Ash: Rise of the Republic (4 page)

“I knew you’d change your mind wench!” He
moved toward her with lecherous intent.

“Oh put your pants on you dirty old bastard,
it’s time for you to take over. I’m gonna hit the sack.” Her voice
was stern as she brushed aside his advance and slipped into the
warm blankets he had vacated.

Grumbling, pining for the days when morning
coffee was almost a birthright, the grizzled captain worked the
stiffness out of his old joints. He pulled his ash suit on and
picked up his rifle. He moved silently through the still sleeping
rangers. The bracing cold again spilled past the hatch as he made
his way up to the surface.

****

The ragged men had followed the stranger, as he had
known they would, two days to the southeast. Their way of life was
threatened, they were desperate, and they were shocked to find a
huge gathering of men just like them. Within minutes of meeting the
Chief they had signed up, and the cloaked man had left again to
roam until he stumbled upon the next band of frightened men who
scrambled to escape the tightening noose of civilization.

They left on a raid the day they arrived.
The big farm was fat with livestock and the early harvest. Its
defenders were soft, grown lazy and complacent under the protection
of the ranger companies. They watched, chilled by the Chief’s
savagery, as he tore through into a knot of trembling farm boys
armed with rusty old carbines. He seemed to wade through them, face
a rictus of hate, a jagged knife in each hand, bare chested and
dripping with the blood of his screaming victims.

They had attacked in broad daylight, and
they were marching home by noon, packs and wagons fat with rich
loot. It was a strange thing, they thought, that two days earlier
they had been running for their lives, hounded by the law, and now
they marched in the open, triumphant and swaggering like
pirates.

****

The Captain called a halt around noon in a small
grove of dead pines. His troop slipped off their bikes and eagerly
produced canteens and rations, waiting for the ash to settle before
lifting their masks.

“We’re getting close, they aren’t moving
fast. They have no idea what’s coming.” He said to no one in
particular. They had seen black smoke on the horizon soon after
setting out that morning. The source was a small moonshiner’s cabin
that had been raided in the night. The smoldering bodies of a man
and a woman were found in the wreckage, their corpses showed signs
of mutilation even after the inferno. Two small cots and an
assortment of toys betrayed the existence of children, but no small
bodies were found.

“You don’t know what you’re chasing, old
man.” His wife handed him a tortilla filled with peanut butter and
dried apple slices, “or what you’ll do with it when you catch
it.”

“It’s not me they have to worry about,”
replied the Captain between bites, “I wouldn’t want this
bloodthirsty bunch after me.”

“Cap’n Mac, how many do you ‘spect we’re up
against?” asked Jennings from his perch on a low pine branch a few
feet away. Jennings was the problem child of the troop. He never
quite shirked a task, but he never had much enthusiasm. When his
blood was up he was deadly enough with a rifle, but his pale,
sickly, slender frame had worried the Captain since the beginning.
He wouldn’t stand a chance if it came down to a wrestling match
with an outlaw tough.

“The tracks say fifteen. But I wouldn’t
worry too much about how many there are, kiddo. Just focus on how
many you feel like killin’. You can have as many as you want.” The
Captain gave him a wink.

“You scared Jenny?” taunted Legs from his
seat against another pine trunk. The appendages that gave him his
name stuck straight out in front of him, half the length of his
arms. His thickly bearded face held a snide grin as he tortured
Jennings. His strange proportions fueled a burning inferiority
complex that he completely abandoned when the shooting started.
Those same proportions had kept more than a few outlaws guessing
until their blood was spilling out in the ash. The Captain had
rarely seen a ranger so adept with a knife, or so protective of his
comrades.

“I ain’t scared Corporal, I just want to
know what to expect. And if you call me Jenny one more time
I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” snapped Legs, jumping to his
feet.

“Cancel that shit rangers!” barked Deb,
launching a chilling glance at each in turn. “You’re both heading
for latrine duty when we get back to base if you don’t keep your
mouths shut!”

Both boys backed down quickly, their
feathers ruffled. The six other rangers in the grove looked down
and found their rations suddenly interesting, hoping Deb’s cold
gaze would land elsewhere. She was notorious as a disciplinarian.
Although she was technically second in command, they had seen her
tear the Captain down on several occasions. Though they feared her
temper, they had all witnessed the ferocity with which she
protected the Captain on the battlefield. They shared a fierce
loyalty with her and they respected her. Many of them had seen her
tender side as well; she had grown accustomed to playing mother to
the orphans in the troop when they had need.

Mol was the first to break the silence. “Do
you think we’ll go all the way to The Refinery on this trip, Cap’n
Mac?”

“You know we’ll go as far as we need to go
to get the job done, young lady,” the Captain replied, adding a
wink. He knew she was eager to see the colony. She was a redhead,
barely seventeen, the tallest woman in the troop. She had a strange
beauty; none of her features were ideal, but combined they
approached perfection. Mol was the company’s medic.

A soft voice drifted from behind the large
pine the Captain was leaning against. “If this is the gang we’re
lookin’ for, we won’t be getting anywhere near The Refinery.”

“Dammit Stone, you fuckin’ spook, I told you
not to sneak up on me like that! Save it for the enemy! What’d you
find?” rasped the Captain in surprise, springing up to face the
scout.

With a rare smile, the albino plopped down
against the Captain’s tree, lifted his mask, and produced a morsel
of jerky. Between bites, he made his report.

“They’re holed up in a small warehouse a few
miles down the road…left a trail that a blind toddler could follow.
There’s a few guards posted but they’re sloppy drunk. Should be
easy pickin’s for this lot.” He said, curtly.

“Doesn’t sound like the band that burned
that tanker, slobs like that are generally in it for the loot,”
said the Captain, glancing at his wife, “Oh well, we followed them
this far, might as well take a look.”

“Alright, ass time is over rangers! Pack it
up, we move out in five!” growled Deb, mainly as a formality. The
eager troopers were already stowing their gear and checking their
weapons.

Four minutes later, the rangers were moving
swiftly and silently across the ash, following the taciturn scout.
The wire mesh wheels of their bicycles ballooned out to keep them
from sinking into the ash as they rode. Each had a small solar
charged battery pack and an electric motor that could be engaged in
a chase, but on a long range like this they kept to the pedals when
they could.

After a brief ride, Stone gave the signal
for ‘halt, find cover’. The rangers quickly slipped off their bikes
and disappeared behind bare tree trunks and stunted bushes. The
scout moved over to the Captain and said quietly, “The warehouse is
just past this drift, I’ll take you to Blue.”

The Captain motioned to Deb and the three
rangers crept through dense scrub brush to the crest of the pile of
wind-drifted ash. Nearing the top, Stone gave the signal to ‘lie
prone’ and they crawled the rest of the way up. The Captain
produced a pair of binoculars and surveyed the scene below, knowing
that Blue would show herself when she could scare as much shit out
of him as possible.

The warehouse was a relatively large, three
story affair. It probably began its life as one of the small time
oil-tool rental shops that used to pop up right and left in Houston
every year before the pillar. Now it was half buried and belching
smoke from its upper windows. The second story was now ground
level; most of the windows at that height were boarded up. One of
them had been converted into a door. Two guards lounged in front on
a pile of crates, passing a jug and laughing. There was a brownish
yellow stain of corruption near another window; clearly the lazy
bastards couldn’t be bothered to dig a proper latrine.

“Are those dipshits the only guards?”

“There’s one on the roof.”

The Captain adjusted his view. A solitary
guard was lying on his back on the sloped roof, snoozing.

“Any more entrances?”

“Just the one.”

“You weren’t kidding about these guys!”

“You should have seen the last shift.” Said
Blue.

The Captain’s heart stopped briefly in
surprise at the voice coming over the crest of the drift. “You
sneaky bitch, you get me every time! I swear the women in my life
are trying to put me in the grave before my time!”

He crawled forward and peeked over the edge
to find a wry smile gleaming from a lump of ash.

“I just can’t resist, it’s just too easy
Cap’n Mac!” replied Blue with a giggle. She deftly rolled over and
slid back over the crest, stopping between the Captain and his
wife. Her fingers danced on the pad at her waist. There was a
crackle and the thick, fluffy layer of ash fell from her suit. She
hit another few keystrokes the air crackled again. The static
charge in the fabric of her suit picked up a new layer of ash, now
arranged in a pattern more suitable for the dusty bushes that hid
them.

“You two stay here and keep an eye on those
poor bastards, we’ll run back and make a plan.” The Captain was
already edging back down the slope. “Signal if anything
changes.”

The two veterans moved stealthily back to
where they had left the troop, quietly discussing their options. On
approach, the Captain made the signal for ‘rally on me’ and his
gang of killers materialized. They gathered around him quickly,
awaiting orders.

“Ok rangers, we’ve got a plan. First,
Casper, get a couple of your cocktails mixed up, we’re gonna have a
barbeque!”

****

The old beggar took another swig from the grimy
bottle as he stumbled toward the makeshift door. He swayed and
wheezed as he walked, coughing like an old man who had forgotten
his mask one too many times.

“Ho, you young bucks know where an old man
might fine a bite to eat?” He slurred at the disheveled guards who
had stared, gape-jawed, at his approach. They were clearly not used
to company.

The fat one with the black teeth launched a
stringy glob of spittle at his feet and snarled, “get the fuck out
of here geezer, before we take a bite out of you. You look like
you’ve lived too long, maybe you should find a nice warm place to
crawl off and die.”

“Your place looks warm, maybe you’ll let me
crawl in there for the night?” replied the beggar.

“You crazy old fuck, if I wadn’t so drunk
already I’d scalp you just to drink what’s in that bottle,” said
the skinny one, sneering.

“Thassa pity, I wus gonna offer you some,
but then you got rude. If you gotta liddle drunker you might not
feel it when I cut your throats.” replied the beggar.

The guards jumped up in unison, wavering
with intoxication but dutifully drawing their wicked blades.

“Turn around and head back to where you came
from grandpa, or I might take that scalp after all.” muttered the
skinny one dangerously. He was stuttering with rage.

He turned to look to his hefty comrade for
support. It took him several seconds to realize that the blood
pouring from the gash in his friend’s neck meant that he wouldn’t
be getting any backup. His gaze shifted back to the beggar, eyes
bulging with terror. The frail old man who had interrupted his lazy
guard duty was aiming a large pistol at his face. He barely had
time to squeak before the thick blade of a bowie knife ripped
through his windpipe. He slowly dropped to his knees, blood
sheeting down over his body, darkness closing in.

The Captain ripped off the old blanket and
carefully wrapped his whiskey bottle in it. He looked up at the two
blood covered youngsters. “Nicely done, your timing is getting
better every day!”

“And you played the drunken old fool better
than ever,” said his wife as she walked around the corner with the
rest of the company.

“I’ve had plenty of practice!” McLelland
grinned.

With a sickening thud, the body of the third
guard fell limply between the two still gurgling corpses. Stone
landed gracefully a few feet away. At a nod from the Captain he
ducked quietly through in the low doorway.

“Right, I want Jennings back up at the top
of the drift for overwatch, Mol you spot for him. Blue, head around
back in case we missed any exits.” The Captain delivered his orders
with natural authority.

He turned to his two biggest rangers, a pair
of hulking, corn-fed country boys named Grumps and Mason. “You boys
are the muscle. Stay here by the door with Deb. Get some zip ties
ready, we’re taking prisoners if we can: I want intel.”

Stone suddenly emerged from the dark
entryway. “Cap’n Mac, you better come take a look.” He said
quietly.

“Casper, Pirate, Legs, you’re with me,” said
the Captain, drawing his pistol and stooping to enter the smoky
darkness.

They stepped down through the former window
onto a metal catwalk. The platform was bolted to the wall fifteen
feet above the floor of the warehouse. Eyes stinging in the dank
smoke, they crouched for a moment to get their bearings. The dim
light filtering in through the dirty windows above them lit the
mayhem below. The warehouse floor was littered with filthy pallets,
stained mattresses, soot stained oil drums, and garbage. The putrid
stench of rotting meat and unwashed bodies mixed nauseatingly with
the smoke. There was a palpable bouquet of corruption in the air.
The Captain quickly counted the beds. They were crouched above the
squalid living quarters of at least two hundred men, thankfully
absent at the moment. Stone pointed at an orange glow at the far
end of the building, making the signal for ‘enemy spotted, strength
unknown’. Through the haze, the Captain could just make out an
occasional flicker of flame. Bawdy voices echoed across the
intervening space, punctuated with hearty laughter.