Most wanted to tell him that they believed Ben’s story; that Harry had tried to ambush the man. But all knew better than to try.
At least half of the men and nearly all of the women had agreed to work with Ben and the Rebels. They could see that their quality of life with the Rebels in the area was going to improve vastly. It already had.
To make matters worse, Billy Bob had refused to come to his brother’s funeral . . . and that really had set Hiram off. Billy Bob had said that his brother had acted like an ignorant fool, and was probably goin’ to Hell for what he done. Hiram had then slapped him, and Billy Bob was in the house right now, packing to leave; to move close to Morrison.
And to make matters even worser, Billy Bob’s snippy little wife had run to Hiram agin, with news that Billy Bob was talkin’ up Ben Raines agin . . . and Hiram had said The Code was gonna be done this night. This very night.
Hiram had decreed it, and that was that.
Nobody among them that believed that Ben Raines was gonna make life easier around here liked Hiram’s decree . . . but he done it, and The Code demanded that all witness.
And just a whole bunch of them wondered what Ben Raines was gonna do when he learned of it.
“It seems appropriate that you would take over a bank building, general,” Lamumba said, a smirk on his face.
This one, Ben thought, is going to be easy to hate, so just take it slow and easy. “Why do you say that?”
“To house the great wealth you stole after the Great War.”
Ben was startled and made no attempt to hide that fact. “What wealth are you talking about?”
“Oh, come, come, general! It’s common knowledge that the Rebels, following the bombings, took thousands of pounds of gold from every possible repository.”
“Yes, that’s fact. And that gold is still stored where we put it, years ago. It will be used to back our currency if and when we ever get a stable government going again.”
“And you kept none for your own use, I suppose?”
Ben laughed at the man. “What the hell do I need gold for? What could I buy with it? You’re talking nonsense, man.”
Lamumba narrowed his eyes in suspicion. He didn’t believe a damn word Ben Raines had said. He didn’t believe a word any white man said, so great was his hate.
“What did you wish to discuss, General Raines?”
“Law and order and working together.”
The man said nothing.
“School starts Monday morning, Lamumba. Have any kids of your followers there.” The man opened his mouth to protest but Ben cut him off. “And have all your people at the hospital tomorrow for physicals and shots.”
“You go right straight to Hell, Raines!” Lamumba shouted the words.
Ben smiled easily. “I sent troops in to escort the rednecks over here. You want me to do the same with you and your people?”
“We’ll leave first!”
“That is your option. But when you leave, get the hell gone far, buddy-boy. . . .”
“Don’t call me boy!”
“Oh, hell, man! That’s an expression. Not a racial slur. Get the chip off your shoulder and come down to earth, will you?”
“I accept your apology.”
“I didn’t apologize. And won’t.”
Lamumba tried to stare Ben down. He could not.
“First time some white man calls me a nigger, general, I’m going to kill him.”
“That’s fair,” Ben said mildly. “But only if you bear this in mind: the first time you call some white man a honky or white bread or an ofay, I’m going to kill you.”
“I don’t believe that!”
“Don’t ever push me to the wall on it, Lamumba. ’Cause when you do, somebody is going to be shoveling dirt in your face.”
Lamumba sat very still in his chair. Very slowly, he nodded his head. “I do believe you would, general.”
“I will do whatever is necessary to bring order back to this land. Now, are you interested in hearing my ideas, or would you rather leave — and I mean, leave — and continue spewing your mindless hatred for all those not of your color?”
“My people have been oppressed for thousands of years. We. . . .”
“Shut your fucking mouth!” Ben roared.
Lamumba fell silent, more shocked than anything else.
“Yes, Lamumba, your people were oppressed. Nobody with a modicum of intelligence would ever deny that. But a new day has dawned. Out of the ashes we can all rebuild a far better society. But we cant do it by working apart. We’re all going to have to pull together. Now you can do one of two things: you can stay and work with me, or you can leave. You and your followers can go away and build your separate little hate-filled communities, preaching revolution and what-have-you, and then, sooner or later, as my plans take seed and grow, I’ll have to come wherever you are and kick your ass all over the place. Now, then, what’s it going to be?”
“By all that is holy, Raines, you are the most arrogant man I have ever seen! What god stepped down and tapped you on the shoulder?”
Ben sat and stared at him, meeting him look for look.
“I shall worship in the manner of Islam.”
“I don’t care. I don’t care if you bow down to a kumquat. That’s none of my business. But your kids are going to school. And we, that includes you and your followers, are going to work to make this place a better place.”
“Better . . . as defined by who?”
“The people. Oh, I see what you’re getting at. No, Lamumba, not by me. For as soon as we’ve set up this post, we’ll be leaving to set up more just like it. You’ll be given a basic set of laws to follow. Very simple, quite unlike the laws that you and I grew up with. You want to add more to it, call a town meeting and vote. Majority rule.”
“And the black people get shafted again,” Lamumba said scornfully.
Ben sighed. He summoned up strength from his rapidly emptying well of patience and said, “Lamumba, half of my troops are minorities. Or what used to be called minorities. We all work quite well together. There are whites taking orders from blacks, from Asians, from Hispanics, you name it. How is it, Lamumba, that we can do that, but you can’t?”
Ben did not really expect any answer, and he did not get any.
“Have your people at the hospital tomorrow morning for physicals and inoculations. Have your kids in school at eight o’clock Monday morning. That’s it.”
Lamumba stood up. “And how about the Hiram Rockinghams of this world, Ben Raines? What about them? Where do they fit in among all your grand plans?”
“They don’t, Lamumba. And I’m not so sure you do, either.”
Tina and Ike had pushed hard, making the run to Crossville in quick time, arriving at the airport hours before even the most optimistic among them had even dreamed they would.
The place was a mess.
While a small team went into the once thriving little town, the others set about cleaning up and clearing the landing strip. Ike got on the horn to the new Base Camp One.
“What’s your location, Ike?” Ben asked, after a runner had notified him that Ike was on the horn.
“Crossville, Tennessee, Ben. We’ve had some trouble.” He brought Ben up to date.
“When can you have the landing strip cleared for planes, Ike?”
“Two-engine jobs only, Ben. We should have it ready by noon tomorrow; maybe a little sooner than that.”
“You want some more people, Ike?”
“Ben . . . it wouldn’t hurt. And lots of ammo. Ben, do you want us to clean out the cities as we go?”
“Ten-fifty on that. I’ve just got a hunch that if New York City is standing, we’ll cordon off the island and starve them out . . . that’s providing there aren’t any innocents trapped in there.”
“If anyone is in there, their mental condition is gonna be next to lousy.”
“Ten-four to that. I’ll have the birds up and flying at first light, Ike. Start scramblin
g around for fuel.”
“Will do, Ben.”
“Luck to you, Ike. Ike? I think the lady with the torch is still standing.”
“So do I, Ben. And I get to see it first! Nan-na-nan-a-nan-uh!” He laughed and broke it off.
Laughing, Ben left the building housing the main communications equipment. Then he remembered Patrice. He went back into the building and looked up the intelligence officer.
“Run me a check on a Captain Patrice Dubois. I want a vocal from every commander she’s served under.”
“Yes, sir.”
Again leaving the building, Ben wondered how Buddy and his team were doing.
It had taken the teams more than five hours to clear the old shopping center of Night People. And to a person, the Rebels were blood-splattered and stinking with sweat.
They had dragged the stinking, deformed bodies out into a far corner of the huge parking area and doused them with flammable liquid, setting the pyre on fire.
“Let’s take a break,” Buddy said, sitting down wearily on a curb and pulling out his canteen. Even the water tasted of death.
“Maybe this place was the main headquarters for them?” a Rebel asked hopefully.
“Don’t bet on it.” James Riverson dashed that glint of hope.
“After we’ve rested,” Buddy said, “we find brooms and soap and clean up that filthy place in there.” He saw their shocked looks. “Not the entire place! Good God. Just an area for us to live in.”
Relieved laughter followed that.
Buddy looked at the huge shopping center. “Does anybody remember them when they were open and doing business?” There was a wistful note to his voice.
“Sure,” James said. “Lots of us. I used to take the wife and kids and spend the entire day in a big shopping center.”
“You must have been rich.”
James laughed. “No. We just window-shopped.” He saw Buddy’s puzzled expression. “We just looked at all the things in the windows, then went on to the next shop.”
“Ahh! I have . . . a vague memory of them. But it’s all jumbled up with . . . what happened after the bombings. The fear and the crowds and the screaming of people.”
“I used to take my wife into a shopping center about this size,” a man said softly. “We hadn’t been married but a couple of years. Matter of fact, we were in a shopping center when the first bombs came in.”
“Warheads?”
“Germ. We were awful sick for a time. Went two, maybe three days not able to leave that place. Watching the rats chew on the dead.”
“Your wife?” Buddy asked.
“She never recovered from the . . . poison; whatever it was. She lived about six months.”
James Riverson stood up. “We don’t dwell too much on those times, Buddy. It doesn’t do a bit of good.”
And most of them knew he was thinking of his own dead wife, killed back in the Tri-States.
Hiram sat on his front porch. It was quiet around the place; had been ever since those goddamned Rebels had taken the kids into town. Hiram wasn’t used to all the quiet. He wondered if they’d ever get the kids back.
He doubted it.
He put the youngsters out of his mind and concentrated on Billy Bob. He’d sent men to block the old roads leading out of the area, so Billy Bob couldn’t get away this time. Hiram hated to do it to his own flesh and blood, but his role as leader had to be reestablished. Besides, The Code demanded action. And as leader, it was up to Hiram to see that it got done.
Most of those damned Rebels had pulled out of the area, back to town. Only a few patrols still ran the roads. But the bastards didn’t run on any schedule, so you couldn’t tell when they might pop up. No matter. What was to be done could be done far from any road, and it would be over before the Rebels could stop them.
Hiram walked to the barn and got his horsewhip. He took the braided popper off the end. Wouldn’t need it this night; be poppin’ on flesh.
He looked around as a rattletrap pickup came smoking and banging into his drive. G.B. Hiram waved for him to come to the barn.
“Got the tar bubblin’, Hiram,” G.B. said.
“Good. I want it hot when we smear him.”
“Boy of yourn needs to be taught a good, hard lesson, Hiram. And this here ought to do ’er.”
“I reckon so. Hard thang for a man to have to do, though.”
“You doin’ rat, Hiram. Hit’s the onliest way to restore power.”
“Ten o’clock, G.B. ’At’s when we do the deed.”
“I’ll be shore to have the folks there.” He touched Hiram’s shoulder. “Jist remember, Hiram: U-nited we stand.” He smiled, knowing he’d said something quite profound. Not terribly original, but profound. G.B. prided himself on being able to wax sagaciously when the need called for it.
After all, he’d been named Grand Klackton of the local KKK, hadn’t he? And that took brains, boy!
The team had returned from their inspection of the town, reporting to Ike.
“No sign of life, general.”
“Nothing? Not a soul?”
“No, sir. There is not one living being in this town.”
“Odd,” Ike muttered. He shook that away. “OK, thanks. Let’s get this old runway patched up. We’ve got birds coming in about noon tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir.”
He found Tina and informed her of the deserted town.
“Town this size should have fifty to a hundred survivors in it, at least. I wonder where they went?”
Ike shrugged. “There was some pretty heavy fighting around this area last couple of years. Maybe they got killed; pulled out? Who knows? But at least there aren’t any of those damnable Night People.”
“Ike? Do you believe New York City is still standing?”
“Yeah, I do, Tina. I believe the lady with the torch is still there. And I believe the city is the headquarters, for want of a better word, of these Night People. I think they put out false information about the city being destroyed; false information about the eastern corridor being hot with radiation. And I think we’re looking at the biggest fight we’ve ever faced.”
“I am not looking forward to it, Ike.”
“Nor I, kid. And I’d be willing to bet you we’ve got two, at least two, societies living there. One that tries to live normally by day, and the other that prowls by night.”
“You ever been to New York City, Ike?”
“Oh, yeah. Used to go on liberty there. Big place, Tina. Buildings so tall they blot out the sun. And we’re going to have to search every damn room of every damn one of them.”
“I’ve seen pictures of the city, Ike. I can’t even envision the task of doing that.”
“It’ll take months.”
“Is it worth it, Ike?”
Ike thought about that for a moment. “Yes, it is. They’ll be treasures in that city, Tina. Priceless art. Recordings of music that you and a lot of people your age have never heard. The information stored there on computer tapes would be worth it alone.”
She smiled. “You’ll never keep Dad out of this, Ike.”
“I sure wouldn’t want to try. No, he’ll be right in there, leading the charge across the bridges or through the tunnels.”
“The tunnels?”
“Under the river.”
She shuddered. “They’ll be dark.”
“As midnight.”
“And filled with you-know-what.”
“Yeah. Don’t worry. Ben will figure something out.”
TWELVE
Ben had his left boot and sock off, rubbing an aching corn on the side of his big toe . . . and muttering curses under his breath. Chase walked in and sat down.
“I could take that off for you,” he suggested. “’Course you’d have to hobble around for a few days.”
“Later.”
“You’ve been saying that for two years, Raines. What’s the matter, don’t you trust me?”
“I think you’ve dug enough lead o
ut of me to answer that, Lamar.”
“Ummp. You wanted to see me?”
“Tell your people to gear up for more inoculations, first thing in the morning.” He told him of his meeting with Lamumba.
“Sounds like a charming fellow. Where is Cecil? I haven’t seen him in hours.”
“He’s in love. Or in heat. One of the two. Walked into that door-facing a few hours ago.”
After Chase finished laughing, he wiped his eyes and poured two fingers of whiskey. “Well, he won’t be worth a damn for anything for a week, or more. Who’s the lucky lady?”
Before Ben could reply, his door opened, an aide sticking his head inside. “Buddy just radioed in, general. They’ve cleared the big shopping center and will use that as CP.” Ben nodded. “The pilots say they’re ready to go, and two platoons are gearing up to fly up to General McGowan’s position at first light.”
“Very good. Thank you. What do the patrols report from the Stanford Community?”
“Nothing, sir. They say it’s all quiet.”
“Thank you.” The aide closed the door.
“You expecting trouble from Hiram, Ben?”
“Yes. Problem is, I don’t have any idea how it’s going to come.”
“Those children are pathetic, Ben. They don’t even know their ABCs.”
“You probably couldn’t get them lost in the woods, though.”
“What?”
“I bet you they’d survive on their own.”
“Oh, all right. I see.”
“That’s a tough breed of people. If they weren’t so damned ignorant.”
Chase knocked back his drink and stood up. “Well, if your aunt had balls and all that, Ben. I’ll be at the hospital if you need me.” He left the office.
A runner from communications came in and laid a folder on Ben’s desk. “The report you requested, sir.”
“Thank you.” When the runner had left, Ben opened the folder and began to read about Patrice Dubois.
A good soldier. But distant. She got along well with others, but had not been assigned positions of any real importance because the various COs she’d served under didn’t quite trust her.
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