Danger in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  Patrice noted it, and smiled faintly. “I found my staff, briefed them, and then went to see Lamumba.”

  “And? . . .”

  “He . . . well, has twisted the teachings. To say the least.”

  “Your opinion of him, now that you’ve spoken with him?”

  She hesitated. “I think he’s dangerous. Quite unlike the true believers in Islam out in the country.”

  “You spoke with them?”

  “Yes. Briefly. They are going to work with us.”

  “What to do with Lamumba? . . .”

  “General, it is unfair to force people to leave their homes simply because they do not agree with your philosophy.”

  “Philosophy has nothing to do with it, captain. Or very little. Emil Hite is so far off the wall he can’t even see the paneling. But we allow him to stay because he doesn’t preach hate. You had best advise Mr. Lamumba that if he doesn’t toe the line, I’ll step on him like a bug. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now then, about Hiram and his . . . crew.”

  “I was planning to go into that area tomorrow, sir.”

  “Cancel your plans. Concentrate on Lamumba. Hiram, ah, will probably be too busy trying to figure out what is happening to him to speak with you.”

  “Sir?”

  “That will be all, captain.”

  “Yes, sir.” She rose to leave. Looked at Cecil.

  “Something on your mind, captain?”

  “Could I, ah, get you some coffee or anything before I leave?”

  Their eyes met. Both struggled with inner feelings. “Yes, captain. That would be nice. If you would join me.”

  Again, eyes met. The independence within her rose to the fore. “Is that an order, sir?”

  “No, captain, it is not. It is merely a request.”

  “Then I accept.”

  Hard-headed female! Cecil thought.

  Obstinate male! she thought.

  Ben drove past Cecil’s offices, on his final tour of the town before going home. He noticed the lights and smiled. Might be an interesting evening, he thought.

  Now eighty strong, Tina’s group laid out their perimeters and ringed themselves with Claymores. Guards were doubled and everybody ate quickly; cold rations. They had all heard the sounds of being surrounded by what they assumed were unfriendlies.

  Tina darted from post to post, inspecting the hurriedly dug machine gun emplacements, chatting briefly with each person she came in contact with. On the east side of their position, Ham was doing the same.

  They met at the top of the perimeter, facing north.

  “When do you think Tina?”

  “Anytime now. They’re moving in closer. They’ll hit the Claymores any second.”

  The night was suddenly shattered by several pounds of C-4 exploding, hurling out hundreds of ball bearings. Following the explosion, there came the screaming of the mangled and mauled and dying. The dim shapes that flitted around the perimeters were gunned down by expert rifle fire from the Rebels.

  The east side of the encampment was ripped by Claymores being fired, with more howling of the wounded and the wild cursing of those who were spared the round shards of death and went running back into the gloom of night’s protection.

  “Back, back!” A voice reached the ears of the Rebels behind the Claymores. “Another day, folks!” the voice called cheerfully. “We shall meet again, and that’s a promise.”

  After a few moments, the sounds of vehicles being cranked up and driving away reached the Rebels.

  Ham walked to Tina’s side. “Now what in the hell do you suppose that was all about?”

  “I don’t know. But that voice sure sounded familiar to me. I know I’ve heard it before.”

  She radioed back to Ike’s position, some fifty miles south of her own, and brought him up to date.

  “And you knew the voice? You sure, Tina?”

  “Positive, Ike. And not that long ago, either.”

  “Maybe it’ll come to you. Which way did they go?”

  “West. Toward the West Virginia line. And the way they were driving, I got the impression they weren’t planning on coming back.”

  “Let’s hope not. Wait for me outside of Roanoke, Tina.”

  “Ten-four, Ike.” She turned to Ham. “Relax the guards some, Ham. Let’s try to get a good night’s sleep.”

  SEVEN

  It had been a dandy cross-burnin’, Hiram thought. Plumb awesome. Made a man feel closer to God somehow. And this day was gonna be even more better, Hiram figured.

  If plan C went as planned, those remaining loyal to Hiram would have slaves to do the housework and tend to the work in the fields. Then a man could do what a man was put on this earth to do: Fish, Fight, Fuck, and Hunt.

  And pray ever now and then for all the blessings.

  Hiram linked up with G.B. and Jakey and a few of the others. “Where is they camped?”

  “Down there by the Simmons’ place. They’s about fifty of ’em.”

  “Slaves for all.”

  “And some good-lookin’ wimmin wif ’em, too.”

  “Pussy for all!” G.B. grinned, squeezing and rubbing his crotch.

  “Let’s git ’em, boys!” Hiram ordered.

  “Here they come, Emil,” a young woman whispered. “Have you prayed to the Great God Blomm?”

  “Yeah, yeah!” Emil brushed it off. Only god he was interested in right at the moment was that goddamned AK-47 in his hands. “Pass the word for the others to get ready.”

  “Yes, oh, Great Emil.”

  Emil shook his head as she was leaving. Chick had a great ass on her but a head full of nothing.

  Emil checked around him. He had four of his biggest and strongest people ready with hand grenades. If these rednecks wanted to get hostile — and Emil had never known a redneck who wasn’t all-the-time hostile — he’d play the game one better.

  “All rat!” Hiram shouted. “Come on outta there, you hippies!”

  “Fuck you, redneck!” Emil shouted. Turning to his people, he said, “Remember, don’t shoot to kill . . . not yet anyway.”

  “Ah thank we been insulted, Daddy!” Axel Leroy said.

  “I ain’t no redneck!” G.B. said, with considerable heat in his voice. “I’s a civilized man. I go to church!”

  “You’ll pay for ’at, you heathern!” Hiram hollered. “Now do yoursales a favor and come on out of that there holler ’fore we drag you outta there.”

  “Lemme go git ’em, Daddy!” Axel Leroy started jumpin’ up and down. “They ain’t gonna fire them guns nohow!”

  “Ah do believe the boy is rat,” Jakey told him.

  “Awrat, son,” Hiram patted Axel on the back. “You go on down there and fetch some out.” He looked at B.M. and G.B. “’at there’s a fine boy, y’all.”

  “Fine boy!” the both agreed.

  Axel started his swaggering walk toward Emil and his intrepid little band. “Y’all better come on out now. Hit’ll git rough ifn you don’t.”

  Emil lifted his AK and put a full clip around Axel’s feet, using quick trigger pulls. Axel jumped about three feet up into the air and started haulin’ ass for the nearest cover, whooping and hollering all the way.

  “Give ’em hell, boys!” Hiram shouted, and commenced firing his shotgun.

  “Give the ’necks some grenades!” Emil yelled.

  The chosen four began pulling pins and lobbing grenades around the bastion of knotted ’necks. The concussion from the first explosion knocked Hiram sprawling. He lost his shotgun and became slightly disoriented. “Don’t whup me no more, Momma! I promise I won’t peek in on sister no more!” Then he realized where he was and what he had just said and closed his mouth.

  The other grenades rocked and rolled the ground, and G.B., his big fat ass in the air, took a piece of shrapnel in one cheek. He started roaring like a wounded water buffalo.

  Donnie got so scared he pissed his dirty drawers and got so close to mother earth his bu
ttons were imprinting on his chest and belly.

  B.M. jumped to his feet; rather stupid thing to do with the air filled with lead and shrapnel. “Charge, boys! The reputation of the Klan is at stake here.”

  B.M. began running toward Emil’s position. About halfway there, he looked around and found himself alone. He didn’t know which way to go or what to do once he got there.

  He froze upright, numb with fear.

  Hiram’s bunch couldn’t fire for fear of hitting B.M. And no amount of yelling could get through to B.M. to get down, get on the ground — just get the hell out of the way, goddamnit!

  “Hold your fire!” Hiram shouted, once more in full command of his faculties, miniscule as they were. “Y’all stop all that gun-shootin’ and throwin’ them bombs. Les’ talk! How ’bout it?”

  “Cease fire!” Emil yelled. “Don’t toss no more grenades. What do you want, Rockingham?”

  “What y’all doin’ in our territory, hippie?”

  “It’s a free country, you cretin!”

  “Whut’d he call me?” Hiram whispered to G.B.

  “My ass hurts somethang fierce!” G.B. moaned. “Ah thank I’m bound for glory, boys. I can see the Pearly Gates now.”

  Hiram looked at him in disgust and ignored his ass-shot friend. “Why don’t y’all jist come live with us, hippie? Ain’t that a right nice neighborly thang to suggest?”

  “I would sooner consort with hyenas! Now leave, before I call upon the awesome powers of the Great God Blomm!”

  “Blomm?” Hiram looked around him. “What the hale is a Blomm?”

  “Sounds nasty,” Jakey said.

  Hiram looked around him and assessed his situation. G.B. was moaning about his ass; Axel wasn’t nowheres to be seen; Donnie Frank was babbling about the fires of Hell; and B.M. was froze solid with piss running down his pants’ leg. Hiram allowed as to how he’d been in better spots.

  Goddamn bunch of hippies shore had a lot of guns and stuff. . . . And then Hiram got the message, worming its way through the morass of his mind: Ben Raines done this. Just as shore as frogs fuck, Ben Raines done this.

  “Ah thank we’uns will jist call a truce, hippie. You leave us alone, and we’ll shore leave you alone. How’s that sound to you?”

  “That’s just fine, Rockingham,” Emil shouted. “We’ll be here for a month, taking the cure.”

  That puzzled Hiram. Of course, most things puzzled Hiram. But this really puzzled him. “The cure for whut?” he yelled.

  “The abomination of the ages! The scourge of mankind. And the tintinnabulation of the bells, too!”

  “Sounds plumb disgustin’ to me,” Wilbur said. “Whatever it is.”

  “Now leave us be!” Emil yelled. “Go back to your hovels and do whatever you do.”

  “Ah still thank we been insulted,” Wilbur said.

  “Oh, my ass hurts!” G.B. moaned.

  “Captain Gorzalka’s people report gunfire down near where Emil and his fruitcakes are camped, sir,” the aide reported as soon as Ben reached his office.

  “Any word on dead or wounded?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  Ben rang up the como shack. “Any word from Ike or Tina?”

  “Yes, sir. They pulled out just before dawn. Everything is reported smooth.”

  Ben looked at his desk. It was clean. He had nothing to do. He told his staff he’d be back when they saw him, and climbed into his Jeep. He checked his Thompson and then looked in the back seat. Plenty of food and water. He pulled out.

  “You,” Ben’s XO pointed at several Rebels. “Follow him. Keep your distance, but don’t let him out of your sight. Report your position and I’ll send an additional squad out to beef you up. Move!”

  The Rebels scrambled for vehicles and pulled out, staying well behind Ben.

  Ben checked his mirrors, knowing damn well somebody would be tagging along behind him. At first he toyed with the idea of losing them, but then resigned himself to his fate.

  The country roads, bad even before the Great War, were now, a decade later, nearly impassable. He drove past the now falling-down shacks of the poor and the mansions that the rich had built. He took a small, selfish, grim satisfaction in the knowledge that they all were now equal in death.

  Ben had never been much of a possessions-lover. He could have lived much more extravagantly than he had, back when things were more or less normal, but Ben had chosen to keep his life as simple as possible. He had lived well, but rather simply.

  And he had taken some criticism for his life-style. Always a loner, Ben lived a very private life, almost never opening up to people.

  “Well,” he muttered to the wind and the bumps and ruts and holes in the road. “It’s all moot, now, isn’t it?”

  He came to the great mansion of the Lantier family. Once home to Fran and Ashley, two spoiled and arrogant brats.

  On impulse, he pulled into the drive and parked, getting out of the Jeep.

  He stood for a moment, looking at the mansion. The windows had been smashed and the door kicked in. Pulling his Thompson from the leather boot, Ben jacked in a round and walked into the once-great mansion.

  It was a mess.

  Most of the furniture was gone; what was left was covered with bird shit and had been chewed on by rats and mice. He wondered, standing in the great hall, what the place might be turned into.

  Nothing, he concluded. It was just too goddamned pretentious. Let it fall down . . . just like the Lantier empire.

  He walked back outside and stood on the porch for a moment, then turned around and struggled with the door — or what was left of it — and managed, finally, to close it.

  “End of an era,” Ben said. And walked to his Jeep. He did not look back.

  They seemed to be constantly running into each other; no matter where one turned, the other seemed to be there. Finally, it got to the point where Cecil had to motion Patrice into his office.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Knock off the ‘sir’ business while we’re alone. After last night it’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

  “About last night. . . .”

  “What about last night? Are you ashamed of what happened?”

  “No. It’s just that. . . .”

  “Don’t you want it to happen again?” Cecil sat down on the edge of his desk.

  She seemed embarrassed. “I get the impression the entire base knows of it!”

  “Why, hell, I’m sure everyone knows. You know about Ben and Holly, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but others have affairs and no one seems to know, or care.”

  “The ‘others’ aren’t two of the three commanding generals of one of the largest standing armies anywhere in the world, Patrice.”

  “I’m a Moslem, Cecil.” She formed her arms under her breasts. “We are two different cultures.”

  Cecil waggled his eyebrows. “Seems as though our cultures got along pretty well last night, don’t you agree?”

  “That isn’t what I mean and you know it.”

  “Where is this leading, Patrice?”

  “You called me in here, remember?”

  “Do you want to be transferred out of here, Patrice?”

  She turned away. With her back to him, she said, “I have never felt so attracted to a man in all my life, Cecil. And it scares me.”

  “Never had a boyfriend, Patrice?”

  “Training camp affairs. There isn’t much time for that when you’re training to conquer the world.” She said that bitterly.

  “Is that what you think we — the Rebels — are trying to do, Patrice?”

  She turned. “No. No, I don’t think that at all, Cecil. I did at first,” she added quickly. “And I was ready to report back to Khamsin . . . but I kept delaying my reporting, putting it off. I just wanted to learn more and more about you people. It was both fascinating and repulsive to me.”

  “Repulsive?”

  “You have to understand, Cecil. Sin
ce I was a little girl . . . and my father was French, by the way. He died when I was very young. I have been taught that America was the great evil. The great Satan. It . . . took me a while to realize that was all a bunch of nonsense. It’s just that you people are so much more free-spirited than we.”

  “And that’s good or bad?”

  She smiled. “Well, personally, I think it’s a combination of both.”

  “And me?”

  “What about you?”

  “Am I good or bad?”

  “I think you’re a very good man, Cecil.”

  “And a middle-aged one, Patrice. While you are still a young woman in her twenties.”

  She became very flustered. “Last night was, ah, highly satisfactory for me, Cecil. I don’t remember, ah . . . can we drop the subject, please?”

  “Yes. Last night. The great myth is that we are noted for always performing well. We got rhythm, too.”

  She lifted her eyes. He was smiling at her.

  Almost shyly, she returned the smile.

  “The entire outer office is trying very hard not to look this way. Why did you pick an office with so much glass all around it.”

  “Why? You got something in mind you don’t want the others to see?”

  “Taking my background into consideration, I could take that the wrong way.”

  “If we didn’t trust you, Patrice, we’d have just shot you.”

  “Yes. Yes, I believe that, too.”

  “Can you cook?”

  “I beg your pardon? Cook? Of course, I can cook. What a silly question. Why do you ask?”

  “I thought you might like to come over and help me cook dinner this evening.”

  She looked at him for a long time. Then, slowly, she began to smile. “I have some marvelous Lebanese recipes.”

  “I thought you people didn’t like the Lebanese?”

  She shrugged. “We weren’t fighting their food!”

  EIGHT

  “There ain’t no justice,” Hiram mumbled, sitting under a tree with a few of his friends. “It jist ain’t fair, boys. It just, by God, ain’t far a-tall.”

  “Whut you mean, Hiram?” Donnie Frank asked. Donnie was down in the dumps, and not just from the humiliation at the hands of them hippies, neither. Donnie Frank missed his wife.