Trapped in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  Rosebud laughed and stood up. “Come on,” she said to her husband. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

  TWO

  “Oh, rejection!” Emil wailed on the drive back from the western edge of the park. “Death, where is thy sting? I would rather die than live without her!”

  “I have a suggestion, Emil,” Rosebud said.

  “You have a plan?” He perked up immediately and stopped moaning about dying.

  “No. I said I have a suggestion. Ignore her.”

  “But I love her!”

  “So ignore her and see what she does. Women hate to be ignored. After a few days of being ignored, if she starts to wonder what the matter is and looks you up, then you’ll know if she really cares about you.” Rosebud was aware of her husband’s incredulous look as he stared at her. She ignored him.

  “But in a few days we might all be dead!” Emil moaned.

  “Well, then it won’t make any difference one way or the other, will it?”

  Emil thought about that. “You’re right. I shall ignore her. As a matter of fact, I shall make it a point to ignore her.”

  She glanced suspiciously at him. “What do you mean by that, Emil?”

  But Emil would only smile mysteriously.

  After dropping Emil off, once more back in the bosom of his block, Thermopolis and Rosebud went to Ben’s CP and reported that their mission had been accomplished.

  “Emil gave in that easily?” Ben shook his head. “I may make you his permanent keeper. How’d you do it?”

  “It was all Rosebud. But I figure in about twenty-four hours we’re all going to be so busy just staying alive that Emil won’t have that much spare time to be thinking about Michelle.”

  “You’re right about that,” Ben acknowledged. “Spotters just confirmed that Khamsin has crossed over the Tappan Zee Bridge. They’re on their way.”

  “I guess we’re as ready as we’ll ever be, Ben Raines. You think we’ll be home in time for spring planting?”

  “I guarantee it, Thermopolis.” He smiled at the man and wife. “Either that, or none of us will ever have to worry about planting anything again.”

  “You’re such a spirit-lifting person to converse with, Ben Raines.”

  Ben’s forward teams watched as Khamsin sent people across the bridges, inspecting for mines. They found nothing, since Ike’s people had planted the massive charges below the waterline.

  “They’re comin’ across!” a team leader said. “Let’s boogie out of here and let them come.”

  The Rebels headed south, letting the Hot Wind and his troops have the northernmost tip of Manhattan.

  But Ben Raines had made Khamsin a very wary man. He was not about to be suckered another time. His troops advanced very slowly, carefully inspecting each foot of ground before they moved an inch.

  Staying several blocks ahead of Khamsin’s troops, a team leader radioed back to Ben, “They keep this up, and we’ll be here for ten years waitin’ for them.”

  “They’ll pick up steam, Scout. It’s a natural human reaction as they find no danger. Head on south and let them come.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The forward teams got into position and waited. It was late in the afternoon before Khamsin’s troops reached Dyckman Street, and it was there the Rebels struck the first blow, hitting a hard one-two combination of automatic-weapons fire and rocket launchers.

  The Libyan responded with cannon fire from tanks that were stretched out from Henry Hudson Parkway over to Tenth. The Rebels fell back two blocks, fighting as they withdrew. Khamsin studied the stituation for a few moments and then ordered his people to hold what they had taken and not to follow, fearing a trap.

  The Rebels had been placed much like a series of upside down T’s, with the bottom line growing stronger every several blocks. Khamsin faced no more than twenty-five widely scattered Rebels at Dyckman. As the Rebels fell back, they joined twenty-five more at Ellwood; twenty-five more waited at Fairview. So by the time Khamsin and his men advanced down to 181st Street they would be facing several companies of Rebels. By the time they reached 171st Street, Khamsin would be committed and Ben would start blowing the bridges, from the northernmost tip of the island all the way down to and including the High Bridge.

  By that time, Khamsin would realize what Ben was up to. He would also know that he had been boxed in and that this was a fight to the death.

  Khamsin crossed Dyckman and advanced only two more blocks that day. He had no desire to face Ben Raines’s Rebels in the darkness of deadly night. Khamsin was fully aware of how vicious the Rebels were, how coldly and impersonally they killed. He ordered his troops to seek shelter and keep their heads down.

  They would be safe this night. Ben had ordered no booby-trapping this far north. He wanted the Hot Wind and his mini-farts to get deeper into Manhattan and be totally committed before they truly discovered the horrors of guerrilla warfare.

  The slowly retreating Rebels knew which buildings to avoid as they withdrew. Khamsin and his men, of course, did not. If Khamsin thought his fanatic mentors were experts at terrorism, he was only a few days away from looking into the cold eyes of the Grand Master.

  Ben Raines.

  “Khamsin has ordered his people in for the night, General,” Beth relayed. “They’ve bivouacked at Thayer and Arden, with some of them stretched out from the Hudson to the Harlem rivers.”

  “He’s playing it cautious. I’m sure memories of Atlanta are fresh in his mind.”

  “Orders, sir?” Beth asked.

  “Tell our northernmost teams to step down one alert and get some rest. Tell them I compliment them on a job very well done.”

  Ben returned to his desk and began studying maps of the city. Khamsin still had several miles to travel before Ben and his troops would cut loose with the full fury of Rebel-style warfare, and Ben knew the Libyan would take those miles very slowly and very cautiously. But Ben also knew the man’s confidence would grow with each block. But Khamsin could not be allowed to take those blocks easily. He would have to pay for them in terrorist blood, but not too much blood.

  Ben and his people were walking a tightrope in luring Khamsin into Manhattan; one misstep and the Rebels would fall. And there was no safety net below them. Only death waited for them in the impersonal and seemingly barren city streets.

  Ben suddenly realized he was hungry and that he had skipped lunch; he had been too busy monitoring radio reports coming in from the forward teams. He picked up his Thompson and went down to the makeshift kitchen that had been installed in the floor just below him and fixed a sandwich and a cup of coffee.

  “Want some company?” The voice came from behind him.

  Ben did not have to look up or turn around from his sandwich-making; he knew who it was. “Sure. You want something to eat, Jerre?”

  “A sandwich would be nice, thank you.” She sat down at the table. “This waiting is getting to me.”

  “They’ll be on us before you realize it.” He placed a sandwich and a cup of coffee before her. “Then we won’t have time to think about anything except staying alive.” Ben sat down across the table from her.

  “How about all the subway bridges south of us, Ben?”

  “They’re already crippled; sections have been knocked out so they can’t be used as footbridges.”

  “I’m not criticizing, Ben.”

  “I know. It’s part of your job to follow up, make damn sure I haven’t missed anything. And I appreciate the good work that you’ve done.” He smiled at her. “Have you seen Emil?”

  That got a laugh out of her. “I feel sorry for him. I think he’s really in love with that girl.”

  “He probably is. He’s screwed around all his life, chasing every skirt he could find without getting emotionally involved. Now that the real thing has reared up and slapped him in the face, or shot him in the butt, whatever, he doesn’t know what to do.”

  “You speak from experience, Ben?”

  “Ye
s.” Damned if Ben was going to pursue this subject. “How’s your sandwich?”

  “Very good.”

  “How are your quarters?”

  “Nice. Almost like home.”

  “And where has home been in the last few years?”

  “Up in the northwest. Then out on the Plains. I’ve never stayed long in one spot. Pretty much just been moving around.”

  “Looking for what?”

  “I don’t know, Ben. And that is an honest answer.”

  “I believe you. If you’ll recall, that’s what I started out to do, years back.”

  “I remember. You were going to write a journal about what happened and how the survivors responded to the Great War. How far did you get in doing that?”

  He shook his head. “I really didn’t even get started. The Tri-States were born; I was busy running that . . . not that I wanted to,” he added. “I just got stuck with the job. Then the war came.”

  “Then you were president.”

  “Again, against my will. And for the past few years seems like all we’ve been doing is fighting one war after another.”

  “No special woman in your life, Ben?”

  He met her blues. “Yes, Jerre. There will always be a special woman in my life.”

  “Whether I like it or not?”

  “Whether you like it or not.”

  “And there is nothing I can do to change your mind?”

  “How do you stop loving someone?” He finally spoke the words to her. He had spoken them silently for years.

  She dropped her gaze and finished her sandwich. Neither of them spoke during the rest of the meal. She rose and dropped the paper plate into the trash. “Guess I’ll be getting back to work, Ben. Thank you for the sandwich.”

  “You’re certainly welcome.” He waited until he was certain she had made it back to her office and then picked up his Thompson and went outside to stand for a time. The weather was still abnormally warm for the middle of winter.

  The stench of death still clung faintly, sickly sweet over the city. Ben knew some of his people had taken this time to tow the barges full of dead creepies out to sea and dump them. It was not a job that anyone relished, but one that had to be done to keep down disease.

  No one had reported any contact with what was left of the shattered army of Night People this day. Ben suspected they had given up and pulled back into what hidey-holes they had left and were waiting for death to take them.

  Gene Savie and his survivors entered his head. Ben just could not make up his mind about that bunch.

  He agreed with the leader of the Underground People, Paul, that it was highly unlikely that Savie and his group could have survived in the city without making some sort of deal with the Night People.

  But the Judges were gone, and the back had been broken of those creepies remaining in the city. Knowing that, why, then, would they be so seemingly unwilling to help in the fight against Khamsin? It just didn’t make any sense to Ben.

  He shrugged it off and went back inside his CP. He’d turn in early this night. There was that old guerrilla fighter’s adage: eat when you can, drink when you can, and sleep when you can. For you never knew when you might get the chance to do any of the three again.

  Ben was up several hours before dawn, drinking coffee and once more going over maps of the city. The question paramount in his mind: Have I missed anything?

  He could not think of a thing.

  Now it was in the hands of God and the guns in the hands of Rebels.

  Beth walked in, yawning. “I saw your light, General. Anything I can get you?”

  “How about a miracle?” Ben grinned at her.

  “’Fraid I’m fresh out of those, General. But”—she returned the grin—“we found a food warehouse late yesterday. Lots of it in good shape. How about some cinnamon toast for breakfast?”

  “Cinnamon toast. I haven’t had that in years.”

  “Then you better come on. Thermopolis is down in the kitchen and he’s already eaten half a loaf of bread and a pound of butter.”

  THREE

  After having to practically arm-wrestle Thermopolis for the cinnamon can, Ben ate the rest of the fresh-baked bread, covered liberally with butter and sugar and cinnamon.

  Jerre entered the kitchen and said, “Doctor Chase would disapprove of all that sugar.”

  “You want some?” Ben asked, his mouth full.

  “Naturally.” She sat down and took what was left on Ben’s plate and grinned at him as she chomped away.

  “I’m not fixin’ any more of this damn bread!” Jersey bitched.

  “I’ve had plenty,” Thermopolis said.

  “Yeah. Me, too,” Ben echoed, then looked at Thermopolis. “Where is your wife?”

  “I left her sleeping. I got up when I heard Emil pacing the floor and muttering to himself about tiny arrows piercing his heart.”

  “He certainly has been smitten, that’s for sure.” Ben looked up as Beth entered the room.

  “Khamsin’s started his offensive, General. And he’s hitting hard.”

  “Let’s go to work, gang. If our people can keep on sucking them in, at dawn tomorrow, we blow the bridges.” He stood up and sighed. “And God have mercy on our souls if I’ve made a mistake.”

  “We voted to stay, General,” Jersey reminded him.

  “We’re all in this together.”

  Ben nodded, smiled, and stepped outside into the abnormally warm morning. He looked up at the sky. “Hold on for just one more morning,” he muttered. “Then You can send the damnedest blizzard this city has ever known.”

  Khamsin was a bit more adventurous that day, moving a little faster and taking a few more chances. The Rebels held on for what they hoped was a respectable length of time, then pulled back, drawing the Libyan ever deeper into the city.

  “All his troops across?” Ben asked a spotter pilot.

  “Ten-four, General. They’re in.”

  Ben’s smile was tight. “It won’t be long now. Any more movement over in New Jersey?”

  “Those that didn’t accompany Khamsin are staying put, General.”

  “Ten-four. Do a couple of flybys a day and keep me posted.” Ben turned to Cooper. “Pull the Blazer around. We’re going to take a ride.”

  In the Blazer, Cooper asked, “Where to, General?”

  “North.”

  Beth radioed the instructions to the lead vehicles as Ben was studying a city map. She didn’t have to tell them where they were going; they all knew. Right up to the front lines.

  “We’ll let him advance down to Hillside today,” Ben said. “He’s going to slow up and be very goosy clearing the area around the Cloisters, suspecting ambushes. Come the night, he’ll probably spread his troops out just north of One Hundred Ninety-third Street. Tomorrow morning, we’ll give him One Hundred Ninety-second and One Hundred Ninety-first. As soon as he passes One Hundred Ninety-first, we’ll blow the bridges. That will stop him cold for a few hours while he assesses the situation.” He looked up. “Get this convoy moving, Beth. You know where we’re going.”

  “Yes, sir.” She lifted her mike.

  The convoy drove over to Fifth Avenue and turned north. At the edge of Central Park, Ben ordered a halt and got out.

  “You people stay in the truck,” he told them, just as Ike came walking up.

  “You monitoring the front?” Ben asked him.

  “Yeah. Khamsin’s got some confidence back this morning. Our people have given him a two blocks already. They say he’s really punching hard.”

  “We don’t want him to think it’s a cakewalk. Get on the horn and tell our people to draw some blood and then pull back. I don’t want Khamsin past One Hundred Ninety-third Street this day.”

  “You figurin’ on bringin’ the bridges down by about this time tomorrow, Ben?”

  “Right. So get your explosives people in position. I’m heading on up the line.”

  “Watch your ass up there, partner.” Ike grinned.<
br />
  Ben leaned to one side and took a look at Ike’s more than ample south gate. “You should talk!”

  Rolling north on Fifth Avenue, those in the small convoy had the time to study the seemingly dead city.

  “Used to be millions of people in these streets,” Ben said aloud, looking at the empty shops and office buildings. “The greatest city in the world. All it needs now is for someone to kick a little dirt over it.”

  “And that’s what we’re going to do, General?” Jersey asked.

  “That’s what we’re going to do. In a manner of speaking.”

  They rolled on in silence for a few blocks. “What happened to the Night People, Ben?” Jerre asked.

  “I think they gave up once they discovered the Judges had abandoned them. I think they burrowed deep and intend to keep their heads down for the duration. They don’t know it, but they just voluntarily crawled into their own graves.”

  As they approached Frawley Circle, Ben said, “Tell the lead vehicles to hang a left here, Beth. Then pick up Nicholas Avenue. We’ll stay with that all the way up to our lines.”

  As they passed Lennox, Ben caught a glimpse of black movement as the figure scurried back into the gloom of a building. “They’re not all in their holes,” he said, pointing out the furtive movement. “But they don’t want to mix it up with us, either.”

  A gunner in a Duster swung his twin-mount .50s and gave the inside of the ground floor a hard burst in passing. The big slugs chopped away at the murky interior, kicking up dust and knocking down plaster and paneling. The column rolled on, swinging onto Nicholas. They saw no more Night People as they made their way through the littered streets of the city.

  Ben reached over and opened the front air vents, allowing some ventilation to circulate through the Blazer. He guessed the outside temperature was in the 60s. Far too warm for this time of year. Except for spots in the alleys where the sun never touched, the city was almost entirely free of snow.

  “Much too warm,” he muttered. “The storm is going to be a bad one, and it could hit anytime.”

  “Sir?” Cooper asked.