Slaughter in the Ashes Page 9

  She was educated, Ben knew that after speaking with her for only a few minutes. She had come from an upper middle class family where both parents worked. She had a brother and a sister, but had no idea what had happened to them. And that was it. Whenever Ben tried to shift the conversation back to her, she skillfully moved it right back to the SUSA, the Rebels, Ben’s writing career, his travels, or any one of a dozen other areas.

  He did not believe the woman was lying to him, pretending to be what she was not, but her past was private, and she was determined to keep it that way.

  Perhaps, Ben concluded, events had been so traumatic she had blocked out the terrible memories. Ben had known of people who had done that. Jersey had practically no memory of her past as a child.

  When the afternoon began casting long shadows among the ruins, Ben got to his feet and stretched some of the stiffness out of his muscles and joints. His head had stopped its throbbing, and considering the situation, he felt pretty good.

  “You ready to travel, Judy?”

  She stood up and stretched. “I guess so. But this is the part I hate.”

  “Why so?”

  “We seldom lose people going out of our area. It’s always coming back.”

  “They get careless and anxious. We won’t do either.” Her words had triggered a silent alarm bell in Ben’s head. And the bell rang out one word: informant. The punks or the creeps, probably the former, had a plant among Judy’s people. As she was gathering her meager possessions, Ben asked, “How long has this been going on?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your losing people on the way back in.”

  “Oh . . . about a year. Why?”

  “Just curious, that’s all. You ready?”

  “Yes. Let’s go. Stay behind me, Ben. Especially when we get close. Just remember what I told you about the booby traps.”

  Ben held up a hand. “Just hold on for a minute. This ex-army man you had with you . . . was he the first to get killed coming back in?”

  “Ah . . . as a matter of fact, he was. What are you getting at, Ben?”

  “And how many team leaders or whatever you call them have been killed since?”

  “Several.”

  “You’ve got an informer in your ranks, Judy.”

  She looked at him for a moment, her eyes narrowing in suspicious thought, then sat back down on the old packing crate. She nodded. “Yeah. Only we never thought of that,” she said softly. “Everyone is so close. We all count on each other. It’s like a big family.”

  “Except this family has a bad seed among the relatives. Come on. Let’s go.”

  It was almost full dark when the two of them stepped out of the building, exiting the back way. Judy was carrying part of Ben’s original load, and the traveling now was much easier. The one thing Ben had deliberately not asked her was why she was out by herself, lone-wolfing it in the middle of bogie country. He had hoped she would tell him, but she had not.

  She stopped at the edge of the street and looked up at Ben. “In case you’re wondering, and you probably are, Jim—that was the ex-soldier’s name—and I were lovers. We were going to be married if or when we got to a safe locale. He was about twenty years older than me, but I didn’t care about that. Since his death, I haven’t cared much about anything, except killing punks. That’s why I go out by myself into the zone. To kill punks.”

  “I have been wondering. Well, that’s a pretty good reason, Judy.”

  “You don’t think I’m nuts for doing that?”

  “Not at all. Revenge is something I understand perfectly well.”

  “You’ve lost a loved one in this war?”

  “Yes. Several years ago. A long way from here.”

  “Then you understand what drives me?”

  “Oh, yes. I sure do.”

  “Some of the others in the group think I’m crazy.”

  Ben chuckled. “I know that feeling too, Judy. Believe it or not, I like to lone-wolf it.”

  She smiled. “I think we’ll get along, Ben Raines.”

  “I’m sure of it.”

  They walked on into the gathering night.

  They had not gone a block before Ben heard the faint murmur of voices and jerked Judy into what was left of an old building. The voices grew louder, and both knew it was no small group of punks.

  “Too many for us this far away from home,” Ben whispered, his mouth close to her ear.

  She nodded in agreement, her hair brushing gently on the side of his face.

  It was a temptation for the both of them; a real struggle to keep from blasting the night and clearing the street of crud. But they pulled back into the shadows and were still until the 25 or so men and women had passed and could no longer be heard.

  “I wanted to kill them all,” Judy whispered.

  “So did I. But that would have been suicide for us. Come on, let’s go.”

  Two blocks later, both of them knew that getting to Central Park was going to be a real challenge. Everywhere they looked there were groups of punks.

  “What’s going on?” Ben whispered. “Is it always this way?”

  “No. They’re probably looking for me. I told my people I’d be back tonight. This proves you’re right about there being an informer in our bunch.” She cursed very softly but very heatedly for a moment. “We’re going to have to go the long way to get out of the zone. But even then, it’s going to be risky.”

  “You’re leading this parade, Judy.”

  It was long hours later when Judy halted them at the edge of Ninth Avenue and West 60th Street. It had taken them almost an hour to thread their way through a maze of booby traps. “Almost home,” she said, weariness evident in her voice. She softly whistled three times, then paused and whistled three more times.

  Somewhere in the darkness, someone answered with two whistles.

  “Two of us coming in,” she called.

  “Two of you?” a man’s voice called.

  “Me and General Ben Raines!”

  “Good God Almighty. Come on.”

  “We change the sign and countersign every time somebody goes out,” Judy told Ben as they walked toward the north side of Columbus Circle. “Sometimes it’s a lip whistle, sometimes a word, sometimes a tin whistle.”

  A man stepped out of the shadows and said, “Welcome back, Judy. We were getting worried.”

  “This is General Raines, Greg.”

  “My God, but it’s good to see you, general,” Greg said, grabbing and pumping Ben’s hand. “We knew your people were here, of course, but never dreamed you were among them.”

  A woman stepped up and hugged Judy. “Ben, this is Marie. Marie, General Ben Raines.”

  Then there were people all around them, and the names were coming so fast Ben knew he would not remember a fraction of them.

  “Let’s get you people inside,” Greg said. “God, you both must be worn out.”

  “Just get me to a radio,” Ben said. “I’ve got to talk to my people before they start shelling this place.” He smiled. “And how would you folks like some real coffee?”

  “Real coffee, general?” a woman Ben remembered being introduced as Babe asked. “My God, sir! I’ve forgotten what that tastes like.”

  “Get me to a radio and you’ll have coffee for lunch.”

  Since this was non-scrambled voice, Ben used one of the simplest but oldest codes the Rebels had. It was a mishmash of voice codes, some of them probably concocted by children back when the world was whole. The days of the week were easy: today was January, Monday was February, Tuesday was March, and so on. Then Ben used a mixture of pig latin and carnival talk to finish up his brief transmission. He opened a map, pointed to an area in the park, and looked at Judy and Greg, the only two people he had allowed to be present while making his radio contact. “We’ll start getting supplies in about one hour. No time for rest. Let’s go over to this area and get ready to receive.”

  Greg smiled. “You don’t waste much time,
do you, general?”

  “Oh, I’ve just gotten started, Greg. Wait until I really get rolling.”

  The planes came in all at once and low, dropping the supplies Ben had requested, and then they were gone, catching the gangs by surprise. The drop was made at the southern end of the park, between the zoo and the lake. The supplies landed on target.

  The hold-outs in the park worked quickly and within minutes, the carefully packed crates had been unhooked from their harnesses and carried off.

  The first thing Ben did was set up the radio and get in touch with his people, on scramble.

  “Are you sure you’re OK, Ben?” Ike asked.

  “I’m fine, Ike.” Now that he could talk freely, Ben explained what had happened to him and all that had taken place since he woke up half buried under debris.

  “We’re fighting on three fronts, Ben,” Ike said. “The punks are getting smarter and using hit-and-run tactics. They’re not doing any damage, but it’s keeping us busy. You want us to come in and get you?”

  “Negative, Ike. But on the second drop this afternoon, give me all the claymores you can spare. By that time I will probably have ferreted out the informer and can begin really booby-trapping the perimeters of this park.”

  “We’ll keep you supplied with whatever you want, Ben, whenever you want it. Ben, the pilots said they reported no SAMs coming at them.”

  “I know. If they have them, and that’s a big ‘if’ in my mind right now, I don’t think the gangs know how to use them. Personally I don’t think they have any surface-to-air missiles. But we’ll know this afternoon. Have the fighters up and circling before you make the drop.”

  “Will do, Ben.”

  “Then that about does it. Ike, I don’t want any heroics from any of my people on my behalf. I want that firmly understood. When it comes time to once more invade this hunk of rock and rubble, we can scatter and keep our heads down.”

  “Your people aren’t going to like that, Ben.”

  “Well, they’re going to have to live with it. Those are my orders and I expect to have them obeyed.”

  “You got it, partner.”

  “All right, Ike. Eagle out.”

  Ben laid the mic down and stood up, looking at Greg and Judy and two of their most trusted lieutenants. “Now then, people. Let me set up this PSE equipment and then we’ll find your informer.”

  “What happens when we find the person, general?” Babe asked.

  “We shoot him.”

  ELEVEN

  But Ben didn’t have to test anyone. As soon as word about the PSE equipment spread, and that there was at least one, possibly two informants within the survivors’ midst, who would be shot as soon as they were discovered, a man and a woman vanished.

  “I would never have thought in my wildest dreams it would be that pair,” a woman called Nell said.

  “Nor I,” a man named Don said.

  “They joined us right after we all banded together,” Greg added. “It just doesn’t make sense to me why they would do something this . . . awful. We called them friend. Shared what we had with them.”

  “Did anybody ever see them actually kill a gang member?” Ben asked.

  The members standing by exchanged glances and one by one slowly shook their heads.

  “No,” one of the co-leaders said. “As a matter of fact, I didn’t. But looking back, I can remember several very odd things about them.”

  Ben waved a hand. “It makes no difference now. They’re gone. Let’s start gearing up for the next drop. This one will be much larger than the first.” He smiled. “But first, let’s brew up some of that good coffee.”

  Over the first real coffee most of them had tasted in years, Ben told them about his army and what they were doing. He told them about life in the SUSA and about Simon Border’s ultra-religious nation out west. He told them about the NUSA being formed here in the North and East.

  “When this is over,” a man said, “I don’t ever want to have to pick up a gun again.”

  Ben smiled sadly. “Those days are going to be long in coming, my friend. Probably not in our lifetime.”

  Only a few of the Manhattan survivors professed any doubts about moving down to the SUSA. The majority of them were eager to get on the way.

  “No crime in the SUSA?” a woman who’d been introduced as Joan asked.

  “Practically none,” Ben assured her. “We just don’t tolerate it. Kids are taught the difference between right and wrong in school. They’re taught values and morals.”

  “And the Bible?” one of the doubters asked, a smile on his lips.

  “Not in public schools,” Ben surprised him by answering. “That’s up to the parents and religious leaders. I believe in a very wide separation of church and state.”

  “Then how do you teach creation?” another asked.

  “That the world was created. It just came to be. Once a child has grown into adulthood and is in college, then all sorts of theories are taught. But by that time, the student is old enough to form his own opinions.”

  “Do you believe in a supreme being, general?” Cliff asked.

  “Yes, I do. Very much. There is no way anyone will ever convince me that all the wonders of nature just ‘happened.’ I don’t believe that; I’ll never believe that.”

  “But after all the tragedy that has occurred in the world, you can’t believe God is a merciful god,” a woman called Linda said.

  “I believe that God gave us a brain, Linda. He later gave Moses a tablet with His basic laws, laws He would like for us all to try, and I stress try, to live by. God didn’t ask that any of us be perfect, just to try.”

  “And do you try, general?” a man asked.

  Ben smiled. “I do try, Red. I’ll give anybody a chance if they’ll cut me just a little slack.”

  “And do you read the Bible, general?”

  “General George Patton was asked that question one time, during the Second World War. He supposedly replied, ‘Every goddamn day.’”

  Ben went off to catch a few hours sleep.

  The second drop that day went as smoothly as the first one, with no surface-to-air missiles fired at the planes. Ben was convinced now that the gangs did not have SAMs.

  The early afternoon drop brought the park survivors more food and medical supplies, thousands of rounds of ammo, several hundred M-16s, half a dozen Big Thumpers, cases of grenades, uniforms and boots and socks, underwear for the male and female genders, and dozens of other articles necessary for survival.

  “Marvelous!” Doctor James exclaimed, eagerly ripping open the cases of medical supplies. He turned to the woman who acted as his nurse. “Round up the kids and get them in here, Claire. Let’s get to work. Then we’ll start with the adults. Everybody gets a quick once-over and then we start the shots.” He smiled up at Ben. “This is like manna from heaven, general.”

  “Enjoy,” Ben told him.

  Ben began a walking inspection of the park’s perimeters and knew very quickly that anytime the punks wanted to rush the area, they could do it. It would cost them dearly in terms of human life, but they could overrun the park.

  There were too few survivors and far too many gangs for them to effectively defend such a large area. If they were going to stay within the confines of the park, their area of defense would have to be cut down to a more defensible size.

  Ben consulted a sheet of paper Judy had given him. There were 162 adults of reasonable fighting age in the group. Sixteen children. Twelve elderly people. The park comprised 840 acres. Not nearly enough people to defend such a large area.

  Besides, the gangs had mortars, and Ben was sure, now that they knew he was inside the park confines, they would start using those mortars. Once they started that, it would be slaughter for the survivors.

  But where else could such a large group of people hide in the city?

  He didn’t know. But there had to be a place.

  Ben sighed and Judy cut her eyes to him. “What it is, Ben
?”

  “The park. The gangs could overrun you anytime they wanted to.”

  “But the booby traps . . . ?”

  “A couple of dozen grenades or sticks of dynamite would blow a path right through them. The punks would pour through. I think the only reason they haven’t done so before now is because of the informants they had planted among you.”

  Judy opened her mouth to protest and Ben held up a hand. Greg and some of the others stood close by, listening. “Before we began herding all the gangs in this direction, back when your army man was still alive, how many punks were there in the city? Take a guess somebody.”

  “Two or three thousand,” Judy said. “And maybe that many creepies.”

  “And there were other small bands of survivors scattered all over the city, right?”

  “That’s right. Dozens of them.”

  “Well, the other groups supplied the food for the creeps, and you all were too well fortified for the small unorganized gangs to rush. But all that has changed now. There are now thousands more gang members in the ruins, well armed and well equipped. As soon as they realize they can overrun this park, they’ll do it.”

  Ben paused and listened for a moment to the distant Rebel artillery fire. The heavy bombardment was coming from the north, south, and west of them. Ben wished he knew what Ike was doing.

  “What do you suggest, general?” one of the men in the group asked.

  Ben looked at him—couldn’t remember his name. “If we stay inside the park, we’re eventually going to be slaughtered. That artillery fire tells me that my people are very busy out there. This is a last-ditch effort on the part of the punks. It’s do or die time for them. Most of them are beyond caring; they just want to take out as many Rebels as they can before we kill them. You see, the majority of the gang members we’ve pushed up here know all they’ve got to look forward to is a bullet or a rope. They are the absolute dregs of society and have committed crimes against humanity of a nature that would make a maggot puke. They have absolutely nothing to lose.”

  “We’ll do whatever you tell us to do, general,” a woman spoke from the group.