Fury in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  “But not for everybody, Ben.”

  “That’s certainly true. Small-minded and petty people can’t make it in this society. People who won’t respect the rights of others can’t make it. People who delight in spreading vicious gossip have a tough time. People who like to belittle others don’t last long.”

  “But what happens to those people, Ben?”

  “We don’t care what happens to them, Linda. We don’t have time to try to reeducate them. Maybe later, but not now. Ours is not a perfect system, far from it. And it will moderate in the severity of punishment as the years go by and our educational system discharges more and more graduates of our system. Schooled from kindergarten through high school and college to respect others, the land, and the animals that live on it.”

  “Some might call that brainwashing, Ben.”

  “Some already have, and it is to a degree. But if respecting the rights of other law-abiding citizens, being good caretakers of the land, and seeing to it that entire species of animals are not wiped out due to man’s greed and ignorance is brainwashing, I’ll accept that accusation.”

  Linda smiled at him. “You know something, Ben, you missed your calling.”

  “Oh?”

  “You’d have made a dandy politician!”

  The entire camp was yelling and cheering and making bets as Ben chased her around the bivouac area, hollering how dare she call him a goddamned politician! But as the saying goes, he chased her until she caught him.

  Ike, Therm, Cecil, Georgi, West, and their forces continued to hammer at the street punks and the Believers in the Los Angeles area. Each day dawned with new ground gained. Two blocks one day, four blocks another, one block the next; but always an advance, with the Rebels blowing up and burning everything in their path as they fought on.

  The Rebels under Ben’s command stayed in Blythe for several days, cleaning up that area of the town that had not been destroyed by artillery, and clearing the small airport. Survivors were flown in from months of rehabilitation and reorientation at Base Camp One. The men and women and kids were a far cry from what they had been when the Rebels rescued them from various outlaw and warlord strongholds around the nation. They were now a fit and healthy and determined bunch. Never again would they allow thugs and punks and outlaws to overwhelm them.

  “It’s your town,” Ben told them. “Your area of control. Good luck.”

  The town leader was running up the flag of the Rebels as the column rolled out the next morning, heading for Yuma.

  In Yuma, Texas Jim and Banniger had rallied their men. But it wasn’t for a fight. Not yet.

  “We got to beat the Rebels,” Banniger said. “We got to stop them. But we can’t do it here. Them Rebels over in Los Angeles is kickin’ some ass, boy.”

  “We can’t do it here, we can’t do it nowhere,” Texas Jim said dejectedly. “We been beat. We just got no place else to go. Banniger, I was talkin’ to an ol’ boy on the shortwave the other night. Bubba had about two hundred and fifty men in his gang. They was rollin’ through Georgia, havin’ their way and samplin’ Southern pussy. They was about fifty, sixty miles south of what’s left of Atlanta when they come up on this real pretty little town, all neat with lots of gardens and stuff like that. Folks livin’ clean and dressin’ fine and all that. Bubba and his boys rolled into town and before anyone of them could blink, they had the shit shot out of them. Bubba’s got fourteen men left in his gang. It was one of them Rebel outposts they hit. Them townspeople jerked up the wounded and them that surrendered, had a trial — that day — and hanged ’em. Just like that, Banniger. They didn’t even blink doin’ it. Bubba said they buried them in a mass grave, unmarked.”

  “Say all that’s on your mind, Texas.”

  “The day of the outlaw is over, Banniger. We got no place left to run. Raines is killin’ anyone who don’t kowtow to his rules. It’s over.”

  Banniger was a bit smarter than Texas Jim, and he knew that Raines was not killing anyone who disagreed with the Rebel philosophy. Raines was simply withholding Rebel aid to anyone who did not come under the hard and narrow umbrella of Rebel thinking. That wasn’t anything new; that was just good politics. But Texas Jim was correct in part of his thinking. The day of the outlaw was over in the lower forty-eight. Banniger had been closely monitoring the Rebel movement for over a year. He had good shortwave equipment and had charted the Rebel course whenever they did not talk on scramble.

  Banniger knew all about Lan Villar and Ashley and Khamsin and Kenny Parr. And he had him a pretty good idea where those ol’ boys were heading, and it was Alaska. He’d bet his life on it, and was about to do just that.

  “All right, Texas,” Banniger said. “What do you think we should do?”

  “Run,” the outlaw said. “Gather up what is ourn and git the hell gone from here.”

  “And go where?”

  “I ain’t got no idea, Banniger.”

  “I do.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. Raines didn’t let you and your boys leave without a reason, or hadn’t you thought about that?”

  “I thought about it. I don’t know why he done it.”

  “He’s herding us, Texas. Or so he thinks.”

  “Herdin’ us where?”

  “West. You notice that he’s in no hurry?”

  “Yeah, I did. So?”

  “This is so. Raines is givin’ his main army time to clean out the Los Angeles area. Then punks up there ain’t got but one direction to go, south. Now if the street punks and them gawdawful cannibals is bein’ pushed south, and we allow ourselves to be pushed west, where is that gonna put us, Jim?”

  Texas Jim had to ruminate on that for a couple of minutes. Get his directions all straightened out in his mind. He frowned and chewed at a dirty thumbnail and finally said, “In a damn box, I reckon.”

  “That’s right. With the Mexican forces south of us, sealin’ off the border like they been doin,’ and the Rebels north and east of us, if we allow ourselves to be herded, where would that leave us?”

  Texas Jim sighed heavily. “Drown-ed in the damn ocean,” he said glumly.

  “That’s right. And I ain’t got no desire to become shark bait. Do you?”

  “Hell no! But where does that leave us to go?”

  “Alaska.”

  “Alaska! Jesus Christ, man. It’s cold up there. We’ll freeze our asses off.”

  “Would you rather have your ass shot off by a Rebel bullet?”

  “Puttin’ it that away, no. You ever et blubber, Banniger?”

  “Can’t say as I have.”

  “Me neither. But I seen pitchers of it. It didn’t do nothin’ for my appetite.”

  “If Ben Raines gets hold of you, you gonna lose your appetite forever.”

  “That there’s a pure fact. We bes’ take some women with us, Banniger. There ain’t no women up there neither.”

  Banniger laughed at him. “Get your boys together, Texas. We’re pullin’ out.”

  “When?”

  “Right now, partner, right now.”

  Some very weary-looking and badly used men and women met the Scouts at a small town just a few miles north of the Arizona line. The Scouts radioed back to the main column and waited for Ben.

  “Texas Jim joined Banniger and they pulled out several hours ago,” a man told Ben. “We’ve been slaves here for a couple of years. Some of the people here for longer than that. We were sure that we’d be killed, but Banniger just turned us loose. He said that he didn’t need any more marks against him in General Raines’s tally book.”

  “He headed east on the Interstate, General,” a woman said. “But we found this in his headquarters.” She held out a well-worn map.

  Ben took it and carefully unfolded it. A map of Alaska. He studied the neat handwriting on the map edges. Ben leaned up against a fender and slowly nodded his head. “It makes sense,” he said, handing the map to Buddy.

  Buddy glanced at the writing and grunted. “Now
we know where Villar and Khamsin and the others are heading.”

  “If we can believe the writing on the map, yes. And it’s probably true. Banniger was in such a hurry to pull out, he forgot about this map. Well, they don’t have anyplace left to go in the lower forty-eight, unless they wanted to link up with Sister Voleta.”

  Buddy shook his head. “I can’t imagine they would want do to that.”

  “Neither can I. They’re thugs and outlaws, not crazy. All right, so now we know what is waiting for us in Northstar.” He looked at the ragged and physically abused group of men and women. “What is left of Yuma?”

  “It’s intact, General. It’s dirty and trashed but still standing.”

  “Could you people make a go of it if we resupplied you and got you all set up?”

  “We would give it our best, General. But I can guarantee you this. You arm us, and no bunch of thugs and punks will ever again overrun us.”

  Ben chuckled. He’d heard this story many times before. And he knew the answer to his question. “So you people were all pacifists after the Great War, eh?”

  The man’s smile, and the smiles of those around him, held no humor. “We tried extending the hand of peace and friendship to any who came our way. It looks real good on paper. In practice it was a royal fuck-up!”

  Ben laughed and patted the man on the shoulder. “Come on. We’ll get you all fed and outfitted and have the medics give you all a good exam. I think you folks are going to fit right in.”

  Ben and his contingent of Rebels stayed in Yuma for four days, while the medics checked over the newly freed people and determined who needed what in the way of medicines. Many of the ex-prisoners were in bad shape, both mentally and physically; those would be sent back to Base Camp One for hospitalization. The Rebels cleaned up the small airport and got a runway in shape.

  Ben made no effort to chase after Banniger and Texas Jim. He knew, or at least had a pretty good idea, where they were going, and he would deal with them later.

  Ben wanted to clear the lower forty-eight of as much human crud as possible before he started giving a lot of thought and planning to Alaska and beyond. Sister Voleta and her Ninth Order took up some of Ben’s mental time. The woman had a way of pulling thugs and perverts and deviants to her like metal shavings to a magnet. Ben decided that would be work for the battalions he left behind.

  Buddy and his Rat Team, working with Dan’s Scouts, had gone out and brought back valuable information concerning the enemy that lay to the west.

  “Corrie,” Ben said, after listening to his sons report, “see if you can patch me through to the HQ, of the Mexican army.”

  “No problem,” she told him. “I have their operating frequencies.” It did not take her long. “A General Payon waiting, sir.”

  “General Payon, General Raines here. I congratulate you on restoring order in your country and look forward to working with you.”

  “Thank you, General Raines. We are moving along swiftly. As you have been. We will both succeed with a little bit of luck and many smiles from God. And now, sir, how may I be of assistance to you?”

  When Ben finished, General Payon chuckled. “It is truly a fine plan, sir. A fine plan. And you have our full cooperation, of course. I will begin moving troops into place immediately.”

  Ben smiled as he handed the mike to Corrie. “Now, you bastards,” he muttered. “Let’s see you get out of this box!”

  BOOK TWO

  Liberty is a beloved discipline.

  –George Homans

  ONE

  In the battered and burning area of Los Angeles, Leroy looked at the messenger and felt a churning in his guts. If what the man reported was true, they were all screwed and about to be kissed during the screwing . . . by the kiss of death.

  The Rebels were slowly and methodically closing in on them. Each new dawning brought the law and-order bastards and bitches another block or two or three closer, on all sides. The smoke was thick and choking all around them. And it seemed like the thunder of artillery and the booming and crashing of incoming shells never stopped. A lot of the street punks were folding up mentally under the constant attack. Some had committed suicide, others had surrendered, still others had gone crazy as the pressure got to them.

  “Let’s go see Junkyard and Ishmal,” Leroy told his bodyguards. “We got to figure out something, and we ain’t got a whole lot of time left to do it.”

  The punks still held a lot of territory. But it was shrinking day by day. Rebels were stretched out west to east along Interstate 10 and north to south along Interstate 710. The south and the west were still open, but Ben Raines and his people and the Mexican Army lay to the south, and to the west was the Pacific Ocean, and now that bastard Raines had covered that too.

  Most of the street punk leaders were in attendance. Most of those who were not in attendance were dead.

  Ruth of the Macys said, “Some of my people seen boats this morning. Big boats layin’ off shore.”

  “Yeah, they’re there, all right,” Cash of the Surfers said. “Mexican gunboats. Big ones. They come up and got into position last night.”

  “We’re screwed!” Hal of the Fifth Street Lords said. “And I ain’t gonna surrender. Too many freed prisoners would be happy to testify against me. I’m dead either way it goes.”

  “Yeah,” Jimmy of the Indios agreed. “We’re dead if we stay here, and dead if we surrender. The Rebels overran my turf and grabbed the slaves I had. You know they’re singin’ like birds. I wouldn’t last five minutes.”

  “None of us would,” Sally of the Mixers said. “So let’s don’t even talk about surrender. But goddamnit, I don’t want to die! It ain’t right what Ben Raines is doin’!”

  “Sure ain’t,” Josh of the Angels said. “What Raines is doin’ is agin the law.”

  Brute looked at him, disgust in the gaze. “Idiot! Ben Raines is the law. He’s the only law in the United States.”

  “So what do we do?” Dicky of the Silvers asked.

  “That’s why we’re here,” Leroy said. “To come up with a plan.”

  Rich was not in attendance. But he did have a spy present. He would know everything that went on. And if he could do it, he was going to toss Leroy, Ishmal, and Junkyard to the lions . . . in this case, the Rebels.

  Artillery started booming after an hour’s respite, the shells creaming another two-block area to the north and to the east. Cigarettes were lighted with trembling hands. The bombardment was getting to them all.

  Everybody started coming up with plans. But none of the plans were worth a damn.

  Finally, when everyone had wound down, Leroy said, “The Rebels have to have a weak spot. It’s up to us to find it and do it damn quick.”

  “The Rebels ain’t got no weak spot,” Carmine of the Women said, pointing out what she felt to be the truth. In fact, the Rebel lines were so thin they had plenty of weak spots. “But what they got is a system that’s workin’. And it don’t look like we got any defense against it.

  “There is one way,” Brute of the White Men said softly, his words just audible over the crashing of artillery rounds. “Maybe it would work.” He outlined it, and most of the street punk leaders turned down the suggestion.

  “It would work,” Stan of the Flatrocks said. “But I don’t like it.”

  “I don’t like it either,” Bull said. “But we may have to do it anyways. Now tell me this, Brute. If we got out, where would we go?”

  “Where Raines would least expect us to go. North into Canada and maybe on up into Alaska.”

  “Alaska!” Leroy shouted. “That’s your ass, blue-boy. I ain’t carryin’ my ass up there to freeze off.”

  Brute faced the gang leader. “To tell you the truth, Leroy, very few of us really give a damn where you go. You’re crude, ignorant, and a racist.”

  “You don’t talk to me like that, faggy.”

  “I just did, Leroy,” Brute said with a smile. “And if you don’t like it, come on and take
your best shot.”

  Bull watched it all with a smile. He’d known Brute for years, and knew the man was just as tough as any among them. His sexual preferences were a little weird, but no one with any sense would sell him short on courage . . . not and live to tell about it.

  “When this is over, I will,” Leroy warned the man.

  Brute put one hand on his hip and with the other hand, gave him the finger.

  That made Leroy so mad he picked up a chair and threw it out a window. He and his bodyguards stormed out of the meeting. Leroy stood outside and calmed down. Problem was, he thought, what Carmine said was right. There just didn’t seem to be a way to stop the damn Rebels. They just kept on coming. They would shell and burn two or three blocks, and then lay back and wait to see if anyone tried to punch through. Then they would move forward, and do it again and again. Slowly, slowly, the noose was tightening around the necks of those inside the burning city.

  Now the whole Mexican Army was stretched out from Mexicali to Tijuana, blocking that southern escape route. Too bad, Leroy thought. Mexican pussy was good. He sighed. And now Mexican gunboats were out in the Gulf of Catalina, and the damn Rebels were everywhere else.

  Leroy cursed Ben Raines.

  So maybe that damn fag had a good idea. But Alaska? That just didn’t appeal to Leroy at all.

  “General Payon’s army is in place,” Corrie informed Ben. “All roads leading into Mexico are blocked and heavy patrols are at other strategic locations. A few punks and creepies might get away, but not many are going south.”