4
Ben and Judy stood by the pickup and watched Wally Williams walk slowly up Highway 641. He had told them he was only going a few miles, then would cut northeast, toward Eagle Creek on the Tennessee.
He rounded a curve in the road, and was lost from sight.
“I will never see him again,” Judy said.
“You can't know that for sure,” Ben said.
“I will not see him again,” she repeated. She turned and faced Ben. “Let's go, Ben. I want to leave this part of the country. And I don't care if I ever come back.”
Ben opened the door to the truck. “Your chariot awaits you, dear.”
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They spent their first night together at a tiny town just off the interstate. They never did find out the name of the town, for they could never find any highway markers denoting the name.
“Don't you have a tent, Ben?” she asked.
“A pup tent in all that mess somewhere.”
“That won't do.”
“Oh?”
“Tomorrow, first town of any size we come to, we start lookin' for one of them big pretty-colored tents like I seen in a catalog one time.”
“Those and saw,” Ben corrected.
“You ribbin' the way I talk, boy?” she asked.
“No. Not at all. I used to be a writer, that's all. It's habit.”
“You wrote books!”
“Yes.”
“Big books?”
“Yes. If by that you mean a hundred-thousand words or more.”
“What'd you write about, Ben? Tell me some stories.”
Ben fought to keep a straight face at her childish excitement. “I thought you told me you went to school?”
“Oh, I did. I got to the seventh grade. I can read. But I'm slow at it 'cause I have to skip over the big words.”
“All right, then. But first things first. We can't get a bright-colored tent, because the color would stand out and might bring us visitors we don't want. Understand?”
“Oh, yeah. Right.”
“But we will get a tentâsomewhere. Next we're going to get you some books. Some English books and a dictionary.”
“That'd be great.”
“Why didn't your brother ever help you with reading?”
“Why ... I don't know. I guess 'cause I never asked him.”
Good reason, Ben thought.
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“Which way did they go, bitch?” the voice rumbled out of the huge chest, exploding in the air.
“I didn't see them, Mister Campo,” the woman said. “I swear to God, I didn't.”
“There ain't no God around here but me, bitch,” Jake told her. “And you'd best remember that.”
“No, sir,” the woman told him.
“Huh?”
“I will not forsake my God and He will not forsake me.”
Campo laughed. The woman thought him to be the ugliest man she had ever seen. His head was shaved clean and round as a basketball, and just about as large. His eyes were small and piggy. His nose was large; with the nostrils flared, he looked like a pig. His mouth was wide, the lips thick and constantly wet from saliva. The man seemed to have no neck. Just the head attached to massive shoulders. His arms were thickly muscled. A huge chest and big belly. But the big belly did not quiver and shake like a fat man's. It was solid. His legs were like the trunks of small trees. His feet were curiously small for a man his size.
“No, bitch,” Campo said, towering over the frightened woman. “You worship Jake Campo.”
She shook her head.
He squatted down beside her with a grunt and squeezed one soft breast. He clamped down hard, bruising the flesh. He laughed as the woman screamed in pain.
Her husband broke free of the hands that held him, and ran to Campo. He hit the man on the bald head with his clenched fist and the sound of the knuckles breaking was loud.
Campo stood up and roared with laughter.
“You do have balls, mister,” Campo said. “But nobody hits Jake Campo and gets away with it. Let's see, what shall your punishment be? Should I cut off your balls? Naw! Rip out your tongue and feed it to the hogs? Naw!” Campo's big face brightened. “I know.” He looked to his men. “Strip the broad, boys. And tie her husband to that tree yonder.”
The man was forced to watch while Campo's men took turns raping the woman.
Campo pulled out a long-bladed hunting knife. He grinned at the man. “You seen Ben Raines' fancy pickup truck, didn't you, pig farmer?”
“No, sir, Mister Campo.”
Campo cut the man's worn belt and let his patched trousers fall around his ankles. He cut the man's long-handled underwear and lay the cold steel of the knife against the man's testicles. “You want your balls cut off and stuck up your wife's ass?”
“No, sir.”
“Ben Raines.”
“I seen this fancy truck go by just a-sailin'. Two men in the cab and a woman in the back, under a camper. She had a rifle stuck out the open camper winder.”
“You done good, boy,” Campo told the man, cutting the ropes that held him. “I'm gonna let you and your big-pussied woman live. This time around.”
He waved for his men to follow him. The hungry-looking truck farmer jerked up his pants and ran to his wife's side.
“Radio headquarters,” Campo told a man. “I want half the men to come with me, the other half stay in this area and collect our booty. Tell the boys to gear up for a long hard run. Lots of food and warm clothing and winter gear. I'm gonna foller Ben Raines until I catch that prissy, law-and-order son of a bitch. And I don't care if I have to foller him, and that snooty cunt with him, all the way to the Pacific Ocean.”
Jake Campo looked to the west. “I'm gonna git you, Raines. And that there's a promise.”
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Even though the going would be much slower and would sometimes involve backtracking, Ben decided to stay on the secondary roads. They would afford him so many more ways to twist and turn in case Campo and his men were chasing them.
And Ben felt sure they would be.
Ben and Judy pulled out just after dawn, angling more west than north. At a small town in West Tennessee, Ben stopped at the public libraryâor what was left of itâand found some books for Judy. A book on creative writing, a good dictionary, and Fowler's
Modern English Usage.
On the road again, Judy opened the dictionary at random. “Ga-vo-tit,” she said.
“I beg your pardon?”
She repeated her pronunciation.
“Spell it, Judy.”
“G-a-v-o-t-t-e.”
Ben hated to admit he didn't have the foggiest idea what the word meant. “What does it mean, Judy?”
“Well, hell! I don't know. I'm askin' you.”
“See all the smaller words to the right of the bold-type word?”
“Huh?”
Ben slowed the truck and took a quick look at the word. “An old French dance,” he read. “Since I never wrote the types of books where that word would be used, I am not familiar with it.”
“So you don't know everything after all?”
“Who in the world ever said I did?”
“Lots of people have. I seenâ”
“I have seen.”
She looked at him.
“I have seen
lots of shrines and stuff like that built for you. Lots of the Underground People worship you.”
“So I heard,” Ben said through gritted teeth. “I am not to be revered or worshipped, Judy. I am not a god. Would a god do the things we did last night?”
“They would if they was horny.”
“Jesus!”
Ben muttered. “That's not what I mean, Judy.”
“I
know
that, Ben. Look! There's the sign pointin' the way to Missouri. Let's go there. I ain't never been to Missouri.”
“I have never been.”
“Whatever.”
Ben drove into Dyersburg, Tennessee, and after carefully parking the truck on the street, enabling them to keep an eye on it, they began their search of the stores. Over the years, though, the stores had been looted many times, and anything of any value was long gone.
“Have you gotten used to the skeletons, Ben?”
They had just opened a broom closet door and two old skeletons had fallen out, clattering at their feet.
“A long time ago, Judy.”
A noise from the street spun them around and sent them running through the littered store to the sidewalk. A crowd of ragged men and women had gathered around the pickup.
They were armed with clubs and axes and knives and spears.
“The welcoming committee,” Ben said.
“What do you want?” a woman shouted the question at Ben and Judy.
“We don't mean any harm,” Ben called. “We're just traveling through.”
“Why did you stop?” a man called. He held an axe in his hands.
“People on the roofs with bows and arrows,” Judy whispered.
“I see them. If shooting starts, you take the south side of the street, I'll take the north.”
“All right.”
“We don't want any trouble,” Ben called, as they walked closer to the truck.
“You say!” the woman spokesperson said angrily. “That's what they all say. Then they rape and kill and take away the young girls and boys.”
“Who takes them? Where do they take them?”
“Who knows?” the woman said. “We never see any of them again. The attackers or our young.”
“My name is Ben Raines,” Ben spoke softly.
About half of the knot of people drew back in fear. They whispered and muttered among themselves. The spokeswoman stood firm, glaring at Ben, her hands knuckle-white from gripping the spear tightly.
“You lie!” she shouted.
“I do not lie,” Ben told her. “I ... we ...” he said, indicating Judy, “just killed about twenty-five of Jake Campo's people. Just east of the Tennessee. They're probably only about a day behind us.”
“Jake Campo does not bother us,” the woman said. “This is not his territory. We pay homage to a warlord called West.”
“Do you do so willingly?”
The woman laughed. It was not a pretty laugh. “What do you think, Mr. So-Called-Ben-Raines. West has gathered up all the guns and left us with only clubs and spears and homemade bows and arrows to defend ourselves. He leaves us just enough food to survive and takes the rest. How can we fight him and his men?”
“You could leave here and find guns. There are millions of guns scattered around the country.”
“Do you see any cars or trucks or horses or mules?” the woman asked. “No. West has taken them all. If we tried to walk out, the beasts and the mutants would eat us, if West's men did not kill us first. We are trapped here.”
An idea Ben had been nurturing for a long time took more solid shape in his mind. “You say people come in and rape and kill. Why doesn't this West person protect you?”
“He does when he's around. But he ain't always around. He has a big territory to look after.”
“This doesn't make sense,” Ben muttered. “Have these people lost all will to survive as free people?”
A man stepped from the crowd. “I heard that!” he shouted. “Look, you bastard. I'm a
doctor
. Or I was. Now I'm reduced to carrying a spear. There used to be about fifteen hundred of us around here. Now we're only about four hundred strong. If you're really Ben Raines, help us.”
“Do you want to help yourselves?” Ben asked.
“Yes!” the man shouted. “But we have to have the means to do so.”
“All right, then. I'll see about giving you the means, Doctor? ...”
“Barnes. Ralph Barnes.”
Ben walked through the crowd to his truck and opened the camper. He handed Judy an antenna. “Take this to the top of that building,” he told her. “Then drop this end of the lead-in down to me.”
The radio connected, Ben flipped the set on. The frequency was preset. “General Raines to Base Camp One. Raines to Base Camp One.”
“General Raines!” the operator-on-duty's voice snapped out of the speaker. “Yes, sir.”
“Get me General Jefferys.”
“Yes, sir. It'll take me about one minute.”
“I'll be here, son.”
“Ben!” Cecil's voice was full of warmth over the miles.
“Cecil. At the chance we're being monitored, I'm scrambling.”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right. I'm in Dyersburg, Tennessee. Are you aware of the fact the country has deteriorated to the point of warlords terrorizing the people?”
“It doesn't surprise me, Ben.”
“Very well. You remember we spoke of setting up outposts east to west, every hundred miles or so?”
“Yes.”
“We may as well start here.” He explained the situation, “I want a full platoon in here. As heavily armed as you can get them. Rations for a winter's stay. Enough weapons and clothing for four hundred men and women. Reloading equipment, medical supplies, the whole nine yards. I want them rolling in the morning, Cecil. I'll meet them here.”
“Ten-four, General.”
Ben clicked off the set and waved Judy down from the rooftop. He turned to the people.
“They'll probably be here in two days. Now let me tell you people something. How many of you know anything about the way the old Tri-States was run?”
Most hands went into the air.”
“Then you know how fast my system of justice goes down. I will not tolerate racial bullshit. I will not tolerate laziness or sloppy work.
Everybody
in my command pulls their fair share. You do not steal, you do not lie, you do not cheat. Everybody pulls together. Personally,” he said with a smile, “I despise gardening. I always have; I always will. I have what is known as a brown thumb. I touch a plant, it dies. Fortunately, those otherwise blessed saw this fact and asked if I would please stop. I have a flair for administration and a passion for order. The point I'm making is this: Do what you are good at and enjoy. We'll talk more tomorrow. For now, how many of you know anything about combat?”