William Johnstone - Fire in the Ashes

“I was raised on a farm,” Jake mused, a faraway, wistful look on his face. “By God, that just might be kinda nice.”

“Jesus!” Hartline gave him a disgusted look. “I can’t believe you said that, Jake. Farming? For real?”

“Well, who the hell else is gonna do it?” Jake demanded.

“The people,” Hartline explained. “They’ll be happy to do it for us. I bet they will.”

“And we’ll be…?”

“The police, Jake. We’ll keep the peace. And for our services… we’ll take just a… small portion of the profits. Can you dig that, Jake?”

“Yeah,” Jake said. “I can dig. But I still want a little piece of ground for my own. I love the smell of fresh plowed earth.”

“Ain’t but one thing that smells better,” Hartline said.

“Oh?”

Hartline grinned. “Pussy.”

Jerre had stood quietly by during this exchange. Hartline glanced at her. “Jerre,” he said, the one word an introduction. He looked at Jake. “How many women you gone through the past few months?”

“Just one. She’s still with me. Lisa.”

“That’s a bit odd for you, isn’t it, Jake?” Hartline asked, a note of suspicion in his voice.

Jake shrugged. “We get along, that’s all.” He changed the subject, not wanting to discuss Lisa with Hartline. Lately his feeling for the teenager had… deepened, he guessed that was the right choice of words. She had begun evoking a feeling within him he never knew he had; certainly had never experienced.

And he had changed in other ways, as well.

And it scared him.

“When do we pull out, Sam?” he asked.

“First thing in the morning. You’ll be ready?”

“Count on it, Sam. Good to see you. See you in the morning.”

Hartline watched Jake walk away. Something about the man had changed. And Hartline sensed it was not for the better.

Well, he thought, time to worry about that later. He looked at a young merc. “Where do we bunk, soldier?”

“We have a nice house for you, sir. If you’ll follow me.”

The house was a relatively new home, with a pleasant warming fire burning in the fireplace in the den. Hartline waited until after the young merc had gone.

“You fix dinner. I’m going to take a shower and read the paper.”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll run away?”

His smile was as friendly as the permanent grin on a snake. “Look outside, Jerre-baby.”

She looked. The house had armed guards on all sides. She again faced the mercenary. “And then what?”

“You know what.”

“No more Mr. Nice Guy, huh?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that, honey. I never seen a woman yet didn’t like a big cock. And that’s what I got.”

“I’m having my period.”

“No, you’re not. But even if you were, it wouldn’t make no difference. I’d just take the back door.”

Jerre’s temper got the best of her. “Hartline, you are the most despicable person I have ever met.”

He was in a good mood, a good personality. He laughed at her. “I’m a saint compared to some I’ve soldiered with, Jerre-baby. You go run on now. You’re lookin’ a mite peaked from the plane ride. You can take your bath first, then cook supper.”

She looked at him for a moment, thinking: Oh, Ben, where are you?

She remembered when she saw Ben again, after her leaving in North Carolina. But this time he’d been with Salina. Or she with him. They were in the northwest, in the area that would soon become Tri-States.

The young people from the colleges Ben had visited rolled in and looked around. They were wary, for they believed the adults had caused the original mess (which was true), and they weren’t too certain this new state could be any better. But they decided to give it a try.

Jerre saw Ben, at first from a distance, and for a time kept her distance as she realized the woman with him was more than just a friend. Then she worked up enough courage to speak to him.

“Hi, Ben.”

Ben turned from his work and let a smile play across his lips. He was aware of Salina watching intently. He took Jerre’s outstretched hand, held it for a moment, then released it.

“You’re looking good, Jerre. I was worried about you, wondering if you’d made it.”

She nodded, as emotions filled her. She wondered if those same emotions were flooding Ben. They were, but not to the extent they filled her. “This is Matt.” She introduced the beefy young man beside her.

Ben shook the offered hand. “I’m glad you two could join us up here. There’s a lot of work to do. Going to live in Idaho?”

Jerre shook her head, answering for both of them. “No, Ben. We thought we’d try it over in Wyoming. Maybe go back to school in our spare time.”

“That’s a good idea. We’ll have the colleges open in a few months.”

There seemed to be nothing left for them to say; at least that they could say.

“See you, Ben.” Jerre smiled.

Ben nodded, watching the young couple walk away. Matt hesitated, then put his arm around Jerre’s shoulders in a protective way; a possessive way. Ben had to smile at the gesture.

“That your young friend, Ben?” Salina asked.

“That was her.”

“Just friends, huh?”

“Sure—what else?”

“Uh-huh.” She smiled.

“What the hell are you smiling about, bitch?” Hartline’s voice jarred her back to reality.

“Long ago and far away,” she replied.

“Go wash your cunt,” the mercenary said crudely.

Depression hit Jerre a hammer blow. She turned and walked toward the bathroom. Pausing, she looked around at him.

“I don’t have any clean clothes, Hartline.”

“Get you some in the morning. You won’t need no clothes tonight, baby.”

Matt had left the twins with a family sympathetic to the Rebels. They worked a small farm just outside Burns, Oregon. The tall, rugged-looking man—who had been in love with Jerre since the first moment he’d seen her, more than ten years back—drove the pickup truck with a determination that belied the murderous thoughts fermenting in his brain. He’d heard Hartline was in Illinois, or maybe Indiana. He touched the M-16 on the seat beside him.

One thing for certain, he was going to kill Sam Hartline.

As he drove, he remembered. He remembered with tears in his eyes.

“When will he be here, Jerre?” the young man asked her.

Jerre turned her eyes eastward. Her face was burned dark from the sun, as were her arms; her hair was sun-streaked and cut short.

She was not the leader of this group. But she knew Ben Raines, and everybody knew Bull Dean, the old Rebel who had killed his best friend to keep the movement alive, had put Ben Raines in charge. So that made Jerre something special.

“He’ll be here, Matt,” she said. “I don’t know when, so don’t ask me, but he’ll be here.”

“Equipment coming in,” a Rebel called.

They all moved to the line of trucks rolling up the mountain road. The young man who had asked the question put his arm around Jerre’s shoulders.

“Will you still be my girl when he gets here?” he asked.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“I’ll know when he gets here. Then I’ll tell you.”

“I’m going to kill you, Hartline,” Matt muttered, his big hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white from the strain. “I’m going to kill you.”

“Have you left that crazy bunch for good, baby?” Ben asked.

Tina laughed at him. “Daddy, you’re an ex-Hell Hound and asking me about a crazy bunch?”