Survival in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  That remark would soon prove to be a very great understatement.

  Planes began landing at the secured airstrip and taking the survivors back to clean zones, most of them heading back to Base Camp One. Nearly all were in bad shape mentally. Some of the women had been held for years, used as breeders. Most of them were near total mental collapse.

  Chase walked through a lightly falling mist, over to Ben, who was squatting under the low branches of a tree, sipping at a mug of coffee.

  He waited until the sound of a plane taking off died away before speaking. “With this . . . shipment,” the doctor said with a sigh, “our facilities at Base One will be strained to overflowing.”

  “We’ll build more,” Ben said, without looking up.

  “We are desperately short of qualified doctors.”

  “That is your department. Mine is war.”

  “I don’t need you to tell me what my job entails!” the doctor snapped. “I’ve been doing it for a good many years.

  Ben stood up, the weight of command heavy on him. “Lamar, I can’t snap my fingers and produce psychologists and psychiatrists out of the air. On the other hand, I can’t just turn these . . . survivors loose to fend for themselves. They wouldn’t last twenty-four hours. All we can do is give them a secure place to live, with adequate food and clothing, and try to mend their minds as we get to them. If we have to jack down the more unruly ones with Thorazine to keep them stable, that’s still better than what they had. Our success rate with these types is not good, but it’s all we can do with what we have. Ol’ buddy, I know how thin we are, and we’re going to get thinner before it starts turning around.” He paused as the last planeload of survivors took off. “Get your people rounded up, we’re pulling out.”

  Ben walked away from the doctor and over to the bikers. “Leadfoot, you spearhead up I-Fifteen. Dusters will be behind you so don’t try to break any speed records. I’ll be coming up behind the tanks with the people here, while the rest of the battalion takes on Pocatello from the north. Shoot any creepie on sight. No pity, no mercy, no prisoners. Take off and stay in radio contact.” Ben walked off, hollering for his team to gather around him.

  “I told you it was gonna get busy around here,” Lamply said.

  Leadfoot checked his Uzi and the grenades hooked onto his battle harness. “Let’s go, boys and girls. And keep in your mind the picture of that little girl we just buried. That’ll make the job a whole lot easier.”

  The bikers hit a manned roadblock at what was left of a tiny hamlet just off I-15. The bikers smashed through and destroyed the creepies before the Dusters could even get to the scene. The bikers were piling up the bodies and pouring gasoline on their stinking carcasses just as Ben rolled up and got out.

  He stood for a moment, surveying the scene. “Good work,” he complimented them. “Take any hits?”

  “Sonny took a round through the leg,” Leadfoot said. “He’s over yonder gettin’ patched up. Wanda got her Hog shot out from under her and busted her ass. Didn’t hurt the Hog none. We killed forty creepies.”

  Ben nodded. “You feel like continuing the spearheading?”

  A wicked look sprang into the biker’s eyes. “I wanna be the first one to ride into Pocatello and stick the muzzle of an Uzi up a creepie’s ass, General.”

  Ben smiled at the Rebel-biker. “We’ll follow you, Leadfoot.”

  The light mist was still falling as the bikers roared out, heading north up the Interstate. They hit no more roadblocks and pulled over two miles south of the silent city.

  “Our people are in place north of the city,” Corrie informed Ben. “Gunners have the coordinates and are ready for your orders.”

  “Have our troops spread out along the west side of the Portneuf River and the northwest side of the Snake,” Ben said. “Heavy machine gun emplacements at all crossings. Let me know when that has been completed,” he got out of the wagon and walked up the old Highway to where the bikers were sitting by their Hogs.

  “We’ll have our gunners soften up the city for us,” he told them. “Then we’ll personally go in and finish off any who survive the bombardment.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Wanda said.

  “What’s the other battalions doin,’ General?” Beerbelly asked.

  “Waiting for us. I told them all to hold what they’ve got. We’ll overwhelm these bastards by sheer force.”

  Ben chatted with the bikers until Corrie got word to him that all troops were in position and machine gun emplacements set up.

  “Commence firing,” Ben ordered.

  The area between the Portneuf River and I-15 erupted in flames as the tanks and self-propelled artillery began pounding it with HE, WP, and napalm. Scouts soon reported they had taken the airport, located just off I-86, and were busy clearing a runway for the resupply planes to use.

  Three hours after the bombardment started, planes were landing at the field.

  “He sure cuts it close, don’t he?” Wanda remarked. “Damn city is under siege and he’s orderin’ planes in through the smoke. Them pilots must have ice water for blood.”

  “Cease fire,” Ben ordered. “Let’s go in, people.”

  What wasn’t lying in ruins was burning and those creepies who survived the intense shelling were running for their lives. They ran straight into the guns of the advancing Rebels.

  The advancing Rebels were savage in their seeking out and destroying of the cannibals. Tank commanders deliberately ran down many they could have much more easily shot, crushing the Night People under the treads. And all over the state, the outlaws and warlords listened to the reports coming out of the ravaged city with fear touching them with a cold hand. This was not like any battle they had ever fought. The Rebels were fighting with dark revenge in their hearts.

  A small percentage of the men and women under the command of the thugs, outlaws, and warlords tried to leave. They soon found themselves looking into the cold eyes of Rebels who had gone in search of prisoners to interrogate.

  And they found out the hard way that Ben Raines’s Rebels got what they wanted from prisoners . . . easy or hard, it didn’t make them the slightest bit of difference. One could be treated decently and speak into a mic while the PSE machines picked up on stress points in their voice, or if one was hostile and uncooperative, the other option was to be pumped full of truth serums and the information gotten that way.

  Those who confessed to having direct dealings with the creepies over the years were promptly taken out and shot or hanged, depending on the mood of the Rebels who took them.

  “The leader of the Starlighters is squalling on the horn,” Corrie told Ben. “He wants to make a deal with us.”

  “What does the voice analysis show?”

  “That he’s lying through his teeth about never dealing with the creepies.”

  “Advise him that the only deal he’s going to get from me is either a rope or a bullet. I don’t make deals with crud.”

  Francis really started squalling when he heard that.

  “We had to survive!” the leader of the Bloody Bandits hollered over the air. “We had to make deals with them. They outnumber us.”

  And on and on and so forth came the pleas from all around the state. Except for the outlaw leader in the interior of the state. And Ben was curious about that.

  “Bump him,” Ben ordered, just after the evening meal. The fires in the city still raged with only an occasional gunshot now. The Rebels were bivouacked in and around what was left of the small town of American Falls. “Let’s find out who he is and what he represents.”

  It didn’t take long for Ben to learn all he needed to know about Red Manlovich.

  “I ain’t no cannibal and I never dealt with them, Raines,” Red radioed. “But I hate your ass as much as I do them cannibals down south.”

  “Why?” Ben asked.

  “Bunches of reasons. You’re a damn nigger-lover for one reason. And you got too goddamn many rules for me to live with.”
/>   “We have far less rules and regulations than the government had before us. And as far as my bending over backward for people of other races, you’re wrong. There are plenty of blacks and Hispanics and people of other races who despise me.”

  “Good for them. If I ever run up on one I’ll shake his hand before I kill him.”

  Ben shook his head at Corrie. “He’s hopeless. In his own way, he’s as bad as the creepies.” Ben lifted the mic. “Surrender now, Manlovich, and there is a good chance you’ll live. Fight us, and you’ll die.”

  “Then come and get me, Raines,” was the shouted defiant reply.

  “I certainly shall,” Ben told him, then added, “Asshole.” He handed the mic back to Corrie, who was laughing at the expression on Ben’s face. “We take the next stretch of the Interstate in the morning. Get me a fix on Ike’s position.”

  She got Ike’s communication truck and handed the mic to Ben just as Ike was patched through.

  “How’s it goin’, Ben?”

  “Pocatello is gone and so are a lot of creepies. What’s your position, Ike?”

  “About thirty-five miles outside of Mountain Home. To the northeast.”

  “Take it in the morning, Ike. I’m pushing off at dawn, heading in your direction.”

  “That’s ten-four, Ben. Consider it done. Where do you want to link up?”

  “Twin Falls.”

  “See you there, ol’ buddy. Shark out.”

  “Patch me through to Dan, Corrie.”

  “Good evening, General,” Dan’s voice came through the speaker.

  Ben smiled at the ever-formal Englishman’s greeting. “What is your position, Dan?”

  “Shoshone. We hit a few pockets of resistance today, and neutralized them. Trash, mostly. All bluster with nothing to back it up. However, we do have some children with us that need to be flown out ASAP.”

  “That’s ten-four, Dan. We’ll try to keep the airport at Twin Falls intact. Right now, I want you to start throwing up a line between Shoshone west to the Interstate, Dan. Block all exit points north. I don’t want these people to have any opportunity to link up with those outlaws in the north.”

  “How about south?”

  “Negative. We don’t have the people to plug all the holes. If they run into Nevada, we’ll deal with them later. I’ve ordered all units north of us to hold what they’ve got. As soon as the southern part is clear, we’ll turn and head north, clearing as we go.”

  “That’s ten-four, General.”

  “Eagle out.” He looked at Corrie. “Now bump Cecil, please.”

  Cec on the horn, Ben said, “Give me a position report, Cec.”

  “Twenty-five miles east of Lewiston, Ben. Rested and ready to go.”

  “Let them sweat awhile, Cec. Georgi has a plan to put them in a box.”

  “Affirmative, Ben.”

  Corrie got General Striganov on the horn. “Georgi, hold what you’ve got. Cec and West are doing the same. Put your plan into effect. If it works, I’m thinking this is not going to be much of a fight.”

  “Yes,” the Russian agreed. “I think we can take them without losing a person.”

  “See you soon, Georgi.” He turned to his immediate crew. “Get some rest, people. Tomorrow might get real busy.”

  EIGHT

  With Leadfoot and his bikers again spearheading, Ben’s column rolled out at dawn, heading west while Ike struck at the Bandits’ position from the north. Ike hit Mountain Home on two fronts with main battle tanks punching the first hole through and crushed the resistance without losing a person or sustaining any wounded. The Bandits who survived ran east to link up with the Starlighters while the Hellraisers pulled out and headed west, to join them all at Twin Falls.

  What’d you want to do with the town, Ben?” Ike radioed. “Or what’s left of it I ought to say. Damn, but these people lived like hogs.”

  “Bring it down, Ike. I’m destroying as we go.”

  “That’s ten-four, Ben. Putting the torch to it now.”

  “We’re doomed!” Francis yelled. “If we stay, they’ll wipe us out to a man.”

  “I hate to say it, but I agree with you,” the leader of the Bloody Bandits said. “The first part anyways. You bein’ a man is up for grabs. And we got nowhere to go but south.”

  “Look here,” the leader of the Hellraisers said, pointing to the east. “Raines is burning Rupert and Burley.”

  Smoke was curving up into the skies, visible from fifty miles away.

  “You know that savage Ike what’s-his-name is doing the same west of us. So it’s Nevada for us, people,” Francis said. “We’re packed up and ready to go.”

  But what they didn’t know was that Ben had sent Buddy and his Rat Team out the night before, racing west over county roads to set up an ambush point on Highway 93, about twenty-five miles south of Twin Falls. And not telling any of the other commanders what he was doing. That was the only logical route for the bunched-up outlaws to take. Ben knew they wouldn’t try for Utah, for they would not be welcome in that state.

  The outlaws left the Twin Falls area very nearly in a blind panic. They had listened to radio reports and knew the rebels were closing in on them from three sides, burning everything in their path. And anybody who had dealt with the Night People could hang it up — the Rebels weren’t taking any prisoners.

  The outlaws pulled out in an assortment of cars, trucks, and motorcycles, leaving behind most of what they had stolen over the years. And rode right into death.

  Buddy and his Rat Team had lined both sides of the highway with Claymores, set up machine gun emplacements, and then had taken turns resting for a few hours. With someone always on sentry duty.

  Several miles north of the ambush site, Buddy had ordered an observation post set up, well off the road and concealed. The observation post radioed in as the outlaws roared past their position, fleeing Ben Raines and his Rebels.

  Several hundred died during the first five seconds of the ambush, as Claymores unleashed their deadly barrage, literally blowing bikers out of the saddle, shredding flesh and breaking bones and slamming bits and pieces of outlaws all over the road.

  The car Francis was riding in was riddled with machine gun fire and the gas tank exploded, cooking any left alive after the machine gun fire. They screamed in agony for only a few seconds.

  The leader of the Bloody Bandits lived long enough to see his little empire literally blow up before his eyes as his driver’s head exploded from .50-caliber machine gun bullets, splattering him with brains. He rolled out of the car and stood for a second, wiping the gore from him. He turned his head and looked straight at a Claymore placed by the side of the road.

  “No!” he managed to say, holding out his hands. “Gimmie a break. I’ll join up with you boys.” Then the Claymore blew and splattered him all over the other side of the highway.

  The Rebels continued spraying the bloody and burning ambush site for another full minute, all their weapons set on full rock and roll.

  Buddy called for a cease-fire.

  The Rebels surfaced from both sides of the road, to stand or squat, leaning against their rifles, as they looked down at the body-littered highway.

  “So much for that shit,” a Rat Team member summed it all up.

  “They’re some alive,” a medic called. “What do you want to do with them?”

  “Nothing,” Buddy said, his eyes as cold as the eyes of his father. “They had a choice. They just chose the wrong one. Let’s go.”

  Ben, Ike, and Dan joined forces on the western edge of Twin Falls. Behind them, the city was burning.

  “Buddy reports the ambush was a success,” Corrie said. “His ETA is one hour.”

  “We’ll wait until he joins us before pulling out,” Ben said. “We’ve got to wait for the birds to fly these kids out, anyway.” He lifted a map. “Dan, the breeding farm of the creepies is located just north of the Snake River. Right here.” He laid a finger on the spot and grimaced. “You cut off of
the Interstate here and neutralize that obscenity.”

  “Right, sir. With pleasure.”

  “Beth, have trucks and medics waiting to go in at Dan’s signal.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We’ll secure the airport at Boise first and fly out any survivors from the farm from there. Now then, this Ted Ashworth and his bunch are putting up a fairly stiff fight against Cecil and West; but Cec says the area should be secured by late afternoon. We’ll hit the Boise/Nampa/Caldwell area at dawn. Start moving the artillery out now.”

  Villar, Khamsin, Ashley, Kenny Parr, and the bikers had found transportation and headed east out of Montana. At an old military base in North Dakota, they found a huge underground warehouse filled with field rations, cold weather clothing, and ammunition.

  The terrorists were back in business.

  After studying a map, Villar called the men together. “We’re going to take the southern route. I don’t see where we have any choice in the matter. We can’t cut across Canada to get to Alaska. The Russian, Striganov, has people who would report us immediately. If we try to cut straight west from here, we’re going to run right into Ben Raines. So we’ll cut south and work our way west, avoiding the Rebel outposts. Just north of the panhandle of Texas, we’ll cut west. We’ve got to stay north of those secure zones in New Mexico and avoid the outposts in Arizona. After that, we’re home free. L.A. is hot with radiation; one of the few places that really did get hit, I think, so we damn sure have to avoid that. Once we hit California, we cut north and keep going.”

  “Lan,” Kenny Parr said. “What in the hell are we going to do in Alaska?”

  “Rebuild our armies. Don’t worry, we’ll find people up there who will be willing to join us. The place is teeming with outlaws. The trick is to pull them all together. And that’s very easily done. I know; I did it all over Europe.”

  “And it will give us a couple of years of freedom from that goddamned Ben Raines,” Ashley said.

  “Exactly,” Lan agreed. “We can also use the time to build up artillery and tanks. There were several military posts up there that Raines’s people didn’t get to. We’ll get to them and get that equipment in shape.”