Circle OF DEATH
  A crowd of ragged men and women had gathered around
the pickup. They were armed with clubs, axes,
knives, and spears.
  "The welcoming committee," Ben Raines said
softly.
  "What do you want here?" a woman shouted at
Ben and Judy.
  "We don't mean you any harm," said Ben
calmly, hoping for the best. "We're just traveling
through."
  "Why did you stop?" a man called. He held
an axe in his hands.
  "People on the roofs with bows and arrows," Judy
whispered.
  "I see them. If shooting starts, you
take the south side of the street, I'll take the
north."
  "All right."
  "We don't want any trouble," Ben called
out. But he was going to get trouble-and plenty of it!
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Alone in the Ashes
  BY WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE
  ZEBRA BOOKS
  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
475 Park Avenue South
New York, NY 10016
Copyright [*copygg'1985 by William W.
Johnstone
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be
reproduced in any form or by any means without the
prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting
brief quotes used in reviews.
Fourth printing: June, 1992
Printed in the United States of America
To Charles and Linda Abraham
  All I want of you is a little servility, and that
of the commonest goddamnest kind.
  Anonymous
  Them's my sentiments.
  Thackeray
  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and
incidents are either the product of the author's
imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Prologue
  Ben knew he should feel some sort of regret;
some feeling of sadness or sorrow at leaving his people-and
they were
his
people-behind.
  But the only feeling he could muster up was a
feeling of freedom.
  "Free at last," Ben said aloud, with only the
wind and the truck to hear him.
  And they gave no reply.
  He shook his head at the paraphrasing of
Doctor King's famous statement, and wondered how
many young blacks, a decade and a half after the world
had exploded in nuclear and germ warfare, could even
say who King was? Or for that matter, Ben
pondered as he drove, how many young whites knew
anything about J. F. K., or Watergate?
  Most were too busy just staying alive in this world
gone mad, Ben concluded. They didn't have time for
school-even in those areas where school was available.
  He sighed, the rush of cold wind carrying the sound
  away, out into the brisk autumn afternoon air.
  He was not making very good time, even with the new truck
his people had provided for him. The highways were getting
worse and worse. And for some reason Ben could not
fathom, highway maps were becoming as scarce as
hen's teeth. Any map printed between '89 and '98
was to be treasured. He had heard that people were killing
over highway maps. A good map could bring food,
weapons, ammo, and on occasion, women.
  Ben could not prevent a bitter laugh from pouring
past his lips.
  If a person could not understand the written word, how
could they comprehend a map? And Ben knew from
experience that a full seventy-five percent of those
born after the World War of '88 were illiterate.
  He had turned west at the deserted Tennessee
town of McMinnville. A crude sign had
stated Highway 70 leading north was closed
to traffic, and another sign had stated Highway
56 north was closed to traffic. Ben doubted they were
closed for any other reason except the whim of a
local warlord or some religious nut who wanted a
closed society to practice his or her mumblings
upon.
  On impulse, Ben jerked his Thompson
submachine gun free of the clamps that held it
upright, and laid the old weapon on the seat beside him.
  "You and me, old boy," he said with a smile,
"are outdated." He patted the smooth stock. "But
we can still spit and snarl, can't we?"
  Ben wore a .45 semiautomatic pistol
belted around his waist and a long bladed Bowie
knife on his left hip. In the rear of the
camper-covered bed of the pickup,
  Ben carried a myriad of survival gear.
Tent and sleeping bag, extra clothing, a
case of grenades, and two cases of
.45-caliber ammunition. A rocket launcher
and a case of rockets for the tube. Cases of food
and jugs of water. He had a Weatherby 30-06 with
scope, and a Remington model 1100 S.
W.a.t. shotgun with an extended tube that held
enough three-inch magnums to stop a rampaging Cape
buffalo. Strapped to both sides of the Chevy
pickup, and on a special framework built on
top, he carried five-gallon cans of extra
gas. He had enough radio equipment in the truck
to transmit anywhere within what used to be known as the
United States of America.
  After more than a decade of leading his people, constantly
searching for a place to put down roots and live and
work and grow and rebuild from out of the ashes, Ben
Raines was pulling out, heading out by himself.
  He would be alone. In the ashes.
BOOK ONE
Chapter 1
  Ben pulled off the highway just outside of what
remained of Woodbury, Tennessee. Tucking his
truck behind a farmhouse on the east side of the
highway, Ben sat for several minutes, his eyes
searching for signs of life. Falling back
on years of experience, Ben knew after only a
moment that he was alone.
  He inspected the house, cautiously going from
room to room. The house was, of course,
ankle-deep with the litter left behind by rats and
mice. When the rodents had eaten everything they could
find to eat, they had left. But once they had done
that, the roaches had followed.
  The house was crawling with living waves of brown
movement.
  Ben pulled out of that locale and spent the night
sleeping in the cramped space under his camper.
  He awakened to a cold dawn, under a sky that
promised rain very soon. The dull grayness of the
sky matched the landscape that surrounded Ben.
Everything around him seemed lifeless.
  He didn't like this area, didn't like the feeling of
foreboding it offered him. Skipping breakfast of any
sort, Ben cranked the engine and pulled out, finding
Highway 53 and taking that until connecting with a
road that would take him to Interstate 40, at
Lebanon. There, he drove over the interstate and
pulled off the highway at the outskirts of town.
  Smoke from wood and coal fires drifted up from
houses in the coolness of morning. But, as
Ben had so often sadly observed over the years, the
homes were not centralized or grouped for safety or
work. They were widely separated, which meant to Ben-and
it had been proved time after time-that the people were not
organized. And in these times of anarchy and warlords, and
roaming gangs of thugs and punks and creeps and
assorted savages, not to be organized was an
invitation to die quickly.
  And to let what was left of civilization die.
  Ben spotted the gang of young men and women long
before they spotted him.
  Go on, Ben! he urged himself silently. Go
on. Just pull out and avoid trouble.
  But he knew he would not. That flaw, if it was a
flaw, and Ben thought not, within him was rearing up.
  Ben lifted his Thompson and cradled it,
clicking the .45-caliber submachine gun in his
arms. He got out of the pickup and stood by the hood
of the truck, watching as the young people spotted him.
  Back in my day, Ben thought, they would be called
punks.
  I'll still call them punks, he thought.
  Ben stood tall and rangy and loose by his
truck. The years had peppered his hair with gray and
had put a few
  lines in his face. But as Doctor Chase had
told him, "For a man your age, Raines, you're in
disgustingly good shape."
  "Clean living," Ben had said with a smile, knowing
what response that would bring from the crusty old
ex-Navy doctor.
  "Horse shit!" Doctor Chase had replied.
"You're going to be a dirty old man, Raines."
  "What do you mean, "going to be?"
  "Hey, Dads!" one of the young men called.
"They's a toll for passin" through here."
  The young man was tall and slender and blond. He
was dressed in dirty jeans, heavy boots, and
wore a black leather jacket. His hair was very
long and very dirty and very unkempt.
  The knot of young men and women around the punk were,
except for coloring and size, his mirror image.
  Punks.
  Ben was dressed in tiger-stripe field clothes.
His field pants bloused into jump boots. He
had already stopped along the road and fixed a meager
breakfast, boiling water to shave.
  Even after a worldwide tragedy and a nation swarming with
anarchy, the generation gap still holds true, Ben
thought.
  "Public road," Ben said.
  "Not no more," the spokesman said. Ben pegged them
all as in their late teens to early twentiest he was not exactly in
conversation with a mental giant. Or even a mental
midget, for that matter. Ben asked the man if he
was from a certain part of the parish.
  "Yep!"
  "That figures," Ben muttered. Back when the
parish had built a new library, several
residents of that area had said it was the most useless
building in the parish.
  Ben knew then when he was going to build the first
westward-stretching outpost. Right here.
  "I've got several thousand troops camped just
outside of Morriston. Going to be lots of
activity around here."
  The voice behind the ragged curtains was silent for a
time. "I reckon with you comin" back, we're
gonna have all sorts of laws and rules and sich as
that again, rat?"
  "That js correct."
  was "Posin" I don't wanna foller
"em?"
  "Then I imagine somebody will shoot you," Ben
called cheerfully.
  As his words were fading away, Ben saw the muzzle
of a rifle poked through the rags. He rolled out of the
Jeep, grabbing his Thompson as he went over the
side. A rifle cracked, the slug popping
  through the windshield. Ben caught movement by the
side of the house. A man stepped into view, carrying
an M-16. Ben stitched him across the belly and
then lifted the SMG, emptying a clip through the
ragged curtains. A scream came from within the house.
  Ben waited; no more shots came his way. He
ran, zigzagging across the tree-filled and weed-grown
yard, coming up to the edge of the house. Moaning could be
heard through the broken windows. Ben thought: I put a
lot of money into this house, only to have these trashy
bastards screw it all up.
  He kicked in the door, which wasn't all that
difficult a task ... it was hanging by one hinge.
  Ben looked down at the badly wounded man. The
.45 caliber slugs had taken him in the chest.
He lay amid filth on the floor. "You're not
exactly a paragon of neatness, are you?"
  "Fuck you, Raines! I didn't lak your
arrogant ass when you lived here 'fore."
  "Hell, man. I don't know you."
  "I knowed you," the man managed to gasp.
"Always lookin" down your damn snooty nose at
the res' of us."
  "The word is reserved, not arrogant." Ben felt
a little silly, standing there discussing word meaning with a dying
man.
  "Whure's my brudder?"
  "Was he carrying an M-16?"
  "Yeah."
  "He's dead."
  The man cursed Ben.
  "If you're quite finished...." Ben looked down
  at him. "Anything else I can do for you?"
  "Whut you gonna do with me?"
  "Nothing." Ben turned and walked back
outside, across the lawn-loosely called-and got
into his Jeep.
  "You jist gonna leave me here?" the redneck
hollered.
  "That is correct," Ben muttered. He
cranked the Jeep and drove off.
  It was a hard time, and Ben Raines was a hard
man when he had to be. Even when world conditions had
been at their best, before the Great War, Ben could not
tolerate ignorance, and he was doubly contemptuous
of those people who were ignorant and proud of that
ignorance. There had been too many schools, both
traditional and Vo-Tech, for anyone to remain
ignorant; therefore, he had no patience with anyone
who chose to muck around in blind mental blankness.
  He met a patrol driving fast up the old
blacktop road.
  "We heard shots. What happened, general?"
  "A couple of people just learned a hard lesson about
the value of knowledge and civility," Ben told the
lieutenant.
  The Rebel smiled. "Yes, sir. Will they be
needing medical assistance, sir?"
  "If you want to mess with them, go ahead." Ben
I drove on.
  Used to be a lot of people living in this area, Ben
mused, driving slowly along the rutted road. By and
large, good people. We're going to be starting from
scratch. He thought of the monumental task ahead of
them all.
  First we build the outposts, one every hundred
miles, stretching from the Mississippi River to the
coast of California. Little oases of civilization,
where men and women could live in some higher degree of
safety and build schools and homes and once more
begin the job of pulling themselves out of the ashes of
destruction.
  After the recent battles, the Libyan terrorist
Khamsin-the "Hot Wind," as he called himself-would
be weeks, maybe months, rebuilding his army.
Khamsin was of no immediate worry to Ben.
  Getting the first real outpost set up and working was
Ben's main concern at the moment. That, and staying
alive long enough to do it.
  Hiram Rockingham stepped out onto his front
porch and surveyed his own personal little kingdom. It
began some twenty miles from Morriston-south. That
area had been called, back before the Great War, the
last bastion of ignorance, intermarriage, and
intolerance in that part of the country. And that was only a
mild exaggeration. Every state, and probably a large
percentage of the counties therein, had something to compare to this
region. Albeit not something the Chamber of Commerce
would want to include in any tourist packet.
  Hiram knew that Ben Raines was back, and
Hiram knew also that with Ben's return, things were
going to change.
  The two men had hated each other for twenty
years. Ben, because Hiram was the
  personification of an ignorant redneck. And
Hiram, even though he would never admit it,
indeed, probably didn't even realize it, had
always felt threatened by Ben Raines.
  Both men were strong-willed individualists.
Both felt that their way was the best. The similarity
ended there.
  Hiram was ignorant. Ben was a man of books
and knowledge. Ben preferred to talk matters over and reach
some sort of gentlemen's understanding. Hiram, if he
felt slighted, would burn the other party's house
down or shoot his dogs. And then go home and feel
very smug about it.
  To Ben's way of thinking, people like Hiram took much
more from society than they gave.
  To Hiram, Ben had always been uppity and
snooty. Read books and watched that silly stuff
on the Public Broadcasting TV. Ben Raines
felt that animals had rights. To Hiram's way of
thinking, that was nonsense; animals didn't have no
rights a-tall.
  Back when the world still was spinning in some degree of
order, Hiram and his ilk hated the men who worked for the
Wildlife and Fisheries Department; "specially
them bastards in the enforcement arm of it. To Hiram's
way of thinking, a man had a right to shoot a deer
anytime he damn pleased. To try to convince
Hiram that if everybody felt that way, there would
soon be no game left was tantamount to beating your
head against a brick wall.
  Ben felt that the wilderness areas and the forests and
streams were for the enjoyment of every citizen. And it had not
improved relations between the men when it got back
to Hiram that Ben had suggested an open season on
rednecks. Then you could shoot
  one, strap it on the hood of your car or truck,
and ride around town, showing off your kill.
  was 'at damn feller's plumb crazy!" was
Hiram's response to Ben's remark.
  "That suggestion of yours is a little extreme,
Ben," a friend told him. was 'necks are human
beings, you know?"
  "They walk upright," was Ben's reply.
  Hiram believed that there never was and never would be no
damn colored man as good as or as smart as a
white man. Period. Wasn't no Jew worth a
damn; the Holocaust never happened. Mexicans
was lazy and no good. You couldn't trust them
slant-eyed folks. All Wops belonged to the
mafia. Anyone who didn't like black-eyed peas
and corn-bread was ignorant. And so on, and on
... imparting his dubious wisdom to his
kids and anyone else who cared to listen.
  Ben, on the other hand, believed, along with a growing
number of people, before and after the Great War, that the time was
coming when the nation as a whole would be forced to see that people of
Hiram's ilk, regardless of color, could no
longer be tolerated, socially, morally,
economically, and probably most important,
intellectually.
  "Whut the hale's far does all that mean?"
Hiram blustered, upon hearing Ben's comments.
  "Hit means he'd lak to shoot you," a
slightly more intelligent neighbor informed him.
"Ifn you won't change."
  was 'at bassard's crazy!" Hiram hollered.
  As Ben drove the old country roads, Hiram
sat on his front porch and looked out over the
fields he and his kind worked.
  They were good farmers; not even Ben would take that from
them.
  The weather had been good and the crops looked fine.
Hiram wondered if Ben Raines was going to let
him live long enough to get his crops in.
  One thing Ben Raines wouldn't have to worry about was
gettin" colored folks to join up with him. There
wasn't no colored folks left around these
parts. Hiram and his buddies had seen to that. There was
some lived over to Morriston, but they stayed to themselves
and didn't mess with white folks.
  That was the way it ought to be. Hiram remembered
when that damn Kasim and his bunch come in; gonna
make this whole place something called New
Africa.
  But President Logan had sent mercenaries in
and wiped most of them out.
  Then Ben Raines had killed Logan.
Funny, Hiram pondered ... the word he'd got
was that Ben didn't even like Kasim.
  Hiram sighed. All that was four-five years
back, at least. He couldn't "member 'xactly.
Didn't make no difference noways.
  Ben Raines showed his ass down in this area, and
Ben wasn't gonna show it no more.
  Hiram looked up as a pickup rattled over
his cattle guard. Frank Monroe from up the
road got out and come walking up to the porch.
"Mornin", Hiram."
  "Frank. What's on your mind?"
  "Ben Raines is back."
  "I know it."
  "Got an army with him."
  "I hear he had him some soldier-boys.
Don't worry me none." That was a damn lie, but
Hiram wouldn't admit it for the world. If he hadn't
been worried about it, he never would have thought about Ben
killing him.
  Frank spat tobacco juice on the ground.
"Five or six thousand strong."
  Hiram gripped the arms of his rocking chair so
hard his knuckles whitened. "You a liar!"
  Frank backed up and looked at Hiram.
"We elected you leader here, Hiram. But that
don't give you no right to call me no liar."
  Hiram took several deep breaths. "You rat,
Frank. You rat. I "pologize. You seen this
army with yore own eyes?"
  "I seen 'urn. Just got back from up there.
Looked like a bunch of beavers workin" live.
Stringin' wire for phones. Cleanin' out houses and
sich. They's wimmin soldiers, too. Some of them
givin' orders. They tough, Hiram. They lean and
they mean and they tough. You know the very first thang they
done yesterday morning?"
  Hiram waited.
  "Started school for they kids. Whole passel of
kids come in yesterday, right after the Rebels
hit the parish."
  There were no schools in Hiram's little kingdom.
Hiram never saw much use for them. But he knew,
with a sinking feeling in his guts, he
knew,
that once Ben came into this area, and Ben would, there would
be schools built. Right then and there.
  The goddamned pushy son of a bitch!
  "Git the people together, Frank. Well have us a
preachin' and a singin' and a prayin' and a eatin' on the
grounds this night. Then we'll have us a meetin' of the
men."
  "Hiram," Frank said softly, carefully
choosing his words, for he knew how much Hiram hated
Ben Raines, "you thinkin' about fightin' Ben
Raines and his Rebels?"
  Hiram stood up. "This is our land, Frank.
Our community. My great-grandfather come in here and
cleared this land with mules and muscles and sweat. After
the Great War, Frank, you and me, and all the
others, we formed up and fought the outlaws and the trash.
We ain't botherin' nobody down here, Frank*"
  That was not exactly true. Travelers had been
shot dead for simply walking along the roads. If
for no other reason than the parents of those who
pulled the trigger had imparted to their offspring that they were
"better than others."
  "... we got our own law here, and by God no
fancy-soldier-suited blue-nose is gonna
tell me and mine what we can or cain't do. I
ain't a-gonna have it!"
  "I'll pass the word, Hiram."
  "You do that. And git hold of Reed. Tell him
to I build us a cross. We'll burn it after the
meetin'."
  Ben connected with the old US highway and drove
back into town. The scene that greeted him was one he
had expected.
  A large crowd of civilians had gathered around
the Rebel's main CP; a mixture of black and
white.
  General Ike McGowan walked over to Ben's
Jeep. Ike cradled his CAR-15.
  "This it?" Ben asked.
  "Most of the adults that live in town. "Bout a
hundred more live around the outskirts. They tell
me the real trouble is south of here."
  "Yeah, I know."
  Ike smiled slowly. "I can hear the wheels
turnin" in your head, boy."
  Ike was Mississippi born and reared, and at
times loved to talk as if he didn't have a thought in
his head. But he was highly educated and a former Navy
SEAL. One of the original members of Raines's
Rebels.
  "Oh?" Ben smiled at his old friend. "And what
do you make out of all the turning and grinding, Ike?"
  "That you are going to step out of character, and when you do,
you're going to do it up right."
  "You've been talking to some of the townspeople?"
  "Oh, yeah!"
  "Which one?"
  "Several. Black guy name of John
Simmons. White feller name of Rich. Several
of the townspeople who knew you from "way back when.
They told me some interestin" stories about you and a
"neck name of Hiram Rockingham."
  "John Simmons. Got to be in his sixties
now. He was a young man out in L.a. when Watts
exploded. He and several other blacks guarded their
businesses with rifles until the trouble was over."
  "Yeah? He kill anybody?"
  Ben grinned. "John told me that an L.a.
cop got all upset when he saw them guarding their
places of business with guns. Asked them
what was going on. John told him that if any
nigger tried to burn his place, he was gonna get
shot. Cop told him, 'allyeah. Well, just don't
wound anyone." his
  Ike laughed. "Cecil's been talkin' with
John ever since you pulled out this mornin'. I
imagine he's told Cec the story."
  General Cecil Jefferys was yet another
Rebel who had been with Ben for years. A former
Green Beret. The black man was one of the most
honorable men that Ben had ever known.
  Ben walked over to the knot of people and shook hands with
those that he remembered. John Simmons smiled
at him.
  "Been a while, Ben."
  "Fifteen years, John. Might have known you'd
still be kicking. You're too damn ornery to die."
  "Been close a couple of times, though. I
made the mistake of driving down into the Stanford
Community one day." He met Ben's eyes and let
Ben figure out the rest.
  "They put lead in you, John?"
  "Sure did."
  "Why, John?"
  The man shrugged still muscular shoulders.
"Because I'm not the right color, Ben. They asked me
what the hell was I doing down there? I told them it
wasn't any of their fucking business."
  Ben laughed aloud at that. "John, had you been
drinking?"
  "No. I was just driving around. Hell, I
wasn't bothering a soul, Ben. But rednecks and
white trash and niggers irritate the hell out of
me."
  Ben clasped him on the arm. "You won't do,
John. You just won't do. Let's talk about something
more pleasant than Hiram Rockingham. Who's the
leader of Morriston now?"
  "No one. And that's the shame of it all. The town
is still divided ... just like it was twenty years ago.
Hell, a hundred years ago!"
  "That's going to change, John." Ben's words had
steel behind them.
  "I knew that when we got word your columns were
heading this way. But I warn you, Ben. It's going
to be one bloody son of a bitch."
  "I expect so, John." He looked at
Richmond Harris, who had been standing quietly,
listening. "Rich. You and John are now the
administrators of this area. Appointed
by me. Start drawing up plans for this community."
  "How much area, general?"
  "What used to be the entire parish."
  Rich arched an eyebrow. "I can tell you a
bunch of people who won't like that at all."
  Ben smiled. But it was not a nice smile.
"I'm counting on that, Rich."
  Ike looked at his friend. He knew that Ben
Raines was not a man you wanted to get crossed-up
with ... for Ben had said that if this nation was ever to be
rebuilt, ignorance and prejudice were two things that
would have to be eradicated. Either educated out, or
killed out.
Chapter
Two
  Ben had called a meeting of his top personnel.
He thumped a part of a parish map. "Stanford
Community. We'll have a little resistance from a few people
in and around Morriston; but not very much. They're starved
for progress. They were starved for progress twenty
years ago," he added drily. Again he thumped the
map. "But here is where we'll have the fighting. And
don't, don't, sell these ol' boys short. They
may be trash and "necks and people you might not want
your sister or brother to marry, but they're
woodsmen ... every one of them. Keep that in mind at
all times."
  He looked at his daughter, Tina, who commanded a
unit of her own. "Excuse me.
Woodspeople."
  "Thank you general." She smiled at him.
  "These people living in that area, general," Colonel
Dan Gray said. "How would you best describe
them? Cretinous, backward, savage,
superstitious? ..."
  "All of that you just named."
  "My word!" The Englishman frowned. "What a
dreadful grouping."
  "Now, then," Ben said, "to lighten up some.
Further on westward, along the old interstate, we
have our old friend, Emil Hite. He's back in
business."
  Everyone laughed at that.
  "Emil is running his scams again. He is of
no danger to us. Leave him alone. As long as he
stays out of our immediate area. OK. Ike, order a
fly-by of this area. If the pilots are fired on,
return the fire and return it hard!" He looked
at Cecil. "Are all the planes in?"
  "Yes, Ben. They're out at the
regional airport."
  "I want a Puff along with them. First light
tomorrow."
  "Right."
  A Puff was a truly awesome piece of flying
machine. A twin-engine prop job that was filled with
weapons of war: .60 caliber machine guns,
.50 caliber machine guns, electrically fired,
along with numerous rocket launchers. One Puff
could effectively neutralize an area roughly the
size of three football fields.
Neutralize: meaning its firepower would kill any
living thing within a given area.
  When all the armament on a Puff was being fired
simultaneously, the plane would rattle and shake
and look like it might fall out of the sky. But nothing
lived under its flight path. Nothing at all.
  "I want the guards at the Mississippi
River bridge to stay alert," Ben ordered.
"Vicksburg proper, so I'm told, has been
taken over by the Night P." He shook his head.
"What puzzles me is where these people are coming from; why
we haven't seen more of them over the months."
  "We haven't been in the cities much in years,
Dad," Tina said.
  "That's true," Ben acknowledged. "But why are
they suddenly popping out of the woodwork?"
  "I have a theory, Father," Buddy spoke up.
All heads turned to look at the handsome, heavily
muscled young man. Ben's son; his flesh and
blood.
  Buddy had joined the Rebels a few months
back, meeting his father for the very first time and immediately
fitting in. The young man was very much aware that Ben would
someday be forced to kill his mother, a nut who called
herself Sister Voleta. The young man was not looking
forward to that day.
  Like his father, Buddy carried a Thompson SMG,
.45 caliber. But unlike the other Rebels,
Buddy did not wear a beret on his head! He
wore a bandana tied around his forehead.
  "Handsome, rakish-looking rogue, isn't he?"
Colonel Gray had once remarked.
  "And your theory, son?"
  "Father, everything from the place once known as
Washington, D.c. north is supposed to be
destroyed, right?"
  "That is my understanding, yes."
  "Have you personally witnessed this?" the son asked.
  "Well ... no," Ben admitted. "But
I have spoken with pilots who said it was."
  "How reliable was their testimony?"
  Ben thought on that. He had heard radio
broadcasts just after the bombings, a decade back.
The broadcasts said the eastern corridor of the
United States had taken hot hits. Any
number of people Ben had spoken with had confirmed that. And
that
  Air Force General he'd killed down at
Shaw AFB ... hadn't he said that?
  No, Ben thought, turning away from the group and
walking a bit, pacing the room. No, he had
intimated that. That's all.
  Ben turned to face his son. "Neutron
bombs," he said. "They kill the people, but leave the
buildings intact."
  "That is my theory, sir." Buddy confirmed
Ben's statement.
  "Go on, son. No! Wait! I personally
got very close to the eastern corridor. I had
instruments with me; they showed hot. Deadly,
dangerous levels."
  "Yes, but how long after the bombings did you
approach these areas?" Colonel Gray inquired.
  Ben thought back over the years. "Just a
few months."
  "Well, they probably would have still been hot then.
But not now," Ike mused aloud.
  The room was silent.
  "Every message we've ever received over the years
said that New York City was destroyed. Gone.
Nothing left. If that isn't the truth, then who?
..."
  He stopped, then smiled knowingly. "Sure,"
Ben said, his voice no more than a whisper. "Who
else but the Night P. They've kept that area for
their own for years, simply by sending out false
messages."
  "That is my theory, Father," Buddy said.
  "Think of the treasures," Ben whispered. "The
museums, the libraries, the recordings, the art
galleries." He looked at Ike.
"Two-hundred-man team, Ike. Rations for an
extended journey. I want you and
  your people outfitted for hot areas. When can you pull
out?"
  "Two days, Ben."
  "Go!"
  Ike left the room as Ben's eyes touched the
gaze of his daughter. Tina said, "There will have
to be scouts, general."
  "You think you can handle it, Tina?"
  "If I didn't think so, I wouldn't have brought
it up."
  "Get your team together and get cracking. Pull out
as quickly as possible."
  Grinning, she tossed him a salute and ran from the
room, yelling for her Scouts to group up.
  Ben looked at Buddy. "You understand why I
want you here with me, son?"
  "Yes, sir. Besides, I think the people you're sending
are better qualified to handle it than I."
  Ben smiled. "Always the diplomat, aren't you,
boy?"
  "Full of shit, is the word," Cecil said
drily. "Of course, he is your son, Ben."
  "Oh, Lord!" Hiram Rockingham
proclaimed, raising his hands heavenward. "Why have you
sent us this human plague called Ben Raines?
We have all been Your good and faithful servants,
Lord. And we do not understand this."
  Hiram, sixth-grade educated, and with about as much
working knowledge of the Bible as a platypus duckbill, had,
many years back, announced that he was taking over as
God's Main Man in the Stanford
  Community. There had been a preacher in the area, but
he'd been defrocked after he was caught screwing the
church piano player.
  The piano player, one Mrs. Rosie May
Helen Jean Seager, and the preacher had left the area
shortly after that. Hiram Rockingham took over the
duties behind the pulpit, and with that, religion
reverted back to the dark ages.
  Hiram's church, originally Baptist, had
become the First Church of the Holiness, Praise
Be. And Hiram differed somewhat from the teaching in the
Bible. Since many of the residents of the Stanford
Community could read but little, and none born during the
past two decades could read at all, the folks
accepted whatever Hiram said as straight out of the
Gospel, not realizing it was Gospel according
to Hiram.
  And the Praise Be church of Hiram, after
Hiram said it was OK, had taken to polygamy like
a fish to water. Hiram had four wives, and
fourteen children, the oldest in his thirties. Even
Hiram had a hard time keeping up with what kid
belonged to which wife.
  But they were, to Hiram's way of thinking, all
good kids. Bubba Willie was a tad on
the crazy side, but that was to be expected, since his
mother was Hiram's first cousin-or was it double-first
cousin? Hiram couldn't remember-but that didn't
make no difference. Not really. Hiram loved them
all. Wives and kids. 'Course, ever now and then
he had to take up a piece of stovewood and beat
the hell out of the kids ... and occasionally the wives.
But that was something they all expected and accepted as
normal.
  Then, too, Bubba Willie's retardation just
might have been caused when he was a little boy and
Hiram popped him up side the head with a poker when
Bubba Willie wouldn't mind. But even if a team
of world-renowned doctors had said that was the
cause, Hiram wouldn't have believed them. To say that
Hiram was set in his ways would be like saying a mule
is stubborn.
  But a mule did have a few attributes that
Hiram didn't have. You could teach a mule a few
things.
  "Oh, Lord!" Hiram squalled, just before the
huge cross, wrapped in rags and soaked in
kerosene, was ignited. "Give us a sign."
  The Lord just might have been listening that light. For as
soon as the cross was flaming, it began
to rain, coming down in torrents.
  "Piss on it," Hiram muttered.
  "That was an unusual storm last night,"
Cecil said. He and Ben were having breakfast in one
of the many mess tents around the area. "Blew in and
slew out like none I'd ever seen before."
  It was just breaking dawn. The sounds of planes low
overhead rumbled through the early morning. "I hope
those assholes in the Stanford area have enough sense to know
not to fire on those planes," Ike said, sitting
down at the table.
  "They don't," Ben told him, taking a sip of
coffee. Colonel Gray joined the group. "If
they fire on Puff, there will be some funerals
soon."
  Ben sipped his chicory-laced coffee. He was
actually getting used to the stuff. "They'll fire
on the planes. Bet on it."
  "Then they're awfully stupid people, general."
Dan sipped his tea. The Englishman would only
rarely drink coffee.
  "That they are."
  "Ben," Ike chewed on a biscuit, "I
hate to dump cold water on your plans, but have you
considered this: OK, we'll be successful in
setting up the twenty-five or so outposts between here
and the coast. That's only a little sweat. But there must be
hundreds, maybe thousands of communities like this
Stanford."
  "I have considered that, yes."
  "So we're going to have little communities of learning
dotting the land. What's goin" to pull the thousands of
ignorant assholes in?"
  "Nothing." Ben lifted his eyes, meeting
Ike's gaze. "Nothing at all."
  Cecil waited in silence. He knew Ben's
plans. And while in a civilized world they would be
considered outrageous ... the world was no longer
civilized.
  "Then? ..." Ike lifted one eyebrow.
  "I plan on giving the people a choice. Do I have
to spell out to you what that choice is?"
  "Ben, you can't! ..." Ike choked it back in
anger.
  "Oh, hell, Ike! Give me credit for more
compassion than that! I'm not going to send Rebels in
to engage in wholesale slaughter. Good God,
Ike."
  "But you're sending a gunship down there right now!
Damn, I can still hear them."
  "Ike," Ben spoke softly. "Have you forgotten
so soon the only thing a redneck understands?"
  Ike shook a finger in Ben's face. "Boy,
don't you
  tell me about rednecks! I was born in rural
Mississippi! You forgetting Megan?"
  "I'm not forgetting anything, Ike. But
apparently, you have."
  "They ought to be there in about a minute." Ike
rose from the table and walked outside. "What's
wrong with Ike?" Cecil asked. "Nina's
pregnant." Doctor Lamar Chase spoke from the
other end of the long table. "You all know how Ike is
when it comes to kids. He's just thinking about the little children
that might be hurt or killed down there today."
  "And you think I haven't?" Ben asked. The old
doctor met Ben's eyes. "I know you have, Ben.
And I know you're just as sick of it all as I am.
But I also know that you have to make the decisions. And so
does Ike. And," he sighed, "I also know that
while your way might not always be the most humane,
considering the time and place, it is certainly the most
expedient."
  "Big ol' flyin' machine a'comin," Daddy!"
Axel Leroy yelled to Hiram. "Can I
shoot at it?"
  Hiram looked up at the plane and decided he
didn't like the looks of it at all. Big
black-painted sucker. Had guns stickin' out all
along the left side, out of the nose and out of the tail
and out of the bottom. Sucker looked bad.
  "Axel Leroy!" Hiram hollered. "You lay
that rifle on the ground and wave friendly-like to that
plane. Don't you be makin' no hostile moves,
boy."
  "Awww, Daddy!"
  "Shet your sassy mouth, boy. Before find me a
chunk and bus' your head with it."
  Axel Leroy put his .30-30 on the ground.
  "You wave, boy," the father told him. "You grin
and wave. Jist lak your daddy's doin'."
  Father and son waved. The planes moved on.
Hiram took a deep breath. "Somebody's
fixin' to get killed this day," he prophesied
correctly.
  "Goddamn sorry-ass Ben Raines," he
cursed, resisting an urge to shake his fist at the
departing planes. He held back, knowing in his
guts that them planes carried enough guns to blow
Hiram and his kin clear into the next world. And
Hiram was smart enough to know for an iron-clad fact
that Ben Rains would just love to do that.
  Hiram heard a single shot. He watched as the
big black-painted plane started trembling,
unleashing its firepower: four 20 mm Vulcan
cannons, six-barreled Gatlin guns, capable of
firing more than twenty-five hundred rounds per
minute; four pairs of 7.62 machine gun
modules, also six barreled, all capable of four
thousand rounds a minute. Fore and aft were two 40
mm Bofors that could pump out a hundred two-pound
rounds a minute.
  Hiram watched as Billy Randell's house and
barn and sheds disintegrated as the gunship made a
slow circle around the grounds. Nothing was gonna
live through all that, Hiram thought. Not nothing at
all.
  "Holy shit!" Axel Leroy said. The young man
then pissed his pants and went running for the outhouse.
He had a sudden urge to take a dump.
  "That stupid Randell kid," Hiram said, as
wife number two came rushing out of the house, her
face
  pale with fright. "He just had to take a shot at that
plane."
  Wife number two fell to her knees and began
speaking in tongues.
  Goldie Lorraine came running out of the
fields, hollering to her father. "Hit's the wrath of
God, Daddy!"
  "No, it ain't," Hiram said disgustedly.
"It's the wrath of Ben Raines."
Chapter Three
  Hiram's spirits kept getting lower and lower the
closer he got to Morriston. He had never seen
so many soldier-people in all his born days. Men and
women. And they all looked like they could take a
tank on, with their bare hands.
  And he just couldn't understand a lot of things about them.
Oh, there was folks of all colors there; he would
expect something like that from Ben Raines. But some of the
men had beards; some had short hair, some had long
hair. Just didn't look like no army Hiram had
ever seen.
  And Lord God Almighty ... the guns! There was
big guns and little guns; tanks and half-tracks
and APC'S and rocket launchers and, why, Hiram
had never seen the like.
  He began to taste the bitter copper sensation of
defeat in his mouth.
  He had tasted sickness in his mouth earlier that
morning, when he and his boys couldn't find enough of the
Randell boy to even bury proper. The whole area
around the place was tore up so bad it looked like
OF Scratch hisself had seared it.
  Hiram spotted a black soldier and hollered
at him. "You boy! Git over here."
  Hiram suddenly found his chin being propped up by the
muzzle of a .45, cocked and ready to bang.
  "Did you wish to speak with me, sir," the man behind
the gun asked.
  "Yes, sir," Hiram said. First time in his
life he'd ever said that to a colored. "I surely
did."
  "What is it you wish to know?"
  "I would like to find Ben Raines, please."
"General
Raines!"
  "Yes, sir. That's him."
  A crowd of Rebels had begun to gather around, and
behind the Rebels, John Simmons and Richard
Harris were standing, both of them smiling.
  Hiram's oldest, Billy Bob, had
accompanied his dad to town. It used to be a treat.
Not this time.
  "Poppa," Billy Bob said. "Don't do
nothin' foolish. Les' us both swaller our
pride and walk soft."
  Billy Bob did have some sense. He did have a
fourth-grade education.
  The muzzle of the .45 was removed from under
Hiram's chin. The Rebel said, "There is an
old bank building just west of town. That is
General Raines's CP. You'll find him there."
  "Thankee kindly."
  "You're welcome."
  The crowd parted, and Hiram moved out, the old
pickup smoking badly.
  Ben saw them come in and told his aide to show them
into his office. He waved Hiram and Billy
Bob to seats, after Hiram had introduced his son.
  "You just had to come back, didn't you, Ben?"
  "I wasn't planning on it, Hiram. But then
I got to thinking this place was as good as any place
to start."
  "Start whut?" Hiram asked, suspicion
thick in his voice.
  "Why, Hiram...." Ben could not suppress a
smile, "the slow return to progress."
  "Are you sayin' that we is backward?"
  "Some of the worst I have ever witnessed, Hiram."
  Hiram grunted. "You never did dance around no
issue, did you, Raines?"
  "Never did, Rockingham."
  Hiram gave out a long sigh and rubbed his face.
For a very brief instant, Ben almost felt sorry for the
man. Almost. And it passed very quickly.
  "Get it said, Ben."
  Ben studied the man. There was no way he could
put anything to Hiram in a subtle manner.
Stupid people do not understand any form of nuance. As Ike
knew only too well, rednecks understand force.
Sort of like the mule and the two-by-four. You have
to get their attention.
  "I'm not just talking law and order, Hiram."
  Hiram's eyes were filled with hate. It was
something he made no effort to disguise. "Spell it
out, Raines."
  Oh, hell! Ben thought. Let's give it a
try. He studied the man. Hiram and Ben were both
middle-aged. And both were in fine physical
condition. But back in the mid-seventies, when both
had been young bucks, Hiram had made the
mistake of trying Ben. Once. Just once. Ben,
fresh out of one of the military's toughest
outfits, had literally stomped the
  man into the ground. Hiram had never forgiven Ben.
He had led the men who burned the cross on Ben's
front yard; sent him threatening letters through the mail.
Had shot one of Ben's dogs. And with that action, Ben
knew then for fact what he had always suspected:
People like Hiram were cowards. All night-riders are
cowards....
  "Why you starin' at me, Ben?"
  Ben told him the truth. "I'm trying to make
up my mind whether to try reasoning with you, or just
outright killing you and having done with it."
  Billy Bob paled under his deep tan. Hiram
shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
  "You could have kilt me twenty years ago,
Raines. Why didn't you do it then?"
  Ben saw his opening and took it. "Because it was against
the law, Hiram. Moral law and written law.
Do you understand that?"
  "You blamin' ever'thang that happened back yonder
on me, Ben?"
  "Who started it?"
  "You come down where you wasn't wanted."
  "Public roads, Hiram. I violated
nobody's property rights."
  "That ain't it." The man clung stubbornly
to his lopsided philosophy.
  Whatever the hell it is! Ben thought.
  "Then what is it, Hiram?"
  "Man's got a right."
  "To do what, Hiram?"
  The man struggled for words that he could not find.
  "Hiram, perhaps if you'd had a bit more education,
  you might be able to tell me what's on your mind."
  "I git along jist fine, Raines. I don't
need no fancy education."
  "Well, Hiram, I guess that is your right.
You're a grown man."
  Hiram couldn't believe that Ben Raines was
sitting there agreeing with anything he had to say. Come
as a surprise.
  "We burred a boy this day, Raines. All that
we could find of "im."
  "He fired on a low-flying plane, Hiram."
  "His right."
  Ben leaned back in his chair. Right there, he
thought, sits the stumbling block to progress. And
I don't have the time to go into each little bastion of
ignorance and sit down and talk with the thousands of people like
Hiram. So what the hell, then, do I do?
  "Hiram, let me stop attempting to nicely
step through that quagmire you call a mind and give it
to you flat-out."
  "I reckon you. "bout to start stompin" on my
rights, ain't you, Raines?"
  "Hiram," Ben said with a sigh, not really wanting
to use verbal force with the man, although he knew that was
inevitable. "When your self-proclaimed rights start
conflicting with the rights of others, something has to give.
You with me so far?"
  "I got a right to "tend the church I wanna
'tend, Raines."
  Ben stared at him. "Hiram, I don't give
a damn what church you attend."
  Hiram blinked. "You don't?"
  "No. That's your right under the Constitution of the
United States. And I'm trying to keep as many
rights as possible during this awful time."
  "I got more'un one wife," Hiram said
sullenly.
  "I don't care, Hiram. I don't care if
you have twenty wives."
  "You
don't?"
  "No. That's none of my business."
  "Wai, whut the hale do you want, Ben?"
  "Civility, among other things."
  "Haw?"
  "Politeness. The respecting of other people as long
as they respect you. The right to come and go as one
pleases. The understanding of and the general observance of
customs conducive to the welfare and the good of society
as a whole...."
"Haw?"
  Ben lost his temper. Several of his aides had
been listening outside the open door and all knew that
the general had just about reached the blowing stage.
"Goddamnit, Hiram, what in the name of God
does it take to get through to you?"
  "Wai, damnit, Ben, why don't you talk
plain and maybe I could understand you?"
  "Why don't you get some education so you can understand
simple English, you ignorant bastard!" Ben
roared.
  "I never had no time for nothing lak 'at,"
Hiram mush-mouthed.
  "That's a goddamn lie and you know it. That's the
same bullshit that people of your ilk have been using for
decades. I didn't buy it when we had a working
  society and I damn sure don't buy
it now. The bottom line was and still is that you were too
goddamned lazy to try to improve yourself. Under the
myriad of laws we were wallowing in twenty years
ago, there was damn little anybody could do with people like you
... but I'm no longer bound by any of those laws."
  "You cain't force me to learn no book-stuff."
  "No, Hiram, I can't. But I can sure
shoot you!"
  It had been the most humiliating, degrading and
disgusting, and horrible experience in all of
Khamsin's life. Damn Ben Raines!
  Leading his men into Atlanta, knowing those disfigured
and horrible creatures were there, waiting for them.
Cannibalistic savages! Khamsin was still trying
to regrouped his shattered forces; number the dead.
  They had fallen back to mid-Georgia,
gradually working their way back to South Carolina.
But since he had pulled nearly all his forces out of
South Carolina, the Americans he had enslaved
had now revolted, rising up, seizing arms, killing
the troops Khamsin had left behind. Everything was
... it was just ... well, all fucked up!
  Lance Ashley Lantier had gathered his forces
around him and beat it back to North Georgia.
Piss on those disgusting Night People and piss
on Khamsin, too. Damn Arab was nuts!
  He thought he'd take his men and head on up
  toward Kentucky. Set up there. Hell with Ben
Raines ... at least for the time being.
  Hiram looked at Ben. He felt something
cold and slimy, sort of an oily-feeling, turn
over very slowly in his stomach. Right then and there,
Hiram realized something that he should have known and seen in
Ben years back: Ben was dangerous. All them good
ol" boys he'd growed up withand knowed all his life
wasn't shit when held up to Ben Raines. Them
ol' boys liked to talk and brag a lot "bout
how bad they was, but then they'd go run in packs,
like killer dogs ... not none of them ever had the
balls to go off alone and try Ben.
  He shoulda seen that.
  Ben always had been a lone wolfer ... and lone
wolves are dangerous.
  "Lay it on the line for me, Ben," Hiram
finally said.
  "It's really very simple, Hiram. Perhaps that is
why you've never been able to understand it."
  "I reckon that's it, Ben." There was a subdued
note to Hiram's voice.
  Tina stuck her head into Ben's office.
"Runnin" late, Dad. Pulling out now." She
kissed him and smiled at him.
  "See you, kid. Stay out of trouble and keep in
daily contact with Ike. If the Big Apple is
still there, you and your team will be the first to see it. Take
a picture of it for me, will you?"
  "Will do. "Bye, Pop."
  She was gone.
  Hiram said, "Your daughter?"
  "Yes. She commands a team of Scouts."
  "Whut's about apples? They ain't ripe yet."
  Ben softened his smile. "New York City
is, was, often referred to as the Big Apple."
  "Oh!"
  "Hiram, have you ever really cared what went on
outside of your own little world?"
  "Not really. How's that gonna hep me put
food on the table?"
  Good question, Ben thought. "Other than broadening your
level of knowledge, Hiram, it might hot help you feed
your family."
  "Thought so."
  Steady, now, Ben cautioned himself. Don't
boggle his mind this early in the game. "Hiram, my
Rebels are going to secure this parish. I
mean make it secure so all residents current
and future will be safe. You with me, Hiram?"
  "I reckon. There's gonna be more people comin" in
to live?"
  "I hope so. Does that upset you?"
  "More people means more trouble."
  "Not if they're the right kind of people, it doesn't."
  "Are we the right kind of people, Ben Raines? Me
and Billy here?"
  "You can be."
  "Po-lite way of sayin' we ain't."
  "You're right, Hiram."
  "Why don't you jist go on, Ben? Go on
to another spot and set up your fancy doin's?"
  "Because this spot is ideal, Hiram. And if you
  think I'm bad, Hiram ... wait until you
meet Khamsin. And you'll meet him."
  "Khamsin ... who?"
  "Means the Hot Wind. He's a terrorist from
Libya."
  That got through to him. "Lak that fool that took our
people hostage down in I-ran back a-ways?"
  "Ten times worse."
  "Why would he be comin' here, Ben Raines?"
  "Because he doesn't like me, Hiram."
  "I can understand that," Hiram said drily, and Ben
had to laugh at the expression on the man's face.
  "Hiram, we might never be friends, but that
doesn't mean we have to be mortal enemies.
I'll level with you: I don't like you. And I
really don't see any change in that position. I
don't know whether this shaky little truce of ours will
last, or not. That is strictly up to you and your people."
  Hiram was equally honest. "And I don't lak
you worth no more than a pile of dog shit, Ben
Raines. I personal thank all you gonna do is
screw things up for me and mine."
  "That's fair enough, Hiram. We've made our
positions clear. School starts Monday morning
at eight o'clock. Have any child between the ages of five and
seventeen at the school complex on Matthew
Road. School will run for six hours daily."
  "And if I don't, Raines?"
  "I will personally lead the troops into your
community, take every child between six months and twelve
years, and you will never see them again. I've done it
before, Hiram. Don't ever doubt that. At
  least half of the children you'll see around here are
adopted."
  "You talk big about right and wrong and all
your high and mighty ways, and you'd do that to mothers and
fathers?"
  Ben picked up a book from his desk and tossed it
to Billy Bob. "Read it!"
  Billy Bob could not. He could not make out half
the words in the first sentence.
  "He's at least thirty years old, Hiram.
And he's illiterate."
  "He ain't done it! Me and his ma was married in
the church!"
  "Goddamnit, Hiram! I said illiterate,
not illegitimate. He can't read, man!"
  "He can plow and plant and harvest. He can hunt
and fish and trap! He don't need to know nothin'
else."
  "Hiram, are you aware that about half the game and
fish you're eating have been, to one degree or the
other, contaminated? Do you know how to check for it?
Tell me, Hiram, of all the babies born
during the last twelve years, how many were deformed;
mentally retarded?"
  Hiram would not meet Ben's eyes. "God's
will," he finally muttered.
  "God's will?" Ben shouted. "It isn't God's
will! It's your own goddamned stupidity,
man! Did you see all those cattle trucks
arriving when you came in? We've been breeding a
stronger, hardier breed for years ... free of
contamination. Did you ever think about things like that,
Hiram?"
  Hiram refused to answer.
  "After the bombs came, Hiram ... and the
survivors began trickling in, did any of your
people take them as wives or husbands?"
  Hiram looked at Billy Bob.
  "I see," Ben calmed down, leaning back in his
chair. "Your kids, Billy ... how are they?"
  "Different," the man said.
  "How different?"
  "They ain't right. Some of them was borned blind; some
of them born ... all twisted and ugly. Only
two of them lived."
  "I'm sorry, Billy. Your wife?"
  "First one died. I kept it in the family since
then."
  "No doubt," Ben muttered.
  Keep that up, Ben thought, and you'll eventually
get the same results.
  "Start bringing your people in tomorrow morning, Hiram.
First light. I want them all to have complete
medical check-ups."
  "I don't reckon I got no choice in the
matter, does I, General Raines?"
  "No, Hiram. I reckon you don't."
Chapter Four
  "Makes me feel like some damned commandant of a
concentration camp," Ben said to Dan, after Hiram and
Billy Bob had left.
  Dan nodded. "Sometimes, general, one has to do
things that are distasteful, but for the good of the majority."
  "Thank you, Dan. Take a battalion down
tonight. You have parish maps?"
  "Yes, sir. Found them at what used to be the
Chamber of Commerce office."
  Dr. Chase walked in, Cecil right behind him.
  "You're late," Ben bitched.
  "My, haven't we become the punctual one?"
Chase sat down. "Blow it out your beret,
general."
  One thing Ben could always count on was Lamar Chase
bringing him down to earth, and if he didn't do it,
Ike would.
  Ben outlined his plans.
  Chase nodded his head in agreement. "I have teams
cleaning up the hospital now. It really
isn't in that bad a shape. Some progress was
actually tried here in this community, Ben."
  "Took a damn war to do it!"
  "He's quite argumentative today," Dan said.
"Comes with having something loosely called a conversation
with cretins, I should imagine."
  "Thank you, Dan," Ben said. "I couldn't have
said it better."
  Ike had been standing at the door. "Don't
compliment that Limey too much, Ben. He gets the
big head."
  "Idiot!" the ex-Sas officer said to the
ex-Seal.
  "Stuffed shirt!" Ike fired back.
  "Hillbilly!"
  "All right!" Ben ended it. "You getting your
equipment lined out, Ike?"
  "Right. It's goin' on so smoothly we'll be
able to pull out in the morning. I'm taking Dr.
Ling, La-mar."
  "Good man. If there is something he doesn't know
about radioactivity, it hasn't been written
yet."
  "Who have you chosen as XO, Ike?"
  "Major Broadhurst. Tina's going
to range out about two hundred miles ahead of us.
Here's the route, Ben." He laid a map on the
desk. "From here to Memphis, then we cut east
to Nashville, Knox-ville. We know D.c.
took a hot one. That's fact. So we'll stay
on Eighty-one all the way into Maryland. After that,
we'll have to play it by ear."
  "Sounds good, Ike."
  "OK. I got things to do. I'll leave you
boys to your roundin' up of rednecks. See you in the
mornin', Ben." He grinned and left the office.
  "You want me to take ten or twelve deuce
and a halfs down into his wretched community,
general?"
  Dan asked. "To further hasten any
recalcitrant recluses?"
  "Yes. Good idea. Dan, I'll be blunt.
These people have been borderline lawless for decades.
Don't fuck around with them. First one to bow up,
butt-stroke him and put him on the ground. Force
is the one thing they understand."
  "Yes, sir."
  "Has Colonel West and his mercs pulled in
yet, Cec?"
  "Yes, Ben. They're bivouacked about
ten miles east of town. Strange man, that
Colonel West."
  "Yes. Lamar, how are we fixed for
medicines?"
  "Pretty good. It's doubtful these people have been
inoculated against anything. So that is the first order of
business. This area has reverted back swiftly
since the bombings. Malaria and typhoid fever
worry me. But my big concern is typhus."
  "Why typhus, Lamar?"
  "Transmitted by fleas and lice."
  "I agree." He called for an aide. He
stuck his head into the room. "Have the school grounds and
buildings sprayed top to bottom. And have a
delousing tent set up."
  "Yes, sir."
  "Dan? After the people have been moved out tomorrow, have teams
sent out to inspect each home. If they're living in
squalor ... burn it."
  "Yes, sir."
  "That's not going to win you any friends, Ben,"
Cecil reminded him.
  "I am well aware of that, Cec. It's just a
matter of time before Hiram and his bunch elect to do
one of
  two things. They'll either pull out in the middle of the
night, or they'll fight."
  "You're that sure, Ben?" Lamar asked.
  "Yes. Hiram despises me. Always has.
The first time some kid tells him that we're teaching
against his philosophy, that's when it's going to hit the
fan."
  "The children are the hope for the future, general,"
Dan spoke up. "We cannot allow a child to be brought
up in ignorance."
  "I don't intend to allow it, Dan. That is why
most of the time, just a whole lot of those kids from the
Stanford Community will be spending the night with various
Rebel families here in town."
  "That isn't going to make you any more popular with the
"necks, Ben," Cecil told him. "But I have
to applaud your plan."
  "I never cared about being popular with trash, Cec.
They have no place in my plans."
  "You know, Raines," Dr. Chase said, "it's just
a damn wonder somebody didn't shoot you back
when you were ranting and raving with the written word."
  "They tried, Lamar. They tried. It was then that
I knew I'd touched a raw nerve." He turned
to look out the still-dirty window of the old bank
building. "It was only then that I fully grasped
the seriousness of the problem. Ninety-five percent of the
people like Hiram will never change. But there is hope for the
kids. And whether it's right or moral for me to do
what I'm doing ... God will have to judge me on that
point. For now, I can do only what I think is
best for future generations."
  "What are we gonna do, Hiram?" The question was
thrown at him from amid the white-robed and
coned-hatted crowd who had gathered in the darkness.
The cross had burned down to only a faint glow.
  "We got to go along with Raines till we can come
up with a plan." Hiram's oldest, Billy, had
refused to attend the meeting this night, and that both
confused and hurt Hiram. Since the meeting earlier
in the day with Raines, Billy had been moody and
untouchable. The boy acted like he had something heavy
on his mind.
  "They's too many of 'em for us to fight, Hiram.
And that's what I think Ben Raines wants ... a
fight."
  "In a way he do," Hiram agreed. "If it
was jist us, he would. But Ben's got plans for the
younguns. I don't know what they is, but that sneaky
bastard's got somethang up his sleeve.
Y'all can jist bet on that."
  "Furst time one of them nigger Rebels gives
me an order, I'm a-gonna bus" his head," a
pus-gutted man loudly proclaimed.
  Hiram remembered the muzzle of that gun stuck
up under his chin. Humiliating! "No, you won't,
neither, Carl. You'll jist do "xactly whut he
tells you to do. We're so bad outnumbered by them
Rebels we ain't even in the ballpark, much less
in the game. I don't know yet what we're
gonna do. And until I can come up with somethang,
we just play 'er easy-like."
  Billy sat on his front porch and thought of the
  man called Ben Raines. There was something about the
man that both drew and frightened Billy Bob. And it
was embarrassing about that book. Billy had never
told his father, but he didn't like not being able to read
right. Billy always thought that all them books he'd
seen all piled up in stores and libraries and
homes had to have been writ for some reason. And he
figured that there was good to be had in a lot of them.
  Problem was, he couldn't make out the words.
  And them Rebel soldiers; they just seemed so,
well, busy, he reckoned. Like they knowed they had
a good purpose in life and was right eager
to get crackin" on it. And ever'where he'd looked
that day, he'd seen men and women and kids with books
in they hands. There had to be something to it, or else
all them folks wouldn't be foolin' with it.
  And what was that word General Raines had used?
Yeah ... civility. Nice-sounded word, Billy
thought. Felt good on the tongue. Problem was, he
didn't know what it meant. Get right down to the
truth of it, Billy didn't know half of what
General Raines had said.
  And it just, by golly, shouldn't oughta be that way. A
man ought to be able to have sense enough to know what the other
feller is talking about.
  Billy watched as his brother, Grover Neal,
rode his horse up to the porch of the house.
"Billy," the young man said. "Daddy was some put-out
"bout you not goin" to the gatherin' this night."
  "Had things to do, Grover."
  "Whut?"
  "Mind things."
  "Whut kind of thangs?"
  "Thinkin' to do."
  "Oh."
  Billy's older boy, by wife number two,
came out onto the porch and sat down in
front of the old TV set that rested on the porch.
"Magic box," the boy said.
  For some unexplainable reason, that statement got
all over Billy. "It isn't a magic box,
Richard Lee. It's just an old television
set."
  "Mister G.b. says it's a magic box," the
boy said.
  Billy almost said that Mister G.b. was a fool
and had been for as long as Billy had known him. But
then he remembered that G.b. was his pa's best friend.
  "Yeah, it's a magic box, Richard Lee,"
Grover spoke up.
  "Shut up!" Billy's tone was harsh toward his
brother. "Don't be fillin' the boy's head with
crap. No such thing as magic."
  "Ummmm!" Grover backed up. "I bet you
won't say that to Old Lady Pauly. She put
a hex on you, boy."
  "Go on back home, Grover. You're talkin'
like a fool!"
  "I'm a-gonna tale Daddy on you, boy!"
Grover swung back into the saddle.
  "You do that. Right now, you beside' just get on out of
here."
  "If this here ain't a magic box," the boy
asked, after his uncle had ridden off into the night,
"what then be it?"
  Billy sighed. "Son, back when I was just about
  your age, we had something called TV. Folks
could send pitchers ...
pictures,
through the air and they'd form up on that screen and we could
watch shows that come all the way from, well,
Mon-roe."
  The child drew back from the set, suddenly fearful
of the set. "No!"
  "Oh, yeah, Richard. But it wasn't nothing
to be afraid of."
  "Can you make it do it agin?"
  "No, boy. I'm ..." Then he admitted the
truth. "I'm not smart enough."
  "I bet Grandpaw could do it!"
  "No, boy. He can't do it, neither."
  "But Grandpaw knows ever'thang."
  He just thinks he do, Billy thought. If I was
a big enough man to tell you the truth, Grandpaw is
nearabs as dumb as I am.
  "But I seen a man today that probably could make
that thing light up. Or if he couldn't, I
betcha he's got some people with him that can."
  "Who he be?"
  "Man name of Ben Raines."
  The boy looked at his father. "But Grandpaw says
Ben Raines is evil."
  Billy then took the first step toward breaking out
of the bonds of ignorance and near-barbarism. "Your
Grandpaw is wrong, boy. General Ben Raines
ain't evil."
  "Then what he be, Pa?"
  "Smart. I think he's got the in-sight,
boy."
  The boy gasped. "I be fearful of that man,
Pa."
  Billy shook his head. "No need to be. What
you need to do is learn from him and his kind."
  Behind the screen door, wife number two was standing
in silence, hands to her mouth, listening in shock. Her
husband was talking agin the leader.
  And it was the code that she had to report him.
  An hour before dawn, and Ben and Ike were sitting
alone in a mess tent, having breakfast and talking.
  "If New York City is still intact, Ike,
it's a good bet that's the headquarters of the Night
P. What was it we were told in Atlanta.
The Judges. Yes. The Judges are the
council; they make the rules for the Night P."
  "And the place is gonna be swarmin' with those
heathens."
  "Yes. I think that's why they eventually had
to branch out. New York couldn't support them
all. So they began fanning out. If what we're
saying is true, the Night People could be the biggest
threat we've ever faced."
  Ike shuddered. "Can you just imagine a
million
of those creatures, Ben?"
  "Mind-boggling, isn't it?"
  "To say the least."
  "I'm thinking that if New York City is
intact, and inhabited, the city is probably
cordoned off by various groups. Street punks and
warlords probably control parts of it; Night People
control other parts; decent citizens might have a
stronghold there. We just don't know."
  "I'll find out, Ben."
  "Ike, I am giving you a direct order.
Keep your big
  ass out of the city. Do you understand me, Ike?"
  "That's a big ten-four, Ben." The
ex-Seal grinned at Ben.
  Ben stuck out his hand and Ike took it. "Luck
to you, Ike. And look after my little girl."
  "Will do, Ben. I spoke to Cecil and Chase and
Dan last night."
  "I'll keep an eye on Nina for you."
  Ike smiled. "Tell you what, Ben. As testy
as she's been the last few days, I'm glad to get
gone!"
  Laughing, the two men moved out into the quiet of
early morning.
  Ben stood in the darkness and watched as Ike linked
up with his two-hundred-person unit. They had a
long and dirty and dangerous route ahead of them.
Ben knew Cecil was mildly pissed at him for not
having been chosen to go; but Ben needed Cec here.
Cecil had a calming influence about him. The man
almost never lost his temper-however when he did, one
had better stand aside, for the former Green Bennie was
awesome in a fight, and for his age, still amazingly
powerful. When it come to administration and logistical
problems, Cecil was the best.
  When the last vehicle in Ike's column was
gone, Ben walked back into the mess tent and drew
himself another mug of what currently passed
for coffee. He sat alone with his thoughts.
  Hiram had taken everything too calmly to suit
Ben; he figured the man's brain was working overtime,
trying to come up with a plan to outfox the man he hated
more than anything on the face of the earth. Ben's thoughts
went winging back, sailing
  through the years....
  ..." "at's him over yonder." Ben heard the
voice come from behind him. He did not look around.
  "The skinny feller with the beer?"
  "Yeah."
  "He don't look lak much to me."
  Favorite redneck game; bait the stranger and
see if he'll fight.
  All real men fistfight. Ever'body knows that.
If he won't fight, he's probably a queer.
  Late afternoon, years before the Great War would alter
the lives of every human being on the face of the earth for
untold generations to come. Ben had stopped, against his
better judgment, at a 'neck honky-tonk a
few miles from Morriston.
  "Bring us a beer, Carol," Hiram had
called. "A long neck. Ast that lanky drank of
water at the bar ifn he'd lak a sodee pop.
He looks too sissy to be drankin" a
man's drank."
  Ben smiled at the waitress. "I'll pass."
  Ben knew exactly what was coming next, and
Hiram didn't disappoint him.
  "You too good to drank with us, boy?"
  "That's Hiram Rockingham, mister," the
barmaid said in a hoarse whisper. "He's bad."
  "He certainly smells that way," Ben said,
raising his voice.
  "Whut's "at?" Hiram hollered. "Whut'd
he say 'bout me?"
  "I said you stink like shit, you ignorant
mother-fucker," Ben said. He still had not turned around.
He was watching the 'neck in the mirror.
  Hiram stood up and balled his hands into fists.
"Ah thank ah'll jist whup your ass for that."
  "I doubt it."
  When Hiram was two steps away from him, Ben
turned and hit the redneck in the face with the beer
mug. Blood and beer went flying. Ben grabbed
Hiram by the seat of his dirty jeans, the other hand
on his equally dirty neck, and drove him headfirst
into a wall.
  Turning, Ben picked up a pool cue and hit
the first 'neck he could find in the teeth.
Tobacco-stained pearlies went flying. The other
'neck went racing for the door. Ben jammed the
business end of the cue stick between the man's cowboy
boots and brought him down ... then kicked him in the
head.
  The others in the joint had not moved. But Ben
heard one say, "Best pass the word to leave that son
of a bitch alone."
  Ben ordered another beer and sipped on it until
Hiram began to groan and move. Ben then poured the
rest of the beer on his head.
  Ben stepped back and waited; stepped back far
enough so that Hiram could not kick or grab him.
  "We was only funnin" wift you," Hiram
said, getting to his feet.
  "It is a joke only when all parties find it
amusing. But I don't suppose someone as
ignorant as you could ever possibly comprehend that."
  Hiram swung. Ben grabbed the forearm and put
Hiram on the floor with a bit of applied judo.
  Then he kicked Hiram right on the ass just as
hard as he could.
  Hiram squalled and cussed. He rolled to his
feet and charged Ben, trying to get him in a bear
hug. Ben tripped him and once more sent the
"neck to the floor.
  Ben kicked him in the face. The sound of bones
crunching was loud in the barroom. Hiram fell
back, unconscious, blood and tissue and gum and
bits of teeth leaking out of his swollen mouth.
  "Call the sheriffs department," Ben told the
barmaid.
  The deputy was amused. Obviously, he had little
use for the people of Stanford ... probably even less
than most, since Ben was sure he had answered many
calls to that area.
  "So Hiram said he was gonna whip your ass,
huh, Mr. Raines?"
  "That's what he said."
  "You want to file any complaints, Carol?"
  "Not a one. Hiram and his buddies got
exactly what they deserved."
  "But we was only a-funnin", deputy!" one
"neck hollered.
  "Shut up," the deputy told him. He swung
his eyes to Ben. "You want to file a complaint,
Mr. Raines?"
  Ben shook his head. "No, it's over as far as
I'm concerned."
  The deputy smiled. "Maybe the fight
is, but you don't know this bunch, mister. You're from
Illinois, so I'll bring you up to date. These
guys are Kluck-ers."
  "I beg your pardon?"
  "KKK."
  "Is that supposed to fill me with fear?"
  The deputy laughed. "You may be a Yankee,
Mr. Raines, but you're all right. Just watch your
back from now on, 'cause they ain't never gonna
forget or forgive you for this. They're white trash,
Mr. Raines."
  Ben looked at the deputy.
  "You see, Mr. Raines, here's the way it is.
You got black people, you got colored people, and you got
niggers. You got white people, you got rednecks, and you
got trash. Blacks and whites never have had any
trouble." He turned around and left the dark
barroom.
  "Well, I'll be damned!" Hen said.
Chapter Five
  Hiram rinsed off his dentures and stuck them in his
mouth. He'd worn them ever since that goddamned
Ben Raines had kicked his teeth out, years ago.
  Son of a bitch didn't fight fair.
  Hell, they'd only been jokin".
Man couldn't take a joke, either.
  Hiram had heard the trucks and Jeeps go
by his place during the night. And he knew what
they was without even having to get up out of the bed.
  Them damn soldier-people come to see that all the
folks around here got into town like good little boys and
girls.
  He'd been too busy today to go and see Billy;
something was sure wrong with him. Grover Neal come
by after the cross-burnin' and said his brother got all
uppity with him. Hiram wasn't going to have that. Not
none of it.
  He sat down and ate his breakfast, conscious of the
.jeep parked in front of his house, with a machine
gun stuck up in the rear of it.
  Goddamned Ben Raines was pushin'. That's what
he was doin'. Pushin'.
  But already, Hiram could see by looking out his kitchen
window, people were leaving for Morriston.
  Just like good little boys and girls.
  Hiram sat, his stomach sour, and cursed Ben
Raines.
  Tina had halted her Scouts just south of
Memphis. The team, to a person, sat in their
vehicles and stared at the huge sign by the
side of the road.
  MEMPHIS OFF LIMITS. DEATH
TO ALL WHO ENTER.
  "You think they're trying to tell us something?" a young
man asked Tina, a smile on his face.
  The Rebels were human; of course, they knew
fear. But none of them lived with it on a day-to-day
basis. Many had been raised in Rebel camps,
from California to Georgia. Most of them had been
fighting since they were barely into their teens. They were
solid, hard-nosed, professional soldiers, and
they did not frighten easily. They had, to a person,
faced hideous mutants; armies of warlords;
street gangs; they had faced the troops of the
Russian, Striganov, and his IPF ... and they
had defeated them all.
  More important, they had all been trained by Ben
Raines ... he had written the training manual.
The Rebels could be totally ruthless in their seemingly
never-ending quest to bring some form of stability
  back to the shattered nation. And they rarely took
prisoners.
  One either agreed with the Rebel philosophy, or
the choices were plain. Leave the area or attend your
own funeral.
  "Well, whoever put that sign up can go right
straight to hell. We've got to cut a route through
Memphis. Matt, you and Chuck range out a
mile in front of us. We've got to clear this
two-forty loop for Ike. Move out."
  The point men saw their first pile of bodies just
after entering the city limits. They waited until
Tina and her group had joined them.
  "Damn," Tina said, eyeballing the pile of
stinking bodies. "That's a fairly fresh pile.
And they're all been carved up."
  "The choice cuts taken," another Scout said.
  Tina stood for a moment, pondering their situation.
If they advanced further and got themselves cut off,
surrounded by ... whatever enemy was in the city, they
could accomplish nothing. Getting themselves killed would
prove or solve nothing. But on the other hand, if
they didn't clear the route, Ike's main
columns would have to cut off the Interstate somewhere around
Batesville and wind their way north on
secondary roads until reaching I-40.
  "It's probably Night People responsible for
this," she finally said. "I won't order any of you
to your deaths. Let's vote."
  That, also, was the Rebel way.
  All voted to continue on into Memphis.
  "We're not exactly traveling light, Tina,"
the ranking sergeant said. "We've got .50's and
.60's and
  rocket launchers and explosives. And we've
got daylight on our side. Let's put the
vehicles fifty yards apart, everybody on
alert, and roll in."
  "Heads up, people," Tina ordered, clicking her
M-16 off safety. She turned to her driver,
Sharon. "Let's take the point."
  And head into the unknown, she thought.
  "And top of the morning to you, sir!" Dan called
out cheerfully to Hiram. The man had just stepped out
onto his front porch.
  "Soldier," Hiram returned the greeting,
sort of. "Don't trust us, soldier-boy?"
  Dan smiled at the man. "Implicitly,
sir."
  Hiram grunted. He figured he'd been
insulted but wasn't sure.
  "Me and mine will be along directly," Hiram
told him.
  "We'll wait," Dan said pleasantly.
  Hiram figured there wasn't no point
in puttin' it off no longer. He plopped his hat
on his head and started hollerin' for his wives and
kids.
  It was quite a parade that came rattling and banging and
smoking into town.
  "The western people had a name for people like Hiram," Ben
said to Cecil. "Rawhiders. They didn't build
anything to last; just laced it together with rawhide, knowing
it was going to fall down sooner or later."
  Even the normally mild-mannered Cecil was
disgusted with the sight. "There are literally thousands of
abandoned vehicles around the land. There is no
  need for vehicles to be pieced together with wire!"
  "Yes, but that would require some initiative,
Cec. It's easier to just ... "war hit up" and
let it flap."
  "And these people were like this when the world was whole?" Cec
asked.
  "To one degree or the other. There were, at one
time, many good, decent families living in the
Stanford Community. But they were always outnumbered by the
Hirams of this earth."
  "I wonder what happened to them?"
  "They probably left after all semblance of
law and order was gone. Wouldn't you?"
  "No," the black man said, some heat in his
voice. "I would have picked up a gun and fought the
Hirams of this earth."
  "My, my!" Ben kidded him. "How
militaristic we've become."
  "Stuff it, Raines!" the
ex-teacher-turned-Rebel said with a grin. "Let's
go see how Chase is doing."
  "Fuming, I should imagine."
  They found him at the delousing tents, arguing with
Hiram and several other men.
  Buddy Raines had walked along with his father and
General Jefferys.
  "I ain't gonna stand for bein' treated lak no
gawddam cow!" Hiram hollered. "I jist ain't
a-gonna do hit."
  "Don't get too close, Ben," Chase
warned. "The man is crawling with fleas."
  "I know," Ben said drily. "I had to have my
office fumigated after he left. Hiram, go to that
tent over there and take a shower. Then come to this tent
here for delousing."
  "Ah'd lak to see you make me do that!"
  Ben smiled. "I kicked your ass years ago,
Hiram. You want me to do it again?"
  With a low curse, the man glared at Ben, raw
hate in his eyes. "You "barrassin" me in
front of my people deliberate, Raines."
  "Everybody is being treated the same, Hiram.
You singled yourself out by your behavior."
  "Why don't you take the treatment, Raines.
Show us how hit's done."
  "Because I don't live in squalor. I take
baths daily, and I don't have fleas and lice.
Move, Hiram."
  "I'll kill you someday, Raines," the "neck
swore.
  "You'll try."
  "What do we do with their clothes, general?" Ben was
asked.
  "Burn them."
  "They's smoke down yonder!" a 'neck
hollered, pointing.
  "Lot's of smoke!" another yelled. "Whut the
hale's goin" on?"
  "Some of the homes are being burned," Ben told the
group. "Your possessions were moved out and put in
empty homes ... after being deloused and
fumigated," he added, more than a modicum of
disgust in his voice.
  "My daddy built that there house!" a man
yelled.
  "Yes," Ben told him. "And I knew your
father. He was fine man. A good, decent man. He
would have had no part in following scum like this," Ben
jerked his thumb at Hiram. "I can't help but
wonder what happened to change you." He looked at
Buddy. "Take over here, Buddy. Delouse
them."
  "Yes, sir."
  "Come on, Cec. The odor is overwhelming."
  "See you in Hell, Raines!" Hiram
swore. "I hope it smells better than this,"
Ben called over his shoulder.
  "Blow it," Tina finally said, after inspecting the
barricade on the I-240 loop. "But be sure it
isn't booby-trapped. Let's back off and put
a rocket into the mess. If it's wired, that should
tell us."
  The rocket knocked a hole in the barricade
and the rest was quickly shoved to one side. Rebels
stood on both sides of the overpass, weapons at
the ready, eyes constantly searching the area below them.
  Tina checked the sky. It would be getting dark in
a couple of hours. She did not want to be
caught inside the city limits after dark.
  Sergeant Wilson caught her glance. "It's
going to be close, Tina."
  "There's a barricade of some sort every mile,"
Tina's walkie-talkie popped.
  "We're not going to make it," Tina said. Then
softly cursed. "The airport is right over there.
Or what is left of it. Let's hole up there
for the night and establish radio contact with Eagle
Base and with Ike."
  The twenty-five person team of Scouts made
their way to the airport ... and immediately ran
into trouble.
  "I do not wish anytime soon to go through
  another day like this one," Chase bitched, pouring
himself a stiff drink of bourbon.
  About an hour before dark, and the men were sitting in
Ben's office. "I still feel like I've got lice
crawling on me." Chase downed the drink in one
gulp and poured another.
  "I have to say this, general," Dan said. "Is it
worth all this? To settle in this particular spot, that
is?"
  "I'll admit that some of it is purely
personal," Ben said. "But we're going
to be hitting pockets like this no matter where we go.
We might as well practice here and get it down
pat. We've got to show the people that we mean exactly
what we say. We can't run a bluff."
  "I can't begin to tell you all how much I miss
the tranquility of the old Tri-States," Cecil
said. "Talk about your good old days."
  "We could do it again," Ben said. "But what would we
have accomplished by doing so? We would be safe inside
our sealed borders, but people like Hiram would be gaining
strength outside. Very soon, we'd be even more
outnumbered than we are now."
  All present silently agreed with that.
  "Father." Buddy spoke. "Why didn't you just
send planes to do a fly-by of what is left of
New York City?"
  "I will eventually, son. But first the ground teams
have to check out and clear runways; check fuel
depots. We have to make certain the planes have a
place to set down."
  "I see." The young man rose and walked to the
window. Somebody had washed it during the day.
  "Something on your mind, son?"
  The son turned to face the father. "You speak of
classes of people, father. I had never understood
it fully until this day. But it's still confusing to me.
A rational person would surely understand that if one is
to prevent disease, one must bathe. Even animals
make some attempt to clean themselves. What makes
these people behave as they do?"
  "Lack of education is part of it, Buddy. And the
way their parents brought them up has something to do with it.
For years, so-called experts did their best
to convince people that there is no such thing as a person's being
born bad. I never believed a damn thing those
so-called experts had to say. I've seen too much
proof otherwise. My belief is that once a
person hits adulthood, few will change. Part of
them might want to change, but something within them has
overpowered that urge."
  "Then ... so we can change the children of these people,
hopefully. But what about the adults?"
  "Fear is the great motivator, Buddy. To cut
through all the grease and get to the stew, you've got
to understand that all governments are based, to one degree
or another, on fear. Fear of punishment for breaking
the rules."
  The handsome young man was silent for a moment. Dan
wore an amused look on his face. Chase was
studying his glass of whiskey. Cecil
kept looking from father to son.
  "All right," Buddy said. "I can see where that is
true. Governments must assume the same position
as a parent toward a child; am I correct in that
assumption, Father?"
  "Unfortunately, yes, Buddy. I'm afraid
that is the case."
  "But the Rebel philosophy is not so much to that
degree."
  "That's right. That's why it's so difficult for so
many people to understand us."
  "This Hiram person? ..."
  "He will never understand it. Hiram is the worst
kind of person, Buddy. He is ignorant and very
proud of that ignorance. And because of that, Hiram is very
dangerous. He preys on the fear and superstitions
of others like him. You ever seen a snake pit,
son?"
  "Oh, yes, sir!"
  "That's what we're dealing with ... with most of the
adults of the Stanford Community."
  "Then someday, Father, you will have to kill this Hiram
person."
  "I'm afraid so, son."
  "It's a very distasteful business, isn't
it, Father?"
  "Yes. Yes, it is."
  An aide stuck his head into the office. "Ike just
called in. He can't make contact with Tina's
Scouts."
Chapter Six
  Tina and her team had pulled up under the canopy
of steel and concrete, left guards with each
vehicle, and slowly entered the littered airport
concourse. Tina was the first to notice what appeared
to be a bundle of rags behind a car rental counter,
next to the wall. She motioned the other team members
back to the shattered electric doors and lifted her
M-16.
  The creature came off the floor, out from under the
rags, its horrible twisted face ugly with hate,
the unnaturally white eyes hot with fury.
  Tina pulled the trigger, the slugs catching the
creature in the chest, stopping the horrible howling. The
lower concourse was suddenly filled with Night P. The
Scouts sent a dozen of them into that long sleep and
then rang out to their vehicles.
  "That hangar over there!" Tina pointed. "It's
small enough that we can clean it out quickly but large enough for
us to store our vehicles."
  There was still enough light in the sky to prevent the Night
People from leaving the safe darkness of the airport's lower
deck.
  But a Scout sent a long burst of M-60
machine gun fire into the lower deck, just for insurance.
The insurance paid off. A long while of agony
erupted from the dimness of the concourse.
  One horribly disfigured creature braved the
light, running out just as the overhang was ending and the
vehicles could break free of the dimness. Tina's
Jeep struck the thing and sent it over the hood, to land
in the small back seat, packed with supplies.
Tina felt bloody fingers clawing at her neck.
  They were accelerating fast out of a curve, and the
driver had all she could do fighting the wheel. Tina
twisted in the seat and came face to face with the
foul-smelling and hideously deformed being. Clawing
at her .45, cocked and locked, she fired through the
seat, the big .45 slug striking the thing in the
belly. With a howl of anguish, the Night Person
toppled out of the Jeep, only to be run over by the
truck behind Tina.
  Her driver, Sharon, cut her eyes at her and
grinned. "How'd you like to bed down with one of those
beauties?"
  "Pl-ease!" Tina took a deep breath. The
fetid smell of the creature still lingered around her.
She wrinkled her nose.
  They made it to the hangar without seeing another
Night Person, but with the darkness quickly gathering, all
knew they were being watched.
  "Chuck, take two and clear the hangar to the
left," Tina shouted. "Matt, take two and do the
same to the hangar on the right. Sharon, Bernie,
Ham, come on!"
  The rattle of gunfire was loud as the Rebels
  cleaned out a nest of Night People in the left-side
hangar. None were found in the other two buildings.
"Find buckets and barrels, people. Take your
entrenching tools and fill them up with dirt. Ham,
check out those pumps over there. See if the tanks
still hold fuel. We'll saturate the dirt with
jet fuel and set them around the outside of the hangar.
Ignite them when the creatures come at us tonight. And
you can bet they damn sure will. Let's go, people!"
  "Eagle One to Shark," Ben spoke into the mic.
  "Shark here."
  "What's wrong with Tina, Ike?"
  "Don't know, Ben. I'm about a hundred and
twenty-five miles south of Memphis.
Been trying to reach her for an hour. No
response."
  "Son of a bitch!" Ben cursed.
  "You want me to pour on the juice and try to find
her?"
  Ben then made the decision that separated him from the
others, placing him in that lonely position of commander.
"No, Ike. Tina knew the risks when she
volunteered. Your job is to get to New York
City. I'll try to contact her with our equipment
here. I'll get back to you. Eagle One out."
  "Shark out."
  Ike looked at his XO. Broadhurst shook
his head. "That's one hard man, general."
  "Most good soldiers are." Ike's reply was
curt but not unfriendly. "It goes with the territory."
  "Eagle One to Big Apple Scout. Do you
read me, Big Apple Scout?"
  "Relax, Eagle One." Tina's voice
came through the speaker. "I've been listening to you and
Shark growl."
  "Don't get smart-assed with me, girl!" Ben
said with a grin, as relief flooded him. "What's the
problem at your twenty?"
  "Night People, and from what we've seen so
far, Memphis is filled with them. We're holed
up at the airport."
  "Which one?"
  "Big one just south of the Two-forty loop."
  "How's your position?"
  "Pretty good, I believe. It better be,
"cause we're sure socked in here for the night, and
I got a hunch it's gonna get interesting."
  "You still have about a half hour of light left. Have
your people work in pairs and check for portable
generators. Place should have plenty of them,
especially in the hangars. Then find the plug for the
outside floodlights. You ten four this?"
  "Thanks, Eagle. I'd forgotten about that."
  "Stay in contact. Eagle One out."
  "Whut you gonna do 'bout Billy Bob's
talkin" agin you, Pa?" Jimmy Luther asked his
father.
  "I don't know. Nothin' yet. Give him time.
He'll screw up big the next time. Bet on
it."
  "And then, Pa?"
  "You know what the code says, boy. Same as
I do."
  His son nodded his head. "I don't lak
my new
  house. Wife does, though. She's all
thrilled with it."
  "Wimmin would be. They ain't got no sense no
how. If it wasn't for what they got "tween their
legs, we be huntin" them lak deer. We ain't
gonna raise no fuss just yet. Play along with
Raines, you hear?"
  "Yes, Daddy. Uh, Daddy? ..."
  "Whut it is?"
  "Precious was makin' eyes at one of them
soldier-boys today. I seen her."
  "I'll take a strop to her ass! My little
baby Precious Thrill ain' gonna get
in-volved with no nigger-lovin' soldier-boy. You
see her doin' that agin, you come tell me, you hear,
Jimmy Luther?"
  "Yes, Daddy."
  "An tell the others to watch Billy Bob.
Ah thank he's all tooken with Ben Raines's
big words and highfalutin' ways."
  "Yes, Daddy."
  "I hate that goddamned Ben Raines!"
  At full dark, the Night People began to circle
the hangar, moaning and filling the air with
promises of dark and bloody torture. Inside,
Tina had gone her dad one better. She'd had her
team run three strands of wire completely around the
building, ankle to chest high, securing it with
insulators taken from light poles and other
hangars.
  The teams had found three portable generators, and
Ham had connected them together and then grinned up at
Tina.
  "When they hit those naked wires, Tina, it's
gonna be the last time for some of them."
  "What do you mean, "some of them"?"
  "Enough of them grab it, it'll short out,
probably. But not before it does a hell of a lot of
damage."
  "We save the wires for last," she ordered.
"This building is metal; it isn't going to burn.
We've got enough firepower among us to stand off one
hell of a crowd. If it comes to it, we can bust out and
take our chances outside. But that is really a last
resort."
  was "Course there is something else you'd better
know, too," Ham said.
  "I don't like the sound of this." Tina tried a
small smile.
  "These are big-assed generators. They just might
throw enough juice to melt those wires we strung up."
  "Thanks, Ham. But I could have done without that
knowledge."
  "We can always try prayer," he suggested.
  "Believe me," Sharon said, "I have!"
  Then came the sound that chilled them all, cooling the
blood and raising the hair on the back of their
necks, making rational human flesh feel like it was
crawling.
  "Die ... Die ... Die ... Die!"
  The chanting was accompanied by the sounds of hundreds
of marching feet.
  "Snipers up on the scaffolding," Tina
ordered. "Everybody else take your positions and
stand hard."
  The Rebels moved to pre-assigned posts. They
waited.
  The chanting became louder.
  "Sweet Jesus Christ!" a sniper muttered.
  "What do you see?" Tina called from the hangar
floor.
  "Hundreds of them. One great big human wave
of robed and hooded ... whatever the hell they are."
  "Pick your targets and fire!" Tina
ordered.
  The hangar echoed and rocked with the sounds of .223,
.308, .50, and .60 caliber ammo. The din was
enormous inside the metal building.
  Outside, the howling and crying of wounded was harsh in
the night air. The first wave of Night People never
even got close to the hangar. Those that had tried now
lay in bloody heaps on the concrete, several
hundred yards from the hangar. Those still alive had
run back into the dark safety of the night.
  "Cease firing!" Tina called. She walked the
hangar floor, going to each position, chatting
briefly with the Rebel stationed there. No one had been
hurt by the Night People, although a couple of arrows had
managed to penetrate the broken windows of the hangar.
  "How far away is the nearest group?" Tina
called to a Rebel on the scaffolding.
  was 'Bout three hundred meters. Pretty good
bunch of them."
  "Ham, set up a mortar just outside the door
and lob a couple of HE'S into that knot of
garbage. That might shake up their little world." She
looked up at the Rebel on the scaffolding.
"Give me coordinates."
  The klicks were called out as Ham
adjusted the leveling bubble. "Drop one in," he
ordered.
  The rocket slid down the tube. The
high-explosive round rocked the night.
  The spotter called down adjustments.
  The second HE dropped right in the middle of the
Night People, hurling bodies and pieces of bodies
in all directions.
  "Now start dropping in white phosphorous,"
Tina ordered. She stood just outside a small
hangar door.
  The WP rounds were cranked out as fast as could be
dropped down the tube. The WP sparked the night,
the burning shards igniting the clothing of the Night People,
burning deep into flesh, sending the Night People
screaming and squalling and running off in search of
relief.
  But there was no relief from WP; the shards would
burn all the way through bone.
  "Cease firing!" Tina said. "Back inside,
Ham. That should give us some breathing room."
  An hour passed in near silence. The Night
People, up to this point, had been accustomed to dealing with
civilians, without any effective organization,
training, or leadership. This band of Night
People had never before encountered anything like the Rebels.
  Tina accepted a hand-rolled cigarette from
Ham. The tobacco, years old and dry, was harsh
against her throat. Like her father, she smoked but three
or four cigarettes a day; she felt that she might
add to that before this night was over.
  The generators were rumbling, the racket
reverberating around the hangar. Ham had not yet
connected the insulated wire that was hooked into the naked
wires around the hangar.
  "Here they come," a Rebel called in a hoarse
whisper. "They're crawling on their bellies."
  She felt Ham's eyes on her. "This time, we
give them a taste of the wires."
  He grinned in the gloom and nodded his head.
  "Light rain outside," Pam called.
  "That's even better," Ham said with a laugh.
"They'll be wet when they hit the wire. Get
ready for some fireworks."
  "Get your welcoming cocktails ready," Tina
called.
  The Rebels had gathered up boxes of empty
bottles and filled them with gasoline, stuffing rags
down the necks of the bottles.
  "I wish we had some flour," a Scout
bitched.
  "Yeah."
  Flour added to the gasoline sticks when the
cocktail blows, burning into flesh.
  "They're close!" the spotter whispered.
"They've got spears."
  "Hit the juice, Ham."
  Ham connected the wire and quickly ran around the
inside of the hanger, briefly glancing out the broken
windows, inspecting the wires. "They're holding."
  "They're here!" a Rebel called softly.
  A wild, hideous shrieking filled the night; more
screaming was added as other Night People hit the naked
voltage-charged wires around the hangar. Inhuman
howlings filled the misty darkness as the juice was
transmitted throughout damp bodies. The hangar was
completely ringed by Night P.
  "Give them everything you got!" Tina yelled,
jerking her M-16 to her shoulder and squeezing off
three-round bursts.
  Moletov cocktails were hurled into the mass of
stinking, hate-filled Night P. The burning rags
  hit stinking human rags and burst into flames.
Once-human beings were turned into living torches,
racing shrieking into the dark mist, briefly
illuminating the night before falling to the concrete to lie
kicking and howling as the flames ate the life from them.
  Ham cut the juice to save the wires as the
Night People began falling back. But this time, they were
running away with a finality to their movements. They had
had enough of the little band of Rebels. What had first
looked so easy had turned into a death trap for them.
  "Cease firing!" Tina called. She watched the
misshapen and grotesque forms vanish into the gloom.
"They've had it."
  She walked to her Jeep and pulled out a food
packet and a canteen of water. "Eat in shifts,"
she called. "Then we'll set up a guard
schedule. We're pulling out at first light."
  "Big Apple Scout to Shark," Tina
radioed.
  "Shark."
  "What's your twenty, Shark? You sound awfully
close."
  "Hernando."
  "Come on. We're just now clearing the last
blockade. Try to ignore the buzzards around the
airport."
  "Ten-four. Be there in a few and then you can fill
me in."
  The Rebels in Ike's command looked at the
circling and bloated buzzards as they passed the
airport.
  "Looks like they counted coup last night," Ike
said to his driver.
  "Sure does. Look over there." He pointed.
"That buzzard's so full he can't even get off the
ground."
  They watched until they were past the point. The
buzzard had given up trying to fly. He simply
sat like an ugly blot, too bloated on human
flesh to rise.
  Tina's scouts were waiting for them on Interstate
40, just off the exit where the artery cut east. Ike
halted his column and walked up to Tina.
  "Fill me in, Tina."
  She gave her report quietly and quickly.
  "We're going to be doing this with every city we come
to," Ike said. "And if I remember
correctly, Nashville is a bitch to get through.
But we've got to secure the Nashville airport
for planes. Let's try to make it to just west of
Nashville today, Tina. We'll bivouac outside
the city and hit the airport at first light tomorrow."
  "Yes, sir. Rolling now."
  When Tina's team had pulled out, Ike radioed
back to Base Camp One and brought Ben up
to date.
  "How's things with you and the rednecks, Ben?"
  "Tense. Dan left some of his personnel down
in that area and the folks resent the hell out their
presence. It's only a matter of time before we're
going to have to go in and kick ass."
  "Any word from Khamsin?"
  "From what we've been able to decode, Khamsin
has his hands full. The citizens over there have risen
up in revolt. I don't think we'll have to worry
about the Libyan for a long time. Least I hope we
don't."
  "I'll check in with you just as soon as we make
camp this evening, Ben. Shark out."
  Ike walked the long column, inspecting the
Jeeps and trucks. There hadn't been a vehicle
of any type manufactured anywhere in the world in
almost a decade and a half, and special care was
given to Rebel vehicles. Wherever the Rebels
went, parts trucks went along, with skilled
mechanics accompanying. Something was always breaking
down.
  Ike spoke to every driver, every Rebel
who met him during inspection. These men and women were
Ike's special team. There were few among them who
could be called young. Most were in their thirties and
forties. They were all hardened combat veterans,
survivors of half a hundred battles.
Whatever weapon they handled, machine gun, mortar,
rocket launcher, flame thrower, rifle ... they
were all experts. And they would stand to the last person.
Most of the men had been in the U.s.
military-years back-all in some hard-assed
outfit. And the women were all highly trained
guerrilla fighters, informal graduates of
Raines's Rebel training courses.
  "Hey, General Ike!" a man called. "When
are we gonna see some action? Boring so far."
  That was met by a laugh from all within hearing range.
  "You'll get your chance, Lutty," Ike
called. "Keep your pants on."
  "He better," a woman laughed. "I didn't
come along for romance."
  "You think New York City is still there,
Ike?" a man with a Bronx accent called. "I
sure would like
  to see my old neighborhood."
  "If it is, Simon," Ike
answered, "it's probably got rats as big as
cats runnin" around."
  "That'd be a definite improvement. Had rats
as big as dogs when I lived there!"
  More laughter.
  "How you doin', Dana?" Ike asked a woman
who sat behind the wheel of a pickup.
  "Hangin' in, general."
  Ike walked on. "Walt." He spoke to a
black man. "You know we're gonna have to skirt
Baltimore."
  "I know, general. I just want to get close enough
to see if anything is standing."
  He had lost every member of his family when the
bombs came.
  "Lee," Ike spoke to an oriental man.
"That's a hell of a big truck for someone as little as
you are," he kidded him.
  "I lowered the seat and put blocks on the
pedals," Lee grinned at him.
  Ike laughed and walked on, cradling his
CAR-15. At the end of the long column, he
waved for his driver to come pick him up.
  His Jeep drove slowly back up to the front
of the column, with Ike yelling out every few
feet, "We're gonna push "em hard, people.
Heads up and stay alert."
  At the head of the column, Ike balled his right
hand into a fist and pumped his arm up and down.
"Let's go!"
Chapter Seven
  "You got anything to say to me?" Ben asked Dr.
Lamar Chase.
  Chase had marched into his office and plopped down
without a word. Sat and glared at Ben.
  "Ben, I am a tolerant man, you know that."
  Ben laughed out loud.
  "Just button your lip, Raines! Well ...
I'm usually a tolerant man."
  "That's better."
  "My doctors just finished with their report on that
... freak show we conducted."
  "You're speaking of the physicals on the people from the
Stanford Community."
  "Of course. It isn't time for your physical
yet."
  Ben smiled at the crusty old bastard.
  "It came as a surprise to me, but the kids are
not malnourished. Their diet could probably stand some
variance. But by and large I found no
problems there that can't be corrected. It's ... the
physical abuse that's bothering me."
  "What the hell did you expect, Lamar? You
saw the caliber of parents."
  "You do then agree that children of abusive parents
usually grow up to abuse their own?"
  "I'm going to surprise you, doctor ... yes,
I do believe that, for the most part."
  "My God, Raines!" Chase feigned great
shock. "There's hope for you yet. I can see it
now: Ben Raines for President, on the Liberal
ticket."
  Ben waited until Chase finished hooing and
hawing and slapping his knee. Get one over on the
general ... and Chase was good at it.
  "What do you want me to do about it, Lamar?"
  The doctor rose from his chair and poured a glass
of water, then walked around the room, taking an
occasional sip. He sat back down and looked at
Ben. "Now I'm going to surprise you, Ben.
What I am going to suggest is very Orwellian, and
very out of character for me."
  "You want me to physically take the kids and
move them into Rebel families, right, Lamar?"
  "Sometimes you spook me, Ben. I'm
beginning to believe there might be some truth to those
rumors about you."
  "Horseshit!"
  For years, beginning shortly after the Great War,
rumors had persisted, then grown all out of
proportion, about Ben Raines's being some sort of
God. There were tribes of people in the deep timber and
in the mountains and underground-those called the Underground
People-who actively worshipped Ben Raines.
Erected carved statues of him.
  And even the old man who called himself the
Prophet predicted dire things would happen if
  people persisted in worshipping Ben Raines.*
  There were the Woods Children who lived in the timber,
and they, too, worshipped, and on occasion, fought
alongside the Rebels. They would never be convinced that
Ben Raines was anything other than a God.
  And so many more....
  "Will you do that, Ben?" Chase asked.
  "No."
  "I'm thinking of the children, Ben."
  "So am I, Lamar. No. I'm going to take
the kids, Lamar. I will not have them growing up to be like
their parents. But the kids have to see that their parents are
fools. They have to be shown, personally
shown, that their parents are ignorant, and will never
make any attempt to climb out of that dismal
quagmire."
  Chase sipped at his water and was silent in thought
for a few heartbeats. He lifted his eyes. "Ben,
that's tougher than just seizing the children."
  "Yes, I know. But there is a reason for it,
too, Lamar. I'm thinking that some,
some
of the parents will be so shamed by their ignorance, they'll
learn just in order to keep their kids."
  "And some of the parents will be so angry they'll try
to kill you, Ben."
  "They've tried before, Lamar."
  "All right, Ben ... we'll play it your way.
Hell, my suggestion would just get us into a fight as
quickly as your way." He sighed. "I've got
years on
*Fire in the Ashes -- Zebra
  you, Ben. I'm an old man. I never understood
a government who would allow children to grow up
ignorant."
  "Oh, I can answer that, Lamar."
  "I just knew you could." Lamar's reply was as
arid as Death Valley. "Well, don't
just sit there, elucidate."
  "Don't play the fool with me, Lamar.
We've been together for too many years."
  Lamar sighed deeply. "Problem is, Ben ...
I leaned that way myself for a good many years. My
heart just broke over the plight of the poor, the
homeless, the needy."
  "And many of them did need help, Lamar.
We're in agreement there."
  "Finish it, Ben."
  "There were some in our government who wanted a
classless society. Unfortunately, while it
looks good on paper, it's a lie. Anyone who
doesn't believe there are classes of people is either very
naive or a damned fool! But there was certainly
no law that said a person couldn't climb out of their
predicament. Thousands, millions, did. The
problem was, and to many people, I suppose, still is, there
were no guidelines to go by. It's like a good cop's
hunch when he looks at a building and thinks,
'Something's wrong in there." He knows it, or he
feels it, but under the law, he's powerless to act.
Same with what used to be called pornography.
Remember the Justice who said that he couldn't
define it, but he knew it when he saw
it?"
  Lamar chuckled and leaned over, pouring a cup of
coffee. "You never had any political
aspirations, did you, Ben?"
  Ben shook his head. "Not a one, Lamar. Oh,
I'd be lying if I said that I didn't, on
occasion, think what I might do if I sat in that
high office. But running for office ... hell,
no! No way."
  "Since we're waxing philosophical, Ben
... why not?"
  "Run for office?"
  "Yes."
  "Hell, Lamar!" Ben laughed. "I was an
ex-soldier for hire. A mercenary, if you will. I
fought in brush wars all over Africa. Before that,
I was a spook for the Company. Nothing more than a
government hired gun. Politically, I was
labeled an ultra-right-winger ... which, to some extent,
was true. The press would have destroyed me. You know
as well as I do that a good segment of the press had
set themselves up as the so-called Guardians of the
American Way. Ah, hell, Lamar!" Ben
waved his hand. "Don't get me started. We got
a long day ahead of us."
  Dan had been listening at the door, not
eavesdropping, for both Chase and Ben had seen
him. He stepped inside and took a seat. "Now
we'll have a quorum," he said with a grin.
  "Oh, Lord!" Ben rolled his eyes. "The
English have arrived."
  "Do continue, general," the Englishman urged
him. "In retrospect, what could have been done
to prevent the world from collapsing?"
  "An astute awareness on the part of the American
people would have helped. But that never happened. We were too
busy merchandising ourselves into
  financial and moral bankruptcy."
  All of his staff and half a dozen civilians
from the Morriston area had stopped work and were listening
outside the door.
  Many of the Rebels were in their twenties; too young
to be fully cognizant of what had happened before the
Great War. One day there was a working government with
everything looking good, the next day, millions around
the world were dead.
  Ben had started to write the history of what had
happened. He'd had no thoughts of becoming a leader
of anything. But since he was a well-known writer and
sometimes commentator, whose views were
hard-conservative, when the word got around that he was still
alive, a movement grew to put Ben Raines in
charge. For months Ben had ducked those people.
  It had been Lamar Chase, among a few
others, who had convinced him to grab the reins of
leadership; shortly afterward, the Tri-States had
been formed.
  And the legend of Ben Raines had begun to grow,
spreading all over the battered and shattered land once
known as the United States of America.
  And the people flocked to Ben Raines and his Rebels
by the thousands; only about half of those would or could
live under the Rebel philosophy. The rest would
wander off and never be heard from again, falling victim
to the ever-growing bands of outlaws and warlords and filth that
lurked all over the ripped-apart nation.
  And among those people who filled the hall outside
Ben's office was Billy Bob Rockingham. He
  tried to blend in with the crowd, to listen, and to learn.
  Ben refilled his coffee cup and leaned back in
his chair. "I think many of the American people got
exactly what they deserved."
  "Why, general?" Dan asked. The ex-British
SAS officer was a highly educated man, and like so
many other Rebels, his quest for knowledge had never
been extinguished. And perhaps that was one of the keys
to fitting in with the Rebel movement. One's mind could
not remain stagnant or in neutral.
  "Because this nation was built on the beliefs in
liberty and freedom; the pursuit of happiness; the
right to be safe and secure in one's homes and
possessions. But a certain group, or groups,
always fought to take those rights from us. There were people who said
it was wrong to defend oneself and one's possessions with a
gun; they placed the rights of criminals above the rights
of the law-abiding and taxpaying citizens."
  "Why, general," a woman spoke from in the
hall, "didn't the American people do something about it?"
  "Because," Ben smiled, "never in the history of the
world has a well-fed, well-clothed, and
well-housed general populace ever risen up in
armed revolt. And most of us were all of that.
  "The nation either had to get mentally tough, or die.
You all know what happened. Thinkers, those who
weren't overcome by their own purported brilliance,
saw the end coming ... but nobody would listen to them.
Toward the end, though, there were some people who opened their
eyes to what was
  taking place around them. But they went about doing
something about it in the wrong way. They became
very vocal survivalists and founders of hate
groups. And those types of groups always attract the
wrong types of people. So, Big Brother stepped on
them like bugs. Rightfully so. They blamed people not of their
race or color or creed for all the nation's woes
and ills. But the nation was rotting from within. We were
given little direction by our elected officials. The
machinations of government and of law became too
ponderous. Many people just quit caring. I was one of those
who dropped out in total frustration.
  "Ours was a land filled with hypocrisy. We
wanted the very best people to run for public office. But
the best people never ran, for no one wanted their guts
ripped out by the press, so consequently, the best people
never sought the higher offices.
  "And what did I do? Not much. Sat back and
wrote my books and laughed while the world went
to hell in a bucket of shit.
  "And so here we are. Without a stable government
anywhere in the world, that I know of. We-the
Rebels-are the only group of people in this land who are
trying to restore the nation to at least some of its
greatness. I don't know if we can do it. But I will
tell you all this: as long as there is breath left in
my body, I am going to try. And we
begin right here." Ben thumped the desk. "Here is where
we start obliterating ignorance and prejudice.
Right here is where we begin restoring the work ethic.
There is no room for troublemakers. No room for
ignorance. No room for those who want something for
nothing.
  The door is closed to them."
  John Simmons stepped into the doorway. "There
was a cross-burning last night, Ben. Do I have
to tell you where?"
  Ben stood up and picked up his Thompson.
"Show me, John. You ride with me. Dan, get
some people together."
  "Yes, sir," the Englishman said. "Going
to get interesting, general?"
  "That's one way of putting it."
Chapter Eight
  Billy Bob sat on the steps in front of the
old two-story bank building, thinking about the
General's speech. Made sense ... as far as
Billy Bob could understand it. He had missed a
whole bunch of words. And, he realized, that wasn't
nobody's fault "cept his own.
  Billy thought that no man had the right to be dumb.
There was some, like his brother Bubba
Willie, who couldn't help it. But if a person
had a right-workin" brain, he owed it to everyone around
him to get some learnin'.
  And Billy also knew the shit was about to hit the
fan down where he lived ... and he knew he
wasn't goin' to live there much longer. He'd get
his families and move out. Get closer to town so's
he could maybe go to a school for grown-ups. And he
knew something else: he wasn't about to go back near
home on this day. General Raines was fixin'
to kick some ass.
  Ben jerked Hiram off the front porch and
tossed
  him to the ground, knocking the breath out of the man. A
whole gaggle of kids was peeking out of windows, out from
under the house, from behind trees and even from behind and inside
the outhouse. Ben waited until Hiram had
crawled to his feet, man stood before Ben, so
angry he was trembling with rage. "Whut for you do that
to me, Raines?"
  "Because you're a stupid fool! Among other things.
All right, Hiram. I'm going to try one more time.
Just ... one ... more ... time. Hear me well. A
new day is upon us, Hiram. We're all starting
over. Fresh."
  "Under your gawddamn rules, right, Raines?"
  "You got it, Hiram."
  "Maybe I don't want to play by your rules,
Raines?"
  "Then get out. But the kids stay. Just like I
told you before."
  About a hundred people had gathered, leaving their homes
and following the Jeeps and trucks when they barreled
past.
  "No more cross-burnings, Hiram. Unless it's
Halloween, if I catch anyone wearing a sheet,
I'm going to shoot them on the spot."
  "Gawddamn you, Raines! They's a whole
passel of niggers in Morriston that's armed up and
talkin' revolution. Talkin' about killin' whitey
and makin' this place some sort of New Africa."
  "Oh, I'll get to them, Hiram. Bet your
boots on that. And I'll treat them the same way
I'm treating you."
  "What do you mean, sir?" a man asked, stepping
  out of the crowd. "Do you mean you're comin' down just as
hard on coloreds as you is on us?"
  Ben turned to face him. "Nobody will be treated
differently, mister. We're all going to obey the
same set of rules."
  The man looked at Hiram. "But Hiram, you
said he was just pickin' on us."
  "It is the truth!" Hiram hollered. "Y'all
cain't see that Raines is playin' us for fools,
that's all. Hell, he was onest married to a nigger
gal. Don't believe me, ask him."
  "Is that true, general?" the same man asked.
  "That's what she told me. She called herself a
zebra. Her father was white, her mother was black. So
what?"
  "What happened to her?"
  "Government troops killed her during the
battle for the Tri-States, back in
"ninety-eight. She was pregnant at the time,"
he added.
  "The Klan's been strong down in this area for a
hundred years, general," a man called out of the
crowd.
  "It just ceased to be," Ben said flatly. "And the
same is going to apply for any black-militant,
white-hating group. I told you, we're starting
all over. Get it through your heads."
  Hiram stuck out his chin. "You know what you is,
Ben Raines. You a commonist. That's what you is.
A damn commonist."
  Ben smiled. "Are you attempting to say
communist, Hiram?"
  "That's whut I jist said. Commonist!"
  "No, Hiram. A communist is a member of the
  Communist Party. There is no such word as
commonist. A commoner is a person not of the
nobility. Do you have all that straight now,
Hiram?" A child laughed. Hiram spun around and
picked up a stick of wood, drawing back to throw
it at the child.
  Ben jerked the wood out of the man's hand and spun
him around. "She was laughing because you were made to look
foolish, Hiram. And when people are made to look
foolish it is usually because they are. If you would rather not
look foolish, why don't you learn to speak
English and get some education."
  Without waiting for Hiram to stop sputtering long enough
to reply, Ben walked to the young girl, about nine
years old, and pretty. Kneeling down, Ben
smiled at her. She shyly returned the smile.
  "What's your name?"
  "Betsy Ann."
  "Well, Betsy Ann. Are you looking forward
to going to school Monday morning?"
  "No, sir."
  "You're not! Why? Don't you want to learn about
all sorts of things?"
  "Yes, sir," she said with the honesty of a child. "But
Grampaw Hiram says that book learnin" is
all a bunch of nonsense."
  Ben smiled. "Your Grandpaw Hiram looked and
sounded a little silly a minute ago, didn't he,
Betsy?"
  She grinned. "Yes, sir."
  "If he had him some book learning, he wouldn't
have looked so silly."
  "You learn that from books?"
  "You can learn all sorts of things from books,
  Betsy. You can learn everything from Azygous and
Aye-Ayes to Zebus and Zwitterions."
  She laughed out loud. "You're funnin' me!"
  "No, I'm not, Betsy. Have you ever seen moving
pictures?"
  "Pitchers that move?"
  "Pic-tures, Betsy. Say it."
  "Pick-tures."
  Ben laughed. "That's close. Ever seen one?"
  "No, sir. Ain't that black magic?"
  "There is no such thing as magic, Betsy." He
started to explain about illusions, but didn't
want to confuse the child. "Someone who believes in
magic is not very smart."
  "I'm gonna go fetch Old Lady Pauly!"
Harry Larry Rockingham shouted. "Show you
sumthang, Ben Raines. She put a hoo-doo
on you."
  Ben laughed at him. "OK. Go get her."
  Harry Larry was gone in a rattle of fenders
and a cloud of smoke.
  Ben looked at Betsy. Then he glanced at a
Rebel in Dan's command. Becky Carver. Her
husband was an intelligence officer, and they were
childless. He pointed at Becky and then pointed
at Betsy. Becky grinned and nodded her head.
  "Betsy, how'd you like to spend the weekend in town
with that lady?" He pointed toward Becky. "I
might be able to arrange for you to take a ride in an
airplane. Would you like that?"
  "Ooohhh, yes. Ifn it's all right with my
dad."
  "It's all right with him. Believe me, it is,
child. I am absolutely totally positive he
isn't going to open his mouth about it. You go over
to Becky. You'll
  like her. She speaks English and takes
baths."
  "Gawddamn you, Ben Raines!" Hiram hissed
his hate. "You snake-sneaky bassard!"
  Ben just grinned at him.
  Ben turned to face the crowd of adults. "How
many of you adults believe in black magic ...
voodoo and hoodoo?"
  About two-thirds of those present raised their
hands.
  Ben turned to face the children. "Your parents are
wrong. They've been teaching you nonsense. Would you
believe me if I could prove it to you?"
  The youngsters all solemnly nodded their heads in the
affirmative.
  Ben looked at Hiram. "Bring on your
voodoo woman, Hiram."
  Ashen-faced, shaking with rage, Hiram could but
nod his head. "She'll be here. And when she come,
she's a-gonna put a hex on you."
  "Horseshit, Hiram!"
  The crowd of kids giggled.
  Ben turned his back to Hiram and walked off
to stand beside Dan. "Here's what I'm going to do,
Dan. And may the Lord God in Heaven forgive
me."
  The Englishman arched one eyebrow.
  "This old woman deals with dried frogs and
lizard legs and snake skins, Dan. But you can
bet your ass she's anything but ignorant. She's
made a living off of these ignoramuses for years.
And you can bet your boots she's heard all the
rumors about me, too."
  Dan smiled. "I love it, general."
  "Let's see if it will work."
  Harry Larry came roaring back, a woman
dressed in black sitting beside him. The men helped
her out of the truck. She looked at Ben and her
face paled.
  "She's heard," Dan whispered. "We should
charge admission for this, general."
  Ben stifled a laugh and walked toward the voodoo
woman. She held up a hand. "I mean you no
harm, Ben Raines. None at all."
  The crowd hissed and drew back.
  The kids were all knotted up together in fear.
  Hiram was looking at the two of them, not understanding
what in the hell was going on. Old Lady Pauly
had never behaved like this before.
  "I'm told you can put your magic to work on me,
lady." Ben raised his voice so all could
hear. "All right, shake your voodoo stick at
me. Come on."
  She shook her head. "I can put no hex on
you, Ben Raines."
  "Why?" Ben's word was harsh.
  "I simply cannot." She knew better than
to use the word magic.
  Easy, Ben, he cautioned himself. Don't let
this backfire on you. Avoid the words powers or
magic. She's a smart old gal, and she'll
twist those words around and use them against you. She is
being careful not to use them herself.
  Both were right to a degree.
  "Don't you ever again fill these kid's heads
full of garbage, old woman. You hear me?"
  "I hear you and I will obey your commands. Shall I
leave the country?"
  "That won't be necessary. Just stay out of my way and
keep your mumbo-jumbo to those
  ignorant enough to believe it." He looked
straight at Hiram as he said it.
  The man's mouth was open so wide it looked like his
upper plate might fall out.
  "Take her back, boy," Ben told Harry
Larry.
  Harry Larry got back in his rattletrap
pickup so fast he lost one shoe.
  "Betsy Ann," Ben looked at the little girl.
"Do you live here in this ... place?" He waved a
hand at the shack.
  "Yes, sir, Mr. Raines."
  "Get your things. Just a few things. We're going
to give you new clothes when we get to town."
  "Yes, sir!" the girl ran into the shack.
  Ben and Hiram walked around each other like a
couple of stiff-legged dogs.
  "That's cold, Ben Raines. Takin' folks
kids from them."
  "Come on, Hiram." Ben tossed his Thompson
to a startled Rebel, who luckily managed to catch
it. "Come on. Let's do it, Hiram. Fight for
leadership. You and me. Best man wins, the other
pulls out. How about it, redneck?"
  Hiram wanted to do just that ... sort of. But he
still had very vivid memories of a barroom brawl with
this man, during which not only did Ben kick his ass,
but two other pretty salty ol' boys as well.
  "You'd lak "at, wouldn't you, Ben?"
  "Oh, yes, Hiram. Very much."
  "If you thank you so much smarter than
me, Ben Raines, how come it is you fight? I
thought smart, uppity people didn't do sich thangs?"
  "That's where you're wrong, Hiram. Boo!" Ben
  suddenly jumped at Hiram and the man almost fell
down trying to get away.
  All the kids and a goodly number of adults got
a laugh out of that.
  "Smart people, Hiram, have had to fight, in one way
or another, for thousands of years. Simply to keep
ignorant assholes like you from taking over the world.
The garnering of knowledge has always been an uphill
struggle, Hiram. Because fools like you keep trying
to push us back."
  "Whup him, Daddy!" Efrom Silas yelled.
"Whup his ass good!"
  "I'm waiting, Hiram. Come on. Let's go
a couple of rounds."
  "Straight-up fist-fightin", Raines? None
of that tricky stuff?"
  "Why, sure, Hiram." Ben then stepped forward
and landed a right on Hiram's jaw, knocking the man
down.
  Hiram jumped up, shook his head, and came in
flailing, both fists pumping.
  Ben stepped aside and clubbed the man
on the back of the neck, knocking him to the dirt again.
  Hiram tried to knee-tackle Ben and got a
boot in the belly for his efforts. He crawled around
on the ground, gagging from the boot in the gut until
he caught his breath.
  Ben took that time to take a drink of water from his
canteen. He replaced the canteen in the
canvas-covered cup and snapped it closed.
  "Hiram, is this the best you can do? You want me
to get one of my women Rebels to come finish the
job?"
  William Watson started jumpin' up and down.
He threw his hat on the ground. "Ain't no
damned woman gonna whup no man." He stepped
out of the crowd and screamed. "Come on. Any of you
bitches wanna fight me? Just step up here and have a
go at it." He looked at his father. "I'll take
over, Paw."
  Hiram was sitting on the ground, both hands
holding his aching stomach.
  A Rebel stepped from the ranks, handing her Uzi
to a friend. Ben smiled. Tama. One of Dan's
close-combat instructors. An expert in
judo.
  Tama said, "Would it not grieve a
woman to be overmastered with a piece of valiant
dust? To make an account of her life to a clod of
wayward marl?"
  "Haw?" William Watson squalled.
  "Shakespeare, you dumbass!" she told him,
never stopping her walking toward him.
  Tama kicked him on the kneecap with a boot,
spun as gracefully as a ballet dancer and kicked
him on the kidney. Willie went down squalling
and did not make any attempt to get up.
  She faced the crowd of stunned and silent people.
"Any of you women who would like to learn to defend
yourselves, come on into town and look me up. I'll be
happy to teach you. It's something you should all know."
  "Oh, shhiitt!" one man said.
  Willie tried to grab hold of Tama's
ankle. She stomped on his hand. The sounds of bones
crunching was loud in the still air.
  Willie rolled on the ground, screaming in
agony, holding his broken hand.
  "You!" Ben pointed at Charlie Jimmy.
  "Sar?" Charlie Jimmy hollered. "I ain't
done nothin'!"
  "Did I say you had? Bring that fool there," he
pointed to Willie, "into town, to our
hospital. We'll fix up his hand." Ben walked
to the porch and swept up Betsy Ann in his arms.
  He looked at the knot of kids. "It will be
all right with your parents if you come into town with us."
He looked at the adults. "Won't it?"
  They mumbled and nodded their heads.
  "How many want to come in and spend some time with us?"
  Nearly all of them.
  "Well, then ... pile in the trucks, and
let's go!"
  Ben grinned. "You don't have to worry about getting
anything. You'll get new clothes when we get
to town."
  After the sounds of the last vehicle had faded
away, Hiram pounded his fists on the dirt and
cursed Ben Raines. "I'll kill you, Ben
Raines. Gawddamn you, I'll kill ya!"
  But he was speaking to only a few people. Most had
left. They wanted no more trouble with Ben Raines and
his Rebels.
Chapter Nine
  "It's eerie," Sharon said to Tina as they drove
closer to Nashville. "The last human being we
saw was a good forty-fifty miles back."
  "Yeah. I know. And Nashville is just
about fifty miles away. What are your thoughts on
it?"
  "I think people have moved away from the cities as far
as they can."
  "I'm with you." She checked her map. "Pull
off at the Kingston Springs exit. Let's check
it out."
  The area was devoid of any living thing, human
or animal.
  But there was a good, easily defended place for a
camp, and after testing the water, the Scouts found it
safe to drink. At a service station by the Interstate
they found a full underground tank of fuel; that would be
used in topping off the tanker trucks that traveled
with them and to fill up other vehicles.
  By the time they had checked out the area and marked out the
bivouac site, the first of Ike's convoy was pulling
in, Ike in the lead Jeep.
  "The last fifty miles was like traveling on the
  moon," Ike said. "I didn't see any
sign of life, Tina. How about you?"
  "Same here. I think Nashville is going to be
crawling with unfriendlies."
  "Yeah." Ike looked around and nodded his
approval of the bivouac site. "Double the
guards tonight," he said, more to himself than anyone else.
"Tina, when the camp is secured and everyone in,
lay Claymores outside the perimeter."
  "Yes, sir."
  The electronically detonated Claymores would
blow when any hostile came within a certain distance,
breaking a beam.
  Ike glanced up at the sky. "Be dark in
less than two hours. Let's get cracking,
gang."
  The Rebels worked quickly but carefully in the
setting up of camp; it was something all had done
hundreds of times. There were no neat little rows of
tents, which would allow any hostiles to smoke half
the camp with one burst. Some slept under trucks;
others pitched tents in staggered fashion; still others
chose to utilize only a ground sheet and
blanket.
  The evening meal was cooked, then the fires
extinguished. Guards would mount and stand a two-hour
watch; two hours was long enough with all senses working
overtime. Anything past that created a totally unnecessary
strain. The camp became dark and silent.
  At full dark, all were very much aware of quiet
movement in the thick underbrush that had grown
wild for years, some of it nearly impenetrable.
  "Not going to be much sleep for us this night,"
Major Tom Broadhurst said.
  "Christ!" a Rebel bitched. "Don't those
... whatever they are out there ever bathe? The stench is
sickening."
  "They certainly seem to have an aversion to water,"
Tina said, sniffing. She remembered only too
vividly the fetid body of the Night Person and the
stinking hands clawing at her neck at the airport.
  The night suddenly roared as the damning beam of
light was broken and a Claymore unleashed its
fury, sending hundreds of lead and steel pellets
into the still air. The explosion was soon followed by the
sounds of wailing and screaming as the mangled bodies
coughed up blood and spat out life.
  Automatic rifle fire split the darkness;
few sparks could be seen, since the Rebels used
flash suppressors. The biting barking of a .60
caliber machine gun yammered and the screaming of the
wounded grew louder.
  A spear jammed its steel head into the door of a
pickup; arrows began slamming into the ground; a few
hostile rifle and pistol shots came from outside
the perimeter.
  "Take positions and return the fire!" Ike
yelled.
  And the night roared and slammed with Rebel
gunfire.
  "Grenades!" Ike shouted. "Fire-frag."
  The grenades, probably the most lethal ever
manufactured, split the night with steel and fire.
Burning, howling shapes could be seen racing through the
woods and brush, some with their hair on fire,
to fall shrieking to the earth, kicking out their life,
illuminated by the glow from burning forms of other
unfriendlies.
  "Cease fire!" Ike shouted down the din of
battle. "Report!"
  The posts began calling in. Several wounded
Rebels, none seriously, no dead.
  "Put an end to any suffering that you can see,"
Ike ordered.
  Well-placed single shots cut short the terrible
shrieking of the wounded or burning Night P.
  "Guard shifts change," Ike ordered.
"Heads up and drop anything that moves outside our
perimeter."
  "You'll die like all the rest!" The shout came from
the timber. "Only more slowly and
horribly ... I promise you all."
  "Keep it quiet," Ike said. "Pass the word.
Let's see if we can get a fix on his
position. Tina, set up mortar teams. HE and
WP."
  "Yes, sir." She slipped away, into the
gloom.
  "Die, die, die, die!" The chanting began.
  "Stubborn bastards, aren't they?" Broadhurst
spoke softly.
  "Let's keep them talking, Tom. I figure
no more than a hundred yards out."
  "Just about right. Hey, Stinky!" Ike yelled.
"Why don't you crawl back into the hole where you
came from before you piss us all off?"
  Wild cursing ripped the night.
  "Tell Tina to drop in a few. Let's see
what happens."
  In a few seconds, the area a hundred yards
out was ripped and torn by mortar fire.
  "Goddamn tubes are up all the way,
general," a mortar crew chief called.
  "Rake it with machine gun fire," Ike
ordered.
  The chugging of big .50's hammered, every
third round a tracer, and the position of the Night People
was spotted.
  "Rifle grenades!" Ike yelled.
  The area was blasted and pounded and torn until
Ike yelled for a cease-fire.
  No more chanting or cursing was heard.
  "Get some sleep," Ike told his people.
"We're gonna need some rest before we tackle that
airport in the morning."
  Ben shut down his office and stepped outside
to sit on the steps of he old bank building.
Dan had stopped by just before dusk to tell him that all
the kids they'd brought back with them were housed and safe
and content.
  Ben hadn't seen Denise since the Rebels had
pulled into the area. She had volunteered to work with some
of Chase's medical people and was staying busy. And
away from Ben.
  The Rebels had set up one firm outpost, in
Great Bend, Kansas, back early in the summer.
And from all indications, the outpost was doing well.
One tiny dot of civilization in the middle of
ignorance and barbarism and the ashes of war. And soon,
there would be another outpost.
  One more tiny step toward restoring order
out of ruin.
  But we still have such a long, long way to go, Ben
mused.
  Buddy walked out of the gloom of night to sit
  beside his father. Ben smiled at his son. Buddy was
square-jawed and tanned, very heavily muscled. His
hair was dark and curly. The young man was handsome, but
not in the pretty-boy way. His was a solid, rugged
handsomeness. And he was never without the bandana tied around
his forehead. Like his father, Buddy carried a .45
caliber Thompson SMG.
  "Have you had word on General Ike and Tina,
Father?"
  "Spoke with both of them about an hour ago.
They're settled in just outside of Nashville.
They'll clear the airport in the morning. Where the
hell have you been all day?"
  "Getting to know the lay of the land."
  "And?"
  "It's flat."
  Ben laughed in the night. A friend of his had once
said that flat, commercial land produces flat,
commercial people. He wondered why he had thought of that
now.
  "How'd you get around, son?"
  "Found a motorcycle. A
Harley-Davidson. Took a little work, but I
got it running. Monroe is filled with Night
P." He added that last bit with no more emotion than
if he were discussing a slice of apple pie.
  "You went there?"
  "Yes, sir."
  "Don't do it again. Not by yourself. Do I have to make
that an order?"
  "No, sir. I will admit it was a bit rash on
my part."
  "No, son. It was just plain stupid."
  "Yes, sir."
  "I thought you found a girlfriend?"
  He smiled in the night. "Several of them,
Father."
  "Going to play the field, huh?"
  "What a quaint expression. But, yes, that
sums it up rather well."
  "Thank you. Since you seem to have a lot of time
on your hands, and are not married with children to help look
after, perhaps I'd best assign you something to do."
  "I thought perhaps that would be coming."
  Ben looked at him. The young man's expression
was bland. But his eyes were twinkling.
  "Tomorrow morning, first thing, you tell General
Jefferys I've OK'D a full platoon for you.
Draw rations for a full week. Double quota of
ammo for each person."
  "Yes, sir. And then what?"
  "Clean out Monroe."
  "Yes, sir. Consider it done. There are several
houses that were filled with Night P. We won't have
to worry about them, though."
  "Why?"
  "Because I took care of them today."
  "Boy! You are foolhardy, you know that?"
  "Like father, like son, some might say."
  Ben grumbled under his breath.
  "Any further orders, sir?"
  "Why, you got a hot date?"
  "Another quaint expression. No, I just thought
I'd turn in early."
  "Goodnight, son."
  "Goodnight, Father."
  Ben watched him walk away. He smiled,
thinking: Oh, to be twenty-one again!
  That primal sense that combat personnel soon
develop took over as a warning light clicked on
in Ben's head. He threw himself to one
side just as the rifle barked, the slug whining off the
concrete steps.
  Ben burned a clip of .45 ammo just as
Buddy's Thompson was barking out the same
message. Both men saw a man stand up on his
tiptoes and do an odd dance of death across the
street. In less than thirty seconds, the area
was ringed and sealed off by Rebels, and Ben and Buddy
were standing over the bullet-riddled body of the man who
had just tried to kill Ben from ambush.
  "You know, him, general?" Ben was asked.
  "Unfortunately. That's one of Hiram's
sons. His name is, was, Harry Larry."
  "Shame," Buddy said.
  "You might say that," Ben replied, looking at
his son. "Or you could say there is one less
redneck in the world."
  "Yes, one could."
  Cecil pulled up in his Jeep and Ben climbed
in. "Buddy will be in to see you in the morning. I've
assigned him a full platoon."
  "To do what?"
  Ben explained. When Cecil remained silent,
Ben asked, "Aren't you going to say what a fool
thing it was for him to do?"
  "No. Hell, you'd do the same damn thing.
You're notorious for it."
  For the second time that evening, Ben grumbled under his
breath.
  "No point in bitching about it. You know it's
true."
  "Are you aware there is a movement in town, among
blacks, to start a New Africa?"
  "I'd heard," Cecil said drily. "And no,
I'm not going down to talk to them. I have
absolutely no patience with those nitwits."
  "Why, Cec! I thought you were all brothers?"
  Cecil glared at him. "How would you like the
troops to see two middle-aged men duking it out in
the middle of the street, Raines?"
  Ben threw back his head and laughed.
  The smell of gunsmoke had not yet dissipated.
  "All right, Cec. I just thought it'd be better
if you did the talking."
  "III talk to them, Ben."
  Cecil put the Jeep in gear and drove off
into the night.
  The medics who were loading the body of Harry
Larry into the back of a meat wagon looked at each
other.
  One said, "Have you ever noticed that all officers
are weird?"
  "Have the kids been told about Harry's shooting
last night?" Ben asked Cecil over breakfast
coffee. Still a good hour before dawn. They were the only
ones in the mess tent.
  "Not to my knowledge. And Hiram came for the body last
night. He doesn't believe that his son took a
shot at you. Their kind never does anything wrong.
It's always the other person."
  Cecil touched his arm. "You know, of course,
Ben, that I am the exception when it comas
to blacks?"
  "I know it, Cec. So is John Simmons.
So was Pal Elliot. Salina. Valerie and
Lila. Megan. Major Johnson. The list
is long; do you want me to repeat every name, Cec?"
  "No. No, of course not. It's like being flayed
with a tiny knife after you say each name. Ben, you know
what? I sometimes think we should just quit trying to see
that the races get along. Sometimes I just want
to separate them; put the rednecks on one coast, the
militant blacks on the other coast. Let the
Latinos have the southwest and you and me and Ike and those
who follow us carve something productive out
of the center of the country ...and keep the others away from
each other."
  Ben smiled down at the murky mess that was
laughably called coffee. "And would that work,
Cec?"
  "Why, hell, no! We'd be fighting more then than
we are now." Cecil sighed and pushed his empty
plate from him. "I am really not looking forward
to seeing Lamumba today."
  "Seeing who?"
  Cecil turned his head away so Ben would not see
his smile. "Lamumba. The guy who heads up the
local return-to-Africa group."
  "Oh, shit! Another Kasim."
  "Please. I just ate. I do my best not
to remember that fool!"
  "How many members does this Lamumba have?"
  "You ready for this?"
  "Do I have a choice?"
  "No. About three hundred."
  Ben stared at him. "Are you joking?"
  "Unfortunately, no. And they're all
well-armed, and they all hate whites."
  "How come John didn't tell me about this?"
  "He elected to tell me instead. I
did not feel like kissing him at the news."
  Ben watched Cecil's eyes as a young black
woman entered the mess tent. She wore captain's
bars on her collar. Her field pants fit her
very well.
  Cecil sighed and shook his head. "It's hell
to be middle-aged, Ben."
  Ben said, quite smugly and deliberately,
"Hasn't bothered me a bit."
  Cecil looked startled for a second, and then
caught Ben's drift. "Look, honky ... that's
supposed to be
my
line!"
  Chuckling, the two men emptied their trays and
left the tent.
  Captain Patrice Dubois watched the men
leave. She had not been with the main force of Rebels
long, having just come in from Old Camp One up in
North Georgia. "Handsome man," she remarked
to a sergeant, also a woman.
  "Which one?"
  "Both of them. But General Raines is
untouchable, or so I've heard."
  "Hang around," she was told.
"Somebody's been feedin' you a line of bullshit."
  "It doesn't matter. It's General Jefferys
I was talking about."
  "He's free. Lost his wife not too long
ago. Cancer.
  His first wife was killed during the government
assault on Tri-States."
  "Tough."
  "You're new in camp."
  "Yes. I've been up in North Carolina
most of the time; attached to the North Georgia
Rebels. I've been instructing in guerrilla
warfare."
  "What's your specialty?"
  Captain Patrice Dubois smiled.
"Silent killing."
  "You ought to be assigned to Colonel Gray's
bunch, then. Gray's Scouts. That bunch is
randy, honey. Tina Raines is assigned
to Gray's Scouts."
  "The general's
daughter?"
  "That doesn't cut any ice around here, sister.
You either pull your weight, or you're in deep
shit."
  The two women Rebels took their trays to a
table and watched as a handsome young man entered the tent and
joined the growing mess line.
  "What a hunk!" Patrice said softly.
  "The general's son. Buddy. He's taking a
full platoon out today to clean the nests of Night
People out of Monroe."
  Patrice shook her head. "Where is General
Raines's daughter?"
  "Acting as CO of the Pathfinders on their way
to see if New York City is still standing."
  Patrice chewed thoughtfully for a moment.
"Absolutely no favoritism in this army, is
there?"
  "None, honey. None at all. And no
racism, either. General Jefferys hates a nigger
as much as General Ben Raines hates a
redneck."
  "But isn't what you just said a form of racism?"
  The sergeant smiled. "I really think you ought to
  volunteer to go with the generals today, captain."
  "Where are they going?"
  "Down to talk to a bunch of goofballs who want
to form a New Africa and kill all the whites
around here."
  The sergeant never stopped sprinkling a bit of
salt and pepper on her eggs. She did not catch the
odd look on Dubois's face.
  "Maybe I'll just do that," the captain said.
Chapter Ten
  "Blockade at Charlotte Pike exit,
general," Tina radioed back. "And it's a good
one."
  "Hold what you've got, I'm right behind you."
  The Rebels had inspected the bodies of the dead
Night People at dawn, and found the same deformed,
disfigured, and stinking men and women as Tina's
Scouts had seen in Memphis. The Rebels had
not been impressed.
  "I hate to waste explosives blowing these
damned things," Ike said. "Back off and put a
rocket into it to see if it's wired, then we'll just
ram it out of the way,"
  When the rocket hit the barricade, the whole
mess went up with a roar that knocked several
Rebels off their boots.
  "Son of a bitch!" Ike said, shaking his head and
thumping his ringing ears. "Well, piss on "em.
We don't need a Metro Airport to land the
planes that will be resupplying us." He
looked at his map. "We'll bypass this place and
hit Seventy just outside of Dowelltown; take that
all the way over to Crossville. We'll use that
airport, if possible."
  "And just maybe, along the way, we can pick up
  some intell as to just what the hell is going on around
the cities," Tina suggested.
  "Yeah. All right, people, back it up and let's
cut south. Blaze us a trail, Tina."
  "Request permission to accompany the generals
today," Patrice said, with a sharp salute.
  "We're not much on saluting around here,
captain," Ben told her. "When you get to know how
we operate," he softened that with a smile, "you'll
know when to salute, believe me. Permission
granted."
  "Thank you, sir. I'm Captain Patrice
Dubois."
  "Are you Creole?" Cecil asked.
  "I'm not sure, sir. I don't remember much
about my background. Only that I'm from New
Orleans and I was ten when the Great War came."
  Cec looked at Ben and smiled. "Ah, youth!"
  "Yeah. A gathering of old men, that's us."
  "Great movie."
  "I liked the book."
  "You would."
  Patrice did not have the foggiest idea what either
man was talking about.
  "You have read Gaines, have you not, Captain
Dubois?"
  "I ... ah, no sir."
  "I have a copy. I'll lend it to you."
  "And some Faulkner, too, Cec."
  "Spare her that, Ben. You might like to study
novels; I prefer to enjoy them."
  "Faulkner is enjoyable."
  "Right, Ben." He looked at Patrice. "Have
you had breakfast, captain?"
  "You saw me in the tent, general."
  Cec smiled. "Yes. So I did." His
  Ben started whistling "Some Enchanted Evening."
  Cec gave him a dark look.
  The look was wasted. Patrice Dubois had
never heard of the smash hit
South Pacific,
or any of the music from it.
  "How can it be an enchanted evening, Ben-it isn't
even good dawn yet?"
  "It's the mood that counts."
  Ben walked off, humming "Matchmaker,
Matchmaker."
  "You two act more like brothers than friends,"
Patrice observed.
  "We're both, Patrice."
  "And yet you are going this day to run off a group of
blacks who only wish to live as their ancestors
lived."
  She caught the shift behind Cecil's eyes, and
knew she'd lost points.
  "You have a lot to learn, captain."
  "I'm a good student, general."
  But the ice that had formed in Cecil's eyes was still
there.
  "Perhaps. Time will tell."
  "General, I don't understand the Rebel
philosophy."
  "Then why did you join?"
  "The truth?"
  "I would prefer that."
  "For survival, general. Oh, being a Rebel
is a damn good way to get killed, sure; but it's
also the
  best way I know of to stay alive ... if you can
make any sense out of that."
  "I can. But you don't agree with what we're
doing?"
  "I didn't say that. I said I don't understand
what you're doing."
  "What about it confuses you?"
  "I've been with the Rebels for over two years.
This is the first time I've seen any one of the three
generals of the Rebels. I still haven't seen
General Ike. I've been sent to Michigan,
to Florida, and to North Georgia, each time the
units getting larger. And I'm fully trained.
I have been the only black in an all-white
outfit. And somehow I don't think that was an
accident."
  "It wasn't. Those are my orders. I also
place a lone white in an all-black or
all-Latin unit; just to see if they can cut it."
  "I see. And have I "cut it"?"
  "Obviously. I've seen no bad reports
on you."
  "And you would see them, personally?"
  "Oh, yes."
  The camp was fully awake: now. Those Rebels
who were not in a family unit were lining up at the
mess tents around the town, for breakfast.
  "Are you going to order Lamumba and his followers
out of the area, general?"
  "No. Just tell them that we're all going to get
along. Then if they can't see their way clear to do
that, they can carry their asses."
  "And you are absolutely convinced that this way, the
Rebel way, is the best way?"
  "Oh, yes, captain. If I was not certain,
I wouldn't
  be a part of the movement. And, Miss Dubois,
I would suggest that you make up your mind ...
quickly." Cecil turned and walked off.
  "Had your breakfast, son?" Ben asked Buddy.
  "Yes, sir. We'll be pulling out within the
hour."
  Ben inspected the gear Buddy was drawing from
quartermaster. He added a few items and then nodded
his approval. "The next outpost will be somewhere around
the Shreveport area; just east of that city. When
you're finished in Monroe, resupply and
reconnoiter all the way to Shreveport. Clear
the Interstate of any obstacles ... stationary or
living."
  "Yes, sir."
  Ben was startled to see the huge bulk of
Command Sergeant Major James Riverson gearing
up.
  "What the hell are you doing, James?"
  "Preparing to move out with Buddy, general."
  Riverson was one of the original Rebels, having
been with Ben since '88.
  "On orders from whom?"
  "My own," the big Top Kick said flatly.
  "What if I need you here?"
  "You don't."
  Grunting, Ben walked away, toward the
platoon of Rebels gearing up to confront the
Night P. Somehow, it came as no surprise
to find nearly all were hardened veterans of dozens of
battles.
  Ben spoke to one Rebel. "Looking after the
general's son, Mike?"
  "Why, no, sir!" the battle-hardened vet said,
a
  bland expression on his face. "Just followin'
orders, sir."
  "Whose orders?"
  "General Jefferys, sir."
  "Ummp," Ben grumbled. "But of course.
Carry on."
  "Yes, sir."
  The Rebels smiled as Ben walked away.
Damned if they were going to let anything happen
to Buddy.
  Ben caught up with Cecil. Captain Dubois
was tagging along, some distance back. Ben commented on
it.
  "She doesn't as yet know where her loyalties
lie, Ben."
  "Ahhh. Got to the heart of the matter very quickly,
did you?"
  "It would appear so. How many personnel do we
take with us on this ... odyssey?"
  "Hell, it wouldn't make any difference if I
said none. Fifty would still be close by."
  Cecil smiled. "True. I'll order a
team."
  "Good. We'll meet at your office at nine."
  "See you then."
  Ben walked to his already staffed and busy office,
checked in, but found he could not concentrate on the
paperwork: dozens of reports from roaming teams of
Rebels all over the battered nation. He left
them stacked on his desk and got into his Jeep,
electing to drive through the town.
  He wanted to tell Hiram that he had not gunned
down his son without provocation. But he knew that
Hiram's hate was so great he would never believe
him. Ben made up his mind just to let it lie and
wait
  for Hiram to make his move.
  He drove the streets, conscious of the Rebels
in Jeeps behind him ... always with him. Ben had reached
the point where he paid no attention to them ... almost.
  He drove past the town's factory buildings,
now empty, their windows broken-glass-mute
eyes. And again, the thought came to him: why, if a
building is empty, do certain types of
assholes and crapheads feel compelled to break the
windows? Having grown up in a rural area, during
a time when vandalism was not tolerated, Ben could never
understand the motivation behind it.
  Still didn't.
  He wondered how Cec and Patrice were getting
along? A very pretty but rather odd lady. Ben would have
someone run a check on her. Ben had once prided
himself on knowing everybody in the Rebel army. But it
had grown so, become so diverse and complex, that it was
now impossible.
  His thoughts shifted to Denise Vista, the
Indian woman they'd found enslaved in Kansas.
Their affair had been very intense and, it appeared, very
brief. That was fine with Ben. He really did not
wish to become emotionally involved with another woman.
He knew his faults only too well; knew that
he was complex and not that easy to get along with.
  He wondered how Gale was doing.*
  He smiled at the thought of her. What a character she
was.
  He thought of Rani.**
*
Anarchy in the Ashes-
Zebra
**
Alone in the Ashes-
Zebra
  He quickly put her out of his mind.
  He wished to God he could find a woman who
didn't want to tie him down. For Ben was not the
tying-down sort.
  The women he had known walked through his mental
memory banks. He had, in his own way, loved
them all. And yet, of them all, his thoughts always
returned to Jerre. She had been so young, and yet so
full of wisdom, realizing that Ben had a
dream, a mission, and a woman forever by his side was
not included. Salina had known that, too, but in quite a
different way.
  He knew that Jerre was still in the Rebel army, but
he was damned if he knew where. Perhaps, he mused,
that was best for all concerned.
  And Rosita had borne him children. Little Short
Stuff, he had called her. She had known, too,
that no one woman would ever be able to hold him back.
And she had, with a smile, stepped aside.*
  And Cecil was about to get involved with Patrice;
Ben knew all the signs. But for Cecil, that was
good. The man had not found his mental mate since
Lila.
  Everything and everyone had changed, as was the nature
of things. Even Ben's outlook toward "necks had
changed. Because they had changed. And that puzzled Ben.
He did not understand why that particular group had
changed from Good Ol" Boy to savage, and in such a
short time.
  Dawn came walking and smiling into Ben's mind.
The mother of his twins.
  Jesus Christ, Raines! he mentally berated
himself.
*Fire in the Ashes-Zebra
  What are you trying to do, repopulate the earth
single-handedly?
  He'd been accused of that, he recalled.
  He checked his watch. An hour until he would
meet with Cecil. He wondered how Ike and Tina
were doing.
  They had hit an ambush on old highway 96.
For once, Tina had not been leading her Scouts; the
two Scouts who had been at point were killed when
automatic weapons fire raked their Jeep. The
Jeep had slewed off the road and nosed into a
ditch.
  Ike and his people had gone on into Murfreesboro
to check out the town, letting Tina and her Scouts go
ahead and cut east, in order to clear any
obstacles they might encounter.
  "Well, we sure encountered one," she muttered.
"Ham? Have you spotted them?"
  "Just across that little bridge," Ham called.
"I'm setting up mortars now. But I'm going to have
to walk them in from the east. If we blow that bridge,
we're screwed!"
  Tina waved most of her team left and right,
to protect their flanks, and sent the rest back
to protect the rear. "Walk them in when
you're ready, Ham!" She called. "Hal! Set
up that recoilless rifle right over there. Bernie!
Can you back that Jeep over there and use the .50?
Good. Go!"
  Ham began dropping rockets down the tube,
deliberately aiming long so he could walk the rounds
in. After three adjustments, he hit pay dirt
... or raw meat, as the case was. The
high-explosive round
  landed right on the mark and sent two once-living
bodies several feet into the air; one of the men was
minus half his head.
  "Every other round WP!" Ham ordered his two
mortar crews. "Do it!"
  The .50 caliber began chugging and Hal began
working the recoilless rifle, the gun hammering,
tossing out the six-pound rounds that destroyed nearly
anything they came in contact with.
  Then the Scouts came in for a rude surprise:
the enemy they were engaging was just as well armed as they.
Mortar rounds began dropping in on the Scouts'
position. And a heavy machine gun began belching.
But before the mortarmen could get their range, Tina was
shouting her team back.
  "Bug out!" she shouted. "Fall back.
Move!"
  The Scouts fell back a good mile from the combat
zone and regrouped while Tina called Ike.
  "What the hell's goin' on over there?" Ike's
voice came through the walkie-talkie.
  "We've hit a solid pocket of resistance.
And they're well armed."
  "Hang tough, kid. We're rolling." Ike
waved his columns forward. He muttered, "Knew
I should have brought some artillery."
  The two teams of Rebels rendezvoused in
fifteen minutes.
  "Lose any people?"
  "Two," Tina told him. "They were killed
instantly."
  "Have you tried radio contact with the hostiles?"
  "Negative. I don't even know who they are."
  "Let's give it a whirl. We'll try them
on the CB. That's probably what they're using."
  He was right; they were on channel 25. They
listened.
  "We shore kicked their ass, didn't we,
Butch?"
  "Yeah. By God, people's gonna learn that this is
our territory."
  "Two-bit warlords," Ike muttered.
"Punks, by the sounds of them. But smart punks ...
if there is such a thing."
  "How do you mean, Ike?"
  "They knew enough to teach themselves the nomenclature of
machine guns and mortars and reloading equipment.
They gotta have a smelter for the heavy stuff. They
may be assholes, but they ain't stupid."
  He waited until all traffic was gone on the
channel and keyed the mic. "This is Ike
McGowan of Raines Rebels. We're not here
to claim any of your territory. All we want
is safe passage through and then we'll be gone. How
about it, boys?"
  "Fuck you, McGoo!"
  Tina almost laughed at the expression on Ike's
face. "Boy," he muttered, "if I had the time,
I'd kick your punk ass all over this area."
  "Did you hear me, McGoo?" the voice
popped out of the speaker.
  "Yeah, I heard it. And the name is McGowan."
  "I'll just call you fuck-head!"
  "That does it. Major Broadhurst?"
  "Yes, sir?"
  "First platoon left, second
platoon right. You stay with the third platoon in
reserve, I'll take the Scouts and the fourth
platoon and go nose-to-nose with the punks."
  "Yes, sir."
  "Radio when all platoons are in position.
Pass the word."
  "Yes, sir."
  Ham handed Ike a slip of paper.
"Coordinates, sir."
  "Thank you, Ham." He turned to a sergeant.
"Get the 81's set up. I want
twelve-pounders, every other round WP. When I
tell you, you pound the ever loving shit out of that area."
  "Yes, sir."
  "Ah, sir," Ham said. "The bridge? ..."
  "I don't give a damn about the bridge. Should
have just hooked up with Seventy back yonder and
to hell with this."
  "Yes, sir."
  Ike laughed and slapped Ham on the back.
"Didn't mean to snap at you, Ham. But I never
did like punks."
  "I never would have guessed, sir."
  Fifteen minutes passed before the first reports
came in by radio. "First platoon in
position, sir. Have the enemy in sight. About a
hundred of them, give or take twenty-five."
  "Second platoon in position, sir. That
estimate is just about right."
  Ike acknowledged the reports and told them to sit
tight. He glanced at Tina. "We're going to have
to be resupplied at Crossville. We're
burning a lot of ammo."
  "My thoughts, too, Ike."
  Ike lifted his walkie-talkie. "Mortar
crews commence firing for range. Forward platoons
call in adjustments."
  The twelve-pounders began fluttering out of the
tubes, humming their dirges. Ike received and
relayed adjustments and the gunners went to work with a
vengeance.
  "Let's go!" he ordered.
  The Scouts and the fourth platoon moved out under the
umbrella of mortar rounds. When the battle area
was in smoky sight, Ike ordered the mortars
to cease.
  "First and second platoons in! Let's go,
people!"
  The Rebels were all over the followers of the
unknown warlord, and the Rebels fought with a
savagery the undisciplined thugs and punks and
creeps had never known and most would never live to see
again.
  And it came as quite a surprise for the outlaws, for a
very brief time, to learn that the Rebels did not
believe in taking prisoners.
  Ike walked through the bloody carnage, his
CAR-15 cradled at the ready. "Take all
weapons and ammo," he ordered. "Pile the
bodies and burn them."
  "What about the wounded, general?"
  "Treat those you think have a chance of making it.
Hell with the rest."
  Dr. Ling opened his mouth to protest.
  Ike quickly closed it. "That's an order,
doctor. Carry it out."
  "Yes, sir."
  To say that the Rebels were hard-nosed would be like
saying a wasp stings. No need to belabor the
obvious.
  The Rebels were not always this harsh. This approach
had been adopted only after one hard lesson
followed another. Ben had finally ordered the rules
of the Geneva Convention to be tossed aside.
  Ike stood over a punk who'd been
shot in both legs. "Who's in charge of this
shit-outfit, boy?"
  "Butch." The young man groaned his reply.
  "Where is he?"
  "Over yonder." The young man cut his eyes.
"Propped up agin that tree. He's gut-shot."
  Butch turned frightened eyes up at the stocky
man with the black beret covering his salt-and-pepper
hair. "I'm McGowan, punk. You got anything
you want to say to me you better say it quick.
"Cause you don't have much time left you."
  "Help me!"
  "Sorry, boy, I'm not the Red Cross."
  "You a damned ... hard ol" fucker, ain't
you?" Butch managed to gasp.
  "That's right, boy."
  "It hurts!"
  "That's your problem. You started this dance, not us."
  "Ain't you got no pity a-tall for me?"
  "Do I look like the ACLU, boy?"
  "The whut?"
  "Never mind." Before he could say anything else,
Butch had closed his eyes and had slipped
into unconsciousness.
  Ike turned away and found Ham.
"Send some people under the bridge, Ham. Inspect it
for damages. I want us to be at the
Crossville airport by nightfall."
  "Yes, sir."
  Tina walked up. "We've got about
twenty-odd who just threw down their weapons and started
squalling and blubbering. Couldn't shoot them. Now
what the hell do we do with them?"
  "Line them up."
  "General Ike*"
  "Line*themininup!"
  Yes, sir."
  All looked to be in their early to mid-twenties,
and they were a sorry-looking bunch. Some of them
looked like throwbacks to the Peace and Love days, with
some of the wildest looking hairstyles and manner of
dress any of the Rebels had ever seen.
  "I ought to shoot every goddamn one of you!" Ike
yelled at them.
  "Oh, Lard, Lard!" one young man squalled,
falling to his knees, hands clasped. "Oh,
Sweet Jesus!"
  "You're calling on Jesus, punk?" Ike
asked him. "You ambushed us, murdered two of my
people-good people, not scum like you-and you have the nerve
to call for divine help? Boy, you're nuts!"
  Ham ran up to him. "Get up on your
goddamn feet, asshole! Nobody told you
to rest. Getup-Getup-Getup!"
  The young man scrambled to his feet, eyes wide
and frightened.
  Ham turned and winked at Ike. Ike fought
to contain his smile. Little military indoctrination never
hurt anybody.
  "Now you hear me," Ike shouted. "Listen up,
meatheads. I'm taking your weapons. All of them.
And I don't ever want to see any of your ugly
faces
  again. For if I do, I'm going to kill you. I will
not hesitate; I'll just shoot you. I want you
headed that way." He pointed west. "Straight down
this highway. About a mile back, you'll find
another contingent of Rebels. Don't fuck with them.
Just keep marching and don't you ever come back. Now,
move!"
  They left, carrying their wounded, moving as
swiftly as possible.
  Only the moaning of the badly wounded could be heard.
  Ike shook his head and looked at Dr. Ling.
"Oh, hell, Doc. Give them something
to ease the pain."
  Ling turned away so Ike could not see his
smile. Nobody is ever as hard as they claim
to be.
  "Are you ready for this, Cec?" Ben asked.
  "Hell, no. But we may as well get it over
with."
  They had stalled as long as they could.
  "Get in the back, Captain Dubois," Ben
said.
  She scrambled in.
  "Do you know where the headquarters of this movement is,
Cec?"
  "Yes. In the boat factory building. John
Simmons and Richmond Harris will meet us there."
  "That's a good idea. Since they'll be running this
place when we pull out."
  "Believe me, that day cannot come too quickly to suit
me."
  Ben laughed at the dour expression on the man's
face.
  "Permission to speak," Patrice said.
  "Go ahead."
  "Why all the flap about these people? What have they
done?"
  "Nothing yet," Ben told her. "But they're
talking about killing all the honkys and taking over.
Patrice, if this country is ever to pull itself out of the
ashes, it will be only when people of all races work
together. Can you see that?"
  "Yes, sir. But is that plan feasible?"
  "We think so," Cecil said. "One way or the
other," he added grimly.
  "You want black people to be like white people,"
Patrice blurted, then braced herself.
  "That's horseshit, captain!" Cecil fired
back. "You don't know what in the hell you're
talking about. And until you do, I would suggest you
keep your mouth closed."
  Hell of a way to start a love affair, Ben
thought, hiding his smile. But he and Gale had started
out just about the same way.
  "Would the generals prefer I not accompany them?"
Patrice asked tightly.
  "No, the generals would not prefer that." Cecil
did not look around. "You might learn something
by staying."
  "Yes, sir."
  They were silent as Ben drove the rest of the way,
pulling in at a huge building that bore a
sign reading: NEW AFRICA MOVEMENT.
  "Wonderful," Cecil muttered, as his eyes
found several men, all dressed in robes and
turbans. "Instead of moving forward, they're
regressing."
  "What a racist remark!" Patrice said.
  Ben got out of the Jeep and walked toward John
  and Richmond before Cec and Patrice started
slugging each other. Unlike Cec, Ben didn't
mind robes and turbans. Dress had never been that
important to him. But he did understand Cecil's
resentment.
  Cecil had once remarked, only half
jokingly, that he had too much education for his own good.
He said that because whites accepted him much more easily
than did blacks.
  It had surprised Ben to learn that back before the
Great War, there had been a lot of prejudice
among blacks against other blacks. A lot of
blacks who were truly black in color distrusted
many blacks of lighter color, equating a lighter
color with easier access to success.
  Black people, Ben had realized, had a hard row
to hoe.
  And there was no greater insult among the
black race than for one black to call another a
nigger.
  And John Simmons, Ben recalled, had a
dim view of many of his own people. But, hell! Ben
thought. Don't I have a dim view of many of
my
own people?
  "I am not a racist, captain!" Ben heard
Cecil say, considerable heat in his tone. "And I
resent the hell out of your implying that I am."
  Ben tuned them out, greeting John and
Richmond.
  "Who's the fine-looking lady, Ben?" John
asked.
  "That's Cecil's new girlfriend."
  John looked dubious. "What do they do for an
encore? Back off ten paces and start shooting at
each other?"
  "They're just having a little spat."
"Halt!" one of the robed and turbaned men
  shouted. "You are on the sacred land of Islam.
Come no further."
  Ben ignored him. "Who the hell is that?" he
asked John.
  "His name is Randy Jones. But he
calls himself Duju Kokuma."
  "Randy Jones. Why is that name familiar?"
  "Oh, hell, Ben. You remember him. He's
spent more time in jail than out. Burglary,
assault, car stealin'. You remember him."
  "Ah, yes."
  "Leave our temple area immediately!"
Randy/duju shouted.
  "Shut up, fool!" John told him.
  "Are they sincere in their conversion to Islam?" Ben
asked.
  "Why, hell no! Not this bunch. I know some who
are, but they won't have anything to do with Randy and
Lumumba. They farm out in the parish. Get along
with everybody. They're glad to see you come in. You
have Muslims in your ranks, don't you, Ben?"
  "Oh, yes. Hell, John, I've got a
little bit of everything in this army." He looked at
Randy/duju. "My name is Ben Raines. I would
like to speak with Lamumba."
  "He does not wish to speak with you. He has
nothing to say to white devils."
  "If they all hate whites so much," John
whispered, "ask Randy why he's always running around
trying to put the hustle on white girls."
  "I heard that, Simmons. Nothing out of your mouth
is to be taken seriously. You are now
  and always have been a white man's nigger."
  "I think I'll just kick his ass."
  Ben physically restrained the man. "Easy,
John. Let's try to get along here."
  "That, Ben, is going to be impossible. I'm
telling you flat-out."
  Ben looked back at Cecil. He and
Patrice were busy standing by the Jeep, in a quiet
but intense argument. "I knew I'd end up doing this
myself
,"
Ben muttered. He pointed a finger at
Randy/duju. "Get Lamumba out here. Right
now!"
  "And if I don't?"
  "I can have about five thousand combat-ready troops
in here in twenty minutes. And there is a fully
prepared Rebel platoon right there!" He pointed
to the end of the street. And the troops were there. Waiting.
"Your move, Randy."
  The front door to the building opened, another
robed and turbaned man stepping out. "My name is
Lamumba," he called. "What do you
want?"
  "I would like to speak with you."
  "About living under your rules, Ben Raines?"
  "About living and working together in peace."
  "Pretty words."
  "I am not a patient man, Lamumba. We can
do this easy or hard, it's all up to you. Do we
talk here or inside?"
  "Infidels are not permitted inside the
temple."
  "Wonderful. Would you like to come over to my office?"
  "No."
  "We're here to stay, Lamumba. Get used to the
idea."
  "That sounds like a threat to me, Ben Raines. I
do not like threats."
  "Take it any way you want to take it."
  The two men stared at each other.
  Lamumba broke the silence. "I shall be at your
offices just after noon."
  "Fine."
  He stepped back into the building and closed the
door.
  Ben walked over to Cecil and Patrice.
"Thanks, Cec. I couldn't have done it
without you."
Chapter Eleven
  Buddy and his platoon stopped at the edge of the
small city, just outside of a shopping center.
  "Five teams of ten," Buddy said. "One team
of twelve. That will be you and I, James."
  The big sergeant major nodded his head.
  "Stay in radio contact at all times. We'll
clean out this place first, then use it for our base and
HQ. Pull the vehicles inside at dark. It
will probably take us the rest of the day to secure this
place. So let's do it."
  Buddy left one team with the vehicles, to guard not
only the Jeeps and trucks, but their supplies.
He ordered two teams to split up and mount machine
gun emplacements at staggered intervals around the
huge complex.
  "When we go in, and the Night People see what
we're doing, I think they'd rather brave the light
than face us. Don't allow any to escape."
He looked at his people, men and women. "It isn't
going to be pleasant. But it's something that has to be
done. And I suspect Father is going to assign this
job to me permanently." He smiled grimly.
"His way of keeping me out of trouble."
The Rebels laughed at that. "Let's go." And the
grisly job began.
  "That is the most infuriating and stubborn woman
I have ever encountered!" Cec told Ben.
  Ben smiled and let him rant.
  "She has a head like a rock."
  "Uh-huh."
  "But she's done a marvelous job of educating
herself."
  "That's good."
  "But I believe she is totally loyal to us."
  "That's nice."
  "A person does have a right to hold differing
opinions, you know."
  "Absolutely. No doubt about it."
  "But I believe she's wasting her time on the
close-combat range."
  "Oh?"
  "Yes. I'm going to pull her in and introduce
her to the problems of logistics."
  "You do need an assistant."
  "I'm glad you agree, Ben."
  "Oh, absolutely."
  "What the hell is the matter with you, Ben?"
  "Me? Nothing is the matter with me.
I'm just agreeing with you, that's all."
  "Maybe that's what's wrong."
  "You need an assistant. I've told you that for
months. So have an assistant."
  "You're sure?"
  "I'm sure! I'm sure!"
  "Well, I'm glad you see my point."
  "Are you going to be here when I meet with
Lamumba?"
  "Ah ... no! I thought it best if Patrice
and I got right down to work; start right after lunch."
  "Old nose to the grindstone, hey?"
  "Absolutely, Ben."
  "Well, don't work too hard, Cec."
  "See you, Ben."
  Cec ran into the door facing on his way out.
  Ben sat down and laughed until tears were running
out of his eyes. "I don't believe it!" he said.
"The man's in love!"
  Hiram was strangely silent after the services.
But all that knew him could see the raw hate shining out
of his eyes. The hate directed at Ben Raines.
  Most wanted to tell him that they believed Ben's
story; that Harry had tried to ambush the man. But
all knew better than to try.
  At least half of the men and nearly all of the women
had agreed to work with Ben and the Rebels. They could
see that their quality of life with the Rebels in the
area was going to improve vastly. It already had.
  To make matters worse, Billy Bob had
refused to come to his brother's funeral... and that
really had set Hiram off. Billy Bob had said
that his brother had acted like an ignorant fool, and
was probably goin' to Hell for what he done.
Hiram had then
  slapped him, and Billy Bob was in the house right
now, packing to leave; to move close to Morrison.
  And to make matters even worser, Billy
Bob's snippy little wife had run to Hiram
agin, with news that Billy Bob was talkin' up
Ben Raines agin ... and Hiram had said The
Code was gonna be done this night. This very night.
  Hiram had decreed it, and that was that.
  Nobody among them that believed that Ben Raines
was gonna make life easier around here liked
Hiram's decree ... but he done it, and The
Code demanded that all witness.
  And just a whole bunch of them wondered what Ben
Raines was gonna do when he learned of it.
  "It seems appropriate that you would
take over a bank building, general," Lamumba
said, a smirk on his face.
  This one, Ben thought, is going to be easy to hate,
so just take it slow and easy. "Why do you say that?"
  "To house the great wealth you stole after the Great
War."
  Ben was startled and made no attempt to hide that
fact. "What wealth are you talking about?"
  "Oh, come, come, general! It's common knowledge that the
Rebels, following the bombings, took thousands of
pounds of gold from every possible repository."
  "Yes, that's fact. And that gold is still stored
where we put it, years ago. It will be used to back
our currency if and when we ever get a stable
government going again."
  "And you kept none for your own use, I
suppose?"
  Ben laughed at the man. "What the hell do I
need gold for? What could I buy with it? You're
talking nonsense, man."
  Lamumba narrowed his eyes in suspicion. He
didn't believe a damn word Ben Raines had
said. He didn't believe a word any white man
said, so great was his hate.
  "What did you wish to discuss, General
Raines?"
  "Law and order and working together."
  The man said nothing.
  "School starts Monday morning, Lamumba.
Have any kids of your followers there." The man
opened his mouth to protest but Ben cut him off. "And
have all your people at the hospital tomorrow for physicals
and shots."
  "You go right straight to Hell, Raines!"
Lamumba shouted the words.
  Ben smiled easily. "I sent troops in
to escort the rednecks over here. You want me to do
the same with you and your people?"
  "We'll leave first!"
  "That is your option. But when you leave, get the
hell gone far, buddy-boy...."
  "Don't call me boy!"
  "Oh, hell, man! That's an expression. Not
a racial slur. Get the chip off your shoulder and
come down to earth, will you?"
  "I accept your apology."
  "I didn't apologize. And won't."
  Lamumba tried to stare Ben down. He could not.
  "First time some white man calls me a nigger,
general, I'm going to kill him."
  "That's fair," Ben said mildly. "But only
if you bear this in mind: the first time you call some white
man a honky or white bread or an ofay, I'm
going to kill you."
  "I don't believe that!"
  "Don't ever push me to the wall on it,
Lamumba. "Cause when you do, somebody is going
to be shoveling dirt in your face."
  Lamumba sat very still in his chair. Very slowly,
he nodded his head. "I do believe you would,
general."
  "I will do whatever is necessary to bring order back to this
land. Now, are you interested in hearing my ideas, or
would you rather leave-and I mean,
leave-
and continue spewing your mindless hatred for all those not
of your color?"
  "My people have been oppressed for thousands of years.
We...."
  "Shut your fucking mouth!" Ben roared.
  Lamumba fell silent, more shocked than anything
else.
  "Yes, Lamumba, your people were oppressed.
Nobody with a modicum of intelligence would ever deny
that. But a new day has dawned. Out of the
ashes we can all rebuild a far better
society. But we can't do it by working apart. We're
all going to have to pull together. Now you can do one of two
things: you can stay and work with me, or you can leave. You
and your followers can go away and build your separate
little hate-filled communities, preaching revolution
and what-have-you, and then, sooner or later, as my
plans take seed and grow, I'll have to come wherever you
are and kick your ass all over
  the place. Now, then, what's it going to be?"
  "By all that is holy, Raines, you are the most
arrogant man I have ever seen! What god stepped
down and tapped you on the shoulder?"
  Ben sat and stared at him, meeting him look for
look.
  "I shall worship in the manner of Islam."
  "I don't care. I don't care if you bow
down to a kumquat. That's none of my business. But
your kids are going to school. And we, that includes
you and your followers, are going to work to make this place
a better place."
  "Better ... as defined by who?"
  "The people. Oh, I see what you're getting at.
No, Lamumba, not by me. For as soon as we've
set up this post, we'll be leaving to set
up more just like it. You'll be given a basic set of
laws to follow. Very simple, quite unlike the laws
that you and I grew up with. You want to add more to it,
call a town meeting and vote. Majority rule."
  "And the black people get shafted again," Lamumba
said scornfully.
  Ben sighed. He summoned up strength from his
rapidly emptying well of patience and said,
"Lamumba, half of my troops are
minorities. Or what used to be called
minorities. We all work quite well together. There are
whites taking orders from blacks, from Asians, from
Hispanics, you name it. How is it, Lamumba,
that we can do that, but you can't?"
  Ben did not really expect any answer, and he
did not get any.
  "Have your people at the hospital tomorrow morning for
physicals and inoculations. Have your
  kids in school at eight o'clock Monday morning.
That's it."
  Lamumba stood up. "And how about the Hiram
Rockinghams of this world, Ben Raines? What about
them? Where do they fit in among all your grand
plans?"
  "They don't, Lamumba. And I'm not
so sure you do, either."
  Tina and Ike had pushed hard, making the run
to Crossville in quick time, arriving at the airport
hours before even the most optimistic among them had
even dreamed they would.
  The place was a mess.
  While a small team went into the once thriving
little town, the others set about cleaning up and clearing the
landing strip. Ike got on the horn to the new
Base Camp One.
  "What's your location, Ike?" Ben asked, after
a runner had notified him that Ike was on the
horn.
  "Crossville, Tennessee, Ben. We've had
some trouble." He brought Ben up to date.
  "When can you have the landing strip cleared for planes,
Ike?"
  "Two-engine jobs only, Ben. We should have it
ready by noon tomorrow; maybe a little sooner than that."
  "You want some more people, Ike?"
  "Ben ... it wouldn't hurt. And lots of ammo.
Ben, do you want us to clean out the cities as we
go?"
  "Ten-fifty on that. I've just got a hunch that
if
  New York City is standing, we'll cordon
off the island and starve them out ... that's providing there
aren't any innocents trapped in there."
  "If anyone is in there, their mental condition is
gonna be next to lousy."
  "Ten-four to that. I'll have the birds up and flying
at first light, Ike. Start scrambling around for
fuel."
  "Will do, Ben."
  "Luck to you, Ike. Ike? I think the lady
with the torch is still standing."
  "So do I, Ben. And I get to see it first!
Nan-na-nan-a-nan-uh!" He laughed and broke
it off.
  Laughing, Ben left the building housing the main
communications equipment. Then he remembered
Patrice. He went back into the building and
looked up the intelligence officer.
  "Run me a check on a Captain Patrice
Dubois. I want a vocal from every commander she's
served under."
  "Yes, sir."
  Again leaving the building, Ben wondered how Buddy
and his team were doing.
  It had taken the teams more than five
hours to clear the old shopping center of Night P.
And to a person, the Rebels were blood-splattered
and stinking with sweat.
  They had dragged the stinking, deformed bodies out
into a far corner of the huge parking area and doused them
with flammable liquid, setting the pyre on fire.
  "Let's take a break," Buddy said, sitting
down
  wearily on a curb and pulling out his canteen.
Even the water tasted of death.
  "Maybe this place was the main headquarters for
them?" a Rebel asked hopefully.
  "Don't bet on it." James Riverson
dashed that glint of hope.
  "After we've rested," Buddy said, "we find
brooms and soap and clean up that filthy place in
there." He saw their shocked looks. "Not the entire
place! Good God. Just an area for us to live
in."
  Relieved laughter followed that.
  Buddy looked at the huge shopping center.
"Does anybody remember them when they were open and
doing business?" There was a wistful note to his
voice.
  "Sure," James said. "Lots of us.
I used to take the wife and kids and spend the
entire day in a big shopping center."
  "You must have been rich."
  James laughed. "No. We just window-shopped."
He saw Buddy's puzzled expression. "We just
looked at all the things in the windows, then went on
to the next shop."
  "Ahh! I have ... a vague memory of them.
But it's all jumbled up with ... what happened after
the bombings. The fear and the crowds and the screaming of
people."
  "I used to take my wife into a shopping center
about this size," a man said softly. "We hadn't
been married but a couple of years. Matter of
fact, we were in a shopping center when the first bombs
came in."
  "Warheads?"
  "Germ. We were awful sick for a time. Went
two, maybe three days not able to leave that place.
Watching the rats chew on the dead."
  "Your wife?" Buddy asked.
  "She never recovered from the ... poison; whatever
it was. She lived about six months."
  James Riverson stood up. "We don't
dwell too much on those times, Buddy. It
doesn't do a bit of good."
  And most of them knew he was thinking of his own dead
wife, killed back in the Tri-States.
  Hiram sat on his front porch. It was quiet
around the place; had been ever since those goddamned
Rebels had taken the kids into town. Hiram
wasn't used to all the quiet. He wondered if
they'd ever get the kids back.
  He doubted it.
  He put the youngsters out of his mind and concentrated
on Billy Bob. He'd sent men to block the
old roads leading out of the area, so Billy Bob
couldn't get away this time. Hiram hated to do it
to his own flesh and blood, but his role as leader had
to be reestablished. Besides, The Code demanded
action. And as leader, it was up to Hiram to see that it
got done.
  Most of those damned Rebels had pulled out of the
area, back to town. Only a few patrols still
ran the roads. But the bastards didn't run on
any schedule, so you couldn't tell when they might
pop up. No matter. What was to be done could be
done far from any road, and it would be over before the
Rebels could stop them.
  Hiram walked to the barn and got his
horsewhip. He took the braided popper off the
end. Wouldn't need it this night; be poppin" on
flesh.
  He looked around as a rattletrap pickup
came smoking and banging into his drive. G.b.
Hiram waved for him to come to the barn.
  "Got the tar bubblin', Hiram," G.b. said.
  "Good. I want it hot when we smear him."
  "Boy of yourn needs to be taught a good, hard
lesson, Hiram. And this here ought to do "er."
  "I reckon so. Hard thang for a man to have to do,
though."
  "You doin" rat, Hiram. Hit's the onliest
way to restore power."
  "Ten o'clock, G.b. "At's when we do the
deed."
  "I'll be shore to have the folks there." He touched
Hiram's shoulder. "Jist remember, Hiram:
United we stand." He smiled, knowing he'd said
something quite profound. Not terribly original, but
profound. G.b. prided himself on being able to wax
sagaciously when the need called for it.
  After all, he'd been named Grand Klackton
of the local KKK, hadn't he? And that took
brains, boy!
  The team had returned from their inspection of the town,
reporting to Ike.
  "No sign of life, general."
  "Nothing? Not a soul?"
  "No, sir. There is not one living being in this
town."
  "Odd," Ike muttered. He shook that away.
"OK,
  thanks. Let's get this old runway patched
up. We've got birds coming in about noon tomorrow."
  "Yes, sir."
  He found Tina and informed her of the deserted town.
  "Town this size should have fifty to a hundred
survivors in it, at least. I wonder where they
went?"
  Ike shrugged. "There was some pretty heavy
fighting around this area last couple of years. Maybe
they got killed; pulled out? Who knows? But at
least there aren't any of those damnable Night P."
  "Ike? Do you believe New York City is
still standing?"
  "Yeah, I do, Tina. I believe the lady with the
torch is still there. And I believe the city is the
headquarters, for want of a better word, of these
Night P. I think they put out false
information about the city being destroyed; false information
about the eastern corridor being hot with radiation. And
I think we're looking at the biggest fight we've
ever faced."
  "I am not looking forward to it, Ike."
  "Nor I, kid. And I'd be willing to bet you
we've got two, at least two, societies
living there. One that tries to live normally by day,
and the other that prowls by night."
  "You ever been to New York City, Ike?"
  "Oh, yeah. Used to go on liberty there. Big
place, Tina. Buildings so tall they blot out the
sun. And we're going to have to search every damn room of
every damn one of them."
  "I've seen pictures of the city, Ike. I
can't even envision the task of doing that."
  "It'll take months."
  "Is it worth it, Ike?"
  Ike thought about that for a moment. "Yes, it is.
They'll be treasures in that city, Tina.
Priceless art. Recordings of music that you and a
lot of people your age have never heard. The information stored
there on computer tapes would be worth it alone."
  She smiled. "You'll never keep Dad out of this,
Ike."
  "I sure wouldn't want to try. No, he'll be
right in there, leading the charge across the bridges or through
the tunnels."
  "The tunnels?"
  "Under the river."
  She shuddered. "They'll be dark."
  "As midnight."
  "And filled with you-know-what."
  "Yeah. Don't worry. Ben will figure something
out."
Chapter Twelve
  Ben had his left boot and sock off, rubbing an
aching corn on the side of his big toe ... and
muttering curses under his breath. Chase walked in and
sat down.
  "I could take that off for you," he suggested. was
'Course you'd have to hobble around for a few days."
  "Later."
  "You've been saying that for two years, Raines.
What's the matter, don't you trust me?"
  "I think you've dug enough lead out of me to answer
that, Lamar."
  "Ummp. You wanted to see me?"
  "Tell your people to gear up for more inoculations, first
thing in the morning." He told him of his
meeting with Lamumba.
  "Sounds like a charming fellow. Where is Cecil?
I haven't seen him in hours."
  "He's in love. Or in heat. One of the two.
Walked into that door-facing a few hours ago."
  After Chase finished laughing, he wiped his eyes
and poured two fingers of whiskey. "Well, he
won't
  be worth a damn for anything for a week, or more.
Who's the lucky lady?"
  Before Ben could reply, his door opened, an aide
sticking his head inside. "Buddy just radioed in,
general. They've cleared the big shopping center and will
use that as CP." Ben nodded. "The pilots say
they're ready to go, and two platoons are gearing up
to fly up to General McGowan's position at first
light."
  "Very good. Thank you. What do the patrols
report from the Stanford Community?"
  "Nothing, sir. They say it's all quiet."
  "Thank you." The aide closed the door.
  "You expecting trouble from Hiram, Ben?"
  "Yes. Problem is, I don't have any idea
how it's going to come."
  "Those children are pathetic, Ben. They
don't even know their ABC'S."
  "You probably couldn't get them lost in the
woods, though."
  "What?"
  "I bet you they'd survive on their own."
  "Oh, all right. I see."
  "That's a tough breed of people. If they weren't so
damned ignorant."
  Chase knocked back his drink and stood up.
"Well, if your aunt had balls and all that,
Ben. I'll be at the hospital if you need me."
He left the office.
  A runner from communications came in and laid a
folder on Ben's desk. "The report you
requested, sir."
  "Thank you." When the runner had left, Ben
  opened the folder and began to read about Patrice
Dubois.
  A good soldier. But distant. She got along
well with others, but had not been assigned positions
of any real importance because the various CO'S
she'd served under didn't quite trust her.
  Claimed to be from the South Louisiana area, but
when casually questioned about it, knew practically nothing
of the area. And the accent was not quite right. Spoke
French fluently,! but with a European accent.
Highly intelligent.
  She had joined in North Carolina.
  "How the hell did she get from South
Louisiana to North Carolina?" Ben muttered.
  Cec had said she was self-educated. For some
reason he could not quite pinpoint, Ben just didn't
believe that.
  Ben flipped through the papers until he found her
enlistment date.
  She had joined just about the time Khamsin's people landed
in South Carolina, give or take a couple of
months, since Ben wasn't sure of the exact landing
date.
  "Cute, Khamsin," Ben muttered. "I
didn't give you credit for this much sense."
  Patrice wasn't Creole. She was
Libyan. A plant.
  He read the entire report, then laid it
aside in disgust. Hell, there it was. She'd been
trying to get transferred to the main body of
Rebels since the day she first joined.
  Ben leaned back in his chair, deep in thought.
If he was right-and he trusted his hunches, they'd
saved his life more than once-what to do about
it?
  Should he tell Cecil? Yes. Yes, of
course. His life might be in danger. But would he
believe him? One way to find out.
  "Sit down, Cec. Have a drink. I found a
bottle of good brandy." Ben poured them both
snifters of brandy.
  "I saw Dr. Chase a few minutes ago.
He was laughing, or at least started laughing as soon
as he saw me. What's wrong with that old goat?"
  "Oh, really not much. We were discussing love a
little while ago."
  "Love?"
  "Yeah. You know. Boy meets girl, and so
forth?"
  "I get the picture."
  "How are you and Patrice doing?"
  "Fine." Cec had a puzzled look on his
face.
  "I got a problem, Cec. I want your
opinions on it, OK?"
  "Sure, Ben."
  "I want to run a scenario by you. Then you give
me your thoughts on what to do about it."
  "Fine, Ben." Cecil relaxed and
sipped his brandy.
  "Approximately a month before we learned of
Khamsin's arrival in South Carolina, a person
shows up at our small outpost in North
Carolina."
  Cec held up his hand. "How did this person
find the outpost? None of the mountain people in that area would
have told him about it. A lot of our own Rebels
don't even know where it is."
  "That's a good point, Cec. One I also
pondered. A very inexpensive homing device would do
it, wouldn't it?"
  "Yes. We have some powerful radio equipment up
on that mountain. Had, I should say."
  "That's right. Anyway, this person joined the
Rebel Army. Right there. And this person immediately
starts requesting a transfer to Base Camp One.
With me so far?"
  "It stinks so far!"
  "I agree. It damn sure does."
  "Go on."
  "This person is transferred around, you know the
training procedures; you set them up. Florida and
North Georgia. But is still very persistent about
joining up with the main force. This person
claimed to be from a certain part of the country, but when
questioned, knows a little about it. Give them the benefit of the
doubt; maybe they moved away at an early age.
This person claimed to be fluent in a foreign
language peculiar to a section of the United
States; but when they speak the language, it's with a
European accent. And, as soon as this person does
wrangle a transfer to Base Camp One, this
person immediately seeks out a very high ranking officer
and gets buddy-buddy with him. Now give me your
thoughts on it, Cec."
  "Why, hell, Ben! My first thoughts would be that the
person is a plant; a spy. What's this
person's coloring?"
  "Dark-skinned but not negroid."
  "Libyan?"
  "Possibly."
  "I'd pull this person in and interrogate the
living hell of him."
  "It isn't a him; it's a her."
  "Well, her, then. She's here, in camp?"
  "Oh, yes."
  "Have you questioned her?"
  "No. I don't know what I'm going to do about
it, yet, Cec."
  "I can't imagine who it is. Well, we're
certainly going to have to warn this officer that he may be in
danger."
  "I agree. I thought I'd let you take care
of that."
  "I certainly will. Do I know this suspect
female?"
  "Yes. Captain Patrice Dubois."
  "They're out there, Buddy," James Riverson
spoke softly. "Gathering, but well out of range."
  "Sergeant major?" a Rebel who was looking
through night binoculars called.
  "Yes?"
  "Bunch of them gathering around the ashes where we
burned those creeps."
  "What are they doing?"
  "Eating."
  "Look at those torches in the hills around
town." Ike pointed, turning in a slow circle.
  "The Night People?" Tina questioned.
  "I don't think so. I don't have that feeling in
my guts. I don't think they'd deliberately
expose themselves to an armed force this large."
  "Then? ..."
  "You got me, kid. It could be a bunch
of the
  Underground People, letting us know they're there and
friendly. Or a group of Woods Children, doing the
same."
  "At first light, I'll send some Scouts up
there to check around."
  "Good deal." Ike looked around, as if
attempting to see through the night.
  "You get the same eerie feeling that I do,
Ike?"
  "I bet so. I went into town myself this afternoon.
Prowled around. Place has been deserted for a long
time. No human skeletons, no fresh graves.
Nothing. It's like they just vanished into the air."
  "Maybe they did," Tina suggested, doing her
best to put a grin with it. The grin didn't quite come
off.
  "Don't start that, kid. I'm spooky enough as it
is."
  And from back in the timber, a wolf or wild
dog howled, the quavering notes lonely.
  Tina shivered.
  "You boys ready?" Hiram asked the gathering.
  The crowd mumbled low in the night.
  "Got your women movin" towards the
meetin' spot?"
  The crowd muttered low.
  "G.b. and his boys done got Billy. He's
ready for his punishment. Ready, but not too willin'.
Let's go."
  The men walked through the night, feet on familiar
paths. They came to a gathering; a circle in the
middle of deep timber. Billy Bob
Rockingham was naked, hanging from a tree limb,
tied by his wrists, his feet just barely touching the
ground.
  Hiram flipped out his long blacksnake whip.
  Billy remained silent.
  "Hit pains me to do this to you, boy," Hiram
said. "But you broke The Code. And you know you got
punishment comin'."
  "I broke no code," Billy told his father
and the gathering. "I never once spoke agin none of
you."
  "Liar!" Hiram screamed, and swung the whip.
The leather cut into Billy's naked back.
  "Now whut you got to say, boy?" Hiram
challenged him.
  "I broke no code. I ..."
  His words were cut off as the whip whistled
through the night air. Hiram beat his son until he
was arm-weary and Billy's back and legs were
dripping blood, oozing out of dozens of raw cuts.
Billy hung almost unconscious.
  "Git the tar," Hiram panted the order. "And the
feathers."
  Billy screamed as the hot tar struck the open
cuts. Then, mercifully, he dropped into a darkness
where he could feel no pain.
  "Feather "im good," Hiram ordered. "Then
take the traitor into town and dump him. He
wants to kiss Ben Raines's ass ... let
'im. I don't never want to see his face agin."
  Cecil had risen from his chair and walked to the
window, to stand for a long time gazing out into the darkness.
After what seemed to Ben to be a half an hour,
Cec returned to his seat, a grim look on his
face.
  "No fool like an old fool, is there, Ben?"
  "She's a lovely girl, Cec."
  "But therein lies the problem, Ben. She is a
girl. I'm a middle-aged man with gray in my
hair."
  "And as horny as any twenty-year-old.
Believe me, Cec, I know the feeling.
I don't think age has a damn thing to do with the
feelings between a man and a woman. Cec, forgive
me, but I have to ask this of you...."
  "Did I tell her anything of importance?
Yes, yes, I did, Ben. We spent the entire
afternoon going over many things."
  Ben jerked up a field phone. "Security."
He waited for a moment. "Put guards around the
quarters of Captain Dubois. Make certain she
does not leave the area and under no circumstances is
she to be allowed near any communications equipment,
got that? Good." He shoved the phone back into the
pouch.
  Ben looked at Cecil. "What does she know,
Cec?"
  "She knows of our plans to form outposts, and where.
She knows all our caches around the nation. She knows
everything that pertains to supply and logistics."
Cecil rose from his chair and slammed one big hand
against the wall. "Son of a mother-fucking
bitch!"
he shouted.
  Ben sat quietly, letting his friend get it all
out of his system. Finally, Ben said, "You all through,
Cec?"
  "Yes. I apologize for the outburst. The
unflappable ex-college professor just lost his
cool momentarily."
  Ben smiled and refilled their snifters. He
tapped the folder. "Cec, it's all
circumstantial. There isn't
  one hard fact in here. And you are well aware of
how I feel concerning circumstantial evidence."
  Cecil nodded. "She has to be questioned."
  "Of course."
  "Let's have some coffee and sandwiches sent in,
Ben. It's going to be a very long night."
  The sentry wasn't sure what it was lying by the
side of the road. It damn sure didn't look
human. But then, a lot of things the Rebels had
encountered over the years hadn't looked human.
  The sentry thought he'd heard some sort of
vehicle a few moments past; but it had turned off
long before it reached his post. He hesitated, then
called in on his walkie-talkie.
  "This is fifteen. I'm leaving my post to check
on an object by the side of the road."
  "Go ahead, fifteen."
  Kneeling down beside the object, the sentry softly
cursed. "This is fifteen. Send an
ambulance to my post, and make it quick."
  "Ten-four."
  Sirens cut the night.
  The medic cussed. "This man's been tarred and
feathered. What kind of assholes would do this to a
person?"
  John Simmons had left his house to see what
was happening. "That's Hiram Rockingham's boy,
Billy. That tell you anything?"
  "I'd sure hate to be the one to tell the general
about this."
  "Where is Ben?" John asked. "I'll tell
him."
  "Probably still in his office. We'll call him
from the hospital."
  John stood, watching as the stretcher was placed
into the back of the ambulance. "Goddamn a person
who would do that to a man."
  "Don't worry," the medic told him. "God
don't have to damn him, 'cause Ben Raines will!"
  "I resent being brought here under guard, General
Raines!" Patrice bluntly and hotly told
him.
  "Sit down, captain. Here," he shoved a
snifter of brandy toward her, "have a
drink."
  "My reli ... I don't drink."
  "You were about to say your religion forbids you
to partake of alcohol, captain?"
  "I don't drink."
  "Cut the shit, Patrice!" Cecil broke
in. His eyes looked furious. "Believe me when
I say that Rebel questioning can become brutal."
  "Torture? The great and fair General Raines
uses torture?" She smiled; but it was not a nice
smile.
  "Drugs, captain." Ben took it. "I can
assure you that we can jack you so full of drugs you
will have absolutely no control over what you tell
us. It isn't pleasant."
  "I never denied I subscribe to the teachings of
Mohammed. I was just never asked. That is why I
became upset this morning; over your unfair
treatment of those Muslims at their temple."
  Ben stared at her. He had absolutely no
hard evidence that the woman was anything other than what
she claimed to be. "Captain, will you agree to
  take a PSE or polygraph test?"
  "Yes." She spoke quickly. "If it will help
clear up this matter."
  "It's going to be a long night, captain. Because
I am going to find out all about you. One way or the
other."
  Patrice waved her hand. "There is no need to go
to such trouble, general. My stalling would only delay
the inevitable. I came to this country with Khamsin.
I'm Libyan."
  "Son of a bitch!" Cecil exploded just as the
phone rang.
  Ben jerked it up and listened for a moment, his face
hardening, then flushing with fury. "All right,
thanks."
  "What's wrong, now, Ben?" Cecil asked.
  "Billy Bob Rockingham. Hiram
horsewhipped him and then tarred and feathered him. The
tar was bubbling hot. Third degree burns over
most of his body. Chase says he's not going
to make it. But Billy wants to see all the
kids; tell them what happened. He knows he's
dying."
  "His kids?"
  "All the kids."
  "What do you suppose he wants to tell them?"
  "To stay with us."
Chapter Thirteen
  It had been an emotional and draining experience for
all who witnessed it. Billy, despite his
hideous pain, had insisted upon being wheeled into the
lobby to face the children. He had told them what had
happened. And he had told them that Hiram
Rockingham was a bigoted, ignorant fool. He
told the kids to stay with the Rebels, please, stay
and learn.
  Billy Bob Rockingham had died about two
hours after speaking with the children.
  Ben had been the last person to speak with him, and it
had torn him emotionally.
  "Who was there during the beating, Billy?"
  "Ever'body. The whole community."
  "Women included?"
  "Yes, sir."
  "That was a fine and brave thing you did with the kids,
Billy."
  "I couldn't do no less. It ain't rat ...
right ... for nobody to choose to grow up dumb. It
wasn't no different down where I live 'fore the
bombs come. Dumbness was the thing to be."
  "Passed on from generation to generation."
  "Yes, sir. Superstitious, clannish,
ignorant people, and they knowed it, and enjoyed
bein" what they was. Still do."
  Billy had closed his eyes and was still for a long
time. Finally, he opened his eyes for the last time
to look at Ben. "What I'm about to say is hard,
general. But it's true. You believe that...."
  He gritted his teeth and balled his hands into fists
to fight the pain.
  "... there ain't none of them ever gonna change.
I seed, seen, that tonight. They still gonna follow
Hiram and his wild babblin's. I think you know what
you have to do, General Raines."
  He closed his eyes and did not reopen them. Not
in this life.
  Long after Billy Bob had been body-bagged and
made ready for burial, Ben still sat on the steps
of the two-story hospital. He glanced at his
watch. Three o'clock. He was tired, but not a bit
sleepy.
  A sentry who had been walking her lonely rounds
stopped by Ben's position.
  "Begging your pardon, sir. But you need to get some
sleep. It'll be dawn in two hours."
  "Yes, I know. Thank you for your concern. Did
you just come on?"
  "Yes, sir. The dog watch."
  "Lonely watch."
  The sentry agreed. "Hiram Rockingham and his
bunch need to be wiped from the face of the earth," she
blurted.
  Ben smiled. "I agree. Do I detect a
southern accent in your voice?"
  "Yes, sir. Alabama."
  "You couldn't have been very old when the bombs
came."
  "No, sir. I just barely remember all the
confusion of it. But I've been with you for almost five
years."
  Ben looked at her in the night. "Why?" he
asked softly.
  She didn't hesitate. "Because of what you stand
for, general. You and General Ike and General
Jefferys, and everybody. What are you going to do about
Hiram Rockingham and that bunch of trash?"
  "I don't know. We have the children; that's what's
important. As for Hiram and the others, I just
don't know."
  "See you around, sir."
  "Yes." Ben watched as she resumed her rounds,
watching until she was out of sight.
  He didn't feel like going to his
quarters, so he reentered the hospital and ran
into Chase.
  "You better go to bed, you old goat," Ben told
him.
  "I might say the same to you, Raines. What the
hell are you doing lurking around here?"
  "I didn't feel like going back to my quarters,
that's why. You have an extra bed I can use for a few
hours?"
  Chase smiled, sort of strangely, Ben thought.
  "Why ... sure, Ben. I sure do. Come on
down to my office for a minute."
  Chase walked a half step behind Ben, noticing
the man's pronounced limp. Corns on both
feet, the doctor thought, then grinned wickedly.
  In his office, the doctor poured them both a double
whammy of bourbon-homemade-and jiggled two
pills out of a bottle. Ben watched him warily.
  "Been a long day, Ben. You're all wound up.
That affair with Dubois, now Billy Bob's
dying. These are muscle relaxers. Not dope, so
don't look so skittish. I wouldn't give you
anything that I wouldn't take."
  Ben sighed and took the offered pills. "You're
right, Lamar. It's been a trying day."
He swallowed the pills and knocked back the
bourbon.
  Chase refilled his glass. He had but sipped
at his drink. "Hiram Rockingham, Ben?"
  "I don't know. I wish I could just sleep for a
few days; get over my rage. The way I'm
feeling now, I just might take a company down there
in a few hours and wipe out the whole goddamned
mess of them."
  "Uummm. Well, you're going to get a good
rest, Ben. And you need it. No doubt about it. And
I think that when you wake up, you'll have a better
insight into the problem."
  "I hope you're right."
  "Oh, I am, Ben. Rest assured of that."
  Ben yawned hugely. "Guess I was tired; more
so than I thought."
  "Come on. Let's find you a bed."
  Ben balked at putting on the hospital gown.
"I'll sleep in my shorts."
  "Oh, come on, Raines. Stop being such a
baby!"
  Reluctantly, Ben got into the backless gown and
stretched out on the bed. In two minutes, he was
sleeping peacefully.
  Chase waved at a floor nurse. "Schedule
Ben Raines for surgery at ten o'clock. Work on his
feet. And while we've got him, I want to dig
that old lead out of his right leg. Knock him down at
six and again at eight."
  "That's a lot of Demerol, doctor."
  "You don't know Ben Raines the way I do."
  "Yes, sir."
  Lamar Chase walked away, to his hospital
quarters. He'd get a few hours sleep. He
was still chuckling as he drifted off into sleep.
  When Ben woke up at one o'clock that afternoon, both
feet were bandaged and there was a bandage on his right leg.
  He lay in the hospital bed and cussed,
loudly, sending nurses and orderlies running in
all directions.
  Then he lay back and grinned. "The old son
of a bitch did it to me again!"
Book Two
  We think our civilization near its meridian, but
we are yet only at the cock-crowing and the morning
star. In our barbarous society the influence of character
is in its infancy.
  Emerson
Chapter Fourteen
  "I love it!" Tina yelled, when the pilots
told her what Dr. Chase had done. Ike came
running over and began whooping with laughter.
  "I bet you Ben is so mad He's got every
nurse and doctor in that place running for cover."
  "Knowing Dad, he won't be down for very long.
I'll bet you he's back at work, in house
slippers, by late this afternoon."
  "If they give him back his clothes!" Major
Broadhurst doubled over with laughter.
  Tina wiped her eyes. "Those two have been doing
stuff like this ever since I can remember. Chase
better watch out, or Dad will slip a whoopee
cushion in his chair."
  The platoon of Rebels just flown in with the
additional supplies brought the complement to over three
hundred. Rebel mechanics had been working fast and
furiously on half a dozen trucks they'd found;
the extra vehicles were needed because of the new
platoon and all their equipment.
  The chief mechanic walked up to Ike.
"Sorry, sir. But it's going to take us at least
another day to get these trucks running."
  "Just do the best you can, Sid," Ike told him.
He turned to Tina. "Beef up your
Scouts, Tina. Pick whoever you like. Then shove
off. Start clearing any blockades you find around
Knoxville; I'm pretty sure you're going
to find a lot of them. Get movin", kid.
We'll see you in a couple of days."
  Tina trotted off, shouting for her team.
  They pulled out within the hour, heading eastward ...
into the unknown.
  The pilots brought Ike up to date on the
Patrice Dubois affair, and about the rednecks.
  "Ben won't tolerate that," Ike summed it
up. "He'll brood about it for a few days, and then
he'll take a team in and clean out that nest of
rattlesnakes. Bet on it."
  "Well, Raines!" Chase said cheerfully.
"How are we feeling this afternoon?"
  "If you think I'm going to respond to that old
joke, Lamar, you're nuts. You tricked me, you
old bastard."
  "In a few days, you'll be thanking me."
Chase thought about that for a few seconds. "Well
... no, you won't thank me. But you will feel
better." He tossed a chunk of lead onto
Ben's chest. "That's what's been causing your leg
pains. I told you to let me dig that out
years ago."
"You
did the surgery? Jesus! I'll probably never
walk again!"
  "Actually, no, I didn't do the surgery. I
let a young lady do it. You haven't met her.
She's
  been working up in North Carolina for the past
year." He turned and called out the door. "Dr.
Allardt? Would you come in here, please."
  Ben looked up as she walked into the room. He
sure hadn't met her! He would have remembered that.
  "Dr. Holly Allardt," Chase said, "I
believe you've met Ben Raines ... informally.
Ben, this is the newest addition to my staff."
  Ben's eyes drifted over her. From head
to knees. Since that was as far as he could see from
flat on his back.
  About five-five. Honey-colored hair.
Blue eyes. Very fair complexion, but touched with a
summer's tan. Shapely.
  "Dr. Allardt. Welcome to camp."
  "Thank you, general." Her voice had a husky
quality. Very sexy-sounding, Ben thought. Hell,
everything about her was sexy.
  "I'll just leave you two alone to get
acquainted," Chase said.
  "You wait just a damn minute!" Ben stopped
him. "When the hell do I get out of this dump?
I've got a lot to do."
  "I have no idea, Raines. You're not my
patient. Ask Dr. Allardt. "Bye, all."
He left the room.
  "We'll keep you for twenty-four hours,
general," Holly told him. "That's SOP.
Probably discharge you at noon tomorrow."
  Ben began bitching. Holly folded her arms under
her breasts and calmly waited until he was finished
cussing. "That won't do you a bit of good, general.
You'll be discharged when I say so. The surgery was
  really very minor, so you should be back
to full-throttle in a couple of days."
  "Good. I've got a nest of crap to clean out."
  "Violence is not always the best way in dealing with the
uneducated, general."
  "It is with this bunch of trash. They've had a
hundred years to clean up their act. And made no
progress on it."
  It was obvious that she did not agree with him. But
from the expression on her face it was clear
that she also realized that he was the Supreme Commander of
all Rebel forces. But Ben, loving a good
debate, wasn't about to let this one pass.
  "If you don't agree with the Rebel
philosophy, doctor, then why did you join?"
  "I didn't join the Rebels, general. I am
a doctor, practicing with this unit. I can
practice better medicine here than anywhere else
in the nation. And learn a lot as well."
  "I see. And you just happened to be in North
Carolina?"
  "Actually, no. I was in West Virginia.
I'm from Virginia."
  "You say that, announce it, really, like it's
supposed to impress me."
  Her eyes flashed Danger! Ben saw it, liked
it, and grinned at her.
  When she would not speak, Ben said, "First family
and all that, huh?"
  "Among the first to settle there, yes."
  "My goodness! I'm among royalty and didn't
even realize it. Do I salute or bow or what?
I better salute. If I bent over, I'd be
letting it all hang out."
  "Are you deliberately trying
to provoke a quarrel, general?"
  "Why not? Nothing else to do in this place."
  "Oh, yes, there is, General Raines."
  "What?"
  She walked to the door and turned, smiling
sweetly. "Get better." She walked out the
door, closing it.
  But she smiled as she heard Ben's laughter
following her up the hall.
  Cecil pushed open the door and stepped inside the
room just as Holly was rounding a corner, disappearing
from view.
  "What's so funny, Ben?"
  "Did you see that class act that just left?"
  "That's funny?"
  "Never mind. Cec, pull all Rebel
patrols out of the Stanford Community."
  "All of them?"
  "All of them. Stop patrolling at once."
  "All right, Ben. Would you mind telling me why
you're doing this?"
  "Hiram wants a fight."
  Cecil looked at him. "That's it? I'm
supposed to make sense out of that?"
  "You didn't let me finish. Give
me a piece of paper and a pencil. Thanks." He
drew a ragged circle. "This parish is roughly
seven hundred square miles. One of the biggest in
the state. On the west side of this circle-which
represents the Stanford Community-is a series of
interconnecting bayous. From about here to here. On the
east side is a river. The bayou joins the river
here, right down here at
  the bottom. The Stanford Community comprises
roughly two hundred square miles. You with me?"
  "Yes. Thank you for the geography lesson,
professor."
  "You're welcome. Now pay attention," Ben
said, chuckling.
  "I shall. You should go into the hospital more often,
Ben. It improves your disposition."
  "It isn't the hospital, it's the help."
  "You're speaking, of course, of Dr. Chase."
  "Oh, of course, of course! Pay attention.
The bayous meander throughout the area, but there are six
main bridges connecting this den of abysmal
heathenism with the outside world." He looked up at
Cecil and smiled.
  "You wouldn't!"
  "Oh, yes, I would! They wish to be
left alone. I am going to see that they get their
chance."
  "You're an asshole, Raines!"
  "Oh, nay, nay, old friend. I am a
wonderful person to have as a friend and ally. But I'm
a mother-fucker for an enemy."
  Cecil leaned back in his chair. "Well, we
got the kids out, anyway."
  "Be damn sure that we did."
  "I checked with some of the older children. We got them
all. Half a dozen walked out of their own accord,
just to join the others. What's this going to accomplish,
Ben?"
  "For one thing, it's going to force Hiram's hand.
He'll sit back for a couple of weeks and be
content. Then somebody will have to go scrounging for a part.
They won't be able to get out. They may want
  to go visiting somewhere, but they won't be able to do that.
That's going to put Hiram between that rock and the hard
place."
  "And? ..."
  "He's going to try to lead some people out. But when he
does, he's going to run into Rebels, patrolling
outside his perimeter, and they'll turn him back."
  "And? ..."
  "I've got to whip them all, Cec. Everyone of
them. Men and women. But this way is the most
bloodless. They understand force, Cec. That is the one
thing a redneck does understand. Force. I've got
to make them understand that the Rebels control every facet
of their lives. I've got to beat them down to their
knees; fighting lawlessness with lawlessness. Cec,
it's a hell of a lot better than going in there and
bombing the place."
  "Yes. I'll give you that much. But many of them will
hate you for the rest of their lives."
  "Yes, they will, Cec. But they'll experience one
other emotion that will override that."
  "What?"
  "Total blind fear."
  "How much of this is personal, Ben?"
  "On a scale of one to ten, with ten being the
highest?"
  "That'll do."
  "One. Maybe half of one. Cec, get ready
for it. We're going to be doing this all over the nation
as we push our outposts in all directions. Cec,
Billy Bob told me something just before he died.
He said that it wasn't right for anyone to choose to grow
up
  dumb, knowing it, and enjoying being what they were."
  "He was probably the best one of the lot."
  "Yes, I think. And they killed him for it.
Billy said the entire community turned out for the
whipping and the tarring. Men and women."
  "That's disgusting!"
  "Yes. Start blowing the main bridges at dawn
tomorrow. No one goes in, no one comes out."
  Cecil nodded. "I'll get the demo crews
working on the charges now. Can I get you anything
to read, Ben?"
  "How about that copy of
A Gathering of Old Men
you mentioned."
  "Well, ah, it's this way...."
  Ben laughed and waved him silent. "I know, I
know. You gave it to Patrice." Ben peered
closely at his friend. "It's damned hard to tell,
but I do believe you're blushing!"
  Cecil gave him the finger and left, smiling.
  Tina and her scouts had to pick their way toward
Knoxville, the Interstate being littered with rusting
and broken-down vehicles of all shapes and
sizes. Many had to be wrenched out of the way. And a
whole lot of them, as one Rebel
observed, had been deliberately placed in the
roadway, and not too long ago, either.
  They were still about twenty miles from the Knoxville
loop when Tina called a halt and ordered camp
set up.
  The Rebels worked very quickly in securing their
  camp, setting up Claymores around the outer
perimeters and digging machine gun pits. They could
all smell trouble in the air, and the smell was of
fetid, unwashed bodies. None of them had to be
told what that meant.
  Buddy had halted his team's bloody work two
hours before dusk; all wanted plenty of time to bathe
and eat while there was still light. For the Night People would
gather around the shopping center as soon as full
darkness came, chanting and humming and shouting filth at
the Rebels. They hurled stones and spears and fired
arrows at the shopping center. But Buddy had noticed
something during the night's barrage; something he had not
mentioned to any of the others.
  Until now.
  "They're going to try to infiltrate the complex
tonight," he told James.
  "How do you figure, Buddy?"
  "I was watching the way they operated last
night. They wanted all our attention on this end.
If they do the same tonight, we'll know they've found a
way in that we don't know about."
  Buddy pointed upward.
  "The roof," James said softly. "Sure. With
dust a foot deep in the other shops and stores;
all the old rags of clothing and boxes and crap
piled everywhere, one firebomb could destroy us
all."
  "That's the way I think."
  "So let's have a little surprise waiting for them
when they try it."
  "Claymores?"
  "Oh, yeah!"
  "Have the people prepare the charges now. At dusk,
get up on the roof quickly and place the
Claymores. In the meantime, have teams setting up
machine guns on the left side of the inside mall.
When they rush us, if they rush us, they'll be coming from
the inside as well. If it works, it will make our
job tomorrow ever so much easier."
  "Yeah," Riverson grunted. "A whole hell
of lot less of them."
  "Do you mind if I have dinner with you, General
Raines?" Holly asked.
  "Not at all. I'd enjoy the company."
  She waved a cart in and set two trays on a
table. "Are you experiencing any discomfort, general?"
  "No. Just a little ache in my leg. I just took
two aspirin. I'm fine."
  He noticed she had changed out of her hospital
clothes and into jeans and T-shirt. He was amused
at the logo on the T-shirt.
  WOODSTOCK
  "Where in the world did you find that shirt, Holly?"
  She smiled as she placed the tray on his table and
adjusted it. "In a deserted shop in Charleston.
I wish I knew what it meant."
  "Peace and love, baby."
  She cut her eyes to him. "I beg your pardon,
general?"
  "Peace and love and music ... more or less.
A
  big bash in Woodstock, New York."
  "Did you attend?"
  "Hell, no!"
  She smiled at his expression. "It couldn't have
been
that
bad, general."
  "It probably wasn't. If you like the kind of
music played there. I don't. Call me Ben,
please."
  "All right, Ben. What kind of music do you
like?"
  "Serious music, mostly. But I also enjoy a
lot of the other types, as well."
  "What is your objection to rock and roll?"
  "Too damn loud!"
  She laughed out loud at him. "Well, I
suppose it's all moot, now, isn't it?"
  "Yes. And I hope it stays that way."
  "Eat your dinner, Ben."
  "Yes, doctor."
  They smiled at each other, eyes meeting.
Something silent passed between them, invisibly touching
them both.
  "My father and brother were great fans of yours,
Ben."
  "Oh?"
  "I did not share their enthusiasm."
  He smiled at her honesty. "Well, not everyone
can appreciate genius, Holly."
  She looked up to see if he was kidding, and
visibly relaxed when she saw he was.
"You must know, Ben, that you are, simultaneously, the
most loved and the most hated man in the world."
  "Yes, I know."
  "The hatred doesn't bother you?"
  "Not really. I got used to that as a writer of many
  controversial novels. You should have seen some of the
hate mail I received."
  "When you were a writer, did anyone actually try
to kill you?"
  "Oh, yes. Fortunately for me, they didn't
succeed."
  "The people of the Stanford Community ... were some of them
involved in the attempts on your life?"
  "Oh, yes."
  "You certainly have the troops to just go in there and
wipe them out."
  "Yes. But that isn't what I want to do." He
thought about that for a moment. "That's not true. That is
what I want to do. But I'm not going to. I
hope not, anyway."
  "But if it came to that? ..."
  "I would."
  "You're a strange man, Ben Raines. You're
a curious mixture of compassion and brutality.
Killing does not seem to bother you."
  "It all depends on who I'm killing. Or
whom I'm killing."
  Again, Holly noted the almost-sarcastic grin on
Ben's face. "I don't know whether I like you, or
not."
  "Yes," Ben said softly. "You know."
Chapter Fifteen
  When the dusk had spread itself over the land, a team
of Rebels quietly slipped onto the roof of the
shopping center and set up the lethal Claymores,
then backed away, stringing the lead wires back.
  Since no Claymores had been produced for
years, the Rebels made their own, and they were quite
inventive with it, manufacturing several types of the
deadly antipersonnel mine.
  The type the Rebels were using this night at the
shopping center each held eight hundred small
steel ball bearings. The ball bearings were
propelled out the front of the mine, pushed by two
pounds of composition C-4 plastic explosive.
The efficient killing zone, or K-Z, was
seventy-five yards, with some lethal fragments
traveling as much as three hundred yards. The side
and rear back-blast concussion8area had also been
extended with the additional front range. This
night, the integral sights on the mine were set
to strike the enemy hip to chest high.
  Their jobs done, the Rebels slipped quietly
from the roof, trailing the lead wires.
  Inside the darkened mall, M-60 machine
guns had
  been set up according to Buddy's directions. The
gunners lay quietly behind and beside their weapons,
waiting.
  Outside, ringing the shopping center, the Night People
began to gather and chant and shout and hurl objects
at the small force of Rebels holed up inside.
  "Hold your fire," Buddy ordered. "No one
fires until I give the word. Pass it along."
  The Rebels wiped sweaty palms on their
field pants and tiger-stripe field shirts and
waited.
  The first Claymore mine that was detonated on the
Rebel camp's outer perimeter brought shrieks and
howls and screams of pain from the still-unseen intruders.
Grenades were tossed from the Rebel camp, the
explosions rocking the night and bringing more wails of
agony; those intensified as WP was added to HE and
Fire-frag grenades. And as brush fires
sprang up from the grenades, the Rebels
could see that the enemy was not Night P.
  "Hold your fire!" Tina yelled above the din of
battle. "Hold your fire!"
  When the weapons" fire had ceased, Tina
yelled into the darkness, "Who are you and what do you
want?"
  "This is our territory," a woman's voice
called. "Get out or die. The choice is yours."
  "We're a contingent of Raines Rebels!"
Tina shouted. "We're just passing through this part of the
country. We don't mean you any harm."
  "You'll all die if you don't leave. Just like the
  people did in the town where your planes landed."
  "Well, now we know what happened," Ham
whispered. "But who the hell are these people?"
  "One way to find out." Tina shouted: "Who are
you?"
  "The Sisters of Zenana."
  "That doesn't tell me a goddamn thing!"
Ham whispered.
  "Me, either," Tina returned the whisper. Taking
a deep breath, she called, "What the hell is
that?"
  "Are you in charge, sister?"
  "I'm not your sister. Yes, I'm in
charge."
  "Sisters may leave. The men must stay."
  "I told you, I'm not your sister. Why should we
leave the men?"
  "For breeding purposes."
  "If they just want to fuck," a Rebel called
out from the darkness, "tell "em to come on. Let's have
a party."
  "Shut up, Gary," Tina said, glad that Gary
could not see her grin.
  "Pigs!" the woman's voice was shrill.
"Filthy male pigs."
  "Uh-huh," Gary said. "Now I get the
picture."
  "Carry your asses on, girls," Ham
called. "Go do your things somewhere else."
  "You'd better think about it, sister," the voice
called. "We are many and you are few."
  "If you don't like men, why do you want to breed with
them?" Tina called.
  "To produce more Sisters of Zenana."
  "Something tells me that they kill any boy
babies," Ham said.
  "We run into the most interestin" folks," Gary
said.
  Tina didn't tell him to shut up. As the camp
clown, Gary could be counted on to act the fool even
under the most harrowing of conditions.
  "How much area do you control?" Tina called.
  "Why do you want to know?"
  "So we can avoid it the next time."
  "There will be no next time, sister."
  "Get ready," Ham called hoarsely.
"They're coming."
  "That's one way to put it," Gary said.
  Screaming, the Sisters of Zenana charged. And
ran headfirst into death. The Rebel Scouts opened
up with everything they had, throwing up a solid wall of
firepower. The Claymores were electronically
fired, the ball bearings ripping the life out of
anyone in their K-Z.
  A big .50 caliber added its chugging to the
melee, the thumb-sized slugs knocking the Sisters
spinning and screaming to the ground.
  But even with the firepower, several Sisters managed
to breach the camp's inner perimeters, and the weapons
changed from guns to knives and hand-axes and entrenching
tools.
  Tina was knocked down by a charging Sister, losing
her M-16 as she fell. Tina fumbled
for her sidearm just as a fist slammed into her jaw.
  "Don't kill this one," she dimly heard a
woman's voice say. "She's prime." Hands
roamed her body.
  Screw you! Tina thought, as her hand closed on the
handle of her knife. She drove the blade to the
hilt in the woman's belly. Blood oozed onto
her
  hand as she pulled the blade free and drove it in
again.
  The Sister screamed and fell to one side. Tina
jumped to her feet, the big knife at the ready.
She looked around her. The fight was over.
  From deep in the brush and timber, the voice
called, "You are marked for death, Sister. Beware,
Beware!"
  "Fuck you!" Tina yelled. "That's probably
what you need."
  "Will somebody come get this broad off me!" Gary
yelled. "Damned heifer must weigh three hundred
pounds!"
  The Rebels all heard the faint sounds of feet
on the roof. Faint, but very real.
  Outside, the shouting and the hurling of stones had
increased.
  "Whenever you're ready," Buddy called to the men
with the lead wires in their hands.
  The huge complex trembled as the Claymores were
fired, the back-blast sending shock waves through the
roof-entrance. The bodies, intact and in bits and
chunks, were actually hurled from the roof.
  The floor of the littered and darkened inner mall was
suddenly filled with robed men and women.
  "Fire!" Buddy shouted.
  The machine guns began yammering, the noise
deafening in the closed complex.
  Riverson stood at the store's open end,
holding an M-60 in his big hands, the belt
working, spitting out death.
  A piece of the roof collapsed, caused in part
by the explosions from the Claymores, the debris
trapping those remaining Night People in the closed
mall.
  From that point on, it was carnage, as the Rebels
finished their work.
  Buddy chanced a look outside. The parking area
was empty of Night P.
  When the last shot had echoed away into stillness,
Buddy said, "It's over. This town is cleared.
They've had enough. They've pulled out."
  Ben was up early, found his clothing, and dressed,
shoving his sore feet into house slippers. He
walked out into the hall, startling a floor nurse.
  "Sir! You shouldn't be out of bed!"
  "I'm fine. Where is Dr. Allardt?"
  "Ah ... having breakfast in the dining area,
general."
  "Fine, I'll join her."
  He walked toward up the hall, then paused.
Hell, he didn't know where the dining area was.
  He asked the nurse, thanked her, and walked
on. He got a dirty look from Holly when he
stepped into the dining room.
  Smiling, he walked over to her table and sat
down. "What are you having?" he asked
pleasantly.
  "You are a bullheaded man, General. You should not
be on that leg."
  "It wasn't a long walk, and I don't intend
to do much walking. Can you drive a Jeep?"
  "I ... of course, I can drive a Jeep!
Why?"
  "I thought you might like to take a ride around the
town ... after you've finished your rounds, of course."
  "I have no rounds. You were my only
patient. The Rebels are the healthiest bunch of people
I have ever encountered."
  "Clean living and good exercise, Holly." He
was straight-faced as he said it.
  "Right," she said drily.
  "Is that your answer, Holly?"
  "If that is the only way to keep you off your
feet, yes, we'll take a drive."
  "Good!"
  Then she watched in astonishment as Ben ordered
bacon and eggs and fried potatoes and biscuits and
milk.
  "Is that all for you?"
  "I'm a healthy eater. And where is my
Thompson?"
  "Your what?"
  "My weapon."
  "I haven't the foggiest. I hope you didn't
leave it in your Jeep."
  "Why?"
  "Because it might get stolen."
  Ben smiled at her. "Did you hear any
gunshots last night or this morning, Holly?"
  "Why ... no."
  "Then no one stole it."
  "What are you saying?"
  "We don't tolerate crime in a Rebel
community, Holly. No one has to steal, and we
won't tolerate it."
  She stared at him, her blue eyes serious.
"What
  happens to the people who steal?"
  "That depends on whether or not they're shot dead
on the spot."
  "I don't believe I'm hearing this."
  "Believe it. Our schools teach much more than the
ABC'S, Holly. Our schools teach honesty and
values and the work ethic."
  "Then it's all true; everything I've heard.
That's why I've been avoiding locations where the
Rebels might be."
  "What have you heard?"
  "That your society is a very rigid one...."
  "It is, to an extent."
  "... and that it is a dictatorship. With you the
director."
  Ben thought that was funny. He was still laughing as his
breakfast was placed in front of him. And Holly
was getting angry.
  "Holly, there are few written laws
in any Rebel settlement. And those laws are
agreed upon by all who join us. They were not written
by me alone; they were voted on, years ago. Back
when we formed the Tri-States. A person does not
steal, cheat, lie, misrepresent the truth ...
it's a common-sense form of government, Holly.
All we did was go back to the basics."
  "But you'll shoot someone for stealing a ... a,
anything!"
  "Most of the time, no."
  "What do you mean?"
  "Our reputation goes back years, Holly.
People know we're a bunch of hard-asses ... that's
on one hand. On the other hand, they know that if they
  need food, we'll share with them. If they're
sick, well help them. They also know that if they
try to steal from us, well shoot them on the spot. And
that's the way it is. Are you going to eat that toast?"
  "What ... what? Ah, no."
  Thanks." He speared it with his fork and spread
blackberry jam on it.
  "When was the last time you shot someone for stealing,
Ben?"
  Ben chewed reflectively. "Oh ... years
ago. I told you. No one steals in a
Rebel community."
  "Incredible! And people actually flock to join you people.
I don't understand it."
  "Do you have a sister?"
  "What? Ah, as a matter of fact, I do."
  "Her name wouldn't be Gale, would it?"
  "No. It's Nancy. I don't know where she
is. We became separated just after the bombings. Who
is Gale?"
  "A lady I used to know. You'd like her. She was
a liberal in the midst of war."
  "If the world had had more liberals, we wouldn't have
had a war."
  "Probably not. It would all be under communist
rule. Let's go."
  "Daddy," Grover Neal said. "Them Rebels
is a-blowin' up all the bridges."
  "Why you reckon they'd do a damn fool thang
lak "at?"
  "Don't know, Daddy." Which accurately summed
up Grover Neal's understanding of just about anything one
might wish to mention.
  "Wai," Hiram picked up his rifle, "le's
us jus" go see these soldier-boys."
  Hiram gathered up all of his sons he
could find, and several of his neighbors, all armed, and
went to see the soldier-boys.
  "Why for y'all blowin' up our bridges?"
Hiram called across the space where a bridge had
once stood.
  The Rebels ignored him, as they had been
ordered to do. And they also had a few other orders that
would soon have to be followed.
  "Hey, boy!" Hiram called to the Rebel who
was busy planting charges that would blow out the concrete
stanchions. "Ah'm a-talkin' to you,
goddamn-it!"
  The Rebels ignored him.
  Hiram and his crew did not notice as the
Rebels in the Jeeps swung the .50 calibers
in their direction.
  "Ah thank they's all deef, Hiram," one
of the neighbors proclaimed, in what could loosely
pass for the English language.
  "Remember the orders," one of the Rebels behind a
.50 whispered. "No killing if it can be
avoided."
  "Gottcha."
  Flush with the thrill of victory after having
witnessed his brother being flogged and then tarred
and feathered, Efrom Silas said, "Ah thank ah
can git they attention, Daddy."
  "Go ahead, son," Hiram told him.
  Efrom jacked back the hammer on his .30-30
and put a round near a Rebel.
  About a half second after he did that, it seemed
to
  Hiram and Efrom and the others that the gates of
Hell suddenly opened.
  Both .50's opened up, as well as a squad
of riflemen with M-16's, two M-60's, a
mortar crew back in the timber, and a half a
dozen Rebels with Uzis.
  Hiram's pickup truck was knocked over by a
mortar round. G.b.8ness pickup exploded as
.50 caliber rounds ignited the gas tank, and the
air around the rednecks was literally filled with lead.
  "Holy fuckin" shit!" Hiram hollered, and
started pickin' "em up and puttin" "em down.
Charlie Jimmy got so excited he jumped in the
bayou and came up nose to snout with a 'gator; it was
a toss-up as to who scared whom the most. Charlie
Jimmy went one way and the 'gator went another.
  G.b., his big belly jumping with every step,
allowed as to how this was plumb embarrassin"
for a man who'd ris so high up in the Klan. But
he put all those thoughts out of his head as a Rebel
started pulling slugs around G.b.8ness feet.
G.b. decided he'd better get the lead out of his
ass before he got some lead in his ass.
"Gawddamnit, Hiram!" he squalled. "Wait
up for me!"
  The crew of marshmallow brains rounded a curve
in the old road and disappeared from sight, leaving a
bunch of Rebels laughing so hard they could hardly
see.
  "That'll give them something to think about," the Rebel
in charge of the unit said. "Let's blow this thing and
move on to the next one."
  "Halp!" Charlie Jimmy hollered. He was in
about a foot of water and was splashing like a beached
whale. "Halp! I's a-gonna git drowned!"
  "Stand up and walk out of there, you silly fucker!"
a Rebel yelled.
  Charlie Jimmy stood up and with as much dignity as
he could muster began the trek up the bank. He had
lost his britches and was buck-assed naked from the
waist down.
  Charlie Jimmy did his best to ignore the
wolf-whistles coming from the women Rebels
on the other side of the bayou.
Chapter Sixteen
  "Ah'm a-gonna kill that goddamned Ben
Raines!" Hiram said. He was sitting on his
front porch of the house that housed wife 2. He
couldn't find his left shoe, having ran out of it about
two miles back up the road. "That there was my
bestest pickup."
  "Well, now, Hiram!" 2 asked, her hands
on her hips. "Jist how am I 'pposed to visit
my sister acrost the bayou if Ben Raines has
done blowed up all the bridges?"
  "I don't know...." Hiram couldn't remember
her name. Lucy something-or-the-other, he thought. "And
I don't much care. I never laked her nohow."
  2 glared at him. "Wai, you jist a-better
come up with sumthang, Mr. Big-Shot. And I
mean do hit quick!"
  "Awrat, awrat!"
  She stormed back into the house.
  "Gawddamn agitatin" wimmin!" Hiram
muttered.
  One of his own kids started squallin' at the other
end of the porch. Hiram picked up a chunk of
wood and threw it at the boy, knocking him
off the porch.
  "Shut up, gawddamnit!"
  Hiram had never heard of Dr. Spock. The
only Spock he'd ever heard of was that one with the
  funny ears that used to be on the TV.
  Hiram looked to see who he'd hit. Bubba
Willie. Well, couldn't make him no goofier
than he already was, he reckoned.
  "I hate you, Ben Raines!"
  "Why are you tearing down those buildings?" Holly
asked, pointing to where a bulldozer was working.
  "We don't have slums in Rebel communities,
Holly. Not only are they eyesores, they're
dangerous. So we tear them down and start over."
  "And over there? What is that, slave labor?"
  He laughed at her. "Those are people who want all
that we can give them, but refuse to pitch in and work
alongside us."
  "So your troops come in with guns and force them
to work." Not a question.
  "No. They're given a choice. Work or get
out. Obviously, those chose to work."
  "With a little gentle persuasion," she said
sarcastically.
  "There are no free rides, Holly.
The free rides ended when the bombs came. Look
closely, Holly. Just stop the Jeep. Thank
you. You see any handicapped or elderly people out there
working? Huh? Do you?"
  She did not.
  "Those are all able-bodied men and women. You should
know, Holly ... you helped with their physical
exams."
  "But many of those women have children!"
  "The kids are being cared for at a day center. They
aren't home fending for themselves, Holly. Give us more
credit than that."
  "Ben Raines, I don't know if you are the
total personification of evil or whether you are
what this country needed thirty years ago."
  "Thank you. Drive on, please."
  She muttered under her breath, but put the Jeep in
gear and drove on.
  "What's that building over there?" she asked,
pointing.
  "Dr. Chase's lab and factory ... soon
to be. He might already have it running."
  "For the manufacture of medicines?"
  "Precisely."
  "And that building "way over there in the
field?"
  "Munitions. That's why it's set so far away from
the other buildings."
  "You ready to head back?"
  "To my office."
  "No, general. To the hospital. I want
to change the dressing on your leg."
  "All right. What are you doing for dinner this evening,
Holly?"
  "Why ... nothing."
  "Would you like to have dinner with me?"
  "Is that wise?"
  "What's unwise about it? You're not a member
of the Rebel Army."
  "That's not exactly what I meant."
  "I know."
  She refused to look at him. "Where will this dinner
take place?"
  "My quarters, I guess. Wherever you would like."
  She hesitated for a few seconds. "All right.
I'll meet you there." She glanced at him. "Where
are your quarters?"
  He told her. By that time, they had reached the
hospital complex and she had pulled in and gotten
out. "I'll see you about seven, Ben."
  "Fine." She turned away. "Holly?" She
turned around. Ben was smiling at her.
  "What's so funny, Ben?"
  He patted the leather boot holding his Thompson
SMG.
  She muttered something about barbarism and walked into the
ground floor of the hospital. But she had to smile
as Ben's laughter reached her.
  Cecil looked up from his desk. "Should you be up,
Ben?"
  "I'm not doing much walking. What's the status
on Patrice?"
  Ben sat down.
  Cecil poured them both coffee and sat back
down. His offices were on the opposite end of town
from Ben's HQ. That lessened the chances of both of
them being killed in case of attack.
  "She says that she came over with the terrorist and was
sent to infiltrate our army. To get as close to the
leaders as possible. But she claims that she has had
no contact in any way with Khamsin since she
joined in North Carolina."
  "Do you believe her?"
  "She passed both a polygraph and a PSE
test."
  "Drugs?"
  "Not yet. What do you think?"
  Ben sighed heavily. "I hate to subject a
person to drugs. It's a tough go. But if we're
going to get to the truth ... yes, Cec. Go
ahead."
  He nodded. "I'll contact Lamar. Have him
set it up."
  "The bridges blown?"
  Cecil smiled. "Yes. Only one incident."
  "Anybody killed?"
  "No. Just a slight loss of dignity is the
most anyone suffered."
  "Dignity? Hell, those people can't even spell the
word." He stood up. "Hold it down, Cec.
I'll be at my quarters."
  Ben paused at the door. "Any further word from
the eastbound teams?"
  "Not yet."
  "Buddy?"
  "Monroe is clean. They're burning the last
of the bodies."
  "Have him come back here and resupply before he
pushes on."
  "Will do, Ben."
  Tina and her team had spent most of that day clearing
the blockades from around Knoxville. Ham finally
straightened up, easing his back, and said, "I
don't understand these barricades, Tina. If these people
thrive on human flesh, and we know that's true,
why barricades? It seems to me they'd want
to lure people into the cities, rather than keep them out."
  "I've been thinking about that. Ham. Remember
what we found in Atlanta?"
  He nodded.
  "I think these Night People go out on forays and bring
prisoners back, keep them locked down until
they're ... well, ready for them. If you know what
I mean."
  Ham knew. "General Raines will never permit
that, Tina. And I think he should know for sure."
  "Yes. And I've been thinking about that, too. I
think I'll contact Ike. Give the people a break,
Ham."
  She walked to her jeep and got Ike on the
horn, sharing Ham's and her theory with him.
  She could practically hear Ike sigh over the
miles. "You're right, Tina. I think Ben should be
informed of your theory. Hold what you've got.
I'll link up with you tomorrow. We'll go into the
city and check this out. I'll notify Ben and tell
him what we're doing."
  "Ten-four, Ike."
  Ike couldn't get Ben, but he got Cecil and
brought him up to date.
  "What'd you think about it, Cec?"
  "If there are people being held prisoner, Ike,
we've got to free them. Or at least try. Go
ahead, I'll square it with Ben."
  "Ten-four, Cec. I'll call in just before we
enter the city. That will probably be around noon tomorrow.
Shark out."
  He radioed to Tina. "It's a go, Tina.
Pull back off the loop and wait for us west of the
city."
  "Ten-four, Ike. Oh, Ike ... watch out
for the Sisters of Zenana."
  "The
who?"
  "They kidnap males for breeding purposes."
  "What happens after that?"
  "They kill the men."
  "Sound like nice people. Where'd you run into them?"
  She gave him the twenty of the Sisters of
Zenana.
  "I will do my best to avoid that spot. Shark out."
  "Pull them back, Ham!" Tina shouted.
"We'll enter the city tomorrow."
  "Dr. Chase has assigned a team to question this
Patrice Dubois person," Holly told
Ben. "I asked if I could be a part. He very
flatly said no to that."
  "And that offended you?" Ben handed her a drink.
  "Thanks. As a matter of fact, it did."
  "Why should it? You said it yourself: You are not a part
of the Rebel Army."
  She took a sip of her drink and coughed. "Good
God! What is this stuff?"
  "Homemade vodka. Would you prefer homemade
gin or homemade whiskey?"
  "One is probably as bad as the other."
  "True."
  "What happens during this questioning?"
  "A team of doctors put the subject
into drug-induced hypnosis. It's repeated several
times over a period of several days, gradually
breaking down the person's mental guards, to use
laymen's terms. It's effective."
  "And dangerous."
  "Not according to Chase. The subject is very
carefully monitored. Whether you choose to believe
it or not, Holly, we're not here to harm anyone who
will just give us a chance."
  She gave him a very dubious look. Almost
painful. Of course, that might have been caused by the
homemade hooch.
  "You have yet to convince me of that, Ben."
  "Holly ..." Ben sat down in a chair
opposite her. "Civilization, order,
productivity, are based on rules. Laws, if
you will. And laws are based on, steeped in, among
other things, fear. And respect for a fellow human
being."
  "I will agree in part. But you're a fine one to be
talking about respect. What respect have you shown this
Rockingham person and his followers?"
  "The same amount he's shown me."
  She thought about that and slowly nodded her head in
agreement ... Ben hoped.
  "But you force people to work."
  "Oh, no, Holly. That's wrong. If people wish
to share what the Rebels can offer them: medical
help, schools, protection, any type of help
that we can offer, then yes, we ask that they work ...
at whatever they are qualified to do. If
they're not qualified to do anything, we'll train
them. But if they choose not to work with us, that is their
option, but they will receive nothing from us. Nothing."
  She drained her glass and held it out for a
refill. Ben obliged. "You're not going
to lecture me on the potential of this stuff,
Ben?"
  "You're an adult, Holly. I'm not your
keeper."
  "Another Rebel philosophy?"
  "A truism."
  "Perhaps. When are we going to eat and what are we
having?"
  "Steaks, baked potato, and a salad. Is that
all right with you?"
  "Sounds good." Her words were already becoming a bit
slurry.
  Ben made a silent bet she'd be passed out in
thirty minutes, and he hadn't even put the steaks
on the grill.
  Holly was already knocking back another half
full glass of the home-brew. He smiled and
adjusted the wick on a lamp, darkening the room.
If Holly paid any attention to it, she didn't
let on.
  Ben got a blanket from a hall closet. When
Holly passed out, she was going to just keel over right
there on the couch. Might as well get ready for it.
  "How do you like your steak, Holly?"
  "Well dome ... done."
  "Right." He got the steaks out of the
generator-powered fridge and held them for a moment.
No point in wasting one. He started to put one
back and thought, Oh, what the hell.
  Then he heard a soft, thudding sound in the living
room. He put her steak back and looked in on the
doctor. She was asleep on the couch. She'd had
about seven ounces of home-brew, on probably
an empty stomach.
  Ben straightened her out and covered her with a thin
blanket. Then he went outside to cook his steak.
  One thing for sure, and Ben knew from experience:
Holly would have one hell of a hangover in the
morning.
  "Men catch us meetin", and we gonna be in
big trouble, Jenny Sue."
  "For what? It ain't agin no law for wimmin
to git together and gossip."
  "But that ain't why we're here and you know it."
  "Did any of you like what we all seen
the other night?"
  None did.
  "So what are we gonna do about it?"
  No one said anything.
  "Will somebody tell me what the hell The Code
is?" Jenny Sue asked.
  Nobody really knew. But Laura Jane said,
"I think it means you ain't "pposed to talk agin
your neighbor."
  "But what if your neighbor is wrong?"
  "Daddy says that ain't for us to judge,"
Billie Jo spoke up.
  "Well ... who judges, then?"
  Nobody knew.
  "Well, I know one thing: I want my kids
back," Jenny Sue stated. "And I'll do
whatever it takes to git 'em back." And then she
spoke the damning words. "And I want to git away
from this place."
  "Jenny Sue! You hush "at kinda talk."
The young woman looked around, fear in her eyes.
  "Now this is pitiful!" Jenny's words were
hard-spoken. "We're grown wimmin. All of us
twenty or
  near there. And we have to sneak out into the
bushes to talk. Girls, I thought the whole world
lived lak we'uns; till I seen them Rebels
other day. I bet ever'one of 'em can read and write
and figure. I can't. Can any of you?"
  No one could.
  "And why cain't we read and write and figure?"
  was 'Cause we ain't never been to school,
Jenny Sue! You know that."
  "Why ain't we?" Jenny pushed.
  "Wai, hell, they ain't no schools, fool!"
  "And why is that?"
  "Whut you tryin" to get us to say, Jenny?"
Misty asked.
  "Why is we bein' held back from learnin'?"
  "Them's blasphemous words, Jenny," she was
cautioned. "You steppin' mighty clost to the line,
girl."
  "I'm fixin' to step over it, Carol Ann."
  "Whut you mean?"
  "I'm leavin'. I'm gonna go into town and be with
my kids and git me some learnin'."
  "Hit'll go turrible hard when Frank catches
up with you, girl."
  "No, it won't. "Cause I'll be with the
Rebels, and they ain't gonna let
nothin" happen to me. And the same goes for the rest of
you, too."
  "Donnie ain't let me go to town in near
*bouts a year," Carol Ann said wistfully.
"I never could figure out what he was so fearful of."
  "Learnin'." Jenny put her finger on the mark.
"He's stupid, jist lak Frank is stupid.
Jist lak we're stupid for puttin' up with it."
  Misty took a look around her and said, "Ah
  thank Hiram's done gone around the bend.
Nobody in his right mind would do what he done to his
own flesh and blood. And I heared that Billy
Bob was dead!"
  "That don't surprise me," Jenny said.
"Nobody could've lived through all that. I'm tarred
of bein' ignorant. I'm tarred of workin' from can
to cain't and don't have nothin' to show for it except a
lazy-assed old man who don't want to do nothin'
"cept hunt and fish. He ain't even tried
to put in no crop in two years. Wont work the
garden. Won't help around the shack. I'm jist
tarred of it!"
  "Ah bet we could get fifteen-twenty others
to go wif us," Laura June said. "I'm game!
Let's git as many as we can, and meet
back here," she looked up, "when the moon is there!
Let's git gone, girls!"
  Ben grilled his steak and baked his potato on the
grill, then ate his dinner. He had ceased his
looking in on Holly. She was out as surely as the
lights were out around the world.
  He cleaned up the small mess, turned out the
lanterns, and went to bed.
  Holly was in for a rougher time than she thought. For it
would not go unnoticed that she had spent the night with
Ben ... or at least in his quarters.
  Tomorrow, Ben mused, promised to be an interesting
day.
  Just how interesting, he really couldn't realize.
Yet.
Chapter Seventeen
  The banging on the door brought Hiram straight
up in bed. "Alrat, alrat!" he yelled.
"I'm a-comin"!"
  He jerked open the door and faced a whole
passel of armed and angry-faced men.
  "Whut the hale-far is goin' on?"
  "Our wimmin done took off, Hiram!"
Jakey yelled. "Laura June's done packed
her kit and git!"
  "Gone? Where'd they go?"
  "Hale, Hiram, we don't know!" B.m.
hollered. No one really knew what B.m. stood
for ... but most could guess what it should stand for.
  "You better check your own house, Hiram,"
Wilbur told him.
  "Precious!" Hiram hollered. "Oh,
Precious Thrill! You beside' answer me, gal."
  But Precious had done taken her thrill and
hauled ass. The girl had been living in
absolute terror since witnessing her father beat and
tar his son.
  "Whut time is it?"
  "Near "bout one in the mornin", I
reckon," Donnie Jeff said. "I figure they
been gone three hours. I figure they waited
till we was asleep and then tooken off."
  "But where the hell did they go?" The question was shouted.
  "Ben Raines." Hiram spoke softly.
"Bet on it."
  "Let's git the dogs and take out after "em!"
  "If they been gone three hours, boys, we'll
never catch 'em now. They on the other side of the
bayou and linked up with a Rebel patrol. Bet on
that."
  "Whut is we gonna do, Hiram?" The question was
whined out. "Hit ain't rat to take no man's
woman."
  "Nobody took 'em. They lef on they own."
  "I say we fight!" a man screamed.
  "Fight?" Hiram's eyes found the man.
"Wif what?" The words were bitter on his tongue.
"Deer rifles and shotguns agin tanks and machine
guns? Planes lak done come in here and
des-stroyed a whole ten acres in ten seconds?"
  "Then what is we gonna do?"
  "Go see Ben Raines." Hiram's words were
spoken wearily.
  It was an hour before dawn as the men from the Stanford
Community put their boats into the waters of the bayou.
When they reached the other side, they found themselves
looking down the barrels of automatic weapons, in
the hands of grim-faced, tiger-striped Rebels.
  "Get your asses back across the bayou," a man
with captain's bars ordered.
  "We come to fetch our wimmin back home,"
Hiram informed him.
  "Your 'wimmin" don't want to be "fetched"
back home. We took them into Base Camp One
  about midnight. Get back across the
bayou."
  "Hit's "pposed to be a free country!"
Hiram squalled.
  "Yeah. If Ben Raines says it is. You
told the general you wanted to be left alone.
We're giving you that chance."
  "Who's a-gonna cook and clean?" B.m.
yelled. "I ain't got no clean drawers to put
on."
  The Rebels exchanged amused glances.
"Well, partner," the captain said. "In about three
weeks, we might let you see
your
women. I think you're gonna be surprised."
  "Whut you mean?"
  "They'll start five hours of classroom work
daily, and five hours of Rebel training and
indoctrination. The changes in them will not be subtle."
  "Whut the hale did he said ... subble?
Whut's 'at mean?"
  "Ah thank they gonna be made into doctors."
  "In three weeks! Lard, Lard!"
  The Rebels started laughing. "Why don't we just
shoot them, captain?" a sergeant suggested. "Put
them out of their misery."
  "That's a damn good idea, sergeant."
  "Now jist hold ever'thang!" Donnie Jeff
hollered. "Cain't we jist talk this over some?"
  "If you're not across the bayou in one minute, we
start shooting."
  The men returned to the other side much more quickly
than they had originally crossed.
  "Why is the general putting up with this crap,
captain? Why doesn't he just let us run them
off?"
  "I think these people are a personal challenge to the
general."
  Another Rebel laughed. "I want to be there in
about a month when those 'necks try to take their
wives back home. If two or three 'necks
don't get butt-stroked or shot, it'll sure
surprise me."
  "I doubt if those guys will even recognize their
wives in a month. I've seen it happen. In a
month's time, those ladies won't be talking the
same or looking the same. Let's get some
breakfast."
  "How about some breakfast?" Ben asked Holly.
  "Ooohh!" was her reply.
  "Bacon and eggs sound all right to you?"
  A gagging sound came from the darkened room.
  "Well, I'll just start cooking. You might
change your mind." He walked into the kitchen,
chuckling.
  Holly lay on the couch. Her head felt like a
gang of leprechauns was inside, banging little pots
and pans.
  She kicked off the light blanket and sat up.
She lay back down. "Aspirin!" she croaked.
  "On an empty stomach, doctor? That's not good
for you."
  "Get me some aspirin, Raines! You did this
to me; you take care of me."
  "I didn't do anything to you, Holly. You did
it to yourself. And that is yet another Rebel
truism."
  She cursed under her breath. "You are the most ...
most
impossible
man I have ever met!"
  Ben walked into the room and opened the drapes.
Silver light flooded the room and Holly closed
her eyes and moaned.
  "First hangover for you?"
  "Yes, and I can assure you, it will be
my last one." She glanced at the vile-looking
concoction in the glass he was holding. "What in
God's name is that?"
  "Come on, Holly. You're no spring chicken.
You know what a Bloody Mary is." He laid
two aspirin on the coffee table and set the drink
down.
  She took the aspirin and chased them down with the
mixture. Then, quite unladylike, she belched.
  "Of course, I know what a Bloody Mary
is. I've just never had one. What's really in these
things? And what do you mean, I'm no spring
chicken?"
  Ben grinned at her. "Well, in that particular
drink ... home-canned tomato juice,
homemade hot sauce, salt, and a dash of the hair
of the dog that bit you."
  She smiled thinly and then confessed, "It isn't
bad. I'll try a little breakfast, Ben. And for your
information, I'm thirty."
  "Like I said, no spring chicken."
  "Where's the bathroom? Do you have a spare
toothbrush ... and some
real
toothpaste?"
  "Right down that hall. And yes, real toothpaste.
Homemade, of course."
  She stood up and swayed for a moment. "You people
really have one hell of an organization, don't you?"
  "We try to live as normally as possible,
Holly. I've got over a hundred people who
don't do anything except research; another
hundred who put that research into reality. I like
to think that we bring some light into a postwar darkness."
  "All right, Ben," she said very softly.
  "All right, what, Holly?"
  "I'll join the Rebels."
  Ike and Tina and the Rebels entered the city of
Knoxville on Interstate 40, exiting off into the
city proper. No one had to tell them the Night People
were here; the smell of death lingered over everything.
  "Where to start," Ike muttered, looking around him
at the ruins of the city.
  "Let's try the university complex," Tina
suggested.
  "Yeah, we might learn something there."
  Collective groans followed his statement.
Ike did his best to look hurt. It didn't quite
come off.
  As they drove, weapons at the ready,
all could see piles of human bones scattered
about, some of them very fresh, scraps of meat still hanging
to the bones.
  Ike halted the army convoy and got out, inspecting
the piles of bones. He shook his head and climbed
back into his Jeep, telling his driver, "Men,
women, and children." His face was hard and grim as he
picked up the mic. "No mercy and no prisoners,
people. Kill them all as we find them."
  They drove slowly into the university complex.
  The stench of unwashed bodies was almost overpowering.
Ike shook his head and told his driver to lead the
convoy out, back to the Interstate.
  His radio crackled. Tina's voice.
"What's wrong, Ike?"
  "We're going to have to put it off, Tina. We're
not equipped to cope with the health problem."
  "I agree." Dr. Ling's voice was added.
"God alone
  knows how many diseases we might encounter in here.
We're not properly suited for this type of
situation. Ike? Get in touch with General
Raines. Didn't you tell me he told you that
Buddy was cleaning out Night People to the west?"
  "That's what he said."
  "Ask him to break if off, and have him advice
Dr. Chase of this decision."
  "Ten-four, Doc." When they were back on the
Interstate, Ike halted the convoy and walked to the
communications van. "Get Base Camp One on
the horn."
  Ben was not yet in his offices, but Cecil was.
  "All right, Ike. I agree with Ling. I'm
sure Ben will agree. Stay out of the cities and
avoid contact with the Night P. Check back in when
you make camp this evening."
  Ike looked at Major Broadhurst. The
major said, "We may be forced to destroy the
cities, Ike."
  "That thought has occurred to me, Tom. But I
doubt that Ben will go along with it. I'd consider the
use of poison gas, but damnit, we don't know
how many innocent people might be held in the cities.
I think, ol" buddy, we're going to have to do it
house to house."
  Tina had joined the men. "How did there get to be
so many of them without our discovering it?"
  "Well, Tina, they've had almost fifteen years
to set this up. Hell, there might not be
any
major cities destroyed, with the exception of
D.c. This could all be a hoax on the part of the
Night P. I just don't know."
  Tina glanced at her map and did some quick
  figuring. "Only about seven hundred and fifty
miles to go, Ike."
  "With no idea of what is waiting for us after each
mile," Ike said. "Scouts out, Tina. Let's
go!"
  "I can't go to work looking like this!" Holly
bitched.
  "Call the hospital and have somebody send over
some clothes."
  "Are you serious?"
  "Holly, everybody knows you spent the night here.
The entire base. And you're going to be treated a
lot differently from now on. Get used to the idea."
  "Then there is no point in my trying to say that
nothing happened."
  "Not a bit."
  She walked to the window and stared out. The base was
up and working. She turned to face him. "Well, if
that's the case, I might as well just get my things
and move in!"
  "That wouldn't hurt my feelings."
  "Don't you ever give me another damn drink of
that homemade crap, Ben Raines!"
  "Yes, ma'am."
  The field phone rang. Ben picked it up and
listened for a moment. "I'll be right there."
  He turned to Holly. "Come on, I'll drop
you off at the hospital and you can change. I want
you with me on this one."
  "What's going on?"
  "Tell you on the way. We just scored a
small, bloodless victory over Hiram and his
crew."
  She watched as Ben struggled into his jump
boots and laced them up.
  Finally she said, "Stupid!"
  "They feel good," he lied.
  "Uh-huh."
  He waited at the hospital while she showered and
changed. She dressed in jeans, but with a white
smock over her casual wear, and climbed into the
Jeep.
  They drove to a holding area that had been set up
on the football field of the local high school.
  "What in the world? ..." Holly muttered, upon
sighting the women from the Stanford Community.
  "Our newest converts to the Rebel Army, my
dear. And you can bet they have left behind a lot of
pissed-off husbands."
  "Now I recognize some of them from the
hospital. Yes, I gave several of them
physicals."
  Ben climbed out of the Jeep and walked toward the
ladies. They ranged in age from fifteen to thirty,
most of them, he guessed, in their twenties.
  "Ladies," he greeted them. "I understand from
Captain Gorzalka that you want to join us. Is that
correct?"
  "Yes, sir!" one young woman spoke up the
loudest.
  "And what's your name?"
  "Jenny Sue, sir." Then she proceeded
to introduce every woman in the ranks.
  "Only a few of these had to be deloused,"
Holly whispered to him.
  "That's gratifying to learn." He returned the
whisper. He watched as Cecil drove up and got
out, walking over to join them.
  "What the hell! ..." Cecil whispered. "Is
that who I think it is?"
  was Deed it is, my friend." Raising his
voice, Ben said, "This gentleman, ladies, is
General Cecil Jefferys. Do any of you have any
objections to taking orders from a black person?"
  "No, sir!" the group shouted.
  "Amazing," Cecil muttered. "Axe you sure
they came from the Stanford Community, Ben?"
  "Slipped across the bayou last night."
  "All right, ladies. If you will follow that
sergeant right there," Ben pointed, "she will take you
to be outfitted."
  "General, sir," Jenn said. "Can I ax a
question, please?"
  "Certainly."
  "Can we get to see our kids sometimes?"
  "Of course you can. They'll be returned to you just as
soon as you fully understand what you're getting into here,
and have taken the oath and signed up."
  "There ain't but one problem with that, general."
  "And what might that be?" Ben knew, but he
wanted the ladies to say it aloud. He knew the
first step toward education is for a person to admit he
needs it.
  "Cain't none of us read or write, sir."
  "I guarantee you all that you will soon be able
to read and write. And that's a promise."
  was "At's good enough for us, general," Jenny Sue
told him. "Oh, and general? I feel it my
bounden duty to tell you that y'all best brace for
trouble.
  was 'Cause Hiram and them ol" boys will shore
be comin' in here after us."
  "You left them, Jenny Sue. They are no
longer a part of any of you ladies. Not unless they
agree to come in and agree to obey the rules."
  "I don't figure that very many of them is gonna
do that, sir."
  "Then if they come in, I assure you all that we
will be able to take care of any trouble they might wish
to start."
  "Yes, sir," she said slowly. "I reckon
y'all can, at that."
Chapter
Eighteen
  "How'd it go, son?" Ben asked Buddy.
  "Grim, father. But Monroe is cleaned up.
Or out. Why were we recalled to camp?"
  "For medical reasons. I want you and your team
to check into the hospital for some blood work. Do it
right now, son."
  "Yes, sir. Is there anything that I
should know about?"
  "Oh, no. I wouldn't hold back from any of
you. This is just precautionary."
  "What's the word from General Ike and Tina?"
  Ben brought his son up to date on the Shark and the
Big Apple Scouts, and why all felt the need
for blood work.
  "Ahh! Now I see. Father, the flesh-eaters
must be destroyed. If we cannot go in and face them,
then how?"
  "I don't know, son. And don't discount us going
nose-to-nose with them. Everything will depend on how
your blood work turns out. So pull your team back
together and get over to the hospital."
  "Yes, sir. Do we report to Dr.
Allardt, father?" There was a wicked glint in the young
man's eyes.
  "Now, how? ..." Ben waved that off. "Get out
of here!"
  Laughing, the young man left the office. Ben had
not stepped out from behind his desk when Buddy entered, nor
had he stood up. He didn't want the boy
to see that he was in his stocking feet. His feet were
killing him!
  Cecil was haggard-looking when he came
into Ben's office. He poured a cup of coffee and
sat down. "It looks like Patrice was telling the
truth all the way around, Ben. Lamar says she
isn't attempting to hold anything back or to fight
the drugs. He thinks she's on the level."
  "What's your next move?"
  "Lamar has ordered the questioning stopped. Breaking
off the drugs. We'll let her sleep tonight and then
you and I will question her tomorrow. If that's OK?"
  "Fine with me. I'm curious to know why she never
made any attempt to contact Khamsin after she
linked up with us. If that's the case."
  "We'll listen to the tape of the questioning tomorrow, before we
talk with her. How are you feeling, Ben?"
  "I'm a little bit sore where the lead was dug out of
me ... and my fucking feet are killing me!"
  "I told you not to wear those boots today," Holly
reminded him.
  "Are you going to be one of those women who nag
constantly?" Ben softened that with a smile.
  "Only when I have to be. What's for dinner?"
  Ben grinned at her. "Whatever you like. There is the
  kitchen. You told me to stay off my feet,
remember?"
  Ike and his teams spent the night along
a barren stretch of Interstate about fifty miles
outside of Knoxville. They had not seen one
living soul, other than Rebels, all that day.
Tina and her Scouts had pushed on, making camp just
outside of Bristol.
  At full dark, she was the first to see electric
lights shining in the town.
  She radioed in to Ike.
  "What do you make of it, Tina?"
  "I don't know. Might be a trap. You want
me to check it out?"
  "Negative. Let them approach you. Double your
guards tonight. I'll push out of here at
oh-three-hundred in the morning. I don't like the
feel of it. Might prove to be a bunch of good
folks; but let's check it out in strength."
  "Ten-four." She turned to Ham. "Double the
guards, Ham. Heads up and no one leaves the
camp."
  Tina and her Scouts settled in for a very long
night, looking at the lights of the unknown shining out of the
darkness.
  Ike pushed his people hard the next morning, arriving
at Tina's camp just after dawn; since the Scouts
had cleared the Interstate, they could push their
vehicles as hard as they dared.
  "I gather there were no hostile moves against you
last night, Tina?"
  "None. But we were being watched. I warned the
watchers about Claymores, and they knew what I was
talking about. They-whoever they might be-said they'd
see us in the morning. Then they left."
  "That doesn't sound hostile."
  "Not a bit."
  "All right. Break camp and let's push on,
see what's happening in Bristol."
  The Rebels found, much to their delight, a clean,
organized, and well-defended town. The
townspeople had huge, well-cared-for gardens, had
reopened a clothing factory and various other
businesses, and the barter system was once more alive and
well.
  A Ricky Owens was the clear and undisputed
leader of the several-hundred-strong community. Upon
questioning, it was discovered that Ricky was an ex-AF
fighter pilot, about the same age as Ike.
  "Never seen it fail," Ike told the man.
"We've never come up on any safe town where the
leader didn't have some sort of military
background. You folks have a great-looking
place here."
  "Thanks. We were going to invite your Forward
Recon people up last night, but when I learned they were
Rebels, we backed off. You folks have a
reputation for shooting first and asking questions later."
  "We've learned to do that over the years. Show me
the town?"
  "Sure. Use your Jeep?"
  "Hop in."
  As they toured the town, neat, clean, and secure,
Ike said, "Tell me about the Night P."
  Ricky's face hardened. "Cannibals. Most
of them-and we figure they number in the
thousands-twisted, mentally and physically. They hate
anyone not like them. Whatever we do, we have to do it in the
daylight. At dark, we secure the town."
  "Solely because of the Night People?"
  He shook his head. "No. "Bout fifty
miles east of here you've got a bunch of 'necks
and trash that roam the countryside. Several hundred
strong. Robbing, raping, killing. Man by the name of
Finley is the warlord in charge."
  "Khamsin's people bothered you yet?"
  "No. But we monitor a lot of their radio
chatter. There's some pretty heavy fighting
going on down in South Carolina, between the citizens
and the IPA. From what we've been able to learn, the
citizens are holding their own."
  "Maybe that will keep them off our asses for a
while. How do you fuel your power generator?"
  "Coal."
  "Thought that's what I smelled." Briefly, as
they rode, Ike explained the outpost system they were
setting up.
  "Count us in." Ricky smiled grimly. "There
aren't many liberals left around here, Ike.
Finley and his trashy-assed bunch made short work
of them-those the Night People didn't get."
  "They approached them with the olive branch of
peace?" the question was sour-sounding.
  "Oh, sure. The same old tired line.
'Oh, you poor, poor unfortunate people. Here, let
us help you." After the women were raped and the men
buggered and tortured-depending on which faction seized
the people-they were either eaten or taken for slaves."
  "Your people made any attempts at rescue?"
  "No. I'm not about to fuck with anybody that
damned stupid."
  And Ike knew there and then, the Rebels had found
a strong and loyal ally.
  It was a tired and worn-looking Captain
Patrice Dubois that faced Ben and Cecil in
Ben's office. Battered, but not beaten.
  "I should not like to go through that experience again," she
told the men.
  "Odds are, you won't," Ben replied. "Feel
like answering a few more questions?"
  "Do I have a choice?"
  "No."
  "Ask your questions."
  "You claim to have made no contact with Khamsin
during your time with the Rebels. Why is that?"
  "Because I was not sure, then, that what Khamsin was
doing was right."
  "And now?"
  "He's wrong. Wrong in the way he's going about
things. Both of you are, but the Rebel way is a
lot more just and bloodless than that of the Hot Wind."
  "But you think we're still wrong to a degree?"
  "Yes."
  Cecil had not yet asked a question. But his eyes
never left the woman.
  "By imposing law and order on the people?"
  "By imposing
your
concept of law and order, general."
  "It's a dirty job, Patrice, but somebody
has to do it."
  His humor was lost on her. "What is to become
of me, General Raines?"
  "Do you want to stay here with us, Patrice; work with
us?"
  "Yes," she answered quickly.
  "In what capacity?"
  "Wherever you choose to put me."
  Ben hesitated, then picked up her holstered
.45 from his desk, still attacked to the web belt, and
tossed it to her.
  She caught it, a surprised look on her
face.
  "You'll act as liaison officer between Lamumba
and his screwballs, and Cecil's office. In
addition, you will act as peacemaker between Hiram
Rocking-ham and his followers, and this office."
  "Yes, sir."
  "You may have a staff of five. You will work out of
Cecil's office complex. Take this day off, rest
and think about your staff." He looked at Cecil.
"Cut orders for her so she can get past the
patrols and into Hiram's territory."
He looked back at Patrice. "That's all,
captain. You may leave."
  When she had left, Cecil smiled. "You know
damn well that redneck will never accept anything
Patrice has to say, Ben."
  "That's Hiram's problem. I'm probably
going to have to kill the son of a bitch anyway. But before
I do, I'm going to give him and his ilk every
opportunity to come around."
  "She might be able to get through to Lamumba."
  "You know better, Cec. His hate is just as
strong and just as unreasonable as Hiram's. They've
both hated too long to ever change. But Lamumba
is your baby."
  "Thanks ever so much. Can I just go shoot him
now?"
  Ben smiled. "Oh, by the way. I forgot to ask.
Did Lamumba bring his people in for shots and
physicals?"
  "Yes. Reluctantly. And spouting the most
absurd mouthings I have ever endured."
  Ben laughed at the expression on his friend's
face. "Worse than Hiram's?"
  "Just as bad."
  An aide stuck her head into the office.
"Excuse me. General Ike just radioed in.
There is a strong outpost at Bristol. About four
hundred strong and growing. He reports they've
lined up solidly behind us."
  "Great! Thank you."
  Ben rose and walked to a wall map, circling
Bristol. "That makes three for sure. I think
we're really going to do it, Cec."
  Cecil rose and stood beside his friend, looking at the
map. "But so much more to do."
  Both men turned at the sound of the door opening.
Lamar Chase, unannounced, as usual. He
poured a cup of coffee and sat down.
  "We won't know for sure until tomorrow, boys.
But it looks like the Night People aren't carrying any
type of infectious bugs. Buddy's team all
got splattered pretty well. So it appears
we've lucked out there. But!" he held up a warning
finger. "I would suggest face masks at the very least.
Long-sleeved shirts, secured at the wrists, and
gloves. No one with any open wound should be a part of
any clean-up. Any wounded Rebels should be
evacked immediately."
  "All right, Lamar. Thanks. You look glum.
What else is on your mind?"
  "You are aware of Emil Hite's presence up
the road, are you not?"
  "Sure. But he isn't bothering anyone."
  "That's not the point. He and his followers of ...
nuts and bolts and goofballs need to be given
physicals."
  Ben smiled. "All right, Lamar. I need a
good laugh. Cec, you want to come along?"
  "I can't, Ben. I've got a stack of
reports a foot high on my desk."
  "Dr. Allardt is through," Chase suggested.
"I'm sure she would enjoy a ride out into the
country. Besides," he added dryly, "I'm sure
she's never seen anything like Emil Hite."
  "Oh, what a peaceful little commune," Holly
sighed. "Ben, you haven't come out here to harm these
peaceful people, have you?"
  "No, Holly. I'm going to let Brother
Emil continue running his little scam."
  "Scam?"
  "Brother Emil Hite, Holly, is a
phony. We've been running into Brother Emil for
several years now. Emil and his followers worship
the Great God Blomm.
  "Are you serious?"
  "Yes. You'll see. There is Brother Emil
now."
  "Oh, Ben! He's harmless."
  "Sure he is. If we didn't have people like
Emil Hite, we'd have to build nut houses for
all the people who flock to him."
  "That's cruel, Ben!" But looking at Emil,
she had to cover her mouth with a hand to keep from laughing.
  "My dear, dear General Raines!" Emil
said, running up, almost tripping over the hem of his
robe.
  "How wonderful it is to see you."
  "Yeah, Emil. I know you're just overjoyed at
the sight of me. Relax, I'm not here to bust up
your little scam."
  "Oh, thank you, Blomm!" Emil looked
heavenward.
  "Knock off the Blomm shit, Emil. You have
any kids in this whacko encampment?"
  "Kids? You mean, like babies?"
  "Yes."
"Hell,
no!" He looked at Ben suspiciously. "Why
do you ask that?"
  "Because if you had any, you wouldn't have them
long. What adults do with their time is their business.
But you won't raise kids believing in this hogwash.
You got all that?"
  "Oh, yes, sir, Great Supreme Commander of
Forces on Earth General Raines!"
  "Emil! ..." Ben tried to cut him off.
  "I heard you were back in the area, Great Good
General Raines, and I've composed a new song in
your honor."
  "Emil! ..."
  Some of Emil's other followers had gathered
around.
  "I call this my Dance of Tribute."
  "Jesus Christ!" Ben muttered.
  "Him, too. Right!" Emil said. "Actually,
it's more of a dance than a song. You wouldn't understand the
words, general. They're in Blommers."
  "They're in what?" Holly blurted.
  "The language of Blomm."
  "Oh!"
  Emil started dancing in the dust. "Rockem,
sockem, Go, Cat, G. Lula boola and
Lizzie Borden jumpa hoopa in the garden."
Emil then proceeded to do a combination of the Twist, the
Black-Bottom, and the Bunny Hop.
  When he finally wound down, the entire camp had
gathered around, applauding his efforts. Holly sat
with head bowed, right hand over her face.
  "See, see!" Emil shouted. "It even got
to her, right, general?"
  "It was a sight to behold, Emil," Ben
admitted.
  Emil then lifted his arms heavenward and began
praying to Blomm. Ben turned him out.
  When he finished, Ben said, "Thank you, Emil,
I feel richly blessed."
  Emil beamed. His beam changed to panic at
Ben's next words.
  "Be in town bright and early tomorrow morning. All of
you. You're going to take physicals at the
hospital."
  "But, sir!" Emil protested. "We are all
Blomm's children. In the best of health. We...."
  Ben stepped out of the Jeep, his Thompson in his
right hand.
  The crowd drew back in fear.
  "Emil, I'm trying to help you and yours. Either
come in on your own, or I'll send troops out here
for you. The choice is yours."
  Emil drew himself up to his full
height. His head came to about Ben's chest. "I shall
consult with Blomm on this matter, sir."
  "Fine. Consult all you like. Just have your ass at
the hospital at seven o'clock in the morning."
  "Seven o'clock! Nobody but heathens gets up at
seven o'clock!"
  "I get up at five," Ben told him.
  "Well, of course, I didn't mean to imply
that you, sir, are a heathen! I mean...."
  "You want me to make it six o'clock in the morning,
Emil?"
  "Oh, no no no no. Seven is perfect."
He leaned close to Ben and whispered. "General,
your medical people ain't come up with a cure for AIDS
yet, have they?"
  "No. The bombs came before anybody came up
with a cure. So it's still around, Emil."
  "One has to be so
careful,
general, you know?"
  "I know, Emil." He looked at Holly,
sitting in the jeep and winked. "I've found one way
to avoid getting it, Emil. It works every time."
  "Oh, tell me, tell me, tell me!"
  Ben leaned close. "Spend a month
among the natives of the Stanford Community."
  "Ye Gods, general!" Emil shrieked.
"I'd be a blithering idiot by that time."
  "Works every time, Emil."
  Holly sat in the Jeep and did her best
to suppress her laughter.
  "Well," Emil said. "I'll make a deal with
you, general."
  "It's your show, Emil."
  "If you'll forget about the physicals-I
detest
physicals-I'll take my followers into that ...
that barbarous hinterland."
  "You got a deal, Emil. Ah, Emil... you
and your people do carry weapons, don't you?"
  "Bet your ass! We are a peace-loving
gathering,
  general. In tune with nature and striving for the
karma-smarma, reaching for the Om of earth, and the Ump of
inter peace, we...."
  "Emil, knock off the shit!"
  "Right, general."
  "You are aware that the inhabitants of that particular
locale are not always the most hospitable?"
  "They're a bunch of redneck
assholes, is what you're trying to say."
  "I couldn't have said it better. So pack your
pieces and carry lots of ammo."
  "Gotcha, general! When is the best time to go in
there? No, let me rephrase that; there is no best
time. We'll make our move this afternoon."
  "That's fine, Emil."
  Emil stood and watched as Ben and that
fine-lookin' piece drove away. He wondered
if General Raines was putting him on about their
arrangement? No! he shook his head. General
Raines wouldn't do that.
  "All right, followers of Blomm. Gird your
loins and cock it back. We are going into the land that
time forgot. General Raines has commissioned me
to lead the expedition. Onward, soldiers, onward!"
  Turning, Emil tripped over his robe and fell
face-first into the dust.
Chapter Nineteen
  "Ben Raines! You ought to be ashamed of yourself!"
  "Why?" Ben said, reaching for the mic. "It'll be
an experience for both sides." Lifting and keying the
mic, he got his HQ and asked for Cecil. The
operator patched him through. He told Cecil
to clear the way through the Rebel patrols for
Emil Hite.
  They were going into Hiram's territory.
  When Cecil stopped laughing, he said, "Ben, you
may have hit upon the answer. Send nuts in to deal with
nuts."
  "I'd love to be there to witness it. Eagle out."
  Ben started to hang the mic and then once more keyed
it. "Captain Gorzalka, this is Eagle. Did
you copy that transmission between Hawk and myself?"
  "Ten-four, general." The captain was laughing.
  "Make sure their weapons are all in good working
order, give them plenty of ammo, and toss in
several cases of grenades."
  "Yes, sir!"
  "Eagle out."
  "Ben," Holly said. "Those ... cretins might
hurt Emil or his followers."
  "Don't you bet on that, Holly. Emil is
one tough little con artist. And most of those people with him,
  while a little bit off the wall, are just as tough.
They didn't used to be, but over the past couple of
years, they've learned to fight and to fight damn
well."
  They rode in silence for a mile before Holly again
spoke. "Ben? What's the difference between
Emil and his group and Hiram and his group?"
  "Emil's followers all know that what he's doing
is all bullshit. And they don't hurt
anybody, Holly. It may be difficult for you
to accept, but there isn't one illiterate person in
Emil's group. And if they had kids, they'd send
them in to be educated. Believe it. I don't
particularly care for the little con artist, but I don't
dislike him.
  "Emil doesn't preach hate, Holly. You
saw back there. People of all colors gathered around
him. Emil is," and Ben laughed, "sort of like the
old hippie movement ... in a small way.
You're too young to really remember that. But your true
hippies, they weren't bad people. There's still a lot of
them around, in the mountains, deep in the timber.. They
don't bother a soul, but they will knock your dick in
the dirt if you mess with them. I leave them alone,
and they don't fuck with me."
  "I thought they were all dirty, smelly, worthless
people. That's what I've read about them."
  "Well, some of them might have been. But your true
hippie, and I stress
true,
simply liked the laid-back lifestyle.
They worked regular jobs like anybody else. If
anybody would hire them.
  "Hiram, on the other hand, is filled with hate.
Hiram hates everybody. A hippie can look
at a deer grazing in the woods and think what a thing
of beauty it is. The Hirams of the world just want to
  kill it. The Hirams of the world are directly
responsible for so many species being extinct ... not
the Emils of the world."
  "But what do the Emils of the world give back to it?
What do they contribute?"
  "Very little. But they don't take away from it,
Holly. The people who drift into Emil's little scam
will drift out of it in a year or two; right now,
they're just looking to belong. Hiram, on the other
hand, and those like him, will, for the most part, never change.
They're takers, not givers. Anyway, it's going
to be interesting to see what happens between Hiram and
Emil."
  "Whut the hale is 'at air?" Donnie
Jeff said, sort of, as he lay on the bayou
bank, watching Emil and his flock get into boats.
  "Hit looks kinda lak Jesus and them
Apissles to me," B.m. said, sort of.
  "Jesus didn't tote no M-16,
B.m. And He didn't have no fine-lookin"
wimmin wif him, I don't believe."
  was "At air's a plumb fact, Donnie
Jeff. Ah thank we best tell Hiram "bout
this here."
  B.m. flogged his mule getting to Hiram. He
found Hiram sitting on his front porch-at the
home of wife 1-cussing Ben Raines.
  "Strangers, Hiram! Look lak missionaries
done come to spread the word."
  "I done heard 'em, B.m. And they ain't no
missionaries. That air's Emil Hite and his
hippie-goof-balls. Ah thank hit's time to put
plan C into action."
  Plan A was to take over the world; but Hiram
  never could figure out just how to do that, so plan A was
dropped. Plan B was to secede from the Union and
restart the Civil War. But since there was no more
Union, and Hiram never could get anybody all
that worked up over it, plan B was also dropped.
  Plan C was to take prisoners and force them
to work the fields; but that plan also had its flaws.
Since anyone with the intelligence quotient of an
aardvark never went anywhere near the Stanford
Community, plan C had had to be put
on hold.
  Until now.
  was 'At air a rat good idee, Hiram!"
B.m. shouted.
  "Shore hit is. I thunk of hit, didn't
I? Let's us let them queers and hippies git
settled in and then we'll make our move. Tell
G.b. to make us a cross. We'll have a
meetm" tonight and bus' them hard at first light."
  "Can we have us'uns a big cross, Hiram?
Huh, huh?"
  "Yeah. Jist don't build nothin' lak "at
one Johnny Edgar built. Damn thang fell
over and almost squashed me. Caught my sheet on
far. Flog your mule, B.m."
  "Raines, you are incorrigible!" Lamar said,
wiping his eyes exploding with laughter when Ben had
told him about Emil Hite.
  The shadows were gathering in dusty pockets around the
new Base Camp One as darkness slipped in.
  Ben moved restlessly in his chair. Lamar,
Dan, and Cecil watched him.
  Chase finally said, "You're getting itchy, aren't
you, Ben?"
  Ben smiled. "Is it that obvious,
Lamar?"
  "To those who know you, yes. Just settle down, you
old war horse. Be content for a few more weeks."
  "Yes, general," Dan spoke. "Ike and his
teams will be near New York City-if it's still
there-in about a week. Then you can start making plans
to go up there."
  Ben laughed. "How do you know I want to go,
Dan?"
  "We all want to go, general."
  "It's probably going to take all of us,
too." Ben spoke softly. "And, to tell the
truth, in quiet moments I've been thinking about
whether it's worth the effort."
  "It's worth it, Ben." Cecil sipped his
drink. "If only to wipe out those damnable Night
P." He glanced at his watch and stood up.
"It's about time for Ike to call in. Think I'll
wander over to the como building."
  Nobody volunteered to accompany him; all
knew he wanted to see Patrice. He closed the
door behind him.
  Lamar and Dan left, leaving Ben alone. Ben
finished his drink and turned out the generator-powered
lights, saying goodnight to those of his staff
who still remained.
  Standing on the concrete parking lot, Ben felt
sweat trickle down his chest. The late-summer
Louisiana night was hot and muggy. Ben
remembered these hot nights well.
  He looked up and down the almost empty street.
  This will be the centerpiece of the outposts, he thought,
his mind racing ahead. With shops and farms and schools
and a fine medical center. The showpiece for others
to be modeled after.
  And racial harmony.
  One way or the other.
  "We were being paced on highway Eleven all the
way up from Bristol," Tina radioed to Ike.
  "Ten-four. I spotted them. What's your
opinion of them?"
  "They're pretty good, Ike. They're well
disciplined and well trained. If that's a warlord
bunch, they've had good training."
  "That's what I think. I'm sending a platoon
up to your location; beef you up. Whoever they are, they
may try to hit you tonight. Stand ready."
  "Ten-four, Ike. I figure there are at least
a couple hundred of them. I'm the smaller force,
so if they're hostile, they'll probably
try me first."
  "Watch your butt, kid."
  Tina laughed. "Will do."
  After talking with Ike, Cecil and Patrice
sat in his office and talked.
  "Bring me up to date, captain," Cecil said
formally.
  Patrice noted it, and smiled faintly. "I
found my staff, briefed them, and then went to see
Lamumba."
  "And? ..."
  "He ... well, has twisted the teachings.
To say the least."
  "Your opinion of him, now that you've spoken with
him?"
  She hesitated. "I think he's dangerous. Quite
unlike the true believers in Islam out in the
country."
  "You spoke with them?"
  "Yes. Briefly. They are going to work with us."
  "What to do with Lamumba? ..."
  "General, it is unfair to force people to leave their
homes simply because they do not agree with your
philosophy."
  "Philosophy has nothing to do with it,
captain. Or very little. Emil Hite is so far off
the wall he can't even see the paneling. But we
allow him to stay because he doesn't preach hate. You
had best advise Mr. Lamumba that if he
doesn't toe the line, I'll step on him like a
bug. Understood?"
  "Yes, sir."
  "Now then, about Hiram and his ... crew."
  "I was planning to go into that area tomorrow, sir."
  "Cancel your plans. Concentrate on
Lamumba. Hiram, ah, will probably be too
busy trying to figure out what is happening to him
to speak with you."
  "Sir?"
  "That will be all, captain."
  "Yes, sir." She rose to leave. Looked at
Cecil.
  "Something on your mind, captain?"
  "Could I, ah, get you some coffee or anything
before I leave?"
  Their eyes met. Both struggled with inner
feelings. "Yes, captain. That would be nice. If
you would join me."
  Again, eyes met. The independence within her rose
to the fore. "Is that an order, sir?"
  "No, captain, it is not. It is merely a
request."
  "Then I accept."
  Hard-headed female! Cecil thought.
  Obstinate male! she thought.
  Ben drove past Cecil's offices, on his
final tour of the town before going home. He noticed
the lights and smiled. Might be an interesting evening,
he thought.
  Now eighty strong, Tina's group laid out their
perimeters and ringed themselves with Claymores. Guards
were doubled and everybody ate quickly; cold rations.
They had all heard the sounds of being surrounded by what
they assumed were unfriendlies.
  Tina darted from post to post, inspecting the
hurriedly dug machine gun emplacements, chatting
briefly with each person she came in contact with.
On the east side of their position, Ham was doing the
same.
  They met at the top of the perimeter, facing
north.
  "When do you think Tina?"
  "Anytime now. They're moving in closer.
They'll hit the Claymores any second."
  The night was suddenly shattered by several
pounds of C-4 exploding, hurling out hundreds of
ball bearings. Following the explosion, there came the
screaming of the mangled and mauled and dying. The dim
shapes that flitted around the perimeters were gunned
down by expert rifle fire from the Rebels.
  The east side of the encampment was ripped by
  Claymores being fired, with more howling of the wounded
and the wild cursing of those who were spared the round shards
of death and went running back into the gloom of
night's protection.
  "Back, back!" A voice reached the ears of the
Rebels behind the Claymores. "Another day,
folks!" the voice called cheerfully. "We shall
meet again, and that's a promise."
  After a few moments, the sounds of vehicles being
cranked up and driving away reached the Rebels.
  Ham walked to Tina's side. "Now what in the
hell do you suppose that was all about?"
  "I don't know. But that voice sure sounded
familiar to me. I know I've heard it before."
  She radioed back to Ike's position, some
fifty miles south of her own, and brought him up
to date.
  "And you knew the voice? You sure, Tina?"
  "Positive, Ike. And not that long
ago, either."
  "Maybe it'll come to you. Which way did they go?"
  "West. Toward the West Virginia line. And the
way they were driving, I got the impression they
weren't planning on coming back."
  "Let's hope not. Wait for me outside of
Roanoke, Tina."
  "Ten-four, Ike." She turned to Ham.
"Relax the guards some, Ham. Let's try
to get a good night's sleep."
Chapter Twenty
  It had been a dandy cross-burnin", Hiram
thought. Plumb awesome. Made a man feel
closer to God somehow. And this day was gonna be even
more better, Hiram figured.
  If plan C went as planned, those remaining
loyal to Hiram would have slaves to do the housework and
tend to the work in the fields. Then a man could do what
a man was put on this earth to do: Fish, Fight,
Fuck, and Hunt.
  And pray ever now and then for all the blessings.
  Hiram linked up with G.b. and Jakey and a
few of the others. "Where is they camped?"
  "Down there by the Simmons' place. They's about
fifty of "em."
  "Slaves for all."
  "And some good-lookin" wimmin wif "em,
too."
  "Pussy for all!" G.b. grinned, squeezing
and rubbing his crotch.
  "Let's git 'em, boys!" Hiram ordered.
  "Here they come, Emil," a young woman whispered.
"Have you prayed to the Great God Blomm?"
  "Yeah, yeah!" Emil brushed it off. Only
god he
  was interested in right at the moment was that goddamned
AK-47 in his hands. "Pass the word for the others
to get ready."
  "Yes, oh, Great Emil."
  Emil shook his head as she was leaving. Chick had
a great ass on her but a head full of nothing.
  Emil checked around him. He had four of his
biggest and strongest people ready with hand grenades. If
these rednecks wanted to get hostile-and Emil had
never known a redneck who wasn't all-the-time
hostile-he'd play the game one better.
  "All rat!" Hiram shouted. "Come on outta
there, you hippies!"
  "Fuck you, redneck!" Emil shouted. Turning
to his people, he said, "Remember, don't
shoot to kill ... not yet anyway."
  "Ah thank we been insulted, Daddy!" Axel
Leroy said.
  "I ain't no redneck!" G.b. said, with
considerable heat in his voice. "I's a civilized
man. I go to
churchl"
  "You'll pay for 'at, you heathern!" Hiram
hollered. "Now do yoursales a favor and come on out
of that there holler 'fore we drag you outta there."
  "Lemme go git 'em, Daddy!" Axel Leroy
started jumpin" up and down. "They ain't gonna
fire them guns nohow!"
  "Ah do believe the boy is rat," Jakey
told him.
  "Awrat, son," Hiram patted Axel on the
back. "You go on down there and fetch some out." He
looked at B.m. and G.b. was "at there's a
fine boy, y'all."
  "Fine boy!" the both agreed.
  Axel started his swaggering walk toward Emil and
his intrepid little band. "Y'all better come on out
now. Hit'll git rough ifn you don't."
  Emil lifted his AK and put a full clip
around Axel's feet, using quick trigger
pulls. Axel jumped about three feet up into the
air and started haulin" ass for the nearest cover,
whooping and hollering all the way.
  "Give "em hell, boys!" Hiram shouted,
and commenced firing his shotgun.
  "Give the 'necks some grenades!" Emil
yelled.
  The chosen four began pulling pins and lobbing
grenades around the bastion of knotted 'necks. The
concussion from the first explosion knocked Hiram
sprawling. He lost his shotgun and became
slightly disoriented. "Don't whup me no more,
Momma! I promise I won't peek in on
sister no more!" Then he realized where he was and what
he had just said and closed his mouth.
  The other grenades rocked and rolled the ground, and
G.b., his big fat ass in the air, took a
piece of shrapnel in one cheek. He started roaring
like a wounded water buffalo.
  Donnie got so scared he pissed his dirty
drawers and got so close to mother earth his buttons were
imprinting on his chest and belly.
  B.m. jumped to his feet; rather stupid thing to do
with the air filled with lead and shrapnel. "Charge,
boys! The reputation of the Klan is at
stake here."
  B.m. began running toward Emil's position.
About halfway there, he looked around and found himself
alone. He didn't know which way to go or what to do
once he got there.
  He froze upright, numb with fear.
  Hiram's bunch couldn't fire for fear of hitting
B.m. And no amount of yelling could get through
to B.m. to get down, get on the ground-just get the
hell out of the way, goddamnit!
  "Hold your fire!" Hiram shouted, once more in
full command of his faculties, miniscule as they
were. "Y'all stop all that gun-shootin" and
throwin' them bombs. Les' talk! How "bout
it?"
  "Cease fire!" Emil yelled. "Don't
toss no more grenades. What do you want,
Rockingham?"
  "What y'all doin" in our territory,
hippie?"
  "It's a free country, you cretin!"
  "Whut'd he call me?" Hiram whispered
to G.b.
  "My ass hurts somethang fierce!" G.b.
moaned. "Ah thank I'm bound for
glory, boys. I can see the Pearly Gates
now."
  Hiram looked at him in disgust and ignored his
ass-shot friend. "Why don't y'all jist come live
with us, hippie? Ain't that a right nice neighborly
thang to suggest?"
  "I would sooner consort with hyenas! Now leave,
before I call upon the awesome powers of the Great God
Blomm!"
  "Blomm?" Hiram looked around him. "What the
hale is a Blomm?"
  "Sounds nasty," Jakey said.
  Hiram looked around him and assessed his
situation. G.b. was moaning about his ass; Axel
wasn't nowheres to be seen; Donnie Frank was
babbling about the fires of Hell; and B.m. was
froze solid with piss running down his pants'
leg. Hiram allowed as to how he'd been in better
spots.
  Goddamn bunch of hippies shore had a lot
of guns and stuff.... And then Hiram got the
message, worming its way through the morass of his
mind: Ben Raines done this. Just as shore as frogs
fuck, Ben Raines done this.
  "Ah thank we'uns will jist call a
truce, hippie. You leave us alone, and well
shore leave you alone. How's that sound to you?"
  "That's just fine, Rockingham," Emil shouted.
"We'll be here for a month, taking the cure."
  That puzzled Hiram. Of course, most things
puzzled Hiram. But this really puzzled him. "The
cure for whut?" he yelled.
  "The abomination of the ages! The scourge of
mankind. And the tintinnabulation of the bells, too!"
  "Sounds plumb disgustin' to me," Wilbur said.
"Whatever it is."
  "Now leave us be!" Emil yelled. "Go back
to your hovels and do whatever you do."
  "Ah still thank we been insulted," Wilbur
said.
  "Oh, my ass hurts!" G.b. moaned.
  "Captain Gorzalka's people report gunfire
down near where Emil and his fruitcakes are
camped, sir," the aide reported as soon as Ben
reached his office.
  "Any word on dead or wounded?"
  "No, sir."
  "Thank you."
  Ben rang up the como shack. "Any word from Ike
or Tina?"
  "Yes, sir. They pulled out just before dawn.
Everything is reported smooth."
  Ben looked at his desk. It was clean. He had
nothing to do. He told his staff he'd be back when
they saw him, and climbed into his Jeep. He
checked his Thompson and then looked in the back
seat. Plenty of food and water. He pulled out.
  "You," Ben's XO pointed at several
Rebels. "Follow him. Keep your distance, but
don't let him out of your sight. Report your
position and I'll send an additional squad out
to beef you up. Move!"
  The Rebels scrambled for vehicles and pulled
out, staying well behind Ben.
  Ben checked his mirrors, knowing damn well
somebody would be tagging along behind him. At first he
toyed with the idea of losing them, but then resigned himself
to his fate.
  The country roads, bad even before the Great War,
were now, a decade later, nearly impassable. He
drove past the now falling-down shacks of the poor
and the mansions that the rich had built. He took a
small, selfish, grim satisfaction in the knowledge that
they all were now equal in death.
  Ben had never been much of a
possessions-lover. He could have lived much more
extravagantly than he had, back when things were more
or less normal, but Ben had chosen to keep his
life as simple as possible. He had lived
well, but rather simply.
  And he had taken some criticism for his
life-style. Always a loner, Ben lived a very
private life, almost never opening up to people.
  "Well," he muttered to the wind and the bumps and
ruts and holes in the road. "It's all moot,
now, isn't it?"
  He came to the great mansion of the Lantier
family. Once home to Fran and Ashley, two
spoiled and arrogant brats.
  On impulse, he pulled into the drive and
parked, getting out of the Jeep.
  He stood for a moment, looking at the mansion. The
windows had been smashed and the door kicked in.
Pulling his Thompson from the leather boot, Ben
jacked in a round and walked into the once-great
mansion.
  It was a mess.
  Most of the furniture was gone; what was left was
covered with bird shit and had been chewed on by rats
and mice. He wondered, standing in the great
hall, what the place might be turned into.
  Nothing, he concluded. It was just too goddamned
pretentious. Let it fall down ... just like the
Lantier empire.
  He walked back outside and stood on the porch
for a moment, then turned around and struggled with the
door-or what was left of it-and managed, finally,
to close it.
  "End of an era," Ben said. And walked to his
Jeep. He did not look back.
  They seemed to be constantly running into each other;
no matter where one turned, the other seemed to be
there. Finally, it got to the point where Cecil had
to motion Patrice into his office.
  "Yes, sir?"
  "Knock off the "sir" business while we're
alone. After last night it's a bit much, don't you
think?"
  "About last night...."
  "What about last night? Are you ashamed of what
happened?"
  "No. It's just that...."
  "Don't you want it to happen again?" Cecil
sat down on the edge of his desk.
  She seemed embarrassed. "I get the
impression the entire base knows of it!"
  "Why, hell, I'm sure everyone knows. You know
about Ben and Holly, don't you?"
  "Yes, but others have affairs and no one seems
to know, or care."
  "The "others" aren't two of the three commanding
generals of one of the largest standing armies anywhere in the
world, Patrice."
  "I'm a Moslem, Cecil." She formed her
arms under her breasts. "We are two different
cultures."
  Cecil waggled his eyebrows. "Seems as though
our cultures got along pretty well last
night, don't you agree?"
  "That isn't what I mean and you know it."
  "Where is this leading, Patrice?"
"You
called
me
in here, remember?"
  "Do you want to be transferred out of here,
Patrice?"
  She turned away. With her back to him, she said,
"I have never felt so attracted to a man in all
my life, Cecil. And it scares me."
  "Never had a boyfriend, Patrice?"
  "Training camp affairs. There isn't much time for
that when you're training to conquer the world." She said that
bitterly.
  "Is that what you think we-the Rebels-are trying
to do, Patrice?"
  She turned. "No. No, I don't think that
at all, Cecil. I did at first," she added
quickly. "And I was ready to report back
to Khamsin ... but I kept delaying my
reporting, putting it off. I just wanted to learn more
and more about you people. It was both fascinating and
repulsive to me."
  "Repulsive?"
  "You have to understand, Cecil. Since I was a little
girl ... and my father was French, by the way. He
died when I was very young. I have been taught that
America was the great evil. The great Satan. It
... took me a while to realize that was all a
bunch of nonsense. It's just that you people are so much more
free-spirited than we."
  "And that's good or bad?"
  She smiled. "Well, personally, I think it's
a combination of both."
  "And me?"
  "What about you?"
  "Am I good or bad?"
  "I think you're a very good man, Cecil."
  "And a middle-aged one, Patrice. While you
are still a young woman in her twenties."
  She became very flustered. "Last night was,
ah, highly satisfactory for me, Cecil. I
don't remember, ah ... can we drop the
subject, please?"
  "Yes. Last night. The great myth is that we
are noted for always performing well. We got rhythm,
too."
  She lifted her eyes. He was smiling at her.
  Almost shyly, she returned the smile.
  "The entire outer office is trying very hard not to
  look this way. Why did you pick an office with
so much glass all around it."
  "Why? You got something in mind you don't want the
others to see?"
  "Taking my background into consideration, I could
take that the wrong way."
  "If we didn't trust you, Patrice, we'd
have just shot you."
  "Yes. Yes, I believe that, too."
  "Can you cook?"
  "I beg your pardon? Cook? Of course, I
can cook. What a silly question. Why do you ask?"
  "I thought you might like to come over and help me
cook dinner this evening."
  She looked at him for a long time. Then, slowly,
she began to smile. "I have some marvelous
Lebanese recipes."
  "I thought you people didn't like the Lebanese?"
  She shrugged. "We weren't fighting their food!"
Chapter Twenty-one
  "There ain't no justice," Hiram mumbled,
sitting under a tree with a few of his friends. "It jist
ain't fair, boys. It just, by God, ain't far
a-tall."
  "Whut you mean, Hiram?" Donnie Frank
asked. Donnie was down in the dumps, and not just from the
humiliation at the hands of them hippies, neither.
Donnie Frank missed his wife.
  "All we wanted to do was to be left alone. Then
that goddamned Ben Raines come around, stickin' his
nose into our lives. It ain't fair."
  "What cure is them hippies lookin' for?"
Wilbur asked.
  "Oh, hale-far, Wilbur! There ain't no
cure down here for nothin'."
  Hiram was damn sure right about that, although not in the
way he meant.
  "Then? ..."
  "Ben Raines sent "em in here to aggravate
us."
  "Hiram?" Jakey asked. "Whut's so wrong
wif gettin" some learnin'? I jist ain't gonna
live lak "is. Cain't have no fun no more.
Ever'time you turn around, someones a-shootin" at you.
We cut off from anywheres. I don't lak it here
no more."
  was "At's whut Ben Raines wants,
Jakey. Cain't you see 'at? He's a-tryin"
to jam learnin' down our throats. Well, it jist
ain't a-gonna work wif me. No
  sir. I aint gonna stand for hit no more."
  "Whut you gonna do, Hiram?" B.m. asked.
  "I'm a-gonna kill Ben Raines!"
  "Hiram," Jakey looked up at him. "Has
it ever crossed your mind that maybe Raines is rat
and we're wrong?"
  "Hale, no!"
  "Hit has my mind," B.m. said. "Look
at the way we livin' when we don't have to live this
here way. I been doin' a powerful lot of
head-wrestlin' last two-three hours."
  Hiram felt he knew what was next out of the
man's mouth, and he felt sick at his stomach. His
entire little empire was rapidly falling down around
his dirty ankles. "And whut has you decided."
  B.m. looked at him. "They's got to be
somethang to this here learnin' business. If they
wasn't, Hiram, there wouldn't be so many people doin'
it. Ain't that rat?"
  "No, hit ain't rat! It's all a plot.
Hit's jist a damned commonist plot! And y'all
so dumb you fallin' for hit."
  Communist, B.m. silently corrected,
remembering Ben Raines's words. And felt kinda
good, him correctin' Hiram.
  "Ben Raines ain't no common ... communist,"
Jakey put into words what was in the minds of many
sitting around Hiram.
  "So this is the way hit is, hey?" Hiram
looked around him. "Come down to this here. Y'all jist
gonna turn your asses to me."
  "Ain't no law that says you can't come along wif
us, Hiram."
  "You's all a bunch of goddamn traitors!"
Hiram yelled. "Wai, jist go on;
jist carry your asses away from here and me. I
don't need you. Go on, god-damnit! I don't
wanna see your yeller faces no more. Git outta
here!"
  "You on my property, Hiram," he was gently
reminded by a friend.
  Hiram glared at him. "You ain't no friend of
mine no more, Bobby Joe. Not no more." He
looked at G.b. "How "bout you?"
  "I'm wif you, Hiram. 'At goes wifout
sayin"."
  Several more of the older men rose to stand by Hiram's
side. The younger men sat and squatted around B.m.
  Even Wilbur elected to stay with the majority.
And Wilbur summed it up. "What we all is,
Hiram, is your fault. You and G.b. and
L.t. and Carl and Jimmy John; all the older
men. You hepped raise all of us up. You taught
us to be what we is. But you taught us wrong. You
knowed you was teachin' us wrong, but you done "er
anyways. You all...."
  "Shet your lyin" goddamn mouth, Wilbur!"
Hiram yelled at him. "You cain't talk to me
lak "at, you yeller dog pup!"
  "You beside" git along, Hiram."
Jakey rose to face the man. "You jist beside'
git, now!"
  "Yeah, I'm goin'. I'll let y'all go
join up with Ben Raines. Then y'all can smooch
up to a bunch of niggers and Jews and China-people, and
then y'all be jist as in-ferior as them."
  "Seems like," Jenny Sue's man, Frank,
said, "them in-ferior people can read and write and
figure and build towns and schools and whilst doin'
that, git
  along with each other in the doin' of it all. If you
so smart an' all, Hiram, how come you didn't
teach us to do them things?"
  was "Cause ain't none of them thangs necessary for a
man to git on wif. I'm showin" y'all what
hit takes for a man to git on wif."
  "Like bein' fearful of Old Lady Pauly?"
Jakey asked. "Ben Raines shore made her
look like a fool, didn't he? Like being in town about
a week and a half and already got the sewage and water
runnin'? Like havin' phones workin' agin? If
them's in-ferior people, Hiram, wal, I reckon
I'll jist go on in and join them in-ferior people."
  Hiram pointed a shaking finger at the men who
elected to leave. "Don't none of y'all
never come back to me wif your tail tucked "tween
your legs, a-beggin" for me to take you back. If
I ever seen airy of you agin, I'll kill you!"
  "Yeah, Hiram." Jakey refused to back
down. "Just like you kilted your own flesh and blood.
Ah think you beside' go on now, Hiram." He
lifted his eyes to the road; the sounds of traffic.
"Look yonder, Hiram. Don't that tell you
nothin'?"
  It was the wives of Hiram and the men who chose
to stay with him, in rattletrap cars and trucks,
heading for the Rebel outpost on the other side of the
bayou. The women refused to look at their men as they
smoked by.
  "You carry your ass on back here, bitch!"
Jimmy John hollered. "Goddamn you ... you
hear me?"
  Hiram and L.t. and G.b. and Carl hollered
and squalled and threatened until the caravan was out of
sight.
  "Well, hell, boys," Hiram said. They
jist wimmin. Wimmin ain't got good sense
noways. We can always find us some more wimmin to stick
hit in. Come
  on."
  Hiram and his crew went one way, B.m. and the
others following the road to the bayou and beyond. Tb get
some learnin'.
  "That's it, Ben," Cecil brought him up
to date, "there may be ten, fifteen people, including
Hiram left down there. What do you intend doing about
it?"
  Ben shook his head. "Nothing. Not unless Hiram
breaks some rule or law of ours. And he
probably will. Well deal with it then. How are the
new people taking to our way?"
  Cecil smiled. "Although they won't admit it,
they're scared. It's a normal reaction."
  "How many you think will make it with us?"
  "Too early to tell. I'd say seventy-five
percent of them."
  Ben nodded and tapped a communiqu@eon his desk.
"I'm not certain I understand this, Cec."
  "Nor I. Communications picked it up last
night, then again this morning. They taped the last
message. Have you listened to it?"
  "No. I've been waiting for you."
  Cecil punched the button on the
cassettestrecorder. The men listened to the calm but
clearly desperate voice coming out of the
speaker. "Cut off. Running out of food and
ammo." As the man gave his coordinates, Ben
quickly checked a map of Michigan.
  "Need help desperately. If any Rebels
are listening, please give us help. We're two
hundred strong, but facing a force much larger.
Approximately six to seven hundred of them.
Please help."
  "Right here," Ben said, pointing at the map. "If
it's genuine, they've got their backs against
White-fish Bay. If it's real, Cec, we've
got to help."
  "I knew you'd say that. But Jesus Christ,
Ben there isn't an airport anywhere near the
place that I can see."
  "Get Dan in here." As Cecil was leaving,
Ben picked up the field phone and got the como
shack. "See if you can reach these people up in
Michigan. Patch them through to me."
  "Yes, sir."
  It took several minutes; by that time, Dan
Gray was in the office, along with Colonel West.
Ben and the mercenary smiled coolly at each other and
that was the extent of it. They didn't dislike each
other; just two men with a few
philosophical differences. But West was a fine
warrior, and Ben needed him.
  "Go ahead, general." The radio operator's
voice came through the receiver.
  "Michigan? Who are you and what is your
status?"
  "Joe MacKintosh, general. We're a group
of people who came together and settled up here about four
years ago. Been growing steadily right along.
Patterned our form of government much like yours. But
now, we're really in a bind. We've known for a
long time there were outlaws and warlords all around the
area, but they always left us alone, for the most part.
Now they've joined up and been
  hammering at us for days. Pushed us back all the
way from Newberry to Whitefish Bay. Can you help
us, general?"
  "Ten-four, Michigan. Hold on. Stay
close to the radio."
  "Opinions, suggestions, and alternatives,
gentlemen," Ben said, looking around him.
  "Obviously, general," Dan said, "we're
going to have to jump in. So that lets you out."
  "What the hell do you mean?" Ben shouted.
  "You've just had surgery on your leg and
minor surgery on your feet." The Englishman was
unruffled. "You cannot jump, and you cannot march. It's as
simple as that. And there is absolutely no point
in arguing as to who is going in. I am, naturally,
and I would suggest Colonel West and his
mercenaries. With General Jefferys commanding."
  "I second that motion," Colonel West said.
  "All right, all right!" Ben waved his hand.
"You're all right. Goddamnit!" He was thoughtful
for a moment. "The old birds have to have fuel; that's a
pretty good distance. We know Memphis is
clear." He jerked up his field phone. "I
want one platoon of Rebels airlifted to the
Memphis Airport and I want them moving within the
hour. Get cracking."
  "I'm scared of Chicago," Ben muttered,
replacing the phone in the cradle. "And there is
another problem: chutes. We don't have enough. One
battalion is going to have to jump while the other
marches in. But marches in from ... where?"
  West was studying a series of maps. "The only
airport I can find that would be large enough to handle our
birds is this Chippewa County airport.
  That would put us about thirty miles from the battle,
as the crow flies."
  "All right, we'll have to see if it's clear."
He called for an aide. "Stay with communications.
Stay with the Michigan people all the way. Ask them about
this Chippewa airport; if it's clear with perhaps some
fuel there. Move!" He turned to Cecil.
"Get with the pilots, Cec. Pathfinders out right
now."
  "Right, Ben." He turned to leave. Ben's
voice stopped him. "Yes, Ben?"
  "No prisoners, Cec. We can't turn them
loose to regroup, and we don't have the equipment
to bring them back here. No prisoners."
  Cecil nodded and left the office.
  "Dan," West said. "Not all my men are
jump-trained. So I guess I'll get to march
in. We've both got things to do, so I'll see you
in Memphis and we'll finalize matters."
  Dan nodded and the mercenary left.
  "I ought to shoot that damn Lamar Chase for doing
this to me!" Ben bitched, then grinned.
  "You're needed here, general," Dan reminded
him.
  "I'm always needed in the places where I don't
want to be. You don't seem to be in much of a
hurry, Dan. Are your people that ready?"
  "My people are always ready, general." Which was true.
The ex-Sas man and his troops almost always
spearheaded any hostile push. Dan demanded one
hundred and ten percent from his people, and got it, or they
cleared the outfit.
  "When you clear the hostiles out, Dan, be sure
to mention to this Mackintosh about our outpost system."
There was no mention of
if
hostiles were
  cleared. There was no
if
to
the Rebels. They just did it, and were never especially
gentle about how they did it.
  They were bringing law and order back to a shattered
nation. One either obeyed the rules, or one was dead.
It was as simple as that.
  "Besides, general," Dan said, "I know
perfectly well, short of divine intervention, there
is nothing going to keep you out of New York City,
right?"
  "If it's still standing, that is."
  "Oh, I think it is, general. As a matter of
fact, I'd be willing to bet a month's
pay on it."
  "If we were getting paid!" Ben said with a laugh.
  Ben stilled the ringing of the phone. Communications.
"The airport in question, sir-Chippewa? It's in
good shape, and this Mackintosh fellow thinks there is
plenty of fuel there. But he suggests to strain it."
  "Thanks." Ben looked at Dan. "The
airport is all right, Dan. I know you're
antsy to get going. I wish to hell I was going in
with you."
  "There is always The Big Apple, general."
Dan grinned.
  The field phone rang again. This time the radio
operator's voice was subdued.
  "General Raines. I have General Striganov
on the horn, sir. From Canada. He would like
to offer whatever assistance you might need in dealing with the
problem in Michigan."
Chapter Twenty-two
  Ben sat for a few seconds in shocked silence.
Finally, he found his voice. "Georgi?"
  "Ben," the Russian's voice was clear over the
hundreds of miles from Canada. "First of all,
let me apologize. I am terribly sorry for
our past differences. And I am not asking for
any forgiveness. Just listen to me for a moment, if you
will."
  "Certainly, Georgi."
  "I and my people were wrong in what we did.
Hideously, horribly wrong. Some of my staff
realized it before I did. That is why we left
California, for Canada, to start anew. All but
three battalions I of my army have been disbanded.
They are now farmers and shepherds and the like; we are
working hand in hand with the Canadians. And our form of
government is much the same as yours. I have been
monitoring your broadcasts with the besieged group in
Michigan. I know these outlaws. We drove them
from Canada. They are about two thousand strong,
Ben."
  "Two thousand!" Ben almost shouted the words.
  "Yes. They are holding back most in reserve.
They
  know that eventually they can starve the good citizens out.
They are also aware that your people are coming to help. Do I
have to tell you what they've planned for you?"
  "Ambush."
  "Precisely. I have ordered two of my
battalions and one battalion of Canadians
out. By ship. They left about an hour ago.
They will hit the shore by landing craft at Crisp
Point and then proceed inland by fast march. Do you
approve?"
  "I certainly do approve, Georgi, and I
thank you for your help."
  "Colonel Stefan Rebet will be commanding the
Russian battalions and Major Danjou the
Canadian troops. Tell you the truth, Ben,
I wish I was going in with them. I miss it. And I
would like to sit down and talk with you."
  "Hell, Georgi, I'm not going in either!"
  "What? The old fire-breathing dragon Ben
Raines is going to miss some action. You're not
ill, I hope?"
  "Oh, no. I had some old lead dug out of one
leg and some work done on my feet. Why aren't you
going in?"
  "Gout," the Russian said, disgust in his voice.
  As Ben and Georgi, once bitter enemies and
now reluctant allies, began laughing. They were still
laughing and chatting and Dan, smiling, quietly
left the office.
  Two hours before dawn.
  The pilots were checking over their aircraft.
Gear had been loaded on the cargo
planes and the men
  and women of the Rebels going in stood quietly,
in loose formation, chatting and smoking and sipping
coffee.
  Ben stood with his commanders.
  "Striganov told me this afternoon that his country used
experimental gases in those areas of the northeast.
Most of the country got the Tabun, and it wasn't
terribly effective. He said a lot of planes
went down in that area of the nation; planes carrying
God alone knew what kind of germ-warfare
bombs. I just don't know. It may be that those
citizens up there, those who survived, just said to hell
with it and chose to remain safe and quiet. I just
don't know."
  "I heard that Russian planes carrying
paratroopers went down in the far northeast," West
said. "And the Russians, once they heard their motherland
was gone, went on a rampage, killing anyone,
man, woman, or child, they came upon. That could account
for a part of the population."
  "The drift of gases, the drift of radiation, the
Russians, the outlaws that rise up after any
major disaster." Dan shook his head. "Those left
just may, like General Raines said, have kept
their heads down and remained very quiet."
  Ben shook hands all the way around. "Luck to you
all, boys." He stepped back and saluted them
all. He said
to
Cecil, "Keep your ass down, old man."
  "I'm glad the intell we've been receiving about the
Russian proved accurate," Cecil said. "There
are certainly some strange twists and turns in war,
gentleman."
  "I'm glad to have him on our side," Dan said.
  "Have you heard from Ike?"
  "About fifteen minutes ago. Washington,
D.c. is gone. Hot as a fireball. I'm
wondering still about New York City. Do you men
suppose the government, once it was re-formed, knew
about New York City and just kept quiet about it?"
Ben asked.
  "It would have to be, Ben," Cecil said. "What was
it that General Krigel said after he linked up with us
after the battle for Tri-States? Let me think.
Yes. President Logan had expressly
forbidden any fly-bys over the eastern corridor.
But if that's true, why?"
  "I don't know. Easier to contain the people,
maybe. But Logan was crazy, remember?
Hell, he married Fran Lantier Piper,
didn't he?"
  The men laughed softly at that.
  "But what about the people up in Vermont, Maine,
New Hampshire, New Jersey?" West asked.
"Surely someone would have gotten out to tell their
story. It would have to be that way."
  Ike and Tina halted their teams some sixty
miles outside of what was left of Washington,
D.c. and the Baltimore areas. Their equipment
showed the areas to be hot with radiation.
  Tina had pushed on ahead, staying well away from
the hot zone. She radioed back to Ike.
  "The Philadelphia area, Ike?"
  "We'll have to check it out. Stay well west of the
hot zone. Start cutting east at Hagerstown.
Take the Gettysburg, York, Lancaster
route. Have you found any survivors yet, Tina?"
  "Ten-four, Ike. Plenty of them. But they're
jumpy
  folks. We know they're there; they've let us
see them. But they won't approach us. Ike? I
think we're entering a no-man's-land here. These people
don't have any idea who we are."
  Ike acknowledged her transmission and told her
to stand by. He turned to Dr. Ling. "Doc, could a
radiation belt have prevented, blocked, radio
transmissions into and out of this area?"
  The doctor hesitated. "Possibly," he
finally answered. "But the more I think on the matter,
the more I believe there has been a massive hoax
perpetrated on these people. It could well be that they've
been led to believe that anything out of this area is hot,
and we've been led to believe that anything inside this
area was off limits. That's only a theory,
general."
  Ike scratched his head, a puzzled look on his
face. "But
why?
Why would anybody do something like that?"
  Dr. Ling shrugged his shoulders. "I have no
idea. As I said, it's only a theory. Perhaps that
would account for President Logan's relocation
efforts some years back?"
  "Yeah. Maybe. Thanks, doc." Ike
walked to the communications van. "You able to get through
to Base Camp One yet?"
  "Yes, sir. Just spoke with them again. It's
firm. General Jefferys is leading
Rebels into Michigan. Colonel Gray and
Colonel West. General Striganov is sending
three battalions in from Canada to beef us up."
  "Ben not going in?"
  "No, sir. And he's not too happy about that,
either."
  Ike grinned. "I just bet he isn't.
Thanks. Keep everything on scramble; pass the
word. We don't want that Libyan
fart-in-the-wind to learn how spread out we are."
  The radio operator laughed. "Yes, sir,"
she acknowledged.
  "Radio Tina to push on. Maintain no more than
fifty miles distance between us."
  "Yes, sir."
  Ben had stood on the tarmac of the regional
airport and watched as the planes took off,
circled, then headed north. Holly stood with him.
Off to one side, some distance away, stood
Patrice, her eyes on the lights of the planes,
watching until the planes were gone and the lights
faded.
  "Go get her," Ben asked Holly. "Let's
have breakfast together."
  "She's got quite a case on Cecil,
hasn't she, Ben?"
  "I think they share the feeling. Come on. I'm
hungry."
  The Rebel community, while numbering in the
thousands, was, nevertheless, a close-knit community,
and the mess halls were quiet that morning, with not much
conversation. All knew that of the Rebels who had
left, some would not be returning. But all knew that
to face death was a part of being a member of Raines
Rebels. They were dedicated to restoring order to a
torn and lawless land, and that would never come easy.
  Ben and the ladies sat at a table with Buddy and
  Dr. Chase. The doctor looked glum.
  "What's the matter, you old goat?" Ben asked
him. "Your lip is dragging the ground. You didn't
actually think I would send you up to Michigan, did
you?"
  "I could have flown in, and not jumped, Raines."
His reply was testy.
  "They'll be traveling fast, Lamar. Besides, like
me, you're needed here until we get this area
smoothed out. Ill make you a promise, though."
  "Oh?"
  "If New York is still standing, you and me,
we'll be the first ones to go in."
  "I'll damn sure hold you to that, Raines."
  "It's a promise, Lamar."
  "And me, Father?" Buddy asked.
  "You'll be right in there with us, Buddy. It's going
to take all of us. He cut his eyes to Patrice.
"You want to come along, captain?"
  She forced a smile. "I wouldn't miss it for the
world. All my life I've heard about New
York City."
  "I can't even envision it." Buddy spoke after
swallowing a mouthful of scrambled eggs. "I've
seen pictures, but I don't think that a picture
does it justice."
  "What do you remember about it, general?"
Patrice asked.
  "Almost getting run over by those goddamn
bicycle messengers on Park Ave."
  Ben then realized that Buddy and Patrice had no
idea what a bicycle messenger meant. He
opened his mouth to tell them but was interrupted by a
runner from communications.
  "The platoon at Memphis, sir? They fought
the Night People all night, but now report one
runway of the airport is clear for take-off and
landing. The Pathfinders have cleared the
airport in Michigan and are moving now to set up
the DZ."
  "Thank you. Please keep me informed."
  "How's your feet, Ben?" Lamar asked.
  "Fine. The leg is a little sore, that's all.
Has anybody heard how Emil Hite and his
intrepid little band fared during the night?"
  No one had.
  Ben smiled. He wondered what Hiram was going
to do next.
  "Ah ain't livin' lak "is," Hiram
suddenly announced, startling those who had chosen
to follow him. "We got to start thankin" "bout
them 'at's gonna foller us."
  "Whut you mean?" G.b. asked, wincing as he
shifted positions and felt a sharp pain in his wounded
cheek.
  "We had our way around these parts for years.
'At's what I mean. Didn't obey no law
'ceptin" our own. Ben Raines has got to go.
We'uns got to see to that."
  "You mean ... kill him?" Jimmy John
asked.
  "At's "xactly whut ah mean. Jist lak
we done them damned nigger-lovin" civil
rats workers back when we was all young bucks.
"Member how we ambushed that old boy back in the
sixties? Drug 'im out of his car and tarred and
feathered 'im. 'At was rat good fun."
  "How it was we done 'at?" G.b. asked. "I
disre-member 'xactly."
  was 'Cause he were drivin" through this area and we
done tole him not to do hit no more." Hiram smiled
in remembrance. "This here is
our
country! And don't nobody have no rat to tell us
hit ain't."
  "You got a plan, Hiram?" Carl asked.
  "Damned rat I does. We gonna tale
Ben Raines-"er some of them Rebels of hisn
'at we want to talk *bout jo*" up. Once
we git him in here, then we can kill him."
  "Ah lak hit!" G.b. said.
  "Naturally," Hiram replied. "I thunk
hit up, didn't I?"
  Ben was working at his desk when his phone rang.
Communications, advising him that Hiram had sent word
he wished to speak with Ben, at the bayou bank.
Wanted to talk about joining the Rebels.
  Ben laughed. "Sure he does," he
told the woman. "What he wants to do is pull
me down into his territory and then kill me.
Hiram is a die-hard redneck, lieutenant.
So full of hate it's finally consumed him. All
right. Advise Captain Gorzalka. I'll be
down to see Hiram in about an hour."
  Ben rang the hospital, to see if Holly
wanted to ride down with him. Then he changed his
mind; might get dangerous. He sent a runner
after Buddy and waited until the young man entered his
office.
  "Where's your weapon, son?"
  "In my Jeep."
  "Get it. And meet me at my Jeep.
We're going to
  finish a twenty-year-old game."
  Heading out, Buddy asked, "What game, Father?"
  "One might call it many things, son. Good against
evil. But to Hiram's way of thinking, I'm the
evil one. One hardhead against another hardhead.
Each one thinking he is in the right."
  "And who is in the right, Father?"
  "Intellectually, I am. Morally, half and
half. Socially, the way we-the Rebels-envision
our society, oh, give me sixty
points and Hiram forty. Add that up, son."
  "Giving how many points per issue?"
  "One hundred."
  "Two-ten to ninety."
  "That's the way I figure it."
  "But how much is a man worth, Father?"
  "At last count, about four dollars."
  "Are you
serious!"
  "Yep. The average man has that many minerals in
his body."
  "Ah!"
  "But that isn't what you meant, is it, son?"
  "No, sir."
  "The worth of a person, son, depends, to my
way of thinking, how much that person contributes
to society, and how much they take away from it."
  Buddy thought about that for a moment. "That sounds
logical, Father. But doesn't Hiram have as much
right to judge you as you do to judge him?"
  Ben smiled. He hadn't sired a dummy.
"That's the way it would be in a democracy, son-on
paper, that is."
  "What do you mean?"
  "It never worked out that way. Justice was
supposed to be blind; but in a lot of cases, she
wasn't."
  "So I have heard my mother mention, time after time," the
young man said drily.
  And Ben knew what he was talking about.
  "Did your mother think to tell you that I contacted the
attorney representing her and told her I would
share in the expenses of the child if she would just prove that
the baby really was mine?"
  "No. Least I don't think she ever mentioned that
to me." He waved a hand. "That's over and buried,
Father. We found each other, finally, and we are together.
That is all that really matters, is it not?"
  "Yes. What do you think of Holly?"
  "A very nice lady and a more than capable
physician, I believe."
  "That's a nice, safe reply."
  "If you're waiting for me to start calling her
Mother, you are going to have one hell of a long
wait-sir!"
  Ben laughed and reached over, jerking Buddy's
bandana over his eyes.
  Buddy grinned and folded his arms across his
massive chest. "Fine. I'll just nap. Wake
me when we reach this odious individual's
position."
  "I couldn't have said it better myself."
Chapter Twenty-three
  "Hiram," Ben called across the brackish
bayou, "you must think I'm a damned fool!"
  "Don't neither, Raines. Jist wanna talk
is all. Why don't you come on acrost? Is you
scared of me, Raines?"
  "No, Hiram. I'm not afraid of you. Where
are your asshole buddies? You have them positioned
around the bank to get a shot at me?"
  That shook L.t., lying in the deep grass with a
rifle. How the hell did the man know that?
Hiram's plan had seemed so good at first. Now
L.t. was just plain scared.
  The Rebels under Captain Gorzalka's command
shifted nervously behind their guns; not a one of them
liked this worth a damn. The general was too open,
too vulnerable.
  And the enemy could not be seen; but all knew
Hiram's followers were hidden in the thick underbrush
of the bayou bank.
  "He has his rifle cocked back," Buddy
whispered to his father.
  "You got sharp eyes, boy."
  "Thank you."
  "Never did trust none of us folks from around here,
did you, Raines?" Hiram asked.
  "Never did, Hiram. And don't now."
  "You thank you so goddamned high and mighty,
don't you, Raines?"
  "No, Hiram. I simply believe there are
social and moral codes one must follow along with the
legal written laws."
  "You goddamn son of a bitch. You took my
power away from me. You took my younguns."
  Ben noted that he mentioned power before his kids.
  Hiram jerked up his rifle just as Buddy
jumped, knocking Ben to the ground. Another rifle
barked, then others joined in. Ben heard the
bullets hit Buddy's body; felt his son's
blood leak onto his flesh. He rolled over,
protecting his son with his own body just as the Rebels
opened up with every gun at their disposal.
  Crawling, Ben pulled Buddy behind a tree and
tore open his shirt.
  It was bad. One slug had hit him in the chest,
another had taken him in the shoulder, and yet another
one had torn a chunk out of his head.
  "Captain! Get Buddy out of here and
into the hospital. Medic! Get over here and do a
patch job. Let's go!"
  Hiram and his crew had slipped away, heading for
deep cover.
  Ben paced the hospital corridor. It was
growing
  dark when Chase finally came out of the OR and
walked up to Ben. "I don't know, Ben. It's
too early to tell. If he makes it twenty-four
hours, he'll pull through. And no, you can't see
him. He's in recovery and he is unconscious.
All we can do is wait and pray."
  Ben nodded. He looked at Holly, who had just
come out of the OR. "Change the dressing on my
leg, Holly. Paint it good and make it as
waterproof and dirt-proof as you can."
  "All right. I gather you won't be home for
dinner."
  "You got that right."
  Ben stood on the Rebel side of the bayou as
Emil Hite and his followers were boated across.
Emil had heard about Buddy, and he knew not to say
anything to Ben. He and his followers quietly
melted away into the darkness.
  "Captain Gorzalka, start ferrying
my equipment across and caching them in the spots I
told you," Ben ordered.
  "Yes, sir."
  Ben turned to his XO, Joe Williams.
"You're in charge, Joe. Cecil and Ike have already
been notified."
  "Yes, sir."
  "I should have just killed him when we pulled in here,"
Ben spoke quietly. "I knew it then. I know
it much more deeply now."
  No one said anything; they knew Ben was not
expecting any reply.
  Holly had arrived in a Jeep, driven
by Patrice, and the two women walked to Ben's
side. "You could just send in troops and flush them out,
Ben," Holly said.
  "Yes. I could do that." He turned
to Gorzalka. "Captain, ring the area once I'm
in. None of Hiram's people come out. If they
manage to kill me ... there are orders in a sealed
envelope on my desk. If they kill me,
secure this area by any means possible. But don't
burn it. That would harm the wildlife*"
  Holly looked at him in total amazement.
  "... Is my equipment across?"
  "Yes, sir."
  Ben glanced at Holly. "Take care of my
son, Holly."
  "All right, Ben."
  He kissed her quickly and walked down the bank,
stepping into a waiting boat.
  The darkness soon swallowed him.
  On the far side, Ben stepped out of the boat and
slipped up the bank. He looked back at the
Rebels in the boat. "Go back to the other side and
resume your duties."
  "Yes, sir," one said reluctantly, and the
boat pushed off.
  Ben straightened up and stepped away from the bayou
tree line. At the edge of a clearing, he looked
up, getting his bearings. The night was filled with
stars, perfectly cloudless. Ben located Orion.
Keeping his eyes straight, he lifted them and found
Little Bear; the last star in the configuration would be the
Pole Star, with Plough to his left and
Cassiopeia to his right.
  Now he knew the points. Ben had a compass with
him; but this was just as easy.
  He walked on, stopping every so often to cut a
short pole. When he had his arms full,
he walked on, whistling as he went, sometimes singing
songs from the nineteen-sixties and comseventies. He
found a place to make his camp and then went to work
securing it.
  On the north side of his camp, Ben rigged a
dead fall snare, using a log and a piece of rope
and a small stick. He laid the loop on the ground
and covered it with leaves.
  On the south side of his camp, Ben rigged a
staked dead fall, using a smaller log and lashing
three sharpened stakes to the log, fastening the trip
wire to a sturdy bush.
  On the east side, Ben found a natural
depression in the earth. He quickly deepened it with a
small entrenching tool and rigged a spear pit,
covering the pit first with small limbs, then leaves and
dirt.
  On the west side of camp, Ben rigged a
grenade trap by first removing the pin and securing the
spoon with wire, just enough tension to hold the spoon in
place. He rigged it waist high between two trees.
Then he cleared an area and built a fire. Then
Ben slipped back a couple of hundred yards and
crawled up under some thick brush.
  He waited, eating cold rations and
sipping from one of his two canteens. There was a grim
smile on his face.
  He did not underestimate Hiram's ability in
the woods, nor any of the others'; they were
  all good hunters and trappers. But that expertise
could also work against a person, making them too sure.
  Ben lay to the north of the small fire, just able
to see it from his position. He did not think it would
take long for the trash to appear, and he was right.
  The slight sound of a twig snapping under weight
reached Ben's ears. It was only a very small sound,
carrying no more than fifty feet. But animals
don't step on twigs unless they are running in
fear. This was an animal, but not the four-legged kind.
Only cutting his eyes, not moving his head, Ben
picked out the dark shape of a man approaching the
fire from the north.
  A few more feet, and whoever it was approaching the
fire would be in for a very painful surprise. The
man's foot dragged into the loop; Ben heard the
brace slide out from under the supports. Then a
scream ripped the night as the log came down on the
man's lower back, driving him to the ground, breaking
bones and crushing flesh.
  "Jackson!" A hoarse whisper came
out of the darkness. "Whut happened, Jackson?"
  "Cain't move my legs!" the man under the log
croaked. "Cain't feel nothin' from the waist
down." He started crying under his pinned position.
  "Jimmy Luther!" Hiram called. "You see
anything around that there far?"
  "No, sir. I'll take a look."
  "Do "at. But take Raines alive. I
want to hear him holler when we cut off his
pecker."
  Ben smiled grimly. He had pinpointed
Hiram's position; could have easily sprayed the
area and probably taken the man out. But that would be
too easy.
  It was to be Jimmy Luther's last look at
anything. His knees hit the black trip-wire and the
spoon popped free.
  "Whut's the hale's 'at!" Jimmy Luther
hollered.
  The full force of the grenade, a Mini-More,
actually a pocket Claymore, hit Jimmy
Luther waist-high and spread parts of him all over
the area.
  "Jimmy Luther!" Hiram squalled.
"Jimmy Luther! Boy, you answer me
now, you hear?"
  But the only person Jimmy Luther would ever
answer to would be God, on Judgment Day.
  "Ah'll fetch 'im!" another voice called.
  "There ain't nuttin" to fetch, boy!" another
man called. was "At 'ere was a gree-nade,
Charlie."
  "Go see 'bout your brother, boy," Hiram
shouted.
  Charlie hit the punji pit at a full run,
the sharpened stakes driving into his legs and feet.
He pitched forward, half in and half out of the deadly
staked hole. Ben had wished, building the pit, that
he had some monkey shit to dip the points in; but
he figured he'd done pretty well with what he
had in hand.
  Charlie's screaming was cut short as the pain
became too much and the young man passed out.
  "Goddamn you, Raines!" Hiram screamed.
"Is you there?"
  Ben lay quietly, silently, his breathing slow
and even and noiseless.
  "Come on out and fight lak a man, you bassard!"
Hiram yelled.
  "Ah'm paralyzed!" Jackson
moaned. "I cain't move my legs, boys.
Oh, Lard, Lard, hep
  me! I don't wanna die. Mr. Raines!
Mr. Raines! Hep me, please. Ah didn't
really mean you no serious harm."
  Sure, Ben thought. Sure, you didn't. When the
chips get down, your kind always rolls over. And
back when the world was whole, more or less, you always had
some smooth-talking lawyer to help you. Now I'm
putting into play what the courts should have done years
back.
Fuck you!
  "Hep me, Mr. Raines!" Jackson began
sobbing. "Don't leave me out there. The wolves'll
git me sure."
  Wolves! Ben thought. It's cock-suckers like you
who killed the wolf out years ago. And now they're
back, and once again, silly assholes like you are
scared of them.
  Ben remembered from his writing days that no one had
ever been able to prove that a grown, healthy wolf
had, unprovoked, ever attacked a human being.
  "Axel Leroy?" Hiram called.
  "Yes, Daddy?"
  "Kill that yeller-bellied son of a
bitch, boy."
  "Yes, sir."
  Ben heard a single shot, and Jackson's
blubbering abruptly ended.
  "I got 'im, Daddy!" Axel yelled
proudly.
  You raised a fine boy there, Hiram, Ben
thought. Just a real jim-dandy.
  "Good shootin", Axel Leroy," Hiram
told him.
  "Ah don't thank Raines is nowhere around
heers," a man called out. "Ah thank he jist
suckered us all in heer."
  "Ah thank you rat, Sonny boy." Another
voice was added. "Whut you thank, Smithy?"
  "He long gone these parts."
  "Oh, God, please hep me!" Charlie
squalled, once more adrift in a sea of agony,
the stakes punching through his legs and feet with each
movement. "Oh, Lard, ah can't stand hit!"
  "Vince," Hiram called. "You closest to
"im. You wanna try 'er?"
  "Ah'll do moreun 'at," Vince bragged.
"Ah'll do 'er!"
  And you have to pass right by me to do it, Ben
thought, smiling. He slipped his razor-honed
long-bladed knife from leather and waited. He heard
Vince coming closer, crawling toward the sounds of
Charlie's bawling and hollering. Ben had slipped
to the edge of the brush, holding the knife in his right hand.
  Ben waited until Vince was at his position with
his right arm fully extended, fingers digging in the
dirt. He drove the blade into the hollow of the
armpit, all the way to the hilt, and twisted the
blade savagely. Vince screamed hideously.
Ben jerked out the knife, coming up on his knees.
He drove the blade into Vince's neck, all the
way through, at least six inches of the blade driving
into the hard ground, pinning the flopping man where he
lay.
  Then, working quickly, Ben did a little surgery on
Vince.
  "Vince!" Hiram was hollering. "Oh,
Vince-boy! Whut's goin" on over thar?"
  "Cover me!" a man yelled. "Ah'm
a-gonna git Charlie."
  Amid the banging of wild shooting, Ben dragged
the body of Vince back into the brush and covered it.
Then he made his way out of the brush and was a good
mile away before the shooting stopped.
  Ike was so mad he almost broke the radio mic.
Calming himself, he handed the mic back to the operator
and stalked away to find Tina.
  She noted the dark look on Ike's face.
"What's up, Ike?"
  "Buddy's been hard hit, Tina. That trash that
Ben told us about ambushed Buddy and Ben. Ben was
unhurt, but now he's gone on a rampage,
alone, hunting them that did it."
  "Is Buddy going to make it? And tell me the
truth, Ike."
  "I wouldn't lie to you, Tina. Chase said that last
night he wouldn't have bet either way. But now, Buddy
is awake and stronger and it looks good."
  "Thank God!" She put her arms around the man
she had called Uncle Ike for most of her life
and placed her head on his barrel chest. "Now tell
me about Dad."
  Ike brought her up to date.
  She pulled away, wiped her eyes, and composed
herself.
  "It's no time to be brave, Tina," Ike
told her. "If you want to cry, go right ahead."
  She shook her head. "It wouldn't do any good,
Ike. And it wouldn't help us get the job
done. My father is tough as a boot, Ike. Both
mentally and physically. And I don't have to tell an
ex-Seal that
  mental is the key to a good portion of getting the
job done. Those redneck trash will regret the day
they ever heard the name of Ben Raines."
  Ike smiled at her. "Honey, I think they've
been doing that for years!"
  "All right. Do we go into downtown Lancaster?"
  "Yeah. Let's see what's goin' on with the
Yankees."
  L.t. woke up at dawn, a strange weight
on his chest. He opened his eyes and began screaming
hysterically, almost insanely.
  The head of Vince, bloody and pale, with the eyes
wide open in the shock of death, sat squarely on
L.t.8ness chest, staring at the man.
Chapter Twenty-four
  Carl jumped up to run over to where L.t. lay
thrashing around on the ground, his dirty feet kicking
at the head of Vince. Vince's head rolled down
the small incline to land with a soft plop in a fresh
puddle of cow shit.
  Carl felt a series of hammer-blows on his
back. It was the most peculiar sensation he
had ever experienced in all his often-peculiar life.
He felt himself falling, falling, as the white-hot
pain began spreading all over the line of .45
caliber bullet holes.
  The last thing that Carl would think of was: We shoulda
done whut Ben Raines wanted us to do.
  L.t. managed to get to his knees before the
.45 caliber slugs of social justice stitched
him from his right side to his neck. He died on his
knees, hands at his side.
  William Watson lay hunkered in a ground
depression. He had the time left to piss his dirty
underwear, and when the grenade landed just a few inches from
his nose the 60mm fragmentation grenade blew parts
of William Watson all over the yard, some of
them smacking Jimmy John in the face.
  "Yukk!" Jimmy John said, wiping his face.
As he turned to find his weapon, his eyes met those
of Ben Raines. Ben stood by a huge old oak
tree. Jimmy John thought he had never in his
life seen nothin" that looked so savage.
  Ben shot him in the face, the copper-jacketed
hollow-nosed .45 slugs making a dreadful mess
in the early morning.
  Jimmy John was literally lifted off
his feet and slung to one side.
  Ben took that confusing time to run to his right,
circling the camp, staying in the deep brush, popping
out the half-empty drum and fitting a full drum
into the belly of the Thompson. He slung the SMG
long enough to pull the pins of two grenades, one in
each hand, holding the spoons down. Ben's leg was
aching, but he did not really notice the slight pain.
  Ben came face to face with a man; he could
smell the fear-stink of the "neck; smell the awful
odor of rotting teeth and bad breath panting out of the
man's wide open mouth.
  Ben dropped one canister down the 'neck's
shirt front and drove his elbow into the man's
face, knocking him down. Ben ran behind a tree just
as the grenade exploded, sending bits and pieces of
human body all over the forest. He stepped out from
behind the tree, his head aching and his ears ringing from the
explosive sounds of battle and tossed the second
grenade in the general direction he'd seen a
'neck run. The grenade blew and Ben watched as
an arm floated lazily up into the air and then
dropped to earth.
  A bullet sent pieces of bark into the side of
Ben's face, ripping open the skin,
bloodying his face. Ben turned and dropped to one
knee, leveling the Thompson and holding the trigger
back. Efrom Silas and Axel Leroy went
jerking and dancing the macabre steps to the Stygian
shore.
  "You'd never make it on Dance Party, boys."
Ben voiced a soldier's grim humor. "Not
original enough."
  Ben squatted beside a tree and tallied it up, his
eyes touching briefly on each sprawled body.
He found a blanket-covered body and thought that must
be Charlie. The punji stakes had done their work;
probably bled to death.
  He did not see Hiram, nor G.b., nor
the last son of Hiram; Bubba Willie, the
retarded one, had been taken into town by his mother.
Ben saw them then, the three of them, running across a
meadow, heading for the bayou. He watched as they
disappeared into the woods.
  Ben backed off from the site of carnage and rested,
eating a can of cold beans and crackers for
breakfast, sipping at his canteen of water.
  There was a grim smile of satisfaction on his
face.
  "Hell of a damn battle just went on
in there," Captain Gorzalka remarked.
  "And look over there to the west," a Rebel
pointed out. "Buzzards circling."
  "The general must have done that last night. He
sure was some kind of pissed-off."
  Holly had waited the long night, Chase
insisting
  she stay. One thing the Rebels had was a fine
staff of doctors; Buddy would be well taken care
of. She had slept in the back of a truck; the
gunfire and explosions had wakened her.
  "Oh, Lardy, Lardy, Lardy!" The shout was
faint. "Harp, halp!"
  The Rebels started laughing, as much from relief as
anything else. They knew then that the general was very much
alive and well.
  "Come on, Grover Neal!" Hiram's shout could
be heard. "Git your ass a-movin", boy!"
  "Ah'm a-gonna kill Ben Raines!"
Grover shouted. "Ah'll go down as a big man.
Ah'll be a hero, Daddy! Ah'll be...."
  The chug-a-chug of Ben's Thompson rattled out
the voice.
  Hiram and G.b. appeared on the far bank.
  "Y'all got to hep us!" G.b.
squalled, his voice shaky with fear. was "at 'ere
man's plumb crazy. He's a devil. He's
done kilt ever'body. He cut off Vince's
haid and crept up in our camp lak a snake and
poot it on L.t.'s chest. Then he jist come out
of the mist and started killin"! Oh, Lard, ya'll
got to hep us!"
  The Rebels stood on the high side of the
opposite bank and looked on in undisguised
disgust as Hiram and G.b. begged and groveled.
  "Ain't y'all got no mercy in ya?" Hiram
yelled. "Whut kind of people is y'all anyways?"
  G.b. screamed in fear as Ben appeared on the
high bank above them. He fell to his hands and
knees near the water. "I'm sorry, Mr.
Raines. I'm sorry for all the bad thangs I
done." Then he began confessing to the most heinous of
crimes. Torture
  and rape and perversion over the years. Incest with his
daughters. Civil rights violations. He was
blubbering and snorting as he finally wound down his list
of atrocities.
  Hiram began puking on himself as Ben leveled the
Thompson and held the trigger back. G.b. was
flipped over into the dark waters of the bayou,
blood leaking out of a dozen or more bullet holes.
The blood drifted, attracted those who lived in the
dark waters.
  With puke staining his chin and his shirt, Hiram
began cursing Ben. Both Ben and the Rebels
noticed a slight stirring of the brackish waters.
Hiram finally paused for breath.
  Taking a deep breath, Hiram screamed, "I
hope your son dies, Raines. I hope he
suffers and hollers and cries. I hope you git the
cancer. I hope your dick rots off."
  Then he whirled and dove into the bayou.
  "Hold your fire!" Ben shouted.
  Hiram made it to the middle of the bayou. Water
splashed high into the air as a "gator took him
by the legs and twisted, pulling Hiram down.
Hiram surfaced once, his eyes wide with fear,
his mouth open, water pouring out of it. The tail of a
huge old mossy-back flipped out of the waters.
  And then the waters were still.
  Holly did a quick repair job on Ben's
face, sliced open his field pants and redressed
his wound, giving him a shot of antibiotics. Ben
endured it all silently.
  He had asked about Buddy, and had been
told it
  looked good. He was going to make it.
  "General?" Captain Gorzalka asked. "Do
you want us to start rebuilding the bridges?"
  Ben shook his head. "No. This will be a place
for the animals to run free, safe from man. We'll
do this in every state. Someday, probably, man will
fuck it all up again; but it won't happen in our
lifetime. This area will be off-limits to anyone
except game management people." He turned to an
aide, who, he supposed, had been waiting all
night for his return. "Make that an official
order, Mary. Type it up and I'll sign it."
  "Yes, sir."
  "Ben Raines!" Holly said. "You are a
walking contradiction, you know that?"
  "Sure. Always have been."
  "I swear to God, I think you care more about
animals than you do about humans."
  "Some humans, yeah. You're right. You want a
lecture on animal rights, Holly?"
  "Hell, no! Thank you just the same. Damn you,
Ben Raines, you are the most infuriating man I have
ever known. I swear that's true...."
  Ben fished in his pocket and found a
biscuit, munching on it while Holly ranted and
raved and cussed him ... in a ladylike manner,
of course.
  "Don't you know that people
care
for you, Ben Raines? That people
worry
about you and some of these dumb stunts you pull? Well,
do you realize that?"
  "Yep." Ben chewed.
  Before she could get steamed up and started again, the
radio-person hollered out, "Dr. Allardt?
Dr. Chase on the horn."
  Muttering, Holly walked to the vehicle and
spoke with Chase.
  "She really likes me," Ben said to Captain
Gorzalka, motioning toward Holly.
  "If you say so, sir," the captain replied
dubiously. "How many did you off in there, general?"
  Ben thought for a moment, mentally counting it up. "About
fifteen, I think."
  "General? That old lady in there, that hoodoo
woman, Pauly, or whatever her name is?"
  "What about her?"
  "She's still in there. She refused to come out
with Emil and his fruitcakes."
  "She's harmless. We'll check on her from time
to time. I think she likes being alone. Captain, you
know of anybody who likes animals and who would like
to be in charge of this area?"
  Gorzalka grinned.
  "All right." Ben returned the grin. "You've
got the job. Course you might be pulled away from
it from time to time."
  "Suits me, sir."
  Holly walked back over. "Buddy was just taken
off the critical list. Upgraded to serious.
He's going to make it, Ben."
  "Think he'll be ready to go in twenty-four
hours, Holly?"
  Holly lost her temper-again. "What in the hell
are you babbling about now, Raines? Twenty-four
hours! How about two months, you hardhead?"
  "Calm yourself, dear. I was just joking a bit."
  "I didn't laugh!"
  "I noticed that. I'm very quick about that sort of
thing. Humorless, that's you."
  "Ben Raines, you just killed about a zillion people
in there!" She waved her hand. "And you're making
jokes!"
  "Fourteen, actually, I think. The 'gator
got Hiram. Captain Gorzalka, you have any
bicarb with you?"
  "Yes, sir."
  "Toss it in the bayou. The 'gator is going
to need it."
  Laughing, the Rebel walked away.
  "Jesus Christ, Ben!" Holly yelled. "And
what about this twenty four-hour-business. What the
hell are you planning? Come on, you've got something
up your sleeve."
  "I think we could use another combat doctor,
Holly. You want to come along with me? It's going
to be a unique experience. Have you ever worked in a
field hospital?"
  "I swear to God, Ben, you're babbling out of your
skull. Did I miss a wound? Did you receive a
blow to the head?"
  "I'm fine, Holly. My, but it's a
glorious morning, isn't it?"
  "It's lovely. Beautiful. Where are we going,
Ben?"
  "You sure you want to come along, now, Holly?"
  "Yes, Ben. I'm sure. Now where are we
going?"
  Ben smiled at her. "Michigan!"
Chapter Twenty-five
  "I don't blame you, Ben," Lamar Chase
said, sitting in Ben's office, watching the man
field-strip his Thompson and carefully clean and
oil each part. "I just wish I was going with you."
  "We're all going to New York City,
Lamar. If it's standing. I'll probably leave
no more than two companies here."
  "Buddy is fully conscious now. He's in some
pain, but he's going to be just fine. It was a very
close thing."
  "I'm going to see him late this afternoon. Was he
informed of my foray into Hiram's territory?"
  "Yes. He said that didn't surprise him a
bit; only wished he could have gone along with you."
  Colonel Joe Williams, Ben's XO,
stepped into the office. Ben looked up. "You're in
charge here, Joe, effective 0400 tomorrow morning."
  "Yes, sir. Wish I was going with you."
  "I know you do. Just keep the Big Apple in
mind." Ben leaned back in his chair. "Joe, it's
all running smoothly and I know you'll keep it that
way. When Buddy gets ambulatory, start going
over leadership
  courses with him. He's a good boy, but he's still
got a lot to learn about commanding personnel. At your
recommendation, I'll commission him when I get
back."
  "Yes, sir."
  To Chase, "You're sure you don't mind
Holly coming along?"
  "Of course not, Ben. I'm falling over good
doctors. She'll be needed up in Michigan.
I've taken the liberty of packing some extra
materials that I think she'll need."
  "Good. All right, people. That about wraps it up.
I'm going to clean up, get something to eat, and then
start lining up the people I'm taking with me."
  The office emptied.
  The Rebels ran into a solid and well-manned
barricade on the Interstate. About ten miles
outside of Lancaster. Tina radioed back
to Ike and she was ordered to hold, not to attempt
to advance.
  Just after crossing the Susquehanna River, the
Rebels had begun to notice well-kept homes
and neat fields and gardens. It was eerie in a
reverse sort of way, after what they had been seeing
on their journey.
  "Amish?" Ham asked.
  "I don't think so," Tina told him. "The people
we've seen so far are all well-armed and look like
they mean business."
  They made a quick camp by the side of the road and
ate a cold lunch, then rested, always conscious of
eyes on them.
  "Keep your weapons close by, but don't
make any hostile moves. I don't think these people
mean us any harm. I think they're just curious."
Tina opened her lunch packet. "At least," she
added, "I hope I'm right."
  Then they were all conscious of being surrounded, on
all sides. The weapons in the hands of the men and
women were not pointed directly at them, but held at
the ready.
  "We don't mean anyone any harm," Tina
called out. "We're part of Raines Rebels,
heading east to check out New York City."
  "That is a lie!" A man returned the call.
"General Raines was killed more than ten years
ago."
  "General Ben Raines is my father," Tina said,
raising her voice. "And I just kissed him good-bye
about a week ago in what was called
Louisiana. I assure you all, Ben Raines
is very much alive and well."
  Whispers reached the ears of the Rebel Scouts.
They continued their eating of lunch, outwardly showing no
signs of fear.
  "You say Ben Raines is alive," the same
man called. "Prove it!"
  "You've heard of General Ike McGowan?"
  "Everyone knows of the exploits of General Ike.
And of the vice president, Cecil Jefferys. What
about General McGowan?"
  "He should be here in about forty minutes. I'm
sure you have good communications; you know there is a large
force coming up behind us."
  "This is true," the man acknowledged.
  "We'll share our food with you," Tina offered.
  "We'll share with you. We have fresh-baked bread
and meat and vegetables."
  "That would be very nice. But we don't want
to strain your supplies. Ike is coming up with more than
three hundred personnel."
  "We have more than enough." The spokesman stepped
out of the line of trees and walked across the ditch, up
to Tina's position. He gazed at her. "You do not
look like General Raines. There is no
family resemblance."
  "Ben adopted me and Jack. My brother was
killed during the fighting over the old
Tri-States. My father's flesh-and-blood son,
Buddy, is with him at the new Base Camp
One."
  Men and women began bringing fresh-cooked food
to the Rebel Scouts, and it was a most welcome
sight. After a week of, if they were lucky, one
hot meal a day, the Rebels welcomed the hot
food.
  While the Scouts ate, the spokesperson for the
community asked, "Why would you risk going into a hot
area, and how did you come
through
the hot areas?"
  "What hot areas are you speaking of?" Ham
asked, around a mouthful of ham sandwich.
  "You say you came from what was once Louisiana;
how did you pass through the radiation belt?"
  "With the exception of what was D.c. and
Baltimore," Tina told him, "there are no other
hot areas."
  The men and women looked at each other; it was
evident that none of them believed a word
Tina had just said. Something odd about these people, Tina
thought.
  Tina got her map case and showed them all the
  route they'd taken in getting this far. "You can see
our route: Jackson, Mississippi
to Memphis, Tennessee. Then to Nashville,
Knoxville, Bristol, Roanoke, and on up
here, skirting the D.c. and Baltimore area."
  The spokesperson shook his head. "But we were
told that everything from the Pennsylvania line south and
everything from the old Interstate Eight-one west was
dead. And would be hot for centuries to come. And that
everything north of the old Interstate Seventy-eight,
and everything east of Philadelphia, including that
city, was off limits."
  Ike and his contingent pulled in and were introduced
all around. While they ate, something that Ike did very
well, Tina brought him up to date.
  "Who told you all this crap?" Ike asked the
spokesperson. "And when?"
  "Just after the bombing; the Great War. Just after
President Logan's relocation plans came
through."
  "Yes," a woman broke in. "It was
President Logan himself who came to see
us. I remember it well. He had a ... well,
person
with him. A robed and hooded person; eyes all
white and face horribly disfigured. The
President said that this, meaning the burned person, was
all that was left outside of my pockets like ours,
and we must never, never leave the designated areas."
She shrugged. "And we have not. The government told us
it was unsafe."
  Ike snorted and accepted another fine ham
sandwich from a rather plump lady. Rich, homemade
mustard, pickles that made his mouth water, and thick
slices of still-warm homemade bread. Ike chewed
and sighed with contentment. "So this is it,
  then-you people have never left the designated confines?"
  "No, sir. We believed it wasn't safe.
The government told us so."
  Ike didn't want to bit the hands that were feeding
him, and feeding him well, so he didn't tell them
that with somebody like Hilton Logan, you couldn't
believe a word out of his mouth. "But surely you have
radios! You've heard us talking back and forth;
you've said so."
  "Certainly," the spokesman said. "But what could
we do? How to get to you? No Rebel
contingent ever came this way, so we could but assume the
way was blocked."
  Ike leaned against a fender. "Yeah, it's all
beginning to fit now. You're too young to remember,
Tina; but Logan evacuated the cities, placed
them off limits, and relocated the people. We'll
probably never know for sure, but my guess would be
he struck a deal with the Night P. I'll give the
liberal son of a bitch credit; maybe he thought
he was doing the right thing."
  Dr. Ling said, "I can imagine, after the
bombings, that his medical advisors told him to do
this; to separate the bomb-blast people from those so-far
unaffected."
  "All right," Ike nodded his head, "I'll
accept that. And to make it work, a story had to be
concocted."
  "Sure." Tina jumped in. "And what better
story than to tell the people about so-called Hot areas
of the nation. He even went so far as to forbid pilots
from flying over the designated areas. Ike, do you know
what this means-really means?"
  "Yeah, in more ways than one, kid."
  The residents of the area were standing quietly,
listening to the Rebels talk. To a person,
all wore shocked looks on their faces.
  "General McGowan." The woman gave him a
huge piece of apple pie. Ike looked at it,
smacked his lips, and took it. "What do you mean in
more ways than one?"
  "It means, ma'am," Ike chewed and then
continued, "that with the exception of D.c. and
Baltimore, the nation is clean. Everything else was
just a big damn lie on Logan's part."
  "Tell me something, any of you, all of you."
Tina faced the crowd. "What's the closest any of
you have ever been to Wilmington or Philadelphia?"
  "No one goes into the cities, Miss
Raines," the spokesman informed the Rebels.
  "Why?" Ike asked, knowing what Tina was leading
up to. He had spotted something very odd; might be
a coincidence, but he rather doubted it. So had Tina.
  Ike turned to face a Vietnamese man and
spoke to him in his own tongue. Ike ended with something
that sounded like, "Do mamma money eye," which,
loosely translated, means "these mother-fuckers are
lyin"!"
  The small man nodded and turned away, walking
through the ranks of Rebels, speaking to them softly.
The Rebels began to fan out.
  "Why won't you go into the cities, mister?" Ike
asked, turning to face the spokesman, who wore
sunglasses. They all wore sunglasses. And
even though the day was hot, all wore long-sleeved
shirts.
  "The cities are unsafe. They are filled with
radiation."
  "You're a liar!" Ike told him, then reached
up and ripped the sunglasses from the man's face.
  There were tubes running into Buddy's arms, but his
color was good and the nurse said he was getting stronger
with each passing hour. Buddy smiled at his father.
  "You had me worried, boy. Thank you for saving
my life."
  "You're welcome, sir. I hope I didn't
hurt you when I knocked you down. A man your age
... well, bones break easily." There was a
twinkle in his eyes.
  "I think, boy, when you get up out of that bed,
I'm going to whip your ass!"
  Buddy laughed softly. "So you are going
to Michigan, sir?"
  Holly stuck her head into the room. "Yes, we
are, Buddy. And Patrice is going, too."
  Ben opened his mouth, then closed it. This
would be as good a time as any to check Patrice out to the
fullest.
  "Any comments, General Raines?" she asked
sweetly.
  "Not a one."
  "Will surprises never cease!" She walked on
down the hall.
  "Are you going to hold on to this one, Father?" Buddy
asked, cutting his eyes toward the open doorway.
  "I haven't the vaguest idea what you mean,
boy. You've been listening to too much camp talk.
I am really a one-woman man, at heart."
  "Father?"
  "Yes, son."
  "You are as full of shit as a Christmas
goose!"
  The man's eyes were chalk-white and dead-looking.
He screamed as the light struck his eyes. His
screaming abruptly ended as Ike, left-handed,
shoved his CAR-15 under the man's chin and pulled the
trigger.
  The Rebels, fully alerted and on guard, cut
loose with automatic weapons at nearly
point-blank range. For many of the Rebels,
especially those closest to Ike and Tina,
it was too close for guns; they grabbed knives and
camp axes and went to work. Blood began to spurt
from gaping, horrible wounds. The Night People, many of
them losing their ultra-dark sunglasses in the
fighting, were blinded by the bright sunlight. They ran
screaming off up and down the road and into the fields.
The Rebels cut as many of them down as they could.
  "No pursuit!" Ike yelled. "No
pursuit! Let them go. Gather "round, gather
'round."
  The Rebels gathered around him, a few meters
away from the blood-soaked and body-littered ground,
Ike said, "I got a hunch, people. And if I'm
right, it isn't gonna be any fun. But it's something
we have to do. So listen up."
  After Ike's orders, they broke up into teams and
began going house to house, farm to farm. Ike had
been right.
  One Rebel, a veteran of a. hundred
battles, stepped out of a barn and bent over, puking
up his lunch. He wiped his mouth and pointed toward the
barn. "Ike was right, Tina. Take a quick look in
there. The smell gave it away."
  Trying to breath as shallowly as possible, and through
her mouth, Tina took a quick look inside
the barn. Human bones were piled up, some piles
reaching as high as the floor of the loft. Tina backed
out and fought to keep her lunch down.
  When she knew she wasn't going to toss her
lunch, she lifted her walkie-talkie and said,
"Shark, you were right. I'm just east of your position.
Can you get up here?"
  "Ten-four."
  "Holy Mother of God!" Ike said, backing out
of the barn. He took a deep breath and closed the
double doors. "Some of those bones are no more than a
day or two old. We've got a major war on
our hands, people, and I don't just mean us. It's going
to take everybody to whip this."
  Dr. Ling, wearing a face mask, entered the
death-barn. He did not stay inside for long. When
he stepped outside, he looked at Ike. "The
worst is now reality. They're spreading out of the
cities, probably by the hundreds; perhaps by the
thousands. Looking for food. Burn this place,
Ike."
  The barn was doused with kerosene and gasoline and set
afire. The heat was so intense it backed the
Rebels clear out of the yard.
  "The way I figure it, gang,"
Ike said, his Rebels gathered around him, "the more
normal-looking Night People are being sent out
to infiltrate the villages-in search of food.
Then the ... others join them. So that means the really
disfigured and deformed ones are here, in hiding, in the
dark, probably in the cellars."
  "Aw, shit!" one Rebel exclaimed.
  The others laughed, relieving the tension.
  "And one more thing," Ike said, raising his voice.
"The town just up the road once held some sixty
thousand people. That means there're probably some being
kept alive, and fattened up ... the survivors
had a pretty good farming community going here. So
we've got to find them. And we got another
problem: this very well may be a group of people whose
religious convictions forbid them from fighting. If
that's the case, we'll cut them loose and then
they're on their own. I'm not going to fuck around with a
bunch of people who won't fight to save their own skins.
Any of you who don't agree with that can carry your
ass, or asses, and do it now."
  The Rebels stood tight.
  "OK, people. Take a breath while I get on
the horn with General Raines. He's got to know about
this scam of Hilton Logan's." He
walked away muttering, "Hilton, you
sissy-pants craphead, what have you done to us?"
Chapter Twenty-six
  "Well, Ike," Ben spoke over the long
miles. "I'm not going to blame Logan for this; he
wasn't smart enough to dream this up by himself. And those who
advised him probably thought they were doing the right thing,
for the majority. We'll probably never know for
sure."
  Then Ben told him of his decision to go
to Michigan.
  "Ben, goddamnit! Can't you sit still anywhere for
ten days?"
  Ben laughed at his friend. "Ike, there is nothing for
me to do here. I've just been told that after learning
what happened to Hiram and his bunch, Lamumba and
his crew quietly pulled out. I don't know where
they went, and I don't really care, as long as they
stay out of my way. Everything is copasetic here.
I'm not needed. I'll be pulling out at
oh-four-hundred in the morning."
  "All right, Ben. I've got to go root around in
some cellars. You watch your ass, partner."
  "Same to you, Ike. I'm leaving Joe in charge
down here."
  "Ten-four, Ben."
  Ike broke it off.
  Ben set about gathering equipment. He did not
envy Ike and his Rebels the task that lay before them.
  The sounds of gunfire rattled through the afternoon as the
Rebels carefully and cautiously searched the
darkness of the homes, usually finding the Night People
huddled in stinking groups in the dark cellars.
  It was not a pleasant job, and none of the Rebels
enjoyed it a bit; the only thing that made it bearable
was that there were no children found among the groups of Night
People, and that fact puzzled them all.
  Taking a break from the grisly job, Ike and
Tina sat and talked.
  "No kids, Ike."
  "Yeah. These people are savage and cannibalistic,
but they're smart, too. I think when the kids are
of a certain age, they're farmed out; taken to a safe
spot. These people know that at full strength we're
only six thousand strong; and every time we establish an
outpost, there goes another platoon. They know they
outnumber us, Tina. And as we get closer to what
I believe is their home base, New York
City, we're finding them well armed, not just with
sticks and stones and bows and arrows."
  "Ike, what are we going to do when we find the
kids?"
  "God help me, Tina. I don't know. I
think if they're young enough, we can take them and teach
them ... I hope," he added.
  Neither one of them cared to pursue the other side of
that issue any further. And each of them knew that the
final decision would have to be made by Ben.
  Tina's walkie-talkie crackled. Ham.
"Tina, we've located the prisoners. They were being
held in a warehouse close to Lancaster, and the city
is full of those ... creatures."
  "What kind of shape are the civilians in?"
Ike asked.
  "Rough. They were being force-fed, like geese."
  "Leave the city for now. Bring the people to our
position, Ham."
  "Yes, sir."
  It was as Ike had feared. The men and women were of
that religious sect that would not fight. Ike paced
up and down in front of the hundred or so men and
women; the kids were being looked after by Rebel
medics.
  He kept looking at them, shaking his head and
muttering to himself. Ike was not alone in his
dilemma; no Rebel could understand any group of people
who would not fight to stay alive.
  "I don't know what to do with you people," he finally
told them. "I'm over a barrel. You obviously
are good people; hard-working. I can see that by your farms.
But I don't have the time, the inclination, or the
personnel to protect what is rightfully your
responsibility."
  "The Lord will provide, our faith will sustain us,"
a man said.
  Ike disliked him immediately. Reminded him of one of
those TV preachers of past years. Smug and
  sanctimonious ... and thoroughly obnoxious.
"The Lord will provide, huh?" He pointed toward
the still-smoldering remains of the barn. "Then what
happened to those people?"
  "Obviously, their faith was not strong enough to sustain
them."
  "Suffer the little children," Ham muttered, just loud enough
for Ike to hear.
  "Yeah," Ike returned the muttering. "And that's
what's got me all knotted up inside."
  Ike walked over to Tina. From the look on her
tanned face, he knew she felt the same as
Ike about the just-rescued civilians. "You
know what Ben is going to say if I ask him for an
opinion, Tina?"
  "Sure. I can just hear him. 'allyou're a big
boy, General McGowan. You handle it." his
  "Yeah. Right. How many kids under, say,
twelve are there?"
  "About fifteen."
  "I'm not going to leave the little children to be eaten
by savages."
  "I was hoping you'd say that."
  Ham had joined them. "What about the city,
general? Do we clean it out?"
  Ike shook his head. "No. I'm not going
to waste any more personnel on a group of people who
won't fight for their own lives. Order all
personnel to regroup; cease our searching for the
remaining Night P."
  "Yes, sir."
  As Ike once more faced the lines of just-rescued
civilians, the spokesman said, "The Lord
provided you people, didn't He?"
  "Only momentarily, partner. We're pulling out
within the hour."
  Panic crossed the man's face. "But you can't

leave
us unprotected, sir."
  "You got two hands don't you, mister? Pick
up a gun and fight!"
  "We cannot."
  "You won't, you mean?"
  The man shrugged. "Where are our children?"
  "We're taking the younger ones with us."
  "You can't do that!"
  "There is one way to prevent that."
  "How? We'll do anything."
  Ike turned to a Rebel. "Give him your
weapon."
  The Rebel walked to the man and offered his
M-16. The man shook his head. "I will not touch
that thing."
  "Let's go!" Ike shouted. "Mount up!"
  "And you call yourself a Christian!" the man
sneered at Ike.
  "I call myself a realist, mister. And you all
seem to be forgetting one message from the Bible: The
Lord helps those who help themselves."
  As Ben looked up at the star-filled sky, an
old song came to mind; something about a starry, starry
night. He couldn't remember much else
about it; except that he'd always liked it. Couldn't
remember who sang it. Fellow had a very
pleasant-sounding voice.
  His team was loading up, moving toward the planes,
heavy with battle gear.
  "Everyone present and accounted for, sir," James
Riverson said.
  "OK, James. Thanks. What's the latest
word from Cecil?"
  "They have engaged the enemy only sporadically.
They've taken some of the pressure off those trapped,
but it's turned into a cat-and-mouse game."
  "Another dirty little war."
  "Yes, sir."
  The engines of the planes began coughing into life,
making conversation difficult. Ben spotted Holly
and Patrice and pointed toward a plane, motioning
them to get on board.
  "Good luck, sir!" Colonel Joe
Williams shouted.
  "Thanks, Joe. You take care."
  "Yes, sir."
  Ben walked across the tarmac and boarded, finding his
canvas seat. The engineer handed him a headset and
Ben plugged it in. Ben and James had
been the last to board. "Ready when you are,
captain," Ben said.
  The interior lights flickered twice and the door
was locked closed.
  Ben looked across at Holly. "You ready for a
little combat, doctor?"
  "Not really. But whither thou goest and all that
stuff."
  Ben laughed at her. "That's what I like,
Holly. A woman who knows her place."
  She gave him the finger.
Chapter Twenty-seven
  "How's it looking in your sector, Dan?"
Cecil radioed.
  "Buggers won't stand and fight, Cecil."
  "Colonel West?"
  "We've linked up with Colonel Rebet and
Major Danjou, general. At your orders,
we'll begin securing everything from Brown's Lake
south to Murphy's Creek, and then push east."
  "Are you in position, Dan?"
  "Ten-four, Cecil."
  "I'll be in position in a few hours,
gentlemen. But we're going to be spread very thin.
We desperately need someone at the
easternmost sector. Hang on, a runner just handed
me a message. Son of a bitch!" they all heard
the usually calm Cecil yell.
  "What's up, Cecil?" Dan radioed.
  "Ben. He's on his way with two companies;
left at oh-four-hundred this morning."
  "You owe me a pound of tobacco, Dan,"
Colonel West said. "I told you!"
  "Don't rub it in. Cecil? Shall we wait for
Ben. His bunch can plug up that eastern hole."
  "Ten-four. Let's hold what we've got.
Ben should be here in about eight hours. As soon as they
land, he'll start stretching south to north. We'll
shove off at dawn."
  Some of the spirit of adventure, of heading into the unknown
had, for a time, left the Rebels under Ike's command.
It would return, but for now, they were mostly silent as
the miles slipped past. They all knew it was a
hard thing to take people's children from them. But they all
knew, at least in this case, it was best for the kids.
What other alternative did the Rebels have? If
the adults of the community wished to be eaten alive,
that was their choice. It was unfair to ask a child to be
devoured for the parents' philosophy.
  And while the Rebels, to a person,
disagreed with what the civilians they had rescued were
doing, they also respected religious rights; that was just
one of the things they were fighting for. Some of what the
Rebels did was unpopular, and, had there been other
laws, would have been illegal. But they were fighting
to restore a nation, and somebody's rights were going to be
stepped on for the good of the majority. As General
Ike had said, "Tough times call for tough people."
  That's just the way it was.
  They had skirted Lancaster, and according to Tina and
her Scouts, who were now ranging only five to six
miles ahead of the convoy, the area before them was deserted
... except for Night People, who they were sure were
holed up in the small towns.
  They made the run from Lancaster
to Philadelphia without incident. Probably because
they did not stop to investigate any of the towns they
rumbled through.
  "How about Philadelphia, Ike?" Tina
radioed back from her point position.
  "Any blockades, Tina?"
  "Negative, Ike."
  "Next exit, Tina, work north over
to Interstate Seventy-six. Take it to the loop.
That's ... Two seventy-six. Stay on
it until we cross the river. "Bout ... four
or five miles past the river you'll hit the
Jersey Turnpike. We're going to shut it down
and make some plans just inside New Jersey."
  "Ten-four, Ike."
  The planes refueled at Memphis and Ben
dropped off some much-needed supplies for the beleaguered
little garrison defending the airport.
  "Sure am glad to see you people," the lieutenant
in charge told Ben. "It was hell for a time. Had
to nap during the day and stay alert at night."
  "Better now?"
  "Much better, sir. With these Claymores you
brought us, we'll all feel better. We're
gradually pushing them back. We've cleared about a
quarter of a mile in any direction, working in
two-person teams during the day."
  "You've all done a good job. I'm very proud of
you all. Just hang tough until we get this mess
cleared in Michigan, then you can be relieved."
  "Yes, sir. I don't think they're going
to bother us
  much after today. We rounded up all the portable
generators we could find; got about half of them
working. No point in juicing wire or
fences; they've learned to short them out. We found a
whole bunch of floodlights. That pretty much
keeps them away. Caution your team, general, not
to walk anywhere except on the paved areas. The rest
is heavily mined."
  "Will do, Kitty. Thanks."
  The planes were refueled and airborne in less
than thirty minutes, the tanks topped off to the
last drop; the next stop was lower Michigan.
  The convoy pulled over in a rest area, Ike
briefed his people. "All right, gang, listen up. I
was going on north, but I changed my mind. I
want to investigate some military bases: Fort
Dix, McGuire Air Force Base, and the
Naval Air Station. We might luck up and hit
treasure. Tina, follow the route I marked on the
map. Let's roll. If all goes right, we'll
spend the night at Dix. Move out."
  The bases were a mess, having been looted and
picked over many times, but Ike knew there were
treasures to be found ... if one knew where
to look, and Ike knew where to look. He began
assigning teams.
  "Sid, take your people and start piecing some trucks
together. If I remember correctly, the
motor pool is over yonder somewhere." He
grinned. "You'll find it."
  "Thanks a lot, general. What if we find
Night People?"
  "You got a choice, Sid. Kiss them or
kill them."
  "Thank you. The options are simply
delightful."
  And that broke whatever tension and depression might
have remained after the other day's grisly work and the taking
of the kids. Laughing, the Rebels gathered around
Ike and Tina.
  "We're going to find a lot of things that we can
use, gang. Things that looters would bypass, thinking
they couldn't use them. On all of these bases,
we're going to have to blow the concrete and steel doors
leading to the underground complex. It will be well worth the
effort, believe me."
  It came as a surprise to them all, and a very
pleasant surprise, but they found no traces of the
Night P. What they did find were long, dark
corridors filled with numerous accouterments ofandfor
war: radios, rifles and machine guns, hundreds
of vases of ammo, rations, C and MRE'S, still
good. They found spare parts for nearly
everything imaginable. Nearly every base had such
underground warehouses; it's just that the public didn't
know about them.
  They found underground fuel tanks filled with
gasoline. They found portable generators, camp
stoves, Tommy cookers, and Ranger stoves;
boots by the hundreds of pairs, and uniforms by what
looked like the thousands.
  Ike stepped into one huge room and smiled.
"Well, now, lookie here, lookie here!"
  "What is it, Ike?" Tina asked.
  "Old flame throwers. I want all of these
loaded now. We can mix our own fuel. They'll
come in handy."
  She grinned. "I know what you're thinking,
Ike."
  "You bet. The Night Creepers ain't gonna
like none of what these old babies can put out."
  "You're a mean man, Ike McGowan."
  "I ain't bad for a Mississippi white
boy!"
  Several black Rebels standing nearby groaned.
  Ike walked away, grousing. "First man ain't
got a chance around you rhythm aces!"
  To an outsider, the bantering might have
seemed tinged with ugly racism. It was not. That would not
have been tolerated by anyone of any color in the
Rebel ranks. It was offered good-naturedly, and
taken the same way. That was not to say that Ben
Raines had eradicated all racism within his army.
But all were trying very hard, and it appeared to be working.
  Only a fool makes the statement that he or she
can look at someone of another color and not see it.
Ben's philosophy was: See it all you want,
just accept it for what it is-all Rebels bleed the
same color.
  Ike stood outside the tunnel entrance, his
eyes looking north. Tina climbed out to join him and
to get a breath of fresh air, for it was stale and musty
in the tunnels.
  "It's right up there, Tina. We'll exit off
at Perth Amboy and hit Staten Island."
  "Will I see the Statue of Liberty, Uncle
Ike?"
  "Yeah, from the north end of the island, if it's a
clear day."
  She was gazing at an old map of New York
City and shaking her head.
  Ike grinned at her, knowing, or at least
suspecting,
  what was going on in her head. "What's the
matter, kid?"
  "I can't even imagine what this place is like,
Ike."
  "It's a monster, kid. But one time it was a great
place to visit. Lots of things to see and do."
  "You ever live there, Ike?"
"Hell,
no!"
  She laughed aloud at the expression on his
face. "Why, Ike?"
  "Too damn many people. I was always glad to visit,
but just as glad to get gone."
  Ham joined them. "Sid's got some vehicles
running, general. And we're loading up and tarping
down the equipment you wanted loaded. We're
welding the doors closed now."
  "All right. Post guards and set up camp.
We'll take it easy the rest of the day and relax
some. Get me about a half-dozen big ol"
boys, Ham. I want to go over the nomenclature
of those flame throwers."
  "Right away." He turned and walked off.
  "I want everybody to learn how to operate these
old M2A1's, Tina. But they're
heavy old bastards. About seventy pounds."
  "How do they work, Ike?"
  "All it is is thickened fuel that's propelled
by gas under pressure. They have a range of about forty
yards. It's about the most effective thing we can use
against the Night Creepies. Come on, let's get
something to eat. I'm hungry!"
  "You're always hungry. Would you like another ham
sandwich? I saved some of the food that was prepared for us
by ... those people yesterday."
  "No. Just the thought of who fixed it makes me
gag."
  "Yeah? There is something else, too, Ike."
  "What?"
  "How do we know it was really ham?"
  Ike glanced at her and belched. "I just lost my
appetite!"
  They refueled at a small airport in lower
Michigan, and dropped off supplies for the small
team of Rebels who had flown in and opened the
strip. While there, Ben used the radio to reach
Cecil.
  "Be there in about two hours, Cec. How's it
looking so far?"
  "Not bad. So far, though, we've been
fighting shadows."
  "It's your show, Cec. Where do you want me and
mine to set up?"
  "Plug the gap between Dafter and Sault Ste.
Marie, Ben. South to north. We'll start putting
the squeeze on the outlaws at dawn. I'm giving
you that sector because of the smallness of your team."
  "Ten-four. Where are the others?"
  Cecil brought him up to date.
  "I'll start getting into position as soon as we
land, Cec. What do you hear from Ike?"
  "He's at Fort Dix, Ben."
  "Son of a bitch! For a decade we've lived
under a myth."
  "Exciting, isn't it, Ben?"
  "To say the least. So let's get this little foray
wrapped up ASAP, buddy. I want to take a
bite out of the Big Apple."
  Cecil laughed over the miles. "You'll never
change, Ben. If there's action, you just have to be there,
don't you?"
  "Damn right!"
  "See you soon, Ben. Hawk out."
  "Let's go, let's go!" Ben hollered, waving
toward the planes. "It's kick-ass
time!"
  "Most impossible man I have ever encountered,"
Holly muttered to Patrice as they boarded the
planes.
  Patrice grinned at her, belting herself in.
"But never a dull moment around him."
  "That's what has me worried; I'm beginning
to enjoy it!"
Chapter Twenty-eight
  "Does anyone even know who the hell it is
we're fighting?" Ben asked the small garrison of
Rebels at the Chippewa Airport.
  "Some warlord by the name of Monte. And he's a
bad one, general. Just as bad as, maybe even
worse than, Sam Hartline."
  Ben looked at the sergeant.
"Nobody
is that rotten, sergeant."
  "Beggin' your pardon, sir, but this one is.
He's cut a path of terror wherever he goes.
According to the intelligence we received from the Russian
colonel, Rebet, and from Major Danjou, this
Monte is working hand-in-glove with the Night P."
  "How can that be?"
  "Here's what we have on him, general.
He was twenty years old when the Canadians put
him in prison-life sentence-for multiple
murders, rape, torture, the whole dirty ball
of wax. A year later, the bombs came. He and a
bunch of others busted out during the panic; they linked
up with a bunch of cons from the States. They've been
growing larger ever since."
  They waited until a plane had landed and taxied
away.
  "This Monte, so it seems, has struck some
sort of deal with the Night P. He supplies them
with humans, for food, in exchange for the best-looking
women they capture, and he's also agreed
to protect them against any large-scale attack.
He's just a real nice fellow, general."
  "Certainly seems that way. Give me the rest
of it, sergeant."
  "He's also reported to have worked out some sort of
non-aggression pact with Khamsin. That was done
only a few days before the people up here called for our
help. And," the sergeant sighed, "rumor has it that
he's got one hell of a detachment somewhere around the
New York City area."
  "Has Ike been notified?"
  "No, sir. We can't get through to him.
The frequencies are being jammed."
  "Goddamnit! Now you're going to tell me this
Monte's army is a hell of a lot bigger than
we were first informed." Not a question.
  "Yes, sir. By about several thousand."
  Holly and Patrice were standing close by,
listening. Patrice said, "I never heard of anyone
called Monte, general. Where has this person been
all the time?"
  "A damn good question, captain." He looked at
the sergeant.
  The man shrugged his shoulders. "We can only
guess, sir. Working somewhere between Toronto and
Montreal, intelligence thinks. Just beginning his push
west. It's said that Detroit is crawling with these
creepy bastards."
  "I should have destroyed the shells of cities,"
Ben muttered. "I had a plan to do just that and.
didn't put it into effect. This is what I get for
it."
  "You can't be expected to think of everything,
general," Patrice told him. "We'll just have
to take it one problem at a time."
  Ben smiled, picking up on the "we." He
glanced at her. "Yes, captain, we'll
have to do that. James!"
  "Yes, sir," the big sergeant major called.
  "Start moving the people out, head them north."
  "Yes, sir."
  Ben looked toward the east. "Hang tough,
Ike. Hang tough."
  "It's no use, general," communications informed
him. "I've heightened the antenna to where I should be
able to talk to Mars. I can't break through. I think
we're being jammed."
  "Jammed! Who's doin' it?"
  "I don't know, sir. Somebody with equipment
that's just as sophisticated as ours."
  "Well, now ... that's just lovely." Ike
motioned his XO over. "Tom, I think we're in
for a fight. Have Ham stop welding those doors
closed. We might need some of that equipment in there.
Have the people start laying out perimeters; but don't make
them so broad we can't defend them. I want
mortars right here!" He pointed to the ground, then
pointed out other emplacements. "I don't think there
is anyplace for us to run. I think we boxed
ourselves in. I did. Tell Sid to stop whatever
he's doing and get his people working on bringing up those
Bradley
  tanks we found. Just get them running somehow.
Get your 40mm cannons up and placed.
Fifties ringing the area. Claymores out. Move,
Tom!"
  He turned to Tina. "Get some of your Scouts
out, Tina. But don't range too far off the post.
Tell them quiet is the word and to keep their heads
down."
  "Ill take a team out now, Ike."
  "No, you won't." He stopped her cold. "I
need you here. We've got about three hundred and
fifty people, Tina. And I got a hunch we're
going to be heavily outnumbered. Take the south end.
Move!"
  She was off at a run, shouting orders.
  Ike glanced at the sky. "Two, maybe three
hours of good light left," he muttered. "Then
all hell is gonna break loose." He grabbed
a running Rebel and spun her around. "Lou, get
me some boys to tote those flame throwers up here.
I wanna start juicin' them up. Go, girl!"
  Ike grabbed another Rebel. "Get several
six-bys and tow those goddamned tanks into position,
Lutty. All I need is the electrical
system working so we can swing the turrets.
Go, boy!"
  Ike's walkie-talkie crackled. "How many
of these goddamned old bastard brutes do you want,
general?" Sid asked.
  "How many do you have down there, Sid?"
  "Ten."
  "All of them. Are the port-firing 5.56's still
intact?"
  "They're inside. I can mount "em."
  "Get on it. We'll stagger the tank positions
to give the gunners something to shoot at."
  "Ten-four. Rolling."
  The twenty-ton behemoths were dragged into place
while Sid's crews were still working on the giants,
struggling to replace batteries and get the
500-horsepower Cummins VTA-903'S
running. The firepower of the tank was enormous;
inside the tank were: 900 rounds of 25mm
cannon shells, 3150 rounds of 7.62 ammo,
6720 rounds of 5.56 ammo, 7 TOW/DRAGON
missiles, and 3 LAW.
  "You, Ham!" Ike yelled. "Get some
trucks and round up all the fifty-five gallon
drums you can find. We'll fill them with dirt and
sand and gasoline; use them for light tonight.
We can make Foo-gas bombs out of the others!"
  "Yes, sir." And Ham was off and running.
  "Sid! Check those turrets. They're
supposed to traverse three hundred sixty
degrees continuous."
  Sid looked at him in disgust. "Yeah, I know,
general."
  Ike grinned at him. "Sorry, Sid."
  Sid grinned and gave Ike the thumbs-up
signal, then disappeared into the tank.
  Ike looked around him; things were beginning to take
shape very quickly. If he set this up right-and he
fully intended to do just that-his three hundred
fifty-odd force would stand off a force five times
greater.
  And he had a hunch just about that many would be coming at
them at full dark.
  He began walking the egg-shaped perimeters.
Bunkers were being quickly built, dug deep and
fortified with anything the Rebels could find that would stop
a round. Mortar pits were dug and were being bagged.
Then he heard the sounds of tanks
  being snorted and farted into life. But they were not
Bradleys. The tanks rounded a bend and Ike
began smiling. Old Dusters.
M-42's. He hadn't seen one in a long time.
The Dusters rumbled to a halt.
  "Where the hell did you find these?" Ike shouted
over the rumble.
  "Over yonder," Ham said, waving a hand. "We
were looking for fifty-five gallon drums. There's
eight more Dusters where these came from. I figure about
half of them will run. I got an idea, general."
  "Lay it on me."
  Ham climbed down. He and Ike walked away
from the rumbling. "We pull these Dusters well
outside the perimeter area. God knows, there's enough
ammo in the tunnels to refight the war. We tuck
"em in close to buildings, and if we're lucky,
we can catch the enemy in a crossfire."
  "All right, but strip some gun shields and mount
some .60's up there. Good idea, Ham. Get
moving on it."
  Ike stopped a Rebel. "Pass the word, son:
any ammo taken out of the tunnels be sure and check
for corrosion. We can't afford any jammed-up
weapons tonight."
  "Yes, sir."
  "Sir!" A runner from communications panted up.
"The Scouts have advanced as far as the
Interstate."
  "What the fuck are they doin" rangin' that far
out? Goddamnit, you tell them to get the fuck
back here on this fuckin' reservation and to stay here!"
Ike roared. "And you can quote me on that!"
"Yes, sir!"
  The runner turned and Ike grabbed him by the
  seat of his field pants, turning him around.
  "Did you have any message for me other than that?"
  "No, sir!"
  "Fine. You tell the Scouts that the attack is
probably not going to come from that direction, anyway.
You tell the lookouts in the airport towers to start
using Starlites at dusk and to keep an eye on the
Garden State Parkway." He pointed. "That's
over yonder, son."
  "Yes, sir!"
  "Move."
  Ike grinned as the young Rebel sprinted toward the
communications van. He had a hunch the attack-if
one was coming, and he felt it was-would be coming at them
through the old Naval Air Station. And there was no
point in trying to lay Claymores anywhere other
than in proximity to their perimeters. The post was just
too damned big.
  And Ike did not expect much in the way of
artillery, with the exception of perhaps mortars; too much
equipment was rusting around the post. The enemy-as yet,
unknown-either did not know how to operate it, or felt
it useless. Either way, that made them less formidable,
and probably meant a ground attack ... human
waves.
  He continued his walking of the garrison's
perimeters, correcting this, okaying that, lending a hand
here and there.
  "I want every post to have plenty of flares," he
ordered. "You people sure you know how to operate those
flame-tossers? All right. Good. Looks like it's
goin' to be a great night for a cookout."
  He walked on, inspecting the machine-gun posts
and the mortar pits. "Lots of Willie Peter,
boys and girls." White Phosphorous. "One
of the greatest mortar rounds ever invented. Give the
Night Crawlers something to think about."
  Ike knew he should eat, but he hadn't gotten
his appetite back after that crack Tina had made
about the sandwiches.
  He rinsed his mouth out with water from his canteen. And
that reminded him of fresh water. He looked around and
spotted Tina, and walked over to her.
  She noticed the canteen in his hand and said,
"We're bringing up water now from the base supply.
It tested all right. But we're still running it through
purifiers just to be on the safe side. Heard my
Scouts got a little carried away."
  "I told them to carry their asses back here."
He looked around him. "Light is going to be a
problem tonight."
  "I got an idea, Ike."
  "Let's have it."
  "If Sid's bunch could get that road-scraping
equipment running, we could cut trenches in the earth
around our perimeters. While that's being done, have some
people start gathering up scrap wood and fill the
trenches, then douse it with gasoline. It would serve
two purposes."
  "Right. Give us some light plus burn the shit
out of the creepies. I'll get on it." He
checked the sky. "Have the people start eating in shifts,
Tina."
  "Right." She smiled. "I'm kinda hungry
myself." She dug in the pockets of her field
pants and handed
  Ike something wrapped in a paper napkin.
"I'll share with you."
  "Oh, gee, thanks, Tina. I guess I could
eat. What is it?"
  "A ham sandwich from down the road." Then she
whirled and took off, running as fast as she could.
  She still couldn't escape Ike's cussing.
Chapter Twenty-nine
  "Traffic on the parkway," the lookouts
reported from the airport towers. "And a hell of a
lot of it, too."
  "Get out of there and get the hell back here!"
Ike ordered.
  "Yes, sir! With pleasure."
  "Ham?"
  "Here."
  "You got your Dusters in position?"
  "Ten-four."
  "Do not. Repeat: Do not fire until I give
the order. You copy that?"
  "Yes, sir."
  "I don't want you people giving away your
positions until you absolutely have to. Understand?"
  "Yes, sir."
  "All Dusters outside the perimeters
test-crank your engines."
  One failed.
  "Sid!"
  "I'm going, I'm going!"
  "And don't run into a goddamned Claymore,
either!" Ike ordered.
  "I will absolutely, positively do my dead
level best to comply with your orders, general, sir."
  The problem solved, Sid and his crew raced
back inside the compound and took up their positions.
  Ike glanced at his watch: eight-thirty.
  "It's going to be a mother-fucker, people," he said,
speaking into his walkie-talkie. "No one gets
an itchy finger; no one fires until I give the
order. All posts acknowledge that."
  All posts ten-foured the order. The garrison
lay still and quiet. Now the sounds of the many vehicles
could be heard. Then the engines were cut off. The night
lay silent as death around the Rebels.
  "There will be a mighty big bang any second
now," Ike muttered. "Just a little closer, you
creepy cannibals."
  Claymores began sending out their deadly cargo of
ball-bearings, shredding the life out of any in its
KZ. Hideous screaming echoed in the night.
  "Hold your fire," Ike whispered into his
walkie-talkie. "Hold your fire.
Let them come on."
  The point people of the still-unseen enemy ran
into Claymores all around the little garrison's
perimeters. The night rocked first with blasts and then
with the howling and shrieking of the mauled and dying.
  "They've reached the first of the ditches we scraped
out, general," Ike was informed by a Rebel standing
close to him, a headset covering her ears.
  "Do not ignite the gasoline. Negative on
firing the gasoline, Jersey. Pass it down."
  She whispered the orders down the line and they were
acknowledged.
  The advancing enemy were so many, so thickly crowded
together, the Rebels could now smell the stink of their
unwashed bodies as they advanced closer.
  "Yuck!" Ike whispered.
  Jersey turned to Ike. "Major Broadhurst
says they're so close he can see the snot
dripping from their noses, general."
  "Well, let's wipe their noses with some lead,
Jersey. Outside tanks do not fire. Outside
Dusters, Do Not Fire. All others ...
fire!"
  The ground literally shook as the Rebels opened
up with rifles, machine guns, rocket
launchers, mortars, and 40mm cannon. The
night was illuminated as Rebels released the
thickened gas in the tanks of the flamethrowers, the
fuel setting clothing on fire and sending robed men
and women running into the night, moving, shrieking
balls of fire, until they fell, their brains
cooking, eyeballs turned to liquid, running down
charred faces. Burning dots littered the
battleground, allowing the Rebels to see the
hundreds of men and women who faced them outside the
smoky perimeters.
  "Not yet, Ham," Ike said into his
walkie-talkie. "We'll save you people until
last. Acknowledge."
  "Ten-four," Ham whispered. "Some crews are
reporting Night People crawling all over their
Dusters. They're unaware anyone is inside."
  "Ten-four. Stand tough, Duster crews."
  Beside him, Little Jersey, all four feet, ten
inches of her, stood steady as a rock, relaying
orders and receiving acknowledgments, passing them on
to Ike.
  Ike grinned down at her. "Hangin' in,
Jersey?" he shouted over the din of battle.
  "It's better than a kick in the ass,
sir!" she returned the shout, grinning.
  Ike laughed, the sound lost amid the barrage.
  Jersey listened for a moment, then turned to Ike,
shouting in his ear, "Ham reports a larger force
moving up, sir. Not Night P. Ham reckons
battalion size."
  "What type of weapons, Jersey?"
  She asked. Ike bent down so she could reach his
ear. "Light weapons and machine guns, sir.
None of the Duster crews report any sign of
mortars or artillery."
  "Tell Ham to crank up and fire when he's
ready, Jersey. See if they can drive them toward
us."
  "Yes, sir."
  The rattle of twin-mounted .60's joined the
head-splitting din. Twin 40mm guns added their
crashing to the night battle.
  "Heads down in the compound until the Dusters
turn the enemy toward us, Jersey."
  She nodded and relayed the orders.
  The retreating Night People ran into the advancing
forces, creating havoc in the night.
  "Flares up!" Ike ordered.
  The night turned surreal with starbursts.
  "Compound snipers pick your targets."
  Jersey relayed the orders.
  "Mortar crews adjust. Free-fire past the
Dusters."
  Those who were coming up behind the Dusters I felt the
sting and lash of Willie Peter rounds as they
exploded in a shower of flesh-searing shards.
  "Bradleys pick up the gap between the Dusters,"
  Ike ordered. "Keep the sky bright, flare
crews."
  Jersey relayed the orders and the night was
white-bright as the flares exploded, 25mm
cannon fire and 7.62 machine gun fire roaring
and hammering and disintegrating the now-confused and
disoriented enemy, who found they had no place
to run.
  With the 25mm cannon ten feet off the ground, the
Bradley's gunners were able to pinpoint fire over
the heads of those in the compound and literally blow the enemy
to bloody rags of once-human beings.
  Outside the compound, in the darker areas of the immediate
post, but well outside of the free-fire zone, the
crews of the Dusters wheeled and clanked and crushed
to death any enemy who happened to be unlucky enough
to come into view in the flare-filled night.
The massive steel treads mangled and mauled
human flesh, leaving bloody indentations in the
ground, splattered with bits of human flesh and
bone.
  "They're running, general!" Ham radioed
to Jersey. "Do we pursue?"
  "Only for a short distance," Ike ordered.
"They'll be back as soon as they regroup and map
out a plan. Finish off what you can and then get back
inside the trenches."
  "Ten-four."
  "Cease firing!" Ike yelled. "Cease
firing!"
  The firing gradually waned into silence.
  "Machine gunners, rake those piles of wounded.
Scraper operators, stand by to push the bodies into the
trenches and douse with gasoline; they'll give us a
few more minutes of light when we need it."
  "Disarm the Claymores at compound point,
Jersey. Remine outside the trenches. Leave the
Dusters room to get back."
  "Yes, sir."
  "Check for wounded, Jersey."
  Ten hit, none seriously.
  Ike patted a Rebel on the shoulder.
"Start here. Every other Rebel stand down for fifteen
minutes. If you want to smoke, move back from the
main perimeter. Pass it along. Let's go,
Jersey."
  The little Rebel with the backpack radio walked with
Ike as he made his way through the
shell-casing-littered compound.
  Ike stopped by Major Tom Broadhurst's
position. "Did you wipe their noses, Tom?"
  "Damn sure did, Ike!"
  Ike patted him on the shoulder and walked on,
coming to Tina's position. He looked at the
body-littered field in front of her position.
Stinking bodies were piled up like scattered
firewood. "You a mean motor-scooter, kid."
  "I don't like these people, Uncle Ike."
  "No kidding! I never would have guessed."
  Ike and Jersey circled the camp, stopping every
few meters to chat with his people. Ham and his Dusters were
clanking back into the outer compound, wheeling around,
guns facing the darkness.
  The treads were dark and slick with blood.
  The scrapers were shoving the bodies into the trenches
around the outer edges, touching the dark unknown.
Following the earth-moving equipment were
Rebels with containers of gasoline, dousing the
bodies that were piled up on the scrap wood in the
trenches.
  Ike turned to Jersey and the little Rebel held
up a small hand, signaling for silence as she
listened intently through her earphones. She looked up
at Ike.
  "What's up, Jersey?"
  "The jamming has stopped, Ike. I think we can
get through now."
  "How many casualties did you sustain, Ike?"
Ben asked.
  "Ten. None serious. We lucked out, Ben;
caught them by surprise and really creamed them. Hit
them hard. I'd guess we of fed between six hundred
and seven hundred fifty. I think they're through for this
night."
  "I think I wasted my time coming up here, Ike.
Scouts report this Monte person's troops are
pulling out as quickly as they can slip through. I'm
thinking, Ike, that this was a diversion action to suck us
i up here so we wouldn't be able to come to your rescue.
And I'll be willing to bet you a bag of tobacco that
this Joe MacKintosh does not exist. It was just
reported to me that the area where they were
supposed to be is deserted. How about them apples,
buddy!"
  "Yeah, it looks like you've been had. What's
next, Ben?"
  "Can you hold, Ike?"
  "For how long, Ben?"
  "Until I can get some people on a plane and get
I over there. How long will it take you to clear a
runway?"
  "Give us a couple of days at least, Ben. The
runways looked pretty bad to me. But we really
haven't had the time to check them out."
  "Ten-four to that, Ike. I've got to get
Chase up here, anyway. I promised the old
goat we'd enter New York City together."
  "Ben? I think we'd better save
Manhattan for last. We'd be defeating our
purpose to go in there first. We'd better secure the
areas surrounding it first."
  "All right, Ike. Tighten up your hold at
Dix tomorrow and then get on the runways."
  "That's ten-four, Ben. You want a suggestion?"
  "Have at it."
  "We're gonna need a lot of equipment,
Ben. And I mean a
lot
of equipment."
  "I see what you're getting at, Ike. All
right. I'll start the trucks rolling ASAP. My
people report lots of vehicles in pretty good
shape around here. So we'll start getting them in good
order and drive over to the Big Apple. I think
this operation up here is nothing more than a fart in the
wind."
  "Maybe your reputation scared them off, Ben."
  "Sure, Ike, sure."
  "And everything is settled with Hiram and his
rednecks?"
  "Hiram is dead."
  "I figured it was coming to that. You should have done it
twenty years ago."
  "It wouldn't have been legal then. Moral,
probably, but not legal. Hang on, here's a
runner."
  When Ben came back on, his voice was filled
with disgust. "It's over up here, Ike. Dan and the
Canadian
  troops report the area is clear. Monte's
people bugged out."
  "Which direction, Ben?"
  "They slipped across at Sault Ste. Marie and
were reported heading east, staying in Canada."
  "You know where they're heading."
  "Sure. New York. Hang tough, Ike.
We're on the way."
  "Shark out."
  Ben turned to Holly. "Get some sleep.
We've got a long haul, starting in the morning."
  "Where to and how?"
  "We're driving. I'm going to see if we can
pull anything out of the ashes of New York City."
Chapter Thirty
  There was no containing Ben when he had the itch
to travel, as Holly found out several hours before
dawn the next morning.
  He rudely shook her awake.
  She looked at him. "What's the matter?"
  "Nothing. We'll be pulling out in half an
hour. Move it."
  "What time is it?"
  "Three."
  "In the
morning!"
  "Yes. Quit your bitching. You wanted to come
along, remember?"
  "It's cold, Ben!"
  "So get up and move around and you won't be so
cold. Shake a leg, lady-time's a-wasting!"
  Outside, Ben started hollering for his team. A
group of mechanics-who, fortunately for them, were not
going with Ben's team east-had worked all night long
getting Jeeps and trucks ready to roll. They were
still fine-tuning engines when Ben started hollering,
rousing the camp.
  "Get them up and moving, James! We pull out
in half an hour. Let's go, let's go, let's
go!"
  "The person is a madman!" Holly bitched,
lacing up her boots.
  Cecil came running out of his tent, his M-16
at the ready. He relaxed when he saw Ben.
"Good God, Ben!" he called. "When is the last
time you voluntarily slept past dawn?"
  "I can't remember, Cec. Pm taking my team
and half of Dan's group, including Dan. You and
Colonel West wrap things up here and come on behind
us."
  Dan came staggering up, rubbing his eyes. "My
word. What a perfectly ghastly hour for a human
to arise from sleep."
  Ben grinned at him. "We pull out in half an
hour. So get your tea in your belly and the lead out of
your ass, Dan."
  "I shall be functioning as smoothly as a
well-oiled machine in ten minutes, general!"
  "I knew I could count on you, Dan." He
stepped back and eyeballed the Englishman. "My,
but you do cut a dashing figure in your long handles."
  Dan drew himself up and with as much dignity as he
could muster, did an about-face and marched off toward his
tent.
  "Your backflap's open, Dan!" Cecil
called.
  Dan reached around, jerked up the flap, and
quick-stepped to his tent.
  Riding in a Jeep, crossing the Straits of
Mackinac, with Lake Huron to the east and Lake
Michigan to the west, Holly really started bitching
about the cold.
  "I'm cold! I'm hungry! I want some
coffee! And why in the
hell
can't you drive a pickup truck like a normal
human being, Ben Raines?"
  "Are you uncomfortable, Ms. Allardt?
Is that what you're trying to tell me?"
  She kicked something that was rattling around on the
floorboards. "What is that?"
  "That's a thermos of coffee, Holly. I thought
you might like some. And pour me a cup, too, will you?"
  A hundred and fifty miles after pulling out from the
old airport, Ben ordered the convoy pulled over
at an old National Guard base, outside of
Grayling.
  "Breakfast time, boys and girls!" he called.
"Those wonderful MRE'S. James, first bunch
to finish eating, send them into that old Guard camp;
see if they can find anything worth salvaging."
  "Yes, sir."
  He sat down beside Holly and grinned at her.
"All comfy now?"
  "Raines, you are possessed, you know that? Can you
ever just sit still and relax?"
  "Too much to do, Holly. And not nearly enough time
to get it all done."
  "And when it's all done, Ben? ..."
  "It never will be finished. Not in my lifetime. In
case you haven't noticed, dear, while I am not
yet in the twilight of my years, I ain't no
spring chicken."
  "You're still a few years away from a wheelchair,
Raines," she said drily, stirring some glop in a
cup and eating it. "And I hesitate to ask
exactly what this is I'm eating."
  Ben picked up the empty wrapper. "Well, it
was packaged in 1985."
  "This stuff is seventeen years old, Ben!"
  "Relax. They'll keep practically forever.
I've eaten rations that were packed back during the
Korean War. They were OK, except for those green
eggs."
  She put down her cup and stared at him. "Green
eggs!"
  "They weren't bad as long as you kept your eyes
closed."
  Tina walked up to Ike, her hands in her
pockets. "If you come out with another ham sandwich,"
Ike warned, "I swear I'm gonna belt you!"
  She laughed at him and pulled her hands out,
empty. "Our teams have gone in all directions,
Ike. No sign of any Night P. They're ten
miles outside the post now, in all directions.
How far do you want them to range out?"
  "That's far enough. I think they've pulled back
into the suburbs and the city. By the way, your
dad pulled out of upper Michigan at
oh-three-thirty today."
  "How far is it from there to here, Ike?"
  was "Bout a thousand miles, give or take a
hundred Knowin" Ben, he'll be pushin' it hard."
  "Dr. Chase and his people?"
  "They'll be up in about a week, Lamar said.
Your brother is doing fine, by the way."
  She nodded and jerked her thumb. "Those bodies
are beginning to stink, Ike."
  "Burn "em. Let's shift positions to the
airfield."
  "Desolate," Holly murmured. "Ben, where
are the people?"
  They were heading south on Interstate 75, just north
of Bay City. "I don't know, Holly. It's
bothering me, too. There should have been survivors in
this area. I'm guessing this Monte person-and
probably the Night People-picked this area clean."
  She shuddered.
  "For food."
  "I get the picture, Ben!"
  "Probably hold them prisoner and fatten them
up like hogs."
  "All right, awready!"
  "Point to Eagle," Ben's radio crackled.
  "Eagle. Go ahead."
  "Smoke from fires in Bay City, Eagle.
You want us to check it out?"
  "Ten-fifty. Wait for us, Point."
  The people ran when they spotted Ben and his Rebels,
and no amount of hollering and calling out that they were friendly
would slow them down.
  "Scared," Ben said. "Spooky of any
strangers. I suppose it's understandable."
  "You
suppose?"
Holly asked.
  "Holly, in every other home you can see, stretching
either way from here to both coasts, there is at least one
gun of some sort. The military bases are
littered with weapons. They're rusting, many of them.
These people could have become organized and armed. Why they
didn't, or wouldn't, remains one of the great
mysteries to me."
  "Well ... we have to help them, Ben."
  Ben picked up his mic and ordered the Scouts out.
He put the Jeep into gear and rolled on, heading
back to Interstate 75.
  "Where are you going, Ben?"
  "I help those who help themselves, Holly. If
they'll just help themselves a little bit, I'll help
them a lot. But these people are just standing around, waiting for
somebody to do it all for them; waiting to die at the
hands of warlords or outlaws, or what-have-you. If you
tried to give one of them an order that you felt might
save their lives, they'd stiff their necks and
proclaim, 'I ain't takin" no orders from
nobody." To hell with them, Holly. There are
too many fine, decent people out there in the ashes who
want help for me to screw around with a bunch of
losers."
  She didn't say another word to him until they were
on the outskirts of Saginaw.
  "Are we stopping here, Ben?"
  "You have to go to the bathroom?"
  She did her best to wither him with a glance. It had
no effect on Ben. "You know what I mean,
Ben."
  "No, Holly. We are not stopping."
  She muttered something that sounded extremely
vulgar.
  The smell emanating from Flint told them all that
to enter the city would be useless. The smell told them
the place was crawling with Night P.
  An hour passed in silence, the rush of the wind
flapping the canvas top and sides of the Jeep the
only noise. As they drew closer to Detroit,
the land became more desolate; one could practically
feel the human void; the emptiness of human
life.
  "We're going to have two choices." Ben broke
the silence. "We're either going to have to go into the
  cities and kill them during the day, while they
sleep, or we're going to have to napalm the cities
and drive them out and shoot them." Without waiting for
Holly to reply, Ben picked up the mic. "Stay
on the Interstate heading dead south. No one leaves
the convoy. Let's just get the hell out of this state."
  About an hour before dark, Ben ordered the convoy
to pull over and make camp. They were about twenty
miles from the Ohio line. Dan walked up to Ben
and Holly.
  "General, they have to have left the cities and set
up in the country. I simply refuse to believe that
all the survivors are dead."
  "It is my fervent hope that you are correct
Dan. If you're not, we're facing total
annihilation. There is no way a force as small as
ours could ever hope to cope with what appears
to be hundreds of thousands of these people. It's
mind-boggling."
  "Ben," Holly said, looking first at Dan and
then at Ben. "As a doctor I've got to say that
I find it impossible to believe that chemicals or
radiation-what little there was of it-could have killed thousand of
these people. I just do not accept it."
  "Nor do I, Holly."
  "Then? ..."
  "There is no doubt they have good communications. As
good as ours. That means the ability to communicate
around the world, right, Dan?"
  "It would seem that way."
  "So why didn't our communications people pick up
any of their traffic?"
  "Hard directional?"
  "Maybe. But in what direction?"
  Dan was thoughtful for a moment. "East, to the
European countries."
  "Exactly. We know for a fact that there is a
small radiation belt circling high above us that
tears up radio communications, right?"
  "That is correct."
  "And it doesn't always stay in the same place,
right?"
  "Atmospheric conditions affect it. I think the
belt remains pretty much stationary. Yes. I
see what you're getting at. But, general, that would
suggest a very high level of intelligence on the part
of these ... cannibals."
  "Yes. But why shouldn't some of them have been
engineers, scientists, whatever, before the war?"
  "Yes." The Englishman spoke softly.
"Indeed. Why not?"
  "And what part of the world took the hardest hits of
radiation?"
  "Europe, of course." Dan stroked his
pencil-thin moustache. "General, are you suggesting that
there might have been some sort of flotilla from
Europe?"
  "It's one answer."
  Dan leaned against a fender of a truck, sipping
at his late afternoon tea. "It's certainly something
to think about. And we must not overlook the possibility
of recruits, too."
  "Yes."
  Holly was horrified. "You mean ... you're
suggesting that
normal
people would voluntarily join something this ... this
hideous?"
  "We weren't that far removed from barbarism,
Holly," Ben told her. "Besides, total
despair and no
  hope for the future will drive many into doing things that
in a civilized, ordered world would be unthinkable
to them."
  "That's monstrous!"
  "Yes. But I'm afraid it's also reality.
Dan, double the guards. Keep fires burning all
night. Tell the sentries to call out only once
for recognition, then open fire."
  "Yes, sir."
  "It's going to be a long night," Holly said,
looking around her at the gathering pockets of darkness
dotting the land.
  "You're safe. Are you beginning to understand why I
preach organization and unity and strength?"
  "Of course. I always have, Ben. But there are many
people who don't like that type of society. And that is
their right. Or do you disagree with that, too?"
  "Certainly not. But do you know where many of those
types are?"
  "I'm sure you'll tell me; not that I really
want to know."
  "Being eaten alive because of their stubbornness." He
held out a can. "Care for some beef stew,
Holly?"
Chapter Thirty-one
  The Night People made their presence known during the
gloom, but they were cautious not to get too close
to the Rebel encampment; not after a group of them
stepped in front of a Claymore and were spread all
over the area, in dripping chunks and pieces of raw
meat. After that, the Night People pulled back and stayed
far from the camp. Later, sentries would report that
several hours before the first fingers of dawn began
spreading silver over the land, the Night People began
withdrawing, slipping away, back to their dens of
darkness to sleep away the dreaded light.
  The Rebels ate a quick breakfast and mounted up.
All wanted to be away from that place.
  They skirted Toledo and Ben pulled the convoy
over at a junction, waving Dan up to him.
  "We're going to avoid the cities, Dan.
We've got to find out where the people have gone; besides into the
stomachs of the Night P."
  "You do turn an eloquent phrase, general."
  "Thank you. It's going to be a meandering route.
  But we're going to check out the small
towns. We'll take Highway Twenty over
to Norwalk, there we'll pick up Eighteen;
take it to the Interstate. Pick up the
Turnpike; follow that to Youngstown. From there, if
all goes right, we'll pick up Eighty and take
it all the way across. Advise your Scouts and have
them move out. Stay ten miles ahead of the main
columns and keep in radio contact."
  "Yes, sir."
  They checked the towns out as they came to them.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. It became a
game to the Rebels: who would spot the first living
being.
  But none were found.
  Outside of Norwalk, Ben pulled the convoy
over and walked back to Dan.
  "Let's add it up, Dan; see what we can
come up with. What have you noticed?"
  "Brass. Lots of empty brass. The
citizens aren't taking it quietly. They're
fighting back and doing a pretty good job of it."
  "That's what I think. I think they've moved
south; away from the lake, away from the cities.
Down in the central part of the state. Communications
reports some radio traffic, in code,
coming from that area."
  "Have they broken the code?"
  "Oh, yes. They're wondering who we are;
whether we're part of Monte's bunch. We'll
noon here and try to make contact with them. Tell the
people to stand down and relax. Guards out."
  "Yes, sir."
  But the people refused to respond to the Rebels"
  calls. Finally, exasperated, Ben took the
mic.
  "This is General Ben Raines. I'm with a
contingent of Rebels near Norwalk. I am not
asking you to give away your position; just advising you
who we are and if you are in need of anything. Will you
please respond to this?"
  Ben waited; tried again. This time he got a
reply.
  "Ben Raines is dead."
  "Ben Raines is not dead. I assure you I
am alive and well. Will you give me some travel
instructions?"
  "What do you want?"
  "Is the Interstate between Cleveland and Akron
safe for travel?"
  "Negative. Skirt south of
Akron. And take the loop around Massillon and
Canton. Are you really Ben Raines?"
  "Yes. Do you people need anything?"
  There was a long pause. "Yes. Some help."
  "In what form?"
  "We've got to have someone help us with security;
we're farmers and businessmen, not soldiers."
  "Give me your twenty and I'll send a team
down to assist you."
  "Negative. We'll meet you in Ashland.
That's southeast of your position."
  Ben looked at Dan. "We're going to have
to change routes anyway. Mount them up, Dan."
  They were a haggard-looking group of people, but they were
well armed and the weapons were well cared for.
  The leader of the group stared hard at Ben.
"By God! You're really Ben Raines!"
  "Alive and well." Ben shook his hand. "Now
bring
  me up to date on what's been happening around
here."
  Using the scrapers, Ike's Rebels soon had
a runway cleared at the old military base.
Then the Rebels set about crushing stone to fill in the
potholes that had developed over the long
years of disuse.
  Ike had been sending teams out, five to a team,
to start cleaning out the immediate area around the old reservation
... cleaning it out of whatever creepies might be
holed up during the day waiting to prowl at night.
  Surprisingly, the teams had found very few of the
Night P. Upon questioning them, Ike learned they lived
in the cities, mainly, coming out several times a week
to hunt for food. The ones who had been captured
had not been careful of the time, the daylight trapping
them, forcing them to seek whatever dark shelter they could
find.
  "What's the number in the city?" Ike had
asked.
  But the Night People would only smile, the evil
shining through their eyes.
  Ike had ordered them shot.
  "Inspect their bodies," he ordered.
  No traces of radiation could be found anywhere on
the two men. Their eyes were normal. Dr. Ling and
his people did autopsies on the bodies. No
abnormalities could be found.
  "Son of a bitch!" Ike cussed, heading for the
communications building.
  "Yes, I had reached that conclusion,
Ike," Ben said. "There were just too damn many of them
for all of them to have been affected by the blasts. Now
what?"
  "We wait for you, Ben. Then we hit the
suburbs and start cleaning them out."
  "Going to be autumn in New York soon,
old buddy," Ben said with a smile.
  "No play on words intended, though." Ike's
voice crackled through the speaker.
  Holly, standing nearby, did not have the foggiest
idea what the men were talking about.
  "An old song, doctor." Dan brought her up
to date.
  "What's your location, Ben."
  "Just preparing to pull out of Ashland, Ohio.
I've left a squad of Rebels with a local
resistance group. They're heading down
to Mansfield and will begin establishment of an
outpost."
  "Ten-four, Ben. Talked with Chase; Buddy
is getting stronger by the hour. But he's going to take
a while recovering."
  "Ten-four, Ike. See you in a couple of
days. Eagle out."
  Ben and his people rolled eastward, making
camp that night just to the west of the Pennsylvania line
and a few miles south of the Pennsylvania
Turnpike. At dawn, they began a gradual
swing to the north and linked up with Interstate 80.
They would take that all the way into Ike's position.
  Ben used a series of country roads, most of
them in deplorable shape, which slowed the convoy down to a
mere crawl. Finally, after a series of frustrating
  detours, Ben linked up with the Interstate just west
of the Allegheny River and the convoy began to move out.
Smartly, as Dan would say. They had gone only
a few miles when the forward Scouts reported a
roadblock.
  Ben, with Holly by his side, pulled up to the
roadblock within minutes after receiving the message.
  "Scouts back," he called.
  "What is it, Ben?" Holly asked.
  "I don't know. I don't like it. I just don't
like it."
  "You have anything of substance to base that on, Ben?"
  "A gut hunch."
  "General!" a Scout called. "That sucker is
made out of
steel,
carefully fitted and welded together, too.
It'd take a hell of a bang to move that."
  "Are you going to blow it, Ben?"
  "No. It isn't worth the risk involved. The
thing might be wired to blow if tampered with." He
picked up his mic and gave the orders for the convoy
to turn around, head back to the first exit.
  "North or south, general?" Dan asked.
  Ben hesitated. A strange smile flitted
over his lips. He checked his maps. "North,"
he radioed. "And head's up, people. I think I know
why the blockade."
  "Why?" Holly asked.
  "It's a trap. And we're going to just bust the
hell out of it."
  Ben picked up his mic. "All units
to scramble frequency." He waited until they had
time to change frequencies. "I have a hunch we're
about to hit some outlaws or warlords, people. I think
that's why the
  barricade. Scouts, you should be coming up on the
town now. What do you see?"
  "Be there in about two minutes, general. But
you're right, I think," the lead Scout reported
back. "Seeing lots of vehicles on both
sides of the road. OK, general, we've
got the town in sight; some pretty hairy-looking
people lining the streets. Orders?" . "Stop right there.
Let us catch up."
  Ben passed the convoy and took the lead, despite
Dan's frantic callings to stay back and let
others handle it.
  Dan and James and several Jeeps with
rear-mounted .50's and twin-mounted .60's raced
to catch up with Ben. Holly was holding on for dear
life; she was still holding on as Ben slid to a stop
in front of what used to be some sort of general
store. He looked at a character lounging on the porch
of the building. A brute of a man, wearing a black
leather jacket with the sleeves cut off, dirty
jeans, and heavy boots. His massive arms were
covered with tattoos.
  Ben and the brute sat and stared at each other. The
brute was not too happy to see all the Rebels
coming up fast behind Ben. His piggy eyes noted the
professional manner in which the Rebels swung their
vehicles, covering all sides of the street.
  Ben stepped out of the Jeep, his Thompson in his
hand, off safety, on full auto. He stood by the
Jeep.
  "Whut you wont, soldier-boy?"
Brute asked. There was an M-16 lying on the
porch floor, right side.
  "A bit of civility would be nice, don't you
think?"
  "Haw?"
  "Good morning to you. Now you say good morning
to me."
  "You crazy, boy!"
  Ben lifted his Thompson, the muzzle pointed
squarely at the brute's chest. "Say good
morning, sir."
  "Ah ..." Brute rumbled. "Good mornin',
sir."
  Ben lowered the muzzle. "That's better. Did you
put that barricade on the Interstate bridge?"
  "Shore did."
  "Why?"
  The question seemed to confuse the human animal. was
"Cause I wanted to, that's why."
  "Not good enough." Ben was approached by a Rebel.
He whispered in Ben's ear. "Thank you. Take a
team and free the prisoners."
  "Yes, sir."
  "Hey, now!" Brute hollered. "Whut you people
gonna do?"
  "Free all the men and women you're holding for
whatever reason. And while we're doing that, you may
send some people out to clear the Interstate."
  "I ain't doin" jack-shit!" Brute
bluntly informed Ben. His hand dropped carelessly
down, closer to the M-16. was "Em people is ourn.
Slaves is legal now."
  "By whose orders?"
  "There ain't no one givin" no orders no more,
Mister-Whoever-in-the-Hell you is."
  Ben smiled thinly. "I do so hate to resort
to violence, lard-ass. Ruins my entire day."
  "Sure it does," Holly muttered. She had
gotten out of the Jeep and had the vehicle between her and
Ben and the brute. She was ready to drop to the
  street the instant the shooting started.
  "Who you callin' lard-ass?"
  "You, whale-butt. Now send some people out to clear the
Interstate."
  Brute's face darkened with hate and rage as
streams of people began moving up the street. They were
ragged and dirty and all showed signs of having been
physically abused.
  "Question them, Dan," Ben said. He cut his eyes
back to Brute. The man wasn't sure
exactly what he should do next. He knew only
that he wasn't gonna sit still and let this
soldier-boy free his slaves.
  "Mister, you ain't got no right to come in here and
throw your weight around. I ..."
  "Shut up!" Ben told him. "We can do this
easy or hard. It's up to you."
  Dan stepped up to Ben's side. "The women have
all been raped repeatedly and sodomized. So have the
men prisoners," he added, disgust in his voice.
  "Stand ready, Dan," Ben returned the whisper.
"See the outlaws on the second story of the
buildings?"
  "Oh, yes. I've alerted my people."
  "Whut you two a-whisperin' about?" Brute
hollered, his hand moving closer to the M-16 on the
porch floor.
  "We were discussing the Emancipation Proclamation,
asshole," Ben told him, his eyes studying the
man. About forty, Ben guessed. Old enough to have
completed all types of schools. And no reason
to be what he had become. "What have you had the
prisoners doing?"
  Brute grinned. "We fuck the women-and sometimes
  the men-and use them in the fields, to grow
our food, wash our vehicles and clothes, and take
care of the houses ... if "at's any of your
goddamn business."
  "And if they refuse to become your slaves?
..." Ben asked.
  Again, Brute grinned. "We strip 'em naked
and drop 'em in the hog pens. 'At 'ere's good
fun."
  "You are one sorry excuse for a human being. As
a matter of fact, I'm offended by having to share the
same air with you."
  "Whut's 'at mean!"
  "It means I'm going to kill you." Ben's
voice was low-pitched.
  "Whut's your name, sucker?" Brute asked, his
right hand only inches from the M-l6.
  "Ben Raines."
  Screaming, Brute jerked up the M-16.
Ben's Thompson chugged and spat a death song, the
big .45 caliber slugs knocking Brute out of
his chair, a bloody line of holes working left
to right, from his hip to his jaw, the slugs tearing away
the lower part of the man's face; teeth bounced and
rolled on the porch floor.
  Brute lay on his back and pissed his
jeans as he died, his final breath the greatest act
he had ever done for society.
  Over the hammering of heavy machine guns from the
Rebels, Ben muttered, "You and Hiram have a good
time, Brute. You two deserve each other."
  The machine guns mounted on the Rebel
vehicles made quick work of the outlaws who thought they
had gone undetected on the second floors of the
  town's business district. Teams of Rebels
went building to building, using grenades to clean out
what was left of the outlaw gang. Some forty-odd
surrendered, most of them in shock at the swiftness of
what had gone down.
  Ben lined them up and ordered them under heavy guard.
  Holly had crawled under the Jeep. It took
Ben a few minutes to find her. He squatted
down and peered under the vehicle, smiling at the
doctor. "Did you decide to take a short nap,
Holly?"
  "Raines, I wish you would warn me before you
decide to start a damned war!" Her face was
greasy and her hair disheveled.
  Laughing, Ben helped her out and brushed her off.
"You haven't seen a war yet, Holly. This was just
a little exercise, that's all."
  She glared at him and looked at the rows of
outlaws, their hands on the tops of their heads, fingers
interlaced. 'What are you going to do with them, Ben."
  "One good deed deserves another, Holly.
You'll see. You and the medics set up a
hospital; check out the former prisoners. I'm
going to prowl around some." He walked off, humming
an old song. Holly didn't believe she'd ever
heard it.
  "The Good, The Bad, The Ugly."
Chapter Thirty-two
  Ben walked the town, a squad of Rebels
split up, some in front of him, some behind him. He
paid them no attention; he was used to it. Holly and the
Rebel medics had set up shop in an old drug
store. At her insistence, she was patching up the
wounded outlaws. Ben had shrugged; her option, if
she wanted to waste her time on trash.
  Ben and his bodyguards had found no more outlaws,
although all had heard the sounds of racing motors as
some carried their asses out of there when the shooting started
and it was soon evident the outlaws would lose.
Typical trash-action. In a mob, surrounded
by their buddies, they're all bluster and toughness; put
them by themselves and their true colors are soon
flying. Yellow.
  Back on the main street, Ben told Dan,
"Well spend the night here. What about the
prisoners you've talked with?"
  "They're a pretty spunky bunch, general.
I approached them about an outpost system and they
jumped at it. It would be my suggestion that we move
them up the road to the town of Clarion."
  "Bigger town than this?"
  "Much bigger. Some of those who were held prisoner
told me that there is a group there who are pretty
damned tough. Edgar...."
  "Who?"
  Dan smiled. "The fat warlord you offed."
  "Oh."
  "Edgar's bunch has never been able to whip them.
They've got a good organization of solid, steady
men and women. With schools, general."
  "My kind of people, Dan."
  "How about the outlaws we captured, general?"
  Ben looked at him and walked off.
  Dan smiled. "Right-oh, general."
  The Rebels buried the outlaws in a mass
grave, and with what had once been county earth-moving
equipment, scooped dirt over them. Ben
had sent Holly and a detachment on to Clarion before
the last of the outlaws joined Edgar and the others. He
would tell her ... if she ever asked him. But he
doubted she ever would.
  Ben had met the people of Clarion. Even before
meeting them, he knew he had found a group of people
whose ideas matched his own. Coming into the town, he noted
the streets were all clean, with no shacks of
burned-out buildings. The lawns were well-tended and
everyone had a large garden, not all the people growing the
same thing. Shops were open, and the barter system was
back in play.
  Ben asked for volunteers from his ranks, and a
full squad stepped out. They would stay with the
  townspeople for a time, helping them rearm and set
up defenses. And learn the Rebel way of meting
out justice.
  Ben and his Rebels pulled out the next morning,
heading east on Interstate 80. Ben had asked the
leader of the several hundred men and women and kids where
the next large gathering of people was. The man had
smiled sadly.
  "No where near here, general. I heard there was one
over around Williamsport, but I can't be sure of
that. And it's a long, dangerous trip over
there."
  "We'll check it out and report back to you. Good
luck."
  The Rebels found several hundred people in
Williamsport, but they were nothing like the bunch back
in Clarion. What they found was a bunch of losers,
with no organization, no signs of progress, and
leaderless. They were a sullen, dirty bunch, with no
thought for the future, living hand to mouth, day to day.
  Ben ordered the kids under thirteen rounded up; he
had heard that south of there, around Milton, a group
had settled in and were doing wonders. They would take
the kids and see if they could find a home for them
there.
  "We glad to be rid of the little squallin"
fuckers," a woman told Ben.
  Ben resisted an urge to shoot her.
  Milton was almost a carbon copy of Clarion,
and the men and women said they would be happy to take the
kids and raise them decently. And they were, to a
person, after a town meeting, very receptive to the
suggestion of becoming a part of the
  outpost system. Once more, a small team of
Rebels, all volunteers, all single, were left
behind when Ben and his people pulled out the next
morning.
  They were slightly less than two hundred
miles from Ike's position when Ben called a
halt and ordered camp set up for the night.
  Ben radioed Ike that evening. "Give me a
safe route to your position, Ike."
  "Come in east of Trenton, Ben. You're going
to have to wind around some. Planes have begun landing here.
And Chase is waiting for you. So is Cecil; they
flew in last evening. I'll brief you when you get
here."
  "See you about noon tomorrow, Ike."
  Before dusk, Ben walked the camp, stopping to chat
with many of his Rebels. They were a tired bunch, and
badly needed rest. He made up his mind they would
push on to Ike's position the next day, and then
rest and re-equip before beginning the bloody sweeps
of the area.
  Even though that much time had not lapsed, it would be good
to get together with the gang again.
  Ben's team rolled onto the old military post
amid cheers and shouted greetings the next day. Even
though Ben could not see it, he was very much aware of the
massive presence of New York City, to the
northeast, some forty miles away as the
crow flies.
  Ben cut the engine to his Jeep and called for
James River son.
  "Stand them down, James. Rest them for a couple
  of days. No details during that time. Just sleep
and eat and gossip."
  "Yes, sir," James grinned.
  Ben kissed his daughter and shook hands with Ike and
Cecil and Chase; Holly had gone with her medics
over to the base hospital.
  "Cecil, before we sit down to jaw, radio
Base Camp One. I want a battalion
left down there. All others start pulling out for here.
I spotted some tanks; good-we won't have to truck
ours up here. Ike, I want a complete list of
all parts needed to get the tanks all ready;
we'll have those trucked up. How about the fuel
situation up here?"
  "All kinds of underground tanks untapped,
Ben. All over the area. It looks pretty
good."
  "It's going to be fall before we're fully ready
to make our push into the city." Ben looked around him.
"We're going to need winter gear." He looked at
Ike. "How about the base reloading
equipment?"
  "In pretty good shape. I got it cranked
up and producing."
  Ben nodded. "The base hospital?"
  "Not bad," Chase said. "Ike's people did a
god job of cleaning it up."
  "We'll use this hospital for the most serious
cases; get them away from the combat zone. We'll
need a field hospital for the less seriously
wounded."
  "I have one picked out, Ben," Ike told him.
"It's small but still in good shape."
  "Good." Ben looked around him, sighing. "It's
going to be a bitch, people. A screaming, bloody
bitch. And we're going to lose some people. But we've
got to find those people called the Judges and
  destroy them. We've got to find the radio
equipment and knock it out. So much to do."
  "Ben?" Chase asked. "What in the hell are
we going to
do
with New York City once we do clean it out?"
  Ben laughed long and hard. "Damned if I know,
Lamar!"
  "One thing about it, Ben," Ike said
drily. "Once we do clean it out, it'll be the first
time true justice has prevailed here for fifty
years!"
Chapter Thirty-three
  "Let's go home now, Carol Ann," her
husband said, taking her by the arm.
  "You better turn me loose, boy," she warned
him.
  "Carol Ann, I found us a nice little place
down clost to home. You fetch the kids and come on
now. The house needs cleanin' up."
  "Clean it up your own damn self!"
  "Girl, don't talk to me lak "at. Took
me three days to find you. What happened to yore
hair!"
  "Me and the others had it cut some and done up. You
don't like it, that's tough!"
  The others were having the same problems with their
wives. They just couldn't get used to the change in
them. The girls seemed different; kind of
tough-actin". And they wasn't takin' no orders
worth a damn.
  "Misty," B.m. pleaded. "Whut the hale's
come over you? I ain't never seen you act lak this here
"fore."
  "You got us a new home all picked out,
B.m.?"
  "Shore. Nice one. Just a-waitin" for you to come
clean it up."
  "Your arms broke, boy?"
  "Haw?"
  "You ain't ... don't have a damn thing to do,
B.m. Now you want me to come back to you, you
en-roll in school. You join up. We'll take
the tra*' together and the housework we'll divvy up
fiftystfifty."
  "Hit ain't fittin' for a man to do a woman's
work, Misty."
  "Then carry your ass, boy!"
  "Misty, you cain't mean "at! I done said I
was gonna do rat. Right. Whut more do you want from
me?"
  "Respect, B.m. The two of us pullin"
together, not apart. The kids goin' to school and learnin'
right from wrong and how to get along with other people. That and a
whole lot more, B.m. Now, me and Jenny Sue
and Carol Ann and Laura June and Billie
Jo talked it over. That's the way it's gonna
be, B.m. This place here, B.m., why it's a
whole new way of life that I didn't
even know was there. There ain't no hate here, B.m.
I never seen, saw, anything like it. Everybody has
a job, and they do it. Nobody steals, lies,
breaks the law. Nobody is all off to themselves,
thinking they're better than other folks. I like it,
B.m. I'm stayin'. If you wanna stay ...
well, I'd like that. But if you don't think you can
cut it, then you best haul ass, boy. "Cause
the first time you spout off some crack about somebody of
another race or color or whatever, some of these
ol" boys around here is gonna kill you, B.m.
And I'd grieve if that'd happen. But I got
to think that you're a grown man, and what happens,
well, you brung, brought it on
  yourself. Now I'm through talkin'. You gonna stay,
or go?"
  He looked at her for a long time, then slowly
smiled. "You learned how to write your name yet,
Misty?"
  "Want to see me?"
  "Yeah!"
  With a stub of a pencil and a scrap of paper, she
printed: MISTY. Then she printed: LOVES
B.m.
  "What do it say, Misty?"
  She told him.
  "Well, I think I'll give it a whirl,
Misty. Think you can write something,
something
else?"
  "What?"
  He told her.
  She printed: B.m. LOVES MISTY.
Chapter Thirty-four
  Ben, Ike, Tina, and Cecil, accompanied
by a company of Rebels, heavily armed, drove up
Highway 9 to Perth Amboy and crossed over
to Staten Island. They drove to the far north end of the
island. They saw no one.
  "Used to be able to take a ferry from this point,"
Ben said, showing them the half-submerged ferry.
  It was just breaking dawn, the mist still clinging to the
bay.
  "I can't see it!" Tina said impatiently.
  All turned at the sound of vehicles. Dan
and a platoon of Scouts had been lagging behind,
keeping a close watch.
  Dan shook his head. "Nothing. And not a sign of
anyone's ever having lived on the island."
  Chase had ridden out with Dan. "Let's
check out Sea View Hospital today," he
suggested. "It would be closer and this is as good a
jumping-off place as any. You agree, Ben?"
  "Good as any, Lamar."
  The mist was gradually lifting.
  The silence was vast around them; only a few
seabirds soared and called.
  "I wonder why that is?" Lamar said, his eyes
watching the birds.
  "Survivors probably hunted them and ate
them," Ike said.
  Lamar muttered something terribly vulgar under his
breath. "Why didn't the city people leave and head out
into country?"
  "Perhaps they couldn't," Ben told them all.
"Besides, they don't know any other life. The mist
is lifting."
  Everybody was straining their eyes, to be the first
to catch a glimpse of the Lady with the torch of
welcome.
  Then the sun burst free, burning off the mist, and
there she stood in the harbor.
  Everyone was touched. Most of the Rebels had tears
streaming down their face. Lamar Chase garumped a
couple of times and cleared his throat. Dan
honked his nose into a handkerchief. Cecil was
openly, unashamedly, weeping. Tina was crying so
hard she could hardly see the lady in the harbor.
  Ike said, was "Give me your tired, your
poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe
free...." You know the rest of it, Ben?"
  was "The wretched refuse of your teeming shore,
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me: I
lift my lamp beside the golden door.""
  Little Jersey was standing on the cab of a truck, so
she could see over the heads of the Rebels crowding the
dock. "That's beautiful, general; did you write
that?"
  "No, Jersey," Ben smiled. "Emma
Lazarus wrote
  that. It's from the "New Colossus." That's the
inscription for the Statue of Liberty."
  "You ever been up close to it, general?" a
Rebel called out.
  "Oh, yes. Just before the Great War. It's quite a
sight to see."
  "I don't think Emma had the Night People in
mind when those words were written," Ike said.
  "No." Ben shifted his Thompson. "I don't
either. So let's go make sure that the next
ship of people seeking freedom really finds that
freedom."
  The Rebels mounted up. Behind them, the sounds of
many Rebels' vehicles, including the rattle of
tanks could be heard.
  Ben stood up in his Jeep and waved his hand.
"Scouts out! Let's go!"