Blood in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  “Our intelligence reports that Ben Raines is making no moves toward us, General.”

  “He will,” Striganov said softly. “He will, old friend. Bet on it.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  “A large force of heavily armed men moving toward the column, General,” the forward Scout radioed to Ben.

  “How many?” Ben asked.

  “A hundred, at least. Looks like some of those we just kicked out of Dublin.” She took a closer look. “Yes, sir. It’s part of the same bunch, all right. But beefed up.”

  “OK, Susie. Lay low until you receive further instructions.”

  “Ten-four, sir. We’ll keep our heads down until I see those ol’ boys retreating with their peckers hangin’ low.”

  Gale looked at the radio in the truck. She shook her head. “Jesus. Susie certainly has a way with words, doesn’t she?”

  Ben grinned. “Susie’s a good ol’ Southern gal.” He keyed his mic. “All right, gang—you all heard her. Set up ambush positions. Let’s do it right the first time.”

  “A good ol’ gal?” Gale questioned. “What a dubious compliment.”

  Ben laughed at her.

  The short column pulled off the interstate at the first exit. It was no trick for them to hide their vehicles in the thick timber and brush that had grown wild and unattended along most of the nation’s highways for years. Ben did not worry about airborne spotters. As far as Ben knew, his Rebels and the troops of the IPF4 were the only organized forces that still utilized any type of aircraft.

  “Here they come,” a Rebel said, looking through binoculars. “Cars, not trucks. Long line of them. Three to four men per car. Hard-lookin’ crew. Lots of guns.”

  “OK,” Ben said. “Let’s make sure we’re about to waste the right bunch. Where’s the volunteer?”

  “Here, sir.” A young woman stepped forward. She had changed into jeans and civilian windbreaker. She carried a knapsack.

  “Jane?” Ben asked. “You’re sure about this, now?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “OK. Get into position, and be ready to act very quickly. That ditch is deep; it’ll give you good protection.” He keyed the talk switch on his walkie-talkie. “All right, people. Get ready to blow them to hell if they make any funky moves toward Jane. One mistake on our part means Jane gets shot up. Let’s don’t let that happen.”

  Jane took her position on the shoulder of the interstate.

  Tony’s lead vehicle rounded the curve in the interstate. “Goddamn, Pete,” the driver said. “Look at that cunt up there.”

  “Yeah, I see her. Looks pretty good from here.”

  “Pretty good? Man, you need glasses. That’s prime gash.”

  The man on the passenger side radioed Tony, who was in the center of the column.

  “Stop here,” Tony ordered his driver. “It could be a trap.” He radioed to the lead cars. “Rest of you guys go on up there and check it out.”

  A half dozen cars approached the lone woman standing by the side of the interstate. The lead car stopped, the others grinding to a halt behind him. The driver rolled down the window and stuck his head out. “Hello, sweet thing. You waitin’ for a bus, maybe?”

  “Could be,” Jane replied. She smiled. The windbreaker was draped over her right hand and forearm, hiding the cocked .45 semi-automatic pistol in her hand. Her finger was on the trigger.

  “Well, now, ain’t you the lucky one, though. No point in you standin’ out there, baby. Why don’t you just hop your pretty ass in here with us. We’ll take you to the nearest bus station. We might decide to have some fun along the way.”

  “I think I’ll just wait for the Trailways, if you don’t mind,” Jane told him. “One should be along any time.”

  “Honey, there ain’t been no buses on this road for a long time. Now get your ass in here like I tol’ you.”

  Jane offered no reply. She stood alone on the windswept shoulder of the road, matching the man look for look.

  The driver’s features hardened. “I said, baby, get your ass in here and get ready for a good fuckin’. I’m gettin’ a bone just lookin’ at you.”

  “And if I don’t?” Jane asked. Her smile had turned grim. Before joining Raines’ Rebels, Jane had been taken captive by a group of men and sexually abused. She had been left for dead by the side of the road. She had no patience or mercy for rapists.

  The driver could not know it, but he was gazing into the pretty face of death.

  The driver laughed and got out of the car. He unzipped his pants and pulled out his thickening penis. “Don’t that look good to you, baby? Now why don’t you just come to Daddy and grab hold my tool? You can skin it back and get it up real hard for the both of us.”

  “No thanks,” Jane said. “Fucking animals has never been my thing. And you look like a cross between an ape and a pig.”

  The men still in the cars laughed at that.

  The man with his cock hanging out of his jeans flushed with anger. “You gonna know some pain for that smart-mouth crack, girlie.” He stepped toward her.

  Jane slid back her windbreaker and shot the man in the groin. The heavy .45-caliber slug, from a very close range, separated penis from man. The slug tore through the man’s lower belly, slamming him to the ground. Jane lifted the 45 and emptied it into the car, the booming of the pistol not masking the man with the missing pecker’s howling as he rolled and began the dying process on the shoulder of the interstate.

  Jane leaped for the ditch just as automatic weapons fire cracked and roared and lanced death from both sides of the interstate. The slugs turned the lead vehicles into death traps. Glass splintered and metal howled as slugs whined and sparked and tore through flesh and bone.

  A quarter of a mile back, Tony Silver yelled his commands. “Get outta here! It’s a fuckin’ ambush.”

  Tony’s boast that he’d show his men how to kick the ass off Ben Raines blew into the air like the thin emptiness it was as the cars squalled around and retreated down the interstate. Two miles down the road, they were forced to run the gauntlet of Susie and the other Scouts as they pot-shot from the brush along the roadway.

  “Jesus fucking Christ!” Tony yelled. He was crouched on the floorboards, trembling in fear and rage—the rage directed at himself for showing his fear in front of his men. But he did not need to worry about that; his men were more frightened than him. One had shit his pants and one had pissed his pants. Glass showered Tony as slugs slammed the car. Blood splattered him as one of his men took a round through the head and fell forward, his blood and brains and fluid leaking onto the front seat and dripping onto Tony in a red river.

  “Floorboard this mother!” Tony squalled. “Get me the hell outta here!”

  “Finish it,” Ben told his people. “Take a few of the men alive for questioning—if you can find any alive. Get as much information from them as possible then shoot them.”

  “My pleasure,” Jane said.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  “I sure would like to find some wheels,” Ike said. “I have never been a fan of hikin’. Swimmin’, yeah—walkin’, no, thank you, ma’am.”

  “You said you were a Shark?”

  Ike laughed. “No, Nina! Not a shark, a SEAL. Navy. Means sea, air and land. Back in my day we were the bad boys of the Navy—so called, that is.”

  “How come, Ike?”

  “Oh,” he replied with typical modesty. “I guess ‘cause our trainin’ was so rough and the dirty jobs that was always handed to us.”

  “You mean you guys wouldn’t run from anything?”

  Ike again laughed. “Only a fool won’t haul his ass out of some situations, little one. Hell, yes, I ran at times. Run like a thief in the night.”

  “But I bet you won medals for being brave,” she said.

  “I won a few. Some I guess maybe I deserved, others I didn’t. Ever’body that sees combat oughta win medals.” Ike stepped on a rock in the old road. “Ouch! Shit! Goddamn walkin’!”

  Nina la
ughed at him. “Getting old, Ike?”

  Ike’s grin was rueful as it transformed his face, the years fading away with the smile. “You bet, I am, Nina. I’m pushin’ hard at the half century mark.”

  “No! I don’t believe that.”

  “It’s true, kid.” Except for the gray in his close-cropped hair, Ike looked about thirty-five. “I don’t feel it, but it’s true.”

  They walked down the center of the highway.

  “You got any kids, Ike?”

  Ike was flung back in time. Back to the original Tri-States, and to Megan, his first wife. “Yeah, but I lost ’em in the battle for Tri-States. Me and Sally adopted a whole brood later on.”

  “You and Sally been married long?”

  “Not long. I lost my first wife, Megan, in the big battle for Tri-States. Me and Sally got hooked up a couple years ago.”

  “You love her, Ike?”

  “I like her,” he replied, and Nina knew the subject was closed.

  “Was you and General Raines in the SEALs together?”

  “No, Ben was a Hell Hound.” He saw the confused look on her face. “The Hell Hounds was the closest thing the U.S. ever had to a full-fledged mercenary unit. Mean bunch of cutthroats. I did a year with ’em, but that was long after Ben was wounded and got out. He was probably over in Africa at that time, fightin’ with the five or six Commandoes. I don’t know. We don’t talk much about those days anymore. Brings back too many bad memories; too many good men died over there, Nina. The war got all turned around in the minds of people back home. Hell with it.”

  And the subject was closed.

  The faint sounds of engines reached them. Ike grabbed Nina’s arm and jerked her off the road. They climbed up the embankment and hid in the thick timber and brush. The engine noise grew louder.

  The first truck came into view. “It’s them!” Nina hissed. “The Ninth Order. That’s the bunch that’s been chasing me ever since I got away from them. I recognize the pickup. That’s the one Sister Voleta always rides in.”

  Ike slipped the M-16 off safety and onto full auto as the drag vehicle came into view. “Two of them,” he muttered.

  “There will be two men in the back of each truck,” Nina said. “Sister Voleta’s personal guards. And they know what they’re doing.”

  “That bunch over where they had me captive damn sure didn’t know much,” Ike countered. “Matter of fact, they were a bunch of amateurs.”

  Just as Ike was raising the M-16, two more trucks appeared from the opposite direction. A woman got out of the lead pickup to stand in the road.

  The other cars and trucks stopped, their passengers getting out. A dozen men and women now lined the road, with guards facing in all directions, armed with M-16s.

  “Shit!” Ike whispered. “I could take ’em, but they might take us, too. Can’t risk it. They’re too spread out.”

  “I agree,” Nina returned the whisper. She clutched at his arm and Ike could feel the fear in the woman transmitting to him at her touch.

  “Take it easy, kid,” Ike said. “We’re gonna make it. ”

  “Promise?”

  “You betcha.” He looked at the robed woman. “I know that woman.”

  “That’s Sister Voleta. She’s head of the Ninth Order. She is evil and perverted and crazy to boot.”

  “Sounds like ya’ll real fond of one another.”

  “I’d like to jam this .38 up her butt and pull the trigger. ”

  “Listen.”

  “Captain Willette is not performing up to his capabilities,” Sister Voleta said, her voice reaching Ike and Nina. “And those fools at the warehouse deserved what they received for allowing Colonel McGowen to escape. That fat worshipper of a false god is not to leave these mountains.”

  Ike’s face reddened with anger and Nina had to stifle a giggle at his expression.

  Sister Voleta said, “We have over five hundred people, with that many more coming in, some with tracking dogs to search for that lard ass.”

  Ike gripped his M-16 so hard his knuckles turned white from the strain.

  Despite the seriousness of the situation—they were only about fifty feet from the roadbed—Nina almost groaned suppressing a giggle at the expression on Ike’s face. Sister Voleta, Nina thought, didn’t know Ike very well at all. True, the ex-SEAL was built like a fireplug, but he was muscular, not at all fat.

  Ike stuck out his tongue at Sister Voleta. He muttered, “I’m gonna shoot your ass off, bitch! And enjoy doing it.”

  “Tell our people within the ranks of Ben Raines’ Rebels to step up their activities,” Sister Voleta gave the command. She did not elaborate as to what those “activities” might be. “Already, many of the younger Rebels are swaying toward our side—even if they don’t yet realize it. But, for now, recapture McGowen. He is sure to head either south or east. If so, he is ours.”

  The group split up, returning to their vehicles. The guards were the last to go, backing up all the way, weapons at the ready. Ike agreed with Nina: They knew what they were doing. In a moment, the road was clear, the sounds of engines fading into the distance.

  Nina’s fingers clutched at Ike’s forearm. “What are we going to do, Ike?” There was panic in her voice. “We can’t fool dogs!”

  “Easy, kid. We can fool the dogs if we don’t run into them.” He smiled at her. “So we’re headin’ straight north. I’m bettin’ they’ll expect us to cut ‘cross country, but we ain’t. We’re gonna backtrack on this road ’bout fifteen miles.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out an old map of the Chattahoochee National Forest. “See this park road? We cut northeast on it and it’ll lead up to Highway 76. Don’t you worry, little one. We’ll make it. And we might just raise a little hell of our own along the way.”

  “We’re due to raise a little hell of our own,” she replied. “Bastards been after me for what seems like forever.”

  “Can you use a rifle?”

  “I damn sure can. You’re looking at a girl who can do most anything.”

  Ike laughed. “I believe it, Nina. Well, then, we’ll just have to find you a rifle.”

  “One of those flat-shooting .270s, if you can. I like that rifle.”

  He glanced at her, amusement in his eyes. “Damned if you don’t talk a good battle.”

  “I do more than talk, buddy. Believe it.”

  “Do we chase them, General?” Ben was asked.

  “No. Let them go. No telling how many men he’s got as backup. We could be heading into more trouble than we could handle.” He looked at his map. The column was just a few miles away from the intersection of Georgia Highway 121. “We’ll cut due north here,” Ben said, thumping the map. “We want to give this old nuclear plant a wide berth. Here.” He pointed out the location. “It experienced a meltdown back in ’88. Still might be hot around there. We’ll stay with 121 to this point, then cut northwest, come up under Fort Gordon. We’ll see if we can salvage something there. Although I imagine it’s been picked clean by now.”

  “What’s a meltdown, General?” one of the younger Rebels asked.

  Ben smiled sadly. So young, he thought. He was maybe ten years old when the balloon went up back in ’88. Since that point in the earth’s future, nuclear energy had become a thing of the past.

  Ben explained, using layman’s language, what a meltdown was.

  He looked at the young faces around him. They don’t understand, he thought. Even the best educated among them have such a deficiency in the sciences and math.

  That simply must not be allowed to continue. For the sake of the future generations, it must not continue.

  Yet another problem to face.

  Ben sighed. “OK, gang. Finish up with those punks left alive and let’s roll it.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  They were the younger of the Rebels and the ones with the least education. They had no idea they were being duped and manipulated by Willette and Carter and Bennett. What the three men and those with them said seemed to ma
ke sense. If you thought about it. It just wasn’t right for the general to go off like he’d done. And yes, even though they didn’t like to think about it, they reckoned that gods get old just like everybody else. Kind of. How old was General Raines, anyway?

  Nobody seemed to know.

  Most just shrugged the question off, saying he was ageless.

  Ageless? What did that mean? Most of the younger Rebels had been no more than six or seven years old when the bombs came, back in ’88. Most could barely read and write. Some could do neither. And they had no desire to learn. It was just too much of a bother. Too time-consuming. Who needs it?

  Ignorance is the father and mother of superstition, the breeder of far-fetched legends, the sperm of ghostly tales, the lover and creator of myth. And these new, young Rebels were prime candidates.

  Ageless. Whatever that meant. So . . . it figured that Ben Raines must be tired.

  But they were convinced that all this, all this talking, all this planning, all this was for General Raines’ welfare.

  But who would be in charge while General Raines was resting? Not Cecil. He was kind of like General Raines . . . in a way. Ike? Naw. Ike was a fighter, not a decision-maker. Then . . . who?

  Captain Willette was pretty smart, and an easygoing kind of guy. Up on all sorts of things. Read big books all the time.

  Yeah. Captain Willette could handle the job.

  “You’re in a good mood, Ben,” Gale observed. “Cecil must have had some good news.”

  The column was rolling toward Millen. And Ben always felt good when traveling, seeing new country. He had just spoken with Cecil. “Yes, in a manner of speaking. Gray’s Scouts reported a lot of activity in the mountains. Near the area where a big fire and a lot of shooting took place. The searchers are bringing in bloodhounds.” He smiled. “Ike got away from them.”