Danger in the Ashes Page 5

  Hiram swung. Ben grabbed the forearm and put Hiram on the floor with a bit of applied judo.

  Then he kicked Hiram right on the ass just as hard as he could.

  Hiram squalled and cussed. He rolled to his feet and charged Ben, trying to get him in a bearhug. Ben tripped him and once more sent the ’neck to the floor.

  Ben kicked him in the face. The sound of bones crunching was loud in the barroom. Hiram fell back, unconscious, blood and tissue and gum and bits of teeth leaking out of his swollen mouth.

  “Call the sheriff’s department,” Ben told the barmaid.

  The deputy was amused. Obviously, he had little use for the people of Stanford . . . probably even less than most, since Ben was sure he had answered many calls to that area.

  “So Hiram said he was gonna whip your ass, huh, Mr. Raines?”

  “That’s what he said.”

  “You want to file any complaints, Carol?”

  “Not a one. Hiram and his buddies got exactly what they deserved.”

  “But we was only a-funnin’, deputy!” one ’neck hollered.

  “Shut up,” the deputy told him. He swung his eyes to Ben. “You want to file a complaint, Mr. Raines?”

  Ben shook his head. “No, it’s over as far as I’m concerned.”

  The deputy smiled. “Maybe the fight is, but you don’t know this bunch, mister. You’re from Illinois, so I’ll bring you up to date. These guys are Kluckers.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “KKK.”

  “Is that supposed to fill me with fear?”

  The deputy laughed. “You may be a Yankee, Mr. Raines, but you’re all right. Just watch your back from now on, ’cause they ain’t never gonna forget or forgive you for this. They’re white trash, Mr. Raines.”

  Ben looked at the deputy.

  “You see, Mr. Raines, here’s the way it is. You got black people, you got colored people, and you got niggers. You got white people, you got rednecks, and you got trash. Blacks and whites never have had any trouble.” He turned around and left the dark barroom.

  “Well, I’ll be damned!” Ben said.

  FIVE

  Hiram rinsed off his dentures and stuck them in his mouth. He’d worn them ever since that goddamned Ben Raines had kicked his teeth out, years ago.

  Son of a bitch didn’t fight fair.

  Hell, they’d only been jokin’. Man couldn’t take a joke, either.

  Hiram had heard the trucks and Jeeps go by his place during the night. And he knew what they was without even having to get up out of the bed.

  Them damn soldier-people come to see that all the folks around here got into town like good little boys and girls.

  He’d been too busy today to go and see Billy; something was sure wrong with him. Grover Neal come by after the cross-burnin’ and said his brother got all uppity with him. Hiram wasn’t going to have that. Not none of it.

  He sat down and ate his breakfast, conscious of the Jeep parked in front of his house, with a machine gun stuck up in the rear of it.

  Goddamned Ben Raines was pushin’. That’s what he was doin’. Pushin’.

  But already, Hiram could see by looking out his kitchen window, people were leaving for Morriston.

  Just like good little boys and girls.

  Hiram sat, his stomach sour, and cursed Ben Raines.

  Tina had halted her Scouts just south of Memphis. The team, to a person, sat in their vehicles and stared at the huge sign by the side of the road.

  MEMPHIS — OFF LIMITS. DEATH TO ALL WHO ENTER.

  “You think they’re trying to tell us something?” a young man asked Tina, a smile on his face.

  The Rebels were human; of course, they knew fear. But none of them lived with it on a day-to-day basis. Many had been raised in Rebel camps, from California to Georgia. Most of them had been fighting since they were barely into their teens. They were solid, hard-nosed, professional soldiers, and they did not frighten easily. They had, to a person, faced hideous mutants; armies of warlords; street gangs; they had faced the troops of the Russian, Striganov, and his IPF . . . and they had defeated them all.

  More important, they had all been trained by Ben Raines . . . he had written the training manual. The Rebels could be totally ruthless in their seemingly never-ending quest to bring some form of stability back to the shattered nation. And they rarely took prisoners.

  One either agreed with the Rebel philosophy, or the choices were plain. Leave the area or attend your own funeral.

  “Well, whoever put that sign up can go right straight to hell. We’ve got to cut a route through Memphis. Matt, you and Chuck range out a mile in front of us. We’ve got to clear this two-forty loop for Ike. Move out.”

  The point men saw their first pile of bodies just after entering the city limits. They waited until Tina and her group had joined them.

  “Damn,” Tina said, eyeballing the pile of stinking bodies. “That’s a fairly fresh pile. And they’re all been carved up.”

  “The choice cuts taken,” another Scout said.

  Tina stood for a moment, pondering their situation. If they advanced further and got themselves cut off, surrounded by . . . whatever enemy was in the city, they could accomplish nothing. Getting themselves killed would prove or solve nothing. But on the other hand, if they didn’t clear the route, Ike’s main columns would have to cut off the Interstate somewhere around Batesville and wind their way north on secondary roads until reaching I-40.

  “It’s probably Night People responsible for this,” she finally said. “I won’t order any of you to your deaths. Let’s vote.”

  That, also, was the Rebel way.

  All voted to continue on into Memphis.

  “We’re not exactly traveling light, Tina,” the ranking sergeant said. “We’ve got .50s and .60s and rocket launchers and explosives. And we’ve got daylight on our side. Let’s put the vehicles fifty yards apart, everybody on alert, and roll in.”

  “Heads up, people,” Tina ordered, clicking her M-16 off safety. She turned to her driver, Sharon. “Let’s take the point.”

  And head into the unknown, she thought.

  “And top of the morning to you, sir!” Dan called out cheerfully to Hiram. The man had just stepped out onto his front porch.

  “Soldier,” Hiram returned the greeting, sort of. “Don’t trust us, soldier-boy?”

  Dan smiled at the man. “Implicitly, sir.”

  Hiram grunted. He figured he’d been insulted but wasn’t sure.

  “Me and mine will be along directly,” Hiram told him.

  “We’ll wait,” Dan said pleasantly.

  Hiram figured there wasn’t no point in puttin’ it off no longer. He plopped his hat on his head and started hollerin’ for his wives and kids.

  It was quite a parade that came rattling and banging and smoking into town.

  “The western people had a name for people like Hiram,” Ben said to Cecil. “Rawhiders. They didn’t build anything to last; just laced it together with rawhide, knowing it was going to fall down sooner or later.”

  Even the normally mild-mannered Cecil was disgusted with the sight. “There are literally thousands of abandoned vehicles around the land. There is no need for vehicles to be pieced together with wire!”

  “Yes, but that would require some initiative, Cec. It’s easier to just . . . ‘war hit up’ and let it flap.”

  “And these people were like this when the world was whole?” Cec asked.

  “To one degree or the other. There were, at one time, many good, decent families living in the Stanford Community. But they were always outnumbered by the Hirams of this earth.”

  “I wonder what happened to them?”

  “They probably left after all semblance of law and order was gone. Wouldn’t you?”

  “No,” the black man said, some heat in his voice. “I would have picked up a gun and fought the Hirams of this earth.”

  “My, my!” Ben kidded him. “How militaristic we’
ve become.”

  “Stuff it, Raines!” the ex-teacher-turned-Rebel said with a grin. “Let’s go see how Chase is doing.”

  “Fuming, I should imagine.”

  They found him at the delousing tents, arguing with Hiram and several other men.

  Buddy Raines had walked along with his father and General Jefferys.

  “I ain’t gonna stand for bein’ treated lak no gawddam cow!” Hiram hollered. “I jist ain’t a-gonna do hit.”

  “Don’t get too close, Ben,” Chase warned. “The man is crawling with fleas.”

  “I know,” Ben said drily. “I had to have my office fumigated after he left. Hiram, go to that tent over there and take a shower. Then come to this tent here for delousing.”

  “Ah’d lak to see you make me do that!”

  Ben smiled. “I kicked your ass years ago, Hiram. You want me to do it again?”

  With a low curse, the man glared at Ben, raw hate in his eyes. “You ’barrassin’ me in front of my people deliberate, Raines.”

  “Everybody is being treated the same, Hiram. You singled yourself out by your behavior.”

  “Why don’t you take the treatment, Raines. Show us how hit’s done.”

  “Because I don’t live in squalor. I take baths daily, and I don’t have fleas and lice. Move, Hiram.”

  “I’ll kill you someday, Raines,” the ’neck swore.

  “You’ll try.”

  “What do we do with their clothes, general?” Ben was asked.

  “Burn them.”

  “They’s smoke down yonder!” a ’neck hollered, pointing.

  “Lot’s of smoke!” another yelled. “Whut the hale’s goin’ on?”

  “Some of the homes are being burned,” Ben told the group. “Your possessions were moved out and put in empty homes . . . after being deloused and fumigated,” he added, more than a modicum of disgust in his voice.

  “My daddy built that there house!” a man yelled.

  “Yes,” Ben told him. “And I knew your father. He was fine man. A good, decent man. He would have had no part in following scum like this,” Ben jerked his thumb at Hiram. “I can’t help but wonder what happened to change you.” He looked at Buddy. “Take over here, Buddy. Delouse them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Come on, Cec. The odor is overwhelming.”

  “See you in Hell, Raines!” Hiram swore.

  “I hope it smells better than this,” Ben called over his shoulder.

  “Blow it,” Tina finally said, after inspecting the barricade on the I-240 loop. “But be sure it isn’t booby-trapped. Let’s back off and put a rocket into the mess. If it’s wired, that should tell us.”

  The rocket knocked a hole in the barricade and the rest was quickly shoved to one side. Rebels stood on both sides of the overpass, weapons at the ready, eyes constantly searching the area below them.

  Tina checked the sky. It would be getting dark in a couple of hours. She did not want to be caught inside the city limits after dark.

  Sergeant Wilson caught her glance. “It’s going to be close, Tina.”

  “There’s a barricade of some sort every mile,” Tina’s walkie talkie popped.

  “We’re not going to make it,” Tina said. Then softly cursed. “The airport is right over there. Or what is left of it. Let’s hole up there for the night and establish radio contact with Eagle Base and with Ike.”

  The twenty-five person team of Scouts made their way to the airport . . . and immediately ran into trouble.

  “I do not wish anytime soon to go through another day like this one,” Chase bitched, pouring himself a stiff drink of bourbon.

  About an hour before dark, and the men were sitting in Ben’s office. “I still feel like I’ve got lice crawling on me.” Chase downed the drink in one gulp and poured another.

  “I have to say this, general,” Dan said. “Is it worth all this? To settle in this particular spot, that is?”

  “I’ll admit that some of it is purely personal,” Ben said. “But we’re going to be hitting pockets like this no matter where we go. We might as well practice here and get it down pat. We’ve got to show the people that we mean exactly what we say. We can’t run a bluff.”

  “I can’t begin to tell you all how much I miss the tranquility of the old Tri-States,” Cecil said. “Talk about your good old days.”

  “We could do it again,” Ben said. “But what would we have accomplished by doing so? We would be safe inside our sealed borders, but people like Hiram would be gaining strength outside. Very soon, we’d be even more outnumbered than we are now.”

  All present silently agreed with that.

  “Father.” Buddy spoke. “Why didn’t you just send planes to do a fly-by of what is left of New York City?”

  “I will eventually, son. But first the ground teams have to check out and clear runways; check fuel depots. We have to make certain the planes have a place to set down.”

  “I see.” The young man rose and walked to the window. Somebody had washed it during the day.

  “Something on your mind, son?”

  The son turned to face the father. “You speak of classes of people, father. I had never understood it fully until this day. But it’s still confusing to me. A rational person would surely understand that if one is to prevent disease, one must bathe. Even animals make some attempt to clean themselves. What makes these people behave as they do?”

  “Lack of education is part of it, Buddy. And the way their parents brought them up has something to do with it. For years, so-called experts did their best to convince people that there is no such thing as a person’s being born bad. I never believed a damn thing those so-called experts had to say. I’ve seen too much proof otherwise. My belief is that once a person hits adulthood, few will change. Part of them might want to change, but something within them has overpowered that urge.”

  “Then . . . so we can change the children of these people, hopefully. But what about the adults?”

  “Fear is the great motivator, Buddy. To cut through all the grease and get to the stew, you’ve got to understand that all governments are based, to one degree or another, on fear. Fear of punishment for breaking the rules.”

  The handsome young man was silent for a moment. Dan wore an amused look on his face. Chase was studying his glass of whiskey. Cecil kept looking from father to son.

  “All right,” Buddy said. “I can see where that is true. Governments must assume the same position as a parent toward a child; am I correct in that assumption, Father?”

  “Unfortunately, yes, Buddy. I’m afraid that is the case.”

  “But the Rebel philosophy is not so much to that degree.”

  “That’s right. That’s why it’s so difficult for so many people to understand us.”

  “This Hiram person? . . .”

  “He will never understand it. Hiram is the worst kind of person, Buddy. He is ignorant and very proud of that ignorance. And because of that, Hiram is very dangerous. He preys on the fear and superstitions of others like him. You ever seen a snakepit, son?”

  “Oh, yes, sir!”

  “That’s what we’re dealing with . . . with most of the adults of the Stanford Community.”

  “Then someday, Father, you will have to kill this Hiram person.”

  “I’m afraid so, son.”

  “It’s a very distasteful business, isn’t it, Father?”

  “Yes. Yes, it is.”

  An aide stuck his head into the office. “Ike just called in. He can’t make contact with Tina’s Scouts.”

  SIX

  Tina and her team had pulled up under the canopy of steel and concrete, left guards with each vehicle, and slowly entered the littered airport concourse. Tina was the first to notice what appeared to be a bundle of rags behind a car rental counter, next to the wall. She motioned the other team members back to the shattered electric doors and lifted her M-16.

  The creature came off the floor, out from under the rags, its
horrible twisted face ugly with hate, the unnaturally white eyes hot with fury.

  Tina pulled the trigger, the slugs catching the creature in the chest, stopping the horrible howling. The lower concourse was suddenly filled with Night People. The Scouts sent a dozen of them into that long sleep and then rang out to their vehicles.

  “That hangar over there!” Tina pointed. “It’s small enough that we can clean it out quickly but large enough for us to store our vehicles.”

  There was still enough light in the sky to prevent the Night People from leaving the safe darkness of the airport’s lower deck.

  But a Scout sent a long burst of M-60 machine gun fire into the lower deck, just for insurance. The insurance paid off. A long while of agony erupted from the dimness of the concourse.

  One horribly disfigured creature braved the light, running out just as the overhang was ending and the vehicles could break free of the dimness. Tina’s Jeep struck the thing and sent it over the hood, to land in the small back seat, packed with supplies. Tina felt bloody fingers clawing at her neck.

  They were accelerating fast out of a curve, and the driver had all she could do fighting the wheel. Tina twisted in the seat and came face to face with the foul-smelling and hideously deformed being. Clawing at her .45, cocked and locked, she fired through the seat, the big .45 slug striking the thing in the belly. With a howl of anguish, the Night Person toppled out of the Jeep, only to be run over by the truck behind Tina.

  Her driver, Sharon, cut her eyes at her and grinned. “How’d you like to bed down with one of those beauties?”

  “Pl-ease!” Tina took a deep breath. The fetid smell of the creature still lingered around her. She wrinkled her nose.

  They made it to the hangar without seeing another Night Person, but with the darkness quickly gathering, all knew they were being watched.

  “Chuck, take two and clear the hangar to the left,” Tina shouted. “Matt, take two and do the same to the hangar on the right. Sharon, Bernie, Ham, come on!”