Alone in the Ashes (22 page)

“We're gonna blow you out of there, Raines!” Jake's voice came through the timber. “This time,
we
got explosives.”

“But first you have to get close enough to use them,” Ben said to Rani.

“You hear me, Raines?”

“Yeah, I heard you, fat-ass,” Ben shouted. “Don't stand out there and brag about what you're going to do—do it!”

Jake flushed. He turned to his men and said, “Charge the fuckin' house. Stay in the timber; it leads all the way up there.” He turned to Texas Red's men. “You boys lay down a covering fire. Now
go!”

Jake and Texas Red had indeed brought several cases of grenades with them. But grenades are useful only if one gets close enough to throw them. And what none of the outlaws knew was that Ike had stashed several crates of deadly Claymore mines in the cave behind the cabin—and Ben had brought enough wire to battery-activate them from the house.

That smile was on Ben's lips once more as he sat behind the shuttered window, looking through a peephole, the detonator box in his hand. The shadowy figures of the outlaws flitted from tree to tree, aproaching the cabin.

Ben pushed the switch activating the THIS SIDE TOWARD ENEMY mines. The
TSTE
warning had always amused Ben.

The Claymores were not amusing to the outlaws. Before the reverberating sounds of the explosions had died away, the mangled bodies of half a dozen outlaws lay on the ground. Ben hit the second switch, and Jake was almost out of personnel.

“Jake!” an outlaw slid to a stop in the snowy, muddy ground. “Them's Claymores. I remember them from ‘Nam. He's got 'em all over the damn place. Think about this situation, Jake. We can't win. You know how Raines plans things out. The guy's like a screwin' computer or something. He don't miss nothing. You know?”

“Get to the point, Jimmy.” But Jake knew what the point was. He'd already thought about it.

“We can't win, Jake. Look at that damn place. No way we could burn them out, even if we could get close enough to do it. It's built into the hill. Raines has probably got food in there to last for months. The guys is afraid to go on, afraid to do nothing 'cept go back exactly the way we come. Raines has them traps everywhere. I—”

Texas Red's insane yelling startled them all. The outlaw jumped to his feet, a grenade in each hand. He had pulled the pins and was holding the spoons down. “Cowards!” Red screamed. “You're all cowards. Ever damn one of you.
I'll
take Raines out.
Me!
People will talk about me around campfires for centuries to come.”

“Son of a bitch is crazy,” one of Red's own men muttered.

“I heard that,” a buddy said. “I'm gettin' the hell outta here. You comin'?”

“Right behind you, partner.”

And two more were gone, slipping quietly away, unnoticed.

Texas Red charged the cabin, yelling and cursing as he ducked from tree to tree. He took his last step in this life and stepped into a bear trap, the jaws clamping shut, dropping him to the ground, his left leg crushed.

He fell hard, his hands under him, and for a moment was stunned. Then the pain hit him, the grenades forgotten. They were under his chest, the spoons gone.

“I hate your guts, Raines!” Texas Red squalled. “I hate you so bad I—”

Two grenades exploded within a millisecond of each other, the blasts shredding the outlaw, flinging bits and pieces of him all around the timber. The blast tore his crushed leg free of the jaws, tearing it off at the knee. All that remained of Texas Red was part of a leg and one boot, still trapped in the jaws.

“Jesus Christ!” an outlaw said. “That's it for me, boys. I'm gonna go be a farmer or something.”

Jake sat behind a thick tree and watched and listened to the men leave, running for their lives. After a time, he knew, without looking around him, he was alone.

Ben looked at what was left of Texas Red, and the remains of him, splattered all over the ground. Parts of him hung from low branches. “That's two for Jordy,” Ben called.

“That's what it's all about, ain't it, Raines?” Jake called, still hidden behind the tree. “All these men dead, just for one lousy punk-ass kid. You're crazy, Raines. You know that?
Crazy!”

“Jordy was worth more than the whole bag of you filth,” Ben called.

“You're probably right,” Jake muttered, not loud enough for Ben to hear. He shouted, “Just you and me, now, Raines. How's it gonna be?”

“Call it,” Ben said.

“I'll think about it some, Raines. You and the broad ain't going nowhere long as I'm out here.”

Ben said nothing to that.

“You was a writer, wasn't you, Raines?” Jake yelled.

“That's right.”

“Yeah. I read some of them. You wrote pretty good adventure stuff. I used to be a school teacher. Did you know that?”

“A school teacher?” Rani said to Ben.

“I didn't know that, Jake,” Ben said, raising his voice. “What'd you teach?”

“I was a coach.”

“That figures,” Ben muttered. He didn't know whether to believe the outlaw or not. He decided Campo was lying. “You're stalling, Campo!”

“Sure, I am, Raines,” came the almost-cheerful reply. “Hell, nobody wants to die.”

“But everybody wants to go to Heaven,” Ben said with his grin still locked in place.

Jake laughed at that. “You believe in all that shit, Raines?”

“I believe in a higher power, yes.” Ben looked up at the sky, checking the sun. It would be dark in about an hour. He wanted this over with before dark.

“I don't believe in God, Raines. Too many different versions of it around for me to accept. Catholics believe one thing, Jews believe another. Islam, Hindu. Hell, even the Indians believed in a Higher Power. Too much dogma bouncing around for this ol' boy, Raines.”

Hell, Ben thought. Maybe the guy had been a school teacher.

“So what do you believe in, Jake?” Ben reached for his Thompson.

“Myself, Raines. And maybe you,” he added, almost reluctantly.

“Yeah. Maybe there is something to all those stories. I don't know. I do know this: You don't behave like a normal man. No normal man would even think of taking on a hundred and fifty men. Much less winning. ”

“His speech has improved,” Rani observed.

“Yes,” Ben agreed. “So?” he called.

“You're not going to fight me fair, are you, Raines?”

“Not likely.”

Jake once more laughed. “Yeah. I damn sure believe that.”

“Get on with it, Campo,” Ben said, growing tired of the dialogue.

“OK,” Jake said. “One more thing, Raines. You believe gods are fair?”

“What do you mean,
fair?”

“Well, not possessing dishonesty or injustice. Behaving in a proper manner.”

Ben's eyes grew cold. He knew then what Jake was going to do. And Jake—all three hundred pounds of him—was going to be in for a very ugly surprise.

“Not always, Jake.”

“But you do, Raines. You do.”

“I do
what,
Campo?”

“I read about you, Raines, when you was fronting the Tri-States. You're a man of honor, and order, and discipline, right?”

“To a certain degree, Jake.”

Jake laughed. “Yeah, you are, Ben. That's why I'm going to win this fight. I just figured it out, boy.”

But Ben was one step ahead of the outlaw.

“You see, Raines.” Jake stood up and stepped away from the protection of the tree. He unbuckled his web belt and let it fall to the ground. “I'm unarmed. And you won't shoot an unarmed man. Not Ben Raines. Ben Raines has too much macho pride in him to do that.”

Jake stepped closer, into the very small clearing in front of the cabin.

Ben moved to the door and opened it, stepping out onto the small porch.

“Oh, you disappoint me, Ben,” Jake said, his eyes on Ben's Thompson.

Ben laid the Thompson on the porch and stepped onto the ground.

Jake laughed. “I'm gonna tear your fuckin' head off, Raines.” He lifted his big fists. “Just you and me, boy. A stand-up, duke-it-out, fistfight. Just you and me.”

He moved closer to Ben. A hard glint of victory was shining in his eyes. He spat on the muddy, snowy ground and shuffled his booted feet in some semblance of a prize fighter.

Ben lifted his fists and stepped closer.

Jake grunted, then laughed. He stepped in and swung a huge right fist.

Ben ducked and side-stepped. He kicked out with his boot and caught Campo flush on the knee, knocking the bigger, heavier man to the ground. Campo shook his head and crawled to his knees. Ben kicked the man in the face with the toe of his jump boot. Teeth popped out of the man's mouth and rolled around on the ground. Blood dripped from a smashed mouth.

Jake lifted his head, disbelief in his eyes. He tried to rise to his feet. Ben kicked him in the side, hearing ribs break under the heavy toe of the boot. Jake screamed and fell to the ground, white-hot pain lancing through him.

Ben kicked him twice more in the head, one savage kick tearing an ear from the man. Blood streamed from the man's head.

“Fight fair, you son of a bitch!” Jake spoke through his ruined mouth, the words mushy, pushing past torn lips.

“No such thing, Campo,” Ben told him. “Just a winner and a loser.”

Jake rushed Ben, scrambling to his feet. Ben stepped aside and the man ran headfirst into a tree, splitting his head wide open. Blood stained the man's face, pouring from his badly mangled head.

Ben picked up a wrist-sized stick from the ground and brought it down hard on Campo's back, the force of the blow driving the man to the ground.

“Seems like I ain't been able to do nothing right the past few months,” Jake said. He suddenly rolled and came up with a knife in his hand.

Ben had never lost his savage, cold grin. He pulled his .45 from leather, cocked it, and began pulling the trigger. One in the chamber, six in the clip. He put all seven rounds in the big man's chest, each round knocking the huge man backward. Jake Campo, outlaw, self-styled warlord, died with his bloody eyes wide open and staring.

“That's three for Jordy,” Ben said.

The warm spell broke on the third day, with winter locking Ben and Rani in. Before the new snows came, the pair had worked, dragging off the bodies of the dead outlaws and dumping them into a deep ravine, shoveling dirt and gravel over them.

Now, as the cold winds howled around the snug little cabin in the deep woods, and the snow piled up around them, they sat in front of a fire and played chess.

With Rani regularly beating Ben.

“I don't know how you're doing it,” Ben grumbled. “But you're cheating. I just know you are.”

Rani laughed at him. “Checkmate,” she said.

“Crap!” Ben said.

“How did you learn to fight like you did, Ben?” she asked. “The way you fought Jake Campo.”

“There is no such thing as a fair fight, Rani. Not outside the ring. I've never believed in those so-called fair fights.' One goes in to win. Period. The trick is knowing you're right and sticking by your convictions.”

“Did you always fight like that, Ben. I mean, even when things were ...
normal?”

“Yes,” he said, putting away the board and getting a deck of cards. “Strip poker, maybe?” he grinned.

“You're going to look awfully funny sitting there on the cold floor, stark naked.”

“You have a point.” He put away the cards.

“Were you a loner as a boy, Ben?”

Ben wore a reflective look for a moment. “Yes. I guess I was. I never followed the usual drummer. I think I marched to my own beat even when it was socially unacceptable. Looking back, I guess I really enjoyed being alone. I
know
I did. I tried not to bother anyone, and didn't want anybody bothering me. Didn't always work that way, though.”

She was curious about this man, this founder of the Tri-States, the man that so many chose to follow. “You had a normal childhood, though?”

Ben laughed at her serious expression. “Oh, sure. I played baseball and basketball. But I never took them very seriously. How does one take a
game
seriously? I spent most of my time working and chasing girls.”

“Were you successful?” she asked, a twinkle in her green eyes.

“Well, I spent more time working than catching the girls,” he admitted.

“But you caught your share of the girls?”

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Looking back, I'll have to say I did. I wan't a jock, so that was a definite minus for me. But I had a happy, very normal childhood, I guess. I've never been a person who sought many material things, Rani. I've always been content with just enough to get by, and perhaps a tiny bit more. I never cared much for a lot of pomp. I was never a joiner. Never belonged to a country club; never cared much what people thought of me. Like I said, I guess I marched to the beat of another drummer.”

“Where have I heard that before?”

“Henry David Thoreau,” Ben said, his memory working hard to recall the line. “I didn't agree with all that Thoreau said, but I loved much of it.”

“Say it.”

“The line?”

“Yes.”

“If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.”

She looked at the man for a long moment. “I guess that fits you rather well, Ben.”

“I guess it does, Rani.”

“I think I'm in love with you.”

“Be sure, Rani.”

“I'm sure, Ben.”

“Yes. I guess I am, too.”

 

 

The days spun and drifted and wound into weeks, while the two in the cabin grew closer, mentally, emotionally, and physically. To them, it was as if the world gone mad around them did not exist. They built snowmen, had snowball fights, explored, and fell in love.

January drifted into February and February became March, but Ben and Rani really didn't notice the passing months. March whispered into April, then began roaring with the last major winter storm of the season. As the storm abated, howling eastward to blow itself out, Rani lay in Ben's arms before the fireplace. Both of them were nearly asleep.

Rani stirred and said, “It'll be full spring soon, Ben.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Hadn't we better be thinking about pulling out pretty soon?”

Ben opened his eyes and looked around. “Did you hear anything?”

“What?”

“I don't know. It was an ... well, it wasn't a natural sound for the woods.”

“You're imagining things, old man.”

“I guess so. About pulling out. Where do you want to go?”

“You have to start making plans about setting up those outposts, right?”

Ben groaned and stretched. “Don't remind me of that, please.”

“And you have to start thinking about your plans for the Russian and Hartline, right?”

“Yes, dear.”

There was that noise again. Ben cut his eyes toward the door. He was sure the mutants knew they were in the deep woods, but so far none had shown any willingness to attack.

Was that a mutant out there? Ben wasn't sure.

He listened. The noise—whatever it was—was not repeated.

Ben looked at his watch. Two o'clock in the afternoon. The winds had ceased, and the temperature was once more on the rise. He looked at Rani. She was looking at the closed cabin door.

“Something wrong?” Ben asked.

“Something's out there, Ben,” she whispered. “And it isn't an animal.”

Ben pulled on his boots and picked up his .45, jacking back the hammer. “I'll go have a look around.”

The cabin door splintered open. Men filled the room. Ben cleared the room of the invaders, the booming of the .45 almost deafening in the closed space. Ben didn't know these men; they weren't outlaws, for they were dressed in military field clothes, and they were disciplined.

Ben felt the shock as a bullet struck him in the left shoulder, knocking him backward. He fell heavily and grabbed his Thompson. Holding it one-handed, he pulled the trigger.

The heavy weapon bucked and roared in his hand. The slugs knocked and tore great chunks of wood out of the walls and ceiling. It also cleared the doorway of uniformed men, splattering blood and brains and bits of bone all over the porch and small yard.

Ben got to his feet just in time to catch a bullet in his leg. The shock and force of the slug knocked him sprawling. He lost his Thompson. He grabbed a shotgun leaning against the wall in a corner, and lifted it just as Sam Hartline stepped into the doorway. The mercenary saw the shotgun and jumped to one side as Ben pulled the trigger. Most of the buckshot missed the man, but enough hit him to knock him off the porch.

Rani's screaming had, for some reason, stopped echoing around the cabin. Ben cut his eyes, frantically searching. She was gone.

“Kill the son of a bitch!” Sam Hartline's voice yelled the command. “Take the woman and get the hell moving out of here.”

A bullet struck Ben's side, once more slamming him to the cabin floor. He hit the floor and rolled, coming up firing the sawed-off shotgun. The full load struck a man dead-center in the head, taking his head off his shoulders. The man flopped on the floor, half in and half out of the cabin.

Ben saw the grenade come flying through the doorway. It landed on the floor and rolled. Ben dove for the storage area, hit hard and bleeding. The grenade exploded just as Ben reached the cave, the force of it throwing him into the cave, shrapnel peppering his legs and back.

Something struck Ben on the back of the head, dropping him into darkness just as the front part of the cabin collapsed, sealing him in.