Death in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  “Yes,” Ben lied.

  “You’re lyin’, ol’ buddy.”

  “Yes. I am.”

  “Whole chest hurts, Ben.” The cigarette fell from his lips. Ben picked it up and crushed it. “And my head feels like it’s about to explode.”

  Dr. Ling came in and gave the man a shot.

  “What’s that for?” Matt asked.

  “It’ll make it easier for you.”

  “Dying, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “You just induced dying, didn’t you?” Matt asked, no malice or alarm in his voice.

  “Yes. I did,” Ling told him.

  “How much time do I have?”

  “About a minute.”

  “Powerful stuff,” Matt murmured.

  “Very.”

  Matt closed his eyes and let the lethal dose take him.

  “Ben?”

  “Right here, Matt.”

  “See you, Slim.”

  “Up in the High Lonesome, Snake.”

  Matt Callahan shuddered once and his head lolled to one side. When he spoke, the words were slurry. “I’m not going to bother to ask for forgiveness.” He closed his eyes and died.

  The Rebels buried Matt Callahan in a mass grave, piled in among his dead hardcases, and moved on, following Highway 212 east.

  Even though Matt had been a no-good, and only God knew how much misery and grief he had caused over the years, his death bothered Ben for a brief time.

  That night, camped in the Custer National Forest, Ben said to Tina, “You never know about a man. I always thought Matt was arrow-straight. He sure had a bunch of us fooled.”

  “If you could say anything about him, Father,” Buddy asked, “what would it be?”

  Ben smiled. “He was a good writer.”

  They pulled out at dawn and all were pleased to find that the old road was in surprisingly good shape. They would stay with 212 until just inside South Dakota. There they would cut south for a few miles and pick up Highway 79 south and follow it down to 385. That would take them south to Interstate 70. They would avoid the cities—not wanting to take the time to confront the Night People—and head as straight as they could for St. Louis.

  “Do we check out the interior of any of the cities?” Buddy radioed to Ben.

  “No. And we take action only if we are attacked. Spearhead us to St. Louis, Buddy.”

  And the highway, first in such good shape, soon began deteriorating rapidly. A few bridges were out, some destroyed deliberately, others weakened by years of flash flooding and no maintenance. The Rebels were forced to detour many times and their advance became slowed to sometimes less than a hundred miles a day.

  Buddy had approached Rapid City, on Interstate 90, and reported back that it was full of creepies. The awful stench of them and the remains of the rotting carcasses they had dined on was almost overpowering even without entering the city.

  “Leave it, son,” his dad told him. “Get back over to 385 and lead us down south. We’ll deal with them later on.”

  None of the Rebels liked the idea of leaving cities filled with creepies. But they also knew that Lan Villar was the threat they had to crush first—if they could. And that thought was one they all had to entertain at some point.

  Ike had taken the northern route—no particular reason, he just wanted to see the country—and was making good time. He had bypassed the cities full of Night People, even though it galled him to do so.

  The Rebels were ready for a rest by the time they reached Sidney, Nebraska. What they got was a fight.

  As fights go, it wasn’t much of a fight, but it did slow them up for several hours.

  Several hundred bikers, including Wanda and her Sisters of Lesbos, had broken away from Satan and his linking up with Ashley and Voleta and had struck out on their own. When they reached Sidney, they decided they liked it and were going to stay.

  About four hundred people were occupying the town when the bikers and other trash rolled in. And that was the only reason that Ben did not order the town blown off the map by artillery.

  Scouts reported that prisoners were being held in the town.

  “Orders, General?” Dan questioned.

  “I guess we don’t have a choice, Dan. Let’s take the town. Swing your people around to the east side and I’ll drive straight in from the west. I’m getting very weary of these types.”

  The Rebels took control of the town by using the same tactics of the bikers and outlaws: brute force. The Rebels tried not to shoot up the city, since people were living there and trying to carve something out of the ashes.

  It was a sorry and bedraggled-looking bunch of misfits that finally lay down their arms and signaled frantically that they wanted to surrender.

  Ben had them lined up, sitting on their butts on the concrete, with their hands behind their heads, while waiting for a report on how many townspeople had suffered from the actions of the outlaws.

  “Rape, mostly,” Dan reported back. “A half a dozen killings of townspeople when the bikers roared in.”

  “Have the people point out the guilty ones.”

  They did so.

  “Take them out and shoot them,” Ben ordered.

  Several of the Sister of Lesbos and more than one biker pissed their dirty jeans at the emotionless-given execution order. But all of them knew that they had one chance of staying alive, and that was to keep their mouths shut tight.

  The prisoners visibly flinched as the firing squads carried out Ben’s orders.

  “No more free rides, people,” Ben told the group of about a hundred and fifty. “Those days are long past. How many of you were working for Matt Callahan? And don’t even think about lying to me.”

  Most of the hands were raised.

  “He’s dead,” Ben informed them. “I whipped his ass in a stand-up fistfight near where Custer is buried. His men were wiped out the night before by PUFFs. Most of you know what those are. Matt Callahan, aka the Rattlesnake Kid, died of a heart attack about fifteen minutes after the fight. That stupid HALFASS business just got put out of business.”

  Ben walked the lines of prisoners, glaring at them. And since they were already very badly shaken, Ben’s cold stares did nothing to induce any feelings of immediate relief. “Now then, I have another problem: what in the hell to do with you people.”

  The bikers did a magnificent job of looking everywhere except at Ben.

  “I have discussed this with Colonel Dan Gray.” Ben pointed to Dan. “That rather imposing-looking gentlemen right over there.”

  They looked. They also knew that Colonel Gray was the man who had selected and led the firing squad. They shuddered.

  “How would you people like to do something worthwhile just once in your miserable lives ?”

  The bikers blinked. All had but two thoughts on their minds: what is it, and what’s the catch?

  Leadfoot was the first to speak. “We’re listening, General. ”

  “Join us,” Ben said simply.

  The bikers and outlaws and assorted other crud and crap blinked and looked at one another, not sure they had heard correctly.

  “What’s the catch?” Wanda was the first to speak.

  “You fight with us and you obey the rules,” Ben told her. “This is probably the last chance you’ll ever have to turn your lives around and live decently.”

  “And if we don’t join you,” a biker asked, “you goin’ to kill us?”

  “No. You’re free to ride on out of here. But if we ever meet again, and we will, bet on that, and you’re not living a very quiet and law-abiding life, I’ll kill you. And I think by now you all know that I mean that.”

  Leadfoot stood up, very carefully. A big man with a shaggy mop of hair and sharp, intelligent eyes. “Say we go along with you, General—what do we get out of it?”

  “You mean as in pay?”

  “Yes ... sir,” he added.

  “Three meals a day, clothes, medical attention, weapons and ammo.” />
  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  The outlaws looked at each other; they’d never heard of such a whacky deal.

  Wanda stood up. “Well ... what do you people get out of doing”—she shrugged her shoulders—“all that you do?”

  “A feeling that they’re helping to restore some degree of civilization back to America,” a biker said, standing up. “Pride in themselves. Intangible things. But very important things.”

  All the Rebels standing nearby, including Ben, turned to look at the well-spoken man.

  “That is correct,” Ben said. “Your name?”

  “Frank.”

  “You sound as though you have some education.”

  “I got my degree from Stanford. Why I started outlawing is my business. Yours only if I decide to go back to it.”

  “That’s fair enough. Are you in or out?”

  “I’m in.”

  “Report to Colonel Gray.” He once more faced the outlaws. “Make your decisions. I haven’t got all day to waste.”

  “Oh, what the hell!” Wanda said. “Come on, girls.” We’ve been given a second chance—let’s take it.”

  Leadfoot slowly nodded his head. “Might as well get on the winnin’ side for a change.”

  “You might die on this side, too,” Ben reminded him.

  Leadfoot smiled and the smile changed his entire face. “That’s a fact, General. But I haven’t been real happy with myself the past few months. I think that’s true for most of us. No one could really put into words why we pulled away from Satan and his bunch. We just did. Most of us here now was against takin’ this town. But it’s what we’ve been doin’ for a long time. It’s over, and I’m glad.”

  Leadfoot and his bunch formed a line, waiting to see Dan and the other Rebels who had joined him, taking names and blood types and other important personal history from the now ex-outlaws.

  Buddy walked up to his father. “This just has to be the strangest army in the history of warfare,” he observed.

  Ben smiled. “I can hardly wait to see what happens when this bunch meets Emil and Thermopolis.”

  “Like I said: strange.”

  15

  The Rebels pulled out the following morning, after seeing to the needs of the townspeople and having them flatly reject Ben’s offer of becoming a part of the outpost chain.

  “Then you’re on your own,” Ben told them. “Don’t expect us to come to your rescue—not again. Because we won’t.”

  “You’re a hard man, General Raines,” the spokesperson told him.

  “I’m trying to rebuild a nation,” Ben replied. “And you’re either with me or against me. You’ve made your choice. Good day.”

  The Rebels crossed the South Platte with Buddy and his Rat Team spearheading some twenty-five miles in advance of the main column and they rolled eastward.

  Ben had decided that the bikers who joined them could dress as they always had—after they bathed—and could carry weapons of their choice. But they would, like all the rest, wear body armor. Leadfoot was in command; the second in command was Frank. Ben had no idea how the bikers would work out; all he could do was hope for the best.

  Buddy reported back that the Interstate was blocked at North Platte. The town seemed to be filled with outlaws. Ben told his son to stay put and out of sight. He halted the column and walked up to Leadfoot.

  “You know these people in North Platte, Leadfoot?”

  “I don’t have any idea who they are, General,” the biker said, “Most of us have mainly been working the northwest and southwest the past couple of years. Everything east of the Wyoming line is unknown to us.”

  Ben decided to put them to the test. “You think you can go in there and Size things up for us?”

  “Damn right !”

  “Well then, carry on, Leadfoot. I’ll hold the column here.”

  With the column two miles behind them, Leadfoot pulled the bikers over. “This is our chance to prove ourselves, people. Let’s don’t screw it up. I kinda like being on the winnin’ side for a change.”

  “It does feel sorta good, don’t it?” Wanda said.

  “All right, folks,” Leadfoot began, “lock and load and get ready for war. And remember: we ain’t outlaws no more; we’re part of Ben Raines’s Rebels. Let’s roll.”

  The one hudnred and fifty bikers, Leadfoot in the front, rode brazenly around the roadblocks and right up the main street of North Platee. Wanda gunned her Harley and rode up alongside Leadfoot.

  “I seen a bike that I know,” she called. “This is Pistol’s bunch.”

  “I heard of him. He’s worser than we ever was. Him and his gang is people that even we could look down on. Piss on talkin’, let’s take the town!”

  Frank took one group and Leadfoot took the other, and taking tactics from the Rebels, the bikers hit the town hard and fast and offered no mercy to the outlaws. They were all armed with Uzis and they knew how to use them. The fight was very short and very brutal. What was left of Pistol’s gang, caught totally unaware by bikers they thought were going to be friendly, turned tail and hauled their butts out of town.

  Using a walkie-talkie, Leadfoot radioed Ben. “Come on in, General. The town is yourn.”

  Smiling, Ben acknowledged the message and turned to Dan. “I believe we made the right choice, Dan.”

  “I believe we did, General.”

  Ben shook hands with every biker, complimenting them on a job well done. “From now on, you’ll be known as the Wolfpack.”

  To a person, the bikers were grinning. Then they raised their Uzis in the air and cheered Ben ... and another small but extremely loyal and hard-nosed unit had been added to the army of Rebels.

  The Rebels spent a day in North Platte, seeing to the needs of the several hundred townspeople who had been virtual slaves of Pistol and his outlaw bikers. Unlike those a hundred miles back, this group was eager to become a part of the Rebel outpost system. Ben arranged for planes to start coming in, bringing much-needed supplies and weapons. Ben left a few of his own Rebels to oversee the training and setting-up of the new outpost and pulled out. Ike and General Striganov had reached St. Louis and were waiting for Ben.

  Ben allowed a few of the Wolfpack members to ride with Buddy and his Rat Team spearheading the column. He wanted the bikers to learn military tactics concerning recon, and what Buddy couldn’t teach them, Dan sure would.

  Kearney was in the hands of outlaws and warlords and Grand Island belonged to the creepies. Ben ordered them both bypassed and said a silent prayer that both factions would end up killing each other.

  Omaha had taken a nuke during the Great War and was hot; one of the few cities that had actually taken a nuclear strike. Lincoln was another stronghold of the Night People, so Ben ordered the column to cut south at York and took 81 down to 136. They would follow that all the way into Missouri.

  They spent the night at a long-deserted town on the Missouri River and crossed over into what had once been the state of Missouri the following morning. Buddy cut the column southeast until linking up with Interstate 70. They would take that all the way across to St. Louis.

  The Rebels found pockets of survivors all over the state, and stopped whenever they could to explain what was happening and why they could not linger any longer than to give medical attention to those needing it and radioing to Base Camp One with the locations.

  And then there would be miles and miles of not sighting a living being. But all had the uncomfortable sensation of having unseen eyes on them.

  “Just like in so many of the other states,” Beth remarked. “They want to come out and meet us, but they’re wary of us.”

  “We’ll be back,” Ben said. “God willing.”

  His team in the Blazer knew then just how serious conditions were, for Ben rarely invoked God’s name.

  “The Wood’s Children live along this stretch,” Ben said. “They range from North Dakota all the way over to the Illinois line.” He reac
hed for his mike, hesitated, and then picked it up. “Eagle to Rat.”

  “Go, Eagle.”

  “Start leaving messages for the Wood’s Children, Rat. I told you about them. Wade and Ro and the others. Tell them to meet us in St. Louis. Theirs are the eyes that have been on us. They’ll be there—bet on it.”

  “The people that worship you, General?” Jersey asked.

  “Unfortunately, yes. But I think I got through to them the last time we met. We’ll know in a few weeks.” Ben was silent for a time, remembering his first face-to-face meeting with the Wood’s Children, or the Orphans’ Brigade, as Ike had named them.

  “Here comes the Orphans’ Brigade,” Buck said, sticking his head into Ben’s quarters. “General, you have to see this to believe it.”

  “That bad?” Ben questioned, moving toward the door.

  The columns of young people were still about a mile away from the HQ. They were marching steadily. Ragged and dirty, the kids marched with their heads held high.

  Ben, with Gale by his side, watched the young people. One column was marching from the northwest, the other from the northeast.

  “Damnest thing I believe I’ve ever seen,” Ben remarked, lowering his binoculars.

  “They’re children!” Gale said. “Babies.”

  “Don’t you believe that, Miss Roth,” Buck said. “Those kids have been on their own for years. They’re tough little guys and gals. And the way it was told to me, most of them would as soon kill you as look at you.”

  Gale’s heart went out to the little ones in the column. “That’s hard to believe, Buck.”

  “Believe it,” Ben told her. “They’ve had no schooling, no parental or adult guidance, no discipline other that what they impose on themselves. A sort of tribal law, I imagine. They have had but one thought in all their waking years: to survive. Yet another sad postwar fact.”

  Gale wouldn’t give it up. “But they look so helpless.”

  Ben said, “Bear in mind that those two columns of kids helped destroy four battalions of trained IPF personnel. And they took no prisoners.”

  Mary Macklin had joined the group. “Colonel Gray thought they looked helpless. He offered one little girl, about nine years old, a candy bar. She bit his hand to the bone. The colonel’s Scouts said that Colonel Gray then became quite ineloquent.”