Danger in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  Ike shook a finger in Ben’s face. “Boy, don’t you tell me about rednecks! I was born in rural Mississippi! You forgetting Megan?”

  “I’m not forgetting anything, Ike. But apparently, you have.”

  “They ought to be there in about a minute.” Ike rose from the table and walked outside.

  “What’s wrong with Ike?” Cecil asked.

  “Nina’s pregnant.” Doctor Lamar Chase spoke from the other end of the long table. “You all know how Ike is when it comes to kids. He’s just thinking about the little children that might be hurt or killed down there today.”

  “And you think I haven’t?” Ben asked.

  The old doctor met Ben’s eyes. “I know you have, Ben. And I know you’re just as sick of it all as I am. But I also know that you have to make the decisions. And so does Ike. And,” he sighed, “I also know that while your way might not always be the most humane, considering the time and place, it is certainly the most expedient.”

  “Big ol’ flyin’ machine a’comin,” Daddy!” Axel Leroy yelled to Hiram. “Can I shoot at it?”

  Hiram looked up at the plane and decided he didn’t like the looks of it at all. Big black-painted sucker. Had guns stickin’ out all along the left side, out of the nose and out of the tail and out of the bottom. Sucker looked bad.

  “Axel Leroy!” Hiram hollered. “You lay that rifle on the ground and wave friendly-like to that plane. Don’t you be makin’ no hos-tile moves, boy.”

  “Awww, Daddy!”

  “Shet your sassy mouth, boy. ’Fore I find me a chunk and bus’ your head with it.”

  Axel Leroy put his .30-30 on the ground.

  “You wave, boy,” the father told him. “You grin and wave. Jist lak your daddy’s doin’.”

  Father and son waved. The planes moved on. Hiram took a deep breath. “Somebody’s fixin’ to get killed this day,” he prophesied correctly.

  “Goddamn sorry-ass Ben Raines,” he cursed, resisting an urge to shake his fist at the departing planes. He held back, knowing in his guts that them planes carried enough guns to blow Hiram and his kin clear into the next world. And Hiram was smart enough to know for an iron-clad fact that Ben Rains would just love to do that.

  Hiram heard a single shot. He watched as the big black-painted plane started trembling, unleashing its firepower: four 20 mm Vulcan cannons, six-barreled Gatlin guns, capable of firing more than twenty-five hundred rounds per minute; four pairs of 7.62 machine gun modules, also six barreled, all capable of four thousand rounds a minute. Fore and aft were two 40 mm Bofors that could pump out a hundred two-pound rounds a minute.

  Hiram watched as Billy Randell’s house and barn and sheds disintegrated as the gunship made a slow circle around the grounds. Nothing was gonna live through all that, Hiram thought. Not nothing at all.

  “Holy shit!” Axel Leroy said. The young man then pissed his pants and went running for the outhouse. He had a sudden urge to take a dump.

  “That stupid Randell kid,” Hiram said, as wife number two came rushing out of the house, her face pale with fright. “He just had to take a shot at that plane.”

  Wife number two fell to her knees and began speaking in tongues.

  Goldie Lorraine came running out of the fields, hollering to her father. “Hit’s the wrath of God, Daddy!”

  “No, it ain’t,” Hiram said disgustedly. “It’s the wrath of Ben Raines.”

  THREE

  Hiram’s spirits kept getting lower and lower the closer he got to Morriston. He had never seen so many soldier-people in all his born days. Men and women. And they all looked like they could take a tank on, with their bare hands.

  And he just couldn’t understand a lot of things about them. Oh, there was folks of all colors there; he would expect something like that from Ben Raines. But some of the men had beards; some had short hair, some had long hair. Just didn’t look like no army Hiram had ever seen.

  And Lord God Almighty . . . the guns! There was big guns and little guns; tanks and half-tracks and APCs and rocket launchers and, why, Hiram had never seen the like.

  He began to taste the bitter copper sensation of defeat in his mouth.

  He had tasted sickness in his mouth earlier that morning, when he and his boys couldn’t find enough of the Randell boy to even bury proper. The whole area around the place was tore up so bad it looked like Ol’ Scratch hisself had seared it.

  Hiram spotted a black soldier and hollered at him. “You boy! Git over here.”

  Hiram suddenly found his chin being propped up by the muzzle of a .45, cocked and ready to bang.

  “Did you wish to speak with me, sir,” the man behind the gun asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Hiram said. First time in his life he’d ever said that to a colored. “I surely did.”

  “What is it you wish to know?”

  “I would like to find Ben Raines, please.”

  “General Raines!”

  “Yes, sir. That’s him.”

  A crowd of Rebels had begun to gather around, and behind the Rebels, John Simmons and Richard Harris were standing, both of them smiling.

  Hiram’s oldest, Billy Bob, had accompanied his dad to town. It used to be a treat. Not this time.

  “Poppa,” Billy Bob said. “Don’t do nothin’ foolish. Les’ us both swaller our pride and walk soft.”

  Billy Bob did have some sense. He did have a fourth-grade education.

  The muzzle of the .45 was removed from under Hiram’s chin. The Rebel said, “There is an old bank building just west of town. That is General Raines’s CP. You’ll find him there.”

  “Thankee kindly.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  The crowd parted, and Hiram moved out, the old pickup smoking badly.

  Ben saw them come in and told his aide to show them into his office. He waved Hiram and Billy Bob to seats, after Hiram had introduced his son.

  “You just had to come back, didn’t you, Ben?”

  “I wasn’t planning on it, Hiram. But then I got to thinking this place was as good as any place to start.”

  “Start whut?” Hiram asked, suspicion thick in his voice.

  “Why, Hiram. . . .” Ben could not suppress a smile, “the slow return to progress.”

  “Are you sayin’ that we is backward?”

  “Some of the worst I have ever witnessed, Hiram.”

  Hiram grunted. “You never did dance around no issue, did you, Raines?”

  “Never did, Rockingham.”

  Hiram gave out a long sigh and rubbed his face. For a very brief instant, Ben almost felt sorry for the man. Almost. And it passed very quickly.

  “Get it said, Ben.”

  Ben studied the man. There was no way he could put anything to Hiram in a subtle manner. Stupid people do not understand any form of nuance. As Ike knew only too well, rednecks understand force. Sort of like the mule and the two-by-four. You have to get their attention.

  “I’m not just talking law and order, Hiram.”

  Hiram’s eyes were filled with hate. It was something he made no effort to disguise. “Spell it out, Raines.”

  Oh, hell! Ben thought. Let’s give it a try. He studied the man. Hiram and Ben were both middle-aged. And both were in fine physical condition. But back in the mid-seventies, when both had been young bucks, Hiram had made the mistake of trying Ben. Once. Just once. Ben, fresh out of one of the military’s toughest outfits, had literally stomped the man into the ground. Hiram had never forgiven Ben. He had led the men who burned the cross on Ben’s front yard; sent him threatening letters through the mail. Had shot one of Ben’s dogs. And with that action, Ben knew then for fact what he had always suspected: People like Hiram were cowards. All night-riders are cowards. . . .

  “Why you starin’ at me, Ben?”

  Ben told him the truth. “I’m trying to make up my mind whether to try reasoning with you, or just outright killing you and having done with it.”

  Billy Bob paled under his deep tan. Hiram shif
ted uncomfortably in his chair.

  “You could have kilt me twenty years ago, Raines. Why didn’t you do it then?”

  Ben saw his opening and took it. “Because it was against the law, Hiram. Moral law and written law. Do you understand that?”

  “You blamin’ ever’thang that happened back yonder on me, Ben?”

  “Who started it?”

  “You come down where you wasn’t wanted.”

  “Public roads, Hiram. I violated nobody’s property rights.”

  “That ain’t it.” The man clung stubbornly to his lopsided philosophy.

  Whatever the hell it is! Ben thought.

  “Then what is it, Hiram?”

  “Man’s got a right.”

  “To do what, Hiram?”

  The man struggled for words that he could not find.

  “Hiram, perhaps if you’d had a bit more education, you might be able to tell me what’s on your mind.”

  “I git along jist fine, Raines. I don’t need no fancy education.”

  “Well, Hiram, I guess that is your right. You’re a grown man.”

  Hiram couldn’t believe that Ben Raines was sitting there agreeing with anything he had to say. Come as a surprise.

  “We burred a boy this day, Raines. All that we could find of ’im.”

  “He fired on a low-flying plane, Hiram.”

  “His right.”

  Ben leaned back in his chair. Right there, he thought, sits the stumbling block to progress. And I don’t have the time to go into each little bastion of ignorance and sit down and talk with the thousands of people like Hiram. So what the hell, then, do I do?

  “Hiram, let me stop attempting to nicely step through that quagmire you call a mind and give it to you flat-out.”

  “I reckon you ’bout to start stompin’ on my rights, ain’t you, Raines?”

  “Hiram,” Ben said with a sigh, not really wanting to use verbal force with the man, although he knew that was inevitable. “When your self-proclaimed rights start conflicting with the rights of others, something has to give. You with me so far?”

  “I got a right to ’tend the church I wanna ’tend, Raines.”

  Ben stared at him. “Hiram, I don’t give a damn what church you attend.”

  Hiram blinked. “You don’t?”

  “No. That’s your right under the Constitution of the United States. And I’m trying to keep as many rights as possible during this awful time.”

  “I got more’un one wife,” Hiram said sullenly.

  “I don’t care, Hiram. I don’t care if you have twenty wives.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No. That’s none of my business.”

  “Wal, whut the hale do you want, Ben?”

  “Civility, among other things.”

  “Haw?”

  “Politeness. The respecting of other people as long as they respect you. The right to come and go as one pleases. The understanding of and the general observance of customs conducive to the welfare and the good of society as a whole. . . .”

  “Haw?”

  Ben lost his temper. Several of his aides had been listening outside the open door and all knew that the general had just about reached the blowing stage. “Goddamnit, Hiram, what in the name of God does it take to get through to you?”

  “Wal, damnit, Ben, why don’t you talk plain and maybe I could understand you?”

  “Why don’t you get some education so you can understand simple English, you ignorant bastard!” Ben roared.

  “I never had no time for nothing lak ’at,” Hiram mush-mouthed.

  “That’s a goddamn lie and you know it. That’s the same bullshit that people of your ilk have been using for decades. I didn’t buy it when we had a working society and I damn sure don’t buy it now. The bottom line was and still is that you were too goddamned lazy to try to improve yourself. Under the myriad of laws we were wallowing in twenty years ago, there was damn little anybody could do with people like you . . . but I’m no longer bound by any of those laws.”

  “You cain’t force me to learn no book-stuff.”

  “No, Hiram, I can’t. But I can sure shoot you!”

  It had been the most humiliating, degrading and disgusting, and horrible experience in all of Khamsin’s life. Damn Ben Raines!

  Leading his men into Atlanta, knowing those disfigured and horrible creatures were there, waiting for them. Cannibalistic savages! Khamsin was still trying to regrouped his shattered forces; number the dead.

  They had fallen back to mid-Georgia, gradually working their way back to South Carolina. But since he had pulled nearly all his forces out of South Carolina, the Americans he had enslaved had now revolted, rising up, seizing arms, killing the troops Khamsin had left behind. Everything was . . . it was just . . . well, all fucked up!

  Lance Ashley Lantier had gathered his forces around him and beat it back to North Georgia. Piss on those disgusting Night People and piss on Khamsin, too. Damn A-rab was nuts!

  He thought he’d take his men and head on up toward Kentucky. Set up there. Hell with Ben Raines . . . at least for the time being.

  Hiram looked at Ben. He felt something cold and slimy, sort of an oily-feeling, turn over very slowly in his stomach. Right then and there, Hiram realized something that he should have known and seen in Ben years back: Ben was dangerous. All them good ol’ boys he’d growed up with and knowed all his life wasn’t shit when held up to Ben Raines. Them ol’ boys liked to talk and brag a lot ’bout how bad they was, but then they’d go run in packs, like killer dogs . . . not none of them ever had the balls to go off alone and try Ben.

  He shoulda seen that.

  Ben always had been a lone wolfer . . . and lone wolves are dangerous.

  “Lay it on the line for me, Ben,” Hiram finally said.

  “It’s really very simple, Hiram. Perhaps that is why you’ve never been able to understand it.”

  “I reckon that’s it, Ben.” There was a subdued note to Hiram’s voice.

  Tina stuck her head into Ben’s office. “Runnin’ late, Dad. Pulling out now.” She kissed him and smiled at him.

  “See you, kid. Stay out of trouble and keep in daily contact with Ike. If the Big Apple is still there, you and your team will be the first to see it. Take a picture of it for me, will you?”

  “Will do. ’Bye, Pop.”

  She was gone.

  Hiram said, “Your daughter?”

  “Yes. She commands a team of Scouts.”

  “Whut’s ’at ’bout apples? They ain’t ripe yet.”

  Ben softened his smile. “New York City is, was, often referred to as the Big Apple.”

  “Oh!”

  “Hiram, have you ever really cared what went on outside of your own little world?”

  “Not really. How’s that gonna hep me put food on the table?”

  Good question, Ben thought. “Other than broadening your level of knowledge, Hiram, it might not help you feed your family.”

  “Thought so.”

  Steady, now, Ben cautioned himself. Don’t boggle his mind this early in the game. “Hiram, my Rebels are going to secure this parish. I mean make it secure so all residents current and future will be safe. You with me, Hiram?”

  “I reckon. There’s gonna be more people comin’ in to live?”

  “I hope so. Does that upset you?”

  “More people means more trouble.”

  “Not if they’re the right kind of people, it doesn’t.”

  “Are we the right kind of people, Ben Raines? Me and Billy here?”

  “You can be.”

  “Po-lite way of sayin’ we ain’t.”

  “You’re right, Hiram.”

  “Why don’t you jist go on, Ben? Go on to another spot and set up your fancy doin’s?”

  “Because this spot is ideal, Hiram. And if you think I’m bad, Hiram . . . wait until you meet Khamsin. And you’ll meet him.”

  “Khamsin . . . who?”

  “Means the Ho
t Wind. He’s a terrorist from Libya.”

  That got through to him. “Lak that fool that took our people hostage down in I-ran back a-ways?”

  “Ten times worse.”

  “Why would he be comin’ here, Ben Raines?”

  “Because he doesn’t like me, Hiram.”

  “I can understand that,” Hiram said drily, and Ben had to laugh at the expression on the man’s face.

  “Hiram, we might never be friends, but that doesn’t mean we have to be mortal enemies. I’ll level with you: I don’t like you. And I really don’t see any change in that position. I don’t know whether this shaky little truce of ours will last, or not. That is strictly up to you and your people.”

  Hiram was equally honest. “And I don’t lak you worth no more than a pile of dog shit, Ben Raines. I personal thank all you gonna do is screw things up for me and mine.”

  “That’s fair enough, Hiram. We’ve made our positions clear. School starts Monday morning at eight o’clock. Have any child between the ages of five and seventeen at the school complex on Matthew Road. School will run for six hours daily.”

  “And if I don’t, Raines?”

  “I will personally lead the troops into your community, take every child between six months and twelve years, and you will never see them again. I’ve done it before, Hiram. Don’t ever doubt that. At least half of the children you’ll see around here are adopted.”

  “You talk big about right and wrong and all your high and mighty ways, and you’d do that to mothers and fathers?”

  Ben picked up a book from his desk and tossed it to Billy Bob. “Read it!”

  Billy Bob could not. He could not make out half the words in the first sentence.

  “He’s at least thirty years old, Hiram. And he’s illiterate.”

  “He ain’t done it! Me and his ma was married in the church!”

  “Goddamnit, Hiram! I said illiterate, not illegitimate. He can’t read, man!”

  “He can plow and plant and harvest. He can hunt and fish and trap! He don’t need to know nothin’ else.”

  “Hiram, are you aware that about half the game and fish you’re eating have been, to one degree or the other, contaminated? Do you know how to check for it? Tell me, Hiram, of all the babies born during the last twelve years, how many were deformed; mentally retarded?”