Anarchy in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  Roy was a Ute Indian and Judy was half Jewish. It made them feel just a bit uncomfortable.

  And the young ladies with Mike – Mikael, Roy felt would be the correct way to spell his name – they were all just as pretty as Mike was handsome.

  On the second day of their roles as wandering young people, one of the young ladies with the IPF zeroed in on Roy.

  “Hi,” she said, walking up to where Roy was sitting on the grass. “My name is Katrina.”

  Roy looked up at her. Very pretty. About five-five, blue eyes, blond hair, fair-skinned. Very well endowed. No makeup. He wondered if she spelled her name with a C or a K? “Roy,” he said, getting to his feet.

  “How do you like it so far?” Katrina asked.

  Roy returned her smile. The opening was just too good to let slide by. “I don’t know,” he said, “yet.”

  She looked puzzled for a moment, then the double meaning came to her. She smiled, but the smile did not quite touch her eyes. They remained as cold as the land she reportedly was from. “Yes,” she said, “I see. A joke. That’s funny.” She laughed.

  Roy thought the laughter sounded very false. “I’m sorry if I offended you.”

  “You didn’t,” she was quick to reply. “A society without humor would be very drab indeed. Tell me, Roy, what are you going to report to General Raines?”

  Roy felt the first mild clutches of panic grab at his guts. He kept his expression bland, but his face felt hot and he knew he was flushed. He thanked the gods for his dark complexion.

  “Don’t try to deny it, Roy.” She stood calm and self-assured. “You and Judy were not on the campus six hours before we discovered you both were not what you pretended to be.”

  Roy decided to level with her. There was something about the young woman. He kept picking up strange vibes that suggested – he hoped – she was not really happy with her role in the IPF.

  “Very well, Katrina. I will report to General Raines that you and the others in your party are here spreading communist dogma.”

  She cocked her head to one side and looked at him. “Dogma. A good word. I like it. I shall retain that word for usage. Aren’t you in the least interested in how we discovered your secret?”

  Roy shrugged. He wondered if he was going to have to shoot his way out of this bind. He had a 9mm submachine in his kit, and could feel the weight of the .38 pressing against the skin of his belly. He wondered where Judy was.

  “I noticed the minute we arrived we didn’t exactly fit in with the crowd.”

  “How?” she asked politely.

  “Other than the fact I’m Indian and Judy is Jewish, I think we are too well-fed, too healthy, and that we walk with a military bearing, perhaps. Is that good enough for you?”

  “Yes. That is correct. That is totally accurate. Thank you.”

  She sounded like a computer. “Are you a clone, or something?” Roy asked her.

  She cocked her head to the other side. Roy felt something soft touch his heart. Oh boy, he thought. Feelings of gentleness for a goddamned Russian, he berated himself. Roy, you’re coming unwrapped. But she sure was pretty.

  “Clone? I do not understand that. What is a clone?”

  “Your speech is perfect. Your dress is perfect. Your posture is perfect. Your hair is perfect. Are you real?”

  This time the smile touched her eyes. “Would you like to touch me to see for yourself?”

  Roy smiled, mischief in his eyes. If, the young man thought, I’m to be hanged anyway, I might as well make the best of a bad situation. He reached out and cupped a soft breast.

  Katrina did not pull away. But her eyes darkened a bit.

  “I guess you are real,” Roy said, removing his hand reluctantly.

  Katrina licked her lips. “Why . . . what was the purpose of touching me there?”

  “Because I wanted to touch you there.”

  She looked confused for a moment. “In your society, does one always do what one wishes to?”

  “No, of course not. What I just did was wrong. It would be considered very rude and I’d probably get slapped for doing it.”

  That only seemed to confuse her more. “Why, I mean, it felt . . . nice.”

  Now Roy was confused. “You’re, ah, you’ve never been touched, I mean, like that before?”

  She shook her head. “Oh no! Any type of ... sexual touching is not permitted before the committee chooses a marriage partner.”

  “What? I mean, Katrina, are you supposed to be telling me all this?”

  “That is correct. I am not.”

  “Then why are you telling me?”

  Again she shook her head. Her eyes, once so cold, now seemed troubled. “I . . . don’t know why. You’re... different, I think.”

  Roy had been correct: The girl was not happy with her life. “How old are you, Katrina?”

  “I believe I have seventeen years of age.”

  She believes? Jailbait, Roy thought. But if we have no nation, then we have no laws. And if we have no laws . . . He shook that thought away.

  “What do you mean, Katrina, that bit about a marriage partner being chosen? I never heard of such a thing.”

  “How many years do you have, Roy?”

  “I’m twenty-three. Don’t you want to answer my question?”

  She hesitated, cut her eyes toward a group of people gathered a few hundred meters away, then took his arm. Her touch was warm to his skin. “Let’s walk around some, Roy.”

  They walked the weed-filled campus, heading away from the crowd.

  Katrina said, “I was chosen to confront you with the news of your discovery. Your deception. I was instructed to let you run if that was to be your choice of action.”

  “The IPF would have killed me?”

  “No. I do not believe so. That is not supposed to be our mission. But with Mike one never knows. There are members of the IPF surrounding this institution. They would have stopped you.”

  “Judy?”

  “The Jewess? She would have been taken alive. She would probably have been . . . would have become one of the pleasure women.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “Male/female contact in any sexual manner is strictly forbidden in our society. To preserve the races. But males over the age of twenty-one are allowed to satisfy themselves with selected women who have been altered.”

  Roy looked at her, not understanding any of this.

  “Altered women cannot bear offspring,” she explained matter-of-factly.

  “I see. I think. Let me see if I can put the rest of this... story together, Katrina. You people – your leaders – practice selective breeding among humans?”

  “That . . . is one way of putting it, yes. We – they – are attempting to purify the races.”

  “Blond hair, blue eyes, fair skin?”

  “Yes. Most of us.”

  Something yanked gently at Roy’s mind. Something he had read or heard or seen about some other person or group, a long time ago, who had strived for the same thing. He couldn’t bring the person or group to mind. He thought it had something to do with Europe. Long time back. Before his parents were even born.

  “There are no people of color in your society?” he asked.

  She looked at him as though he had asked a very stupid question. “No. That is why we chose Iceland. Theirs is practically a pure race.”

  Germany! The word leaped into his consciousness. It had something to do with Germany. And some guy with a funny name. But history had never been one of Roy’s favorite subjects, and like so many others his age, his education was erratic at best.

  “What will you – your people – do with the different races here in America, Katrina?”

  She shrugged. “Over a period of time, we shall breed all colors out. That will take many generations, but our leaders believe it can be done. Our learned people have said so.”

  Hitler. Roy found the man’s name. More flooded into the light of consciousness. The Gestapo, the SS. Concentra
tion camps. Extermination. Gas chambers. The horror he had seen in old movies. He looked at Katrina. He just could not believe she could do such things to another human being.

  But he also knew that looks could be very deceiving.

  Katrina said, “Our people have taught us that people of color are inferior to us. From what I have seen – or have been allowed to see – I tend to believe it.” She seemed eager to talk and Roy wondered if he was being set up for a fall. For some reason, he didn’t believe so.

  “People can’t help what color they’re born with, Katrina.”

  “That is certainly true, at this time. But we can change all that, our leaders say. And when we do, the world will be a better place to live.”

  “Katrina.”

  “Most call me Kat. That’s with a K.”

  “All right, Kat. Why are you telling me all this?”

  They had come to a small wooded area, just off campus. They sat down on a bench by a broken walkway.

  Kat was deep in thought and silence for a few moments. Roy did not attempt to break into her reverie.

  “What do you know about Iceland, Roy?”

  “Very little.”

  “Icelanders are – were – great readers. They loved literature. When I was younger, I found a huge wooden box of books in the basement of the home where I lived.”

  “With your parents?”

  “No. I don’t even know who my parents are. I don’t know whether I was born in Russia or Iceland. I am just here. That is all many of us were told. That is the way. Parents are not important after the birthing. Children are kept in special places called communes until they are six years of age. During that time they are taught, beginning at an early age. After intelligence is tested and determined, the child is placed in a home-setting appropriate to the intelligence of child and male and female sponsor. The environment is tightly controlled. One is trained to do one thing and that is what that person will do. That, forever.

  “But I was talking about books. I never knew there were so many different books. Our reading is selected for us – we have no choice in the matter. But these books . . . oh my, they were wonderful. They were about everything. Life and love and mystery and adventure and romance and, oh, just about everything!

  “I had never seen anything like it, and I knew because I had never seen them before that the books were forbidden. I said nothing about them, for in our society you never know who will report you to the committee for some infraction of the rules.”

  “The committee?”

  “Each street in all cities have committee persons living on it. One or two people. No one ever knows exactly how many. You don’t have them?”

  “No!” Roy was both horrified and fascinated.

  “Then how do you keep order?”

  “By rules, Kat. We all know the rules and we obey them.”

  “But what happens if you don’t obey the rules?”

  “If you get caught you get punished.”

  “If you get caught?”

  “That’s right.”

  “That seems a rather lax way of doing things.”

  “Freedom requires some degree of looseness, Kat.”

  “You are free?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “You can do whatever you like?”

  “Within reason.”

  “Who sets the reason?”

  “Common sense.”

  “That must be interesting. Anyway, I found about a dozen books – paperbacks – by a writer named Ben Raines.”

  Roy smiled.

  “Did I say something amusing?”

  “No, Kat. Go on.”

  She looked at him strangely. “This writer, of the same name as your general, he wrote of many things, of monsters and werewolves and fighting men – the only true heroes – and love and honor and, oh, everything! One person did all that. That is not permitted in our society.”

  “I don’t understand, Kat.”

  “One person is designated to write of one specific subject, be it history, philosophy, whatever. He will devote his life to that subject matter and nothing else.”

  “Kat, that sounds awfully boring to me.”

  She sighed. “I . . . feel the same way, Roy.”

  “You’re not happy with your life, are you, Kat?”

  “Happy is unimportant. It is the state that matters.”

  “But you don’t believe that anymore, do you, Kat?”

  She put her head on his shoulder and began to weep.

  Roy didn’t know what to do.

  FOUR

  “They should have been back by now,” Ben said to Colonel Gray. “You told them to return in two days, right, Dan?”

  “Affirmative, General. And not to take any chances. They should have been back by last night.”

  “Mount up,” Ben said. “We’ll just leave the civilians outside the campus and just roll right in – face these people. That might be the one way to make the kids come to their senses.”

  “And it might backfire, General.”

  “There is that to consider, too, Dan. But I’m not going to toss Judy and Roy to the wolves without a fight. Or to the bears, as the case may be. Just to be on the safe side, Dan, when we get to the outskirts of the campus, you take a team and infiltrate the buildings, give me a backup.”

  “Will do, General.”

  They were on the outskirts of Rolla two hours later, with Ben trying to convince the new members it would be in their best interest to stay clear of the college area. None of them bought his plan, especially Gale. She puffed up, stuck out her chin and marched up to Ben.

  Ben braced for a confrontation.

  “Mr. President, General – whatever. Are you trying to dump us?”

  “Ms. Roth,” Ben said patiently. “I have a great many things on my mind right now, and you are not making any of them any easier to resolve with your stupid goddamn questions?”

  “I only asked one.”

  Ben looked toward the sky as if seeking some advice from a higher power.

  Gale shifted the kid from left to right hip. Ben still didn’t know the kid’s name. Woman and baby glared at him.

  It must be contagious, Ben thought.

  “Ms. Roth, I have absolutely no intention of leaving anyone behind. But if matters deteriorate to the point where fast, violent action is the only way left us, I do not want a bunch of helpless civilians mucking about, getting in the way, hollering and bawling and being what they are: useless in any type of fire-fight. Now, Ms. Roth, is that perfectly clear?”

  “It sure is. We’re going with you.” She turned to leave.

  “Your ass, baby,” Ben said.

  Gale spun around, off balance with the child perched on one hip. She almost fell. Ben caught her.

  She jerked away from his hands and said, “Don’t call me baby!”

  “OK, honey.”

  She glared at him then walked off, muttering about sexism still prevailing among men who should know better. But, she concluded, just loud enough for Ben to hear, anyone who wrote shtup books for a living couldn’t be anything but a sexist. And a male chauvinist pig, too. And other things that a lady should never even think, much less mention aloud. In public.

  Ben laughed at her. “Are you any relation to Gloria Steinem?”

  “I wish,” she called over her shoulder. “Were you any relation to Hilton Logan?”

  “Bite your tongue!”

  Ben grinned, thinking: Things sure had gotten livelier since she joined the parade.

  Over the loud and sometimes heated protests of his people, Ben went into the campus alone, ordering his Rebels to dismount and prepare for a fire-fight, but hoping it would not come to that. Yet. Colonel Gray had his orders and, with a carefully selected team, quietly set about carrying them out.

  Ben walked slowly up the weed-grown and cracked drive of the long-deserted college, toward a group of young men and women gathered in front of a building. They fell silent at his approach.

&n
bsp; “President Raines,” someone muttered.

  “Aw, come on. No way,” another young person said.

  “Yeah, ain’t no way he’d be here.”

  “That’s General Raines,” a young woman said, her eyes on the tall figure walking toward them. “Believe it.”

  “Wonder what he wants with us?”

  Some of the young people began backing away, to the left and right. Ben’s reputation of shooting first and asking questions later had preceded him.

  “President-General Raines,” a voice called from the steps of the building. “What an honor to have you join us. My name is Mike. What can I, or we, do for you?”

  Ben looked at the young man. Tall and blond and well-built and blue-eyed. His eyes picked out many more like Mike. They looked as though they could have been brothers and sisters.

  “Just looking for a couple of young friends of mine,” Ben told him, his voice carrying over the now-silent crowd. The butt of the Thompson rested on his right hip. A thirty-round clip was stuck in its belly, another thirty-round clip taped to that, for fast reloading. “Judy Stratmann and Roy Jaydot. Perhaps you’ve seen them?”

  Mikael smiled. He had been well-trained, and was highly intelligent. He felt he could probably convince the general he had not seen either. But what he wasn’t sure of was how many troops the general had backing him up. And any convincing would have to be done privately; to lie now – openly – in front of the American young people would destroy everything he had so carefully constructed over the past two weeks.

  “Yes, of course, I’ve seen them. They are here now, studying and learning.”

  “Well, then,” Ben said with a smile. “You won’t mind if I speak to them, will you?”

  Mikael’s smile had not wavered. “Of course not.” He turned to a young lady and spoke quietly. He swung his gaze back to Ben as the young IPF member walked away. “They will be along presently, General.”

  “Fine. Don’t let me interrupt your lecture. You must be quite a speaker to hold the attention of so many young people. My speeches used to bore a lot of them.”

  Small laughter among the crowd.

  Without losing his smile, which, to Ben’s way of thinking, was a cross between a smirk and being downright smart-assed, the young man said, “Perhaps, sir, with all due respect, you did not speak to them on the right topic?”