“Ruby. Ruby Davis. Glad to meet you, Jim LaDoux. You’re French?”
“My father was Cajun French. My mother was Irish.”
“Dark hair and beautiful green eyes. Emerald green. I bet you’ve got a temper.”
Jim again smiled. “So I’ve been told. How’s the coffee?”
“Delicious.”
“So what were you and your dad doing out on that lonely road?”
“We were heading for Dad’s hunting cabin up in Idaho. Dad and some of his friends bought the place years ago. It’s fairly isolated, and Dad thought we’d be safer there.”
“Your mother?”
“She died a long time ago. I was just a little girl.”
“No other family?”
“Some cousins back East. I don’t know them at all. Dad and I were the only ones on our block to survive the virus. We didn’t even get sick. We spent much of our time burying our friends in their backyards. It was . . . depressing.”
“I’m sure.”
“Did you get sick?”
Jim shook his head. “No. Do you know for sure what really happened?”
“No. Not really. We heard so many conflicting reports. Everything from capsules from outer space to an explosion at some sort of laboratory that released the germs into the air. I don’t know what to believe. What did you hear?”
“Basically the same thing.”
“The whole thing is . . . eerie. Like a really bad dream. I keep hoping and praying that I’ll wake up and everything will be back to normal. But every day turns out to be just like the day before.”
“How old are you, Ruby?”
“Twenty-five last month. Heck of a way to spend a birthday. You?”
“Twenty-nine. I’m really sorry about your dad, Ruby.”
“Thanks. You believe in God, Jim?”
“Why . . . yes, I do.”
“Me too. So did my dad. So I guess he’s in a better place now.”
“Yes. That’s the way to look at death.”
“I’m really tired. Think I’ll get some sleep.” She set her coffee cup on the end table. “Don’t let me sleep too long.”
“I won’t. I’ll stand guard while you get some rest.”
Ruby was asleep in moments. Jim walked through the house. It had been looted, torn apart. Clothing had been scattered all over the place, drawers pulled out and slung to the floor. Jim wondered if the looters had been looking for money. If so, why? What the hell good was money now? It was worthless.
Jim refilled his coffee cup and walked outside to the back of the house. He listened for a moment to some birds singing. Obviously, the virus had not affected animal life, for he had seen many birds, and numerous types of animals, since leaving the cabin in the wilderness area.
He heard a thump from inside the house, and walked back into the living room. Ruby had fallen off the couch. Jim knelt down beside the woman and tried to find a pulse. There was none. She was staring up at him through sightless eyes.
I’m glad you believe in God, Ruby,” Jim whispered. “Have a peaceful journey home.”
TWENTY-NINE
Jim found a shovel in the toolshed and dug a shallow grave in the hard dry earth. He wrapped Ruby in a blanket and buried her in the backyard. He stood for a moment by the grave, trying to think of some words. He finally recited the Lord’s Prayer and walked back into the house.
Jim sat for a time, drinking coffee and thinking. He finished the pot he’d made, and then rummaged around the kitchen, finding several cans of food, including three cans of mixed fruit. He fixed a large can of pork and beans for his supper. When he had eaten his fill, he walked outside and stood for a moment in the gathering twilight. It would be full dark in a few minutes. He would sleep until dawn and then take off again. With a sigh, Jim turned and went back into the house. He laid his sleeping bag on the carpet and stretched out. He closed his eyes. He was asleep just as the night settled over the land.
Using high-powered binoculars, Jim studied the Interstate for several minutes. Two pickup trucks and one car passed on the Interstate, all heading east. Jim slipped under the overpass unseen—he hoped—and cut onto a dirt road, heading south. At a general store that was located in a town that was just a dot on the map, Jim fueled up and then pulled around to the back and parked, entering the store by the back door. The skeletal remains of two people were on the floor of the storeroom. Jim could tell by the manner of dress that the remains were those of a man and a woman.
In the store proper, Jim rummaged around the mess and found several items that he needed. Toothpaste, toothbrushes, aspirin, and numerous cans of food. He boxed everything up and put it in the trailer. Then he opened a can of warm Coke, and walked outside to sit on the front porch and enjoy his soft drink.
He had found a big box of Prince Albert smoking tobacco in the store and a display box full of papers. He rolled himself a smoke and sipped his soft drink.
He looked up at the sound of a vehicle approaching, putting his right hand on the Thompson. It was an old pickup truck. A very old pickup. One man in it. The pickup pulled up to the front of the store, and the old man behind the wheel cut the engine and stared at Jim.
“Howdy, boy,” the man said.
“Morning, sir.”
The old man chuckled. “Just passin’ through, son?”
“You might say that.”
“You ain’t got the sickness, have you?”
“No, sir. I feel fine.”
“Did you find Barstow and his wife in the store?”
“I found the bodies of a man and a woman, yes, sir.”
“I discovered ’em last month. Left ’em where they was. Didn’t see no point in buryin’ ’em. Hundreds and hundreds of dead people in this county. All over the damn place. It was a major stink for a time.”
“I can imagine.”
“My wife caught the sickness and died. We was married for forty years. I never even got sick a day. Do you know what caused all this tragedy?”
“Not really. I’ve heard a half dozen different theories.”
“I don’t believe in them little green spacemen with big peckers.”
Jim laughed. “I hadn’t heard that one.”
“Oh, yeah. That one was one of the first rumors. But you know what?”
“What’s that?”
“I think it was God who done it.”
“You really believe that, mister?”
“Sure do. End-of-the-world time, son. Armageddon.”
“Then how come we’re still alive?”
“How the hell am I supposed to know that? I ain’t God, boy.”
Jim didn’t know if the old man was putting him on or not. “So what are you going to do, mister?”
“Wait until I’m called home. Say, where’d you get that old Chicago piano?”
“Get what?”
“That old Thompson submachine gun.”
“Ben Raines gave it to me.”
“Ben Raines, huh? The general?”
“That’s right.”
“Now, why would he do something like that?”
“He was dying.”
“Do tell? Well, I never liked the man myself. Met him a couple of times. I thought him to be a tad on the know-it-all side.”
“There were a lot of people who would disagree with you.”
“I’m sure. Well, I got to be gettin’ on, boy. Got things to do. Take care of yourself. See you.”
Before Jim could reply, the old man slipped his rattletrap truck into gear and rattled away.
“Be safe,” Jim said to the cloud of dust trailing behind the old pickup.
Jim sat for a time, finishing his Coke and smoke. Then his eyes caught movement at the end of the long porch. He placed his right hand on his Thompson, then withdrew it and smiled as a puppy ran out from under the porch. Jim called to the animal, and the dog ran to him and jumped up into his arms, licking his face.
“All right, all right,” Jim said, holding the pup away from him and looking
him over.
It was a male, probably four or five months old. But what breed of dog was up for grabs. It certainly was a mixture of several breeds: German shepherd, some sort of Alaskan breed, and just plain mutt. But for sure it was going to be a big one.
“You know what?” Jim told the dog. “I think I’m going to keep you. I need some company and you need a home. So welcome to your traveling home.”
When he approached the next town, a slightly larger one than the one where he had stopped at the country store, Jim stopped and studied the town from a distance, using the high-powered binoculars Ben had given him. He could detect no signs of life. He checked his map. He would sure avoid the next town, for the map showed it to be a town of about six thousand. The population of the town he was approaching was not listed.
Jim slowly drove to the edge of town. There was nothing on the CB and the scanner was picking up nothing.
“There has to be someone left alive,” Jim muttered. “It’s inconceivable that everybody in town would die.”
He stopped at a house on the edge of town and pulled around to the back, getting out, Thompson in hand. The puppy lay on his blanket on the floorboards, showing no interest in leaving the Humvee. Jim stood still and listened. Not a sound.
He pushed open the back door and looked in. The kitchen was empty. But the first bedroom he came to wasn’t empty: it had two bodies in it. The remains of a man and woman were on the bed. Jim walked closer and looked. A pistol lay on the floor. The woman had been shot once in the head, and it looked like the man had then put the muzzle in his mouth and pulled the trigger; the top of his head had been blown off.
Jim left the house and went to the next house. Empty. Farther on down the street, he came to a small block building that housed a veterinarian’s office. Jim pulled around back and went in. The cages were all empty, so no animals had starved to death. Jim prowled through the supplies, and took what he felt he might need for the dog. He found a case of canned puppy food and took that. The bags of dog food had all been rat-chewed. He picked up several collars of various sizes. Standing by his Humvee, Jim listened to the silence that surrounded him, the stillness broken only by the singing and calling of birds and the occasional distant barking of a dog.
The title of a book he’d read years back suddenly came to mind: Brave New World. Jim had read that novel several times as a teenager.
“Well, that’s what this is, sort of,” he said. “A new world.” He looked inside the vehicle at the puppy, who was sitting on the front seat, looking at him. Jim had decided to call the animal Little Rebel. “All right, Little Reb. Let’s go see our New World.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
After twenty years of Ben Raines chasing bad guys all over the world, there appear to be no more worlds to conquer, so to speak. And Ben is also getting old and weary of it all.
After many discussions with my publisher, I have decided to end the Ashes series.
In its place will be the new series: The Last Rebel. Number one in the new series will be out in September 2004. It will feature Jim LaDoux trying to survive in a world gone mad.
I hope you enjoy The Last Rebel.
William W. Johnstone
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2003 by William W. Johnstone
Cover design by Open Road Integrated Media
ISBN 978-1-4976-2522-8
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
345 Hudson Street
New York, NY 10014
www.openroadmedia.com
ASHES EBOOKS
FROM OPEN ROAD MEDIA
Available wherever ebooks are sold
Open Road Integrated Media is a digital publisher and multimedia content company. Open Road creates connections between authors and their audiences by marketing its ebooks through a new proprietary online platform, which uses premium video content and social media.
Videos, Archival Documents, and New Releases
Sign up for the Open Road Media newsletter and get news delivered straight to your inbox.
Sign up now at
www.openroadmedia.com/newsletters
FIND OUT MORE AT
WWW.OPENROADMEDIA.COM
FOLLOW US:
@openroadmedia and
Facebook.com/OpenRoadMedia
Escape from the Ashes Page 20