Danger in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  The type the Rebels were using this night at the shopping center each held eight hundred small steel ball bearings. The ball bearings were propelled out the front of the mine, pushed by two pounds of composition C-4 plastic explosive. The efficient killing zone, or K-Z, was seventy-five yards, with some lethal fragments traveling as much as three hundred yards. The side and rear back-blast concussion area had also been extended with the additional front range. This night, the integral sights on the mine were set to strike the enemy hip to chest high.

  Their jobs done, the Rebels slipped quietly from the roof, trailing the lead wires.

  Inside the darkened mall, M-60 machine guns had been set up according to Buddy’s directions. The gunners lay quietly behind and beside their weapons, waiting.

  Outside, ringing the shopping center, the Night People began to gather and chant and shout and hurl objects at the small force of Rebels holed up inside.

  “Hold your fire,” Buddy ordered. “No one fires until I give the word. Pass it along.”

  The Rebels wiped sweaty palms on their field pants and tiger-stripe field shirts and waited.

  The first Claymore mine that was detonated on the Rebel camp’s outer perimeter brought shrieks and howls and screams of pain from the still-unseen intruders. Grenades were tossed from the Rebel camp, the explosions rocking the night and bringing more wails of agony; those intensified as WP was added to HE and Fire-frag grenades. And as brush fires sprang up from the grenades, the Rebels could see that the enemy was not Night People.

  “Hold your fire!” Tina yelled above the din of battle. “Hold your fire!”

  When the weapons’ fire had ceased, Tina yelled into the darkness, “Who are you and what do you want?”

  “This is our territory,” a woman’s voice called. “Get out or die. The choice is yours.”

  “We’re a contingent of Raines Rebels!” Tina shouted. “We’re just passing through this part of the country. We don’t mean you any harm.”

  “You’ll all die if you don’t leave. Just like the people did in the town where your planes landed.”

  “Well, now we know what happened,” Ham whispered. “But who the hell are these people?”

  “One way to find out.” Tina shouted: “Who are you?”

  “The Sisters of Zenana.”

  “That doesn’t tell me a goddamn thing!” Ham whispered.

  “Me, either,” Tina returned the whisper. Taking a deep breath, she called, “What the hell is that?”

  “Are you in charge, sister?”

  “I’m not your sister. Yes, I’m in charge.”

  “Sisters may leave. The men must stay.”

  “I told you, I’m not your sister. Why should we leave the men?”

  “For breeding purposes.”

  “If they just want to fuck,” a Rebel called out from the darkness, “tell ’em to come on. Let’s have a party.”

  “Shut up, Gary,” Tina said, glad that Gary could not see her grin.

  “Pigs!” the woman’s voice was shrill. “Filthy male Pigs.”

  “Uh-huh,” Gary said. “Now I get the picture.”

  “Carry your asses on, girls,” Ham called. “Go do your things somewhere else.”

  “You’d better think about it, sister,” the voice called. “We are many and you are few.”

  “If you don’t like men, why do you want to breed with them?” Tina called.

  “To produce more Sisters of Zenana.”

  “Something tells me that they kill any boy babies,” Ham said.

  “We run into the most interestin’ folks,” Gary said.

  Tina didn’t tell him to shut up. As the camp clown, Gary could be counted on to act the fool even under the most harrowing of conditions.

  “How much area do you control?” Tina called.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “So we can avoid it the next time.”

  “There will be no next time, sister.”

  “Get ready,” Ham called hoarsely. “They’re coming.”

  “That’s one way to put it,” Gary said.

  Screaming, the Sisters of Zenana charged. And ran headfirst into death. The Rebel Scouts opened up with everything they had, throwing up a solid wall of firepower. The Claymores were electronically fired, the ball bearings ripping the life out of anyone in their K-Z.

  A big .50 caliber added its chugging to the melee, the thumb-sized slugs knocking the Sisters spinning and screaming to the ground.

  But even with the firepower, several Sisters managed to breach the camp’s inner perimeters, and the weapons changed from guns to knives and hand-axes and entrenching tools.

  Tina was knocked down by a charging Sister, losing her M-16 as she fell. Tina fumbled for her sidearm just as a fist slammed into her jaw.

  “Don’t kill this one,” she dimly heard a woman’s voice say. “She’s prime.” Hands roamed her body.

  Screw you! Tina thought, as her hand closed on the handle of her knife. She drove the blade to the hilt in the woman’s belly. Blood oozed onto her hand as she pulled the blade free and drove it in again.

  The Sister screamed and fell to one side. Tina jumped to her feet, the big knife at the ready. She looked around her. The fight was over.

  From deep in the brush and timber, the voice called, “You are marked for death, Sister. Beware, Beware!”

  “Fuck you!” Tina yelled. “That’s probably what you need.”

  “Will somebody come get this broad off me!” Gary yelled. “Damned heifer must weigh three hundred pounds!”

  The Rebels all heard the faint sounds of feet on the roof. Faint, but very real.

  Outside, the shouting and the hurling of stones had increased.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” Buddy called to the men with the lead wires in their hands.

  The huge complex trembled as the Claymores were fired, the back-blast sending shock waves through the roof-entrance. The bodies, intact and in bits and chunks, were actually hurled from the roof.

  The floor of the littered and darkened inner mall was suddenly filled with robed men and women.

  “Fire!” Buddy shouted.

  The machine guns began yammering, the noise deafening in the closed complex.

  Riverson stood at the store’s open end, holding an M-60 in his big hands, the belt working, spitting out death.

  A piece of the roof collapsed, caused in part by the explosions from the Claymores, the debris trapping those remaining Night People in the closed mall.

  From that point on, it was carnage, as the Rebels finished their work.

  Buddy chanced a look outside. The parking area was empty of Night People.

  When the last shot had echoed away into stillness, Buddy said, “It’s over. This town is cleared. They’ve had enough. They’ve pulled out.”

  Ben was up early, found his clothing, and dressed, shoving his sore feet into house slippers. He walked out into the hall, startling a floor nurse.

  “Sir! You shouldn’t be out of bed!”

  “I’m fine. Where is Dr. Allardt?”

  “Ah . . . having breakfast in the dining area, general.”

  “Fine, I’ll join her.”

  He walked toward up the hall, then paused. Hell, he didn’t know where the dining area was.

  He asked the nurse, thanked her, and walked on. He got a dirty look from Holly when he stepped into the dining room.

  Smiling, he walked over to her table and sat down. “What are you having?” he asked pleasantly.

  “You are a bullheaded man, General. You should not be on that leg.”

  “It wasn’t a long walk, and I don’t intend to do much walking. Can you drive a Jeep?”

  “I . . . of course, I can drive a Jeep! Why?”

  “I thought you might like to take a ride around the town . . . after you’ve finished your rounds, of course.”

  “I have no rounds. You were my only patient. The Rebels are the healthiest bunch of people I have ever encountered.�
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  “Clean living and good exercise, Holly.” He was straight-faced as he said it.

  “Right,” she said drily.

  “Is that your answer, Holly?”

  “If that is the only way to keep you off your feet, yes, we’ll take a drive.”

  “Good!”

  Then she watched in astonishment as Ben ordered bacon and eggs and fried potatoes and biscuits and milk.

  “Is that all for you?”

  “I’m a healthy eater. And where is my Thompson?”

  “Your what?”

  “My weapon.”

  “I haven’t the foggiest. I hope you didn’t leave it in your Jeep.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it might get stolen.”

  Ben smiled at her. “Did you hear any gunshots last night or this morning, Holly?”

  “Why . . . no.”

  “Then no one stole it.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “We don’t tolerate crime in a Rebel community, Holly. No one has to steal, and we won’t tolerate it.”

  She stared at him, her blue eyes serious. “What happens to the people who steal?”

  “That depends on whether or not they’re shot dead on the spot.”

  “I don’t believe I’m hearing this.”

  “Believe it. Our schools teach much more than the ABCs, Holly. Our schools teach honesty and values and the work ethic.”

  “Then it’s all true; everything I’ve heard. That’s why I’ve been avoiding locations where the Rebels might be.”

  “What have you heard?”

  “That your society is a very rigid one. . . .”

  “It is, to an extent.”

  “. . . and that it is a dictatorship. With you the director.”

  Ben thought that was funny. He was still laughing as his breakfast was placed in front of him. And Holly was getting angry.

  “Holly, there are few written laws in any Rebel settlement. And those laws are agreed upon by all who join us. They were not written by me alone; they were voted on, years ago. Back when we formed the Tri-States. A person does not steal, cheat, lie, misrepresent the truth . . . it’s a common-sense form of government, Holly. All we did was go back to the basics.”

  “But you’ll shoot someone for stealing a . . . a, anything!”

  “Most of the time, no.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Our reputation goes back years, Holly. People know we’re a bunch of hard-asses . . . that’s on one hand. On the other hand, they know that if they need food, we’ll share with them. If they’re sick, we’ll help them. They also know that if they try to steal from us, we’ll shoot them on the spot. And that’s the way it is. Are you going to eat that toast?”

  “What . . . what? Ah, no.”

  “Thanks.” He speared it with his fork and spread blackberry jam on it.

  “When was the last time you shot someone for stealing, Ben?”

  Ben chewed reflectively. “Oh . . . years ago. I told you. No one steals in a Rebel community.”

  “Incredible! And people actually flock to join you people. I don’t understand it.”

  “Do you have a sister?”

  “What? Ah, as a matter of fact, I do.”

  “Her name wouldn’t be Gale, would it?”

  “No. It’s Nancy. I don’t know where she is. We became separated just after the bombings. Who is Gale?”

  “A lady I used to know. You’d like her. She was a liberal in the midst of war.”

  “If the world had had more liberals, we wouldn’t have had a war.”

  “Probably not. It would all be under communist rule. Let’s go.”

  “Daddy,” Grover Neal said. “Them Rebels is a-blowin’ up all the bridges.”

  “Why you reckon they’d do a damn fool thang lak ’at?”

  “Don’t know, Daddy.” Which accurately summed up Grover Neal’s understanding of just about anything one might wish to mention.

  “Wal,” Hiram picked up his rifle, “le’s us jus’ go see these soldier-boys.”

  Hiram gathered up all of his sons he could find, and several of his neighbors, all armed, and went to see the soldier-boys.

  “Why for y’all blowin’ up our bridges?” Hiram called across the space where a bridge had once stood.

  The Rebels ignored him, as they had been ordered to do. And they also had a few other orders that would soon have to be followed.

  “Hey, boy!” Hiram called to the Rebel who was busy planting charges that would blow out the concrete stanchions. “Ah’m a-talkin’ to you, goddamn-it!”

  The Rebels ignored him.

  Hiram and his crew did not notice as the Rebels in the Jeeps swung the .50 calibers in their direction.

  “Ah thank they’s all deef, Hiram,” one of the neighbors proclaimed, in what could loosely pass for the English language.

  “Remember the orders,” one of the Rebels behind a .50 whispered. “No killing if it can be avoided.”

  “Gottcha.”

  Flush with the thrill of victory after having witnessed his brother being flogged and then tarred and feathered, Efrom Silas said, “Ah thank ah can git they attention, Daddy.”

  “Go ahead, son,” Hiram told him.

  Efrom jacked back the hammer on his .30-30 and put a round near a Rebel.

  About a half second after he did that, it seemed to Hiram and Efrom and the others that the gates of Hell suddenly opened.

  Both .50’s opened up, as well as a squad of riflemen with M-16s, two M-60s, a mortar crew back in the timber, and a half a dozen Rebels with Uzis.

  Hiram’s pickup truck was knocked over by a mortar round. G.B.’s pickup exploded as .50 caliber rounds ignited the gas tank, and the air around the rednecks was literally filled with lead.

  “Holy fuckin’ shit!” Hiram hollered, and started pickin’ ’em up and puttin’ ’em down. Charlie Jimmy got so excited he jumped in the bayou and came up nose to snout with a ’gator; it was a toss-up as to who scared whom the most. Charlie Jimmy went one way and the ’gator went another.

  G.B., his big belly jumping with every step, allowed as to how this was plumb embarrassin’ for a man who’d ris so high up in the Klan. But he put all those thoughts out of his head as a Rebel started pulling slugs around G.B.’s feet. G.B. decided he’d better get the lead out of his ass before he got some lead in his ass. “Gawddamnit, Hiram!” he squalled. “Wait up for me!”

  The crew of marshmallow brains rounded a curve in the old road and disappeared from sight, leaving a bunch of Rebels laughing so hard they could hardly see.

  “That’ll give them something to think about,” the Rebel in charge of the unit said. “Let’s blow this thing and move on to the next one.”

  “Halp!” Charlie Jimmy hollered. He was in about a foot of water and was splashing like a beached whale. “Halp! I’s a-gonna git drowned!”

  “Stand up and walk out of there, you silly fucker!” a Rebel yelled.

  Charlie Jimmy stood up and with as much dignity as he could muster began the trek up the bank. He had lost his britches and was buck-assed naked from the waist down.

  Charlie Jimmy did his best to ignore the wolf-whistles coming from the women Rebels on the other side of the bayou.

  THREE

  “Ah’m a-gonna kill that goddamned Ben Raines!” Hiram said. He was sitting on his front porch of the house that housed wife #2. He couldn’t find his left shoe, having ran out of it about two miles back up the road. “That there was my bestest pickup.”

  “Well, now, Hiram!” #2 asked, her hands on her hips. “Jist how am I ’pposed to visit my sister acrost the bayou if Ben Raines has done blowed up all the bridges?”

  “I don’t know. . . .” Hiram couldn’t remember her name. Lucy something-or-the-other, he thought. “And I don’t much care. I never laked her nohow.”

  #2 glared at him. “Wal, you jist a-better come up with sumthang, Mr. Big-Shot. And I mean do hit quick!”

  “A
wrat, awrat!”

  She stormed back into the house.

  “Gawddamn agitatin’ wimmin!” Hiram muttered.

  One of his own kids started squallin’ at the other end of the porch. Hiram picked up a chunk of wood and threw it at the boy, knocking him off the porch.

  “Shut up, gawddamnit!”

  Hiram had never heard of Dr. Spock. The only Spock he’d ever heard of was that one with the funny ears that used to be on the TV.

  Hiram looked to see who he’d hit. Bubba Willie. Well, couldn’t make him no goofier than he already was, he reckoned.

  “I hate you, Ben Raines!”

  “Why are you tearing down those buildings?” Holly asked, pointing to where a bulldozer was working.

  “We don’t have slums in Rebel communities, Holly. Not only are they eyesores, they’re dangerous. So we tear them down and start over.”

  “And over there? What is that, slave labor?”

  He laughed at her. “Those are people who want all that we can give them, but refuse to pitch in and work alongside us.”

  “So your troops come in with guns and force them to work.” Not a question.

  “No. They’re given a choice. Work or get out. Obviously, those chose to work.”

  “With a little gentle persuasion,” she said sarcastically.

  “There are no free rides, Holly. The free rides ended when the bombs came. Look closely, Holly. Just stop the Jeep. Thank you. You see any handicapped or elderly people out there working? Huh? Do you?”

  She did not.

  “Those are all able-bodied men and women. You should know, Holly . . . you helped with their physical exams.”

  “But many of those women have children!”

  “The kids are being cared for at a day center. They aren’t home fending for themselves, Holly. Give us more credit than that.”

  “Ben Raines, I don’t know if you are the total personification of evil or whether you are what this country needed thirty years ago.”

  “Thank you. Drive on, please.”

  She muttered under her breath, but put the Jeep in gear and drove on.

  “What’s that building over there?” she asked, pointing.