Danger in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  Ike acknowledged her transmission and told her to stand by. He turned to Dr. Ling. “Doc, could a radiation belt have prevented, blocked, radio transmissions into and out of this area?”

  The doctor hesitated. “Possibly,” he finally answered. “But the more I think on the matter, the more I believe there has been a massive hoax perpetrated on these people. It could well be that they’ve been led to believe that anything out of this area is hot, and we’ve been led to believe that anything inside this area was off limits. That’s only a theory, general.”

  Ike scratched his head, a puzzled look on his face. “But why? Why would anybody do something like that?”

  Dr. Ling shrugged his shoulders. “I have no idea. As I said, it’s only a theory. Perhaps that would account for President Logan’s relocation efforts some years back?”

  “Yeah. Maybe. Thanks, doc.” Ike walked to the communications van. “You able to get through to Base Camp One yet?”

  “Yes, sir. Just spoke with them again. It’s firm. General Jefferys is leading Rebels into Michigan. Colonel Gray and Colonel West. General Striganov is sending three battalions in from Canada to beef us up.”

  “Ben not going in?”

  “No, sir. And he’s not too happy about that, either.”

  Ike grinned. “I just bet he isn’t. Thanks. Keep everything on scramble; pass the word. We don’t want that Libyan fart-in-the-wind to learn how spread out we are.”

  The radio operator laughed. “Yes, sir,” she acknowledged.

  “Radio Tina to push on. Maintain no more than fifty miles distance between us.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ben had stood on the tarmac of the regional airport and watched as the planes took off, circled, then headed north. Holly stood with him. Off to one side, some distance away, stood Patrice, her eyes on the lights of the planes, watching until the planes were gone and the lights faded.

  “Go get her,” Ben asked Holly. “Let’s have breakfast together.”

  “She’s got quite a case on Cecil, hasn’t she, Ben?”

  “I think they share the feeling. Come on. I’m hungry.”

  The Rebel community, while numbering in the thousands, was, nevertheless, a close-knit community, and the mess halls were quiet that morning, with not much conversation. All knew that of the Rebels who had left, some would not be returning. But all knew that to face death was a part of being a member of Raines Rebels. They were dedicated to restoring order to a torn and lawless land, and that would never come easy.

  Ben and the ladies sat at a table with Buddy and Dr. Chase. The doctor looked glum.

  “What’s the matter, you old goat?” Ben asked him. “Your lip is dragging the ground. You didn’t actually think I would send you up to Michigan, did you?”

  “I could have flown in, and not jumped, Raines.” His reply was testy.

  “They’ll be traveling fast, Lamar. Besides, like me, you’re needed here until we get this area smoothed out. I’ll make you a promise, though.”

  “Oh?”

  “If New York is still standing, you and me, we’ll be the first ones to go in.”

  “I’ll damn sure hold you to that, Raines.”

  “It’s a promise, Lamar.”

  “And me, Father?” Buddy asked.

  “You’ll be right in there with us, Buddy. It’s going to take all of us. He cut his eyes to Patrice. “You want to come along, captain?”

  She forced a smile. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. All my life I’ve heard about New York City.”

  “I can’t even envision it.” Buddy spoke after swallowing a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “I’ve seen pictures, but I don’t think that a picture does it justice.”

  “What do you remember about it, general?” Patrice asked.

  “Almost getting run over by those goddamn bicycle messengers on Park Ave.”

  Ben then realized that Buddy and Patrice had no idea what a bicycle messenger meant. He opened his mouth to tell them but was interrupted by a runner from communications.

  “The platoon at Memphis, sir? They fought the Night People all night, but now report one runway of the airport is clear for take-off and landing. The Pathfinders have cleared the airport in Michigan and are moving now to set up the DZ.”

  “Thank you. Please keep me informed.”

  “How’s your feet, Ben?” Lamar asked.

  “Fine. The leg is a little sore, that’s all. Has anybody heard how Emil Hite and his intrepid little band fared during the night?”

  No one had.

  Ben smiled. He wondered what Hiram was going to do next.

  “Ah ain’t livin’ lak ’is,” Hiram suddenly announced, startling those who had chosen to follow him. “We got to start thankin’ ’bout them ’at’s gonna foller us.”

  “Whut you mean?” G.B. asked, wincing as he shifted positions and felt a sharp pain in his wounded cheek.

  “We had our way around these parts for years. ’At’s what I mean. Didn’t obey no law ’ceptin’ our own. Ben Raines has got to go. We’uns got to see to that.”

  “You mean . . . kill him?” Jimmy John asked.

  “At’s ’xactly whut ah mean. Jist lak we done them damned nigger-lovin’ civil rats workers back when we was all young bucks. ’Member how we ambushed that old boy back in the sixties? Drug ’im out of his car and tarred and feathered ’im. ’At was rat good fun.”

  “How it was we done ’at?” G.B. asked. “I disremember ’xactly.”

  “’Cause he were drivin’ through this area and we done tole him not to do hit no more.” Hiram smiled in remembrance. “This here is our country! And don’t nobody have no rat to tell us hit ain’t.”

  “You got a plan, Hiram?” Carl asked.

  “Damned rat I does. We gonna tale Ben Raines — ’er some of them Rebels of hisn ’at we want to talk ’bout joinin’ up. Once we git him in here, then we can kill him.”

  “Ah lak hit!” G.B. said.

  “Naturally,” Hiram replied. “I thunk hit up, didn’t I?”

  Ben was working at his desk when his phone rang. Communications, advising him that Hiram had sent word he wished to speak with Ben, at the bayou bank. Wanted to talk about joining the Rebels.

  Ben laughed. “Sure he does,” he told the woman. “What he wants to do is pull me down into his territory and then kill me. Hiram is a die-hard redneck, lieutenant. So full of hate it’s finally consumed him. All right. Advise Captain Gorzalka. I’ll be down to see Hiram in about an hour.”

  Ben rang the hospital, to see if Holly wanted to ride down with him. Then he changed his mind; might get dangerous. He sent a runner after Buddy and waited until the young man entered his office.

  “Where’s your weapon, son?”

  “In my Jeep.”

  “Get it. And meet me at my Jeep. We’re going to finish a twenty-year-old game.”

  Heading out, Buddy asked, “What game, Father?”

  “One might call it many things, son. Good against evil. But to Hiram’s way of thinking, I’m the evil one. One hardhead against another hardhead. Each one thinking he is in the right.”

  “And who is in the right, Father?”

  “Intellectually, I am. Morally, half and half. Socially, the way we — the Rebels — envision our society, oh, give me sixty points and Hiram forty. Add that up, son.”

  “Giving how many points per issue?”

  “One hundred.”

  “Two-ten to ninety.”

  “That’s the way I figure it.”

  “But how much is a man worth, Father?”

  “At last count, about four dollars.”

  “Are you serious!”

  “Yep. The average man has that many minerals in his body.”

  “Ah!”

  “But that isn’t what you meant, is it, son?”

  “No, sir.”

  “The worth of a person, son, depends, to my way of thinking, how much that person contributes to society, and how much they take away from it.” />
  Buddy thought about that for a moment. “That sounds logical, Father. But doesn’t Hiram have as much right to judge you as you do to judge him?”

  Ben smiled. He hadn’t sired a dummy. “That’s the way it would be in a democracy, son — on paper, that is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It never worked out that way. Justice was supposed to be blind; but in a lot of cases, she wasn’t.”

  “So I have heard my mother mention, time after time,” the young man said drily.

  And Ben knew what he was talking about.

  “Did your mother think to tell you that I contacted the attorney representing her and told her I would share in the expenses of the child if she would just prove that the baby really was mine?”

  “No. Least I don’t think she ever mentioned that to me.” He waved a hand. “That’s over and buried, Father. We found each other, finally, and we are together. That is all that really matters, is it not?”

  “Yes. What do you think of Holly?”

  “A very nice lady and a more than capable physician, I believe.”

  “That’s a nice, safe reply.”

  “If you’re waiting for me to start calling her Mother, you are going to have one hell of a long wait — sir!”

  Ben laughed and reached over, jerking Buddy’s bandana over his eyes.

  Buddy grinned and folded his arms across his massive chest. “Fine. I’ll just nap. Wake me when we reach this odious individual’s position.”

  “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

  TEN

  “Hiram,” Ben called across the brackish bayou, “you must think I’m a damned fool!”

  “Don’t neither, Raines. Jist wanna talk is all. Why don’t you come on acrost? Is you scared of me, Raines?”

  “No, Hiram. I’m not afraid of you. Where are your asshole buddies? You have them positioned around the bank to get a shot at me?”

  That shook L.T., lying in the deep grass with a rifle. How the hell did the man know that? Hiram’s plan had seemed so good at first. Now L.T. was just plain scared.

  The Rebels under Captain Gorzalka’s command shifted nervously behind their guns; not a one of them liked this worth a damn. The general was too open, too vulnerable.

  And the enemy could not be seen; but all knew Hiram’s followers were hidden in the thick underbrush of the bayou bank.

  “He has his rifle cocked back,” Buddy whispered to his father.

  “You got sharp eyes, boy.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Never did trust none of us folks from around here, did you, Raines?” Hiram asked.

  “Never did, Hiram. And don’t now.”

  “You thank you so goddamned high and mighty, don’t you, Raines?”

  “No, Hiram. I simply believe there are social and moral codes one must follow along with the legal written laws.”

  “You goddamn son of a bitch. You took my power away from me. You took my younguns.”

  Ben noted that he mentioned power before his kids.

  Hiram jerked up his rifle just as Buddy jumped, knocking Ben to the ground. Another rifle barked, then others joined in. Ben heard the bullets hit Buddy’s body; felt his son’s blood leak onto his flesh. He rolled over, protecting his son with his own body just as the Rebels opened up with every gun at their disposal.

  Crawling, Ben pulled Buddy behind a tree and tore open his shirt.

  It was bad. One slug had hit him in the chest, another had taken him in the shoulder, and yet another one had torn a chunk out of his head.

  “Captain! Get Buddy out of here and into the hospital. Medic! Get over here and do a patch job. Let’s go!”

  Hiram and his crew had slipped away, heading for deep cover.

  Ben paced the hospital corridor. It was growing dark when Chase finally came out of the OR and walked up to Ben. “I don’t know, Ben. It’s too early to tell. If he makes it twenty-four hours, he’ll pull through. And no, you can’t see him. He’s in recovery and he is unconscious. All we can do is wait and pray.”

  Ben nodded. He looked at Holly, who had just come out of the OR. “Change the dressing on my leg, Holly. Paint it good and make it as waterproof and dirt-proof as you can.”

  “All right. I gather you won’t be home for dinner.”

  “You got that right.”

  Ben stood on the Rebel side of the bayou as Emil Hite and his followers were boated across. Emil had heard about Buddy, and he knew not to say anything to Ben. He and his followers quietly melted away into the darkness.

  “Captain Gorzalka, start ferrying my equipment across and caching them in the spots I told you,” Ben ordered.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ben turned to his XO, Joe Williams. “You’re in charge, Joe. Cecil and Ike have already been notified.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I should have just killed him when we pulled in here,” Ben spoke quietly. “I knew it then. I know it much more deeply now.”

  No one said anything; they knew Ben was not expecting any reply.

  Holly had arrived in a Jeep, driven by Patrice, and the two women walked to Ben’s side. “You could just send in troops and flush them out, Ben,” Holly said.

  “Yes. I could do that.” He turned to Gorzalka. “Captain, ring the area once I’m in. None of Hiram’s people come out. If they manage to kill me . . . there are orders in a sealed envelope on my desk. If they kill me, secure this area by any means possible. But don’t burn it. That would harm the wildlife. . . .”

  Holly looked at him in total amazement.

  “. . . Is my equipment across?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ben glanced at Holly. “Take care of my son, Holly.”

  “All right, Ben.”

  He kissed her quickly and walked down the bank, stepping into a waiting boat.

  The darkness soon swallowed him.

  On the far side, Ben stepped out of the boat and slipped up the bank. He looked back at the Rebels in the boat. “Go back to the other side and resume your duties.”

  “Yes, sir,” one said reluctantly, and the boat pushed off.

  Ben straightened up and stepped away from the bayou treeline. At the edge of a clearing, he looked up, getting his bearings. The night was filled with stars, perfectly cloudless. Ben located Orion. Keeping his eyes straight, he lifted them and found Little Bear; the last star in the configuration would be the Pole Star, with Plough to his left and Cassiopeia to his right.

  Now he knew the points. Ben had a compass with him; but this was just as easy.

  He walked on, stopping every so often to cut a short pole. When he had his arms full, he walked on, whistling as he went, sometimes singing songs from the nineteen-sixties and -seventies. He found a place to make his camp and then went to work securing it.

  On the north side of his camp, Ben rigged a dead fall snare, using a log and a piece of rope and a small stick. He laid the loop on the ground and covered it with leaves.

  On the south side of his camp, Ben rigged a staked dead fall, using a smaller log and lashing three sharpened stakes to the log, fastening the trip wire to a sturdy bush.

  On the east side, Ben found a natural depression in the earth. He quickly deepened it with a small entrenching tool and rigged a spear pit, covering the pit first with small limbs, then leaves and dirt.

  On the west side of camp, Ben rigged a grenade trap by first removing the pin and securing the spoon with wire, just enough tension to hold the spoon in place. He rigged it waist high between two trees. Then he cleared an area and built a fire. Then Ben slipped back a couple of hundred yards and crawled up under some thick brush.

  He waited, eating cold rations and sipping from one of his two canteens. There was a grim smile on his face.

  He did not underestimate Hiram’s ability in the woods, nor any of the others’; they were all good hunters and trappers. But that expertise could also work against a person, making them too sure.

  Ben lay to the
north of the small fire, just able to see it from his position. He did not think it would take long for the trash to appear, and he was right.

  The slight sound of a twig snapping under weight reached Ben’s ears. It was only a very small sound, carrying no more than fifty feet. But animals don’t step on twigs unless they are running in fear. This was an animal, but not the four-legged kind. Only cutting his eyes, not moving his head, Ben picked out the dark shape of a man approaching the fire from the north.

  A few more feet, and whoever it was approaching the fire would be in for a very painful surprise. The man’s foot dragged into the loop; Ben heard the brace slide out from under the supports. Then a scream ripped the night as the log came down on the man’s lower back, driving him to the ground, breaking bones and crushing flesh.

  “Jackson!” A hoarse whisper came out of the darkness. “Whut happened, Jackson?”

  “Cain’t move my legs!” the man under the log croaked. “Cain’t feel nothin’ from the waist down.” He started crying under his pinned position.

  “Jimmy Luther!” Hiram called. “You see anything around that there far?”

  “No, sir. I’ll take a look.”

  “Do ’at. But take Raines alive. I want to hear him holler when we cut off his pecker.”

  Ben smiled grimly. He had pinpointed Hiram’s position; could have easily sprayed the area and probably taken the man out. But that would be too easy.

  It was to be Jimmy Luther’s last look at anything. His knees hit the black trip-wire and the spoon popped free.

  “Whut’s the hale’s ’at!” Jimmy Luther hollered.

  The full force of the grenade, a Mini-More, actually a pocket Claymore, hit Jimmy Luther waist-high and spread parts of him all over the area.

  “Jimmy Luther!” Hiram squalled. “Jimmy Luther! Boy, you answer me now, you hear?”

  But the only person Jimmy Luther would ever answer to would be God, on Judgment Day.

  “Ah’ll fetch ’im!” another voice called.

  “There ain’t nuttin’ to fetch, boy!” another man called. “’At ’ere was a gree-nade, Charlie.”

  “Go see ’bout your brother, boy,” Hiram shouted.