Hatred in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  This time it was his turn to burst out in laughter. “Yeah, I suppose they would, at that. But I don’t think it would work.”

  “Why?”

  “You may have noticed that I’m a few years older than you. ”

  “No more than about thirty, Ben.”

  “You’re a good guesser. That’s just about right on the money.”

  “That bother you? The age spread, I mean?”

  “A few years ago it wouldn’t have, but yes, I’m afraid now it does . . . would.”

  “Most men would have said, ‘Oh no, not at all.’ And then pulled off the road to show me how much it didn’t. But not Ben Raines. Are you always this honest?”

  “I try to be. That’s another of the qualities that people who live in the SUSA possess. I think it’s a good one.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you something. Right at the moment it sure as hell doesn’t do much for my ego.”

  Ben smiled and cut his eyes to her. “Well, how about this—You’re a beautiful young woman. And beneath two or three layers of West Texas dust and dirt, you’re sexy as hell. Does that make it better?”

  “Yeah, I guess. But you sure are full of bullshit, you know that?”

  “So I’ve been told, Kiddo. More times than one, I assure you of that.”

  There had been a line of sexual tension drawing around them. It was now erased and they both became more relaxed. Several miles rolled by before Marcie broke the silence. She suddenly straightened up in the seat and twisted around to stare out the rear glass.

  “Is that dust back there, Ben?”

  “Yes, I picked up on it a couple of minutes ago.”

  “I doubt it’s Slick’s people. This is right on the edge of their turf. Unless they’ve made a very quick alliance with the gang out of this area.”

  “I doubt that. They’re probably still licking their wounds and dreaming of revenge. Duane’s bunch, maybe?”

  “More than likely it’s the bunch out of Marfa. I heard some gang from up north of the old Interstate blew into the town and ran the old bunch out.”

  “Well, we’re going to find out in a damn few minutes. They’re closing. Is that an old house up ahead, off to the right?”

  “Yes. I see it.”

  “Hang on, Kiddo. It’s gonna get wild from here on in!”

  Ten

  Ben pulled in behind the house, tucking the pickup as close as he could to the rear of the house. He and Marcie quickly unassed the pickup. Ben jerked an M-16 and two rucksacks from the bed of the truck, tossing the rifle and one of the rucksacks to Marcie.

  “Take the right side of the house,” he told her. He hesitated for a heartbeat. “Unless you want to be taken prisoner, don’t freeze up on me.”

  “I won’t,” she told him, her face pale. “If it comes to that. But how do we know those people are unfriendly?”

  Automatic gunfire suddenly knocked chunks of wood from the side of the old home.

  “It’s damn sure come to that. Does that answer your question?”

  “It does. I’ll do my part, Ben.”

  “Head’s up, Kiddo!”

  Ben turned his attention to the men who had jumped from the car and the pickup truck that had been following the car, and were now running toward the old house. All of them were armed with what appeared to be AK-47’s and M-16’s, or look-alikes of those weapons.

  Ben gave one a short burst from his CAR, knocking the legs out from under a man. He screamed in pain as his shattered legs collapsed under his weight and he went tumbling to the ground. He lay squalling in pain, hollering for someone to come help him. No one did.

  “Hey, you behind the house!” a punk yelled. “We want that truck of yours. Give it up and you can both walk out free. We won’t hurt you.”

  Ben smiled. “Sure we can go free, dickhead,” he muttered. “And I have oceanfront property in Montana.”

  “Oh God, Van!” the wounded man yelled. “I hurt something awful. Y’all got to help me.”

  “Hang on, Marvin,” a punk yelled. “Stay calm. We’ll get you in a minute.”

  Ben had worked his way under the house, which was set up on concrete blocks, giving him ample crawl space. He hoped he would not come nose to nose with a rattler during his journey toward the front of the old home. He reached the area under the front porch and lay there behind a set of concrete blocks. So far he had not been seen.

  Ben spotted a man using the pickup for cover, and blew half a mag of 5.56 rounds into his legs and ankles. The man dropped his weapon and flopped on the ground, screaming in pain.

  “Where in the fuck did that fire come from?” someone yelled.

  “I don’t know,” the man Ben now assumed was Van hollered in reply. “I couldn’t tell.”

  At the rear right side corner of the house, Marcie opened up with her M-16, the lead slamming into and bouncing off the rusted hulk of an old car that two of the punks were using for cover. Some of the lead went under the old car, and one of the punks did a little dance as the bullets tore up the ground around his feet.

  “Holy shit!” he hollered after Marcie had ceased firing. “This ain’t worth a damn, Van.”

  “Just hold on, Mark,” Van yelled. “We’ll get ’em in time. We got ’em trapped, man.”

  “You think,” Ben said. He worked a grenade out of the rucksack and pulled the pin, holding the spoon down. He drew back and sidearmed the fire-frag as hard as he could. It bounced on the ground once, then rolled under the rusted old hulk of a car.

  “Goddamn!” Mark squalled in terror as the grenade rolled between his booted feet.

  One second later it blew, scattering bits and pieces of Mark all over the place.

  “Jesus Christ!” another punk shouted. “Let’s get the hell outta here, Van.”

  Van didn’t respond immediately. A few seconds ticked by. “They can’t go nowheres, Johnny. They’s still plenty of us, and just two of them. We’ll wait them out.”

  Ben had taken that time to crawl back to the rear of the house. He stood up and brushed the dirt and cobwebs from him. He pointed to a stack of bricks about three feet high. “Get behind that, Marcie. That’s the best protection around. I’ll be inside the house, at the front.”

  “OK,” she called just loud enough for Ben to hear. “Ben?”

  “Yes?”

  “I never heard of any gang leader around here called Van. That must be the new gang I told you about.”

  “Whoever or whatever they are, I’m going to lose patience with this situation very soon. Keep your eyes open, your head down, and stay loose.”

  “Be careful.”

  “You bet. Careful . . . that’s me.”

  Just as Ben was settling into a spot by a front window frame—no glass, of course—Van hollered, “You assholes killed a friend of mine, you know that? Mark was my buddy. We’ve been buddies for a long time.”

  Ben said nothing, and Marcie was silent behind the pile of bricks in the rear of the house.

  “I run this area around here. And you people is trespassing. Anyone who passes through my territory has got to pay tribute.”

  Typical punk shit, Ben thought. Punks never change. Worldwide they’re the same. He remained silent, waiting for one of the dickheads to make the slightest mistake.

  Of course, there were many people who could have told Van from very painful firsthand experience that the first mistake he’d made was tangling with Ben Raines.

  Others would have been very happy to tell him, if they could speak from the coldness of the grave, that the odds were very, very good it just might be his last mistake.

  Ben waited.

  “Where are they, Van?” a gang member called. “Why don’t they do something?”

  Before Van could reply another voice was added. “Somethin’ real funny ’bout this, Van. And I don’t like it none.”

  “What are you talkin’ ’bout, Stacy?” Van called.

  “These people are too damn cool. Too damn calm ’bout bein’ in this s
ituation, that’s what I mean.”

  “I agree,” someone called from a ditch.

  Another voice was added. “Maybe they’re just stupid.”

  One more than I thought was alive, Ben silently mused. Now how many does that make?

  Before he could do some simple math, Van opened up with his weapon on full auto, but he was spraying lead on the other side of the house, away from Ben and Marcie. A full mag was burned, then another. Van hit nothing except air, the side of the house, and occasionally, the ground.

  “Idiot,” Ben muttered.

  Marcie did not give away her position behind the bricks by returning the fire.

  “I think I probably got one of them with all that lead,” Van yelled.

  “Then come on,” Ben muttered. “If you think you did, show yourself, punk. Check it out.”

  But Van had enough sense not to expose himself. “Get up there and see, Red!” he called.

  “Piss on you, Van,” Red yelled. “I don’t think you hit nothin’.”

  “I give you an order, Red!”

  “You know where you can shove that order, don’t you, Van?” Red challenged.

  “Come on, guys,” a punk called. “Let’s don’t start no arguin’ ’mongst ourselves. That won’t solve nothin’.”

  “Either I run this outfit, or I don’t,” Van wouldn’t let go of it. “I give the orders, and by God I want them obeyed. You hear me, Red?”

  “Whole goddamn county can hear you, Van. You hollerin’ like a calf in a hailstorm.”

  Van did not respond. Probably pouting, Ben thought with a small smile.

  “I got an idea, Van,” Red called.

  “What is it?” Van asked sullenly.

  “Burn ’em out of there. That old house ought to go up like dry kinlin’ wood.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Stacy yelled. “How ’bout it, Van?”

  Van spoke up after a few seconds. “Yeah, I guess we could do that. If that’s what you want, it’s OK with me. But how you gonna get close enough to do that?”

  Before Red could reply, both punks whose legs and feet had been shot out from under them started hollering in pain and begging for someone to help them.

  Ben waited, ready to fire, but none of their friends made a move to help.

  “I’m gonna work my way over to that field,” Red called. “Come in from that side. They’s some cover over there and I can make it close to the house. I’ll get me some of them rags from the truck and tie ’em to a stick. Light it and give it a throw. That ought to do it.”

  “Might work,” Van said. “OK, Red. You can give it a try, and good luck to you.”

  “Make ’em keep their heads down whilst I get over to that field, boys. Lay down some lead for me.”

  “Goddamnit, will somebody hep me!” Marvin shrieked.

  “Hush up, Marv,” Van hollered. “We’ll get to you soon as we take care of these bastards in the house. Just be quiet. Can’t none of us think with you squealin’ all the time.”

  “Oh, God, I’m dyin’,” the other punk squalled. “I’m bleedin’ to death. Help me.”

  “Now!” Red called, jumping from behind cover. “Fire, boys, fire!”

  Before he could run five yards Marcie opened up and nailed him. She burned half a magazine, but she got him. Red turned around several times, his chest and belly perforated with bullet holes. Then he slowly sank to his knees, and after a few seconds fell over on his face and was still.

  “Shit!” Stacy shouted. “Come on, Van, let’s get gone from this damn place. This ain’t worth a crap, man. We stay here and they’re gonna get us all.”

  “All right, Stacy,” Van called after a few seconds pause. “You be right, man. They’s always another day. Let’s get to the wheels and get out of here.”

  “What about me?” Marvin screamed. “Y’ all just gonna go off and leave me to die?”

  “We’ll come back for you, man,” Van called, with about as much sincerity as a rattlesnake’s smile.

  “You a lyin’ son of a bitch,” Marvin yelled. “You ain’t gonna do no such of a damn thing. Neither of you. Goddamnit, don’t go off and leave me!”

  The punks were already running from cover, trying to make the vehicles. Ben shot one, the 5.56 rounds stitching his legs, buttocks, and back, and throwing him forward on his face. He died on the ground without saying a word.

  Marcie cut the legs out from under the man called Johnny, and he tumbled to the ground. Her burst caught him running as hard as he could, and he fell heavily, rolling and screaming. Marcie fired again, and Johnny was silent in death.

  “That’s about it, Van,” Ben broke his silence. “Just you and me now, asshole.”

  “Hey, man, let’s make a deal, OK?”

  Ben laughed at him.

  “You think that’s funny, you prick?”

  “I think it’s hysterical, punk. What do you have to deal with?”

  “I’m out here and you’re in there. That’s somethin’, ain’t it?”

  “Not much when you think about it, Vanny boy. You’re dead, punk. You just don’t know it yet. Best thing you can do is just lie down on the ground and die.”

  “That’s crazy. Fuck you! I ain’t gonna do no such of a goddamn stupid thing.”

  “Then I suppose I’ll just have you kill you, Vanny boy.”

  “Oh, shit, will somebody please hep me?” the punk behind the rusted out hulk of a car yelled. “I’m hurtin’ and dyin’, and all y’all’s doin’ is arguin.’ Damn!”

  “Oh, shut up!” Van called.

  “Get your buddy and any others that might be alive and clear out, Van,” Ben called. “This is the only invitation you’re going to get from me. Do it, boy. And be damn quick about it.”

  “Who the hell do you think you is, givin’ orders to me?” Van shouted. “By God, I don’t take orders from nobody.”

  Ben tuned him out and slipped to the other side of the house. By a side window, he had a clear view of Van’s cover. Ben pulled the pin on a grenade and lobbed it. It fell just short of the cover and blew. Van yelled and jumped from the wreckage. Ben shot him, the rounds twisting him around and around, much like a human top. Van slowly slumped to the ground and lay still.

  “That’s it!” Marvin yelled. “I’m done and through. Is there anyone else left alive?”

  Silence greeted his words.

  “Oh, God!” Marv hollered. “I’m hurt and all alone.”

  “Can you drive, boy?” Ben called from the house.

  “I could if you’d give me a chance. You can damn sure bet on that.”

  “With broken legs?” Ben called as he walked through the house and out the back door.

  “One of ’em is busted. I got some lead in the other, is all. In the back of my upper thigh. It ain’t too bad. It’s just about quit bleedin’.”

  “Then crawl over to that car and get gone . . . and don’t come back. It that understood?”

  “You bet it is, sir. I don’t have to crawl. I can limp that far with the hep of this here stick. I’m gone.”

  Ben watched the man limp and stagger to the car and pull out. As soon as he was on the road and driving away, Ben called, “Get all the weapons and ammo from the dead on your side of the yard. I’ll do the same over here. We’ll put them all in the bed of the truck. You’ll drive the second truck. That truck has two gas tanks on it. I can see the fuel flaps. Let’s hustle, and get on the road as quickly as possible.”

  “I’m with you, Ben. You can bet that punk will be back. Or at least some of his buddies will, as soon as he can make contact with them.”

  “He’s got a long and painful drive ahead of him before that happens. There’s a CB antenna on the second truck, but none was on the car. I made sure of that.”

  Both of them turned at the sound of an explosion from about a mile or so down the road.

  “What the hell was that?” Marcie asked, her eyes on the cloud of black, greasy smoke that had begun pouring into the sky. “You don’t think
. . .”

  “Yeah. Marv didn’t make it. He must have passed out or lost control and left the road. Either way, we don’t have to get in any hurry about packing up and pulling out, or being followed. That’s one problem ole’ Marv solved for us.”

  “I guess he did.”

  “Let’s get to work and see what we’ve got in the way of additional supplies. That looks like a pretty good truck over there.”

  Marcie looked down the road, in the direction they had been heading. “I wonder where this road eventually leads.”

  “Away from here,” Ben told her as he walked toward the pickup truck. He ignored the dead who lay sprawled in the yard. “Let’s get to work and get gone.”

  “Are we going to bury the dead?”

  “No.”

  Eleven

  The truck was in good shape, except for the cab being filthy. It was littered with crap, some of which neither Ben nor Marcie cared to identify. Marcie scooped out the litter in the cab while Ben checked the bed of the truck. Several full cans of gas were among the junk. Ben found a dozen boxes of military ammo—manufactured in the USA—and wondered how the punks got hold of it. Was it stolen, or was it given to the punks?

  “Interesting,” Ben muttered. “Something I’ll have Cecil look into, and that’s a fact.”

  “What’d you say, Ben?” Marcie called.

  “Nothing, Kiddo. Just talking to myself. That comes with age.”

  “Yeah, right. You’ll be ready for a wheelchair any day now. We’ll have to be on the lookout for one.”

  Ben smiled and continued his prowling through the mess in the bed of the truck, throwing away most of it.

  A half an hour after Marv’s car ran off the road and exploded and burned, they pulled out. The CB in the pickup worked just fine. If they did get separated and weren’t more than a few miles apart, they could stay in touch.

  “Keep any transmission very short,” Ben told her just before they pulled out. “As few words as possible.”

  “You got it.”

  The landscape grew more barren as they traveled farther on the lonely county roads. They saw no other signs of human habitation. They stopped just after noon and ate lunch—field rations—then were on the road again. They got lost a couple of times on the confusing and unmarked maze of old county roads and the going was very slow, but by the middle of the afternoon they pulled out and across Old Highway 90 West and stopped to talk.