Alone in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  The cabin had a large combination den and kitchen. One big bedroom with a small fireplace. The smoke from both fireplaces was angled out into the rear, toward the cave at the back of the cabin, finally filtering out only-God-knew-where—probably miles away.

  Part of the cave was used as a storage area. Ike had followed the cave for, as he put it, “One hell of an uncomfortable distance.” He had followed it until it branched off in three different directions, becoming so narrow and small a cat would have trouble getting through.

  So Ben and Rani were safe from the rear, from both sides, and from above.

  Ben and Rani worked three full days cutting and hauling and stacking wood for the fireplaces, most of the wood coming from downed trees. They only cut green wood when absolutely necessary. They filled up the storage area with enough wood to last them the winter, for the cabin was very snug, built as it was into the hill.

  Ben killed two deer and dried most of the meat, storing it. For the first time in weeks, he and Rani enjoyed fresh meat, Rani fixing a roast for several meals, and a stew out of the rest.

  The first of the new year, the weather turned rough, with cold winds and rain that quickly turned into sleet and then snow.

  When they awakened on the second day of January, they were snowed in tight.

  34

  Jake Campo stood in the blowing snow, his big hands balled into fists. He stood looking first to the north, then at the obvious clues standing out like neon signs.

  “He’s baiting us,” Texas Red said. “He’s daring us to come after him.”

  “That’s the way I read it, too,” Jake agreed. “Throwing down the glove and challenging us to pick it up.”

  “Huh?” Red said.

  Jake looked at the man. Dumb son of a bitch! he thought. “All right, boys. You start cuttin’ sign,” he ordered a dozen men. “Rest of you make damn sure the trucks and jeeps are ready to go. Can’t nothin’ but a four-wheel make it in there. This weather ain’t gonna last. They’ll be blizzards and then it’ll warm up enough for us to move. We might be able to move one day and be holed up for a week. But we’re gonna get Ben Raines. This time, we’re gonna get him.”

  Ben radioed in to Base Camp One and gave Cecil his map coordinates on scramble. “Ike’s hidey-hole,” he told them.

  Ike grinned at the message. “Man, he’s way back in the timber. It’d take a full battalion to dig them out of there. Shit. I stashed enough ammo back there to fight a whole war.”

  “I think we should contact Colonel Gray,” Gale said.

  “No,” Cecil nixed that. “If Ben wants Dan in on this, he’ll contact him. I get the feeling this is, well, personal with Ben.”

  None of them liked it, but that was the way it was going to be.

  Ben told them about Sam Hartline and the Russian.

  Gale tensed at the news. Her dark eyes filled with hatred at Ben’s report.

  Tina put her hand on the smaller woman’s shoulder.

  “We’re going to have to do something about that situation,” Ben concluded his report. “Just as soon as I can pinpoint the location, we’ll begin making plans to put an end to the obscenity. Raines out.”

  Ben turned his set off before Base Camp One had a chance to say anything else.

  “It’s a vendetta,” Gale said. “It’s for and because of that little boy.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Ike said. “But you’re right. Some of the people who brought that bunch of kids back said they’d never seen anything like the sight of those bodies Ben piled up around that old house. I’d hate to be in those outlaws’ boots when they do catch up with Ben.”

  Ben stepped out on the small porch. Under a clear blue sky, the land lay white and cold before him. Ben’s lips curved in a warrior’s smile as he lifted his eyes above the tree line.

  Smoke from half a dozen fires plumed into the sky. They were miles away. But there they were, lines of silvery gray lancing into the blue.

  He called Rani outside and pointed to the smoke.

  “So they’re here,” she said.

  “No,” Ben corrected. “They’re there. A long way from finding this place.” He smiled. “They’ll be stumbling around the deep timber for a week. And taking heavy losses as they do.”

  “From your traps?”

  “And from me. Did you finish with those sheets yet?”

  She sighed. “Yes. But I don’t like it, Ben.”

  “I used to fish in this area, Rani. Back when we knew some semblance of peace. Before the central government elected to make war against us. I fished up here many times, with Ike and Pal and Cecil.” And with our wives, he thought in silent memory. Salina, Lila, Valerie, Megan. All dead. Most of them never buried. Their monuments the majesty of the timber where they lay. “I know this land, Rani. Know it well.”

  She had picked up on Ben’s hesitation. She opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it. Sometimes old memories are best left alone.

  “Come on,” she said, tugging at his arm. “Let’s see how good a seamstress I am.”

  Rani had taken insulated coveralls and cut and sewn a snow suit over the coveralls, making it out of bed sheets. Using white shoe polish, Ben had made snow boots out of insulated hunting boots. His small pack was also covered with white fabric, as were his web belt, canteens, and ammo pouches.

  “When are you leaving, Ben?”

  “An hour before first light in the morning. I want to watch the smoke today, try to judge where they’re going.”

  She smiled despite her fears. “Then let’s make it a memorable evening, General.”

  “Deelighted, Miss Jordan.”

  “Ms.”

  “But of course.”

  Jake Campo squatted in front of a roaring fire, trying his best to get warm while his men struggled with tarps and tents. He looked over at Texas Red. They touched glances and understood each other.

  Both knew coming into the snow and deep timber after Raines had been a terrible mistake. But they couldn’t back out now. That would cause them the loss of respect from their men. The outlaws couldn’t afford that. They had to finish this thing once and for all.

  Forty men, Campo was thinking. We lost eight teams of men and Raines didn’t have to fire one lousy shot. And the desertions. Jesus. Guys were just quitting them left and right.

  He looked around him at the cold camp. Maybe, maybe if they were lucky, there was a hundred and twenty, maybe thirty guys left. But he knew these were the hardcore men. Murderers and rapists and nut cases. Most didn’t have enough sense to quit.

  This would be the base camp for a week, maybe longer. They would search every square inch of these woods, chart it on a map, and then, if they didn’t turn up Raines, move on. Jake knew they had plenty of food and sleeping bags and ammo. It was just a matter of finding Raines.

  They would start in the morning.

  Ben walked some twenty miles from the cabin before he began head-hunting. It was going to snow again that night, so he wasn’t worried about tracks.

  He drew close to the smoke that made up the western edge of the outlaws’ perimeter and squatted down, uncasing his binoculars. Very carefully and slowly, he scanned the area that lay before him. He picked up the movements of a few men. He focused his binoculars and brought the men in closer. They were walking with their heads down, searching the snow for sign.

  Ben eased back into the deep timber, watching the men walk through the small valley. He was careful to shield his field glasses so the sun would not bounce off the lenses, giving away his position. He watched them draw closer, than fan out, several hundred yards between each man.

  He waited by the edge of the forest. He was not aware of it, but he was smiling.

  The man working the most eastern area drew closer. He was talking to himself. Obviously, he was not happy with his job.

  “Son of a bitch,” the man muttered, his voice carrying to Ben. “I’m gonna enjoy watchin’ Jake nail that bastard to a cross. I hope it takes hi
m days to die. Jesus! it’s cold out here.”

  So Jake has plans to crucify me, Ben thought. I don’t think I’d like that very much. I’ll just see it I can’t put a crimp in Big Jake’s plans.

  The outlaw came to the woods’ edge and stood for a moment. The deep timber gave him some relief from the cold winds singing around the valley.

  “I sure would like to take a piss,” the outlaw muttered. “But I’m afraid my pecker would freeze and fall off.”

  Then he cussed Ben Raines loud and long.

  Ben hoped he enjoyed cursing him, for it was to be the last sound he would ever hear.

  Ben was silent and deadly with his knife, slicing the man’s throat with the heavy, razor-sharp blade. He dragged the man into the timber and dropped him in the snow, his warm, pumping blood staining the whiteness scarlet.

  “Halp!” Ben hollered, disguising his voice. “Halp! I’m stuck, boys, Halp!”

  “Leroy, you stupid ox!” a man’s call drifted over the valley. “What the shit is the matter with you now?”

  “Caught my foot in a wedge!” Ben hollered. “Come help me.”

  “All right, all right! Just don’t pee on yourself. We’re a-comin’.”

  Ben heard the man say, “You two keep on a-lookin’. Simmons, you and Bobby come with me. Let’s see what that dumbass’s got hisself into now.”

  The three outlaws approached Ben’s position, walking clumsily through the snow.

  “Leroy, you spastic bastard!” the point man said. “Sing out. Where is you?”

  “Ooohhh!” Ben groaned.

  “You hurt bad, Leroy?”

  “Ooohhh!”

  “Hang on, boy, we’s comin’.”

  The point man was the first to step into the dimly lit timber, and for a few seconds, he was unable to see. Ben took him out silently, plunging his knife into the man’s chest, feeling the blade grind and grit through and past bone, driving into the man’s heart.

  Standing up, Ben reversed the dead man’s sawed-off shotgun and used it for a club. He smashed the butt into one man’s face, hearing bones crunch and splinter under the impact. Before the third man could unsling his weapon, Ben shattered the man’s skull with the butt of the shotgun, hitting him so hard the butt broke off.

  Ben dropped the broken shotgun, grabbed his. 30-06, and uncapped the scope lenses. Quickly, he sighted an outlaw and pulled the trigger. Without bothering to see if he hit the man—Ben knew he didn’t miss, not at this distance—Ben had sighted the last man in and had downed him before the echoing report of the rifle had died away.

  Ben slipped quietly back into the timber, heading for the next plume of smoke. He was not aware of it, but his smile was still locked in place, giving him a death’s-head look.

  A look of hard-taken revenge.

  Jake’s head jerked up at the sounds of the gunfire. A tiny bit more of confidence ebbed within the man. He somehow knew the shots had not come from any of his men. He somehow knew that Raines had struck again.

  He sat on a log before the fire, waiting for the pot of coffee to boil. Not coffee, really. But a mixture of tea and coffee and chicory. Tasted like shit, but at least it was hot.

  Seemed like it was taking forever for the crap to boil.

  One of the warlord’s men came and squatted down by the fire, rubbing his gloved hands together. “Reckon one of our boys got Raines, Jake?”

  “Could be.”

  “Hope they didn’t kill him. I wanna see how much pain Raines can take. I hate that son of a bitch.”

  “Why?” Jake heard himself ask. The one-word question surprised him, leaping from his mouth. He really didn’t know why he’d asked it. Or, he mentally corrected that, didn’t want to admit why he asked it.

  “Huh?” the outlaw asked, looking at Campo.

  “Why do you hate Raines?”

  “Wal, shit, Jake! ’Cause the man is . . . the guy is ... all he is is . . . Shit! I don’t know. I jist do, that’s all.”

  “Don’t you, Jake?” another outlaw asked quietly.

  Without taking his eyes from the just-bubbling liquid in the battered old pot, Jake said, “No. I don’t hate him. I just wish to shit all this crap was over.”

  “You wanna quit, Jake?” yet another man asked.

  Jake shook his big shaggy head. “No. Can’t none of us quit, and you all know why. We got to see this thing through.”

  Jake leaned forward, reaching for the pot. Ben squeezed the trigger. The slug that was meant for Jake Campo struck the man squatted next to Jake, the force of the impacting bullet slamming the man forward, into the fire. His fur-lined parka caught fire, and was quickly blazing. The odor of cooked human flesh filled the air.

  The camp panicked.

  Ben fired again, the slug striking an outlaw in the center of the back, pitching the man into the snow, face down. Another outlaw went down, the bullet entering the left side of his head and exiting out the right, blowing brains and fluid and bits of bone out with it.

  Ben hurled a grenade into the camp, the shrapnel-filled little bomb exploding next to a pickup truck that was stuck in the heavy snow. The gas tank of the truck blew, sending flames billowing in the air, adding more confusion to an already chaotic situation. Men were running awkwardly in the snow, shouting and screaming in fear and panic, slamming into each other, knocking one another down, kicking and squalling in the snowy cold of the timber.

  At the sound of the first shot, Jake had thrown himself to one side, scurrying like a big crab for cover. But as the situation worsened, Jake realized that there was no cover safe from the revengeful barking of the rifle and Raines.

  Then, as quickly and savagely as it had begun, the firing stopped. Jake lay behind a log, listening for some sound, any sound, of Raines leaving.

  Nothing.

  The damned man moves like a ghost! Jake thought.

  And that thought did nothing for Jake’s mental state.

  35

  Ben slipped through the green and white forest like an armed avenging ghost. He was paralleling the second team of outlaws that morning, waiting for one of them to get careless.

  Finally one did.

  He called out, “I’m gonna step in them woods yonder and take me a piss. I’ll catch up with ya’ll directly.”

  “Don’t let it freeze off!” an outlaw called.

  “Yeah,” another yelled. “You ain’t got enough dick now to do no woman no good.”

  He stepped into the timber and Ben swung the heavy knife. The cold metal suddenly turned hot with gushing blood, the big blade cutting through bone, muscle, and tendons. The head plopped to the snow, the eyes wide open and staring in shock and disbelief. The headless torso flopped and kicked on the snow, blood squirting from the severed neck.

  Ben didn’t want to try the same ruse twice in the same day. He lay behind a log, using the fallen timber for a rifle support. He sighted in the man who was furthest away, and squeezed the trigger. The force of the slug knocked the man off his feet, the slug catching him squarely in the center of the chest. Ben shifted the rifle and shot another in the stomach. He managed to drop one more before the remaining two hit the snow and burrowed in like frightened rats.

  Ben rolled away from the log, rolling backward, deeper into the timber, and began easing his way out of that area.

  He was still smiling.

  It began snowing heavily long before Ben reached the warmth of the cabin. The snow would hide his tracks, but he didn’t believe Jake or Texas Red or any of the outlaws could be stupid enough to venture out in this weather.

  The sky had changed from a brilliant blue to a dirty gray, and Ben suspected a blizzard was building. If that was the case, more of the outlaws would be leaving, pulling out, deserting the warlords.

  And some of them would probably freeze to death.

  Ben was still smiling as he stepped up on the porch.

  Jake’s fear had left him, as it had left Texas Red and many of the outlaws. The numbing cold had chased the fear aw
ay, replacing it with pure raw savagery. A dozen outlaws had given up the chase, quietly packing their gear and pulling out, with Jake and Texas Red hurling obscenities and threats at them as they left.

  The outlaws that remained had finally wised up, building lean-to’s and crude shelters against the freezing winds and blowing snow. To a man, they all realized they had to kill Ben Raines and the woman, for those men who had left would surely spread the word, and the outlaws would be the subjects of much ridicule and scorn if they gave up the chase now.

  No, Ben and Rani had to die. The outlaws had no choice in the matter now. None at all. It was fish-or-cut-bait time. And that was that.

  The blizzard raged and howled and roared down from Canada with all the fury it could muster. The weather prevented the outlaws from moving against Ben, and kept Ben at home.

  But while Ben and Rani were warm and dry and well-fed—indeed, both of them picking up a few pounds from no activity and hearty eating—the outlaws suffered during the extreme weather, many of them catching colds, which turned into pneumonia. Frostbite became infected, and turned gangrenous. Dispositions turned surly and fights broke out, then fistfights turned to gunplay.

  Just as Jake was ready to pack it in and call it quits, and to hell with what other warlords and outlaws might think, the weather broke.

  Jake awakened one morning to the sounds of water dripping. He lay in his blankets and tried to figure out what in the hell was going on.

  Then he realized he was actually warm. Warm? How could that be?

  He stepped out of his crudely built one-room shack and looked around him in amazement.

  The sun was shining brightly and the temperature, even this early in the morning, was in the upper forties, at least.