they have to."
"I get it. The way it looks, they'll conclude the SWamp Man attacked. Jeb and his mother were killed and then the Swamp Man just fell apart."
"Yep," Bane said. "That's our story and we're sticking to it."
_____________________
9/3/1973 - Revised 2/25/2013
8/11- 8/12/1983
I.
The shack stood at the edge of the Swamp, near the bank of a sluggish murky river. A long narrow road, more mud than dirt, stretched back twelve miles to Ballinger Corners, near the Louisiana border. No telephone wires were strung here. The shack had three rooms and an outhouse with a crescent shape cut out in the door, but no electricity and no running water. It wasn't the worst by any means in this part of the county. Five months earlier, the lone occupant had been found in the doorway with his spine twisted like a stick of licorice. No arrests had been made and the death had faded from local gossip. No one in town knew that it had been purchased by Northerners just days ago.
Early in the morning, a black helicopter rushed down from the stagnant overcast sky. It made almost no sound, barely more than the rush of wind would. There were no markings on its sleek, sharklike shape, and it had twin vertical vanes instead of a tail rotor. The CORBY glided down to a smooth landing near the shack, its rotors slowing quickly and rising up slightly as they halted. The pressurized cabin slid open with a hiss of escaping cool air and the ship's two occupants hopped nimbly out on to the moist soil.
One was a man in his mid-twenties, six feet tall and lean as a runner, with short dark hair and pale eyes. Even in this muggy heat, he was dressed all in black... boots, slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket, somehow giving him the look of an executioner. The grey eyes swept over the scene with cold suspicion before he relaxed slightly and turned back to his partner. Jeremy Bane held out a hand to her. Cindy Brunner was several years younger, five feet one inch tall and weighing ninety-five pounds. She wore ankle boots, denim jeans and a red halter top which showed she looked fine without a bra. With blonde hair tied back in a thick ponytail and dark blue eyes gleaming in a freckled face, she was a pleasant sight in any case. Cindy swept her gaze around the area but in a different way than Bane's searching glare. She was trying to pick up mental activity.
Bane shrugged and turned to her. "Sensors in the CORBY reported no life forms bigger than a frog here. I sure don't spot anyone. Cin?"
"I can't feel any minds," said the telepath. "Even a sleeping person gives off waves I could pick up."
"All right then," the Dire Wolf said. "Let's unload our gear. Hopefully we won't have to stay here long."
"I hear you." The little blonde popped open a storage compartment on the side of the black helicopter and tugged out a knapsack, then a big duffel bag. The easy way she yanked them out and tossed them aside showed she was stronger than an observer might guess. "This is not my idea of honeymoon suite by any means, and I'd just as soon.." Her voice trailed off.
"Cin?"
"Just a second. Hang on, Jeremy, I'm picking up something." Cynthia Lee Brunner was a gifted telepath, with no other gralic abilities, but her powers often involved sensing faint residue at places where abnormally strong emotions had left an imprint. She called these residues "ghost emotions." Now she had caught something the way a normal person might sniff the air to try to identify a vague odor. "I feel it. Fear. And hate. Hate too strong to dissipate." Eyes slightly unfocused, hands held out before her like a walker in darkness, she began to head around the shack. As soon as she had spoken, Bane had snapped an odd-looking air pistol from the small of his back and he swung around ahead of her protectively. He spotted the corpse first.
It had been a young girl, black, maybe fifteen at the most. She had not been pretty in life and death had not improve that, but it did give her a sad vulnerability. The body lay on its back, fully dressed, knees drawn up and arms flung out to the sides; the face was contorted, jaws stretched open and eyes staring. It looked as if she had not died easily. Cindy swung around from behind Bane and caught sight, gulped and stepped back. She took a few deep breaths and folded her arms.
"Sorry. Sorry," she said. "I know I've seen my share of corpses these past few years, but I... I guess I wasn't expecting this. Poor child."
Bane did not answer for a second. "I don't think she's been here long." He knelt and pressed a finger to her cheek, then flexed her fingers. "In this heat, I'd say she's been dead less than twelve hours. Her neck is turned too far to the side for the bones to not be broken. Something nasty under her fingernails." He looked around at the muddy soil. "Footprints are a mess. Looks to me as if someone tried to obliterate the tracks by dragging something around. Not much in her pockets, no ID." He stood up and glanced at Cindy. "How are you doing?"
"Oh, I'm fine now. I was just surprised. Whew, well it looks as if there might be something to the legends of Dead End Swamp."
"Where you go in but you don't come out," Bane agreed. He went back to examining the dead girl's fingers and went to the CORBY to get a small equipment case. Carefully, he extracted samples of some dark tarry gunk from under a nail and bagged it, tucking the evidence in a side pocket. "Some kind of organic matter, decayed plant life I guess."
"I'm going to call the State Police," Cindy said. "They wanted us to look into this, we better cooperate with them as far as we can." She took out a flat metal device, thumbed a few buttons and walked away to start talking into it. As she made her report, Bane hauled their various bags and satchels into the shack. It was dank and stuffy in there, but he had certainly put up with worse. He opened the back door and the two windows to start airing it a little.
"They're on their way, Jeremy." The telepath inspected the inside of the cabin dubiously. "Maybe I'll just sleep in the pilot seat of the CORBY, hon. There's no furniture in here, unless you call that mattress on the ground and that table furniture. Ick. I can smell the mildew."
"Maybe we can settle this quickly," Bane said distractedly. He was looking out the windows to see from what angles attackers might come and how he could watch for them. His entire life had been a secret war. "We might not have to stay here at all."
"God willing! I am not excited about a week's vacation in Dead End Swamp, home of the local monster. Ugh. And that poor girl lying over there. We are going to track down whatever killed her."
A red and blue State Patrol car skidded up, followed by an ambulance. The next few minutes were almost comical as the officers and the EMTs stared at the unexpected black helicopter. No one said anything but they looked at each other uneasily. Then Bane appeared in the doorway of the shack, a dangerous-looking young man in black, with predatory grey eyes that stabbed out like weapons. He strode up to the officers and introduced himself. "Governor Healy called us here. Did you get your confirmation?"
The older trooper, a big man who looked like he was struggling to keep his weight down, scowled at the strange intruder. "Yeah, we did. He said we is supposed to let you investigate, to give you a free hand as much as possible. Mind you, that don't mean you can do whatever you want! You're a long way from home. We can handle our own affairs."
Bane did not comment on that. He turned to look over his shoulder where the EMTS were bending over the corpse. "You happen to know her?"
"As it happens, I do," said the officer. "That's little Melissa Davis. Nice girl. Her family lives a few miles closer to town, they are no trouble. Nicest colored folks you'd ever want to meet."
"And she was killed here," Bane remarked quietly. He had trouble sounding friendly. His voice and manner were naturally grim, even pugnacious. "The same place where that Collins man was killed a few months ago. Same way."
"Yes," agreed the trooper in a small voice. "Same place. Same way."
"The Swamp Man?"
"I don't like hearing that name! Look here, you government people with your fancy helicopters and official permits think you can just come down here and poke your noses in our business, then you got another think coming-"
The Dire Wolf did not want to start an argument. "We're here to help. My partner and I have had experience with this sort of thing. All we want is to protect the people in this area, and then we're out of here. Got that?" He snapped his head up, and the afternoon sunlight caught his eyes so they seemed to flash like silver.
Despite himself, the trooper stepped down. He'd been in his share of fights, going up against some big bruisers but he had never faced anything scary as this skinny Yankee boy. All the tall tales he had heard officer tell about Jeremy Bane suddenly didn't seem so far-fetched. "Well.. awright. I guess your help is welcome."
Watching this exchange, Cindy decided to step in. "Hi. Listen, we understand there have been four deaths in the past two years in this area. This will make the fifth. Another man has been missing since last winter has been presumed dead as well. Add to that the sightings of a so-called SWamp Man, and you have the makings of a national uproar. How is it that this hasn't been all the newspapers and magazines and cable news shows?"
The trooper did not quite smile at her, but he came close. Cindy was a remarkably attractive girl, as much for her easy manners as her appearance, and most men were drawn to her instantly. The officer's eyes descended to where her nipples were visible beneath the thin cotton top and he drew his gaze back up with an effort. Adding to the lure, Cindy had put just the faintest touch of a Southern accent in her voice, not overdoing it but throwing in just enough to be noticed.
"Well, little lady, you must know how it is. We're a proud sort. We like to handle our own affairs ourselves. We don't take well to outsiders. I mean, not all outsiders."
Watching with a faint hint of a smile, Bane broke in before she had him asking her out to dinner. "Excuse me. The governor's office briefed us on the deaths. We have names, dates, crosses on a map. But you must have more. Is there something you can tell us to steer us in the right direction?"
Turning away from Cindy, the trooper seemed a lot more cooperative. "Ah, yes, there is. You want to speak with the Widow Griswell. She can tell you more about this area than you might rightly want to know. Her hut's about two miles into the swamp, near a circle of dead cypress trees. Fire burning day and night, you might find her by the smoke."
Cindy cocked her head. "The Widow Griswell? Is she an expert on local history or something?"
The Trooper smiled down into her quizzical blue eyes and said, "Why, honey, she's a witch."
II.
An hour later, the remains of Melissa Davis had been taken away, the troopers had left without putting up yellow crime scene tape. Maybe they thought it was not necessary. Bane had said he and Cindy would be staying in the area to investigate but he had not elaborated. They had decided not to sleep in the shack itself, it would be healthier and safer to camp near the CORBY. The fact that two people had died near the shack frankly did not bother either of them.
Bane stripped off his usual jacket and turtleneck with unreasonable reluctance. They had become almost a trademark with him, but the heat here just made them unwearable. Instead, he drew on a short-sleeved crewneck pullover and an open denim vest fitted with several inner pockets to hold his specialized gear. The dart gun still could be holstered behind his hip but he unstrapped his treasured silver-bladed daggers from their usual sheaths on his forearms. He now wore them in a harness on his back, the hilts within easy reach at his right shoulder. Instead of a full suit of the Trom armor, he only had on a unit which covered his torso; this flexible material was not indestructible but it did give better protection against rifle fire than a stiff Kevlar vest would. Grudgingly, he carried their gear back to the CORBY to stow it away again.
Watching him fondly, Cindy also had changed her clothes. She now wore jeans, a bright blue T-shirt and an identical vest, also with special gear tucked away in it. Like Bane, had put on the flexible Trom armor; at first, she had griped about its discomfort but the first time it had kept a 38 slug from going into her ribcage, she had seen the light. Cindy checked her own dart gun and belted on a holster at her right side. With her telepathy, she didn't often find herself using the weapon but it was better to have it and not need than the other way around. She walked over to her man. "What's the plan, captain?"
Bane finished fastening down the duffel bag and knapsacks in the storage compartment of the CORBY, sealing the hatch shut. "I think we should do a survey from the air. Get the layout. See what you can sense."
"My little telepathic brain is so useful."
The Dire Wolf smiled at her. "Absolutely. Let's roll. It's past noon." They both climbed in, Bane taking the pilot seat. Inside the cabin, it was cool and dry and Cindy purred. "Oh man. Let's do this whole case from inside here." The warm-up procedure only took a minute. No one outside their team of Tel Shai knights knew it but the three CORBY craft were not exactly helicopters so much as airships powered and run by Trom technology not available to Humans. The rotor blades helped with steering but the CORBYs could function without them. They derived their lift and thrust from Trom engines running on principles Human scientists had not yet discovered. Bane pulled back on the stick, the CORBY rose smoothly straight up with barely a whisper to be heard and started gliding along the brown river, Just over treetop level, the Dire Wolf flew his craft at a speed not much more than what a car could reach.
He studied the terrain with deadly seriousness, memorizing paths and boggy patches and where a rather stunted alligator slid off a bank into the river. Getting location fixed in his mind was deeply ingrained in his approach. When fighting started, knowing his possible escape routes or attack angles could be vital. Sitting in the co-pilot seat, Cindy did not share Bane's technique. She was watching the swamp below with the curiosity of someone who had never been in this part of the country. All she saw was a lot of shallow dirty water, bushes and trees and little islands. Her mind reached out easily, not probing but just opening itself to impressions. Lots of birds, frogs, lizards, alligators, turtles... the blunt, direct thought patterns of lifeforms running more on instinct than consciousness. But there was something near. She sat up and peered out through the windscreen. "I've got it," she muttered.
"What's that, Cin?"
"Keep going. Two minds, one is dull. The other one.. it's wicked." Another mile blurred by beneath them, and there they saw a large clearing of solid ground. A ring of four dead cypress trees, drooping down over the bank. And a cabin of plain boards and tar paper, one widow covered with a towel, thin white smoke rising from a pipe in the roof. Two patched-up rowboats were tied in the waist-deep water near the edge of the island.
Bane circled. "Looks solid enough," he said. "More than enough room to land. What do you think?"
"Yes," she answered distractedly. "Go ahead. But be ready, Jeremy, there is a lot of anger boiling in the minds below us."
With that, the Dire Wolf lowered the landing gear and brought the CORBY down. The rotors slowed almost at once and swept upward slightly. As Cindy unstrapped herself, Bane had already popped open the cabin door and hopped out. An alligator stirred and ambled away. He watched it sharply. Compared to some of the creatures he had fought, that gator was a kitten but he still kept an eye on it. Behind him, Cindy swung her door open and jumped down to the ground. They started walking toward the shack, but before they got close, the crude door slammed open with a crash and a hulk of a man came running right at them. He had a big soft beer belly, but those bare arms showed lots of muscle and he swung an axe handle over his head. In an instant, he whirled it in a circle right at Bane's head but the Dire Wolf was suddenly not in its path. He had taken a quick step to one side, planted himself and threw a side kick that drove his boot deep into the man's gut. The air left the big man's lungs with a snort and he staggered. Bane stepped in, seized the axe handle and wrestled it away, then cracked a backfist with his free hand that snapped the man's head back until his chin was pointing up. The giant fell back into a sitting position.
"That's enough," Cindy put in sharply. "You don't have to hurt him."
Bane did not take his eyes off his opponent. "Hurt him? He's four inches taller and a hundred pounds heavier."
"It's still not a fair fight and you know it," she said. "Take it easy."
The brute had gotten his breath back and was struggling back to his feet. He was in fact about six feet four and easily two hundred and ninety pounds, with big square hands and sloping shoulders. He wore a ratty white T-shirt, overalls and work boots. His head was close-cropped to the point of being almost shaven, and the dull sullen face with its pushed-in features did not promise intelligence.
Using her most soothing voice, Cindy stepped closer. "Settle down. We're not here to start trouble. We certainly don't want to hurt you."
"Mama says to keep outsiders away," the man mumbled, keeping a worried eye on Bane.
"Who IS your Mama?"
"Folks call her Widow Griswell. I'm her son. Jeb, Jeb Griswell."
Bane cut in, "We need to talk with your mother, Jeb. Can you tell us where she is?"
"I can speak for myself!" barked a harsh voice from the cabin. An old woman, not more than five feet tall but standing straight and arrogant as she glared at the intruders. She had a full of head of curly hair white as cotton, pale blue eyes in a hawknosed hatchet face. "Who be you? What do you want with mme? I never said you could come here."
"My name is Jeremy Bane. This is my partner. We here to hunt down the Swamp Man."
The Widow leered, showing she had kept all her teeth. "Worse luck for you if you succeed. Ha! Many have gone with guns and dogs after the Swamp Man, and their bones rot in the water. No mortal Man can slay the guardian of Dead End Swamp."
"We'll see," Bane said plainly. "I've fought worse than him."
"Oh, a ghost hunter, be you? City folk. You think you are wise, but you know nothing of what walks in the dark of the moon beneath a sky that never knew electric lights. What do you know of the creatures that prowl in the night? The dead who walk, the shapes that change, the shadows that swirl and take form?"
"Oh, please," said Bane. "I've been fighting the Midnight War for years. I've bagged everything you mention and worse. Snake men, Darthim, Trolls."
"Eh? Then you really are smarter than you look. Darthim, you say? Snake men? You must be a dangerous young man, Mr Bane, to even know of such matters."
"Look, let's get down to business. What do you know about the Swamp Man?" demanded Bane.
"I will tell you, you young fool. This bog is a source of life. A focus for gralic force. If secret arts are known, a dead man need not remain dead. The swamp can cover him in its richness, restore him, give him greater strength than he ever knew in life. A man can merge with the swamp and live forever."
Bane never blinked. His eyes cut at her with icy intensity. "I've heard of these things happening. Plants that walk like men, corpses wreathed in rotting vegetation. It's rare but it does happen. But why the murders?"
Before Widow Griswell answered, she caught glimpse of Cindy over by a patch of strange flowers... purple mint-like blooms big as a hand, tilted up toward the sun. The blonde telepath was bent over to get a good look when the witch spotted her. As Bane saw where the Widow's gaze had shifted, he called out, "Get a sample, Cin."
"Don't you touch them!" the witch screamed. "Jeb! Jeb boy, make them go away. They know too much already."
Cindy had already plucked two blooms and was placing them in an inner pocket of her vest as Jeb stomped up and grabbed her by the arm. His paw went completely around her elbow. Cindy glanced up at him, not afraid or angry, and simply narrowed her eyes. The witch's son dropped his hand and reeled a few steps, almost falling as if he were drunk. He seemed confused. "What... I don't.." he babbled. Although Cindy could have stunned him with a telepathic blast, she saw no reason to hurt the big fool and was trying to just disorient him. But her mercy worked against her as he panicked and drew his open hand back above his head to slap her down. The big mitt swung... and stopped short in midair. Bane had stepped in. He gripped the man's wrist in a grasp few men could have broken. Jeb tried to wrench free but it felt as if his arm was pinned by a vise. Although shorter and lighter in build, Bane was much stronger. The muscles on his arm stood out tightly in long wiry striations.
Jeb bleated, "Mama! Help me!" and raised his free hand to strike at this strange outsider. The Dire Wolf smoothly hooked a foot behind the giant's ankle and flung him hard to the ground. "Stay down!" he growled.
Turning to Widow Griswell, Bane snapped coldly, "Listen! You claim to know all about the Swamp Man. I can bring you to the police for questioning as a person of interest. You wouldn't like a day or two in the slammer, would you? But all I want is a shot at the monster face to face. We'll be back. If you have any sort of control over the creature, summon it here tonight."
"You can bet your life I will. In fact... you already have!" She broke into a burst of malicious laughter. Bane said nothing further but simply spun around and marched back to the CORBY. With Cindy, he got in, fired it up and lifted the silent black helicopter into the air. The last he saw was Jeb slowly getting up and the witch watching them with a hateful smirk.
III.
Back by the shack where they had first landed, Bane brought the CORBY in. The craft settled down, the rotors slowed and folded up. As they emerged again into the steamy air, Cindy grumbled, "Aw hell, let's stay in the cabin, hon." But she was not serious. She opened the storage compartment again and brought out their sleeping bags, setting them up side by side in the shade of a gigantic willow tree. From a refrigerated compartment, she selected some items and plopped down. Bane opened the Link device and spoke into it for a minute, then joined her, leaning back against the trunk of the willow. They tore into ham and Swiss cheese subs, potato salad, some tangerines and iced tea. "Whew, that's better," she said. "I hadn't eaten since yesterday around five o'clock." She started tidying up, brushed her teeth with water from a canteen and went back to join Bane. For an hour, they sat quietly and chatted about trivia.
His Link buzzed. Bane held it up, a slim dark metal device that looked like a remote control. He spoke and listened, thanked his caller and put the device away again. "That was Ted back at headquarters. I asked him to see what he could dig up on our subject here. He says we're dealing with Olivia Griswell, sixty-seven years old, a longtime practitioner of gralic magick, She belonged to Red Sect. That bunch again. Three years ago, her husband disappeared and the police pestered her but couldn't prove anything and finally dropped it. He had been coven master for the local Red Sect and associated with Those Who Remember. He left her nothing, she went downhill and ended up here with her son who has, I quote, developmental problems."
Cindy said, "Huh. Those were some nasty friends she ran around with. Red Sect. Those Who Remember. You can be sure she is not some harmless old biddy selling useless love potions and telling fortunes... she is a no-fooling Witch."
"Yep. A years after Modecai Griswell vanished, the first Swamp Man sighting took place. Now, I'm not saying for sure there's a connection..." His voice broke off. "Let me see those flowers," he said. Taking them, he examined them thoughtfully. They were odd-looking, with sharp-edged blooms that shaded from deep red to purple. He sniffed them. "Tagra! No question. But they don't look like the Tagra plants we get at Tel Shai."
Cuddling up next to him, Cindy pulled off her boots and socks and wiggled her tiny feet gleefully. "That is more like it! No, you're right, those are different from the plants we use. Is that unexpected?"
"It is to me," Bane admitted. "I didn't know there was wild Tagra growing in the world. But then I don't know everything about these matters. Probably in Mr Dred's notes, there are details of these plants."
Cindy had untied her dark blonde hair and started brushing it. The humidity made it difficult to manage. After a minute, she said, "That's one of our Tel Shai secrets, it's the Tagra tea that gives us some of our abilities. The enhanced healing and resistance to disease. Teacher Anulka told me our lifespans will be extended if we continue the Tagra diet. Not that we won't get old eventually, but it will take much longer and we will be healthy and strong well past middle age. Teacher Chael is ninety and he looks maybe forty-five or fifty, and he teaches Kumundu martial art! So, if this Tagra is growing wild, can't regular Humans find the secret of the Tagra tea?"
"I don't know. I never thought of it. Maybe. My guess is that Widow Griswell there uses the Tagra in her potions. You saw how protective she was of it. I think maybe the Tagra goes into whatever has made the SWamp Man. Where it grows wild is where the Swamp Men have appeared."
Cindy wriggled out of her jeans and folded them up, then stretched out with her arms folded behind her head. "Huh. Are there are a lot of these Swamp Men running around?"
"Only five or six that I've read about. But again, I'm not the expert Mr Dred was. Maybe Garrison Nebel would know."
"So we have to wait until dark, then go back and see if this critter is out and about? Okay." She leaned in close and whispered in his ear. "I'd be okay with messing around a little, hon. No one's around for miles. No. No, I can see in your mind you're not in the mood. Dang."
"Sorry," he said, kissing her slowly. "I have a feeling we would be interrupted. Maybe the witch will send Jeb here with a shotgun, maybe the Swamp Man can stir in daylight when necessary. But I think we need to be a little watchful. Tell you what. We don't have to go straight back to New York when this is over. New Orleans is not far away. Have you tried Cajun cooking?"
"Never ever, not once." Cindy ruffled his hair with her little fingers. "Sounds good. A nice hotel room, dinner at a fine restaurant, maybe a little sightseeing, then lots of hot sweaty breathless sex."
Despite himself, Bane laughed. She was the only person that could break his reserve. "It's a plan. In the meantime, let me do my workout. I don't have any equipment here but I can do the extended DohRa form and get my exercise in."
"Eh. Not as good as getting naked and rolling around on each other," she said. "But yeah. You know what, I'll take a nap while you do that. When you're done, it'll be almost time to start getting ready for the meeting with Swamp Face guy."
She rolled over and curled up and went to sleep just like that. Cindy had a knack for snatching half hour naps whenever she got a chance, she claimed it kept her pretty. Gingerly, Bane rose to his feet and walked a short distance away. Fists at his sides, he bowed deeply to Teacher Chael farther away then mere miles could measure. Starting with poses and stances, he moved to slow stretching movements that eventually became blurringly quick punches and kicks in different combinations. He would never get his form completely right. Chael had told him that perfection was a target, not a place, but the more he practiced the smoother and more fluid each move became. His breathing remained steady, his heartbeat barely sped up above normal. After twenty minutes or so, the movement started slowing down again and he swirled to a halt, then bowed again. He was covered with sweat but he felt great. Stripping to the waist, Bane took water from the CORBY and a washcloth and wiped himself down, then dried off with a towel. It would be dusk soon.
Cindy yawned, stretched and grinned at him. "Hee, my batteries are recharged." She got up and clasped her heads over her head as high as she could reach. "Whatcha doing, Jeremy?"
The Dire Wolf had unloaded a large suitcase and was taking a uniform out of it. "I'm going to wear the full field suit. When we were dealing with cops, it was better to look reasonably normal. But going into combat, I want to be armed and armored." Stripping to the flexible torso armor and socks, Bane quickly pulled on tight black pants and a long-sleeved pullover shirt with a high collar, then a snug jacket that just reached the waist, made of a tough leather-like material. Without a word, Cindy got her own case out and got into her own field suits. In the pouches and pockets and slits were concealed a dozen tools and weapons. Now Bane again had his trademark silver daggers up his sleeves, hilts protruding outward.
Cindy checked her own equipment. She inspected her dart gun. "Jeremy, I don't think our anesthetic darts will be much use against the Swamp Man, if he's what you think he is."
"No. Tell you what, you keep the dart gun if you need to use it on Jeb or his mother. I'm going to pack something heavier." He ejected the clip of darts and clicked a clip of resonance caps into place. Digging in the equipment case, he opened a cylinder of their incendiary discs. These were the size of silver dollars. He pocketed a half dozen of them and gave the rest to Cindy. "You ever use these? Once you pull one out of the tube, throw it. It will explode on impact and burn hot enough to melt through a car door."
She picked up her war helmet, crafted to fit only her. It looked something like a motorcycle helmet, but the clear visor slid up inside the helmet itself. The helmet contained their communications, and a system of sensors that fed information to the visor on a heads-up display. She kept her helmet tucked under one arm, but Bane put his own on and thumbed the control pod. The visor lowered, and he checked its night vision capabilities. Retracting the visor again, the Dire Wolf reached his hand to his partner. "All set?"
"Where you lead, I will follow," she answered seriously, taking his gloved hand and then turning to climb into the co-pilot seat.
IV.
As they sped back over Dead End Swamp, Bane told Cindy what he knew about the Swamp Men phenomenon. It was not well understood, only a few instances had been known. Basically, a human corpse somehow merged with vegetation and rose as an undead construct. Often, fire was involved in the man's death, but not always; often, the victim retained some memories and awareness but not always. Usually, the resurrected being was peaceful unless provoked but two of the Swamp Man creatures had been murderous berserkers. "So," he said, "You can tell not much is known for sure."
"Oh well. Guess this is an argument against going vegetarian. One thing occurs to me. You know the human body the Swamp Man forms around? You wanna bet it belongs to MISTER Griswell, the Widow's late husband? I bet it does."
"Makes sense," Bane agreed. "She may have used his body after he died of natural causes or, who knows, maybe she killed him just so she could raise a Swamp Man and have an undead assassin to do her dirty work."
They came in over the small island of dry ground, settled down fast and climbed out of the copter. By her cabin, the Widow Griswell had set up a black cast iron pot suspended over an open fire. Seeing them, she tore off two Tagra petals and stirred them into the steaming broth. Two of the withered cypress trees stood beside her, seemingly almost to move in the flickering light,
"Jeb! Jeb!" she shrieked. "Stop them, son."
Again, the big goon lumbered toward the intruders, this time with an axe. Bane stopped him with just a look, His gray eyes gleaming menacingly in the gloom and Jeb Griswell stopped short at that glare. "No trouble from you, junior," he growled.
With her dart gun drawn but pointing down, Cindy approached the witch. Her telepthy was actually as much a vulnerability right then. So much venomous hatred was churning in Widow Griswell's mind that Cindy hesitated to pick up any impressions from her. She gestured at the bubbling pot. "Getting ready to feed your friend, huh?"
"Stupid child! Leave while you can. You don't know what power you are facing."
"Yeah right, I've heard that before," the blonde replied airily. "Look, how about we make a deal?"
Bane had turned away from Jeb for a second to watch the confrontation and he paid for his carelessness. The axe whirled up and then smacked down with all the strength the big man could muster, chopping right between Bane's shoulder blades. The Dire Wolf went to one knee, the jacket across his back split open. The armor beneath had held, dispersing most of the impact across its entire area so that Bane only received enough to knock him down. In that instant, Jeb swung past him and the axe went back up again, reading to chop deep into Cindy's exposed head.
Something brought that swing up short, something that seized the axe handle with superhuman strength.
Jeb Griswell felt something wet and heavy thump down on his shoulder and his mind went blank with raw terror. The foul rank odor. that swept over him told him what he would see when he turned. The Swamp Man loomed up way over even big Jeb, a seven foot pile of moss and mud and roots, filthy and stinking. It was shaped vaguely like a human being, but there were no features in the big round head. Only where the eyes should have been glimmered a pair of dim orange lights. The monster raised Jeb up overhead, and the man screamed in mortal agony as his body was bent the wrong way.
A sharp explosion cracked behind the Swamp Man. Clumps of mush flew loose. Jeremy Bane had gotten up and his arm was fully extended with the air pistol in it. The resonance caps the KDf used were designed to knock a man down, perhaps cracking a rib or leaving bad bruising but generally not proving fatal. Dropping Jeb, the Swamp Man lurched clumsily around as the Dire Wolf fired again. It tried to swat at the shell and lost a hand in so doing. A third time, Bane fired and a resonance shell plowed entirely through the Swamp Man's head. It did not stop the horror. The monster needed no brain, no human organs. Any part of it was as undead as any other.
Cindy was keeping the Widow covered with her own weapon. She saw the monster pause and half turn toward them. No, not toward them but the iron pot with the Tagra solution in it. "Jeremy!" she called out. "Here's the answer." The blonde telepath jumped to grab the simple framework holding up the pot and knock it down, spilling the bubbling broth over the fire and putting it out. With an outraged howl, the witch grabbed at Cindy with her sharp nails going for the girl's eyes. It was her mistake. All her training took over. Cindy planted one foot, twisted from the waist and met Widow Griswell with a tight hard fist right in the middle of the face. The old woman was thrown back so hard her feet went up in the air. Cindy looked down with mixed emotions; she wasn't proud of punching someone forty years older than she was but she did realize her technique had been very good.
Her satisfaction only lasted an instant. Looking up, she saw the Swamp Man was right on top of her. "Awk!" she yelled and backed away furiously. Another resonance shell exploded from Bane's gun, this time blowing away some of the creature's left leg and another shell tore off the rest. The monster crashed to the ground with a wet thump. As it began struggling up, Bane said to his partner, "Better step back, honey." He had put a fresh clip of resonance shells in his gun and now he fired them all in rapid succession. The monster's bulk spewed in different directions, revealing a broken human skeleton in the center of the foul mass. Bane kept it up until nothing recognizable remained.
"Curse or no curse, I do not think he's going to be coming back from THAT!" Cindy said. She went over to check on the Widow, and straightened up with an unhappy expression "This one is not going anywhere either. She's dead. I killed her with that punch, Jeremy. "
"She was attacking you and you defended yourself. Someone that frail should not be trying to claw anyone's face." Bane holstered his gun. "That leaves the son." Striding over to where Jeb had been manhandled, he only took a second. "He's dead, too. Back broken. Well, at least it was quick."
Cindy was staring down at the body of the Widow. "I guess I shouldn't be upset. She was responsible for the murders the Swamp Man committed. That girl we found at the shack, that was this witch's fault. How could we have brought her to trial? Courts can't deal with this sort of thing."
"This is all for the best," Bane said. "It's all over now." He turned to look at the cabin. "Okay. Here's what we have to do. First, we clean that hut of any mystic talismans, books of forbidden knowledge, any potions. Those we confiscate and take back to headquarters to examine.Then we leave these bodies and what's left of the Swamp Man just the way they are and bring the police out here at daylight. They can use canoes if they have to."
"I get it. The way it looks, they'll conclude the SWamp Man attacked. Jeb and his mother were killed and then the Swamp Man just fell apart."
"Yep," Bane said. "That's our story and we're sticking to it."
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9/3/1973 - Revised 2/25/2013