Alone in the Ashes (9 page)

“No!” Rani said. “I swear to you all—no!”

“Be like my great granddad,” one of the men said, after Ben touched on his outpost idea. “Back when they was fightin' the Indians.”

Another man, obviously with strong Indian blood flowing in his veins, looked at the spokesman and smiled. “But now we're all in it together. Right, Frank?”

“Thank God,” his friend said, returning the smile. “I'd hate to think we had to fight you heathens, too, Roland.”

A woman said, “Don't pay them no mind, General. They've been friends for forty years.”

The man jerked his thumb toward the Indian. “His ancestors scalped my ancestors.”

“Your ancestors stole our land,” Roland retorted. “Besides, Indians didn't invent scalping. They got it from the white man.”

“And away they go,” the woman said.

“Been doing it for forty years,” another man said.

“I think the Indians are winnin',” another man said.

“If we have enough time,” Roland said. Then he laughed. “And enough Indians.”

 

 

The people in the small town warned Ben that there were outlaw gangs roaming about everywhere, and that they were vicious, cutting another page from the dark history of the Texas Comancheros, the band of Mexicans, half-breeds, and Caucasian Americans who had looted and raped and killed until finally being wiped out when the citizens of Texas and Mexico got their guts' full of the outlaws.

Ben and Jordy pulled out early in the morning, heading south on Highway 83.

Guthrie was a ghost town, with anything of value having been looted long ago.

Without having any good reason to do so, other than the fact Ben was on no timetable, he cut west at Guthrie, heading for Lubbock. He did not see one human being until reaching the town of Ralls, and his curiosity almost got them both killed.

 

 

“Yeah,” Campo said, surveying all the carnage Ben had left behind. “Raines was here, all right.” He laughed, an ugly bark of derisiveness. “These pecker-woods thought ol' Ben would be an easy touch. I could have told them different.”

“Me, too,” West said sorrowfully, looking at his stump. “I don't know, Jake. Sometimes I get a plumb spooky feeling thinkin' 'bout Raines.” He looked around at the charred bodies lying on the Oklahoma highway. “You know what I mean?”

Campo didn't want to admit it, but he knew very well what West was talking about. He just didn't like to think about it.

Campo chose not to answer West's question. He turned away from the scene and walked back to his van. He told one of his men, “Somebody who lives around here saw something. You get some boys and scatter. Find out what you can; especially which direction Raines went from here. Go.”

Standing by his van, Campo looked toward the west. “You may think you're a god, Raines. But I'm gonna prove people wrong. 'Cause I'm gonna kill you, mister. I'm gonna kill you and hang your scalp on my belt buckle. Bet on it.”

 

 

Rani got as far as Lamesa before running into trouble. But she had vowed the next time she was confronted with trouble, she would shoot first and take her chances with her conscience later.

There was a CB radio in the truck, along with some sort of military-looking shortwave radio. She was amazed at the traffic on the CB radio, most of it very unfriendly and extremely vulgar.

And it was the CB radio that warned her of impending trouble.

“Blue king-cab rollin' south on 87,” the voice sprang out of the speaker. “Fine-lookin' cunt behind the wheel. Truck's packed with kids.”

“Stay out of this,” a man's voice blasted the cab, obviously pushed by a booster. “That's Vic's woman.”

“Vic who?”

“Cowboy Vic. Warlord of the West.”

The first voice laughed. “Never heard of the son of a bitch. Tell him to keep ass out of this part of Texas or we'll feed him to the rattlers.”

Rani pulled off the highway and drove behind a falling-down old farm and ranch complex of buildings.

“Lost her!” the first voice said. “She's somewhere between O'Donnell and Arvana.”

“Keep lookin',” a new voice was added. “She won't be that hard to find.”

Another voice was added to the growing number of voices. “If you're hiding, lady,” a man's voice spoke, “stay down. We're sending out a patrol from Lamesa to help you. Don't reply to this transmission. Just stay quiet.”

“It's them Christian motherfuckers,” the first voice said contemptuously.

“Yeah,” yet another voice said. “You asshole Jesus freaks come on. We'll run your psalm-singin' asses back to Lamesa.”

“You've tried that before, Red,” the calm, steady voice replied. “The Lord will forgive me for saying this, but this time I intend to kick your worthless ass all the way up to the Red River.”

“You the warlord called Texas Red?” Vic's man asked.

“Yeah.”

“Pull it over, Red. Let's talk. We might stand a better chance if we joined forces. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah. Mayhaps you're right, friend. Me and my boys will meet you on the south side of O'Donnell. Be there in about fifteen minutes.”

“Ten-four.”

Rani sat it out, watching the highway from behind a shattered window in what had once been a nice home. She saw a dozen vehicles pass by her position, all heading north. She did not move for several minutes. Then she smiled as she saw a dozen more vehicles drive slowly past, heading north. The second line of cars and trucks, she concluded, belonged to the folks from Lamesa.

It was not that Rani didn't want good homes for those kids in her car. It was just that she didn't trust people. She'd been burned too many times by people professing to be this, that, or the other.

Her thoughts were interrupted by an excited Robert.

“Miss Rani!” the boy said. “They's cases and cases and cases of food down in the basement of this place.”

“What were you doing in the basement?” she spoke, more sharply than she intended.

“Exploring,” the boy said, hanging his head.

She went to him and put her arms around his slender shoulders. “I'm sorry, Robert. I didn't mean to be cross with you. Let's look at this food.” She kissed his cheek. “I'm proud of you, Robert.”

 

 

Ben caught the movement to his right and twisted the steering wheel just as the man fired. The slug whined off the camper of the truck. Ben floorboarded the truck and ducked behind a building. Grabbing his Thompson, he said, “Shoot anybody that sticks their head up, Jordy. Understand?”

“Yes, sir. I'll blow their ass off.”

“That's as good a place as any to shoot them, I suppose,” Ben said, not able to hide his grin.

Ben slipped along the rear of the old store. He heard boots scraping the pea gravel near the corner and smiled, raising the Thompson, finger on the trigger.

“Easy, now,” a voice came to him. “I don't want that fancy truck all shot up. And take the kid alive.”

“Yeah,” a second voice said in a hoarse whisper. “Clean-lookin' kid lak 'at's worth a lot of guns.”

Ben's smile turned savage at the vocal implications of what lay in store for Jordy if the men took him. The men rounded the corner and Ben pulled the trigger, firing at almost point-blank range, and he deliberately held the muzzle low, at crotch-level.

He took the men's guns and ammo, and left them screaming and bleeding on the gravel. Here were two who would molest no more children. And Ben hoped they would live a long and totally sexless life. Pissing through a hose.

Dumping the guns and ammo in the rear of the camper, Ben picked up an M-16 and a pouch of clips. Slipping to the front corner of the building, Ben located a gun in the second story of an old building; the glint of cold sunlight flashing off a stainless steel barrel gave the man's position away. Ben flipped his M-16 to semi-auto and sighted the man in. He shot the man in the center of his face, the man dropping his rifle to the ground. The fancy rifle landed butt first and went off, discharging half a clip of ammo, the lead slamming into trees and buildings and into the air.

“Lennie got 'im!” came the excited shout. “Come on, boys.”

Ben slipped his M-16 to full auto and waited. A knot of men came charging around a corner. They stopped, confused looks on their faces. They stood all bunched up, standing over Lennie's carbine.

“Lennie didn't git him, neither,” a man said.

That was the last thing any of them would say or hear, except for the stuttering of an M-16 on full auto.

And they would hear that only briefly.

Ben let them flop on the ground for a few minutes, then he slipped the M-16 onto select fire and put two rounds into each of the bodies. He waited another full minute before zigzagging across the street to gather up their ammo. Only one of the men had been carrying an M-16 that looked worth a shit, and Ben took that. Each man was carrying several full clips of 5.56 ammo. Ben tossed the rifle and ammo in the camper and looked at Jordy.

“How's it going, little man?”

“Hangin' in, Ben.”

Ben checked his map and took a county road out of Ralls, heading south. He flipped on his CB radio and was startled to hear all the chatter jumping out at him. He listened carefully, knowing those CB radios must have been jacked up with boosters, giving them a tremendous range.

What he heard was disturbing. Someone named Texas Red, a warlord, was teaming up with another warlord named Cowboy Vic, or some such stupid name.

“Like I said, Ben,” Jordy said. “Warlords is everywhere.”

“Yes. But who, or what, is Rani?”

“Sounds like a dumb girl to me.”

“Listen.”

“... and I hear tell that Jake Campo is headin' this way, too,” the voice spoke. “He's teamed up with some guy named West.”

Ben grunted. “I knew I should have killed that bastard when I had the chance.”

“West?” Jordy asked.

“Yes. He's scum.”

“They chasin' General Ben Raines, so I hear,” another voice offered an opinion.

“Raines and his Rebels are in Texas?”

“No. Way I heared it, it's just Raines and some snot-nosed punk kid he picked up along the way.”

“Fuck you!” Jordy said to the radio.

“How would you like for me to wash your mouth out with soap, boy?” Ben said, looking at him.

“Yukkk!” Jordy said.

“Then watch your language.”

“By hisself, or with a bunch,” a man said, “Ben Raines is a bad one. I don't want to fool with him. Not none atall.”

“You don't believe all that shit about him being some kind of god, do you?”

“I don't know,” the man's voice was serious. “I heard too many tales about him for some of them not to be true.”

“Well, then, you just tuck your tail between your legs and scamper on back home, then. Carry your boys home with you if none of you's got the guts to face up to one skinny, middle-aged man. I'll break that son of a bitch in half like a toothpick.”

Ben looked at the radio. “Fuck you!” he said.

Jordy shook his head. “For shame, for shame,” he said with a grin.

Ben wound around dirt roads until coming to Highway 84. He took that down to Post and there connected with 669. He stayed on that, constantly monitoring his CB, all the way to a tiny town just north of Big Spring. The traffic on his CB had faded into silence by the time he hid his truck behind a falling-down building and decided to call back to Base Camp. He knew perfectly well that Colonel Gray had bugged his truck—and probably some of his personal gear as well—so he could keep tabs on Ben, but Ben had expected that. It was rather a comforting feeling, Ben had to admit.

“General!” the radio operator almost knocked Ben's head off with the shouted word. “It's good to hear from you, sir.”

“How are things back home, son?” Ben asked.

“Hello, you old bastard!” Ike's voice boomed out of the speaker. “You been behavin' yourself?”

Ben decided to level with his old and good friend. “It's rough out here, Ike,” he admitted. “Damn warlords are everywhere.”

“And naturally you've been avoiding them whenever possible?”

Ben could not have possibly missed the sarcasm in Ike's voice. “Of course, Ike.”

“Bullshit. You always was a terrible liar. I won't pull your leg, brother. You must know we've got a full combat platoon tracking you. Captain Nolan commandin'.”

“I expected as much.” Nolan was part of Colonel Gray's Scouts. Nolan and his people did not believe in taking prisoners.

“Contrary to what you believe, Ben,” Ike said, “we can't track you from here. But Captain Nolan can from his position. He's giving us daily radio reports on how you and that little boy been kickin' ass along the way. Missouri, Oklahoma, Texas. Ben, you got some rough ol' boys trackin' you. Three-four hundred strong. And pickin' up more along the way. Don't get yourself overloaded.”

“Give me Nolan's frequency just in case,” Ben said. “I promise if I get in a bind, I'll yell for help.”

“I'll believe that when I see pigs flyin',” Ike said to the radio operator. He gave Ben the frequency and the mike to Cecil, who had been summoned by a runner.

“I don't like what I've been hearing, Ben,” Cecil said. “Let me send just a squad to your location. They won't get in your way, I promise.”

“I won't be nursemaided, Cec,” Ben said. “Bring me up to date on what's happening at home.”

“Told you,” Ike said to Cecil, after making sure the mike was off.

“That hard-headed bastard!” Cecil said. “Ike, get in touch with Colonel Gray. I want a fully equipped combat company of Gray's Scouts, with Dan leading them, on the way to Texas by first light.”

“Done.” Ike left the radio room at a lope.

In the truck Ben winked at Jordy. “They're plotting something, son. I can feel it over the miles.”

“If they are,” the boy replied, “it's because they love you.”

That sobered Ben. “I guess so, Jordy.”

Cecil brought Ben up to date on the building of a new community and how things were progressing in Dyersburg. He said the people from Southeast Missouri had contacted the Base Camp and had requested a team of Rebels in. He had sent them. There had been no serious trouble to speak of.

“All right, Cec,” Ben said. “You take care.”

Before Cecil could respond, Ben clicked the set off.

“How come you're runnin' away from them people, Ben?”

“I'm not running away from them.”

“You sure could have fooled me,” the boy replied.

 

 

The house had obviously belonged to a practicing survivalist. Rani found cases of freeze-dried foods, and as many cases of military canned rations. The canned C-rations were dated 1996, with an expiration date that had years to go before running out.

She founds cans of water and purification tablets, tents and sleeping bags and blankets and clothing. She turned to Robert.

“How did you find this place, Robert? It obviously was well-concealed.”

“The floor didn't sound right when I walked over it,” the boy said. “Then I noticed that some of the tile didn't look right.” He shrugged. “I pulled them up and there was the trapdoor.”

She hugged him. “Thank you, Robert. You've probably saved our lives.”

A more careful inspection of the bunker-type room below the house revealed a steel locker set in concrete. They looked all over the already ransacked house for the keys. Sandra, the seven-year-old, finally pointed to the keys, hanging on a peg by the side of the locker.

The locker was filled with rifles, shotguns, pistols, and boxes of ammunition.

“God bless survivalists,” Rani said.

Cotton, a four-year-old boy, came stumbling down the steps, dragging a radio antenna behind him.

“Did you take that from the truck, Cotton?” Rani asked.

“No, ma'am,” the cotton-headed little boy said. “Got it from the ground.”

“You got it from the ground?” Rani asked. “Show me, Cotton.”

They trooped up the stairs and back into the sunlight. Cotton marched the group to a barren spot in the back yard.

“Weeds and grass everywhere else,” Rani said. “But none on this spot. This is the spot, Cotton?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

The area he had pointed out was shoebox shaped, about twenty feet long and ten feet wide. And it was barren of grass or weeds.

Rani walked across the spot several times. The ground felt soft beneath her shoes; it had a completely different feel from the ground around it.

“Get me a shovel, somebody,” Rani said.

She began digging and soon struck something solid. Further investigation revealed a sheet-metal top of some sort.

“Help me, kids,” Rani said.

The sheet-metal top covered the entire pit, and it took all of them to pry it up and tip it over. Rani started laughing at what the sunlight revealed.

“The man actually buried a small truck,” Rani said.

The compact pickup was covered with sheets of thick plastic. It sat almost-new-looking inside the wooden walls of the boxlike hole, concrete blocks holding the tires off the ground.

Rani found a jack and took the truck down from its blocks. She checked the oil and battery and gas. The keys were in the ignition. She pumped the pedal a few times, once more for luck, then turned the key. The engine fired, caught, then died. She tried again. This time it roared into life. She dropped the truck into gear and went up the gradual incline the man had built.

“We're gonna make it, kids,” she said to herself. “We're gonna make it. Please, God, let us make it.”

 

 

“Yeah, tell 'em OK,” Campo said, speaking into his mike. “The more the merrier.”

“What's up?” West asked.

“More fodder for the fire,” Campo told him. “Some ol' boys named Cowboy Vic and Texas Red want to link up with us. We're gonna meet tomorrow between Plainview and Lubbock, on the interstate.”

“Not a bad idea,” West agreed. “We can cover a hell of a lot more ground this way. Send teams out all over the place. Then when we find Raines, we kill him—or maybe take him alive for trade—and get rid of the new guys.”

“Sometimes you can make sense, West.”

 

 

While Rani and the kids, with Robert driving the small truck, wound around county roads, finally coming to 669 and taking that south, Ben and Jordy bypassed Big Spring and set up camp for the night just a mile or so from the junction of Highways 669 and 350. Rani and the kids decided to spend the night at the deserted town of Luther.

Ben and Rani, two of the most hunted people in Texas, were camped just six miles apart.

“What do we head for next, Ben?” Jordy asked, warming his hands over a small fire.

“Oh, I think we'll head southwest, Jordy. Get on Interstate 20 and see where it takes us. That sound all right to you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Man and boy retired to their blankets early, both of them staring up into the starry skies.

“Reckon what's up there, Ben? You think they's other people up there?”

“Yes, I do, Jordy. I always have. Maybe not like us, but other lifeforms.”

“If there is, reckon what they think about us? I mean, what we done to this world?”

“They probably think we're a bunch of damned idiots.”

“I ‘bout got the hang of drivin' that truck, Miss Rani,” Robert said. “Where do we head for in the morning?”

“I don't know,” she admitted. “But I do want to get us down into south Texas for the winter. Get you kids healthy again.”

“We'll make it, Miss Rani,” the boy assured her. “What did you make of all that talk on the radio about Mister Ben Raines, Rani?”

“I don't know. I can't imagine General Raines out traveling by himself. I thought he and his people were in Tennessee or Georgia, setting up a new government out there.”

“Well, even if he is out here, can't nothing hurt Ben Raines,” Robert said.

“He is flesh and blood, Robert,” Rani tried to dispel the rumors about Ben. “He is a human being. Not a god.”

She knew what was coming next, and the boy did not disappoint her. “Then how come we seen all them shrines and things to Mister Raines?”

The other children had gathered around, listening. For all except the very youngest had heard of the exploits of Ben Raines and his seemingly undefeatable Rebels.

Rani had just completed her second year of college when the bottom had dropped out back in 1988, and for a moment, she was flung back in time.

 

 

She had awakened that morning with a terrible headache. She was disoriented and unsteady on her feet. She looked across the bedroom she was sharing with her sister, and a scream boiled out of her throat.

Her younger sister was on the floor, stiff and cold in death. Her face was twisted and blackened in death. She looked as though she had been dead for some time.

Rani got to her feet and promptly fell down, her legs unable to support her. She crawled from the room, down the hall. The house was so still and quiet. She staggered to her feet and lurched into her parents' bedroom. She had steeled herself as to what she might find.

Both mother and father were dead, lying in bed. Blood had poured from nose, ears, and mouth, staining the whiteness of pillow.

She backed out of the room, fear gripping her like a band across her chest.

She jerked on a housecoat and stumbled into the living room, then out onto the porch. The scene that lay before her eyes was something out of a sci-fi thriller.

Men and women and children lay scrawled on the street, all twisted in various shapes as death struck them and dropped them.

Rani ran back into her house and, keeping her eyes averted from her sister's body, she slipped into blue jeans, tennis shoes, and blouse. She backed her parents' car out of the drive and slowly drove the streets. She could find no one alive.

She still, after all these years, was not certain exactly what happened after that first day. Not for some time. She remembered driving until she ran out of gas. Then she wandered for days, maybe weeks; she still wasn't certain. The death that lay in stinking heaps around her had numbed her mind. Perhaps that was the most merciful thing that could have happened to her. She had only very dim memories of being raped and abused. And she had no idea how she arrived a thousand miles from her home. But she did. Only then did she begin to be aware of her surrounding.

And she never fully understood why she was spared when so many others died.

 

 

“People lost faith,” Rani said quietly. “They just couldn't believe that God would do something this awful to the human race. Many of them needed someone ... some
thing
they could see to worship. They found Ben Raines. This one human man that rose up out of the ashes and built a nation within a nation. Against all odds, he did it. He fought mutants, warlords, outlaws, and the entire central government of the United States ... and won. A lot of people thought him blessed, so to speak. But he is not a god, children. He is flesh and blood and bone. Just like us.”

But she could tell by the expression on the children's faces they were not convinced.

“Have you ever met Ben Raines, Miss Rani?” Paul asked.

“No.” She shook her head.

“Then you don't know for sure, do you?”

“No,” Rani admitted. “I don't know for sure.”