“Right now, general,” Dan said, and left the tent.
A runner entered the big tent just as Dan was leaving. “General, a message just came over the horn from Base Camp One.”
“Give me the high points, son.”
“One of General Jefferys’s roaming patrols met up with some folks from Indiana. They said there has been a major shake-up at this Sister Voleta’s camp. A defector. Really shook the woman up bad. The defector is supposedly heading west, to find you.”
“Is that it?” Ben asked.
The runner hesitated. “No, sir.”
“Well, who is this person?”
“Your son, sir.”
SIX
The heavy storms and rains were still south of the young man’s position as he barreled on westward. He crossed the top of Missouri and made it into Kansas before the rains hit him, forcing him to seek shelter. He pulled under a carport, dried off, then checked his motorcycle. He carefully inspected the interior of the house and found it Uttered with rat shit.
He closed the door behind him and set about making his camp on the carport. After carefully inspecting the skies, the man decided that this storm would not blow away in a few hours; it had settled over the area. He made up his mind he would stick around until the storm had blown past.
Ben Raines Blackman built a small fire and cooked a rabbit he had shot while looking for a place to hole up from the weather. He carefully buried his trash, unrolled his sleeping bag, and spread it out on the floor of the carport. He then field-stripped, cleaned and oiled his weapons. Taking a bar of soap from his kit, the young man stripped and stepped out into the warm rain and bathed. He dressed in clean clothing and lay down on his sleeping bag.
He was close to Ben Raines now. He could sense it. And he could sense something else, too: Trouble. There was something in the air besides wind and rain. Buddy, as his mother had nicknamed him when a baby, was by no means clairvoyant; just a very intelligent and observant young man. His mother and her friends were, he knew, a bit around the bend, mentally speaking, but they had schooled Buddy well in the art of survival. He had been schooled in all forms of martial arts; he was an expert with nearly any weapon he could get his hands on; he knew what plants to eat in the woods and which to leave alone; he could build a shelter from practically nothing.
He was very nearly self-sufficient.
Listening and watching the rains fall, Buddy let his thoughts drift back to his mother and her whacked-out beliefs. He should have pulled out a long time back; he knew that. Much of what his mother did was totally repulsive to him.
However, she had never involved him in anything he felt was wrong. She had shielded him from her baser actions.
Of course, he knew what she was doing, and just the knowledge of it made him an accessory — but perhaps he would be forgiven for that.
On sudden impulse, Buddy rose from the sleeping bag and rolled his motorcycle into the utility room at the back of the carport, hiding it from — from whom? He wasn’t sure. It just seemed like a good move to make at the time.
He rearranged his sleeping bag, placing it behind some piled-up old boxes on the carport. He decided against making some tea and put out his small fire.
There was just something about this area that was making Buddy very wary.
The storm blew in that afternoon, raging in full force, pushing every living thing into shelter. There could be no flights from Base Camp One until the storm blew itself out.
But the storm was a wet blessing to Dan Gray’s Scouts, who had slipped into the territory claimed by Big Louie. The storm hid any slight noise the skilled guerrilla fighters might make.
One Scout team, led by Ben’s daughter, Tina, came upon a fine, well-kept home just outside of Manhattan, Kansas. Tina peeked through a window and smiled at the sight. A fat man, his equally fat wife, and two fat teenagers were watching a movie from a VCR.
Those at the slickest-lookin’ folks I’ve seen in a long time,” a Rebel whispered to Tina.
“Well fed for a fact,” Tina whispered back. “I don’t think they’re going to like being marched through this weather.” She smiled.
“You’re breaking my heart, Tina.”
“Yeah, poor babies,” another Rebel said.
The Rebels stood in the pouring rain and driving winds and watched as a young woman walked into the den. The woman was carrying a tray of snacks and drinks.
“Get over here, you bitch!” the fat teenager shouted at her. The woman cringed at his voice. “Hurry up. I’m hungry.”
The young woman obviously did not move fast enough to suit the fat boy. When she had placed the tray on a table, the fat boy rose from his chair with a grunt and slapped her.
“Nice kid,” Tina muttered.
“That woman is wearing some sort of a dog collar,” said one of the Rebels.
“I think they used to call them choke chains,” another Rebel said. “But that one appears to be welded together.”
The extremely fat girl waddled to her feet and kicked the young woman in the butt. The mother and father thought it all very amusing.
“I want her now!” Fat boy said.
“I wanna watch!” Fat girl said.
The father waved his hand and the boy hooked a leash onto the choke chain, forcing the woman to crawl along on her hands and knees. She was silently weeping. Fat girl followed Fat boy out of the room.
“What a delightful family,” a Rebel said, disgust in his voice.
“You ready to bust up their party?” Tina asked the group.
“Yeah. Let’s do it before I puke!”
Tina assigned members of her squad to their places. Somewhere in the house, they could hear the sounds of screaming.
“Now!” Tina spoke into a handy-talkie. A Rebel kicked in the back door at the same instant Rebels were pouring in through the front door.
Tina placed the muzzle of her M-16 against the neck of the man. “You wiggle and I’ll blow your head off.”
“How dare you burst into my house!” the man blustered. “I’ll see you burned alive for this!”
Fat boy and Fat girl were herded out into the den, a Rebel poking the boy on his bare ass with the muzzle. Fat girl was bawling. The young woman wearing the choke chain was struggling into her clothing.
“How do you get that chain off of her?” Tina asked the man.
“You don’t. They’re welded on at the prison. Who are you crazy people?”
“Get up,” Tina told him.
“I must certainly will not!”
Tina popped him on the mouth with the butt of her rifle. Blood flew and teeth popped under the impact. “Get up, goddamn you!”
Moaning and holding his busted and bleeding mouth, the man got to his feet, swaying slightly.
“Get Fat boy some clothes,” Tina said. “She looked at the man’s wife. “Get up!”
The older woman jumped to her feet. “They’re Ben Raines’s Rebels,” she told her husband.
“Right,” Tina told her. “Now shut up.” She looked at the young woman. “Are you a slave in this house?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m a half-breed Indian. My mother was white, my father was Fox.”
“Pack a few clothes,” Tina told her. “We’re getting you out of this place. We’ll cut that chain off back at camp.”
“You can’t do this to us!” Fat boy wailed. “His Majesty said we was all safe here.”
“His Majesty?” a Rebel blurted.
“King Big Louie,” Fat girl said, still blubbering. She wiped her snotty nose with the back of her hand.
“Well, guess what?” Tina said. “His Majesty lied!”
“Incredible,” Ben muttered. “He’s been getting away with it for more than three years, and we didn’t even know about it.”
“Forcing minority women into prostitution,” Dan said. “Or for that matter, any woman who tries to resist Big Louie’s orders.”
“My God, Ben,” Lamar said, looking at the captured man and hi
s wife and fat kids. “This Louie has gathered the scum of the earth inside his borders.”
“I resent that!” the man said. He was tired and haggard looking, but was recovering some of his bluster. “We only enslaved the Indians and niggers and other inferiors.” The words were slightly slurred due to his swollen mouth.
“If you open your mouth again,” Ben told him, “without my telling you to do so, you’re going to lose some more teeth.”
The man closed his mouth.
“Get them out of my sight,” Ben ordered. “All except for the wife. How are they coming on the lady’s chain?”
“It’s off,” Ike said, entering the tent. “The medics are checking her out now.”
The man and his fat-assed kids were herded out of the tent. Fat girl was still blubbering. It was not a very appetizing sight.
Ben sat down, facing the woman. “You have probably guessed by now who I am, correct?”
“General Ben Raines.”
“Right. Now, how much of what your husband said was truth, and how much of it was bullshit?”
“He told you the truth . . . as far as he took it.”
“Well, lady, you pick it up where he left it off.”
“And what do I get if I do? And he isn’t my husband.”
“The kids?”
“His. What do I get out of telling you what I know?”
“You can walk out of this camp alive. We’ll take you down to the Oklahoma border and turn you loose.”
“That isn’t much, general.”
Ben smiled at her. “Considering that you have taken part in enslaving people against their will; taken part in burning people alive, and God only knows what else, do you want to hear the alternative?”
“I can probably guess it.”
“Start talking.”
“The man I was living with is not representative of most of the people living under Big Louie’s rule. And neither are those lard-butted kids representative of the young people. Big Louie patterned his kingdom after your old Tri-States. Sam, that’s the man I was living with, was the exception. Most others are very fit and well trained. Everyone is armed, armed well, and knows his or her assignment in case of trouble. There is about thirty-five hundred people within Louie’s boundaries. And they will fight. They have a way of life that suits them, and they will defend it. And if you think I’m kidding, general, you’d damn well better think again.”
“That jibes with the latest intel, Ben,” Ike said. “It’s not going to be a piece of cake.”
“Regular army or police force?” Ben asked.
“Oh . . . probably three hundred and fifty,” she said. “That’s not counting the guards at the prison farm where the slaves are processed.”
“How long have you been with Louie?”
“Three years. My real husband was killed fighting warlords.”
“And you don’t think it’s wrong what you’re doing?”
“No,” she replied without hesitation. “It’s just the way things are. The strong dominate the weak.”
Ben stared at her. “You’re in . . . your early forties, I’d guess.”
“Pretty good guess.”
“That would make you about thirty when the Great War came.”
“Another good guess.”
Ben had to give the woman this much: There was no fear visible in her eyes, her voice, or her mannerisms. “So I don’t have to lecture you on decency or laws or moral codes.”
“I hope not. You’re dreaming, Ben Raines. You and your army will never bring conditions back to what they were. The whole world is a jungle, Ben Raines. Dog eat dog. For God’s sake, man — if there really is a God, which I doubt — Big Louie is just one of probably two hundred or more warlords and self-styled kings. And that’s just the ones that I know of. Probably twice that many scattered around the country. I work in communications, general. We know almost everything you people are planning to do. If you stamp out Big Louie, the next day you’ll be fighting another warlord, and then another and another. It’ll never end. Why don’t you and your people just go on back to Georgia, do your little thing with Khamsin and his rag-heads, and then settle down in your own little spot? Let the world take care of itself. Who do you think you are — Don Quixote or Sancho Panza?”
“You’re an educated woman.”
“I have, had, a Masters, yes. And I was a very good teacher. What’s that got to do with the price of eggs, now?”
“You don’t teach in Big Louie’s schools?”
She laughed at that. “Not hardly. I never let him know I was a teacher.”
“Why?”
“Because I wasn’t planning on staying around that long. Then Sam offered me security.” She smiled. “You see, Ben Raines, not that much has changed about living.”
“What’s this Big Louie like?”
“Quite mad. He enjoys inflicting pain on people; likes to hear them scream. But he isn’t a raving lunatic. He is usually quite lucid. And he is a genius. Hell, he built something out of nothing, didn’t he?”
“By enslaving others.”
“Minorities, General Raines. Indians, greasers, Jews, niggers. The strong will survive, General Raines. It’s the way of the world, and it always has been. I don’t have to tell you that. Or I shouldn’t have to tell you. People put up with Big Louie’s excesses, general. Every time he starts going off the deep end, so to speak, the doctors jack him down with Thorazine and let him float for a few days. He’s a joke, general. The man who really runs things is named Ashley. I don’t know whether that’s his first name or his last name.”
“Why do people put up with Louie?” Ben asked.
“Because they’re comfortable, general. They live in nice homes. They have plenty to eat. They’re safe. We have electricity, running water . . . all the things we had before. Currency, shops to spend it in. Just like before. And no taxes.”
“And slaves.”
“That’s right, general. Slaves. And down near Ponca City, Oklahoma, there is another place very similar to Big Louie’s. And they have slaves. And over near Fayetteville, Arkansas, there is yet warlord’s headquarters . . . with slaves and whores and all the so-called abuses you’ve got your ass up over your back about. You’re fighting a losing battle, general.”
Ben turned to a Rebel sergeant. “Arrange for this . . . lady and her family to be transported down to the Oklahoma line. Turn them loose down there. No weapons.”
“You don’t give us weapons, general,” she said.
“You’re condemning us to death.”
Ben’s smile was not pleasant to view. “You want me to just shoot you here?”
She stood up and walked to the flap of the big tent. “I guess we’ll take our chances out there. You’re a hard motherfucker, Ben Raines.”
“So I’ve been told, lady. So I’ve been told.”
SEVEN
Ben interviewed the other prisoners taken by Dan Gray’s Scouts. Their stories were much the same. And under prompting, the name Ashley surfaced in each interview. And not much about the man proved to be in the least admirable.
When the last prisoners had been interviewed, then transported many miles away, Dr. Chase said, “This Ashley appears to be the real power behind the throne, Ben.”
“Yes. But who in the hell is he? Where does he live? No one seems to know.”
“They might be lyin’, Ben,” Ike said.
“I don’t get that impression. But I do get the feeling that everyone, including Big Louie, is very much afraid of this Ashley. But why?”
“And I get the impression that he knows you, Ben,” Ike said.
“Yeah. I picked up on that, too. But I don’t recall ever knowing anyone named Ashley. Wait a minute! Wait just a minute.” He was thoughtful for a moment. “No. Hell, no. It couldn’t be.”
“Something, Ben?” Lamar asked.
“Just for an instant, that name rang a little bell in my head. But it slipped away as quickly as it came. I just don’t kno
w anybody named Ashley. Of course, it might not be his real name.”
Outside, the rain picked up, slashing against the squad tent. “It’s supposed to clear out of here in a couple of days,” Ike said.
Ben nodded his head. “Was that woman right, Ike? Am I, are we, dreaming? Do we have any kind of a chance of restoring some normalcy to this nation?”
Ike, Lamar, Dan Gray, and James Riverson all stood silently for a moment. The rain and wind lashed at the tent. Ben looked at each man.
“Yes,” Ike finally said. “Not like it used to be. Never that; not in our lifetime. But, yes, Ben, we can do it. But we’re all going to be fighting for the rest of our lives to do it.”
Ben sighed. “Sometimes I get so discouraged.”
The flap of the tent was opened. A Rebel stepped in, the woman Tina and her team had rescued right behind him.
Ben stood up and smiled at the woman. “Miss. You look a lot better without that collar around your neck.”
“First time it’s been off in months,” she told him. “Are you planning on making war against Big Louie and his people?”
“Yes.”
“I wish to join your army, Ben Raines.”
“All right. But I’d like to know your name.”
“Denise. Denise Vista.”
That brought a smile to the lips of all the Rebels.
“Something amusing about my name?” Denise asked.
“Not at all, ma’am,” Ike said. “Vista was the name of the capital of the old Tri-States. Brought back a lot of memories, that’s all.”
“I see,” the woman said softly.
Denise was perhaps five-five, very nicely proportioned, and had dark brown hair, dark eyes, and an olive complexion.
A survivor, Ben thought. She’s tough. “Denise, what do you know about a man called Ashley?”
“Very little. I’ve seen him, two, no, three times. He’s tall, perhaps forty years old. Speaks with a heavy southern accent. He’s the real power behind Big Louie.”
“Where does he live?” Ben asked.
“I don’t know. It is whispered among the slaves that he has several homes, not all of them within the boundaries claimed by Big Louie. He is always armed, and always has many bodyguards with him.”
Smoke from the Ashes Page 5