Ashes - Fire In The Ashes Part 46

"Yes," Ben brought himself back to the present. "Head 'em up and move 'em out."

"Regrets, partner?"

"I don't think we can afford regrets, Ike. I think we have to look forward, and not look back for a long time."

"Well," Ike stood up and slung his CAR-15. "Let's get rollin.' We sure got a ways to go."

Seven.

IN SEARCH OF A DREAM...

Wreckers and tow trucks and heavy-duty pickups with PTO winches on the front traveled a full day ahead of the main column, clearing the roads of stalled and abandoned vehicles.

The convoy, stretching for miles, left on Interstate 80, picked up Interstate 15, and took that down to south-central Utah. There, they intersected with Interstate 70 and pointed eastward, gently angling south when roads permitted.

It was slow going, the convoy lucky to maintain a 40 mph average-often less than that. Ben, almost always traveling alone, usually was miles ahead of the column. Oftentimes playing games with his guards, deliberately outdistancing them, losing them so he could have some time alone.

When Captain Seymour reported this to Ike and Cecil, both men could only shake their heads.

"Rosita's not with him anymore?" Captain Gray asked.

"No," Ike told him. "Ben says she's too young. I'm worried about him, to speak frankly. He's becoming more withdrawn."

"Ben always has been somewhat of a loner," Cecil said. "But the feeling the men and women have about him is disturbing to him-he told me that."

"Leave him alone," Jerre settled the discussion. "Ben is doing what Ben wants to do. He's got a lot on his mind and this is his way of coping with it. Just leave him alone." And that settled it.

Crossing over a mountain range, Ben pulled off the interstate and jammed his truck into four-wheel drive, climbing high above the interstate. On a crest, he parked, and squatted alone, watching the column crawling snakelike below.

If I had any sense, he thought, I would wait until the column is long past, get in my truck, and head west.

But I would feel like Pilate if I did. Those little boys talking the other evening, when they thought no one could hear them (and G.o.d I wish I had not), talking of the general being a G.o.d. And those teenage boys and girls who joined them-they should have known better; should have corrected the younger ones immediately.

But they didn't.

I am not a G.o.d. I am merely a man who is ten years past true middle age. Maybe I don't feel it; some say I don't look it, but it's not good to attempt to alter the truth.

A G.o.d. d.a.m.n!

When did this start? Did it begin back in '88? If so, why didn't I catch it then?

A G.o.d.

How to stop the talk? What to do? Anything? Yes-of course. Something must be done. But what?

And how? Do I go to the parents and tell them what I heard? But according to other whispered conversations I have overheard and from the looks I have finally put together after being deaf, dumb, and blind for only the true G.o.d knows how long, many of the parents might share that foolish belief. If not to the extent of their kids, at least a bit.

Ben rose from his squat, very conscious he was not as young as he once was (the muscles in his calves were aching from the strain of the unfamiliar position), and walked slowly back to his truck. He had made up his mind: he would see the people located and settled, the society firmed up into a fair and productive existence for those who had placed their faith in him; and then he would, as the saying went, quietly fold his tents and slip away.

He hoped he would have the courage to do that when the time came.

Ben stayed by himself after that, driving alone, sleeping alone, taking his meals alone, being alone. He knew his actions would bring talk, and that proved correct, but he felt it could not be helped. The people had to learn to get along without him. This was the first step in that process.

As the days of spring warmed and slipped by, the column angled into the Oklahoma Panhandle and stayed on secondary roads and state highways until they were south of Oklahoma City, then the lead scouts turned straight east. Seventeen days after leaving Idaho, the first trucks began rolling into Arkansas.

But the legend of Ben Raines did not diminish by his actions of late. It grew. More of his followers began viewing him as something more than just flesh and blood. Many began seeing him and the weapon he carried as though he possessed a power that was somehow of a higher plane than mere mortals.

And a few days after the column reached Arkansas, almost everyone in his command turned their faces toward Ben, looking for direction.

And he did not want the job.

"General," a young radio operator said. Ben and Ike and Cecil turned at the voice. "I was spinning the dials on one of our radios, you know, like we do all the time, hoping to receive something. Well," he paused, "we got a tape recording. Maybe, sir, you'd better hear this with your own ears, sir."

"Lead on, son," Ben said with a smile.

The young man returned the smile. He liked to be around the general. Ben Raines was always so ... so unflappable, so sure of himself. He never seemed to get excited or upset. Maybe it was true what a lot of folks said about him. The young man didn't know for sure, but...

The radio was on when Ben and the others reached the temporary communications shack. The voice coming from the speakers was weak. "...am recording this on a continuous loop. Sick. Don't know how much longer I can hold on. Medicines ran out. Thought the plague problem would be gone this spring.

Wrong. Rats came back. Fleas-G.o.d, the fleas. Everywhere.

"This is Armed Forces Radio from Fort Tonopah, Nevada.... think I'm the last one alive on the base.

Big rats. .h.i.t us in a ... bunch few days ago. Wiped us out in 72 hours. Don't think there is any help for me.

Experiment broadcasting here; sun provides ... power. Should keep transmitting long after ... I'm gone.

New-type plague the medics ... said. Chills, fever, vomiting. Tongues swelled up and turned black. Died ... rats been chewing on this building for couple days. Never seen such big rats. I..."

The tape hissed in its cart for a few minutes. Then the same message was repeated.

The radio operator said, "We have one more tape, sir." He changed frequencies.

"This is a recording from Calgary. I have put this on a continuous loop. Plugged the generator into a bulk tank, so it should broadcast for weeks, maybe months. Twice a day; automatic shutdown and on. I will be dead in a few hours, but someone must know what is happening. A scientist from Montreal was with me for several days; explained what he thought had happened. He killed himself last night ... that would be.... I don't even know what month it is anymore.

"The rats are mutant-he said that should have been expected and no one should have been surprised.

All the radiation and G.o.d only knows what type of germs in the air from the bombings of '88.

"He said the rats were, for years, content. They had plenty of food to eat in the ravaged cities and towns of the world. But a rat is very prolific. One pair can be responsible for thousands. Thousands turn into millions, then billions. But as they overproduced, they had to leave the dead cities in search of food. They carried disease in and on them. We could deal with the mutants; we could even feel sorry for those poor grotesque creatures. But we could not deal with millions upon millions of rats. When we saw we were to be overrun by them, we worked feverishly in setting up this station. The mutants are hideous things to witness; but who do we blame for them? Ourselves, of course. Gerard, the scientist, said he believes the rats will soon die out-they are infected from within. He says. For me, it is too late. They have found a way in. I am putting a bullet in my brain. Better than facing them crawling all over me, gnawing at my flesh. Good-bye."

After a few seconds, the tape began repeating.

"Record both those tapes," Ben told the operator. "Make copies of them and save them. The world will want to know-hundreds of years from now." I hope, he silently added.

"Mutants, General?" someone asked from the crowd in or outside the small communications shack.

"That's what the man said," Ben told them. "And, like he said, it should come as no surprise. Most of you people forty or older were raised on horror movies. Most of us have read the scientists' opinions about what could happen to the human race after a global nuclear war; add to that the germ warheads that bombarded the countries of the world. All right, now we've got it to face and whip it, so we can go on living and producing and rebuilding a modern society.

"We are not alone-we've seen that, many of us. More pockets of survivors will surface as the weeks and months pa.s.s and the plague fades and finally dies. And we are going to rebuild. Bet on it."

He pushed his way out of the building and faced the crowd.

"Get busy," he ordered them. "We haven't got time for lollygagging about. There are gardens to be planted; fields to be plowed and planted; electricity to be restored; homes to be sprayed and repaired.

There is a lot to be done, so let's do it. We'll deal with boogymen if and when we are confronted by them. And I hope I have made myself clear on the subject."

May drifted lazily into June and the fifty-eight hundred men, women, and children that now called this part of the country home, began to drift into the areas they had picked to occupy.

Much of this country had not been lived in-by humans-for twelve years, and it does not take nature long to reclaim what is naturally hers. Vegetation now covered many county and parish roads, and vine-like creepers enveloped many nice homes.

Huge truck patches were started, for home-canning later on. Fields were broken, plowed, and cotton and corn and wheat planted.

And life took on some degree of normalcy.

And as before, Ben watched and guided and oversaw each operation. He told Steve Mailer and Judith Sparkman to get the schools open and get the kids in cla.s.srooms. He wanted schools to be ready to go by September, and don't give him any excuses why it couldn't be done. Just do it. Beginning with this school year, 2000/2001, a high school education would be the minimum allowed. Read. And make it enjoyable for the kids.

Cla.s.srooms would not be filled to overflowing; the children would be given all the attention they needed.

Books would be in every home.Every home. And they will be used. This upcoming generation will be the make-or-break generation for the future of this nation. Do it right. Teach values and ethics and honesty.

And teach the kids to love reading.

That can be done if you use patience and go slowly. And we are in no hurry. Remember this: do it right the first time, and you'll never need to do it over.

His people followed his directions to the letter. But Ben sensed and saw something was gone from the spirit of the survivors. Not all of them, to be sure, but enough of them to worry him. It was not that they were openly rebellious to his wishes; none of them would even dream of doing that. It was much more subtle.

A slight dragging of feet in some areas. Especially education and religion. The former worried him; the latter disturbed him.

He decided he was perhaps pus.h.i.+ng them too hard, and Ben eased off. He would let the people find their own way, set their own pace.

But he knew in his guts what the outcome would be. And he made up his mind that when he witnessed it in any tangible form, he was leaving. He would take no part in the downfall of civilization.

One by one the frequencies on the radios of the Rebels went dead. It appeared-although most knew it was not so-that they were the last humans on earth.

Ben had stepped into the communications shack and was idly spinning the dial when a voice sprang from the speakers.

"It appears to be over," the male voice sprang somewhat m.u.f.fled from the speakers on the wall. "At least in this area. Thank G.o.d. So far as I know, we are the only ones left alive at this base. Five of us.

We barricaded ourselves in a concrete block building that was once used to house some type of radioactive materials, I guess. Anyway, the rats and those other things couldn't get at us. But we had to use the gas masks when we came out. The stench is horrible. There must be millions of dead rats rotting in the sun. I don't know what killed them.

"I was afraid of fleas getting on us, so I had my men put on radiation suits. But the fleas are dead, too.

Little b.a.s.t.a.r.ds crunch under your feet. And the rats?-G.o.d! It's like they did what those ... what are the animals that get together and march to the sea every so often? Lemmings. Yeah, that's it. Seems like every rat in the state of Texas is right outside our door. But at least, by G.o.d, they're dead. I've tried contacting every base I know of. No luck. Anybody out there?"

Ben and his people waited. Someone many thousands of miles away, or with very weak equipment responded. The words were not understandable.

"Say again, buddy," the Texas man asked. "I can't understand you."

But there was no response.

"Get him on the horn," Ben told the radio operator.

"President Raines?" the Texas man said, startled.

"Ex-president," Ben said. "What do you know about the situation in this nation worldwide?"

"Sir? If this is General Raines, the Rebels, man, I'm on your side. Always have been. I drew thirty-days stockade time last year for refusing to divulge your frequency location when I stumbled on it one night.

You were ... 38.7, I believe, coming out of Montana."

Ben laughed. "Okay, soldier, I believe you. What's your name?"

"Sergeant Buck Osgood, sir. Air Force."

"You have any casualty reports, Buck?"

"Sir, this base was untouched until 'bout a month ago. We all had the proper medicines when it first broke last year, late. I don't know what happened; why the medicines stopped working. Maybe they wore off. I don't know. What I do know is there ain'tanybody left. n.o.body is responding to my calls.

We been in this concrete block building for over a week, going from one frequency to another, tryin'

every base. Nothing. It's got to be bad, sir. My guys are gettin' edgy."

"All right, Buck. Here's what I want you boys to do..."

After instructing Buck and his men where the Rebels were, and to come on, Ben walked out of the shack and toward a stand of very thick timber. He wanted to think; wanted to be alone for a time. More and more of late, since leaving Idaho, he had sought solitude.

A young woman's screaming jerked his head up. Ben sprinted for the timber, toward the source of the frightened screaming.

He reached the edge of the timber and came to a sliding stop, his mouth open in shock.