Blood in the Ashes (5 page)

“Abe.” The man sat down by Abe Lancer's front porch rocker.

“Rance,” Abe Lancer said, looking at the man. “What's on your mind this mornin'?”

Abe was the unofficial and unelected leader of the mountain survivors. It was not a position Abe sought, or really wanted. As a matter of fact, he didn't like it at all. But rather like Ben Raines, he didn't know how to get out of it. But he thought about it. A lot.

“The new folks is settlin' in right well.”

“That's good.” Rance would get to whatever it was on his mind in his own good time. That was the mountain way. Wasn't polite to rush a body 'fore he got it clear in his head.

“Right nice day, ain't it?”

“Yep.”

“How you likin' these new folk, Abe?”

“I reckon most of 'em is all right. Probably some is better than others. Just like us here in the mountains.”

“That's the way I see it.” Rance spat a brown stream of tobacco juice off the porch.

Abe grinned. “You kill my old woman's flowers with that poison and she'll take a broom to your backside.”

“Don't doubt that none at all.”

“Nope.”

“I like these new people. Hard workin' bunch of folk. Just jumped right in and started workin'. Ever'-body pulled they weight. I think we gonna get along just fine.”

“That's the way I see it myself.”

“I ain't seen hide nor hair of President Ben Raines. You?”

“Nope. Way I hear it, though, President Raines got a good reason for layin' low. What do you hear 'bout it?”

“Same thing. I don't like that there Captain Willette. Not one damn little bit. He's got snake eyes on him. Distrustful of him. And I ain't alone in that, neither. My cousin from up to Tellico Plains sent word this mornin' them people that ambushed and shot them Rebels Colonel McGowen was leadin' had some of Willette's people mixed in with 'em.”

Abe cut his eyes to the man. “How come your cousin knew that?”

Rance smiled, returning the man's gaze. “How much of what goes on in these mountains slips by you, Abe?”

Abe grunted. “Damn little, I reckon. Got folks usin' their eyes and ears for me.”

“Same with Waldo. Most folks over there come to him with problems. Like we'uns do with you.”

“I hope your cousin likes it more than I do,” Abe said dryly.

Rance grinned. “Anyways, Waldo says they was all tied up with and in this crazy damn Ninth Order business.”

“That nutty woman calls herself Sister Voleta?”

“That's her.”

“Shit!”

“That's the way I feel about her, myself.”

“You tell your cousin to keep his eyes open. For now, let's go see Colonel Jeffreys. I don't like the way this mess is beginnin' to stink.”

 

 

“People watching us, General,” James said. Late afternoon in central Georgia.

“They've been out there for about fifteen minutes,” Ben said. “I spotted them when they started circling the town.”

“Thanks for telling me, Ben,” Gale said.

“No point in worrying you. Whoever it is out there is very wary of us. They—”

Ben's radio crackled. “General? 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. Goddamnedest 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.

“A few got guns. Rest of them have spears and clubs and sticks and knives. Jesus, those are weird-lookin' people.”

“They've made no hostile moves,” Ben said. “But I don't like the idea of them watching us. Order them to disperse, James.”

Riverson shouted out the command. The brush around the tiny village shook with movement.

“They're scattering, sir,” the lookout reported. “That was the damnedest-looking bunch of . . . whatever-the-hell-they-are I've ever seen.”

“Stay alert,” Ben ordered. “I don't think they've gone far.” He felt Gale's eyes on him, then answered her unspoken question. “I don't know, Gale. But there appears to be large numbers of subcultures popping up all over the land—probably the world. I told you about the cave people. They're called the People of Darkness. I don't know anything about this bunch.” Ben's eyes were haunted for a few seconds, filled with concern and unnamed trouble.

“What is it, Ben?”

“How could people revert back to the caves in so short a time? In just slightly over a decade, we've gone from high tech to barbarism.” He sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if Doctor Chase's theory isn't the correct one.”

“What does he maintain?”

“That all this,” Ben said, waving his hand, “is God's will. His doing. That He gave the human race opportunity after opportunity, and all we did was screw it up. Then He became angry and brought it all back to the basics. That this is our last chance to get it all together. If we don't ...” He shrugged. “It's over. A long slide backward.”

“Do you believe all that, Ben?” Her question was quietly spoken.

He took her hand. “I don't know, Gale. I do know the human race quite literally raped this earth—and for no other reason than our own greed. I am not a religious man, Gale. I have never professed to be something I am not. But I do believe very strongly in God. I
do not
believe all this—” again he waved his hand—“just happened. I do believe we evolved—because I don't know, and neither does anyone else, how many times God tried to create the human race and failed. I have no difficulty accepting both creation and evolution. At least to my satisfaction. If people choose to disagree—fine. That is their right.” He looked at Gale and smiled ruefully. “And once again, Professor Raines mounts his soapbox.”

She laughed. “When I get tired of it, Ben, I'll let you know.”

“Right!” Ben cut his eyes and lunged at Gale, grabbing her up and tossing her to one side of the room just as a spear came through the broken window of the old house. The point of the spear imbedded in the wall. Ben jerked his .45 from leather and the room rocked with gunfire. A painted face, looking savagely at them through the window suddenly exploded as the heavy slugs hit the jaw, the nose and the forehead.

Gale screamed from her position in the corner as Ben's .45 roared again.

The tiny town roared and rocked with gunfire, as arrows and rocks and spears quivered and sang through the air. The Rebels reacted with lead and grenades.

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.

Ben leveled his .45 and squeezed the trigger. The slug struck the savage in the center of the stomach and doubled him over, dropping him to his bare knees.

The .45 was empty.

Ben grabbed his Thompson, clicked it off safety, and put two rounds in the savage's back for insurance. The half naked man jerked and howled as the slugs tore life from him.

Ben stepped to the door just as several painted-up men were climbing over the railing to the porch. Ben gave them a burst from the Thompson, blowing the men off the porch. They landed on the littered ground in a mass of torn flesh and gushing blood.

Ben heard a woman screaming. He ran to the corner of the porch. A painted man had a woman Rebel spreadeagled on the ground, her field pants off, her arms held by another painted and feathered savage. One man knelt between the woman's legs, trying to force his erection into her. She jerked her hips from side to side, frustrating penetration.

Sergeant Greene ran around the back of the house, picked up a spear from the ground and drove the point through the man's neck, the sharp head almost decapitating the man as blood sprayed from his mouth.

The near-naked man holding the woman's arms jumped to his sandaled feet. Ben's Thompson barked, a line of crimson holes appearing on the man's chest as he was flung backward.

Painted shapes ran from the tiny village, disappearing into the ever-growing forest and brush that had almost completely overgrown the town and the sidewalks.

The village grew quiet after the noise of battle. Only the moaning and occasional screaming of the wounded could be heard.

“Report!” Ben yelled.

Two Rebels dead. Five wounded. One of the wounded not expected to make it.

Thirty savages lay dead, scattered about on the streets. A dozen more twisted and moaned in pain.

“Just about wiped them out, General,” James said.

“I hope,” Ben replied. “Finish them, James.”

“Yes, sir.”

Gale walked to the safety of an old service station. Two Rebels accompanied her at a nod from Ben. Gale did not like this side of Ben, although she recognized Ben's order as being very necessary. The Rebels had taken prisoners from the gangs of thugs and misfits that had the misfortune to attack them from time to time. It had never worked out. Many had diseases that baffled Doctor Chase's medical people. The “viruses,” as Chase referred to them—holocaust or not, anything that baffled doctors was still called a virus—did not respond to any known medication. Several Rebels had died from the strange illnesses.

Ben had been forced to send down the order, “No prisoners.”

It also appeared that a form of insanity was cropping up among many of the survivor/victims of the aftermath of germ and nuclear warfare that had hit the world back in the late eighties. Chase's medical teams had performed numerous autopsies on the dead. Pockets of highly infectious pus were found in the brain of many.

“I don't know what is causing it, Ben,” Doctor Chase admitted. “I just don't. I don't understand it. But I can tell you this: this—” he grinned—“virus is very dangerous.” He lost his grin and became very serious. “Ben, what makes it so dangerous is the fact—and it is a fact—that I don't know how to treat it. I can't find anything that will even arrest it, much less kill it. No prisoners, Ben. We can't risk it. It's for our own safety. Give my people time. They'll find something that'll work.”

Single gunshots slammed the late afternoon as Rebels went to each downed man and put a bullet through the head.

“Face masks and gloves on when you handle them,” Ben shouted. “Drag them into that building.” He pointed to a shack on the edge of town. “We'll have a controlled burn. The rest of you get your gear together. When the burn is over, we're pulling out of here.”

When the dead were stacked in the old building and fires were set, Gale walked to Ben's side.

He met her eyes. “I tried to question one of them, Gale. I couldn't get any sense out of him. He babbled first about the Bible, then about Satan, then about me being Satan's child. Only one thing he said made any sense.”

She looked at him.

“He'd seen a man who called himself The Prophet.”

Gale sighed. The old man she'd seen personally had come to haunt her.
¹
“You think these people are insane?”

“No. I think they're losers and savages. People who have given up and who are trying to justify what they've become by twisting the word of God all out of proportion. Hell with them.”

James walked up. “We must have wasted one or more of the leaders,” he said. “Some of the wounded screamed out that they'd be back, in force this time.”

“We won't be here,” Ben said. He looked toward the shack. The fire was almost out. The sweet smell of what certain cannibalistic tribes used to refer to as “Long Pig” filled the air. “Mount 'em up, James. Let's roll.”

 

 

The small convoy rolled out on Highway 11. They connected with 129 and rolled south. About ten miles north of Macon, Ben pulled them off the road and they made a cold camp for the night. During the night, two of the wounded Rebels died. They were wrapped in blankets and at dawn were buried in a wooded area off the highway, with Ben speaking a few words over the unmarked graves. He then read from Ecclesiastes and from the Psalms.

Leaving the small gathering, Ben walked to the communications truck and called in to Cecil. He told him of the strange savage people who attacked them, and the loss of four Rebels. He concluded with, “What's the situation up there, Cec?”

“Stable, Ben. But we're unable to do much in the way of setting up shop, so to speak. I can't take the chance of spreading our people out too thin. Willette and his bunch have between five hundred and seven hundred followers ready to move. I don't believe they'll try anything violent; but I can't be sure of that. And I can't risk moving many of our regulars into the countryside to set up permanent bases. Not yet. And—” he sighed—“I've got teams out looking for Ike. No luck as yet, I'm sorry to report.”

“I'm just about ready to come back and start kicking ass, Cec.”

“Not yet, Ben,” Cecil cautioned him. “I didn't realize just how slick Willette and his people were until yesterday. He's quick and he's smart. There is
nothing
I can pin directly on him. Not one damn thing. And Ben? I am afraid for you to return. I mean,
physically
afraid. Accidents happen, if you get my drift.”

Ben got the drift. Hot anger filled him, rushing through his veins. “Yeah, Cec, I get the drift, all right. It was sure to happen someday. Well, that day is here. OK, ol' buddy. After we take a look at Savannah—if there is anything left of that city—I'm going to take my contingent and swing around to the east. I want you to quietly, and quietly is the word, assign me another full platoon. Have them link up with us at . . .” He scanned a map. “Well, just west of Clark Hill Lake. When we get close I'll contact them by radio as to exact location. Full combat contingent, Cec. And keep teams out looking for Ike.”