Fury in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  “Very little. A few random shots fired occasionally. But other than that, our forward progress has been fast and boring.”

  “You get the feeling it’s going too easy?”

  “Very definitely. I’m getting an itchy feeling in the middle of my back.”

  “Others have said the same thing. What are the Scouts reporting?”

  “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And unless I’m getting paranoid, that tells me something is up.”

  “I agree. And with seventy-five percent of our people a couple of hundred miles away, we’re vulnerable.”

  Dan walked up, an odd expression on his face. “I hate to be an alarmist, General. But I feel eyes on me.”

  “That’s just what we were discussing, Dan. Go to middle alert and double the guards. I think we’ve got trouble coming at us.”

  “Punks?” Therm asked.

  Ben shook his head. “Creepies. We’ve destroyed their last major bastion, and they’ve got nowhere to go and nothing to lose now. They just might be preparing for a suicide attack. I think they’ve dug deep holes — literally — and have been waiting us out. They know we don’t have the people to search every house and building, every basement and every drainage system. I think we are going to be in for a rough time of it, very soon.”

  “If they stay true to form,” Tina said, “they’ll attack at night.”

  “But why wait?” Linda asked. She paused, looked at Ben, and then answered her own question. “They want you.”

  “That’s right.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got all the other battalions moving around Nevada, chasing down outlaws and searching for equipment. Cecil still has his hands full in Los Angeles. It’s up to us, people. Let’s batten down the hatches and get ready for a blow.”

  “We stay here?” Buddy asked. “On the old base?”

  “It’s as good a place as any to fight from.” Ben smiled. “A lot of tradition here, a lot of fighting spirit still clinging to these grounds. We could sure do worse.”

  Ben found Lamar and briefed him. “I’ll set up in the middle of the perimeter, Ben,” Lamar said. “Those old concrete block buildings over there will be the best. We can tuck the generator trucks in close for protection. It would take too long to clean out the main hospital. See you around, Raines.”

  “Lamar.” Ben’s voice turned him around. “Get armed. This just might be a bad one.”

  Chase nodded his head, gave Ben a sloppy mock salute, and walked on, yelling for his people.

  Ben chose to set up in an old office building. “Start sandbagging, gang,” he ordered. “It’ll be dark in about two hours. We don’t have much time.”

  Ben found a good defensive position and began filling clips for his M-14. That done, he went outside and helped fill sandbags. He was the commanding general of all Rebel forces, but no Rebel sat on his or her ass and watched others work. Civilian or soldier, general or private, owner or employee, that didn’t cut it in the Rebel system.

  “General Jefferys on the horn,” Corrie called from the office building.

  “Go, Cec.”

  “You got troubles down there, Ben?”

  “We all seem to think so, Cec. We all have itchy feelings. I think the creeps are going to try for a suicide charge. It’s probably going to be a long night.”

  Linda watched the sure but unhurried movement of the Rebels as they prepared for battle. And as before, she was both impressed and a little puzzled by their movements.

  “They act . . . well, I don’t know whether complacent is the right word,” she said to Ben.

  “Smug?” Ben replied, cutting his eyes. “No, we’re not smug, Linda. But we are very sure of ourselves. We’ve been doing this for a long time. Many of those people out there have been with me for years.”

  The tanks and light armor had disappeared into buildings, usually by driving right through the front or rear. They lowered the muzzles of their cannon and readied their machine guns.

  Ben said, “Where is your shotgun?”

  Linda smiled and lifted an Uzi machine pistol, .380 caliber.

  “Lord have mercy on us all,” Ben said with a smile. “Where’d you get that?”

  “Buddy found it for me and helped teach me how to shoot it. I love it!”

  “You can sure spray some lead around with it, that’s for sure. You have lots of clips?”

  “A dozen filled.”

  “Use it for close-in work.”

  “You think they’ll get that close tonight, Ben?”

  “I have a hunch they’re going to be right on top of us before this night is over.”

  Ben told Corrie to pass the orders to eat now, go to the bathroom, and then get into position and stay there.

  “About forty-five minutes until dark,” Ben said. “They might hit us then, or they might make us sweat for half the night. No way of telling.”

  “It’s the waiting that gets to me.”

  “It gets to us all. That’s something you never get used to. At least I’ve never talked to anyone who has.”

  Conversation waned as dusk settled in. At full dark, all talk had ceased.

  “Forward posts reporting the creepies are in sight and coming on strong,” Corrie said. “No pun intended.”

  Ben chuckled at her reference to the creepies’ hideous body odor. “Tell the forward people to fall back now and join the main group.”

  “Yes, sir. Recon says the ground is covered with them. Like ants. Says they’ve never seen so many creepies.”

  “They got out of the city somehow,” Ben said. “Probably used the sewer system.”

  “What now?” Linda asked nervously.

  “As soon as they hit the outer perimeter bangers, flares will go up. We’ll kill several hundred right off the bat. By that time, they’ll be in this compound area and it’ll get tough.” He pointed to a windowless frame. “Take that spot and keep your cool. They’re going to be crawling all over us in about two minutes. Literally so.”

  “The thought of that makes me nauseous.”

  “Puke now, then. ’Cause you won’t have time in a couple of minutes.”

  The perimeter bangers went off with sharp, cracking pops. The flares went up, lighting the night sky.

  “Jesus Christ!” Ben said, looking at the mass of inhumanity coming at them.

  There appeared to be thousands of them.

  SEVEN

  The heavy machine guns of the Rebels opened up. The creepies crawled over the dead and dying carcasses of their fellow creeps and came on in a wild screaming suicide charge. No Rebel was outside on this night. Every man and woman was in a building, all working as teams, using both first and second stories when they were available.

  There was really no need to aim during the first few minutes of the charge, for the Night People were massed everywhere one looked. Ben held back the trigger on his Thunder Lizard and let it bang, taking some small satisfaction in watching a line of creepies slam to the earth, the .308 slugs tearing the life from them.

  A creepie leaped through the windowless frame to Ben’s left. Linda fired over Ben’s prone position, the little Uzi rattling and spitting. The creepie was stitched from shoulder to face and fell back outside, dead.

  Ben had taken his eyes off his perimeter for only two heartbeats, but during that time a creep had grabbed the barrel of Ben’s M-14 and was trying to wrest it from Ben’s hands. Ben pulled the trigger and the slam of .308 slugs literally tore the creep’s hands loose and knocked the slime backward, his chest mangled and his clothing burning from the muzzle blasts.

  A flamethrower-equipped tank unleased a long spray of burning liquid, the thickened gas catching a group of Believers and igniting them. They ran screaming in all directions, balls of stumbling, howling fire in the night. They ran for a few seconds, then pitched forward to the ground, dying as the intense heat bubbled their brains.

  Jersey was calmly picking her targets, and her aim was deadly accurate. Everytime she squeezed off a round, a creepie h
it the dirt, dead, dying, or badly wounded.

  Cooper was behind an M-60 machine gun, Beth helping to feed the belt. Corrie had left her radio and was using her M-16, laying down a killing field of fire.

  Several creepies managed to get on top of the building directly across from Ben’s position. Ben lifted his walkie-talkie. “501,” he radioed to a tank commander. “Blow the top off that building directly across from my position.”

  Cannon roared and the old wooden building began disintegrating from the top down. An incendiary round was fired, setting the wooden structure on fire, adding more light to the night. Creepies began jumping from the building. Rebel fire cut them down before they could run for cover.

  Buddy heard a choking cry from behind him. Two creeps had leaped into the building and were on Corrie, riding her down to the floor. He ran to her, grabbing one creep by the head and savagely twisting it. He heard the man’s neck break and hurled the cannibal across the floor. Corrie had managed to work her weapon around and triggered off half a clip into the second creep’s belly. He screamed as the lead tore into his guts. Buddy grabbed him and flung him outside.

  “You all right?” Buddy asked.

  “I am now,” she replied.

  The two of them turned their attention to the battle raging inches away from them.

  Ben left his Thunder Lizard and began throwing grenades. “Get some Big Thumpers going!” he yelled.

  Within seconds, half a dozen 40mm grenade-launching machine guns began hammering, hurling their deadly little anti-personnel grenades into the night. With a kill-radius of ten yards, the Big Thumpers were awesome in any kind of fight.

  Ben heard scraping sounds on the roof of the building his team was operating out of. He glanced at his son. Buddy nodded his head. Father and son lifted M-14 and Thompson and held back the triggers. Within seconds, fast-fading starlight was struggling past a thickening cloud cover and through the roof; the creepies’ blood was staining the ground where they’d fallen in death.

  “I think it’s beginning to rain,” Linda said.

  Ben grinned at her. “We all need a good shower. Did you bring any soap?”

  “Very funny, Ben. Hysterical.”

  Then there was no more time for talk as the creepies regrouped and launched another attack against the Rebels. They came screaming and cursing their rage, throwing themselves against and into the buildings in a wild suicide attack. The Judges had worked them up into a fury, all of them knowing they had no future with Ben Raines alive. All they had was now, and all they had on their minds was killing Ben Raines.

  The inside of Ben’s CP was beginning to stink, the floor littered with the bodies of dead creepies. The battle was so intense they could not take the time to throw the bodies out into the rain.

  The air around the besieged area was choking thick with gunsmoke, the night filled with the rattle of gunfire, the booming of cannon, the thundering of Big Thumpers, and the screaming of the badly wounded.

  A creepie hurled himself onto Ben’s back. Ben twisted and threw the man to the floor. Buddy smashed his head in with the butt of his Thompson just as another Believer knocked Ben to the floor. Ben kicked the man in the groin with the toe of his boot and clawed out his .45. He shot the creep in the face and jumped to his feet.

  The building was filled with Night People; they were pouring in through the shattered back door. The Rebels backed up, formed a defensive line, and leveled automatic weapons. The roaring of a dozen weapons on full rock and roll was deafening. But the attack inside the building was broken as the creeps died in stinking piles.

  “They’re breaking it off,” a Rebel yelled.

  “No pursuit,” Ben shouted. “Let them go. Finish off the wounded and regroup. Plug up the holes.”

  The wounded cannibals were shot in the head and dumped outside. It was suggested that bags of sand be opened and the contents poured on the slick floor, to soak up the blood.

  “No good,” Ben finally said. “We’ve got too many wounded to risk standing around in the blood of those creeps. All units reposition.”

  One squad at a time, the Rebels left their bullet-pocked and bloody positions and ran for new cover.

  Torch the buildings we leave,” Ben ordered. “It’ll give us a better field of fire.”

  While Rebel snipers stood watch, the others shifted locations, into buildings with whole roofs and walls that had not been torn apart by automatic-weapons fire.

  “Cecil on the horn, General!” Corrie called, once they had shifted locations and had set up. “He’s coming under heavy attack from creepies.”

  “Goddamnit!” Ben cursed, taking the headset. “Eagle here, Cec.”

  “They must have been hiding in the sewers and the subway system, Ben. Just waiting us out. They poured out about an hour ago. We’ve been too busy to bump you.”

  “They pulled the same thing on us down here, Cec. We’re holed up at the old Camp Pendleton Marine Corps base. I think they threw everything they had at us in the first round. We held and inflicted heavy casualties on them. But we’re pretty well pinned down. How’s your situation?”

  “Just about the same. They’ve got us pinned down at the airport. Hell, we thought L.A. was clear and had moved over here to clear a runway for traffic. We’re in good shape, we just can’t get out — yet.”

  “What can I say, Cec. I fucked up.”

  “We both fucked up. Take it easy, Ben.”

  “Take it easy, brother. See you.” He turned to his team. “Cecil and his bunch are in the same shape we are. They’re pinned down at the airport and holding.”

  “We need some air support in here,” Jersey said.

  “In this weather?” Ben responded. “All we could use if the weather cleared would be the fighters. No bombs for the bombers.” He shook his head and had to chuckle. “I’ll say it again. All in all, it’s a hell of a way to run a war!”

  The Rebels waited, guns at the ready, but no more attacks came at them. At midnight, Ben stepped outside and lifted his face to the skies. The rain was still coming down and from all indications, it was going to continue for some time. Days, maybe. He wasn’t sure if this was the rainy season for southern California or not. If it wasn’t, it was sure doing a hell of an imitation.

  “It’ll rain for days,” Santo said.

  Ben looked at the aging hippie, one of Therm’s group. “You have an inside track on the weather, Santo?”

  “Yep. My big toe. Right foot. I broke it when I was kid. If it tingles that means it’s gonna rain a little bit. If it hurts, it’s gonna be a system that stays around for days. Never fails.”

  “It might be a blessing or a curse if the rain continues.”

  “It’ll wash those stinking bastards anyway.”

  Ben laughed. He sure couldn’t argue the merits of that. “Did you people take any hits?”

  “No, sir. One of the bikers caught one in the arm. He’s out of it. One of Emil’s people took one in the leg, and Dan’s Scouts took some wounded, no dead, and not real serious. Those flak jackets and helmets are lifesavers, for a fact.”

  The helmets they wore were of the type that would stop many of the calibers used. They would not stop a .50-caliber slug, nor many of the big-bore magnum rounds, rifle or pistol. And the Rebels who had experienced a slug impacting and stopping against their helmets all said it was not a pleasant sensation. They all reported having headaches that lasted for several days. But they were alive.

  “Get back inside, General,” Dan said from the rainy darkness.

  Ben didn’t argue with him. He knew he had no business being so exposed. He stepped back inside the building and the Englishman followed him.

  “We were lucky the first time, General. Very lucky. They could have easily overrun us if they’d kept up the assault. Only God, or the Devil, knows why they broke it off. But they’ll not make that mistake again. I have taken the liberty of repositioning many of the machine guns and the armor. I think when they come at us again, it will be
all-out and no back-down on their part.”

  “I think you’re right, Dan. Cec is pinned down at the old L.A. airport. The creeps were probably sitting out the barrages in the sewers and subways.”

  “They weren’t such great friends of the punks after all, were they?”

  “No. They never let on to the street punks that they had contingency plans or what those plans entailed. The punks were the creepies’ sacrificial lambs.”

  “Here they come again!” Corrie informed the group.

  The Rebels got into position. But the creepies did not launch an all-out offensive this rainy night. They chose instead to lay back and harass the Rebels with sniper fire and light mortars. But the Rebels had much heavier mortars, with a much larger killing-radius, and manned by much more experienced people. As a result, as soon as the creepie mortar crews were pinpointed, they were knocked out of action.

  The rain lessened in intensity and steadied down to a constant soft fall.

  “Order half the people to stand down and get some rest,” Ben told Corrie. “Sleep for a couple of hours and then switch with the others. It won’t be enough rest, but it will help.”

  Ben looked around at his team. “And that order applies here, as well. Every other person lay down and get some rest.”

  “Fine,” Dan said. “I will take over here while you get some rest, General.”

  Ben didn’t argue. To refuse would have been pointless; the Englishman would argue with a stump for hours.

  Ben stretched out on the floor with the others, a bedroll for a pillow, and went to sleep, seemingly oblivious of the sniper fire going on around him.

  Ben opened his eyes, checked his watch, and found he had been asleep for two and a half hours. He felt refreshed. He got to his boots and walked over to Dan.

  “Now, you hit the floor and get some rest, Dan. Right now.”

  It was a quarter till three in the morning.

  Linda came to him and lay down behind the sandbagged window. “Corrie got through to the other battalions. Ike is on the Oregon border. Seven and Eight are inspecting the state of Nevada, and Georgi is over in Utah. You don’t appear to be terribly worried about this situation, Ben.”