Fury in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  “Oh, yeah? What?”

  “Stop the car.”

  The rusty and battered old car slid to a halt. Laredo twisted in the seat. “What are you gonna do, man?”

  “Find me a house, raise me a garden. Hunt some. And obey the laws that Ben Raines says to obey.”

  “You chicken-shit!” the driver sneered.

  “Maybe,” the man said, getting out and pulling his duffel out with him. “But I’ll be alive and sittin’ on the front porch with a woman and some kids long after your bones have been picked clean by the rats. See you boys.” He walked into the timber by the side of the road.

  “He’s yeller!” a man sneered.

  “Maybe,” Laredo said. “And maybe he’s smarter than all of us.”

  “Huh?”

  “We gonna die, Slick. The days of the outlaw in the lower forty-eight is over. You all heard them radio transmissions from the Rebels the other day. They told us we either lay down our guns now and surrender, or we die. They wasn’t kiddin,’ boys. Make your minds up now.”

  “It’s a big country, Laredo,” he was reminded.

  “It ain’t big enough for us and Ben Raines. Let’s go if we’re goin’. We got to find us a spot and dig in.”

  Ike and Cecil’s troops pushed down to Crescent City and found it deserted. The troops under the command of Striganov and West pushed down to Alturas and found the town in ruins; no signs of life. Ben and his contingent rolled into Yreka and stood down while Ben met with the leader of the survivors in that area.

  The town, once holding a population of six thousand, showed signs of many fierce battles, some of them quite recent. But it also had clean streets, neat homes, and many large, well-tended gardens. Neatness and cleanliness were almost always a sign of people who refused to knuckle under to any kind of disaster and who were not content to sit around and bitch and moan while waiting for somebody else to help pull them up.

  The leader of the group, a middle-aged man named Chuck, showed Ben the small but well-furnished clinic, the school, and all the other improvements, including electricity, sewage treatment, and water.

  “There were other survivors in this area, Chuck,” Ben said, consulting a clipboard. “George Williams from Chico. Another George from Red Bluff. Harris from Redding. Pete Ho from Ukiah. John Dunnning from Santa Rosa.”

  Chuck shook his head. “Most of them are dead, General. At least as far as I know, they are. Only Pete Ho and his bunch and me and mine held out, and Pete had to move his people over to near the state line. Near the Plumas National Forest. We talk to each other every week on the radio.”

  “That explains why we haven’t been able to make contact with anybody.” Ben lined out the names on the clipboard. “What happened to the movement out here?”

  “It just fell apart, General. I believe it was Harris who was the first to refuse to use the death penalty. The outlaws took him out first. Then one by one, the other groups were either destroyed or ran away. All except Pete’s and this one.”

  It didn’t surprise Ben. Only about half of the earlier outposts the Rebels had set up had survived. Their failure was due mostly to the breaking of the rules the Rebels had tried and tested over the years and found to work. Laws were not made to be broken. And people who broke them had to be punished. If not, the system — any system — simply would not work.

  They were hard rules, and only the strongest-willed could follow them. But weak people do not rebuild a nation after that nation’s collapse. Doers rebuild nations, and then they help the weak.

  “You have a fine town here, Chuck. I congratulate you. Give the list of any supplies you need to Beth here, and she’ll get them for you.”

  “Right now, General, we’re desperately short of ammo and reloading equipment.”

  Ben nodded at Chuck and waved at a Rebel, telling the man to supply Chuck with whatever he needed. Ammo was something the Rebels were never short of. Back at Base Camp One, factories ran around the clock, seven days a week, to keep the field troops supplied.

  “Corrie, bump Georgi and advise him that Pete Ho is alive and will probably need supplies. There is an airstrip at Susanville. We’ll make that a drop-off point for that sector.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Chuck, what can you tell me about Redding?”

  “A lot of gangs working out of there. It’s outlaw headquarters for this part of the state.”

  “What’s between here and there?”

  “Nothing, General. And I mean nothing.”

  “Do you have any idea what kind of shape the airport is in?”

  “No, General, I’m sorry, but I don’t. We’re so small it takes all of us to defend this place. We used to send out patrols. They never came back.”

  “I get the impression that not much is working north of Sacramento.”

  “You mean like big gangs of outlaws?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re right. But oh, boy, south of there is another story. You’re going to hit a solid wall of resistance from there on down. Redding is about the only real bastion of crud working north of the old capital. But I have to warn you that there are dozens of smaller gangs working all over the place, like lice.”

  “The Interstate is clear from here on down?”

  “It’s still fairly clear of obstacles, but it is deteriorating badly.”

  “Bridges?”

  “As far as we know, they’re all right.”

  Ben shook hands with the man. “Stay healthy, Chuck.”

  “I intend to, General. We’ve got a nation to rebuild, right?”

  “You damn right, Chuck!”

  All Rebel contingents called it a day at 1600 that afternoon. When they were advancing in unknown or enemy territory, they broke off early in order to set up defensive perimeters. Few shots had been fired at them on their trek southward out of Oregon into California. But all had seen where a lot of people, outlaws to judge by the trash they left behind them, had pulled out in one hell of a hurry, getting out of the path of the oncoming Rebels.

  Ike and Cecil pulled over just north of Eureka, Ben and his people made camp at the deserted town of Lakehead, and Georgi and West bivouacked just west of Moon Lake on Highway 395.

  Ben took Linda out to practice with the M-16.

  “I’ll pray for you,” Jersey said.

  She just couldn’t hit anything with a rifle. Ben found her a shotgun to use and she seemed much happier with that. He warned the others that in the event of a combat situation they should make sure Linda had the barrel pointed in the right direction.

  Over the first hot meal of that day, Ben said, “The crud and crap aren’t going to stand and defend their turf, as I hoped they would. They seem to be pulling out, en masse, and heading south. Whether or not they’re beefing up the gangs in San Francisco is something we have yet to learn. But if I had to take a guess, I’d say they’re not. I’d bet they’re heading for the L.A. area. San Francisco is a box that we’re going to nail a lid on.”

  Leadfoot of the bikers said, “You want some of my people to roll south, General? We could get you some intelligence on where they’re heading.”

  “It would be risky, Leadfoot. Maybe too risky. You’d be out of communication range in a few miles. If you carried anything that would reach us, that would immediately be a tip-off to any gang member with the sense of a warthog. We don’t have repeater systems in this part of the country, yet.”

  “If we don’t try, General,” Wanda said, “well be going in blind.”

  “That’s true. I won’t make a decision until after Redding is taken tomorrow. We may get lucky and get our hands on prisoners who want to talk. Get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a very busy day.”

  Ben walked back to his quarters and took down his M-14, cleaning it carefully. Smoot lay on her bed and watched him, waiting for a chance to sneak-attack him and give Ben a wet lick in his ear.

  The old Thunder Lizard had taken a lot of criticism since its inception back in
1957 when it was introduced as the T44 and adopted by the military as the M-14. Critics decried the weapon as being too heavy (8.7 pounds, empty), and the sighting system as too complicated. The bipod was too heavy, they said. Ben had put his people to work on the weapon and they’d modified the rifle, coming up with a thirty-round staggered box magazine that worked and a bipod made of much lighter material. The 7.62x51mm bullet (.308) packed a much heavier wallop than the .223, and besides, Ben liked the weapon. He had carried a Thompson SMG for years, but finally had had to retire the weapon when he discovered the Rebels were holding it in as much awe as they did the general. The M-14 was a man’s rifle, for on full auto the weapon could punish the shoulder of an inexperienced shooter. Ben did not fall into that catagory.

  Ben turned his head and Smoot nailed him.

  Ben was up long before dawn the next morning. He shaved and dressed while the coffee was boiling on his little camp stove. He heard a slight noise outside, and he dropped one hand to the butt of his .45 autoloader, which was carried cocked and locked.

  “Permission to enter?” Dan Gray’s question was softly offered.

  “Come on in, Dan.”

  Colonel Dan Gray, a former British SAS officer and now in charge of Gray’s Scouts, opened the door and stepped inside. He carried his own morning wake-up, a cup of tea. “My people are in place, General,” he said, sitting down. “Early estimates are that about seven hundred outlaws inhabit the city. This should be no more than a walk-through.”

  “L.A. won’t be,” Ben said, pouring a mug of coffee and sitting down across from Dan at the battered old kitchen table.

  “I’m afraid you’re right. L.A. is going to be slow going, block by burning block. Even though it is a sprawling place, I think we can still use artillery to lessen our casualties.”

  Ben opened a worn map of California. Maps were getting harder and harder to find, and each one was used until it was falling apart. And due to the ever-changing conditions of highways — bridges out, overpasses collapsing, sinkholes in the roadbeds — maps were constantly having to be updated.

  Ben studied the map, then opened a booklet, read for a moment, and tossed the booklet aside. “That thing says that Redding has numerous motels, fine restaurants, friendly people, and is a pleasant stopover. Shit! What about county roads that would enable us to block off escape to the south, east, and west?”

  Dan laughed at Ben’s expression in the light from the portable lantern. “My people have found a way to link up with Highway 273; that will block west and south escape routes. East is up for grabs. There are all sorts of little roads leading in that direction.”

  “All right, Dan. Move the rest of your people out as soon as they’ve eaten. There is no way we can come up quietly. They’ll be waiting for us. And we don’t have the foggiest notion of how heavily they’re armed.”

  “Or the number of children that might be in there,” Dan added.

  “Yes. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about that. According to what I’ve learned, the Redding outlaws have been there for some time, so there probably will be families. That lets out standing back and blowing them to hell. Let’s take the town, Dan.”

  THREE

  “Everyone in body armor,” Ben ordered. “Berets stowed and into helmets.”

  They were a half mile from the Redding city limits. The long column of Rebel vehicles stretched out seemingly endlessly to the north on Interstate 5.

  “Main battle tanks button up, first section group behind the tanks,” Ben ordered.

  Hatches were clanked shut and Rebels moved into position behind the steel and armor-plated monsters.

  “Is Dan in position, Corrie?”

  “Yes, sir. He reports sitting on go.”

  “Are you in communication with those in the city?”

  “No, sir. They will not respond on any frequency.”

  “Order a main battle tank with loudspeaker capability up to tell the outlaws to surrender. Advise them that they are completely surrounded and they have no chance of survival if they choose to fight us.”

  The tank clanked into position and advised those in the small city to give it up.

  The reply was small-arms fire and a rifle-fired grenade that missed the tank and exploded on the ground.

  “The rocket was fired from that white house just behind that old service station,” the forward observer told Corrie, and she relayed that to Ben.

  “Destroy it,” Ben ordered.

  The cannon on the tank lowered, the turret moved, and the cannon roared twice, fire and smoke leaping from the muzzle. The small house on the edge of town exploded as the first shell impacted. The second round was napalm and a burning body was hurled out of the house. The body bounced once off the ground and lay still, the odor of charred flesh drifting on the morning air.

  “Tell the tank commander to repeat the surrender message once more,” Ben ordered.

  The message was repeated and once more the reply was unfriendly fire.

  “Take the town,” Ben said.

  Four main battle tanks, turrets reversed, rammed through the barricades and drove straight into frame houses, totally demolishing them and crushing anyone inside. The tanks swiveled their turrets and cut loose with cannon, 7.62, and .50-caliber machine-gunfire.

  Rebels quickly followed the tanks in, and one block of the town was taken.

  The Rebels did not take any prisoners.

  “Tell Dan to move in,” Ben ordered. “Plug up all the escape holes he can.”

  If those in the town thought Ben Raines’s initial attack was brutal, they quickly found that running up against Gray’s Scouts was like swimming in a small pond filled with alligators. No matter where one turned, all they saw was hungry jaws filled with deadly teeth.

  The leader of the thugs who occupied Redding got on the radio and called his counterpart thirty miles south in Red Bluff. “Get gone!” he shouted into the mike. “We’ve had it up here. Raines is not takin’ no prisoners. Head for L.A. and link up with them down there. It’s worser than we was told. Ben Raines and the Rebs don’t got no mercy in them. They’s out for blood and they don’t give a damn for laws or courts or lawyers or nothin’ like that. “He —”

  The transmission ended abruptly as a Rebel-held rocket launcher burped and the house exploded in flames.

  A squad of Rebels found what was once a lovely home that now contained about a dozen women and twice that many children, ranging in age from runny-nosed infants in filth-encrusted diapers to boys and girls nine or ten years old.

  A Rebel looked at a woman, scarcely able to contain his anger and his contempt for her. “Get up,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Don’t take the babies from us!” one woman yelled. “They’s good for trade.”

  “What?” a Rebel woman snapped at her. “Trade? Don’t be stupid, you bitch. Trade?” Then it came to her who the women traded the babies to. “You goddamn slime!”

  “You ain’t got no rat to talk to me like ’at,” the woman said. “Times has been hard.”

  “I wonder if these people have ever heard of soap,” another Rebel said. “Jesus, it’s rank in here.”

  The women and kids were escorted to the edge of town, where Ben’s CP had been established. The children were taken from the women and turned over to Doctor Chase’s medical people for exams and blood work.

  “You cain’t take my kid!” a woman screamed. “I done got me a trade set up.”

  She stopped wailing when she looked up into the very cold and unfriendly eyes of Ben Raines. She sensed instantly who he was, although she had never seen him before in her life. No Rebel wore insignia, and this one didn’t have to.

  “Shut up,” Ben told her. “Did anyone hold a gun to your head and make you join outlaw gangs?”

  The woman cringed and refused to answer.

  “Answer me, goddamn you!”

  “No. They didn’t.”

  “Then why did you?”

  “I got to eat!”
/>
  “Plant a garden. Join a group of survivors and live decently.”

  “Under rules? No way.”

  “You were going to trade your baby?”

  “He’s sickly.”

  “How many have you whelped?”

  “One a year. I got a right to have fun!”

  “I heard that on a newscast one evening, years ago, when a reporter interviewed a woman who had never been married and had five or six kids running around — kids that the working taxpayers paid for. It was bullshit then and it’s still bullshit. Hit the road, lady. Hit it running and don’t look back. Move, you goddamn worthless piece of garbage.”

  The woman jumped to her feet and took off running. She did not look back nor did she inquire about her “fun” baby.

  Linda said, “General, this baby has fleas, head lice, and her diapers haven’t been changed in so long she has urine burns from her navel halfway down to her knees.”

  Ben nodded. “I have despised trashy people of any color all my life. Corrie, have Doctor Chase set up a MASH station near the airport as soon as it is secured. We’ll airlift the kids out as soon as possible.”

  As soon as all the kids were gone, Ben reached down and jerked one woman to her feet. She glared hate and defiance at him. He pulled his .45 from leather, placed the muzzle against the woman’s forehead, and slipped the autoloader off the lock position. She jumped at the slight sound.

  “How many children have you helped supply to the creepies in L.A.?”

  “The who?”

  “The Night People. The Believers.”

  “How . . . did you know we done that?”

  “How isn’t important. How many?”

  “Don’t know. Cain’t remember. Been doin’ it for years.”

  “Don’t you have one shred of decency in you, woman?”

  “Fuck you, you son of a bitch!”

  Linda looked on in shock as Ben pulled the trigger. The woman’s feet flew out from under her and she fell to the cracked pavement, a large hole in the center of her forehead.

  Ben stood over another woman. “Get up!”

  “I’ll tell you!” she screamed, sprays of spit flying from her mouth. “Jesus God Almighty, I’ll tell you. We made a deal with them Believer Judges down in Sacramento. We supply them with —” she swallowed hard — “prisoners we tooken and they leave us alone. It’s that way all over the state. We live in peace with them and you-all better learn how to do it too. Not just the Believers, but the gangs in L.A. too. You’ll never whup them. They’s too many of ’em.”