Hatred in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  “You live near Los Angeles?”

  “Oh, no. I’m located in Northern California. But I’ve been down to Los Angeles several times on business. It’s certainly something to see. When did the state to state border passes stop in this part of America?”

  “Only a few weeks ago,” David said. “All the guards were shifted down south, if you know what I mean.”

  Ben nodded his head. He knew. They had all been shifted down to the border with the SUSA . . . all two thousand or so miles of it. “The way it looks and sounds to me, there might be a war shaping up between the two nations.”

  David sighed. “That wouldn’t surprise me at all. But General Raines has said he’ll use chemical warfare against the USA. I just don’t believe he means it.” David cut his eyes to see if anyone were listening. No one was. “Ben, we’re all Americans. Borders can’t change that. What can those of us outside the . . . well, that other nation . . . do to change things? To live peacefully side by side?”

  Ben knew, of course, but he was hesitant to say the words aloud.

  “I know, I know,” David said. “At least I think I know what you’re going to say. But we’re unarmed, Ben. And I mean totally unarmed. We can’t fight . . . what do we fight with? Getting caught with a gun in your possession means hard jail time. God, all this . . . mess we’re in just quietly slipped up on us.”

  Ben had to smile at that. “Did it, David? Did it really just slip up on us?”

  David stared at Ben for a moment. Then he exhaled in frustration. “OK, Ben,” he whispered. “So it didn’t. All right, we let it. But that doesn’t answer my question. What can we do about it now?”

  “I can’t answer that, David. That’s something you’ll have to decide for yourself.”

  “I guess I knew that all along.” His eyes twinkled for a few seconds and he added, “Of course, even if you did know the answer, you’d be hesitant to discuss it with someone you’ve only known for an hour, right?”

  “Wouldn’t you be, David?”

  “Sure. Sure, I would. Well, where are you off to in the morning?”

  “North, David. I have business up north.”

  They lingered awhile longer over really lousy coffee and talked of small things. Nothing more was said about the government. After a few minutes, Ben said goodnight and excused himself, heading to the rear of the motel complex for a smoke. He was not surprised to find half a dozen other people there, puffing away. They fell silent at Ben’s approach. It was a very uncomfortable silence.

  After Ben had lit up and taken a couple of drags, one of the women in the group of sneaky smokers said, “Oh, to hell with it. If he’s a government informer then he’ll just have to go ahead and report me. If I want a cigarette, I’m by God going to smoke one. Fuck the government!”

  Ben chuckled and said, “If you folks are worried about me, you can relax. I’m not a government agent. I’m just passing through on my way up north.”

  “It’s not agents we’re worried about, mister,” one of the men said. “It’s local informers you have to watch out for.”

  “Yeah,” another man said. “Lousy left-wing bastards and bitches. They get special privileges for informing on people who break the rules.”

  “When the hell did the voters pass all these crummy assed rules and regulations?” a woman asked.

  “We didn’t,” another in the group said. “Osterman and Millard and those people decide what is good for the people. But the people don’t have anything to say about it.”

  “It’s communism,” another said.

  “It’s very close to it. But it started out as socialism,” Ben said. “Many years before the Great War and the collapse. But socialism is the first step toward communism. The people just couldn’t, or wouldn’t, believe it. Many tried to warn people what was happening, but they weren’t taken seriously. They were called anti-government and government haters.”

  “Yeah, I remember that,” a man said. “I wish to hell I’d joined one of those groups back then.”

  “I know what I’m going to do,” a woman said. “I’m moving to the SUSA.”

  “Lady,” a man said. “You’re taking a hell of a chance just speaking those words aloud.”

  “You sure are,” Ben said. “The damn government can arrest you for treason, or some other ridiculous charge.”

  “Not only can they arrest you,” a man said out of the darkness, “they do.”

  “Buddy of mine was hauled in for questioning,” another said. “The federal goons didn’t hurt him, but the questioning was long and very intense. Scared the crap out of my buddy.”

  “We’ve sure reached a sorry state of affairs in this country,” a woman said, toeing out her cigarette.

  “With no end in sight,” the man standing next to her added.

  “Well, there is a civil war shaping up,” someone said. “Maybe it will get all straightened out after that’s over.”

  “I like some of what the SUSA offers,” a woman said. “But the way I hear it they’ve got some pretty restrictive laws on the books down there.”

  “You’re getting your information from the government owned radio and TV,” a man countered. “Who the hell would believe what any of those people have to say?”

  “Who the hell would believe anything the press says?” another offered. “I remember during the last few years before the collapse, there were only a few reporters I’d pay any attention to. They’re all gone now.”

  “Most of them are working for the newspapers and TV stations down in the SUSA. I’ve seen and heard and read them when I was visiting down close to the border. There is a hell of a lot of difference between the news down there and what we get up here.”

  “Yes,” Ben said. “I’ve visited friends who live along the border with the SUSA. It’s straight, hard facts down there. And if it’s in print or on the air they’d better get it right the first time, and every time after that.”

  “I heard that if a politician distorts the truth or twists the words of his opponent, or just blatantly lies, the press is all over that person with both feet,” a woman said, lighting up another smoke.

  “You bet they are,” Ben replied. “I’ve personally heard them do it.”

  “Smokes out!” a man said in a stage whisper. “The cops are here.”

  Ben dropped his cigarette and toed it out, then stepped back against the side of the building just as two uniformed men came around the building, flashlights in their hands.

  The woman who had first vocalized her contempt for the government stood calmly, puffing on her cigarette. There was no back up in her.

  “You there!” one of the men in black uniforms said. “What’s the matter with you? Put out that cigarette. You’re in violation of the National Health Act.”

  “Screw you!” the woman said, and took another puff.

  “We got us a real mouthy one this time,” the other cop said. “Where did you get those cigarettes, lady? Give us a name, and we won’t write you up.”

  “Go to hell,” the woman said. “I’m not bothering a soul by smoking out here. Go catch a crook or something.”

  The other cop grabbed her and twisted her arm behind her, snapping on one cuff. Then he twisted the other arm and clamped the cuff on that wrist.

  “Get out of here!” the second cop told Ben and the others. “And keep your mouths shut about what you just saw. Move, goddamnit!”

  “Whatever you say, officer,” a man said.

  The crowd of smokers faded into the darkness and Ben walked slowly back to his room. It was hard for him to believe what he had just witnessed had actually happened.

  “Unbelievable,” he muttered.

  Then he realized that perhaps it wasn’t so difficult to believe, after all. The ultimate goal of the enviro-freaks, the ultra liberals, the feminazis, the hard left wingers, the anti-gun crowd, the give-me-something-for-nothing crowd, the government-knows-everything-Big-Brother crowd and their timid little don’t-hit-me-I’ll-sue-you
groupies, had always been to control the lives of everybody who didn’t agree with them.

  Ben stood in front of his room and watched the patrol car leave with the hollering, cussing, kicking woman in the backseat. He turned his head as another woman from the smoking group walked up.

  “What’ll happen to that woman?” Ben asked.

  “Oh, she’ll be fined and given a lecture by the judge. If her attitude hasn’t improved any, and she lips off to the judge, she might be sent to a reindoctrination camp.”

  “Are you putting me on, lady?”

  The woman laughed. “No. Not at all. Those camps just opened in this area last week. They’ve been a very successful government secret for several months now.” She stepped closer to Ben. “We need to talk, General Raines,” she whispered. “Right now. In your room.”

  Fifteen

  The woman appeared to be unarmed, and she made no threatening gestures. Ben stood in the darkness for a moment and stared at her, his memory banks working overtime. There was something about her that was familiar.

  “It’s important,” she whispered. “I’m not a federal agent. I’m here to help you, not turn you in.”

  “Years ago,” Ben whispered. “In Louisiana. You were with the FBI. You and a male agent came to see me about a book I’d written.”

  “That’s right, Ben. But I quit the Bureau months ago. Just before the name change.” Ben could see her shrug her shoulders. “It was either that or get fired. The new administration did some housecleaning.”

  Ben reached into his pocket for the room key. “Yes. I would certainly say they did. Swept a reasonably clean floor and then let in the rats to shit all over the place.”

  “That’s . . . an interesting way of phrasing current events, General. But in a manner of speaking, you’re right.”

  Ben opened his room door and waved the woman inside. He did not turn on the lights. He walked through the darkness and turned on the light in the bathroom. That left the larger room in dim shadows.

  “My name is Sandi,” the woman said, sitting down in a chair before Ben could ask her to do so. “With an i, not a y.”

  “I remember now. Sandi. Yes. You were all upset about a novel I’d written that was critical of the government.”

  “I was very young then, Ben. Full of very idealistic notions. Times change. People mature.”

  “Well, the times certainly have changed, for a fact.” Ben opened his suitcase and took out a bottle of whiskey. “Drink, Sandi?”

  “Sure. With water. Don’t drown it. Obviously you haven’t heard about the new regs concerning the use of alcohol.”

  “Don’t tell me the government is banning booze.”

  “To a degree, yes. But that isn’t why I’m here.”

  “Let’s hope not.”

  Ben turned to fix the drinks and Sandi said, “Have you lost your mind, Ben? If I can recognize you, don’t you think others can do the same?”

  “I’m sure. Are you telling me this was just a chance meeting?”

  “Yes. As difficult as that may be for you to believe, it’s the truth. I was having coffee in the dining room when you checked in.”

  “Just passing through this town, huh?”

  “No,” Sandi said. “I live here. I was born here. My father owned Parsons Hardware until the Great War. Ask anyone from around here. Would you like to see my brand new government ID?”

  “No. It could easily be as fake as mine. I’ll take your word.”

  “What state’s ID are you using?”

  “California.”

  “Good call. That state is so screwed up nothing can be checked out of there.”

  “So I was told. I’ve been out of the country for some months.”

  Sandi took the offered drink and thanked Ben. “How was Africa?”

  “Bloody. What do you want, Sandi?”

  “Nothing much. Just a chance to work with you, that’s all.”

  Ben sat down and gave her a long, hard look. “And I’m supposed to trust you? You show up out of the blue, so to speak, a woman who has spent her entire adult life working for a government I fought against, and I’m supposed to take you at face value, is that it?”

  “Do you have any choice?”

  “I could kill you right now and solve the problem. So, yes, I do.”

  She frowned. “I don’t think I like that choice, Ben.” She held out her purse. “I have a pistol in there. I could have killed you from the shadows, and probably been rewarded with getting my job back. I didn’t.”

  Ben nodded and took a sip of his whiskey and water. “That’s very true. Put your purse down. I don’t want to look in it. All right. You have family left in this town?”

  She shook her head. “No. My parents were killed by punks a few years ago. I don’t know where my brother and sister are. I don’t even know if they’re alive.”

  “You know, of course, why I’m here?”

  She shook her head. “I haven’t a clue. I was certainly surprised to see you. I thought surely I was mistaken. Why are you here?”

  “My adopted daughter, Anna.” Ben didn’t know whether to believe the woman or not, but he would reserve judgement for a while longer.

  “I heard you adopted a kid from eastern Europe. What about her?”

  “Osterman had her kidnapped. I’m told they’re going to try her for treason and execute her.”

  Sandi shook her head. “I doubt it. There would really be a public outcry about that. Probably just a move to pull you into doing something stupid.”

  “Perhaps,” Ben admitted. “But if I’m supposed to be so well known, why are you the only one who’s recognized me?”

  “The hair and the moustache threw me off for a few minutes, but the voice gave you away.” She slugged back some of her drink and set the glass on a coffee table. “OK what’s the plan?”

  “I don’t have one, other than to find Anna and get her free. Which I will do, one way or the other, bet on that.”

  “I might be able to help you with that . . . maybe,” she quickly added. “No promises.”

  Ben didn’t hesitate to reply. He knew he needed all the help he could get. “All right, Sandi, it’s a deal.” If she were setting him up for a hard fall . . . well, she would die before he did. Ben would make damn sure of that.

  “I can’t check in here for the night. That would look strange to the front office—they know I live not far from here. Besides, they’re probably informers.”

  “I’m already getting very weary of this informer crap. I think perhaps a war is just around the corner.”

  “Will you people start it?”

  “No. Not unless something happens to Anna. Then I’ll start my own private war. No . . . a war will start between our two nations only if the USA violates our freedom, our sovereignty.”

  “Well, I can assure you, Ben, that is going to happen. I know for a fact that Claire Osterman and Harlan Millard have vowed to reunite the states.”

  “Then there will be a war,” Ben said, in a flat, deadly tone. “It’s firm, then—those two run the USA?”

  “With an iron grip, General. One hundred percent.”

  “Better break that habit of calling me General. That could get us both killed.”

  “You’re right. Sorry.” She smiled. “But for years in the Bureau, you were referred to as General Raines.” She laughed, and it was a genuine laugh, not a bit forced. “Among other names, of course.”

  “I’m sure of that. OK, where and how do we meet in the morning?”

  “I’ll put a change of clothing in a large purse and meet you up on the corner by the gas station. You can buy me whatever else I need on the road.”

  “Oh? I can buy you?”

  “Sure. I’m unemployed, remember?”

  Ben grinned at her and lifted his drink glass in a mock salute. “Deal.”

  Sandi finished her drink and stood up. “I’ll see you in the morning, then. What time?”

  “Early. About five-thirty. On
the corner.”

  “And I’d better be alone, right?”

  “If you’re not, you’re dead. And that’s a promise.”

  “I believe you, Ben. See you at dawn.”

  Ben finished his drink and went to bed, a pistol within easy reach on the night stand. Sandi was lying. He was sure of that. But he would play along for a while. See where it led.

  “Do you know a place where we can get a decent breakfast?” Ben asked. They had been on the road for about an hour.

  “Not really,” Sandi said. “The government has outlawed eggs cooked sunny-side up, for health reasons. Of course, you know about bacon being banned.”

  “How about pork chops?”

  “Baked or broiled or grilled is OK. Not fried.”

  “Now, how in the hell is the government going to keep people from frying pork chops in their own kitchens?”

  “Obviously, they can’t, but they’re launching a massive ad campaign against fried foods. They’re teaching kids in grade school never to fry foods.”

  Ben cut his eyes to her and grimaced. “Wonderful,” he said sarcastically. “You mentioned something about liquor last night. The government is banning booze?”

  “In a way. There again, it’s being taught in grade school. And in a very subtle way, kids are being taught to inform on their parents.”

  “The left wingers really must be happy. The good ole’ U S of A is finally a one hundred percent socialistic society.”

  “Millions of Americans aren’t too thrilled about it.”

  “Then why in the hell don’t they do something about it? Why did they allow it to reach this point?”

  Sandi offered no immediate response to that. She glanced at Ben for a heartbeat, then sat quietly for a time and looked out the window as the landscape rolled by. Finally she said, “But millions of Americans are happy with it, Ben.”

  “Yeah, and that’s the big problem with a so-called democracy. Take a hundred people, and fifty-one can tell the remaining forty nine what to do. That split isn’t worth a damn!”

  “The percentage is different in the SUSA, isn’t it?”