Alone in the Ashes Page 2

  But he could not allow much of that. And he knew it. It was dangerous. He, and others like him, needed to look constantly toward the future. That was the only way anything could ever be rebuilt from the ashes.

  Far across the lake, Ben caught the first flickerings of a fire being built. No fires for me this night, he thought. Too dangerous. I don’t know if the people across the lake are friends or enemies; probably the latter.

  Then he realized the campfire was not across the lake but, rather, across a narrow inlet of the lake. The cabin he was using was facing the inlet. That knowledge made him even more wary.

  He went to bed on the open porch. He was asleep in less than five minutes.

  Voices brought him awake, tensing his muscles, bringing his nerves taut.

  Slowly, quietly, he unzipped his sleeping bag and slipped from the down-filled warmth. He laced up his boots, slipped into his field jacket, and got to his feet, Thompson in hand. He eased the bolt back, locking a round in place.

  “I heard a truck yesterday afternoon,” a man’s voice came to him. “I know I did.”

  “That doesn’t mean it stopped around here,” a woman replied.

  “We have to check it out. They might be coming back for you.”

  “I’ll die first,” the woman said. “I mean it, Wally.”

  The man and woman rounded the corner of the cabin and came face to muzzle with Ben’s Thompson. They froze.

  “I’m just traveling through,” Ben said softly. “I don’t mean anybody any harm. My name is Ben Raines.”

  The man’s eyes widened. “General Ben Raines? President Ben Raines?”

  “Yes.” Ben first looked at the woman. And she was well worth looking at. Probably in her late twenties. Dark brown hair. Tanned, smooth face. Stacked, as used to be said. Ben shifted his eyes to the man. The family resemblance was strong between them. Probably brother and sister.

  Both were well-armed. The woman wore a pistol and carried a rifle. The man wore two pistols and carried a pump shotgun.

  “I saw your campfire last night,” Ben said. “I wanted to check it out but didn’t know what kind of reception I’d get.”

  Ben lowered the muzzle of the submachine gun.

  “Where are all your troops, General?” the man asked, suspicion plain in his voice.

  “North Georgia. I left General Cecil Jefferys in charge and pulled out. For many reasons; some of them purely personal.”

  The man relaxed his grip on his shotgun. “I guess even Ben Raines gets tired.”

  “Yes. Come on up and let’s talk. I have a little bit of coffee. Would you like some?”

  “This is the best coffee I have ever tasted,” Judy Williams said.

  Her brother, Wally, laughed. “Sis, it’s the first cup of coffee I’ve had in months.”

  “I get the impression you’re both running from somebody,” Ben said. “Care to talk about it?”

  Brother and sister exchanged quick glances. Made up their minds. “Jake Campo,” Wally said. “Ever heard the name?”

  “No. What is a Jake Campo?”

  “He’s a warlord. Controls most of this part of Tennessee and up into Kentucky. Has two, maybe three hundred men in his gang. What he wants, he takes. There was ten of us originally. Me and Judy’s all that’s left. Jake and his men raped and tortured and killed the rest. We’ve been running for the past two weeks. I’m . . . I’m afraid, General, you’ve stepped right into something that even you can’t handle. You see, Jake and his gang have been closing the circle on me and Judy. We figure they’re maybe three, four miles from here, and closing fast. They’ve got every road and path blocked off. They’ll be here sometime today, we’re figuring. Sorry, General. But you’re stuck.”

  “Oh, I’ve been stuck before, Wally. But I seem to have this knack of getting unstuck.”

  “Well,” the voice came from behind Ben. “Let’s see you get unstuck from this, mister.”

  2

  Ben took Judy and Wally with him, the woman in his left arm, the man in his right. He jumped and sent all three of them crashing through the rotted railing of the porch. Rolling, he did not look to see who or what the man behind the voice might be. He just came up with his .45 in his right hand and shot the man twice in the chest.

  Movement and a slight sound from the far corner of the cabin spun him around, the Colt .45 barking and bucking in his hand. The slugs caught the second man in the throat and face, blowing off part of his jaw, sending bits of jawbone and teeth spinning wetly through the air.

  “Jesus God!” Wally said. “You are quick, General.”

  Ben rose to his booted feet and reached for his Thompson, holstering his Colt. “A person had damn well better be quick, Wally. Or get dead. Check the surroundings and shoot anybody you don’t know that even looks like they might be hostile. Learn that right now, up front—if you want to stay alive.”

  Wally looked at the man, a curious glint in his eyes. “I’m a minister, General. I can’t kill wantonly.”

  “I’m not asking you to kill wantonly,” Ben said. “I’m telling you that in these times, if you feel any degree of suspicion toward strangers, if they make just one off-the-wall or hostile gesture, if they even say anything that could be construed as hostile, shoot first and worry about it later.”

  Wally smiled gently. “I will shoot if fired upon, General. Other than that, I can do no more.”

  Ben nodded his head. “Wonderful,” he said. Glancing at Judy, he asked, “You feel the same as your brother?”

  “No,” she said quickly.

  “We got a chance then,” Ben said.

  Ben had stripped the two men of their weapons: two 9mm pistols and two M-16’s. Both men had bandoliers of clips for the M-16’s around their shoulders, bandit style, and clips for the pistols on their belt. He tossed the weapons and ammo in the bed of his truck and motioned for the brother and sister to get in the cab.

  “You have some kind of transportation?” Ben asked.

  Judy smiled. “Shank’s mare.”

  “I heard that,” Ben said, returning the smile. “What kind of vehicles does the Campo gang use?”

  “One-ton trucks that they’ve fortified with welded-on sheets of metal,” Wally told him. “They’ve made light tanks out of them.”

  “Uh-huh,” Ben said with a smile. He dropped the gear selector into D and pulled out. “But how about underneath the trucks?”

  “What do you mean?” Wally asked. “There’s nothing under the trucks except what the trucks came with.”

  “That’s their weakness, then,” Ben told them. “Roll a grenade under the trucks and they go sky-high.”

  “I like the way your mind works, General Raines,” Judy said, placing a hand on his thigh.

  “Call me Ben.”

  After consulting his map, Ben took a rutted county road out of Dover, heading south. He connected with Highway 49, then turned east on 147, stopping at a deserted little town called Stewart. The buildings had been looted and all were in bad condition. He pulled in front of an old service station.

  “See if the doors of the bays will open, Wally,” Ben said. “You might have to put some oil on those old hinges. If so, use it sparingly; we don’t want to change the appearance of the building.”

  “Don’t dribble it all over the place, right, General?”

  “You got it.”

  While Wally was struggling with the door, Ben walked around the building. At the rear, he smiled. Around front, he told Wally, “Forget it. There’s no back wall to the station. We’ll hide the truck somewhere else and we’ll use the station to wait for Campo’s men to find us. Judy, start rounding up a dozen or so old soft-drink bottles; any long-necked glass container will do.”

  While she was doing that, Ben used a small portable pump to bring up any gas that might be left in the tanks of the old station. Ben and his Rebels had learned all the tricks of survival years back. He used the old measuring stick first to check the gas, then to detect water in the tank
s. Had there been water in the tanks, the stick would have come out of the tank a pretty pink.

  “Water settles to the bottom,” Ben told the brother and sister. “Almost any station that was worth a damn would or will have a detection stick around. Good, you found some wine bottles. Fill them up about three-quarters full with gasoline, then stick a rag down the top and set the cocktails inside the old station. Hurry right back, because we’re just getting started. I’ll rid this country of Campo and his creeps for good.”

  “You’re awfully sure of yourself, Mister Raines,” Judy said.

  “Yeah, I am,” Ben said. He looked at Wally. “You go around to every car you can find in this burg. Remove the batteries and, if possible, dump the battery acid out into a large glass container. Don’t get any of it on you. Bring it back to me. Judy, when he gets back, you find a pot and boil that battery acid until white fumes appear. Then remove it from the heat and don’t inhale any of the fumes.”

  Ben prowled the station until he found several cans of antifreeze. “Good enough,” he muttered. “Mister Campo, you are about to experience one hell of a lot of big bangs.”

  When Ben had all the materials at hand, he began measuring carefully. Judy watched him intently. “Ben, what are you doing?”

  “Making methyl nitrate dynamite, dear. You’re old enough to remember the United States Army Rangers, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. Were you one?”

  “Yes.” Before you were born, Ben thought sourly. “Get some shotgun shells out of my truck and pour out the powder in a dry container. I’ve got to make some blasting caps.”

  “You’re a strange man, Ben.”

  “I’m a survivor, honey. Do unto others before they do unto you.”

  She laughed at that and went off to get the powder Ben needed.

  “Wally, prowl the town and find me some iron or steel pipe that has one end capped off. Get a hacksaw—I saw one in the office—and cut me half a dozen. No smaller than an inch. Take off.”

  With the brother and sister out of harm’s way, Ben checked the glass containers. The mixture had settled and separated. Ben carefully removed the top layer and very carefully placed that in another jar. This was the explosive. He added an equal amount of water and began swirling the mixture. He set it aside and once again allowed the mixture to separate. The highly volatile explosive was now the bottom layer in the jar. He removed the top layer and threw it away—carefully. Ben had shredded some cloth and placed that in an old pan. He slowly added the mixture until the cloth had absorbed it and was damp. He now had a form of dynamite.

  It took him only a few minutes to construct blasting caps.

  “What are you going to use to detonate those things?” Wally asked.

  “I’ll make regular fuses for some of them,” Ben explained. “For the others, find me some clothespins.”

  “Clothespins?” Judy asked.

  “Clothespins,” Ben repeated. “Wally, you get me some copper wire and the finest, darkest wire you can find. We’ll booby-trap some of these buildings and lay down a false trail.”

  Muttering, Wally went in search of material.

  Ben stripped the copper wire and wrapped one wire around the top jaw of the clothespin, another raw wire around the bottom part. He took a small, flat piece of wood, punched a hole in one end, and clamped the wire-wrapped jaws of the pin to the other end. He secured one end of the tripwire through the hole.

  He talked as he worked, conscious of Judy standing very close to him. “I’ll have two wires running from the explosives. One wire is connected to the positive terminal of a battery; the other wire runs to the top jaw of the pin. The wire running from the bottom jaw of the pin is connected to the other terminal of the battery. This piece of wood between the jaws prevents contact from being made until someone trips it. When the exposed wires come in contact—bang!”

  “I don’t think I’d want you for an enemy, Ben Raines,” Judy said.

  Ben looked up at her and smiled. “Then let’s be friends.”

  “I’d like that.”

  Ben worked the rest of that morning on his bombs and booby-trapping several buildings on the main drag of town. The buildings he rigged with explosives were located in the center of town, on both sides of the street. After rigging each building, the tripwire located several feet inside the doorway, Ben would clear away the debris that littered the doorway, making it appear that someone had recently used the doorway several times.

  “Tell me about this Campo bastard, Judy,” Ben said.

  “He’s a big hulking brute of a man. A giant. Probably six feet, seven or eight inches tall. Three-hundred-plus pounds. While I was a captive of his, several of his men mentioned that he was somehow tied in with a man called Sam Hartline. What do you know about Hartline?”

  Ben stopped working and looked at Judy. “That son of a bitch! Will I never be rid of him?”

  “You know him?”

  “Unfortunately. Sam Hartline is the sorriest bastard God ever put on the face of the earth.”

  “Well, Campo doesn’t work for him any longer. Campo turned out to be too brutal for even your Mister Hartline.”

  “That’s going some. But please. He isn’t ‘my Mister Hartline.’ I’d like nothing better than to kill that perverted filth.”

  “Why don’t you, then?”

  Ben smiled. “He’s about as hard to kill as I am, Judy.”

  “Then make friends and team up with him.”

  “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ’em? Would you try to make friends with a rattlesnake, Judy?”

  “No. But that’s not the same. Hartline is a human being.”

  “So was Hitler,” Ben countered.

  Judy cocked her head to one side. “Who’s that?”

  3

  Judy, Ben learned, was twenty-five years old—she thought. Her parents were killed during the initial wave of nuclear and germ warfare back in ’88. That would have made her eleven years old at the time.

  She had “taken up with an ol’ boy,” when she was seventeen. He’d been killed two years later by Hilton Logan’s Federal Police. Judy hated and feared cops—of any kind.

  “Chances are, Judy,” Ben told her, “you’ll see very few cops from here on out.”

  “Good,” she said.

  Ben had posted Wally on top of a building. He knew that trucks like his—in such good shape and equipped with several antennaes—would be extremely rare. And he felt sure Campo would have spies throughout his territory.

  Ben was ready. The three of them had worked hard and swiftly for several hours in preparation for Campo and his creeps. Now all they could do was wait.

  “Why did we pile all that junk around those fifty-five gallon drums of gasoline, Ben?” Judy asked, pointing to the carefully piled materials at each corner of the block.

  “Because when I get as many of Campo’s people within this one-block area as possible, I’m going to turn this street into an inferno. We toss a cocktail into the debris, then, when it’s burning, shoot into the drums of gas. The fumes ignite.”

  “Where are you going when this is over, Hen?”

  “Just wandering. How about you?”

  “Wally wants to stay in this area and start up another church.”

  “And you?”

  “I don’t want to stay. I’d like to see the country. I’ll bet I haven’t been three hundred miles in any direction from this point. Not in my whole life.”

  “How did you avoid Logan’s resettlement plans?”

  “Paul and me hid out, then we went to live with kin up in Kentucky. That’s when I started back to school. Then the rats came.”

  Ben had learned that most people did not care to discuss that period of their lives. The memories were just too horrible. Those rodents had almost been the final blow against humanity.

  “Well, I’m certainly going to ramble around when this is over, Judy. You’re welcome to come with me.”

  “No strings attached?”

 
; “None whatsoever.”

  “Here they come!” Wally shouted. He scrambled down from the building and took up his position. Ben watched him through worried eyes.

  Wally had pointed toward the east.

  “You don’t think Wally has his share of guts, do you, Ben?” Judy asked.

  “I’m sure he is a very brave man, Judy. But being a brave man and being a survivalist are two entirely different things. Wally has a reluctant trigger finger, that’s all. And at times like these, that is a drawback to those who might be depending on his reactions.”

  “He’s killed before,” Judy defended her brother.

  “When absolutely pushed to the wall and then only after putting his life, your life, or somebody else’s life in jeopardy.” It was not posed in question form.

  “How’d you know that?”

  “Wally’s about ten years older than you, right, Judy?”

  “How’d you know that? Yeah, that’s right.”

  “Wally remembers when a person could call a cop. His formative years were in the late ’60s and ’70s. He probably feels guilty just at the thought of picking up a big, bad gun to defend himself against all these poor misguided souls that roam the country, raping and killing and stealing.”

  She laughed softly at the expression on his face. “You ever been married, Ben?”

  The sound of labored engines was growing louder.

  “Yes. A long time ago.” Long ago and far away, the line came to the one-time-writer-turned-warrior. “Here they come. Stay very still, Judy.”

  “Campo won’t come in with his men,” Judy said. “He always lays back until it’s clear. I’ve watched him do it a half-dozen times.”

  Ben nodded and watched the lead vehicle turn the corner, its ugly, squat nose poking arrogantly around the corner. The truck was not a one-ton truck but a heavier bob truck. The front and sides had been fortified with steel plate. Gun slits had been cut into the steel plate. The muzzles of automatic weapons stuck out of the slits.