City of Screams Read Online Free PDF Page A

strained, then heard it, too. He waved everyone to stay quiet. Out of the darkness, through the fall of snow, a whispering reached them. Again it sounded both close and distant at the same time. No words could be made out, but it set his teeth on edge, like a poorly tuned radio station. He remembered thinking earlier that nothing surprised him anymore. He’d have to revise that. This whole situation had him surprised right out of his comfort zone.
    â€œI think it’s Bactrian, too,” Atherton said, his voice taking a keening, panicked edge. He crouched like a frightened rabbit near the stone oven. “But I can’t make anything out.”
    It didn’t sound like a language at all to Jordan. Maybe the shock of the day had caught up to the professor. Or maybe it wasn’t even Bactrian on the tape.
    Farshad crouched beside the salt-ringed bed. He stared daggers at the child, as if she were to blame for all of this.
    â€œRemember what I translated from that desperate radio call?” Atherton’s glassy eyes stared past Jordan’s shoulder at nothing. “Those last words. The girl is ours . They clearly want her .”
    The professor pointed a trembling finger at the child.
    Whispers out in the night grew louder, taking on a gibbering sound, a chorus of madness just beyond the edge of hearing. It felt as if the words ate through his ears, scratching to get inside his skull. But maybe those were just normal leopard noises. Jordan had no idea what a leopard was supposed to sound like.
    Atherton clamped his hands over his ears and crouched lower to the floor.
    Farshad barked out words in Pashto, his native language, and raised his rifle at Jordan, at the girl. He motioned toward the door with the tip of his weapon. Between the pantomime and the bit of Pashto that Jordan understood, the message was clear.
    Send the girl outside.
    â€œNot happening,” Jordan said grimly, staring him down.
    Farshad had gone red-faced by now, his dark eyes wild. He shouted again in Pashto. Jordan made out the word djinn and something like petra . He kept repeating the word over and over again, shoving his weapon belligerently toward Jordan each time. Then a round fired and blasted dirt near Jordan’s knee.
    That was enough for his men.
    Defending him, Cooper and McKay fired their weapons at the same time.
    Farshad fell back across the bed, dead before he hit the girl’s straw mattress.
    The child cried out and buried her face in Jordan’s chest.
    Atherton moaned.
    â€œWhat was Farshad yelling at the end?” Jordan asked. “That word petra .”
    Atherton rocked slightly, never lifting his face. “An old Sanskrit word, used by both Buddhists and local tribes people of this region. It translates as gone forth and departed , but it usually means demonic ghosts, those still craving something, unsettled spirits.”
    Jordan wanted to scoff at such a thing, but he couldn’t find the words.
    â€œFarshad believed the girl is possessed by an escaped djinn and that the ghosts of the mists want her back.”
    â€œWhat I photographed out there,” McKay said, “those looked like leopard prints, not ghost prints.”
    â€œI . . . I don’t know.” Atherton kept rocking. “But perhaps he was right. Maybe we should send the girl out there. Then they’ll leave us alone. Maybe she’s all they want.”
    â€œWho wants?” Jordan spat back. He wasn’t going to send the girl to her death.
    As answer, a heavy weight hit the thatched roof overhead, raining down dry straw. Jordan swung his machine pistol up and fired through the roof. His men followed suit, the blasts deafening in the small space.
    A screeched yowl—not pained, just angry—met their efforts, followed by a scrambling retreat. It didn’t sound injured—just pissed. Was the creature out there attempting to draw their fire, to lure them into wasting ammunition?
    Jordan