Smoke from the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  “He told me there was only one way to handle those groups of people, and that was by and with brute force. Because that’s all they understood. They did not, and could not, comprehend compassion; they took it as a sign of weakness and held compassionate people in contempt.

  “Just about the same kind of contempt I hold for most of you losers.”

  The crowd stood in silence and glared at him. Then about half of the crowd dropped their eyes, not meeting Cecil’s hard gaze.

  “This cop went on to say that he had found a very practical method of handling white trash and niggers. Practical, but brutal. Every time they screwed up, he’d just beat the shit out of them. He said on his beat, that averaged about once a month. And it took anywhere from six months to a year for the light of understanding to start shining in that murky cesspool they called a brain. He said that when those particular types of people get tired of wiping the blood out of their eyes and going to first the hospital and then to the jail, ninety-five percent of them will then begin to realize that there are social and moral codes, and rules and regulations and laws that they have to follow and obey just like other folks.

  “Well,” Cecil said, “I was a lot younger then, and a lot more idealistic. And I thought that police officer’s philosophy was just awful! Then I began to ride with him on his patrol. He was a deputy sheriff. He’d point out people to me. ‘See that punk over there, Cec?’ he’d say. Then he’d tell me what that particular person had done. Horrible, terrible things. But there he was, walking the streets, a free man, thanks to our judicial system. He pointed out people and told me what they had done. And pointed out that they showed no signs of remorse. Ever. Some of the things he told me made me sick at my stomach.

  “How many of you people fall into the category I just named?”

  The crowd was dead silent.

  “Uh-huh,” Cecil said. “More than a few of you, I’d imagine. Well, then. I guess I’m just going to have to put that cop’s philosophy to work here, with you people. Anyone have anything to say about that?”

  “Yeah,” a man called. “I think you’re nuts!”

  The Rebels began smiling; a few in the crowd, not really understanding what was about to go down, smiled nervously.

  “I don’t think I’m going to like this very much,” said a man from out of the crowd.

  “I think,” Cecil said, his voice carrying firm to them all, “that you are right.”

  FOUR

  “What will my father do if this Big Louie or Ashley person decides to use old people and women and children for shields?” Buddy asked.

  “I don’t know,” Ike said. “I’d hate to have to make that decision.”

  “What would you do?” the young man persisted.

  Ike was silent for a time. Then he looked at Buddy. “Freedom sometimes comes with a high price tag, boy.”

  Then Ike walked away, leaving Buddy to sit by himself in the shade of a truck. Buddy had noticed, since joining the Rebels, that unless Ike was with him, he was usually alone.

  It wasn’t that the other men and women were unfriendly — for that was not the case at all. The others would answer his questions, greet him, all the small social amenities; but they did not include him in their small groups, sitting and chatting of little things. And for a short time, that bothered Buddy. Then he began to understand it.

  The others did not know where Buddy stood in the scheme of things. Only that he was, without a doubt, and without begin told, Gen. Ben Raines’s son. And that alone made him someone special. And until they found out a bit more about him, Buddy was going to have to settle for his own company.

  Buddy looked around him and spotted that very pretty young woman who was part of Ike’s personal team. Rising, Buddy walked over to her.

  She smiled up at him. “Buddy. Getting a little jumpy about the upcoming fight?”

  “No,” he replied honestly. “I’ve been in firefights before. This one shouldn’t be different from the others. May I sit down?”

  “Sure.”

  He sat on the ground beside her. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

  “Judy.” She inspected the young man with her blue eyes. No doubt about it, she thought. He’s just about the best-looking guy in camp.

  Buddy was aware that he was being given the once-over. He endured it silently.

  Judy took in the muscular arms and shoulders. The thick wrists. The big chest and trim waist. She let her eyes linger on his face. A strong, square-jawed face. Eyes that gave away very little of his inner feelings. Looking into those eyes, Judy felt a mixture of strange emotions. The stronger emotion was that she was looking into the eyes of General Raines. And the face. This was what General Raines would have looked like as a young man.

  Buddy had been given tiger-stripe battle clothes, but he chose not to wear the black beret of the Rebels. He wore only a dark red bandana tied around his forehead, over the mass of dark curly hair.

  He isn’t just good-looking, Judy thought. He’s sensational-looking.

  “You haven’t seen your father yet?” she asked. There were other emotions she was experiencing as she looked at Buddy. She tried to ignore them. She failed miserably.

  “Not yet. I would imagine he’s allowing General McGowan to test me; to see if I’m worthy of being a Rebel. I can’t fault him for that.”

  Judy wasn’t about to comment on any of the general’s decisions; if, indeed, that was what Ben Raines was doing. “I guess you’ve wondered why people are kind of ignoring you?”

  “Yes. I have given that some thought.”

  “And? . . .”

  “They’re unsure of me. And a bit leary of me. I don’t blame them. Then, too, I am the son of Ben Raines.” He smiled. “The general’s bastard son.”

  “That doesn’t bother you? That . . . last statement?”

  Buddy shook his head. “No. A child cannot chose its father. I had nothing to do with it. He will either accept me, or order me to leave.”

  “You talk like an educated person. I wish I had more education. I was entering my first year of college in the Tri-States when the government declared war on us. Hasn’t been much time for studying since then. Except the study of war, that is.”

  “That is probably a good thing to study, considering the times. But the Old Man, my grandfather, saw to it that I was educated, and educated well. He shielded me from my mother and her insanity for years. He was the one who convinced me to leave, and to seek out my father.”

  Judy touched his strong arm. “I think there has been enough of this standing away from you, Buddy. Come on.” She tugged at him. “Let’s go meet the others.”

  And for the first time, Buddy felt he was being accepted.

  “Guy’s nuts!” a man said.

  Cecil laughed at the voice. “Nuts? Oh, I might well be slightly mad. I think that anyone who pursues the dreams of putting this nation back together again might be suffering from a humpty-dumpty syndrome. But it’s certainly better than what you people are doing — which is absolutely nothing.”

  “Our right,” a woman called. “Ain’t it?”

  “No,” Cecil said. “I don’t believe it is. I don’t think anyone has the right to just sit back and watch a once-productive country sink further into a terrible morass.”

  “A whut?” a man called.

  “A morass, you ignorant bastard!” Cecil replied, a definite edge to his voice. Cecil had never had much patience with people who voluntarily chose to wallow in ignorance. “All right!” he shouted. “Enough talk. The draft has now officially been reinstated.”

  “The whut?” the same voice asked.

  “The draft! Surely you know what that means?”

  “You mean, lak bein’ forced to join up with some army and play soldier boy?”

  “And girl,” a woman Rebel called, smiling as she spoke.

  “That’s your ass, honey!” a woman shouted from out of the crowd.

  “Who said that?” the woman officer sai
d, stepping forward to stand beside Cecil.

  The civilian woman suddenly decided to play the army game: stay low and don’t call any attention yourself. The crowd became silent and sullen.

  “Lieutenant Mackey,” Cecil said to the woman by his side.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re in charge of this . . . new contingent of Rebels. See to it that they are given quick physicals, long soapy baths, haircuts, and issued field clothing.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, you wait just a goddamn minute!” a man said, stepping from the crowd. He carried a rifle and very quickly placed the weapon on the ground as the .50 caliber machine gun was swung in his direction. “Don’t get no itchy finger, man,” he pleaded. “I ain’t hostile none a-tal.” He looked at Cecil. “General, you cain’t just come in here and draft us! That ain’t right none a bit. You ain’t got the authority to do that!”

  “Big black sucker shore looks like to me he’s a-gonna do ’er though,” said a voice from out of the crowd.

  Cecil’s eyes found the man who had just spoken. He waggled a finger at the man and his mouth. “Come over here.”

  His eyes downcast, the man reluctantly walked out of the crowd and up to Cecil.

  “What’s your name?” Cecil asked.

  “Billy Bob Manning.”

  “Well, Mr. Billy Bob. Let me assure you that I am not a ‘big black sucker.’”

  “No, sir. I reckon you shore ain’t.”

  “My name is Gen. Cecil Jefferys.”

  “Okay.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “How old are you, Billy Bob?”

  “Forty-two . . . sir.”

  “You’ve seen service time?”

  “Shore . . . Yes, sir!”

  “What branch?”

  “Marine Corps, sir.”

  “Then you certainly should understand military discipline and bearing and courtesy.”

  “I’m afraid I shore do, sir,” Billy Bob answered mournfully.

  “Billy Bob?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “You are back in the military,” Cecil informed him.

  “Lord have mercy,” Billy Bob said, adding, “sir!”

  “Be-bop-a-lula and shake rattle and roll to you, too,” Emil Hite said, concluding the religious services for that day. He managed to walk to the front of the church without tripping over the hem of his robe. He smiled at each of his followers as they trooped out.

  Late summer, and hotter than the hinges of hell in North Louisiana.

  One of Emil’s “deacons” motioned for him to walk around to the side of the church.

  “God, what is it?” Emil bitched, wiping away the sweat. “This robe is burning me slap up.”

  “Some of your, ah, flock is getting antsy, Brother Emil. They would like some sort of miracle to prove that you haven not lost contact, again, with the Great God Blomm.”

  Emil stared at him. “Brother Matthew, have you lost your fucking mind? The only miracle I’ve performed lately is getting a hard-on last night. I thought we went all over this crap before. I — don’t — do — miracles!”

  “Can’t be helped, Emil baby. There’s a new kid on the block.”

  “Now what does that mean?”

  “Francis Freneau and his Joyful Followers of Life are camped just across the Boeuf River.”

  “Who?”

  “Francis Freneau and — ”

  Emil waved him silent. “I heard you awready! What kind of scam is he running?”

  “’Bout the same kind you are,” Brother Matthew said drily. “Only difference is, his is a lot more sophisticated.”

  “I resent the hell out of that!”

  “It’s true. Francis wears a white robe . . . all the time. And it’s clean . . . all the time. He had about a half-dozen real cute chicks running ahead of him, wherever he goes, sprinkling flowers and grass and that stuff in his path. It’s really neat. And Francis has this little bell with him.”

  “So I’ll get a cowbell. Big deal! And some of these broads we got around here need to run some. Lose some lard. In case you haven’t noticed, some of them are really draggin’ a lot of ass.”

  “No, no, no, Emil. This Francis Freneau really speaks from the Bible. The folks dig it.”

  “Well, what the hell do you think I’m speaking from . . . most of the time? Gone With The Wind?”

  “You gonna be gone with the wind if you don’t spruce up your act, Emil. I’m tellin’ you. You’re losing converts. Didn’t you notice a few people missing this morning?”

  “Hell, I never pay any attention to that crap. I just figured they were drunk or something. Listen!” He held up a finger. “What in the hell is that god-awful sound?”

  Matthew listened. “Sounds like a lost calf bellowing for its mother, don’t it?”

  “I know what that is,” Emil said. “Bagpipes. Bagpipes and . . . tambourines. Last time I heard bagpipes I was at this broad’s house in Knoxville. We stayed drunk for a week. Woke up, I thought I was havin’ the d.t.’s. Turned out to be some old movie on TV. Gunga Din, or something like that.”

  A fat man in a robe rushed up to Emil and clapped his hands while he did a little jig. “Oh, Brother Emil — come quickly! Francis Freneau and his Joyful Followers of Life have come to visit. Isn’t that just grand!”

  “Yeah,” Emil said sourly. “Just friggin’ wonderful.”

  The happy messenger went tripping off, clapping his hands and singing, stopping occasionally to do a little jig, his sandals kicking up dust as he danced.

  Then Brother Emil got a glimpse of Francis Freneau and felt a little sick at his stomach.

  “Guy looks like Arnold Schwarzenegger in drag. I’m in trouble, Matthew.”

  “I tried to tell you, Emil. You know who he is, don’t you?”

  “Well . . . he does look sort of familiar.” Emil shrugged. “Another con artist, like me, I guess. What else?”

  “Yeah. But this one used to be a magician.”

  Emil looked harder. Damn! but he looked familiar. Emil felt weak kneed. He could just see this handsome guy taking all his flock with him. Emil knew that most of his followers were on the unstable side anyway. So if this muscular son of a bitch started pulling cucumbers out of his ears and proclaiming himself to be King Tut, most of Emil’s flock would split.

  “A miracle,” Emil said. “I gotta come up with a miracle. Either I do that, or I’m back hoein’ the weeds outta greens and butter beans for something to eat.” Francis sure did look familiar, though.

  “Yeah,” Matthew said. “And don’t forget us, Emil. If you go down, we go with you.”

  “Then come up with something, Brother Matthew. Don’t just stand there with your face hanging out . . . think!”

  Ben was sitting in the shade of a truck, deep in thought. His recon teams had reported Louie’s thugs were rounding up many women and kids and elderly people. The recon teams had managed to intercede in some of the gatherings-up, but were spread too thin to save many. Ben just did not know what to do.

  “Uneasy is the head that wears the crown, Ben?” Dr. Chase said, walking up.

  Ben looked up and tried a smile. “I guess so, Lamar. I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t, no matter which way I turn this time.”

  “Well, you want a sounding board to bounce some thoughts off of, Ben?”

  “It might help. Pull up a piece of ground and make yourself comfortable.”

  The doctor sat down beside Ben, plucked a blade of grass and stuck it in his mouth. Finally, he said, “Can we just bypass this fight, Ben?”

  “I gave that some serious thought. But what comes after that, Lamar?”

  Chase knew what Ben meant; but he knew that Ben wanted to say it. “What do you mean, Ben?”

  “We back away from this fight, Lamar, because of the taking and using of women and kids and elderly for hostages, where does it end? The news will surely spread all over this shattered nation. We’ll be
putting every woman, every child, and every elderly person still alive in jeopardy.”

  Lamar nodded his head. “I agree, Ben. But I don’t have to like it.”

  “Neither do I, buddy.”

  “So? And?”

  “I try to arrange a meeting with this Big Louie and Ashley. Whoever the hell Ashley is.”

  “Good luck,” the doctor said.

  Big Louie waved a sheet of paper under the nose of Ashley and giggled. “Gen. Ben Raines wishes a meeting with me.” He did not mention that Ben wanted to see Ashley as well. “A messenger delivered this only moments ago.” He looked at Ashley’s battle dress and giggled. “And you say that I look funny? George C. Scott, you ain’t.”

  Ashley ignored that. “This meeting — where is he suggesting it take place?”

  “On neutral ground. He will be on one side of Interstate Thirty-five-the west side. And I, and my entourage, shall be on the other side. We shall meet in the median. I’ve ordered my purple robe cleaned and ironed. I wonder, though, should I wear my white pumps or my black ones?”

  Ashley stared at Big Louie, disbelief in his eyes. Here was a chance to kill Ben Raines, by ambush, and this fool was concerned only about his goddamned shoes.

  “Now listen to me, Louie. We’ve just been handed a fantastic opportunity.”

  “Oh, I know!” Louie gushed. “At last I get to meet Ben Raines. Do you know that some consider the man to be a god?”

  “Louie, goddammit, stop simpering for a moment and listen to me. We can kill Ben Raines, and it’ll be easy.”

  “Kill Ben Raines!” Louie shrieked, horrified. “Why, I have no intention of killing Ben Raines. I’m gong to offer him a chance to join us. What do you think about that?”

  Ashley stared hard at Big Louie. There was a very strange, odd light in the man’s eyes; a glint that had not been there a couple of days ago. A bit of spittle oozed out of one corner of Louie’s mouth. Louie started humming a little ditty.