William Johnstone - Out of the Ashes

“I’m sorry, Ben,” she whispered.

“I would have been the first to apologize,” he said, caressing her. “But I didn’t know what I’d done. Still don’t.”

“I know, Ben.” She moved under the stroking of his hands.

“I understand,” he said. But of course, he didn’t.

She smiled in the darkness as he touched a breast and she moved a slim hand down his belly.

At breakfast, Salina fixed Ben his favorite foods while he went into the yard to cut her a rose from the many flowering plants around the house. She did not mention to him that he whacked off half the bush to get one rose; merely laughed and thanked him, poured him more coffee, and wondered if she could graft the mangled part back on.

Jack, tactful for one so young, made no mention of his plans to visit the shooting range later that day, and Tina stayed home, helping her adopted mother around the house.

Juno viewed it all with an animal’s patience.

Life in the Tri-states was really not that much different from that in other states or countries.

The communications people in the Tri-states had the finest electronic equipment in America—perhaps the world—for they had commandeered only the very best during their searches. From listening posts high in the mountains of the Tri-states, they monitored dozens of broadcasts daily, not only in America, but around the globe. They listened to military chatter, broke the codes, and knew what was going down, when, and where. They knew the government in Richmond was watching and listening to their every move, as they were listening and watching them.

Kenny Parr’s mercenaries, fighting alongside the regular military, had swept through Louisiana and Mississippi, crushing Kasim’s small army of guerrillas. Kasim was dead, but he had killed the mercenary Parr before he’d died.

The nation was slowly, painfully, being pulled back together. The central government, under the direction of Hilton Logan and, Ben suspected, the military, was taking absolute control… again.

But they kept out of the Tri-states.

A small town stood almost directly in the center of Tri-states. Its name was changed to Vista, and that became the capital. Their flag was a solid, light blue banner with three stars in a circle. A constitution had been drawn up during the first year, much like the Constitution and Bill of Rights of the United States, but going into detail and spelling out exactly what the citizens of Tri-states could receive and expect if they lived under that document.

Early on, Tri-states was broken up into districts and elections were held to choose spokespersons from each district. At the end of the second year, Ben was elected governor for life, running with no opposition and no campaign. The laws of the Tri-states were set by balloting, and were firm against amending.

The first session of the legislature (to be held one time each year, no more than two weeks in length) was probably among the shortest on record, anywhere. Major Voltan, a spokesman from the second district, summed it up.

“Why are we meeting?” he asked. “Our laws are set, they can only be changed by a clear mandate from the people. No one in my district wants anything changed.”

Nor in any of the other districts, it seemed.

“The Constitution states we must meet once a year in session.” Ben spoke.

“To do what?” a farmer spokesman inquired.

“To debate issues,” Cecil said.

“What issues?”

There were none.

“Like the Congress of the United States?” a woman asked. “We’re supposed to behave like they do?”

“More or less,” Cecil said.

“God help us all.”

Laughter echoed throughout the large room.

“I move we adjourn so we can all get back to work and do something constructive,” Voltan said.

“Second the motion.”

“Session adjourned,” Ben said.

Tri-states’ laws, the liberal press said, and even after a nuclear war the press was still controlled by liberals, constituted a gunpowder society.

They were correct to a degree.

But those reporters with more respect for their readers and viewers—and they were outnumbered by their counterparts—looked at Tri-states a bit more closely and called it an experiment in living together, based as much on common sense as on written law. Most of those reporters concluded that yes, Tri-states could probably exist for a long, long time, and it was no threat to America. And, yes, its citizens seemed to be making the Tri-states’ form of government work, for they were of a single mind, and not diversified philosophically.

But could this form of government work with millions of people? No, they concluded, it could not.

And they were correct in that assumption… to a degree.

But most people can govern themselves, once basic laws are agreed upon; if those people are very, very careful and work very, very hard at it.

That a people must be bogged down in bureaucracy; beset by thousands of sometimes oily, rude, arrogant, and frequently hostile local, state, and federal “civil servants”; licensed, taxed, and harassed; ruled by a close-knit clan of men and women whose mentality is not always what it should be and whose weapons are power; be dictated to by judges who are not always in tune with reality; and yammered at year after dreary year that a couple of senators and a handful of representatives have the power to decide the fate of millions… is a myth.

And Tri-states proved it.

There was not much pomp in Tri-states. Ben’s governor’s mansion was a split-level home on the outskirts of Vista. In good weather he rode to work in a Jeep.

Ben was on the road a lot, visiting the districts, listening to grievances, if any; and they were few. But of late, the one question asked, the one question paramount in the minds of Tri-states’ residents was: what happens when we open our borders?

The residents had met in open town meetings (something that was required by law before any decision affecting the lives of the citizens was initiated) and finally had decided to open their borders to the public, if any persons wanted to visit. They had been wholly self-contained for almost six years. Maybe it was time.

But most viewed the border openings with highly mixed feelings.

The Tri-states’ communications people contacted the major TV and radio networks, and the major papers, asking if they would like to cover the opening of Tri-states’ borders.

All did.

“Now the shit really hits the fan,” Ike projected.

The driver of the lead bus brought it to a hissing halt and motioned for the chief correspondent of CBN to come to the front. “Take a look at that, Mr. Charles.” He pointed to a huge red-and-white sign that extended from one side of the road to the other, suspended twenty-five feet in the air. Other buses and vans stopped and discharged their passengers. Cameras focused on the sign and rolled, clicked, and whirred.

“It hasn’t been up long,” a reporter from Portland said. “I’ve been out here a half-dozen times during the past six months and this road has always been blocked. And no sign.” He looked at the message.

WARNING—YOU ARE ENTERING THE TRI-STATES. YOU MUST STOP AT THE RECEPTION CENTER TO FAMILIARIZE YOURSELF WITH THE LAWS OF THIS STATE. DO NOT ENTER THIS AREA WITHOUT PERMISSION AND KNOWLEDGE OF THE LAWS. YOU MUST BE CLEARED AND HAVE ID.—WARNING

The international symbol for “danger—keep out” was on either side of the huge sign.

“I think I want to go home.” A young lady grinned. In truth, a mule team could not have dragged her from the area.

The knot of press people, sound people, and camera-persons laughed. Clayton Charles put his arm around the young woman’s shoulders. “Come, now, Judith—where is your sense of journalistic inquisitiveness?”