Trapped in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  And, Ben thought with a smile, the wolves had returned over the years, the elusive and magnificent animals once more roaming the timber, doing their part in maintaining the balance within the animal world.

  No Rebel shot a wolf. Those orders came from Ben Raines. Only if a person found himself or herself in a life-threatening situation with a wolf was deadly force to be used. And since that never happened, and would never happen if one possessed even the most basic knowledge of and respect for wolves—which all Rebels did, thanks to Ben—the wolf was back, running wild and free, safe from ignorant rednecks and other assorted fools with guns.

  Ben knew, from extensive research on the subject, that in the United States, over a hundred-year period, there had never been a documented account of a human ever being attacked by a healthy, full-grown wolf—without the human provoking the attack. Ben had always believed that if Little Red Riding Hood was eaten by a wolf, she probably started the incident by poking the wolf in the eye with a stick.

  There had been many changes in the treatment of wildlife since Ben started ramrodding the show. Animals were still hunted for food, but only if absolutely necessary, and never for sport. Kids were taught in school—from the earliest grades—to respect wildlife. Theirs was a natural place in the scheme of things. Given enough land to roam and hunt, animals would take care of animals without human interference.

  And as long as Ben was alive, humans would not interfere.

  The Rebels spent the night in the deserted town of Croton-on-Hudson. Tina and her team had made a fast but thorough inspection of the town.

  “It doesn’t appear that human life has existed in this place for years, Dad,” she told him. “It’s just like every town we’ve inspected on this run—nothing. No dogs, no cats, nothing.”

  “They’ve gone back to the wild, Tina. They’re seeing us, but we’re not seeing them. And only the toughest of dog breeds have survived. The working breeds probably made it by feeding on the smaller, pampered breeds. It isn’t cruel, it’s just the way it is. Animals don’t kill for sport, girl. Only man kills for sport. How about the bridge up ahead?”

  “It’s okay, structurally. But it’s going to be tough to cross unless we can find some snow blades to hook onto our trucks and plow a lane open.”

  “We’ll get on that in the morning; find a state highway department building and start rigging the trucks. You find us a place for the night?”

  “Several of them. School, gym, motels—the whole town is ours.”

  Ben squatted in the snow and watched as several trucks, now equipped with snow blades, carved a lane down the center of the bridge. Slowly the convoy made their way across the Hudson River and once more began their trek. By nightfall, they had only traveled twenty-five miles. The roads were several feet deep in snow. Tina’s team had been forced to rejoin the main column and let the snowplows forge ahead, plowing a path for the vehicles. In many cases, had it not been for the old, for the most part wireless power poles, they would not have been able even to find the road as it twisted and turned through the deep snow.

  The column had to travel many miles before they could turn back south, since sections of the New York State Thruway had been destroyed. When they did finally cut south, using state and county roads, the traveling was even slower.

  “At this pace,” Dan said, “we just might lose our quarry. They might get tired of waiting and start to wonder if perhaps we all were on those ships.”

  “Possibly,” Ben acknowledged. “If so, we’ll meet them another day. But I think they’re still just about where we left them. South of the city, probably.”

  The men turned as the last of the vehicles began pulling into camp for that night. Thermopolis and his people had been forced to find big tractor-trailer rigs with flatbeds and chain down and transport their VWs that way; the snow was just too deep for the Bugs and many of the vans. The hippies were not about to give up their VWs. That would be as unthinkable as cutting their hair or shaving.

  “Enjoying the sightseeing?” Ben asked, as Thermopolis and some of his group walked up.

  “Actually, yes. The scenery is breathtaking. And the air is so clean. Ben Raines, what do you people do with your garbage?”

  “We bury it so the earth can once more claim it.”

  “Goddamn walking contradiction, “Thermopolis muttered as he went his way. “Shoots every human being in sight and worries about the environment. Blows up entire cities and protects the wolves. Jesus Christ!”

  “How’s Emil?” Ben called.

  Thermopolis turned around, a bleak look on his face. “In mourning. He says if he could find some sackcloth he’d wear it. He’s already sprinkled ashes on his head. I don’t think he realizes that sackcloth was originally made of goats’ hair. Come to think of it, I might mention that to him.”

  “Please don’t. He’ll go out hunting goats and get lost.”

  “Yes. There is that to consider. Both pro and con.” He turned to leave.

  “Look after him, Therm. Remember, his heart has been broken.”

  “Thank you so very much, Ben Raines. Your faith in me is very nearly overwhelming.”

  Dan lifted a map. “We should reach Highway Seventeen sometime tomorrow. That will take us to the New York Thruway, then on into New Jersey. Each day the sun shines, the going becomes a bit easier. I would predict three days to confrontation.”

  “On the morning of the third day, I’ll order spotter planes up to make one pass over the city. Two people to a plane. They should be able to pinpoint the bogie camp. But when they do, we’re going to have to drive as fast as possible and hit them hard.”

  “With General Striganov and his people gone, we’re too short to try to box them in.”

  “I know. We’re going to have to hit them so hard and so fast, we put them into a rout. Voleta’s forces are made up mostly of thugs and punks and remnants of various motorcycle gangs. Their bikes are absolutely useless in this weather, and besides, they don’t know jack shit about tactics anyways. Monte probably has the larger force, but they are going to be cold and miserable and surly and have never had to rely on anything except brute force to get their way. Ashley and his men will be the ones we’ll have to destroy and do it totally—if we can. Of course, none of us have any idea, really, how many people we’ll be going up against until the spotters give us some kind of a report; even then it’s going to be pure guesswork.”

  “Let’s get us a bite to eat,” Dan suggested. “Chase has promised faithfully that this evening’s meal will be something to remember.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  The convoy pulled out the next morning, just at dawn. And it promised to be another bright and sunny day, the sunshine continuing to melt the snow and turn the roads slushy, especially for the vehicles rolling along at the rear of the long column.

  At noon they reached Highway 17 and turned southeast, angling toward the New York State Thruway. Ben sent a team in to check out Middletown. When they reported back it was the same as always on this trip: nothing. Absolutely no signs of life.

  “The Night People ranged out far, didn’t they?” Ben said, sticking his arm out the window and motioning the column to move on.

  “We’ll fight them again, won’t we, General?” Jersey asked.

  “I’m sure. But after the lesson we handed them in New York City, you can bet the Judges will contact their kind around the country and warn them to fight shy of us. I’m thinking they’ll also try to adopt a more normal type of outward lifestyle.”

  “You mean dress like us or other civilians?” Beth asked.

  “Yes. And perhaps even bathe occasionally. But that might be asking too much.”

  “If I never smell one of those creeps again, it’ll be too soon,” Chuck said. “I don’t think I ever smelled anything like that in my life.”

  “Killed the taste of the field rations,” Cooper offered.

  All agreed that was about the only good thing to be said for the cre
epies.

  They spent the night at a small town not far from the West Point Military Reservation.

  “No desire to go inspect the place, Ben?” Cecil asked, over dinner.

  “None whatsoever. I always figured all that crap the cadets had to go through to be a lot of bullshit. And it must have been,” he said with a small smile. “I’m running the biggest army known to exist anywhere in the world, and they’re all dead.”

  The sun continued to shine, and the column was moving much faster; they would be well inside New Jersey before noon.

  Ben ordered the convoy halted and two spotter planes up.

  “They were practically sitting in our laps, General,” a spotter reported. “They’re all strung out between Twin Rivers and what appears to be . . . ah, Kingston, I guess it is. If I had to take a guess, I’d say about fifteen hundred to two thousand of them. They must have been joined by some other outlaws.”

  “Probably. Did they appear to be nervous at seeing you?”

  “Ten-fifty, General. Some of them waved at us.”

  “All right. Thanks. Return to base and pack it up. Get out of there. There are little airports south of your position. Try the Camden-Burlington airport. That’s just off the New Jersey Turnpike. Check it out and give me a bump one way or the other. Eagle out.”

  Ben looked at Dan and Cecil and West. “Ashley’s got something up his sleeve. Dan, get your Scouts out. Let’s find out what the hell is going on.”

  FOURTEEN

  Ben had skirted the area around New York City, and the column had wound their way through the countryside. Ben halted the convoy in Somerset County and told his people to eat and rest. It might be the last chance to do so for several days.

  Late that night, the Scouts reported back. “They seem to be strung out in a line running southeast from Kingston over to Twin Rivers. They’re in private homes all up and down the line.”

  “You saw them in the homes?” Ben questioned.

  “We observed a few of them through long lenses, yes, sir.”

  “And that is all that’s there, too,” Ben said, leaning back and sipping at his coffee. “All they were waiting for is the spotters to note their positions and then the bulk of them took off, leaving fires burning and a few behind to throw us off.”

  “Where’d they go?” Tina asked.

  “That, my dear, is a damn good question.” He glanced at the Scout. “You saw people moving around in those houses?”

  “Ah . . . no, sir. Not moving around. Sitting in chairs . . .” The Scout trailed it off, frowning. “I think, sir, that we’ve been had.”

  “Right. I think so, too. Heads up, people. Full alert. Everybody spread their people up and down the line from . . .” Ben studied the map. He had no idea where the enemy was and no clue as to where they might strike. “Shit!” he spat out the word. “Spread out all over the town and I want a total blackout. No smoking, no fires, no light whatsoever. Get everybody in full arctic gear for warmth. Move!”

  The town of Sommerville went black as the orders spread. One minute there were lights all over the place from portable generators and cook fires; the next minute it was as if someone had flipped a giant switch.

  Ashley was smiling with thoughts of total victory dancing in his head, when all of a sudden the sugarplum pudding turned rancid.

  “Hey!” Monte yelled. “The damn place done went dark on us!”

  “There is nothing wrong with my vision,” Ashley told him. “That bastard figured it out. That has got to be the luckiest man on the face of the earth.”

  “Let’s charge!” Monte yelled. “Hell, we got ’em outnumbered!”

  “Let’s don’t.” Ashley nixed that. “I prefer to go on living for quite a few more years. Be quiet, let me think.”

  “How many lights is that?” Ben asked Chuck, who was monitoring through a headset as Rebels with night lenses began reporting flashes of lights from matches, probably from lighting cigarettes.

  “Eight, sir. Fifteen hundred meters out in a rough line running east and west.”

  “Uh-huh. Ashley swung his people around as we moved up into town.” Ben lifted his own mike. “Gunners, you have the coordinates?”

  “Ten-four, sir.”

  “Commence firing.”

  The quiet starry night was shattered as every piece of artillery Ben had at his disposal began booming out its lethal loads.

  “Willie Peter,” Ben ordered. “Let’s start some fires. It’s a cold night.”

  Grinning at Ben’s deadly humor, Chuck relayed the orders.

  Showers of white phosphorus began lashing the night, the burning shards setting homes and buildings burning. The flames, burning unchecked, soon began ravishing the area, leaping from building to building and putting the enemy’s troops into a rout, running wildly in all directions in an effort to escape the flames.

  “Cease firing,” Ben ordered. “And stand down to a low alert. I don’t think they’ll be back this night.”

  At dawn, Ben ordered the spotter planes up while the Rebels began a body count. While not many of the thugs had been killed during the short shelling, it had obviously knocked a large hole in their morale, for the eyes in the skies could not locate any sign of the outlaws.

  “Both good and bad,” Ben said. “They’ve gone, but where?”

  “Spotters report the roads are almost entirely free of snow,” Ben was told. “So they can’t track the retreat that way.”

  “Dan, get your Scouts out. The rest of us will be moving down the New Jersey Turnpike. We’ll cross the river between Trenton and Philly and set up camp on the outskirts of Philly. Might as well see what the city holds.”

  “More Night People, General?” Chuck asked.

  “Probably.”

  “If we find them there, are we going to destroy the city?”

  “We don’t have enough explosives left, Chuck. We’re running low on everything except bullets and grenades. If we come face-to-face with any major battles, it’s going to be damn near hand-to-hand from here on in. Let’s pack it up, gang.”

  Dan sent his Scouts out, ranging all the way down to Philadelphia. They reported back that they could find no sign of Monte or Ashley or Sister Voleta’s people, but that Philadelphia contained some life. What type of life, unclear.

  “Do not enter the city,” Ben ordered. “Hold what you’ve got. Make no moves until we get there.”

  It was not that long a run down to Philly, and with the roads nearly clear, the convoy made good time, arriving at the outskirts a couple of hours before dark.

  Ben approached his daughter. And Jerre. He ignored Jerre. “What’s it look like in there, Tina?”

  “I didn’t go in. She went in with Ham and a team.” Tina jerked a thumb toward Jerre.

  Ben turned to face her. “So what did you find?”

  “A lot of people without much organization. It looks like a huge hobo camp. I felt sorry for them.”

  “You would. How far in did you penetrate and using what route?”

  “We went as far as Pennypack Park, using highway one. It ran right past the North Philadelphia Airport. The airport appears to be intact, but littered.”

  “Tina, at first light, take a team in and clear a runway for our planes. We’ve got to be resupplied from Base Camp One.” He cut his eyes to Jerre. “That was a good report. Thank you.”

  “You are certainly welcome, sir,” Jerre said, her words very crisp.

  The snow had melted on the roads, but Ben didn’t have to look far to find plenty of ice.

  “We’ll set up for the night in this area. We’ll enter Philly in the morning.” He wheeled around and exited that spot before he came down with a bad case of frostbite.

  “I thought for a time we were in for a warming trend,” Dan spoke to Colonel West. “It appears I was badly mistaken.”

  “I think I have bits of ice on my nose,” West agreed.

  The men cut their eyes to Tina and Jerre, both of whom were glaring at them, not ap
preciating their stabs at humor one little bit.

  “Shall we take our leave, Colonel West?” Dan suggested.

  “By all means, Colonel Gray.” He looked at Tina. “Shall we have our evening meal together as usual?”

  “I’ll be busy,” she frosted him. “Thank you.”

  “I’m available,” Dan told the mercenary. “Just don’t try to kiss me.”

  After dinner, Ben went over the list of remaining supplies and shook his head. “We’ll make the airport our CP,” he told his team. “As soon as a runway is clear, our birds from down south can start resupplying us. We’ll enter the city in the morning. But I got a hunch that, from what Jerre said, all we’re going to find is a bunch of goddamn losers waiting for someone else to do for them.”

  “And we do what with them?” Chuck asked.

  “We help the elderly and the young—probably ship them back to a base camp. The rest can go to hell.”

  “We see this a lot,” Jersey explained to Chuck. “We’ll find a group of people really putting things back together again. Schools, collective gardens, farms, the whole nine yards. But we see more of people just doing nothing. The way we feel is this: If these people won’t do any thing here, for instance, they’re not going to do anything after we leave . . . no matter what we do to help them.”

  “We’ve tried it the other way, Chuck,” Ben told the young man. “It just doesn’t work. These people you’ll see tomorrow—most of them—were a pretty sorry bunch before the Great War. Whiners and complainers. Always looking for the easy way. No matter what an employer paid them, it was never enough to their way of thinking. These are the people who eagerly supported any wealth redistribution programs dreamed up by politicians. These people are narrow-minded, lazy, ignorant, and for the most part, good for nothing. You’ll see. I promise you.”