Valor in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

Ben laughed at her. “You have a hang-up about people lusting about your body, kid. You can put that pistol away, too, Jerre. It’s not going to fire unless you cock it.”

  She grinned at him. “I don’t think it has any bullets in it anyway. I don’t know how to load the stupid thing.” She tossed the pistol into the ditch.

  It bounced off a rock and fired, blowing a chunk of wood out of a tree.

  Ben looked at her and slowly shook his head.

  That was the beginning . . . and in some ways, it went downhill from there.

  While she soaked her ankle in a cold little creek, they talked, with her alternately bitching about the temperature of the water and how she would probably catch pneumonia, or how her foot would surely rot off from radiation.

  She had just started her second year of college, up in Maryland, when the bombs came and everybody got sick. She had gotten sick and survived while most of the others died around her.

  The whole experience was gross. The absolute pits, man.

  They touched on the subject of music. Briefly. When Ben had told her his opinion of certain types of rock and roll music, she had cocked her head to one side, blond hair falling over one eye, and stared at him for a time. “I think, Ben, that if we’re going to be friends, we’d better not discuss our tastes in music.”

  “Or until you grow up.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Why were you walking and not driving? Millions of cars and trucks around with the keys in them.”

  “I felt like walking, that’s why.”

  The logic of Jerre.

  “How come, Ben, we’re not all falling over dead from radiation sickness? I mean, I thought great clouds of that stuff would be floating around.”

  “Clean bombs, Jerre.”

  She cut her eyes. “Clean bombs? What kind of silliness is that?”

  “I guess it is silly, after a fashion.”

  Then she admitted she had heard of him other than being a writer. She had heard he was commander of a great Rebel army.

  Ben got a kick out of that. “That’s what people keep telling me. I have been avoiding them, I suppose.”

  “Why?”

  “Do I look like a general to you, Jerre?”

  She had to admit, he did not. Just kind of big and tough-looking and sort of old.

  “Thanks, Jerre.”

  “Forty, I’d guess.”

  “Thereabout,” Ben said dryly.

  Her eyes shone with mischief. “But I like a little gray in a man’s hair.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I think you’ll hook up with the Rebels, Ben Raines. I think you’re a decent man who will almost always do the right thing. I think you’ve got the right stuff, Ben Raines.”

  “Thanks for the latter. No way to the former.”

  “Yeah, I think you will, Ben. You’ll walk around it for a time, but you’ll join them, and probably, eventually, lead them. I’ve read some of your books. You’re a dreamer and a romanticist and you’d like to go back to the laws of a hundred years ago. Maybe that’s what the country needs. No harm in trying, is there?” she winked at him. “Hey, General?”

  “You’re a nut.” He smiled at her.

  “But a pretty nut.” She laughed. A Carly Simon tune came to Ben’s mind.

  “Yeah,” he said softly. “You are a pretty nut.”

  “Gonna be dark soon, Ben.”

  “Yes.” He looked at her ankle. Some of the swelling was gone. “We’ll find a place. You’ll be safe with me.”

  “I believe that. But the dark . . . scares me. It didn’t used to. Until . . .” She let that trail off.

  She told him about finding her parents. The man who lived next door had survived. He tried to rape her. She’d hit him with a fireplace poker. “Something popped when I hit him, Ben. I think I killed him. He wasn’t breathing and I wasn’t about to stick around and do any nursing. I just took off.”

  She was silent for a time. Finally, Ben took her hand and helped her up. “We’ll find us a place to spend the night, Jerre. Fix us some dinner.”

  She studied him for a moment. And right then and there, by that little creek, Ben fell in love. That onetime-only sort of love. That kind of love that a person knows, if given a chance, was so strong that only death could part them . . . providing, he was to reluctantly admit as the years marched past, both parties felt the same way. “All right, Ben,” she said quietly.

  He lay in his bed that night and had to smile at all that Jerre had said that afternoon and evening. She was a character, a true one-of-a-kind.

  And Ben was falling more deeply in love with every word from her mouth, every moment that slipped by.

  She came to his bed; Ben could smell the clean, fresh soap smell of her.

  “You’re not like any man I have ever met, General-author Ben Raines. I think you’re a tough man, but a sensitive one, and that you try to hide that sensitive side.”

  “Perhaps.”

  She limped to the bed and sat down.

  They talked for a time and when she came to him, all soft and warm and full of fire and excitement and youth. She softly yelled as the first climax shook her, and then they settled into the ageless rhythm of the game with only victors to signify the coming of Omega.

  And while the world tumbled in chaos about them . . . two were not alone.

  Jersey touched him on the shoulder. “General.” He looked up at her. “Gettin’ hot, sir. You’re making the others nervous. Afraid you’ll get hit by a stray.”

  “You’re right, Jersey. Sorry.” Ben rose to his boots. Looked at his watch. Only a few minutes had gone by while he had allowed himself to be lost in dreams. He glanced at the twenty-two-story red brick building of Number Four New York Plaza. “Come on, Jersey. Let’s see a little action. I’m in a dandy mood to work off some mad.”

  “Whatever you say, sir,” the half-pint with the M-16 replied. As they walked toward the doors of the buildings, Jersey asked, “One of us do something to get you angry, sir?”

  “No, Jersey. I did it to myself. You ever had an itch you couldn’t quite reach to scratch?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ve had one for years.”

  Ben pushed open the doors and the stench assailed his nostrils. No doubt about it: the enemy was present. Hiding in the gloom. But Ben was sure they’d be too smart to stay at ground level. He looked back; a squad of Rebels had joined them.

  “Everybody in gloves and masks,” he ordered. “And everybody damn well better be in body armor. Split your team. Check below. You people take the second floor. I’ll take Jersey and start on the third floor. Move.”

  Bones on the steps leading up. Human bones. Somewhere in the city, the Night People had to have a breeding farm, breeding human beings for food.

  But where?

  Ben tried the fire door on the third floor. Locked. He motioned Jersey back and pulled the pin on a grenade, wedging it between bar and door, then stepped back to join Jersey behind a stone wall at the first angle of steps.

  The explosion was nearly deafening in the closed space. The door blew off its hinges and was knocked inward as shrapnel bounced around in a deadly rain. Ben keyed his mike. “We’re all right. Just blowing a door.” He motioned Jersey to follow him and to stay behind him. She didn’t like it, but obeyed.

  Ben advanced slowly up the smoke- and dust-filled stairway, the Thompson off safety, set on full auto. He stepped onto the third floor, and a foul-smelling, dark-robed creature came howling at him from across the dusty, musty corridor.

  Ben gave him some .45 rounds for lunch, and the nasty stopped abruptly in the hallway, then was propelled backward as if hit by a giant fist. The being — Ben couldn’t tell if it was male or female — sat down in the hall and died.

  Ben walked over to it and jerked back the hood. The face was horribly burned — by fire or radiation Ben could not be sure.

  He dropped the hood back over the abomination and motioned Jersey to follow him.

&
nbsp; The stench here was much worse than on the ground floor. Ben fought back an urge to gag. Cutting his eyes, he could tell that Jersey was struggling to hang onto her lunch.

  “I guess we’ll get used to it.” He spoke through his mask.

  “They must have a terrific sex life.” Jersey rolled her eyes. “Can you just imagine?”

  “Please, Jersey. The mere thought is enough to make one join the monkhood.”

  She laughed. “But not for very long.”

  “True.”

  A very slight puff of dust at the corridor’s end brought Ben up short, his arm outstretched to halt Jersey. He whispered, “Some nasties around that corner. Roll a grenade in with me.”

  She nodded and pulled the pin, holding the spoon down, waiting for Ben. Just at the last second, to prevent the grenades from being tossed back at them, they lobbed them around the corner and pressed up against a wall.

  The fragmentation grenades blew bits and chunks of nasties all over the dirty corridor. One rolled to its feet and Jersey’s M-16 barked.

  They waited. Only the sounds of someone, or something, moaning could be heard.

  “Drag your funky butt out of there!” Jersey shouted.

  The wounded unfriendly cursed them.

  Ben began inching his way toward the sound, staying close to the wall. Jersey slipped to the other side, staying even with Ben.

  With a maddened scream, the subhuman charged around the corner, a shotgun in its dirty and bloody hands. Jersey and Ben fired as one, .223 and .45 slugs stopping the nasty dead in its tracks.

  Crouching down, the two Rebels waited. The sounds of gunfire had ceased on the floors below them. Footsteps were heard coming up behind them. Ben cut his eyes. Rebels. They crouched down beside Ben in the now blood-splattered hallway.

  “Everything is clear below us, General.”

  Ben nodded. “I think we’re clear here, too.” He stood up and started walking toward the corridor opening. The Rebel blocked his way with a seemingly unintentional movement; Ben knew it was anything but that.

  Members of the team moved ahead, checked out the body-littered hallway, and waved the rest forward just as Ben’s walkie-talkie spewed its message.

  “We’re filling up in the park, Dad,” Tina’s voice reached him. “Need you down here.”

  Ben had a suspicion that he was deliberately being called out of combat for no good reason — other than to get him clear.

  He acknowledged the message and turned to leave, Jersey following him. “Handle the bodies carefully and stack them in the designated burn areas, people. Secure the building.”

  He stepped out of the building, into the fall sun, and looked around him. Nearly all the Rebels assigned to his personal command had made the trip to Lower Manhattan; Jeeps and trucks and light tanks and APC’s were now being towed over.

  Ben suddenly realized he was neatly surrounded by Rebels, all of them staying a discreet distance away. And they were not Rebels from his personal battalion.

  Seeing the irritation on his face, Jersey said, “Those are from General Ike’s group, sir. They’re just obeying orders. If you fuss at them, you’ll just be putting them between a rock and a hard place.”

  His slight anger vanished as Ben smiled. Ike had done it to him again, covering him like a blanket. “You’re right, Jersey. Come on, let’s get this circus on the road. I want this place completely cleared by nightfall.”

  “Water is going to be at a premium,” Ben told his commanders. “At least for a while. One-minute showers. Pass the word.” He had just received casualty reports. One dead, five wounded, one seriously. The dead Rebel had not been wearing his body armor. Ben did not have to lecture any of his commanders. He knew the next person found without body armor was going to get his or her butt kicked.

  The sky was darkening as twilight settled in. Guards had been mounted around the perimeters of the tiny part of Manhattan the Rebels had cleared. Ben had nixed the burning of bodies. Gasoline was too precious to waste burning these damned ugly cannibals. The bodies would be taken out and tossed onto a barge, anchored in the river, and would be towed out to sea once a day and dumped. Let the sharks dine.

  Colonel West and his mercenaries had fought their way to just south of Newark Airport. They would try to take the field tomorrow.

  Ike and his people had hammered their way into Bayonne; his plan was eventually to clear J.F.K. Boulevard all the way to the Holland Tunnel and clear that over to Manhattan. The George Washington Bridge plan had been junked as too time-consuming. It would have to wait.

  Cecil and his Rebels had crossed over into Brooklyn and were attempting to clear everything within the loop from Bay Ridge over to the Shore Parkway. The fighting, according to radio communiqués, had been fierce, but Rebel losses very light.

  Ben and Jersey rode over to the park.

  There, he inspected the aid station and, unable to locate Holly, who was supposed to be in charge, spoke briefly with Doctor Chase.

  “I reassigned her to Cecil’s battalion, Ben. They’re taking more heat over there.”

  If Ben had a comment, he kept it to himself. Chase ran the medical teams with a free hand.

  “Had dinner?” Ben asked.

  “No. I was about to ask you to join me for a bite of our delicious cuisine. Alone. I’ve got to tell you something, Ben.”

  “I sensed something was up. All of you have been behaving oddly. So you got elected to buck the tiger, eh, Lamar?”

  “I elected myself because I’m too goddamned old to be afraid of you or anybody else! Come on.”

  The two friends sat on a bench in a secure area and unwrapped what currently passed for field rations. The food wasn’t very good, but it was nutritious. The best part was when it was over. Chase maintained it was good. He wouldn’t admit it was awful.

  “New York City had about fifteen thousand restaurants before the war,” Chase bitched. “You’d think someone would have the good graces to reopen one.” He said that with a smile.

  His smile faded at Ben’s reply. “Considering just who makes up the majority in the city now, I’d hate to see the menu.”

  Chase looked at his packet of food and grimaced. “That was uncalled for, Raines. Jesus!”

  Ben chuckled.

  He stopped chuckling when Chase said, “Jerre just reported in at the replacement depot on Staten Island.”

  SIX

  Monte looked at the report just handed him. The last thing in the world the warlord wanted to do was mix it up with Ben Raines and his Rebels. Even though he had Raines outmanned by several battalions, his people did not have, and never would have, the professionalism of the Rebels. And he knew why: Monte’s people were not fighting for a cause. The warlord knew that his troops stayed together for the basest of reasons: greed, women, power, a chance to exercise their cruelty and perversion, and for some degree of safety.

  But the Night People had been good to Monte over the years. Good, to Monte’s way of thinking. And it was really getting better as their breeding farms grew in number. Monte and his men always had their choice of young girls and the best-looking women — sometimes young boys, for those under his command who leaned in that direction. Since many of the Night People claimed to be unable to sire or bear children — he didn’t know whether he believed that or not — it was up to Monte and his men to impregnate the captured women . . . a job they all looked forward to.

  No, Monte thought, as he crumpled the paper and tossed it aside, this confrontation had to be. If he could get Ben Raines out of the way, the entire United States would be open to him, and his perversions could go unchecked for the remainder of his worthless life.

  But, he thought, as a sour taste lay on his tongue, that damned Russian, Striganov, had given his troops the go-ahead to pursue Monte to New York; two battalions of Russian troops and one battalion of Canadians were hot on his tail, rushing to help Ben Raines, Colonel Rebet commanding the Russians and Major Danjou commanding the Canadians.

 
Goddamn them!

  Monte smiled as a plan slipped like a poisonous snake into his brain. Yes — it might work.

  After all, Manhattan was an island — at least on three sides. He would send a runner to the Judges.

  “They are spread dangerously thin,” one of the Judges spoke. “But they are aware that most of us can tolerate light for a time.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” another Judge asked querulously.

  “It means they are ready to fight all the time. It means we cannot use our aversion to light to surprise or trick them into an ambush.”

  “They are slowly, slowly advancing,” the woman Judge who sat in the center of the council circle said. “But advancing is the key word.”

  “Where is Monte?”

  “Coming, but with trouble on his heels. A Canadian and Russian combat force is pursuing them. They will surely link up with the Hated One.”

  “We could slip out, get away,” it was suggested.

  “Even if that were possible, which I doubt, they would just find us again. No,” she spoke with a sigh, “this must be a battle to the finish. But we must change our tactics.” She leaned forward. “I have a plan . . .”

  “Who in the goddamn hell OK’d her transfer up here?” Ben spoke through clenched teeth.

  “Ben,” Lamar tried to calm his friend, “whatever you and Jerre had — and according to you, it was damn little and all one-sided — happened years ago. Her name would be meaningless to some young man or woman in records.”

  “Guess this pretty well blows away the rumors that she died.”

  “Would you prefer her dead, Ben?”

  Ben did not reply.

  “How long has it been since you’ve seen her, Ben?”

  “Long time, Lamar. Just a quick glance then.”

  “And you still love her?”

  “Oh, yes. Loved her all the time I was lying to Salina. Loved her all the times I was lying to all the others.”

  “What is it about her, Ben?”

  Ben shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s . . . ah . . . just one of those loves that only come around one time in a person’s life. And you never forget them. Never. Her face has been just behind my eyes all these years. Jesus! No fool like an old fool sure tags me right.”