“Were you always a soldier?” Ben asked.
Payon smiled. “Oh, no. I was a TV broadcaster. A reporter of news. I served my time in the armed forces years ago, as a paratrooper. I was with my family on a vacation when the Great War came. Thugs killed my small son, and then raped and killed my wife and daughter, while they were torturing me. They left me for dead. They made a very bad mistake in not killing me.”
“Have you found them all?”
“All but two. I will find them. Eventually. Were you always a soldier, Ben Raines?”
“No. I was a writer. I . . . sort of got elected, unwillingly, to this job.”
Payon chuckled softly. “Ah . . . as did I. The people came to me, said they needed a leader. I told them to go find one. Leave me alone. Go find a general or a colonel or something. A sergeant even. I went into the jungles for a year, to get away. The people found me. Hounded me. I started out with a hundred people. Then a thousand, then ten thousand. I was suddenly, and without my permission, named El Presidente. For life. I told them I did not want the job. The people said I had it anyway. You’re smiling — our lives parallel?”
“Very much so. General, what do you hear from Europe?”
“Very little. Scattered radio broadcasts from ham operators. It is very bad over there. Very, very bad. All social order has broken down. I hear talk that you are going overseas. Is it true?”
“Yes.”
“It will be dangerous.”
“Very.”
“I wish I could go with you. But my country is still very shaky.”
“It’s enough that you would even want to go, General. I know that you have committed a large portion of your army up here assisting me. It’s very much appreciated.”
“It’s the least I could do. In my country, schools and proper medical facilities are a large concern. I have people working on proper irrigation for any land suitable for farming.” He sighed. “There is so much to do. So much to do, and so little time. And I am but one man.”
“The people respect you, General. That counts for a great deal. You and I, we’ll get people back working, in time. Those who want to work.”
“And those that don’t?”
“Will inherit the earth.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Six feet of it.”
“You can forget about busting out of here,” Brute said, after a day-long patrol to the west of their hiding place. “Rebels are everywhere. Rolling patrols every time one looks up. Rebel lookouts are on the high ground with binoculars.”
“Where’s Bo?” Sally asked.
“Sniper got him. The Rebels are using those big-caliber rifles that can shoot a mile. One nailed Bo right in the center of his chest. We never did figure out where the sniper was hiding.”
“I’m cold!” a punk bitched.
“I’m hungry!” another complained.
“I’m wet!” yet another whined.
“Oh, shut up!” Bull told them.
“What are we gonna do?” Sally asked.
“I don’t know,” Bull admitted. “We can’t go much longer without water.” He let his eyes drift back over the miles, to the valley where they had previously camped. Yesterday they had all seen the buzzards circling, and they knew the carrion birds were now feasting, many of them so bloated with human flesh they could not take off. They just waddled heavily along on the ground, flapping their wings and stuffing their beaks.
“Here come the planes again,” a punk called. He started crying in fear.
“How in the hell do they know where we are?” another yelled, his voice breaking from his fear.
“Heat-seekers,” Brute said. “We may as well say good-bye now. Because in five minutes a lot of us won’t be alive.”
Fang of the Hill Street Avengers began trembling as he watched the bombs start falling off the wings and out of the bellies of the planes.
After five days, Ben ordered the gunners to stand down. A strange silence settled over the land. South of his position, the city of San Diego was burning unchecked. From Imperial Beach north to the Soledad Freeway, from the blue waters of the Pacific east to the Sweetwater River, nothing could be seen but leaping flames and spiraling smoke.
The Rebels had pumped more than five thousand rounds — most of them incendiary rounds — into the city.
Even though the men and women of the Rebels bathed daily, sometimes two or three times, in cold water, they all still felt grimy from the smoke that poured out of the huge area of fire.
“Corrie, what is the latest report from the units in Nevada?”
“Ike says there couldn’t be more than a couple of hundred left alive, and they’ve got to be a pretty miserable bunch. No food and not much water, and it’s turning cold up there.”
“Keep after them.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chase entered the CP and poured a glass of water. He drank it and grimaced. Ben knew what he was thinking. Even the water tasted like smoke.
“Do you want us to enter the city, Lamar?” Ben asked.
The doctor shook his head. “Not unless you think it’s necessary. Any left alive in that inferno won’t live long enough to do much damage. The trucks just rolled in from Base Camp One with the rat pellets. I’ve never seen so many rat pellets in my life. Must be a hundred million of the damned things.”
“That’s what you wanted, Lamar. I’ll have the planes start dropping them tomorrow. But there is no way we’re going to kill all the rats.”
“We’ll kill enough of them. I talked with research down at Base. They think they’ve got a handle on it. It was pure blind luck, an accident. That’s very often the way it is. It looks good. If it proves out, we’ll have enough vaccine for all of us in about a month. I bet the former bureaucrats in the FDA are twisting in their graves at this hurry-up job. See you, Ben.”
Ben didn’t like to use the rat-killing pellets because of the other wildlife they would directly and indirectly affect. But in this case he felt it was justified.
Cecil was mopping up in Los Angeles, and finding pockets of fairly stiff resistance. As soon as the pellets were dropped, Ben planned to pull out and take his time working up the coast to L.A. Once there, he would start mopping up from the south, with him and Cecil linking up in the center of the city.
“Tell the boys and girls to start packing up, Corrie,” Ben said. “We’ll be pulling out of this stink-hole by mid-morning tomorrow.”
“Nobody will be unhappy about that,” she said.
“Especially me,” Ben said, smiling at her.
Therm and his forces went north on I-15, carefully checking out every town along the way, while Ben and his people took I-5 north to Los Angeles. They were all glad to leave the stink of the dead city behind them.
General Payon had visited Ben once more, and then pulled his troops back across the border. They did not lift a glass in a victory toast, for this battle had left an unpleasant taste in the mouths of all.
In Central Nevada, the Rebels continued their waiting game against those punks who had busted out of L.A. Everyone concerned — especially the punks — knew the standoff could not last much longer. In the high country, early fall had turned into early winter, and the nights were bitter with cold.
One gray morning, with a light dusting of snow on the ground, Brute crawled stiffly out of his ragged blankets and walked away from the camp without saying a word to anyone. No one was surprised when a single pistol shot cut the stillness of morning.
Bull walked over to a small gathering of brush and scrub timber and looked at Brute. He had stuck the barrel of his pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger. Bull left him where he lay and walked back to the cold camp.
He looked around him. Someone else was missing.
“Lennie,” a punk told him. “Died in his sleep. Pneumonia, I guess. He’s been awful sick. What about Brute?”
“Shot himself in the head.” He picked up his AK-47 and jacked in a round.
�
��What are you gonna do, Bull?” Sally asked.
“End it. You all heard the shortwave last night. Nobody made it out of San Diego. Less than ten percent of the people who ran L.A. are still alive. That’s a guess on somebody’s part, but I’d say it’s fairly accurate.”
“What are you gettin’ at?” Fang asked.
“We die quick, or we die slow from the cold.” He was reflective for a moment. “Somebody once said that Ben Raines wasn’t human. Maybe that’s true. I laughed when I first heard it. But I ain’t laughin’ no more. A few years ago, Ben Raines said he’d clear the earth of punks and thugs and lawless types. I got a good laugh outta that too. At the time. At the time there was nearabouts sixty thousand of us in L.A. Ben Raines had about five thousand Rebels. Well, look who won. Ben Raines has got seven or eight thousand Rebels now, and we’re reduced to about seventy-five. Can any of you really grasp the enormity, the awesomeness of that?”
Sally could. Before anyone could stop her, she stuck the barrel of her M-16 in her mouth and pulled the trigger, blowing the back of her head off.
Fang jumped up, staring at the bloody mess, horror in his eyes and on his face. “That’s it!” he said in a hushed tone. “That’s all for me. The Rebels may shoot me, they may put me up against a wall or they may hang me, but goddamnit, I’m gonna have me a good meal and be warm for a while before they do it.” He let his pistol belt fall to the cold ground and let his rifle stay propped against a rock. He pulled a dirty white hankerchief from a pocket of his jeans and walked out of the camp, holding the signal of surrender high.
“You don’t mean it,” Bull yelled.
“The hell I don’t,” Fang yelled over his shoulder and kept on walking.
Bull leveled his pistol and shot the man in the back. Fang twisted and pitched face forward, falling to his knees. “You sorry bastard!” he gasped, then died, his blood staining the white dusted ground.
One of Bull’s own men said, “I can’t take no more of this.” He pulled the trigger on a shotgun, blowing a hole in Bull’s back. Bull cursed and screamed and tried to lift his pistol. “Sorry, Bull,” the punk said. The shotgun roared again. Bull slumped forward and died on his knees. He stayed that way for a few seconds, then toppled over.
“Jesus Christ!” A woman had breathed the words.
“That’s it,” the street punk said, laying the shotgun on the ground. “It’s over.”
“They won’t let us surrender,” a thug said.
“I think they will,” the punk who killed Bull said. “Leastways I’m gonna find out. Anybody goin’ with me?”
They all stood up and dropped their weapons.
A punk lifted his walkie-talkie. “We’re quittin’. Anybody who wants to join us, just drop your weapons and start walkin’, hands in the air.” He threw the walkie-talkie to the ground and lifted his hands.
The siege of southern California was nearly over. Or so Ben thought. He could not know that the gods of war were laughing hysterically.
SIX
“About a thousand of the street punks surrendered, General,” Corrie said, relaying the message to Ben. “They walked out with their hands in the air. A badly beaten bunch. According to the prisoners, there isn’t a leader of a major Los Angeles street gang left alive.”
“Tell the commanders to accept their surrender, Corrie. Transport them to that old Naval Air Station the pilots have been using. Have medical personnel check them over carefully and then hold them under guard until I get there. Get some transport planes ready for us. Tell Cecil where we’re going.” He looked at Therm and smiled. “You’re in command here. Start the push north. Take your time, check it all carefully . . . Colonel.”
“Thank you,” Therm said dryly.
Emil bounced into the CP, his turban cocked sideways, down over one eye. “I’m ready, Colonel Therm,” the little man said.
“Have fun,” Ben said.
“To be sure,” Therm replied.
* * *
Ben looked at the punks, sitting on a runway at the old Naval Air Station. There was no bluster left in any of them. He’d seen some beaten-down POWs in his time, but this bunch took the prize.
“I ought to shoot every damn one of you,” he said through a bullhorn.
The arid odor of urine filled the air as many of the prisoners peed their underwear.
“But . . .” He paused. “For the first time in years, I’m going to go against my own rules. You people are going to make the town of Fallon a Rebel outpost. It’s going to be a model for all others. It’s going to have schools and churches and clinics and lights and running water and proper sewage. And above all, it’s going to have law and order. And you people are going to do it all. All by yourselves. Prove me wrong, people. Make it work. Do that, and I’ll admit I was wrong. You’re going to elect a leader, and a town council, and you’re going to make this outpost work. I don’t think you can do it. But you’d better do it. Because if you don’t, I’m going to come back here and hang every goddamn one of you!
“Dan, get some people ready to start fingerprinting and photoing these new model citizens.” He turned back to the stunned but highly relieved crowd. “Notice I didn’t say mug shots. See, I’m already giving you the benefit of the doubt. You’re on a honor system, people. In a manner of speaking. There won’t be anyone here to prevent you all from running away. But your prints will be on file and so will your pictures. And if you run away, we’ll find you eventually, and we’ll kill you.
“In all fairness to you, I don’t know if this area can support this many people. If it can’t, half of you move down the road to the next town. Let me give you some advice. Have a meeting and see what group will be planting potatoes, who will raise beef and sheep, sweet corn and feed corn, and so forth. Whatever you need to get started, we’ll supply you.
“I don’t know if this is going to work or not. The Rebels have never done anything like this before. Usually, with people like you, we just shoot you and have done with it. Maybe I’m mellowing in my middle age. And it could be that I’m running a slight fever and not responsible for my actions. Whatever my reasons, I’m handing you a new life. You’re free of all your past crimes. I’m going to stick around here for a few days. I want to talk to as many of you as possible. Take over, Dan.” He handed the Englishman the bullhorn.
“It might work, General,” Dan said softly.
“I hope so, Dan. I hope so.”
During the next several days Ben met with former nurses, former store owners, ex-cops, people from nearly all walks of civilian life. And a lot of hard-core, lifelong punks.
He set the tone of the meetings first thing, and bluntly. “I don’t want to hear about your childhood. I don’t give a damn if your parents didn’t have time to play games with you, or even if you had parents. I don’t care if you didn’t like school; that’s your problem if you thought you were so smart you didn’t need an education. Ninety percent of your problems is that you grew up in one of the most permissive periods that ever dawned on the face of the earth. And that’s not all your fault.”
At that, puzzled looks would pass over the faces of those in whatever group Ben was speaking to. Then he called for questions.
And it surprised Ben that many of the questions they asked him were intelligent ones, dealing with values, morals, and the work ethic. He found many of them to be highly intelligent, and a few to be borderline-stupid. And he pulled no punches with them. He wanted them scared of him, and they were. He knew that all forms of government are, in part, based on fear. Governments cannot and will not work without that element.
He told them that if they stayed on in the town, the work would be hard and the life would sometimes be lonely. And that others would try to take what they had built from them. And that always got the same response.
“Ain’t no way, General.”
And the shocker from Ben was, “And of course you will be armed when we leave.”
After the numbing silence had abated, Ben said, �
��You’re part of this movement now. For every Rebel, there are five hundred others out there who want to destroy us. You are part of us now, and the word will spread. And spread quickly. If we were to leave you here unarmed, you’d be overwhelmed in a month. And bear this in mind, once you fire that first shot against outlaws, you’re forever branded as a Rebel. If you need help, get on that radio and holler. There are Rebel patrols working all over America. We can have troops here by plane in a few hours. Good luck, people.”
Ben landed back in southern California at the old Camp Pendleton Marine Corps base and rejoined Thermopolis, who had worked his way up to just south of the base.
“It’ll work out with a little bit of luck,” Ben told him. “I actually have a good feeling about those people. Oh, some of them will cut and run. I’d guess ten to fifteen percent of them. But I think the majority of them will stay. Let’s hope. Only time will tell.”
If the usually optimistic Therm had any doubts about the new outpost, he did not voice them. “We’re finding a few people as we go,” he said. “But not many. This area was really stripped of human life by the outlaws and the creepies.”
Ben nodded his agreement. “We’ll probably never know how many people lost their lives to the scum and the creepies. But I’ll wager it was in the hundreds of thousands. How about Camp Pendleton?”
“Looted and stripped and destroyed. If the punks felt they couldn’t use a piece of armor, they dropped some type of explosives down the hatch.”
“Like all vandalism, senseless. Are you meeting any resistance?”
Fury in the Ashes Page 23
