Blood in the Ashes

Ben's radio crackled. “Those . . . people out there?” Ben picked up on the emphasis on “people.” “They're dressed in animal skins. They got feathers and other crap stuck in their hair. Damnedest lookin' bunch of savages I've ever seen. I'm watchin' them from the rooftop of the old service station.”

“How are they armed?” Ben radioed back.

Before he could get an answer, the old front door to the house shattered open. A man dressed in animal skins stood in the doorway, a huge spiked club in his right hand. He yelled at Ben and charged him, the club raised over his head....

BY WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE

 

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

 

 

 

They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.

Ben Franklin

 

 

If a nation expects to be ignorant and free, in a state of civilization, it expects what never was and never will be.

 

Thomas Jefferson

The bullet spider-webbed the windshield and knocked a hole in the interior of the truck before exiting out the rear of the cab. Gale screamed and ducked to the floorboards, her hands over her ears. She said some very unladylike words, just audible over the rattle of gunfire.

From the direction the slug took in entering the cab of the pickup, Ben knew it had been fired from his right, from the south side of the highway. Ben spun the steering wheel.

A six-wheeled V-300 roared up beside Ben's pickup. It passed the truck and wheeled about in the cracked and pitted highway, its twin Browning M2. 50-caliber machine guns yammering, spitting out death, clearing the thick underbrush by the roadside of all living things. An APC had rolled up beside Ben's pickup, on the south side, a buffer of protection for the general and his lady.

Rebels sprang into action. They were Gray's Scouts, and they knew their jobs, performing without any wasted motion. Small arms fire rattled over the thick timber.

A few screams were heard. Then a quiet settled over the area. The screaming ceased.

Ben's radio crackled. “All clear, sir. We got them all.”

“Stay in the truck, sir,” Colonel Dan Gray said, appearing by the driver's side of the pickup. “I've got teams working the north side of the highway.” Gunfire came from the north side. “I suspected as much. Very sloppy ambush. Not professional at all.”

Ben smiled. Dan was an expert at ambush. “Who were they, Dan?”

“Just another band of rabble and outlaws, sir,” the Englishman said quietly. He was very calm. This was his job. “More and more of them appearing as conditions continue to deteriorate. I think it's going to get much worse.”

“Yes,” Ben agreed.

“We're under attack and you guys sit there discussing fucking politics, for Christ's sake,” Gale said, crawling back on the seat. “What a bunch of characters.” She looked down at Ben. “I'm hungry.”

“She's pregnant,” Ben explained.

“Yes, sir,” Dan said blandly.

“It's a desperate time, Dan,” Ben said. “What's left of the nation is reeling, with no direction, no leadership, no organization. The scum of humanity is surfacing.”

Dan smiled. “Quite, sir. A strong man needs to take over.”

The long convoy bivouacked between Lebanon and Cookeville, Tennessee, near a small town named Buffalo Valley. It was a dead town, with no sign of any living beings. Only the scattered bones in the streets gave testimony to that which once was.

Many of the towns the convoy had either driven through or bypassed on the interstate appeared dead, but Ben had detected a definite air of hope in the men and women and children in the long column that had snaked and threaded and picked its way from southern Missouri. Other columns were on their way to north Georgia, coming from Louisiana and Arkansas.

Yet another move for Raines' Rebels.

Hopefully, Ben thought, as he lay beside Gale in their tent, the last move.

But as he lay waiting for sleep to take him, Ben pondered over what he considered to be the somewhat mysterious behavior he had detected from his close circle of friends: Ike, Cecil, Doctor Chase, Juan, Mark and Colonel Gray. Something was in the wind. But what?

“Are you asleep?” he whispered to Gale.

Silence from her side of the double sleeping bag. But her breathing had changed. Ben knew she was awake.

“I asked if you were asleep,” Ben persisted.

She sighed, turning to face him, dark eyes shining in the dim light filtering through the open flap of the tent. “I was,” she said sarcastically. “Despite your tossing and turning and snorting like a water buffalo.”

“I do not snort like a water buffalo! Have you ever seen a water buffalo?”

“What's that got to do with it? Ben, what do you want?”

“Do you get the impression that Dan and his people are becoming a bit overprotective lately?”

“You woke me up to ask me that? Good God! And I was having such a nice dream. Do you wanna hear about it?”

“No. I am not in the least interested in hearing about your slumbertime sexual fantasies. Just answer the question.”

“Sexual fantasies! I was dreaming about a hot roast beef sandwich, with mashed potatoes and lots of gravy. How in the hell can you make anything sexual about that?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Yes, master. They're just trying to keep you alive, that's all. You're such a klutz.”

Ben smiled in the darkness. “Wanna play?”

She looked at her watch. “At two o'clock in the morning?”

“Well, there is that old saying. I forgot about that.”

“What old saying?”

“Warmed up coffee and woke up pussy.”

“Good God! How crude.” She rolled over and went back to sleep. But she was smiling.

Ben thought: I wonder if she knows more than she's telling? Whatever
it
is, maybe she's in on it, too? Damn! What I don't need is a mystery. Not at this time.

He put his arms around her and she turned to face him.

 

 

“He's not going to like it,” Juan Solis said. “I can tell you all that right up front.”

The group of men were meeting not far from the main bivouac area. Dan Gray, Cecil Jefferys, Juan Solis, Mark Terry, Ike McGowen, Doctor Chase.

“I think he'll see his way to do it,” Ike said. “Once we lay it out for him. But Ben's gonna take off for a while before he does it. He wants some time alone on the road.”

“He said it himself,” Dan said. “This morning after the firefight. ‘The nation is leaderless, with no direction, no organization.'”

“Ben is tired,” Dr. Lamar Chase said. “Not to imply his health is bad,” he quickly added, catching the alarmed looks on the faces of the men around him, “for he's in better physical shape than most men fifteen years younger. He's just tired. Good God, people, the man has been building and rebuilding
nations
for more than a decade. That would tell on a god. And he's worried about many of these new people that have joined us. And I am too.”

“Yes,” Cecil spoke. “Ben has talked with me about them. Captain Willette and his bunch especially. We have no way of checking their stories, no way of knowing where their true loyalties really lie. Ben is leery of many of them. But they've done nothing out of line.”

Ike said, “I'm with Ben about these new people. Some of them rub my fur the wrong way. I get the same feeling I had back in '88, just before the balloon went up.”

“All we can do is keep an eye on them,” Juan said.

“We'd better,” Mark said. “You all notice how they're singling out the younger troops to talk with? I don't like that. I get the feeling something ... evil is in the wind.”

“I'm with you, partner,” Ike said.

“When do we tell Ben?” Dan asked.

Ike looked at him. “When we get to Georgia. No point in gettin' him all stirred up now.”

 

 

Ben experienced a form of mild depression as his eyes swept the land on either side of Interstate 24. The scene greeting him was one of almost total deterioration. Ben knew living beings were out there, knew many had survived not only the bombings of '88, but also the plague and the horror that followed a decade later. But the survivors did not appear to be
doing
anything.

Ben thought: How in the hell do these people expect to pull anything out of the ashes of destruction and despair if they just sit on their butts and do nothing?

Gale glanced at him. As if reading his thoughts, she said, “They don't have a leader, Ben. Someone to put their faith and trust in.”

Ben shook his head. “Uh-huh, and hell, no, lady. Not again. Not this ol' boy. I've had my shot at running the show.”

“Then why are we moving to Georgia, Ben?” she challenged him. “Just to see the countryside?”

“It's one thing to build a small following of people, Gale. It is quite another to try to pull together an entire nation. I thank you, but no thank you.”

She thought about that. She stuck out her chin. “You did it before,” she reminded him.

“No,” Ben contradicted her. “I
attempted
to do it. And for a very brief time, if you are speaking of my short tenure as president of this battered nation.”

“Ben—”

“No, Gale. No. Another Tri-States, perhaps, something on that order. Perhaps, Gale, if I—we—could do that, and make it work, then others would follow our example. That is my hope. But only time will tell.”

“All right, Ben.” She knew that particular subject was, for the time being, closed. She gazed out the window. Nothing moved, no sign of human habitation, much less human progress toward rebuilding. “It just looks so . . . barren, Ben.”

“It is, to some degree. But it's a dangerous illusion, Gale. I think many of the survivors have formed pockets of defense around the nation. Probably many have slipped back to the medieval fortress/village type of existence.”

“This nation—or what is left of it—put people on the moon. We were reaching for the stars. Now—this.”

“It was inevitable, Gale. All people had to do was study history to find out where any nation is heading. Unfortunately, most people were too busy protesting this or that—whatever served their own special interest group or union—or were too busy glued to a television set watching the most asinine pap ever made for insulting the human intelligence. In short, the majority didn't give a shit.”

“That's harsh, Ben. Perhaps too harsh.”

“I don't think so. It isn't too harsh for me to say the nation's morals slipped to zero. It certainly is correct to say in our courts it became not a matter of guilty or innocent, but guilty or not guilty—and
not guilty
came, more often than not, as a result of some minor breach of technicality. Fuck the victims of crime and turn the punks loose. And as for my remark about TV, after a time, I just quit watching television.”

“Come on, Ben—what did you watch? Stuff with a lot of violence, I'm sure.”

“No. I bought a VCR and watched screw movies,” he said with a grin.

“Come on,
Raines! Get serious.”

“What is this, Gale—psychoanalyze Ben Raines time?”

“I would like to know a little bit about the man I'm living with,” she said, adding primly, “and the guy who got me pregnant.”

“Takes two, you know?”

“Give, Raines.”

“I watched what I personally enjoyed, Gale. High drama or low shoot-'em-up-and-stomp movies. I watched good comedy—as I define ‘good.' Most of the comedians I enjoyed never used one word of profanity in their routines. A good comic doesn't have to. Just like a good actor doesn't have to rely on gimmicks. Their very presence emanates talent. And dancing should be graceful, Gale. Not leaping about like a pack of savages in the throes of a pre-sexual orgy.”

“Ah-
huh
!” Gale whirled on the seat—and cracked her noggin on the sun visor. “Shit!” she said, rubbing her head. “I always knew you were a closet bigot. Admit it, Raines.”

“I'm not a closet anything, Gale. How's your head?”

“Don't change the subject.”

“You asked for my opinion, Gale—I gave it. Others are entitled to theirs, as well.”

“I know,” she said, smiling. “I just wanted to see if I could get a reaction out of you.” She glanced at his strong profile. “I read every one of your books I could find, Ben. I didn't like some of them, but I read them. You really got down on the American people. I used to think what you wanted was a nation of clones, all patterned after yourself.”

“And now?”

“I was wrong.”

“My God! Let me stop and find a hammer and stone tablet. I want to preserve that last remark for posterity.”

Gale stuck out her tongue at him.

“How's the kid?” Ben asked.

“Plural, Ben. Two. The twins are doing just fine, thank you.”

“In nine months I'm going to prove you wrong, Gale.”

“You really know a lot about the reproduction system, don't you, Raines? Where are you getting this ‘nine months' crap? Try about six and a half months.”

He looked at her midsection. “I can't tell any difference. You look just as skinny and malnourished as ever.”

“Thanks a lot, Raines. I've gained a few pounds. Hey! Look over there.” She pointed.

Ben looked. He radioed the column to a halt and got out of the truck. Uncasing his binoculars, he focused them and then began cussing. “Bastards,” he said. “Dan! Over here.”

The Englishman appeared at Ben's side. “Sir?”

Ben handed him his field glasses. “Take a look, Dan.”

Dan's face went white with rage. “Damned barbarians.”

“What do you make of it, Dan?”

“They seem to have constructed some sort of miniature Stonehenge, General. And they are burning someone alive in the open center of it. My word! What has this nation come to?”

“It'll get worse, Dan,” Ben said. “I assure you of that. Let's go take a look.”

“Ah ... General? Why don't you just let me take a team over there? We'll—”

The look on Ben's face stopped Dan. Ben said, “I believe I said
let's
go take a look, Dan.”

“Right-oh, General,” Dan replied cheerfully. “You will permit me to lead the way, I hope?”

“Carry on, Colonel. Oh, Dan?”

The Englishman turned. “Thanks for your concern, Dan. But when I require the services of a nanny, I'll want one who's a hell of a lot better looking than you.” Ben softened that with a smile.

Dan laughed, taking no umbrage at Ben's remark. “I certainly can't blame you for that, sir. I am a bit worse for wear.”

“Be careful, old man,” Gale called from the truck.

Ben waved at her and followed Dan and his scouts across the rocky field. The screams of the man being burned alive at the stake grew louder as the Rebels approached. The smell of burning flesh was offensive to them all.

“Jesus Christ, Ben,” Ike said.

“I know, Ike,” Ben said, then cautioned them. “You people step easy now. We don't know what we're facing here. Whatever these people represent, they're armed.” He could see the man chained to the stake was not much more than a boy.

“That is far enough!” a robed and hooded man called from the outer fringe of the circle of stone. Other robed and hooded men joined him. They were all armed, most with sawed-off pump shotguns, a few with M-16s and AK-47s. All carried sidearms belted around their waists.

“Stand ready!” Colonel Gray barked the order. A dozen bolts on automatic weapons were pulled back. A stocky Rebel with an M-60 machine gun, belt ammo looped over his shoulders, leveled the light machine gun at the knot of strange-appearing men.

The guards quickly re-evaluated their position. “We want no trouble, gentlemen,” one of the older guards said. “But you are interfering in a matter that is none of your concern.”

“Seems like to me you're giving that boy—” Ben's eyes touched the young man chained to the stake, his lower body now completely engulfed in flames—“more trouble than he deserves. What has he done to warrant this?”

“That is none of your concern,” Ben was told. “Stay out of it.”

“Colonel Gray?” Ben said. “Would you be so kind as to put that young fellow out of his misery?”

“My pleasure, sir.” The Englishman lifted his rifle and shot the burning boy once in the head, forever stilling his hideous screaming and ceasing the agony from the fire.

A low grumble of anger sprang from the crowd. It was a mixed group, Ben noted. Men and women and some teenagers.