“We’ll intercept and cover for you. Good luck.”
Ben turned to Fran. “I think they’re good people, Fran. Despite the fact that they took in Hilton Logan. You’ll be safe. If I don’t think you will be, I won’t leave you with them.”
She smiled. “Hilton Logan was going to be the next president,” she said. “He’s been a bachelor all his life. Maybe it’s time to change all that.”
Ben laughed at her and knew then that Fran was a survivor.
“Aren’t you terribly nervous with all these big bad guns all over the place?” Ben needled Logan. “How many times have you pissed your pants since you’ve been here, just thinking about all these pistols?”
The men stood alone. Fran had immediately been taken in by the women.
“I gather, Mr. Raines, you don’t approve of my gun-control bill.”
“I believe my first words when I’d learned it had passed were ‘that goddamned do-gooder motherfucker.’ I was, of course, referring to you, Logan.”
The senator flushed. “How did an attractive, lovely woman like Mrs. Piper come to find herself in the company of one such as you?”
“Just lucky, I guess.” Ben smiled at him. “Been swimming lately, Senator?”
The blood rushed to Logan’s face.
Logan had been swimming off the coast of Florida when he had suddenly begun screaming that he was under attack by sharks, and one had just bitten him on the leg. When he had recovered from his swoon and had been pulled ashore, it was discovered he had some old fishing line wrapped around his ankle and thigh. Hilton Logan was not famous for his grace under pressure.
“You are despicable, Raines!” He spat the words.
“And you’re a coward.” Ben walked away, deliberately turning his back to the man.
That was the beginning of the hate between the two men. It would intensify in the years ahead.
Ben left an hour after dropping Fran off. The people begged him to stay, warning him of the horrors they had heard about, telling him of the dangers. But Ben was firm in his commitment.
“I’m a writer,” he told a U.S. Army colonel. “Maybe not a very good one, but I wonder how many of us survived the… holocaust. What if I’m the only one left? And please don’t think me pretentious for saying that. Someone has to travel this nation, record all that’s happened, and I’m going to do it.”
The colonel shook his hand. “Eight cities went under with nukes. Detroit, Washington, New York, Miami, Omaha, Houston, all the western part of Missouri, Baltimore, and San Francisco. That’s the report I have so far. I suspect there are many more. The east coast from New Jersey all the way up to the Maine border is gone, so I’m told. The rest of the cities took germ-type warheads.”
Ben told him of the tape-recorded message and where to find it on the band. The colonel shook his head. “I’ll just be goddamned. I knew about the double double cross. Looks like now we have a triple cross.” He told Ben all he knew about the events leading up to the war, then clasped him on the shoulder. “Luck to you, Mr. Raines.”
“It’s you who needs the luck, Colonel,” Ben said. “If you’re planning on staying around that bastard Logan.”
“I heard that. Talk is the military—what’s left of us—is going to install him as acting president.”
“Good God!”
“My words exactly when I heard it. Look, Mr. Raines…” The colonel’s words were spoken low so only Ben could hear. “What are you going to do with your Rebels?”
“My what?” Ben was taken aback.
“Your Rebels, sir. General Travee told General MacPeters that Col. Bull Dean called his Rebel commanders just at the last minute and put you in charge of them. ‘Bout five thousand of them. Said he told Travee ‘that ought to sober up the drunken son of a bitch.’ Begging your pardon, sir.”
“It’s news to me, Colonel.”
“Well, it’s true, sir. The Rebels probably came out of this better than anybody—they knew what was coming down; had preset places to hide, with food and water and bottled air and protective gear.”
“Where are they, now?”
The colonel shrugged. “I have no idea, sir.”
Fran came to him and kissed him lightly and in a very ladylike way on the cheek, while Hilton Logan stood back and scowled at Ben. Being the best-looking woman in the area—that Ben had seen—the two were drawn like a magnet. The senator being somewhat of a ladies’ man.
If, Ben thought, the ladies had a taste for shit.
“Ah do thank y’all so much, Mr. Raines.” She gushed sorghum molasses all over him, for Logan’s benefit.
Ben smiled. “Ah, too, have enjoyed yore company, ma’am.” He returned a measure of ribbon cane syrup. “You have been like a light in the wilderness to me.”
She leaned close, her body hiding the movement of her right hand as it gently squeezed Ben’s crotch. “Don’t lay it on too thick, you damned Yankee—he’ll think we’re both nuts!”
SIX
So now Ben was alone. He felt her absence more than he would have ever thought although he knew eventually they would have devoured each other with their conflicting personalities. But he missed her, nonetheless.
Steady pussy; he smiled as he drove. But he knew it was more than that.
He made it through Memphis without incident and headed north, on the interstate, toward Cairo. He spent the night in New Madrid, Missouri, a small boot-heel town. And as the night spread its blanket of darkness around him, it was then that Ben missed Fran the most.
The next morning, in Sikeston, Missouri, a few miles north of New Madrid, Ben pulled into a shopping center and found a good cassette recorder and several good quality cassettes. He also picked up a small portable typewriter. Turning at a slight noise, Ben saw a small boy, no more than nine or ten, racing out of the store. He called to him, but the boy refused to stop. Ben thought about chasing him, then gave it up. There were hundreds, thousands of places to hide. He only hoped the boy was not on his own, for Sikeston’s streets and, he was sure, its homes, were littered with the dead, stiff and stinking.
He drove around the town, and saw a few more live people, none of whom would answer his call. He said to hell with it and pulled back on the interstate, heading north.
As he drove, he experimented with the recorder, making the first of what would eventually be thousands of vocal notes and observations and comments.
He thought about what the colonel had said to him and shook his head in disbelief. “Commander of a Rebel army!” He laughed. “Shit!”
And as he drove, he found the memory of Fran already fading as the excitement of what lay before him intensified and spread itself out in his mind, exposing to his mental light all the ramifications and historical aspects of his one-man Odyssean undertaking.
“Maybe a hundred years from now I’ll be famous.” Ben grinned, speaking aloud.
He would be, but it would be for something other than his writings.
As he crossed the river into Cairo, Ben slowed and became more alert, scanning the channels of his CB for any chatter—good or bad.
A voice leaped out at him. “Truck jist crossed the bridge.”
Ben turned on the recorder, the volume up high to catch all the words.
“How many?” another voice asked.
“Jist the one dude.”
“No pussy with him?”
“Naw.”
“Damn! I don’t think they’s a goddamned cunt left in this town. How old is this dude? If he’s a kid and he’s pretty, we can take turns cornholin’ him.”
