William W. Johnstone - Ashes 11 - Death in the Ashes

BLOOD BATTLE

Even Ben Raines was later forced to admit that

most of the Rebel's attention had been focused on

traversing the terrible highway. That changed in a

hurry when lead started flying and whining off the

vehicles.

"Get those tanks off the trailer!" Ben yelled

into his mike.

The Dusters were the first to unleash their 40mm

cannon fire at the muzzle flashes coming from the

edge of the small town. The main battle tanks

lowered their deadly snouts and blew everything in their

path to hell with 105 HE rounds. Fifty

caliber and 7.62 machine gun fire began raking

the area. Ben let them rock and roll for several

minutes and then picked up his mike.

"Cease fire! Tanks up and check it out.

Rebels behind the tanks. Let's go in and do a little

night hunting!"

THE ASHES SERIES by William W.

Johnstone

NUMBER TITLE

1. OUT OF THE ASHES 2. FIRE IN

THE ASHES 3. ANARCHY IN THE ASHES

4. BLOOD IN THE ASHES 5. ALONE

IN THE ASHES 6. WIND IN THE ASHES

7. SMOKE FROM THE ASHES 8. DANGER

IN THE ASHES 9. VALOR IN THE

ASHES 10. TRAPPED IN THE ASHES

11. DEATH IN THE ASHES 12.

SURVIVAL IN THE ASHES 13. FURY

IN THE ASHES 14. COURAGE IN THE

ASHES 15. TERROR IN THE ASHES

16. VENGEANCE IN THE ASHES 17.

BATTLE IN THE ASHES 18. FLAMES

FROM THE ASHES 19. TREASON IN THE

ASHES 20. D-Day IN THE ASHES

21. BETRAYAL IN THE ASHES 22.

CHAOS IN THE ASHES 23. SLAUGHTER

IN THE ASHES 24. JUDGMENT IN THE

ASHES 25. AMBUSH IN THE ASHES

26. TRIUMPH IN THE ASHES (10/98)

Note:

From the Ashes: America Reborn

- including maps and synopses of all books in the

ASHES series and the Tri-States Manifesto

(pub 4/98)-a must-have for all John-stone fans!

DEATH IN THE ASHES

William W. Johnstone

Pinnacle Books Kensington Publishing Corp.

httpccpinnaclebooks.com

PINNACLE BOOKS are published by

Kensington Publishing Corp. 850 Third

Avenue New York, NY 10022

Copyright [*copy] 1990 by William W.

Johnstone

reproduced in any form or by any means without the

prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting

brief quotes used in reviews.

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be

aware that this book is stolen property. It was

reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the Publisher

and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received

any payment for this "stripped book."

Pinnacle and the P logo Reg. U.s.

Pat. and TM Off.

First Zebra Printing: 1990

First Pinnacle Printing: December, 1998

10 9 8 7 6 5 4

Printed in the United States of America

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters,

places, 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.

Dedicated to Linda Howington. If Ben Raines

makes a mistake, she'll let me know about it.

I slept and dreamed that life was beauty. I

woke-and found that life was duty.

-Ellen Sturgis Hooper

Ben turned his head to gaze at the silence that was

once Monroe, Louisiana. Buddy had cleared

the small city of Night People some months back.

Ben could only wonder if any of the cannibalistic

people had returned. Probably so, he concluded. But

that was now the problem of Ike @.nd Cecil.

The long column rolled on westward and put the

city in their rearview mirrors.

There was no conversation in the Blazer; that would

come later on. For now, Ben and his personal team were

silent with their own thoughts.

The Blazer hit a rough stretch of interstate and

Ben grimaced. That was something else that the Rebels

would have to start on, and do it pretty damned quick. The

nation's highways were deteriorating rapidly; if

something wasn't done to correct it, ground

transportation would be slowed to no more than a crawl.

But Jesus God! Ben thought. There were thousands of

miles of just interstate alone, and the Rebels were

so few. He twisted in the seat and looked at

Beth.

"Make a note, Beth. When I call Base

Camp One this evening, remind me to tell Ike

to put together a combat engineer crew and start working on

the interstate system."

"Yes, sir."

"The Mississippi River bridge at

Vicksburg is to be guarded at all times."

"Yes, sir."

"Ruston up ahead," Cooper said. "You want

to stop, General?"

"No. All this sector is Ike's baby now.

We'll start our inspection tours when we clear the

Louisiana line." Ben lifted the mike from

its hook and keyed it. "Eagle to Scout."

"Go, Eagle," Tina's voice came through the

speaker.

"Give me your twenty."

"Coming up on Minden."

"Roll on through. Stop at Bossier City and

wait for us."

"Ten-four, Eagle. It'll be slow going from our

position on. The roads are not in good shape."

"Ten-four. Any detours to watch for?"

"Not yet. And no signs of life either."

"I was afraid of that. Eagle out." Ben opened

a map case and studied the clear plastic enclosed

map. Maps had become very precious articles;

they were taken whenever they were found. And they were constantly

being updated by a small section of Rebels working

at Base Camp One. Whenever the forever wandering

teams of Scouts found a bridge out, they would

radio back to Base Camp One and alert the

map section. The map crews would then change the

maps and radio that information out to all field units.

And it was a job that seemed never to end as the nation's

highway system continued to fall slowly but steadily

into disrepair.

The long convoy was slowed to a crawl after

passing the Minden exit.

"We'll be lucky to make it out of Louisiana

by nightfall," Ben said. "And this used to be an

easy three-hour run." He smiled. "Driving

only slightly over the posted speed limit, that

is."

"General Raines breaking the law," Jersey said

sarcastically. "I just can't believe that."

Ben took the ribbing with a smile.

"I remember order and laws and policemen and

TV and all that," Corrie spoke from the back

seat. "But I didn't appreciate the safety of

it, of course. Not until the whole world fell

apart."

"That's the way it always is, Corrie," Ben

said. "Now it's up to us to try to rebuild it back

to some semblance of what it used to be."

"It seems an impossible task for so few of

us," she countered.

backslash

"Castro started a revolution with only three or

four people-and won."

"Who's Castro?" Jersey asked.

Ben halted the column at Bossier City, a

couple of hours before dark. They needed that much

time to seek safe shelter and set up guard posts

and for the meals to be distributed.

Ben set up his CP in the Hilton Inn in

Bossier, just off 1-20. A team of Rebels

began scouting out the hotel and reported back that they

had found nothing, except a lot of litter. They

declared the interior of the building secure.

Ben radioed back to Base Camp One and

reported in. He instructed Ike to form an

engineer team and get to work on the roads and

bridges.

"None of us will ever live to see the highway

system completely repaired," Ike told him.

"I know it. But it's a start. We can only

hope that those who come after us will continue our work. Have you

heard anything from Striganov?"

"Nothin' since you pulled out. I expect he's

busy outfitting his people and then will move over to the

Canadian line, to wait for you."

"Ten-four. Talk to you tomorrow. Eagle out."

Ben ate an early dinner and walked outside,

joining Dan and Buddy and Tina in the parking lot.

"We'll stay on Interstate 20 to Dallas,"

he told them. "We'll spend a few days there

checking the place out. From Dallas, we'll

hook up with 287 to Wichita Falls. I want

an outpost established in that area, so Dan, you start

talking to the settlers with us. We'll spend a few

days with them, helping them get settled in."

"Yes, sir."

"After that?" Tina asked.

"We'll play it by ear," Ben told his

daughter.

Ben had heard the sounds of something alien to the night

reach his ears. He let the others talk while he

listened. He stepped back away from the others; they

were deep in conversation and did not notice. He

cradled his Ml4 and walked toward the hotel

building, his eyes moving, searching the darkness. There

it was! Something. . . no, several somethings were

crouched in the darkness next to a line of rusting and

long-abandoned vehicles. Ben could not make out what

they were; he assumed they were humans, for the light

breeze was coming from their direction and he could not

detect the hideous scent of Night People, which he

considered a subhuman species.

Ben stepped close to the building, putting himself out

of sight of the hostiles, and he had to assume they were

hostiles until they proved otherwise. He began

working his way along the side of the building.

Dan picked that time to glance at Ben. Ben pointed

to the line of cars.

One second Dan and Tina and Buddy were standing

up talking, the next instant they had vanished.

Tina stayed where she was, flat on the parking lot,

weapon ready, while Buddy and Dan circled the

row of cars.

A figure darted from the darkness of the abandoned

cars, a short-barreled Uzi in his hand. Ben knew

it was a he because of the shaved head clearly visible in the

darkness, and the way his jeans fit.

"Looking for me, punk!" Ben called.

The young man spun around, bringing up the Uzi and

letting loose a stream of lead in Ben's

direction.

But Ben had moved, shifting positions as soon as

the words had left his mouth. The slugs hit concrete

and glass and nothing else. Ben leveled the old

Thunder Lizard, set on full rock and roll, and

gave the skinhead a burst of .308's. Ben was

using a twenty-round magazine; the thirty-round

mags

were too heavy and clumsy when the Ml4 was fired from

the shoulder. Ben used them when the Ml4 was bipoded.

The .308's lifted the skinhead off his

boots and dropped him to the parking lot.

Dan and Buddy were firing from Ben's left, so

Ben did the only sensible thing under the circumstances:

he went belly-down on the concrete until the

firing had ceased.

"General!" Dan called.

"I'm all right. What'd you have over there?"

"A pile of dead bodies. No. Here's one

left alive."

The area had filled with Rebels.

"Secure it," Ben told them, then walked over

to stand with Dan and Buddy.

"They're all bald," Buddy said. "What

happened to their hair?"

"They shaved it off," Dan told him, kneeling

down beside the badly wounded young man.

"Yeah, man," the badly wounded skinhead said.

"Just like our daddies done. It's groovy. So if

you don't like it, screw you!" He groaned, both

hands holding his bullet-torn belly.

One of Ling's medics appeared, medical kit in

hand. He looked at the young man, then looked up

at Ben and shook his head.

Ben knelt down. "You have anything you'd like to say,

boy. You're hard hit."

"Yeah," he gasped. "Death to all niggers and

wops and spies and slopes and Jews and ..."

Ben tuned him out. He'd heard it all before . .

. many times. He looked at Dan. The

Englishman arched one eyebrow.

When the young man paused, gasping for breath, and

sweating from the pain, Dan said, "Now that

you have most profanely stated your opinion of what

at one time comprised about ninety percent of the earth's

population, perhaps you would be so kind as to enlighten us as

to what you and your . . . cohorts were doing skulking

about in the shadows?"

"Haw?"

Dan sighed. "What the hell were you doing here?"

"We come to kill Ben Raines."

Ben did not change expression. At least half

the population left on earth-at least in North

America comwanted to kill him. All that had started

years back, when civilization-for wont of a better

word-was still flourishing, and Ben had been a popular

writer of fiction. Ben had called it like he saw

it, on a great many subjects, until finally he was

receiving several hundred hate letters a year. His

home had been shot into and he had been shot at

several times.

His position was that anyone who kills another

person while drinking and driving should be put to death.

Honky-tonks should be burned to the ground. Poachers

should be imprisoned . . . for a long time.

Domesticated animals have rights. Anyone who would

poison a dog should be forced to eat the same

poison. Most judges had shit for brains. You

couldn't be a lawyer and be honest. And so on and so

forth.

To say that Ben was opinioned was like saying an

elephant was heavy; no need to dwell on the

obvious.

"So what else is new?" Ben asked. "You're

too young to have read any of my books-that can't be it.

Besides, you're probably illiterate. . ." Ben

looked down at the young man. He was wasting his

breath. The man was dead.

Buddy was going through the pockets of the dead men.

"Find anything, son?" Ben asked.

Buddy put his flashlight beam on a piece of

paper. The paper had been encased in plastic. He

quickly scanned the typewritten words, holding it in

a gloved hand. "They belong to some sort of

survivalist group, Father. This was written by someone

of very limited intelligence." He handed the

paper to Ben.

Ben stood up. "Glove up and inspect these

bodies," he ordered. "Then burn them." He

walked back into the hotel and sat down, adjusting the

light of the battery-powered lamp to better read.

It was a declaration of war from some group with the name of

Help Americans Live, Fight, And Stay

Strong.

Ben had to chuckle at first, then he burst out

laughing when he shortened the title to the first letter of

each word.

HALF ASS

Tina and Dan looked at him, curious

expressions on their faces.

The short document declared war on everybody not of the

Aryan persuasion, and it did so profanely comwitha

number of misspelled words. But whoever had written

it certainly managed to get their point across. Since

the Rebels had people of all races and colors within

its ranks, Ben Raines's Rebels were number

one on the target list to be killed. Especially

Ben Raines.

And Emil Hite and Thermopolis were also on the

list.

"Tina?" Ben called. "Get on the

horn and advise Base Camp to inform Emil that

he and his followers are on a hit list from this bunch

of nuts." He waved

the paper. "And radio our people with Thermopolis that

Therm and his bunch are also on the list. Advise them

all to go to middle alert and stay there."

"What's the name of this bunch, Dad?" Tina

asked.

Ben told her.

Tina looked startled. Dan said, "I beg your

pardon, sir?"

Ben repeated it.

Dan walked away, muttering and shaking his head.

Tina went to the communications truck to alert those on

the hit list.

Buddy entered the lobby and walked to his father,

sitting down. "They're well armed, Father. Uzis,

and the weapons are in good shape. They might be a

bunch of nuts, but they take good care of their arms."

"You find out anything else about them?"

"A Rebel patrol found their motorcycles."

He paused. "And the women who came with them."

"Alive or dead?"

"Very much alive."

"Wonderful." Ben's reply was very

drily offered. "Were they with the crash truck?"

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

Dan had returned, to stand by Ben's chair.

"I did a book on motorcycle gangs

years back. The crash truck is a van or

truck or sometimes a converted school bus that

travels about a mile or so behind the main bunch of

bikers. It's used to pick up broken-down

bikes. It's also used to carry the weapons, ammo,

supplies, and drugs. It's almost always driven

by females. Send out patrols to locate it.

It'll be around. Bet on it."

"Yes, sir. Sir?"

"Yes?"

"We found identical tattoos on the men."

"A 1% symbol?"

"Yes, sir. How did you know that?"

"That's an old symbol. Years back, the

American Motorcycle Association stated that

ninety-nine percent of the nation's motorcyclists

belonged to the AMA and were law-abiding. The 1%

symbol became the mark of the outlaw bikers. If

these are the people who took out our patrols in the

Northwest, they're well organized, strong in

number, and dangerous as hell."

"There is one woman with them who says she is not

a part of this group. The other females

corroborate her statements. They say she is

something called a Cutie-whatever that means."

"That means, son, that she was kidnapped, taken

against her will, and probably raped and beaten

into submission."

Buddy thought about that for a moment. "Why, Father,

back when law and order was supposed to have

prevailed, didn't society do something about these

gangs?"

"What would you have done, son?"

"I would have eliminated them, Father."

Ben smiled. "Yes. I also advocated that,

too, Buddy. Which is another reason why I'm still

on somebody's hit list."

"You goddamn right you are, you son of a bitch!" the

female voice shouted at Ben from the doorway.

"Motorcycle Mamas," Ben said. "My,

what an interesting trip this is going to be."

The Mamas were not unattractive, in a rough sort

of way. However, it appeared that none of them had

taken time to bathe in what Ben guessed to be about a

year and a half, approximately.

Without getting up from his chair, Ben said,

"Take these . . . people to the shower tent and give them

soap. After they have bathed, or you have been forced to bathe

them, and if the latter is the case, find steel

horse brushes to use on them, disinfect them, and

bring them back to me. Burn their clothing."

The women were taken fnj greater-than more the hotel,

kicking and cussing and biting and

behaving in a most unladylike fashion.

"Where is the, ah, Cutie?" Ben asked.

"She's being looked at by the medics. Doctor

Ling is having her tested for diseases. She says she

was kidnapped several days ago. She and her boyfriend

were driving to join us at Base Camp One. The

boyfriend was tortured and then killed."

"Name?"

"Meg Callahan."

Ben grinned. "I bet she's redheaded and has a

temper."

"She most certainly does have a temper," Dan

said. "She gave me a proper cursing, then

apologized when she found I was part of the Rebels.

And her hair is auburn. However, it is in her

favor that her ancestors came from Southern

Ireland. She did not spring from that damnable

bunch in Northern Ireland."

The ex-British SAS officer had little good

to say about Northern Ireland, having served several

tours of duty there, fighting the IRA.

"Now, now, Dan," Ben kidded him, looking up

as Tina once more entered the hotel lobby.

"All parties notified, Dad," she told

him. "What's all that screaming about over at number

three shower tent?"

"Some, ah, ladies are being forced to bathe."

"Ladies! If those broads are ladies,"

Tina declared, "I'm the Jolly Green Giant."

Ben laughed and rose from his chair, walking to the

ever-present coffee pot and pouring himself a cup.

He turned to face his daughter.

"HadThermo-polis ever heard of this bunch of

bikers?"

"No. It was news to him. And Base has

absolutely no intel on the group."

"Well, I guess it's up to us to provide

it." Ben walked back to his chair. "When the,

ah, ladies return from their bath, have Ling let his

interrogation people work on them. And I want to see

Meg Callahan as soon as the medics are through with

her."

Dr. Ling entered the hotel lobby and walked up

to Ben, taking a seat. "I think," the doctor said,

"Miss Callahan was a very fortunate young lady.

The group that kidnapped her was in a hurry to get

to us, you specifically, General. She was not raped.

That was to come later; after you were killed-sort of a

victory celebration, one might say."

Ben grunted. He lifted his eyes as Meg was

escorted into the hotel lobby. Auburn hair,

green eyes, a very lovely Irish lass. Ben

guessed her at about five-five. Very shapely.

He stood up. "Miss Callahan. Won't

you take a seat?"

Tina rolled her eyes at this unexpected

gallantry from her father. That usually meant that he had

something up his sleeve or was romantically interested

in the woman-or both.

But in a way she was glad tQuite see it. It

meant that her dad had finally decided to puj; Jerre

out of his mind forever. Or at least try. She cut

her eyes to Buddy. He was smiling.

Meg put her green eyes on Ben and stared at

him for a long moment. Six feet one or two, she

guessed. Dark hair peppered with gray. Strange

blue eyes. She guessed him to be around

fifty. Maybe one hundred ninety pounds.

Looked to be in excellent physical shape. Not

a handsome man in the pretty boy vein, but. . .

interesting-looking. Very interesting-looking.

"Thank you, General Raines."

"Somebody bring Miss Callahan a cup of

what now passes for coffee." They had found a

warehouse full of coffee in New York City,

but that was carefully hoarded, and not for everyday use.

Coffee in hand, Meg sipped and sighed

gratefully.

"Tell me what you can, if anything, about this bunch

of bikers who, whether they knew it or not, have named

themselves HALFASS."

The woman looked startled for a moment, and then

burst out laughing. "HALFASS?" she finally

managed to ask.

"Yes. Help Americans Live, Fight,

And Stay Strong."

"I never put it together," she admitted.

"Well, I probably know more about them than I ever

cared to know. Where to start?"

"From the beginning, Miss Callahan."

"Call me Meg."

"Very well, Meg. Where was your home?"

"Originally?"

"Yes."

"Southern California. Los Angeles. My

mother was an actress-mostly bit parts, but steady work

nonetheless. My father was a writer. Paperbacks."

"Matt Callahan?"

She nodded.

"Hell, I knew him well. We met at a

WWA convention three-four years before the balloon

went up. Both of us had books up for Best

Western that year."

"I know. You won. Dad said you deserved it."

"That would be just like him. Go on, please."

"I was visiting my mother on location the summer the

bombs came. In Arizona. We became

separated in all the confusion. I've never seen her

since. Eventually I drifted up into Wyoming-that was

after five or six years of drifting around-and found

myself a little

cabin, and stayed. Raised a garden in the summer and

hunted for meat during the winter ..."

Ben thought it odd that she had mentioned nothing about her

father.

"About three years ago, Satan showed up."

"Who!"

"The biker who calls himself Satan."

"He's the head of this HALFASS business?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. Anyway, he

tried to come on to me. I told him to get the hell

off my land. He left, but came back later that

night. I shot him. Thought I'd killed him, but

later found out he was only slightly wounded. It

got really wearisome there for a time. I had to watch my

back at all times."

"No man in your life?"

"There have been very few men in my life, General.

I generally find I can get along without them very

well."

Ben smiled. "Oh?"

"Yes. And no, I don't like girls-not in the

way you were probably thinking."

"I wasn't thinking that at all, Meg."

She studied him for a moment. "Yes, you

probably weren't thinking that. From all that I've

been able to find out about you, you're ari honorable

man."

"I don't know about honorable, Meg. I

swore off women about a year ago, that's all."

She arched one eyebrow.

"And no, I don't like boys, either!"

They shared a laugh, Meg saying, "Anyway,

I pulled out. I hated to because I'd been there for a

long time. I loved that little place. Satan found

me. I moved again. He found me again. Then

suddenly the

harassment stopped. For a year I lived alone, and

without being bothered. I couldn't figure it out. Then

one day this young man showed up; he was five or six

years younger than me. He'd been tortured

by Satan and his group. Managed to escape. I

hid him for the rest of that year."

She paused and Ben took it up. "How many people

does Satan have?"

"Men and women?"

"Yes."

"Thirty-five hundred, I'd guess. Their

headquarters is Sheridan. It was a ... brutal

takeover. The bikers are not nice people."

"The women play the same role as the men in

Satan's army. By that, I mean . . ."

"I know what you mean." She frowned. "Not all

of them are fighters. Although all can fight, if you know

what I mean."

Ben nodded.

"I would guess that the Rattlesnake

Kid . . ."

"The

who?"

Ben blurted.

Her smile was a mixture of humor and sadness.

"The Rattlesnake Kid. He calls himself

Snake. Anyway, I would guess that Snake

has probably a thousand men; maybe fifteen

hundred. So that means a force of over, oh, three

William W. Johnstone - Ashes 11 - Death in the Ashes

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