Alone in the Ashes (21 page)

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.

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 away, 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.

“All right!” he said. “All
right!”
he shouted.

Men began pouring out of lean-tos and shacks and tents, to stand and stare in confusion at the sudden change of weather.

“OK, boys!” Jake shouted. “Let's go get Ben Raines and the broad”

 

 

Ben kicked out of his blankets and walked to the window of the shack, throwing open the shutters. The chinooks were blowing. And with the unusually warm winds, would come the outlaws. In full force.

“My God, Ben,” Rani said. “It's the middle of winter and it feels like spring.”

“Chinooks,” Ben said. “They won't last. But it might last three or four days—maybe longer. But the outlaws are going to be crawling all over the damned place. It's time for me to get moving. I've got to rig more traps around the place. And I've got to do it now. While I'm getting dressed, honey, would you get me those bear traps from back in the storage area, please?”

Making several trips, Rani carried out several dozen of the heavy, cruel-jawed, long-outlawed bear traps. The jaws were capable of crushing a man's leg if he was unfortunate enough to step into one, and Ben was planning on breaking a lot of legs with the traps.

Ben was gone within the hour, loaded down with equipment. He was back in two hours, gathering up the last of the traps and packing enough emergency rations to last several days.

He kissed Rani and said, “They can't burn you out of this place. And it would take a battering ram to knock down that door. You know how to use that M-60 machine gun. I'll try to have this thing over and done with in two days. Three max. You be careful and
don't
go outside for any reason. OK?”

“You come back to me, old man, OK?”

“Yes, Miss Jordan.”

“Ms.”

“Right!” Ben grinned. He was gone into the timber.

Rani locked and barred the heavy door. She sat down to wait.

 

 

Ben lay on a ridge and watched the outlaws approach. The outlaws were in a good mood, the break in the weather having buoyed their spirits, filling them with a false confidence.

And he noticed their ranks had been thinned considerably. But still they were in a good mood, many of them laughing and speaking very profanely as to what they were going to do to Rani when they caught her.

Ben put an end to the party spirit by shooting an outlaw in the stomach with his M-16. That seemed to take all the joy from their moment.

“On the ridge!” an outlaw shouted. “I seen the bastard. Get him, boys!”

Ben had moved back into the timber before the sound of his shot had died away. He deliberately held his fire, wanted the man to step into the timber. He had some nasty surprises waiting for them.

The outlaw in the lead lumbered into the timber, not watching for sign. He tripped the first of many swing traps, the eighteen-inch sharpened stake driving into his stomach. He hung suspended on the stake, howling out his agony, screaming for someone to please help him.

Ben let him howl. It was good for his morale and very demoralizing for the outlaw's buddies.

The outlaws continued their headlong rush into the timber, all caution tossed to the wind, with one central thought: Get Ben Raines!

Ben heard the sickening sounds of the bear trap spring, the man's leg breaking and crushing under the impact of the heavy jaws. The outlaw fell forward, screamed once, and then passed out from the intense pain.

Another outlaw failed to see the wire strung ankle-high in the timber. The wire tripped him, throwing him face forward into the snow, the sharpened stake imbedded in the hard ground driving all the way through the man's chest, the sharpened end tearing out the man's back.

Ben raised his M-16 and dropped three more outlaws before the men got it through their heads that the chase was not working out to their advantage.

“Fall back!” the command was shouted. “Jesus Christ—get out of these fuckin' woods. The man's a damned army all by hisself.”

Ben was moving before the words left the man's mouth, moving deeper into the woods and circling, angling toward the edge of the clearing to the outlaw's southern position.

A burly, unshaven, smelly outlaw was running wildly, his mouth open, gasping for air in the cold thinness. Another thug who had had quite enough of one Ben Raines. Ben decided to give him one final taste of combat, for this man was one Ben recognized as having said some perfectly disgusting things about what he wanted to do to Rani.

Ben shot him in the knees, pitching the man howling to the snowy, muddy ground.

Ben pulled back into the timber, leaving the man yowling for help.

Ben waited for that help to arrive.

“Garfield!” the shout came drifting to Ben. “Luther Garfield! Where are you, man?”

“Here!” Luther yelled, his voice pain-filled. “The bastard shot me in the knees. Oh, Jesus, man. It hurts.”

The outlaw's buddy came running, staying close to the timber's edge.

Ben slipped forward, his big Bowie knife in his hand. “Here, asshole,” Ben called, then moved to one side.

The man slid to a halt, his shotgun raised, the muzzle pointing toward where Ben had been. “Come out and fight like a man, you sneaky son of a bitch!” the outlaw said, panting and gasping for breath.

Ben came up behind the man and drove the big blade into the man's skull, the blade penetrating halfway through the man's brain.

Ben see-sawed the blade out and ducked back into the timber. He looked out into the small clearing. Those outlaws remaining had given up the fight and were running across the clearing, heading out.

The taste for battle had left this bunch. They wanted no more of Ben Raines.

Ben squatted in the mud and snow. His battle-tested and proven grin was still firmly locked in place.

“Take your campaign and shove it up your ass, Jake!” the big outlaw's second-in-command told him bluntly. “I've had it!”

“All right,” Jake said calmly. “Carry your asses on out of here, then.”

More than half of Jake Campo's men—those that were left—walked to their vehicles and pulled out.

“We're leavin', Red,” Texas Red's second-in-command told him. “Right now.”

The warlord nodded slowly. “OK. Just don't ever let me see any of you again, though. 'Cause I'll sure kill you if'n I do.”

“Screw you, Red!”

The battered and hobo-looking base camp of the outlaws became quiet as the men began pulling out. Jake Campo and Texas Red looked around them at the men remaining.

Jake had fifteen men left. Texas Red had ten who had elected to remain with him.

“There's a pattern to Raines' movements,” Jake said. “I been thinkin' about it. And the circle keeps gettin' smaller.” He looked at a tattered and greasy map. “They ain't too far from this river,” he said, poking at the map with a big, dirty finger. The others gathered around. “Our boys was ambushed here, here, here, and here. Then right here.” He jammed a hole in the map in his frustration. “You boys get some food and rest. We'll take him tomorrow, for sure.”

 

 

Ben knew Jake was not stupid. Texas Red was the next thing to a cretin, but Jake was intelligent. Ben guessed, and guessed accurately, that Jake would have very nearly pinpointed the cabin. Ben began removing and resetting his traps. He spent all the rest of that day relocating the bear traps, tearing down and rebuilding the swing traps, removing and resetting tripwires.

He spent that night some four miles from the cabin, then used part of the next morning finalizing his trap locations. He guessed, and once more guessed accurately, that most of the outlaws would be hightailing it out of the state by now. At best, Ben felt, Jake and Texas Red would be able to muster no more than thirty-five to forty men.

By noon, he was finished and standing on the small porch of the cabin.

“Getting down to the wire now, isn't it, Ben?” Rani asked, looking at him.

“They'll be here in three or four hours, probably. I'm going to clean up and take a nap. By this time tomorrow it'll be all over.”

Once again, Rani was astonished at the calmness of the man. There was no more emotion in his voice than a man discussing the price of apples.

 

 

Jake looked at the bootprint in the mud. It had frozen in place during the night, and had thawed under the heat of the winter sun. It was the fifth track the outlaws had found, along with a few broken branches, a carelessly moved small log, and a wrapper from emergency food rations.

The obvious signs did not fool Jake. He knew Ben had deliberately left them; was deliberately leading them straight to him.

And Jake knew—
knew
—Raines was going to win the final battle.

Well, the man thought with a suppressed sigh, at least it'll be Ben Raines killing me. Not some goddamned housewife with a shotgun.

“More sign up here, Jake!” the call echoed through the woods.

Jake walked up to the man and looked, a small smile creasing his ugly face. But it was not a smile of victory; more a smile of resignation.

Raines had deliberately stepped into a muddy spot and walked for ten or fifteen yards.

Jake sat down on a log and took a can of beans out of his jacket pocket. Using a military can opener, he opened the can and began calmly spooning beans into his mouth. His men looked at him, not knowing what to make of this.

“Better eat while we can,” Jake said. One last meal, he thought bitterly. Should have stayed east of the Mississippi, he thought. Should have never set Cowboy Vic up to kill that punk kid. That's what all this is all about. All this shit is about that skinny little kid. Raines has destroyed everything I built over that one goddamned little kid. Christ! What kind of man is he, anyway?

 

 

Ben opened his eyes and swung his feet off the bunk, pulling on his boots. “Get some rest,” he told Rani. “I'll wake you in an hour. Go on. We might not be able to sleep tonight.”

While Rani slept, Ben munched on biscuits and sat looking out the one window of the cabin. Soon, he thought. They'll be here soon.

Ben cut his eyes to look at the sleeping shape of Rani. I feel something for this woman. Something I thought I would never feel again. When this winter is over, and we've been alone for several months, I will know if this woman is the one I choose to spend the rest of my life with. I think so. Even now, I believe she is the one. Those eyes can hold me; she has an inner strength that I find appealing. Maybe, just maybe, this is the one.

He shook those thoughts away and returned his attention to the window.

The sound of a trap springing shut slammed through the quiet air. The horrible howling of a man with a crushed leg ripped the afternoon.

Rani came off the bunk, grabbing her rifle, coming to Ben's side.

“Goddamn, Jake!” a man yelled. “Lookee there. A damned cabin built into that rise.”

“They're here,” Rani said.

“I believe that would be an accurate statement, dear,” Ben replied.