Danger in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  Surprisingly, the teams had found very few of the Night People. Upon questioning them, Ike learned they lived in the cities, mainly, coming out several times a week to hunt for food. The ones who had been captured had not been careful of the time, the daylight trapping them, forcing them to seek whatever dark shelter they could find.

  “What’s the number in the city?” Ike had asked.

  But the Night People would only smile, the evil shining through their eyes.

  Ike had ordered them shot.

  “Inspect their bodies,” he ordered.

  No traces of radiation could be found anywhere on the two men. Their eyes were normal. Dr. Ling and his people did autopsies on the bodies. No abnormalities could be found.

  “Son of a bitch!” Ike cussed, heading for the communications building.

  * * *

  “Yes, I had reached that conclusion, Ike,” Ben said. “There were just too damn many of them for all of them to have been affected by the blasts. Now what?”

  “We wait for you, Ben. Then we hit the suburbs and start cleaning them out.”

  “Going to be autumn in New York soon, old buddy,” Ben said with a smile.

  “No play on words intended, though.” Ike’s voice crackled through the speaker.

  Holly, standing nearby, did not have the foggiest idea what the men were talking about.

  “An old song, doctor.” Dan brought her up to date.

  “What’s your location, Ben.”

  “Just preparing to pull out of Ashland, Ohio. I’ve left a squad of Rebels with a local resistance group. They’re heading down to Mansfield and will begin establishment of an outpost.”

  “Ten-four, Ben. Talked with Chase; Buddy is getting stronger by the hour. But he’s going to take a while recovering.”

  “Ten-four, Ike. See you in a couple of days. Eagle out.”

  Ben and his people rolled eastward, making camp that night just to the west of the Pennsylvania line and a few miles south of the Pennsylvania Turnpike. At dawn, they began a gradual swing to the north and linked up with Interstate 80. They would take that all the way into Ike’s position.

  Ben used a series of country roads, most of them in deplorable shape, which slowed the convoy down to a mere crawl. Finally, after a series of frustrating detours, Ben linked up with the Interstate just west of the Allegheny River and the convoy began to move out. Smartly, as Dan would say. They had gone only a few miles when the forward Scouts reported a roadblock.

  Ben, with Holly by his side, pulled up to the roadblock within minutes after receiving the message.

  “Scouts back,” he called.

  “What is it, Ben?” Holly asked.

  “I don’t know. I don’t like it. I just don’t like it.”

  “You have anything of substance to base that on, Ben?”

  “A gut hunch.”

  “General!” a Scout called. “That sucker is made out of steel, carefully fitted and welded together, too. It’d take a hell of a bang to move that.”

  “Are you going to blow it, Ben?”

  “No. It isn’t worth the risk involved. The thing might be wired to blow if tampered with.” He picked up his mic and gave the orders for the convoy to turn around, head back to the first exit.

  “North or south, general?” Dan asked.

  Ben hesitated. A strange smile flitted over his lips. He checked his maps. “North,” he radioed. “And head’s up, people. I think I know why the blockade.”

  “Why?” Holly asked.

  “It’s a trap. And we’re going to just bust the hell out of it.”

  Ben picked up his mic. “All units to scramble frequency.” He waited until they had time to change frequencies. “I have a hunch we’re about to hit some outlaws or warlords, people. I think that’s why the barricade. Scouts, you should be coming up on the town now. What do you see?”

  “Be there in about two minutes, general. But you’re right, I think,” the lead Scout reported back. “Seeing lots of vehicles on both sides of the road. OK, general, we’ve got the town in sight; some pretty hairy-looking people lining the streets. Orders?”

  “Stop right there. Let us catch up.”

  Ben passed the convoy and took the lead, despite Dan’s frantic callings to stay back and let others handle it.

  Dan and James and several Jeeps with rear-mounted .50s and twin-mounted .60s raced to catch up with Ben. Holly was holding on for dear life; she was still holding on as Ben slid to a stop in front of what used to be some sort of general store. He looked at a character lounging on the porch of the building. A brute of a man, wearing a black leather jacket with the sleeves cut off, dirty jeans, and heavy boots. His massive arms were covered with tattoos.

  Ben and the brute sat and stared at each other. The brute was not too happy to see all the Rebels coming up fast behind Ben. His piggy eyes noted the professional manner in which the Rebels swung their vehicles, covering all sides of the street.

  Ben stepped out of the Jeep, his Thompson in his hand, off safety, on full auto. He stood by the Jeep.

  “Whut you wont, soldier-boy?” Brute asked. There was an M-16 lying on the porch floor, right side.

  “A bit of civility would be nice, don’t you think?”

  “Haw?”

  “Good morning to you. Now you say good morning to me.”

  “You crazy, boy!”

  Ben lifted his Thompson, the muzzle pointed squarely at the brute’s chest. “Say good morning, sir.”

  “Ah . . .” Brute rumbled. “Good mornin’, sir.”

  Ben lowered the muzzle. “That’s better. Did you put that barricade on the Interstate bridge?”

  “Shore did.”

  “Why?”

  The question seemed to confuse the human animal. “’Cause I wanted to, that’s why.”

  “Not good enough.” Ben was approached by a Rebel. He whispered in Ben’s ear. “Thank you. Take a team and free the prisoners.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Hey, now!” Brute hollered. “Whut you people gonna do?”

  “Free all the men and women you’re holding for whatever reason. And while we’re doing that, you may send some people out to clear the Interstate.”

  “I ain’t doin’ jack-shit!” Brute bluntly informed Ben. His hand dropped carelessly down, closer to the M-16. “’Em people is ourn. Slaves is legal now.”

  “By whose orders?”

  “There ain’t no one givin’ no orders no more, Mister-Whoever-in-the-Hell you is.”

  Ben smiled thinly. “I do so hate to resort to violence, lard-ass. Ruins my entire day.”

  “Sure it does,” Holly muttered. She had gotten out of the Jeep and had the vehicle between her and Ben and the brute. She was ready to drop to the street the instant the shooting started.

  “Who you callin’ lard-ass?”

  “You, whale-butt. Now send some people out to clear the Interstate.”

  Brute’s face darkened with hate and rage as streams of people began moving up the street. They were ragged and dirty and all showed signs of having been physically abused.

  “Question them, Dan,” Ben said. He cut his eyes back to Brute. The man wasn’t sure exactly what he should do next. He knew only that he wasn’t gonna sit still and let this soldier-boy free his slaves.

  “Mister, you ain’t got no right to come in here and throw your weight around. I . . .”

  “Shut up!” Ben told him. “We can do this easy or hard. It’s up to you.”

  Dan stepped up to Ben’s side. “The women have all been raped repeatedly and sodomized. So have the men prisoners,” he added, disgust in his voice.

  “Stand ready, Dan,” Ben returned the whisper. “See the outlaws on the second story of the buildings?”

  “Oh, yes. I’ve alerted my people.”

  “Whut you two a-whisperin’ about?” Brute hollered, his hand moving closer to the M-16 on the porch floor.

  “We were discussing the Emancipation Proclamation, asshole,” Be
n told him, his eyes studying the man. About forty, Ben guessed. Old enough to have completed all types of schools. And no reason to be what he had become. “What have you had the prisoners doing?”

  Brute grinned. “We fuck the women — and sometimes the men — and use them in the fields, to grow our food, wash our vehicles and clothes, and take care of the houses . . . if ’at’s any of your goddamn business.”

  “And if they refuse to become your slaves? . . .” Ben asked.

  Again, Brute grinned. “We strip ’em naked and drop ’em in the hog pens. ’At ’ere’s good fun.”

  “You are one sorry excuse for a human being. As a matter of fact, I’m offended by having to share the same air with you.”

  “Whut’s ’at mean!”

  “It means I’m going to kill you.” Ben’s voice was low-pitched.

  “Whut’s your name, sucker?” Brute asked, his right hand only inches from the M-16.

  “Ben Raines.”

  Screaming, Brute jerked up the M-16. Ben’s Thompson chugged and spat a death song, the big .45 caliber slugs knocking Brute out of his chair, a bloody line of holes working left to right, from his hip to his jaw, the slugs tearing away the lower part of the man’s face; teeth bounced and rolled on the porch floor.

  Brute lay on his back and pissed his jeans as he died, his final breath the greatest act he had ever done for society.

  Over the hammering of heavy machine guns from the Rebels, Ben muttered, “You and Hiram have a good time, Brute. You two deserve each other.”

  The machine guns mounted on the Rebel vehicles made quick work of the outlaws who thought they had gone undetected on the second floors of the town’s business district. Teams of Rebels went building to building, using grenades to clean out what was left of the outlaw gang. Some forty-odd surrendered, most of them in shock at the swiftness of what had gone down.

  Ben lined them up and ordered them under heavy guard.

  Holly had crawled under the Jeep. It took Ben a few minutes to find her. He squatted down and peered under the vehicle, smiling at the doctor. “Did you decide to take a short nap, Holly?”

  “Raines, I wish you would warn me before you decide to start a damned war!” Her face was greasy and her hair disheveled.

  Laughing, Ben helped her out and brushed her off. “You haven’t seen a war yet, Holly. This was just a little exercise, that’s all.”

  She glared at him and looked at the rows of outlaws, their hands on the tops of their heads, fingers interlaced. ‘What are you going to do with them, Ben.”

  “One good deed deserves another, Holly. You’ll see. You and the medics set up a hospital; check out the former prisoners. I’m going to prowl around some.” He walked off, humming an old song. Holly didn’t believe she’d ever heard it.

  “The Good, The Bad, The Ugly.”

  NINETEEN

  Ben walked the town, a squad of Rebels split up, some in front of him, some behind him. He paid them no attention; he was used to it. Holly and the Rebel medics had set up shop in an old drug store. At her insistence, she was patching up the wounded outlaws. Ben had shrugged; her option, if she wanted to waste her time on trash.

  Ben and his bodyguards had found no more outlaws, although all had heard the sounds of racing motors as some carried their asses out of there when the shooting started and it was soon evident the outlaws would lose. Typical trash-action. In a mob, surrounded by their buddies, they’re all bluster and toughness; put them by themselves and their true colors are soon flying. Yellow.

  Back on the main street, Ben told Dan, “We’ll spend the night here. What about the prisoners you’ve talked with?”

  “They’re a pretty spunky bunch, general. I approached them about an outpost system and they jumped at it. It would be my suggestion that we move them up the road to the town of Clarion.”

  “Bigger town than this?”

  “Much bigger. Some of those who were held prisoner told me that there is a group there who are pretty damned tough. Edgar. . . .”

  “Who?”

  Dan smiled. “The fat warlord you offed.”

  “Oh.”

  “Edgar’s bunch has never been able to whip them. They’ve got a good organization of solid, steady men and women. With schools, general.”

  “My kind of people, Dan.”

  “How about the outlaws we captured, general?”

  Ben looked at him and walked off.

  Dan smiled. “Right-oh, general.”

  The Rebels buried the outlaws in a mass grave, and with what had once been county earth-moving equipment, scooped dirt over them. Ben had sent Holly and a detachment on to Clarion before the last of the outlaws joined Edgar and the others. He would tell her . . . if she ever asked him. But he doubted she ever would.

  Ben had met the people of Clarion. Even before meeting them, he knew he had found a group of people whose ideas matched his own. Coming into the town, he noted the streets were all clean, with no shacks of burned-out buildings. The lawns were well-tended and everyone had a large garden, not all the people growing the same thing. Shops were open, and the barter system was back in play.

  Ben asked for volunteers from his ranks, and a full squad stepped out. They would stay with the townspeople for a time, helping them rearm and set up defenses. And learn the Rebel way of meting out justice.

  Ben and his Rebels pulled out the next morning, heading east on Interstate 80. Ben had asked the leader of the several hundred men and women and kids where the next large gathering of people was. The man had smiled sadly.

  “No where near here, general. I heard there was one over around Williamsport, but I can’t be sure of that. And it’s a long, dangerous trip over there.”

  “We’ll check it out and report back to you. Good luck.”

  The Rebels found several hundred people in Williamsport, but they were nothing like the bunch back in Clarion. What they found was a bunch of losers, with no organization, no signs of progress, and leaderless. They were a sullen, dirty bunch, with no thought for the future, living hand to mouth, day to day.

  Ben ordered the kids under thirteen rounded up; he had heard that south of there, around Milton, a group had settled in and were doing wonders. They would take the kids and see if they could find a home for them there.

  “We glad to be rid of the little squallin’ fuckers,” a woman told Ben.

  Ben resisted an urge to shoot her.

  Milton was almost a carbon copy of Clarion, and the men and women said they would be happy to take the kids and raise them decently. And they were, to a person, after a town meeting, very receptive to the suggestion of becoming a part of the outpost system. Once more, a small team of Rebels, all volunteers, all single, were left behind when Ben and his people pulled out the next morning.

  They were slightly less than two hundred miles from Ike’s position when Ben called a halt and ordered camp set up for the night.

  Ben radioed Ike that evening. “Give me a safe route to your position, Ike.”

  “Come in east of Trenton, Ben. You’re going to have to wind around some. Planes have begun landing here. And Chase is waiting for you. So is Cecil; they flew in last evening. I’ll brief you when you get here.”

  “See you about noon tomorrow, Ike.”

  Before dusk, Ben walked the camp, stopping to chat with many of his Rebels. They were a tired bunch, and badly needed rest. He made up his mind they would push on to Ike’s position the next day, and then rest and re-equip before beginning the bloody sweeps of the area.

  Even though that much time had not lapsed, it would be good to get together with the gang again.

  Ben’s team rolled onto the old military post amid cheers and shouted greetings the next day. Even though Ben could not see it, he was very much aware of the massive presence of New York City, to the northeast, some forty miles away as the crow flies.

  Ben cut the engine to his Jeep and called for James Riverson.

  “Stand them down, James. Rest them fo
r a couple of days. No details during that time. Just sleep and eat and gossip.”

  “Yes, sir,” James grinned.

  Ben kissed his daughter and shook hands with Ike and Cecil and Chase; Holly had gone with her medics over to the base hospital.

  “Cecil, before we sit down to jaw, radio Base Camp One. I want a battalion left down there. All others start pulling out for here. I spotted some tanks; good — we won’t have to truck ours up here. Ike, I want a complete list of all parts needed to get the tanks all ready; we’ll have those trucked up. How about the fuel situation up here?”

  “All kinds of underground tanks untapped, Ben. All over the area. It looks pretty good.”

  “It’s going to be fall before we’re fully ready to make our push into the city.” Ben looked around him. “We’re going to need winter gear.” He looked at Ike. “How about the base reloading equipment?”

  “In pretty good shape. I got it cranked up and producing.”

  Ben nodded. “The base hospital?”

  “Not bad,” Chase said. “Ike’s people did a god job of cleaning it up.”

  “We’ll use this hospital for the most serious cases; get them away from the combat zone. We’ll need a field hospital for the less seriously wounded.”

  “I have one picked out, Ben,” Ike told him. “It’s small but still in good shape.”

  “Good.” Ben looked around him, sighing. “It’s going to be a bitch, people. A screaming, bloody bitch. And we’re going to lose some people. But we’ve got to find those people called the Judges and destroy them. We’ve got to find the radio equipment and knock it out. So much to do.”

  “Ben?” Chase asked. “What in the hell are we going to do with New York City once we do clean it out?”

  Ben laughed long and hard. “Damned if I know, Lamar!”

  “One thing about it, Ben,” Ike said drily. “Once we do clean it out, it’ll be the first time true justice has prevailed here for fifty years!”