William Johnstone - Fire in the Ashes

“This is true. But they almost always turn into that. Right?”

“That is true. But without some sort of organized society, a government, if you will, how can this nation ever become what it once was? Or even a semblance of what it once was?”

“It can’t, sir. But perhaps it’s time for that to occur. Have you given that any thought?”

“Quite a lot, I’m afraid.”

“And your conclusion?”

“I have to try.” Ben rose from the stool, turning toward the door just as several pickup trucks rattled to a tire-chained halt in front of the drug store.

The owner smiled.

“Why are you smiling?” Ben asked.

“Your people are fearful of you deserting them, Mister Raines.”

Ben walked out of the store without looking back. He faced a half dozen of his troops.

“Can’t I get off by myself every now and then?” Ben asked, his tone harsh.

“With all due respect, sir,” Captain Seymour said. “We’d rather you wouldn’t.”

“I don’t need a nanny, Captain.”

“No, sir,” the captain agreed. But neither he nor any of his people made any move to leave Ben alone.

“I see,” Ben said quietly, the words almost torn from his mouth by the cold winds that whipped down the littered main street.

Ben turned back to the storeowner, standing in the door of the drug store. “How’d you rid yourself of the rat problem?”

The man opened the door. “We didn’t. They just went away.”

“Where?”

The man shrugged his reply.

“Have you observed any other… well, things out of the ordinary?”

“I don’t follow you, sir.”

“Creatures,” Ben spoke the word.

The man shook his head. “Only those big rats. That’s creature enough for one lifetime, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes,” Ben said. “I wish you luck.”

“The same to you.”

The Rebels spent three days at the motel, waiting for a break in the weather. On the morning of the fourth day, the sun broke through the clouds and the temperature warmed, melting much of the snow and ice by mid-morning.

“Let’s roll it,” Ben said.

Three and a half hours later, the convoy rolled into Colorado and Ben halted them.

“I’m going to take a chance that 385 is clear up to Interstate 80 in the southwestern part of Nebraska. We’ll take that and roll it across Wyoming until we hit Highway 30. That’ll take us into Idaho. I don’t anticipate meeting any of our people until we get west of Pocatello. It’s five hundred miles to Rock Springs. That’s where we’ll take our next sleep break—providing all the roads are clear. You drive four hours, switch off with your partner. Let’s roll it, folks. We’re almost home and safe. Patrols out. Let’s go.”

Twenty-one long, tough hours later, the weary column pulled into a motel complex in Rock Springs.

Ike was waiting for them, with a grin on his face not much smaller than the western skies.

After six hours sleep, which was Ben’s normal time in bed, he showered, shaved, and walked down into the dining area for breakfast.

Ike’s people had prepared the motel for Ben and his column hours before the convoy arrived. Most of the weary survivors skipped food and went straight to bed.

Over bacon and eggs and a huge stack of flapjacks, Ben asked, “How’s it looking, Ike?”

“Fifty-eight hundred, Ben.”

Ben raised his eyes to those of his friend. “What the hell happened to the rest? We had more than ten thousand six months ago.”

“They just didn’t make it, partner. Word is still pretty sketchy, but from all reports, we lost a full battalion of people coming out of Georgia. We were in contact one day… next day, nothing. A couple of companies were ambushed up in Michigan. We lost a full platoon of people up in Wisconsin, and we don’t know what killed them.”

“What do you mean, Ike?”

“Just that, Ben. We don’t know what happened. The two people who survived died on the way here without ever regaining consciousness. They were… well… mangled all to hell and gone. I got the pictures if you got the stomach for it.”

Ben thought he knew what the pictures would reveal; that he had seen something very similar to it on a lonely windy highway in Illinois.

He said as much.

Ike toyed with his coffee cup. “And…?”

Ben slowly shook his head. “We deal with it if or when we see… whatever killed those people with our own eyes.”

Ike grunted softly. “Probably be best. Keep down horror stories, I reckon.”

The large dining room was quiet; only a few Rebels were up and about.

“Goin’ to be a pretty day,” Ike said. “Winds all died down. Jerre asked me to bring her babies to her soon as I could. I could have a chopper down here in an hour; take ‘em to her up in Twin Falls.”

“That’s a good idea, Ike. Why don’t you do that.”

“That’d give you time to look in on the babies and play with ‘em some.”

“I have no intention of doing that,” Ben spoke the words without emotion.

“I see,” his friend said after a few seconds had ticked past. “You’re a hard man, Ben. Knew that the first day I saw you, down in Florida. Sure you need to be this hard?”

“I’m sure.”

“All right.” Ike motioned for a uniformed young woman to come to the table. She rose from a table across the room and walked to where Ike and Ben sat.

“This is Lieutenant Mary Macklin, Ben.”

Ben looked into her eyes and nodded.

“Mary,” Ike said, “you get on the horn and call them ol’ boys up at whirly-bird country. Have one of ‘em bring Jerre down here—pick up her babies.”

“Yes, sir.” The young woman saluted and left.

Ben smiled. “Getting a little rigid on discipline, aren’t you, Ike?”

“That ain’t my idea,” the ex-SEAL replied glumly. “It’s hers. She was regular Army ‘til about six months ago. I can’t get that damned salutin’ out of her. Drives me up the wall.”

“Tell me how you have the people spread out, Ike.”

“I had them pulled in pretty tight at first, Ben. But even with that, we sprayed one hell of an area and burned even more. But the burn was all controlled and nothin’ got out of hand. Twins Falls down to the Nevada line, then across the top of Nevada and Utah to Interstate 15 then north to Pocatello. 15 and 80 is the northern line.” He grinned. “I kept folks right busy, wouldn’t you say?”

“You did all that since I called Lamar?”

Ike’s smile was tight. Controlled. “No. Doctor Chase suspected something was in the wind. Something about finding too many little furry critters dead. Half of it was done before I ever got here. Then when you called we really got jumpin.’”

Ben told him about his idea of shifting everyone to the southeastern U.S.

“Good plan. I was gonna bring that up to you; talked about it some to bunches of folk. They all agree it would be the best move.”

“I don’t want to stay here any longer than is absolutely necessary.”

“I know,” Ike’s reply was softly given. “Bad memories for me, too, friend.” He glanced at his watch. “Couple more hours, we’ll start rollin’ folks out of the sack and get this circus on the road. Sooner we get home the sooner y’all can get settled in for the winter. Then we can start makin’ some firm plans.”

Winter hit the high country with a mindless fury: high winds, blizzard conditions, and bitter cold. Most stayed in unless outside travel was imperative.

The first two weeks of February proved no better as far as the weather was concerned, and the Rebels began developing cabin fever. Ben organized dances and get-togethers and box suppers and card and bingo parties—anything to occupy the time.