William W. Johnstone - Ashes 07 - Smoke from the Ashes

AMBUSH!

Ben Raines's eyes caught the glint of

sunlight off metal or glass in the tall grass

by the side of the overpass. Might be a sniper up

there, he thought. He turned back to Big Louie.

"What about it?" Ben asked.

Louie's lips grew pouty. "Ultimatums,

general? That's not a very nice way to begin a

relationship."

The man standing beside Louie suddenly turned,

stepping to one side, a movement that put him

directly in front of Ben.

A moment later the sound of a rifle booming reached

them.

The slug hit the man's battle harness, and an

explosion momentarily deafened Ben just as the

man in front of him seemed to disintegrate before

Ben's eyes.

Then the rifle cracked again and something smacked

Ben on the back of his head, dropping him into darkness

...

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SMOKE FROM THE ASHES

BY WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE

PINNACLE BOOKS KENSINGTON PUBLISHING

CORP.

httpccwww.williamjohnstone.com

To: Jon Paul and Jane

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters 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.

PINNACLE BOOKS are published by

Kensington Publishing Corp. 850 Third

Avenue New York, NY 10022

Copyright [*copygg'1987 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: October,

First Pinnacle Printing: March, 1998 10 9

8 7 6 5 4

Printed in the United States of America

I leave this rule for others when I'm dead.

Be always sure you're right-then go ahead.

David Crockett

If life had a second edition, how I would

correct the proofs?

John Clare

BOOK ONE

Chapter 1

The young man listened to his mother's screaming

harangue, but paid scant attention to her shrieking.

It was always the same. Everything bad that had happened

was the fault of Ben Raines. Ben Raines was the

Great Satan. Ben Raines this and Ben

Raines that and Ben Raines must die.

The young man had known for some time that his mother was very

nearly a basket case. But she was still his mother,

and-What was that old saying? Blood is thicker than

water, or something like that.

The young man stepped further back, in order

to better inspect the crowd who listened with rapt

attention to the woman's words. The expression on their

faces was one of love and devotion and fanaticism.

Hell, they're just as crazy as she is! the young

man thought.

Poor, misguided, foolish people.

The young man looked at the new additions to his

mother's army. Those scabby, savage motorcyclists

who had come roaring in from the west, after being soundly

defeated by General Raines. He had listened to his

mother speak to them when they first arrived.

Same old shit.

The young man backed further away from the mob

and shook his head sadly. He thought: You made a

mistake, Mother, when you insisted I be educated.

When you insisted I learn languages and study the

writings of the ancient intellectuals. Patrick

Henry said it, Mother: I have but one lamp by which my

feet are guided, and that is the lamp of

experience. I know no way of judging the future but

by the past.

And if I stay with you, Mother, I'll soon be as

crazy as you are. And you, Mother, your babblings, are not

the answer. Your hate has consumed you.

He saw movement to his right and just to his rear.

He cut his eyes. An old man motioned to him.

He walked to the old man.

"I see your motorcycle is ready for the

road," the old man said. "You've made up your

mind then?"

"Yes."

"Good. It's past time for you to get away from your

mother, before she poisons you, like she has done so many."

"I fear I shall never see you again, old man."

"You won't. The cancer is growing. Sometimes the

pain is almost too much to bear. I think I only

lived this long to see you gone and free from your mother."

"Is he really my father, old man?"

"Yes. Of that I am certain. You have his eyes,

his intelligence, his bullheadedness, and his drive

to organize; to pull something better for all out of the

ashes of this horror we've been living in for

years."

"Should I, when we meet, tell him the

entire truth, old man?"

"Oh, yes. Don't try to lie to him. He'd

see through that instantly."

"Is he really a god?"

The old man hesitated. "I... don't know.

I rather doubt it; but I can't be sure." He

gripped the young man's thick, strong arm. "Go now,

boy. Turn away

and never look back. And may the true and only

God ride with you."

The old man limped painfully into the timber.

The young man walked swiftly to his

motorcycle and cranked it into life. He toed it

into gear and rolled out. He did not look back.

"How would you have changed history, General

Raines?" a young Rebel asked Ben.

The Rebels were bivouacked by the shores of a

small lake in Central Kansas. They had

pulled over early in the day to make some much needed

repairs to some trucks.

"That's a very interesting question, son," Ben said with a

laugh. "What time frame in history are you speaking

of?"

"Ten years before the Great War," another young

Rebel said.

Ben started to ask, "Which Great War?" But he

knew which one the Rebel meant. The world war that brought

the entire world, free and otherwise, to its knees.

The war from which the world had never recovered.

How would I have changed history? Ben silently

mused. He hid a smile, thinking: I would have shot

every goddamned liberal.

But he knew he would not have done that, for while Ben

Raines sometimes leaned so far to the conservative right

some wondered how he managed to walk upright,

figuratively speaking, Ben shared many of the liberal

views. The difference was, Ben backed up his

views with gunpowder.

"What do you know about that time before the Great War?"

Ben asked, looking at the young Rebel who had

asked the question. The young man could

not have been much more than ten years old, if that

old, when the world collapsed.

Several hundred Rebels, including Ike

McGowan, had gathered around. Ike had been with

Ben from the outset; had been with him, working beside him,

when Ben's dream, the Tri-States, had become

reality. The ex-navy Seal was just about Ben's age;

both men's hair peppered with gray.

Ike winked at Ben.

The young Rebel said, "I know that it was a time of

great confusion. Of a lot of people being rich and a lot of people

being poor, with not much in between."

Ben also knew the young man had no real knowledge of what

being rich or poor meant. The dollar had not been in

use for some time. And within Rebel-held territory,

no one went hungry, or went in rags, or

lacked proper housing or fuel to keep warm. But

outside of Rebel-controlled territory in this,

what was left of America, roaming gangs of thugs

and punks and killers ruled. Men and women and children

lived in daily fear for their lives.

Again, Ben had to hide a smile. Hell, he

thought, maybe that much hasn't changed in this, the

second decade after the Great War, and the government

smashing of the Tri-States.

"It was a confusing time," Ben said. And the gathering of

Rebels, young, middle-aged, and old, fell

silent in order to better hear the words from General

Raines. "It was also a time of great greed. The

philosophy of many was: Give me more money for

less work. I want everything my neighbor has.

Many companies literally priced themselves out of existence

while the quality of their merchandise went to hell in a

bucket. Not all people felt that way, but enough

did to tip the balance.

"It was a time when the criminal had more rights than the

law-abiding citizen." Don't they ever get tired

of hearing this? Ben thought. How many times over the years

have I made this same speech? A hundred? More?

Probably.

"The United States was surrounded by nations who

called themselves our friends, but not so secretly hated

us. Britain, and in some respects, Canada,

stayed with us to the end. If the germ-carrying bombs had

not come, we would have probably had to fight a war with

Mexico. Communism had already crept up to that

nation's southern borders. Our United Nations was

nothing more than a cancerous wart sitting in New

York City. All anyone would have had to do was count

the votes against us every time a vote was taken, and they

could have seen what was happening. Many of the so-called

Third World nations wanted our money, our aid, and

then turned around and farted in our faces every chance they

got."

Ben took that time to roll one of the few

cigarettes he allowed himself daily. Piss-poor

cigarettes they were, too. Good tobacco, if there

ever was such a thing, was no more. Like coffee, a free

ride, welfare, Legal Aid, the

ACLU, unions, the stock market, General

Motors, apple pie, and the girl next

door-all gone. When the government crumbled, it was

the end.

"What would I have done?" Ben asked the question. "It

was so complex, and yet so simple. I -- his

"General?" an aide interrupted. "Sorry,

sir. But we've got company."

Ben ground out his hand-rolled smoke and stood up.

"Where and how many?"

"Comin' from the east, sir. Half a dozen cars

and trucks. Scouts say four people to each car, the

trucks are full of people."

"How far away?"

"Couple of miles out, sir."

Ben picked up his old Thompson SMG, knowing

all eyes were on him as he did so. "Let's go

see what we've got, people."

"Pitiful," Ike said. "No matter how many

times I see it, it's still pitiful."

The men were beaten down; the eyes of the women

frightened; the kids dirty and probably hungry.

"I know," Ben said.

"We don't mean y'all no harm," a man

spoke from out of the ragged group. "But we'd be

much obliged if y'all had some food for the kids."

"Alabama?" Ben asked the man.

"South Carolina," the man replied. "We

don't look like much now, sir, but we was doin' all

right until Khamsin and his people blowed in. We had us

a coop farm, nice gardens, ever'thing. We'd fought

outlaws, motorsickel gangs, white trash, and

black trash and you name it, and we'd pulled through all

right. But Lord have mercy! That Khamsin and his bunch of

heathens was just too much."

All the Rebels gathered around had noticed the

black family among the whites. One good thing had

come out of the horror of germ and nuclear war: Blind

prejudice, among most, was a forgotten thing.

From the intelligence Ben had received about Khamsin

and his troops, the residents of South Carolina were

indeed having a bad time of it. Ike had just

returned from Khamsin's HQ, where the ex-Seal

had led a small team in to rescue his ladylove,

Nina. During the raid, the so-called invincible

Khamsin, The Hot Wind, had been wounded in his

Libyan ass.

Ben said, "You people get something to eat. We'll

talk later." He motioned Col. Dan Gray

to one side. "Find out as much as you can from these

people, Dan. They seem like fairly decent folks

to me."

"My first impression agrees with that, general," the

Englishman said. "This would be a fine place to start

another outpost, right, sir?"

"You're reading my mind again, Dan," Ben

replied with a grin.

Gen. Ben Raines's latest dream was to build

a series of outposts across the land, stretching from east

to west, and eventually, from north to south, each outpost

about a hundred miles apart. The outposts would be

staffed by civilians, with a small contingent of

Rebels to beef them up. Maybe then, yes,

only

then, could the nation begin the slow, painful process of

pulling itself out of the ashes of ruin and war and desperation.

It damn sure was worth a try. The people

certainly had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Since the Great World War, no country had been

able to pull itself out of the rubble and form even a semblance

of workable government.

No one except Ben Raines and his Rebels.

Tri-States had worked. It had not worked to the

satisfaction of all, but it had worked to the

satisfaction of all those who lived within its

borders. But then the struggling government of the United

States, with all the fury and intolerance of a

government toward any type of change, had smashed

the Rebels' dreams.

Shortly after that, Ben Raines and his Rebels

had taken over the government of the United States,

and Ben had been installed as president. It was to be

a

short tenure, for after the horror of germ and

nuclear warfare, there followed the plague that

threatened to completely wipe out humankind worldwide.

But the human spirit is difficult, if not

impossible to crush, and many more people than Ben and his

Rebels first thought survived through the disease-carrying

rats and fleas.

But there was not a stable government anywhere in the

entire world. The world, the countries of the world, the

government of those countries, large to tiny, from

Russian to Monaco, were no more.

Ben had not traveled outside the boundaries of the

United States since the Great War, but he had

no reason to doubt the stories that had drifted to him.

The stories were appalling. Many people around the world had

reverted back, in such an amazingly short time,

to barbarism. Even in what remained of the

United States, warlords had risen out of the rubble and

ruin, to claim all sorts of territory,

to enslave the people, to rob and rape and loot. There were people

within the borders of the United States who had

reverted back to the caves, calling themselves the

Underground People, rarely venturing out during the daylight

hours. All sorts of cults and so-called

religions had sprung out of the ashes, preaching all

sorts of semi-religious bullshit. Most of it

hate filled. And a lot of the hate was directed

toward Ben Raines and his Rebels.

The far Northeast was out of bounds for anyone,

human or otherwise coms far as Ben knew. That

area of the country had taken several nuclear hits,

along with a few other cities. Most had died from the

germ warfare.

And there were mutants that roamed the land, products

of the germ and chemical and nuclear bombs. Part

human, part animal, and God alone

knew what else. Great hairy beasts, the

adults as large as the biggest polar bear, and

twice as dangerous because the mutants had some

capacity for thought and reason.

There was danger anywhere one ventured. No one

dared to go unarmed. To do so, to be unprepared,

to drop one's guard for even a moment, in this now

savage land, was to court death-or worse.

And in South Carolina, waiting to spread like a

wildfire, was the Libyan, Khamsin, The Hot

Wind, and his thousands of troops. For now, Khamsin

and his people were contained; Ben's Rebels and the civilian

fighters along the borders of South Carolina were

holding The Hot Wind, allowing it to blow within that

state, but preventing it from spreading.

But while some of his people may have been kidding themselves,

Ben Raines knew that Khamsin and his troops could

break out wherever and whenever they chose to do so. Why they

had not done so was something that still puzzled Ben.

But he knew that before he could really, effectively

start his outposts across the land, Khamsin had to be

dealt with. And dealt with in extreme prejudice.

In other words, kill the son of a bitch!

"Now I think I'm a good Christian man,

General Raines," the spokesman with the group from

South Carolina told Ben. "But I worship the

God I choose. That damned bunch of heathens that's

took over South Carolina is forcin' people to forsake

Jesus Christ and God Almighty to worship

Allah. Now, I ain't knockin' anybody's

religion, but I'll worship my God,

not somebody else's God. And I'll fight for that

right, sir."

The man was ragged, but there was steel in his

words, and the weapons they all carried were old, but

well cared for.

Ben held out his right hand and the man shook it.

"You're my kind of man, sir," Ben told him.

"Are there any more following behind you?"

"Not many more, General Raines." The man had

gotten over his shock upon learning that he was in the

company of the legendary and famed Gen. Ben Raines.

Ben looked at his map. The column was just north

of Great Bend, Kansas, a small city that had,

before the Great War, a population of about sixteen

thousand. Ben had briefed the newcomers of his plans

of forming outposts across the country. The people from South

Carolina were all immediately interested and eager to be a

part of it.

"It won't be easy," Ben told them all.

"And it will be lonely and dangerous."

"You lead, sir," the spokesman said. "And

we'll follow."

Ben smiled. "Let's go!"

Chapter 2

Nothing.

A strange, almost eerie silence greeted the

column as they rolled up to and stopped at the

outskirts of Great Bend, Kansas.

Ben got out of his truck and stood alone in the

center of Highway 56. He listened intently, but

could hear only the lonely sighing of the hot, late

summer wind as it whispered dark and bloody

secrets from times past.

Ike joined Ben, and Ben was glad that the man had

flown back from Base Camp One after Nina's

rescue to rejoin him.

"Eerie," Ike said.

"More and more we're seeing this," Ben said, his voice

soft in the heat that reflected up off the roadway.

"People forsaking the towns to head for the deep country.

Splintering off into groups of two and three

families. But they don't realize, even now,

they're committing suicide by doing that. Seems like

they'd know by now that the only strength is in loyal

numbers."

"They'll probably realize it," Ike said

sourly. "Right before they die."

"Hell of a way to find out," Ben said.

"Sergeant!" he called. "Get a flag from the

truck. Dan! Send your teams in to recon

the town."

"Right away, sir!"

The long column waited under the sun. A hour

passed before the recon team leader radioed back.

"Nothing and nobody, sir. The town, as far as

we're able to determine, is deserted."

"Cordon it off," Dan," Ben ordered. "Then

begin a house-to-house, building-to-building

search. Let's be sure of what we've got."

He motioned for an aide to come over. "At Dan's

orders, start the other teams in to label and store

anything that's useful. G."

"Yes, sir."

Ben turned to the man from South Carolina. "Are

you in contact with any of the people coming up behind you?"

"No, sir. But they know the route. That was

preplanned."

"Any malcontents among them? Bigots,

laggards, anyone like that?"

"No, sir. We copied our form of existence from

you, general. From the old Tri-States

philosophy. Everybody works. If they don't

work, they don't stay. We take care of the old and

sick. But able-bodied people work."

"We'll stay here with you for a couple of

days," Ben told him. "If you've survived this

long, you know something about defense. We'll upgrade

your weapons, leave you plenty of ammo and the wherewithal

to produce more. Then we'll push on. For this first

winter, food might present a problem for you. You

might be eating a lot of game, but I suspect

you're used to that."

The man grinned. "Growed up on it, general.

We'll start farmin' and putting in gardens come

spring."

Ben sighed. "Well, it's a start. We might

be able to pull it off. God knows, we've got

to try."

"It's never gonna be the way it was, is it,

general?"

"Not in our lifetime," Ben said, thinking,

probably never again.

Ben was awakened by the guard commander just after

midnight. "We got company, general."

Ben pulled on his boots and slipped into his

ammo harness. He picked up his Thompson and said,

"Who are they and how many of them?"

"Identity unknown, sir. At least a couple of

hundred of them out there."

"Have they made their intentions known?"

"They're either awfully arrogant or extremely

stupid, Ben." Ike's voice came through the

darkness. "They think they're slipping up on us.

Our forward posts reported them moving into our area

about forty-five minutes ago. I decided to let you

sleep until we were sure what they were up to."

Ike had moved closer, and Ben could see the

smile on the man's lips. "And exactly what

are they up to?"

"We captured one of them. Dude looks like

something out of one of those old punk-rock movies.

Of all the things I have to remember from back in the

'80's, it would have to be that shit."

"They are rather unforgettable," Ben said drily.

"Warlords type?"

"Right. Are you ready for this, Ben?"

"Give it to me."

"They follow some guy calls himself Zorro."

"Does he wear a mask and a cape?" Ben

asked with a smile.

The young guard did not have the foggiest idea what

General Raines and General McGown were talking

about. Zorro was a new one on him.

Ike laughed. "Let's hope not. I'd be

laughing too hard to shoot him."

"You're in our territory," the young man told

Ben. "And for that, you all will die."

Ben sat and stared at the odd-looking young man.

His head was shaved, all except for a strip of hair

down the center of his head. And that was colored orange

and green. He wore high-topped boots, leather

britches, and a sleeveless T-shirt.

"You're the goddamnedest thing I've ever seen

since the days of Alice Cooper, boy," Ben

told him. "Do you know who we are?"

"I am not a female!"

"Neither was he. Answer my question."

"You are invaders in our territory. You will all

die."

The young man's body odor was getting a bit

much. Ben wondered if the young man had ever been

introduced to soap and water. "My name is Ben

Raines."

"You lie!" the young man shouted. "Ben Raines

does not exist. He is a myth. No man can do

what he is said to have done. You're an imposter!"

"Sorry to disappoint you, boy," Ike said. "But

you're lookin' at the real article."

Obviously, the stories about Ben being a god either

had not reached Zorro and his group, or

else they simply chose not to believe them.

The young man spat in Ben's face.

Ben backhanded the strange-looking young man clear

out of his chair.

With the young man staring up at him, blood leaking from

a cut lip, Ben said, "You've been treated

pretty good in this camp, boy. If you'd been

wounded, we'd have patched you up; if you're hungry,

we'll feed you. But if you ever spit in my face

again, I'll kill you!"

The sounds of gunfire split the still night air.

The yammering of M-60's and .50 caliber

machine guns hammered and chugged.

The young man had jerked on the floor as the guns

erupted. Ben had neither blinked nor moved, but just

continued staring at him.

"Cease fire." Dan's voice roared over the

noise. "Cease fire. Someone's out there with a white

flag."

Ben turned to the young Rebel who had captured

the-whatever the hell he was, and Ben wasn't all

sure. "If he moves, shoot him, son."

"Yes, sir!"

Ben stepped out of the building with Ike just as a

runner came panting up. "One of those

funny-lookin' people has come up with a white flag,

general. Says he wants to talk with our leader."

"Well..." Ben had to fight back a chuckle.

"Take me to him."

"Ben," Ike said. "This is getting

ridiculous! What's with these people? Have they been

freaking out on old movies?"

"I don't know, Ike. But their guns are sure

real."

"For a fact."

Both men came to a sudden halt at the sighting of

the truce-flag bearer. Ike had to choke back

a laugh. But his stifled humor was infectious: Ben

had to cover his mouth with a hand to keep from laughing.

Old Doc Chase appeared in the night and stood

with his hands on his hips, glaring at Ben and Ike.

"It's not funny! It's tragic. And you both ought

to be ashamed of yourselves!"

The young man with the white flag was dressed almost

identical to the young man guarded by the Rebel. With a

couple of exceptions:

He wore a black mask over his eyes and had

on a long black cape.

Perhaps it was because of the long and brutal fight that Ben

and his Rebels had just endured, defeating the

Russian, Striganov, and Ben finally killing his

old adversary, Sam Hartline. Pent-up

emotions and wire-tight nerves, perhaps. Whatever the

reasons, Ben and Ike sat down on the curb by the

littered street and laughed until tears were rolling

down their cheeks. The two men were so weak from laughing

at the sight they had to lean on each other for strength

as their laughter wound down.

Other Rebels had gathered around, most of them

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