Smoke from the Ashes Read online

  Mark and Alvaro pulled their people back deep into the Oconee National Forest and dug in. They kept their heads down and waited for orders from General Jefferys.

  “Joe,” Cecil said to General Williams, “I think, like the old commercial used to read, we are in a heap of trouble.”

  “I think, sir, that you are right.”

  Cecil thought of the sealed orders Ben had given him. But he wasn’t ready to open them just yet. For he had a strong suspicion what they contained. He knew there was no way he was gong to contain The Hot Wind’s troops. Not outnumbered forty or fifty to one. Cecil had been playing games with Khamsin’s recon people, constantly shifting troops around the area. He had less than a thousand regular Rebels at Base Camp One.

  He silently counted his numbers. Mark and Alvaro had about two hundred and fifty people. Counting all recon teams, there might be an additional two hundred and fifty. Perhaps fifteen hundred men and women, and kids, among the untrained.

  Cecil sighed.

  Blunt old soldier that he was, Joe summed it up. “It’s fucking impossible, general.”

  “Yes, I know, Joe. But I’m not going to roll over and run away just yet. Joe, order the untrained civilian women and all kids under the age of fourteen out of here. Send them across the line, into Alabama.” He hesitated. “One platoon of Rebels with them. Clear the hospital of wounded. Send them, too. Order the motor pool to get every vehicle that will run ready to do so. That’s just in case. Fully fueled. Fill tankers and get them rolling west. Start stripping this place right now; but load trucks and pull out only at night. War lights only. Let the civilian women drive the trucks.”

  “General?”

  “Yes, Joe?”

  “Let’s send the old soldiers with the civilians.”

  Cecil smiled, remembering. He nodded his head. “Fine, Joe.”

  Buddy lay on his sleeping bag in the deep timber and let his thoughts drift back to his mother. As a child, when conditions were normal, she had been a good mother. Schools, nice clothes. Then after the bombs came, she had left him with the Old Man, returning only occasionally to visit him. Sometimes, Buddy had thought, she must have forgotten he was alive. The Old Man had really raised him. And then Buddy found out why she waited years to see him. He pushed that from his mind.

  But years back, when the Old Man was younger, he had taught Buddy to survive. He taught him to use a knife, a bow and arrow, to make deadly traps, taught him about all types of weapons — and mainly, Buddy had later learned, kept him away from his mother.

  And it was only a year back that Buddy had learned the Old Man was really his grandfather.

  Dawn.

  Ben stepped out of his tent and almost collided with Denise. At first, he did not recognize the woman. She was dressed in lizard cammies and beret, her dark hair pulled back and tied. Her field pants bloused into boots. She wore a .38 belted around her trim waist. A hunting knife in a sheath on the other side.

  She saluted and said, “Reporting, sir.”

  Ben tossed her a salute and said, “Never salute an officer in a combat zone, Denise. That’s a good way to get somebody killed. Snipers.”

  “Oh! Sorry, sir.”

  “That’s all right. Just don’t do it again. Reporting for what, Denise?”

  “As ordered, sir.”

  Ben blinked and scratched his head. “I didn’t order you to report to me.”

  “No, sir. General McGowan did.”

  “To do what?”

  “Well . . . I don’t know, sir. He just said that you needed an aide and told me to report first thing. So here I am.”

  Looking around him, Ben saw Dr. Chase, Ike, Dan, and Tina all standing together, giggling and trying not to look in his direction.

  Even Carl, Colonel Gray’s batman, was smiling, looking in every direction except at Ben Raines.

  “Assholes!” Ben said.

  “Just like opinions, general,” Denise said with a straight face.

  “What’s that?” Ben asked, looking at her.

  “Everybody has one.”

  TEN

  A runner from the communications van reached Ben, nearly out of breath. She handed Ben a folded piece of paper. “This just came in, sir. From General Jefferys.”

  Ben opened the paper. Will hold long enough to allow civilians to leave area. Believe it is impossible to contain IPA troops for very long. Good luck.

  “Bad?” Ike asked.

  Ben handed the paper to him. Ike read it and said, “Shit! It must be bad for Cec to send something like this. You want me to get my people together, Ben?”

  Ben shook his head. “I don’t know, Ike,” he said with a sigh. “I think this message is coded. For Khamsin’s benefit. I think Cec has something up his sleeve. I think he wants Khamsin to believe he’s in panic.”

  Ike was thoughtful. “You may be right. He sure didn’t ask for any help, did he?”

  “No. And he wouldn’t hesitate to ask. But I can’t contact him about it without tipping his hand . . . if he’s holding a good hand, that is.”

  “Just a few hours ago he was not worried at all,” Ike mused aloud. “Ben, there is no way for Khamsin to have moved that many troops into position this soon. His troops are not concentrated; they’re all over South Carolina.”

  “Very well.” Ben made up his mind. “It’s Cecil’s show; we’ll let him open and close the curtains as he sees fit. If he needs us, we’re only a few hours away.”

  “I wonder if he’s opened those sealed orders yet.”

  “I doubt it. He’d have said. All right, Ike. We’ve got two fronts, as usual. Let’s start taking care of this one.”

  Emil Hite had been down for a year, but far from being out. The former used-car salesman from Chattanooga was also known as a con man from several other states, and for awhile he had even been known as Father Emil, earthbound emissary of the Great God Blomm.

  It had been a pretty good scam for as long as it worked. Until those Ninth Order assholes had screwed it all up. And then those totally brutish mercenaries came charging in. And they really fucked things up.

  But eventually they had left, leaving only a small number of Emil’s former converts behind. But they were the hard-core Father Emil followers, totally loyal to him. And conditions being what they were, worldwide, it didn’t take Emil long to put together another scam. One thing Emil could do, and do well, was talk very convincingly.

  And he had talked enough to gather about two hundred new followers. Of course, he knew they were all yo-yos — some of them totally around the bend; but that didn’t matter, not as long as they waited on him hand and foot and catered to his every need.

  He had convinced his followers that the Great God Blomm, who had once sat by the side of the Almighty, had deserted them, allowing those brutish, repugnant types to enter their lives, as punishment.

  Now Blomm was back, stronger than ever on the side of Father Emil and his flock. But, he cautioned his robed troops, “Don’t expect miracles from me. I cannot deliver miracles. All I can do is tell you what Blomm tells me.”

  In other words, get off my ass and cool it with the demands for me to turn water into booze, and all that other hokey shit.

  They believed it. Sure, they believed it. Made as much sense as some of those religions that were alive and kicking back when the world was normal — more or less.

  Just to keep his followers guessing, Emil would occasionally fall on the ground and thrash around, speaking in tongues. Then he’d get up, brush himself off, and do his rendition of the Mashed Potatoes, the Funky Chicken, the Dog, and the Twist.

  Hell, they loved it!

  Silly shits!

  And, Emil suspected, more than a few knew it was all a scam. He knew he was comic relief to many of the growing numbers. But he deliberately and very carefully kept those in the minority. They handled the tribute to Father Emil — and got more than their share of the pussy, too.

  Emil had settled in North Louisiana, had him a real nice c
hurch (used to be a Baptist church) complete with a little band that could really cook with Christian rock and Roll. Emil had rewritten several hymns, putting them to the tunes of “Shake, Rattle, and roll,” “Don’t be Cruel,” “Money, Honey,” and “Pissin’ In The Wind.” To name just a few.

  The flock really got down and boogied when Emil would pull his robe up past his knees, signal the band to start jammin’, and Emil would start belting out in song.

  Hot damn! but he loved to see those sisters strut their stuff, prancing up and down the aisles, shaking their money-makers and shouting in tongues.

  But this new group was just a tad different from the last group Emil had formed. This time, he had vowed, no one was going to come along and fuck it up.

  This time, everyone was armed. And well trained in the handling of the guns. And Emil and his enforcers — the ones who knew it was all pre-planned bullshit — saw to it that the farms were productive, the robe factories worked well, and everybody stayed in line.

  All in all, Emil thought, it was working out fine.

  If that fuckin’ Ben Raines would just stay away.

  Buddy stayed in deep cover, close to his Jeep, listening to the radio and thinking.

  Now that he was away from his mother and could think without interruption, he was more than ever convinced the woman was stark, raving mad. And he was well aware of, and had been for some time, that the Old Man had deliberately let his mother think him dead for many years.

  But why, only a couple of years ago, had the Old Man taken him to his mother? That puzzled Buddy.

  And it just may be he’d never know.

  The radio began crackling, and Buddy stopped his thinking to concentrate on the radio messages.

  “Topeka One to Chanute. Come on, Chanute.”

  “Chanute here.”

  “Are you under attack, yet, Chanute?”

  “Under attack, did you say?”

  “Ten-four, Chanute.”

  “Hell, no. We’re not under attack. What’s going on, Topeka?”

  “Stay alert, Chanute. Ben Raines and his people are about to pull something.”

  “Hell, they’ve been out there three/four days. They — ”

  A new voice took over the mike. A strong voice, with a heavy southern accent. “Do not question orders, Chanute. Just do as you are told. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Ben knew that accented voice. He was sitting in his Vehicle, Denise by his side, listening. And said aloud that the voice was familiar to him.

  “An old friend?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “An old enemy, then?”

  “That would be more like it, I’m thinking. But from where, is the thing that puzzles me.”

  “It will come to you, general.”

  “Oh? You sound very sure of that, Denise. Are you all omniscient?”

  “Possessing infinite knowledge, general? Oh, no. Are you surprised that I know the meaning of that large word?”

  “Yes,” Ben said truthfully, as was his way. “Most your age didn’t have the time for much formal education.”

  “I had to teach myself after the bombs came. But then, I have always enjoying reading . . . even your rough, tough men’s adventure books.”

  Ben had to smile. “Where did you find copies of those?”

  “Oh, here and there.”

  “Uh-huh. Getting back to the mysterious voice we just heard? . . .”

  “And why I think it will come to you? . . .” She trailed it off as he had done.

  “Yes.”

  “Why . . . You’re a god, aren’t you?”

  Ben glared at her, and then started laughing. He had a strong suspicion they were going to get along very well.

  Ike approached the vehicle and said, “I’m pullin’ out, Ben. I should be in position by late this afternoon, if all goes well.”

  Ben got out and stretched. Denise got out and stood a few feet away from the men, watching as Col. Dan Gray and Capt. Tina Raines joined the men.

  “All teams ready?” Ben asked.

  Sitting on Go.

  “Not a whole hell of a lot left to say then,” Ben told them.

  Dan pulled a map out of his case and spread it on the hood of the vehicle.

  Ike said, “Me and my gang will spread from right here at Marysville east to Sparks and work south from there.”

  “My teams will be spread from Elgin east to Baxter Springs,” Tina said. “Our territory will be everything between the state line up to Highway Fifty-four.”

  “I’m taking everything from Fifty-four up to Interstate Thirty-five,” Dan said.

  “And I’m taking everything between Thirty-five and Seventy,” Ben said. “And that included Topeka.”

  “You are taking the lion’s share, general,” Dan said, just as Dr. Chase joined the group.

  “Of course, he is,” Lamar said. “The old bastard still thinks he’s a young buck.”

  Ike cleared his throat. “He’s about the same age I am, Doc.”

  “Well, that makes you a middle-aged fart, too, McGowan,” Lamar popped right back. “You want me to maintain my field hospital right where we are, Ben?”

  “For the time being, Lamar, I think that would be best. The LZ is secure and set up . . .” Ben paused, thoughtful. “But if Cec moves the big hospital? . . .”

  “And he’s probably doing that right now,” Ike said. “Your emergency orders were to head for Alabama, Ben.”

  Ben looked at Lamar and raised one eyebrow in question.

  Interesting gesture, Denise thought. From a very interesting man. Of course, even in the short time she’d been in camp, she had heard a lot of camp gossip about General Raines. About how he did love the ladies. Often.

  Wouldn’t hurt my feelings a bit, she silently mused.

  “We can handle anything that comes our way, Ben,” Lamar assured him. “But you know that we’re practicing medicine on probably a World War Two level out here in the field. There might be a problem with whole blood; but we’ll just have to wait and see about that.”

  “There is really a great hospital in Topeka,” Denise said. “It’s well staffed and well equipped, so I’m told.”

  All eyes swung toward her.

  “I’m sorry. I did not mean to interrupt.”

  “You didn’t,” Ben said quickly. “That is very valuable intelligence. Anything you can think of, tell us.”

  She nodded her head. “I probably don’t know that much.”

  “And you probably know more than you think you do,” Dan said. “That is usually the case. What is the name of this facility?”

  “The medical center.”

  “Location?”

  She told him.

  Ben smiled. “We’ll try to keep it intact and take whatever medical supplies they might have stored, Lamar.”

  “I’m sure that will be an effort for you, Raines,” Lamar said with a smile. “Not blowing things up.”

  “There was a man who stayed on the Potawatomi Reservation for a time,” Denise said. “A very old man. In robes. He carried a great stick with him. A staff, I suppose you’d call it.”

  Ben felt a chill spread over him. Looking at the others, he knew they were experiencing the same sensation.

  The Prophet.

  That old figure that occasionally popped up — seemingly at the same time in many different places. Ben remembered the first time he had seen the man who called himself the Prophet.

  Little Rock, a couple of years back, when Rosita had been by his side.

  Looking at the others, Ben knew that they, too, were momentarily lost in memories.

  “Heads up, general!” a Rebel called.

  Ben and Rosita turned. Ben heard her sharp intake of breath.

  “Dios mio!” she hissed.

  A man was approaching them, angling across the street, stepping around the litter. It was the man in the dreams Rosita had been having. Bearded and robed and carrying a lo
ng staff.

  The man stopped in the street, and Ben looked into the wildest eyes he had ever seen.

  And the oldest, he thought.

  “My God!” someone said in a whisper. “It’s Moses.”

  A small team of Rebels started toward the man. He held up a warning hand. “Stay away, ye soldiers of a false god.”

  “It is Moses,” a woman said, only half in jest.

  Ben continued to stare at the man. And be stared at in return. Burning eyes, savage, but yet sad. Eyes filled with knowledge.

  “I hope not,” Ben said, and his statement was given only half in jest. The robed man was disturbing to Ben. “Are you all right?” Ben called. “We have food we’ll share with you.”

  The robed man replied, “I want nothing from you.” He stabbed his long staff against the broken concrete of the street. He swung his dark, piercing eyes to the Rebels gathered protectively around Ben, weapons at the ready. “Your worshipping of a false god is offensive.” He turned and walked away.

  Gunfire spun them around. Then the radio crackled with the news that a patrol had found a family unit of mutants and the great beasts had attacked them. The Rebels had been forced to kill them all. Ben and his patrol went to the building that had housed the mutants and were wondering what to do with the only survivor, a small mutant baby, savage and hideous looking.

  “Here comes Nutsy!” a Rebel called into the basement.

  “Who?” Ben asked, then realized the Rebel was referring to the old man in the robes.

  The old man appeared at the shattered basement door. “I am called the Prophet,” he announced.

  Ben said, “My name is — ”

  The Prophet waved him silent. “I know who you are.” He pointed his staff at Ben. “Your life will be long and strife filled. You will sire many children, and in the end, none of your dreams will become reality. I have spoken with God, and He has sent me to tell you these things. You are as He to your people, and soon — in your measurement of time — many more will come to believe it. But recall His words: No false gods before Me.” The old man’s eyes seemed to burn into Ben’s head. “It will not be your fault. But it will lie on your head.”