Survival in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  The Scotch poured and their bellies warmed from the first sip, Tina said, “How are you doing, Dad?”

  “I’m all right. I said good-bye this afternoon, sitting in a little grove of trees behind the field hospital. Really, Tina, I said good-bye a long time ago.”

  “Are you going to get drunk, Father?” Buddy asked. “I’ve never been drunk, I don’t think, so if you want company, I’ll join you.”

  Ben smiled. “No, son. I’m going to go easy on the hooch. I don’t know what my feelings are right now. All jumbled up, for sure. But neither of you has to worry. I’m not going off the deep end and do something stupid. Probably go to bed early. The funeral is at dawn tomorrow. I’m escorting the body out about an hour before then. I drove over this afternoon and found a peaceful place in the foothills. The grave won’t be marked.”

  Both his kids looked at him at that.

  “That isn’t Jerre wrapped in that blanket at the hospital. Her soul is free now. And I hope she’s happy.”

  When Tina looked at her father, he was crying soundlessly, tears running down his tanned face.

  The wind sighed gently in the foothills around the Mount Saint Helens monument as one of the Rebel chaplains conducted the brief ceremony and Jerre was laid to rest. The final prayer was an echo in the wind and still no one made a move. Ben was conscious of eyes on him. The Rebels were not going to start covering the body until Ben made a move.

  “It’s all right,” Ben said, then reached down and sprinkled a handful of dirt on the bodybag.

  The grave was quickly filled in.

  Ben looked at Dan. “We’ll pull out at noon, Dan. Have the people ready to go.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now leave me for a time.”

  Dan shooed the Rebels away, leaving Ben alone on the crest of the hill. He began gathering good-size rocks and placing them on the damp mound of dirt, working for more than an hour, covering the grave, insuring that no animal could dig through. Smoot played around his feet as he worked.

  Satisfied that he had done all that could be done — with the materials at hand — Ben sat down close to the grave and memories; mental pictures that spanned a decade.

  He recalled when he had first met her, back in Virginia just after the Great War. And he knew and accepted, finally, that he had fallen in love with her on that first day, many years back.

  There had been many other women over the years, but always in the back of his mind, there was Jerre. Untouchable, unreachable except for mental images that he would always carry with him.

  Ben picked up Smoot and walked down the hill, away from eternal rest. The wind seemed to cry as he walked toward the column of Rebels waiting for him on the road. Ben did not look back at the solitary, unmarked grave.

  Ben had changed, and everyone around him picked up on that fact immediately. How he had changed quickly surfaced as the columns headed north.

  “Corrie, when we stop for a break this afternoon, go to communications and give Base Camp One a bump. Tell them to start printing flyers. The wording will be this: The forty-eight contiguous states comprising the United States of America are now under the rule of the Rebels. All citizens must come forward to be photographed and fingerprinted for identification. Noncompliance to this order will not be construed as a criminal act. Refusal to comply with this order will mean a complete denial of medical care and protection from the Rebel army and it will carry the implication that those refusing to do so wish to live outside the law. It will also mean that the children of those refusing to comply, when found, will be taken and placed in Rebel homes. The people have one year from this date to comply.”

  “The shit’s gonna hit the fan now,” Jersey said.

  “It’s communistic, Ben,” Thermopolis said.

  “That’s crap and you know it, Therm,” Ben told him. “I’m not a dictator and you know that too.”

  They had bivouacked for the evening and the news had spread like unchecked fires throughout the camp. Ben had expected Thermopolis to confront him and the aging hippie had not disappointed him.

  “Big government brought this nation down, Ben. Now you want to bring big government back.”

  “Horseshit, Therm! It’s your nature to challenge rules and regulations; but you know damn well civilization cannot flourish without rules. There is only two directions we can go: forward or backward. And I don’t intend to go backward. I want a census count, and this is one way to do it.”

  “It’s also a way to know where people are and to keep an eye on them.”

  “True. But I don’t mean to do anything sinister with that knowledge.”

  “There are a lot of individuals out there, Ben.” He waved a hand.

  “Sure. That’s fine. I don’t care if people want to go off and live a hermit’s life. People can live as they damn well please. Just as long as they obey the few laws we have on the books. Therm, we can’t get anything done pulling in single harness, all going in different directions. We’re either going to pull together to rebuild something good and lasting, or this country — the world — is doomed.”

  Thermopolis glared at him. “You’ve got a lot of politician in you, Ben.”

  “Yes. I’ll agree with that. And being a politician can be either good or bad. I like to think of myself as somewhere in the middle.” He noticed the surprised look on Thermopolis’s face. “Hell, I’ve got faults, Therm. I’m no saint. I tilt at windmills too. And so do you. But haven’t things been so much more interesting since we started tilting at them together?”

  Thermopolis gave him a disgusted look and walked off, muttering about totalitarianism, imperialism, socialism, communism, big-brotherism, and Ben Raines . . . all in the same breath.

  SIXTEEN

  Ben and his Rebels slammed northward, clearing out the towns as they went. They crushed any resistance with sheer brute force and a total lack of compassion or mercy. By the time the columns reached Olympia, the city had been abandoned by the creepies.

  “Strip it of anything we might be able to use and then burn it,” Ben ordered.

  He ordered Ike, Cecil, and West to reclaim Seattle and put Five and Six Battalions stretched out between what was left of Olympia over to Aberdeen. Ben took his columns and began working the two hundred and seventy-five-mile circle formed by Highway 101, which would end back at the smoking ruins of Olympia.

  Ben found a strange assortment of creepies and outlaws within his perimeter, each one oddly dependent upon the other for survival. Ben cut their survival factor down to zero during the sweep.

  And at night he dreamed of Jerre.

  The Rebels roared through the towns on the southernmost stretch of their perimeter before reaching Aberdeen. There, the creepies had massed for a last-ditch defense against Ben Raines.

  But the Rebels were on a victorious roll and by now had the procedure worked out to perfection. They stood back a mile outside of town and blew it off the map without taking a single casualty. They rolled through the still-burning and body-littered town, main battle tanks spearheading, and smashed into a mixed bag of outlaws and creeps who had holed up in the next town, about five miles up the road.

  The battle was brief, with the Rebels taking no prisoners and leaving nothing that could be salvaged behind them. They went up the coastline as far as they could, rolling through all the tiny towns. The Rebels found where outlaws and thugs had taken over, killing off any survivors and occupying the beachfront homes. But the outlaws and thugs had left when Ben Raines entered the state. They wanted no part of the Rebels.

  “I wonder where they went?” Buddy asked, eating the evening meal with his father and sister, both of whom had joined Ben on this campaign.

  “Probably inside the Olympic National Park,” Ben said. “Stinking up and screwing up the beauty of the park. Or they might be one jump ahead of us. If that’s the case, they’re in for a surprise. Whatever way they try to get off this jut of land, they’ll run into Rebels.”

  Corrie stuck her head
into the room. “Fly-bys report a large concentration of outlaws and creeps in Port Angeles, General. Or rather they’re gathered all along that stretch of road. They’re going to make a fight of it.”

  “They’re finally wising up, Dad,” Tina said. “They know now that holing up in the cities is a death trap.”

  “It’s about time the dumbasses learned. What’s the word from Seattle, Corrie?”

  “The creepies are trapped, sir. General Jefferys is at the south end and General Ike to the north. West is on Mercer Island and they’re all pounding the city with heavy artillery. Seattle is burning. Five and Six Battalions are bitching because they don’t have anything to do.”

  “Tell them to hang tight. I’ll see if we can’t drive the crud out of Port Angeles and head them their way. Get me all available data on the location of the enemy, Corrie. Tell the people we’ll pull out in the morning.”

  “This should just about wind this campaign down, Dad,” Tina said.

  “It won’t take long. Then we have to see about getting the people counted and ID’d.”

  “We’ll do that this fall and winter?” Buddy asked.

  “Yes. That and try to reclaim Southern California.”

  “Do you feel that will be as big a job as New York City?”

  “At least that much and probably more. The island of Manhattan was a compressed area. L.A. is huge, sprawling all over the place. And I don’t know yet what we’ll be facing there; probably gangs of every size and description and belief, in addition to the creepies.”

  Smoot came over and puppy-attacked Ben’s boot until Ben gave her a scrap of food from his plate. She wandered off to a corner, ate the scrap, and promptly came back for more. When she didn’t get it she again declared war on Ben’s boots.

  The three ate in silence for a moment, with Tina and Buddy sneaking little glances at their father, both of them wondering how he was really coping with Jerre’s death. Outwardly, he seemed fine; but with Ben, outward appearances could be very deceiving.

  Dan entered the building and Ben pointed toward the coffeepot.

  “The mixture of creeps and outlaws are stretched out along a line that extends approximately ten miles east and west from Port Angeles,” Dan said.

  Ben glanced at an old map. “Along One-twelve or One-o-one?”

  “Both.”

  Ben nodded his head. “All right. Dan, you and Tina cut off at Sappho, using this secondary road north, and link up with One-twelve. I’ll take my bunch and push east on One-o-one. We’ll hook up at this airport about five miles outside of the objective.”

  Dan looked at the map and smiled; a grim soldier’s curving of the lips. “We’ve got them in a box. Any escape route they try will put them up against Rebels.”

  “Yes. And surely they must know that. They’ll put up a pretty good fight, I’m thinking.”

  “Prisoners, General?”

  “Not unless you’re feeling unusually charitable.”

  The outlaws, thugs, punks, and creepies were trapped and knew it. They could not go north to Vancouver Island; that would mean crossing the Strait of Juan De Fuca and they did not have the boats to manage it. West lay Ben Raines and his people. East lay the Rebels. Their only hope was south into the Olympic National Park. That might buy them a little time, but all knew the Rebels would eventually hunt them down and kill them.

  Besides, there were no roads that led all the way through the huge park; only hiking trails. The outlaws and creepies made an uneasy pact with each other and made ready to die under the guns of the Rebels.

  Seattle was gone, virtually destroyed by the round-the-clock shelling from Rebel guns. There were crud still alive in the city, huddled amid the burning rubble, but their numbers were now so few as to be inconsequential.

  Some had tried to surrender to the Rebels. They were either shot or hanged. Ben Raines’s get-tough policy left no options open for those who chose the path of lawlessness. Before making this sweep, he had offered surrender terms to the outlaws — only the outlaws, not the creepies — and a few had accepted those terms. The majority of thugs, punks, and crud, being arrogant from the start, or they wouldn’t have chosen the life-style they did, had jeered at the offer of surrender.

  Now they had only death before them.

  And word was being radioed all over the nation, from one outlaw gang to another: Ben Raines is offering a one-time deal — surrender now or die later. Past sins will be forgiven, but you’d better get your asses to a secure zone, ’fess up, and do it now. There is no tomorrow. Tomorrow, all bets are off.

  Ben and his Rebels pushed north at first light, traveling through the now-deserted and barren coastline and inland towns. There had been Indians living on reservations on this jut of land. The outlaws enslaved them and the creepies ate them.

  Buddy’s Rat Team found, to their amazement, a pocket of survivors in the town of Forks. Nearly four hundred men, women, and children had turned the town into a fort and had survived for a decade.

  “You’re kidding!” Ben radioed back.

  “No, sir. These survivors control everything up to Sappho and have for years. They got tough right after the Great War and stayed tough. But they sure are happy to see us. They request to be made a secure Rebel zone.”

  “Tell them request is granted. I’ll be there in about an hour.”

  The survivors were a mixture of Indians and Whites, living proof that people of different cultures could live and work together in harmony . . . all they had to do was expend a little effort and understanding to make it work.

  Ben met with the leaders and another outpost was in place.

  “After you leave Sappho,” one of the leaders, a Quinault Indian told Ben, “you’ll be in hostile territory. We just weren’t strong enough to extend our area of control any further.”

  “Why did you choose to settle here?” Ben questioned, although he felt he knew the answer.

  “It’s so isolated we felt we’d be safe. Obviously, others felt the same way. When the outlaws and Believers came, then it was a matter of pride and stubbornness for us. We just weren’t going to be chased away from our homes. So we got tough and fought them. When the government ordered all weapons to be turned in — before the Great War — we ignored the order; as did thousands of others around the nation. So we had something in place to fight with. Those who meekly turned over their weapons to the government were slaughtered after the country, the world, went belly-up.”

  The citizens had kept the small airfield in good shape, anticipating the day when the Rebels would arrive. Ben ordered supplies and a platoon of Rebels willing to resettle flown in to beef up the small outpost. Then it was on to reclaim the northernmost part of coastline.

  Dan and Tina exited 101 at Sappho, traveling the old county road north to 112, while Ben and his contingent stayed on 101.

  Smoot spent most of her time riding in the back with Beth and Corrie and Jersey — usually sound asleep. She had grown accustomed to the sound of gunfire and cannons booming, and after a jumpy first time, she paid no attention to the sounds of war.

  Dan hit the first resistance at what was left of a tiny town named Joyce and Ben’s people locked horns with the outlaws and creeps at Elwha. There was nothing left of the towns but rubble and smoke and fire after the Rebel gunners took their morning exercise.

  The Rebels drove slowly through the still burning rubble, looking at the sprawled and broken bodies of those who chose lawlessness over civility. No medical team stopped to help any wounded, for the survivors back at Forks had briefed the Rebels well, telling them that all decent people had long since left, been killed fighting the thugs and creeps, or had been captured and eaten.

  No doubt history would write that Ben Raines and the Rebels were hard men and women, and no doubt some would write that they were too hard, too lacking in compassion toward the enemy. To a person, the Rebels’ reply to that would be that the enemy had a chance to surrender, to change their ways. They didn’t take it, so tough
shit!

  By the middle of the afternoon, Dan and Ben had linked up at the junction of 112 and 101 and were now five miles from the town of Port Angeles.

  “Seventeen miles between Port Angeles and the town of Sequim.” Buddy traced the line on the map with a blunt finger. “And fly-bys show the outlaws and creeps are stretched out between the town.”

  “Order Six Battalion up, Corrie. Start them moving immediately. They’re going to hit some resistance at a couple of places, but it should be light. Tell them to get in position at Blyn and wait for my orders.”

  Tina looked at her dad. “And what’ll we be doing until then?”

  “First having dinner and then getting a good night’s sleep,” her father replied with a grin.

  Ben was working on his second cup of coffee the next morning, alone with his thoughts, when a man with a white flag appeared, walking up the center of the highway from the direction of Port Angeles. He shouted that he wanted to see Ben Raines.

  Ben was notified. Using a bullhorn, he asked, “What the hell do you want?”

  “A chance to surrender!” the man shouted.

  “You had a chance to surrender. You didn’t take it.”

  “Well, goddamn! Can’t nobody change their minds with you people?”

  Ben lifted the horn. “Come on in closer. I want to talk with you face to face.”

  The man hesitated.

  “Don’t be a fool!” Ben told him. “You’ve a hundred guns trained on you. If I was going to kill you you’d already be dead.”

  The man walked up to the truck where Ben was leaning against a fender. “We done broke with the creepies. They know you ain’t gonna let them surrender. But we ain’t no cannibals.”

  “You’re just as bad,” Ben told him.

  “Huh? What’d you mean by that?”

  “If you play with shit you’re going to get some on you.”