place as Camelot.
But, he thought, forcing a grin, let the young people try; maybe they can build a better world from out of the ashes. God knows the last two generations sure fucked this one up.
He drove down to Sanford and angled over until he linked up with the interstate. The on-ramp was blocked, so Ben dropped the truck into four-wheel drive and drove until he found a place where he believed he could get on the highway. He drove down to Dillon and there he spent the rest of the day practicing with the M-10 and getting the feel of the 9-mm pistol. Ben concluded the little SMG did not have the knockdown power of the heavy old Thompson, or the range, but it was lighter and easier to handle. He elected to stay with it.
The barrel extension/silencer increased the range a few yards—about sixty-five yards max—and made the weapon easier to control, for the padded extension/silencer served much as a rifle fore-end. Without it, the Ingram made a hell of a racket. Even with it, it sounded like a fast-quacking duck with a speech impediment.
Ben fixed his dinner and turned in. His dreams were intense, waking him several times. They were mixed— about his parents, his brothers and sisters, Fran, and always, Jerre. And the dream of a free land, run by the people, always intermingled with the others. The Rebels, leaderless… waiting.
At first light, he drove over to Shaw Air Force Base, thinking surely, of all places, there would be life here; a military organized disciplined order to things.
No one challenged him at the main gate. The door to the sentry hut banged and slammed in the wind; the lock was broken.
The base was eerily silent, but there were no bodies to be seen. Ben drove around the huge complex, stopping at random to check buildings and barracks. Nothing. Finally, in a service club, Ben found four men playing cards. A general, a captain, and two sergeants. They did not seem at all surprised to see him. They tossed the deck of cards on the table, shook hands and introduced themselves, and invited Ben to sit down, have a drink. Booze was free.
Drink in front of him, with the first ice Ben had seen since leaving Louisiana, he asked, “Is this it?”
“Meaning all the life on this base?” the general asked. “Yep. What you see is what you get.”
Ben told him what he was doing, attempting to do.
“Very admirable of you,” the captain said. “But who in the hell is going to read it?”
“There are a number of people still alive,” Ben told him. “Probably a lot more than we realize.”
“Oh, sure,” the general said. “I figure maybe… oh… twenty to thirty million here in the States. Hell, me and Jake here”—he jerked his thumb toward the captain—“have flown all over the States during the past six weeks or so—been in voice contact with hundreds of people. You know the Rebels are looking for you?”
Ben nodded. “So I’ve heard.”
“Don’t want to be their commander, huh?”
Ben hesitated. “I… don’t know.”
“You must be something special for the Bull to put you in charge of the whole shebang.” Ben said nothing. The general grunted. “You know, probably, that when the military gets it all together—take another ninety to one hundred twenty days—that craphead Logan will be named president.”
“So I heard. I can’t think of anything more appalling for the country.”
“I agree.”
“Then…?” Ben looked at the general.
“Why Logan? Hell, it’s a joke, Raines. An ugly, profane joke. He’s the only one left, we think. He ran like a scared rabbit and ducked into a hole. The others went up with Washington and the suburbs. I flew over what’s left of our great boondoggle. It’s awesome, boy, awesome.”
“Oh, come on, General! There has to be another senator or representative around… somewhere!”
“Oh, sure. Of course. Let’s see.” He smiled, beginning a count on his fingers. “We’ve got that young fellow from Iowa—”
“Senator Billing,” Ben said. “First-termer. O.K., General, I get the point. Logan is senior.”
“That’s it. All the secretaries are gone. Every last one of them.”
“Supreme Court?” Ben asked.
“All gone… as far as we know. They can’t be found.”
“General,”—Ben leaned forward—“one of you people take over; don’t give it to Logan.”
The general shook his head. “No way, Raines. No way. And we talked it over. There’s… twenty-six generals and four admirals who came out of it alive—all branches of the service. And that includes
“Let me guess, General.” Ben’s tone was icy.
“I figured you’d want a shot at it, boy.”
Ben resisted an urge to tell the general he was no “boy.” The general, at most, was about six years older than Ben. But rank has a way of doing that to some men.
“It wasn’t a double or even a triple cross Adams was pulling off—it was more than that.”
“Keep talking.”
“I always figured Logan was hiding something. I never did like or trust that man. He’s a pseudoliberal, isn’t he?”
The general smiled.
“The Bull won after all.”
“No, Adams won,” the general said. “The Bull killed him, somewhere up in New York State, way I heard it. Logan was the mastermind behind the whole caper. The hitch came when the Rebels found out about Logan and Logan found out the Rebs were gonna shoot him if they ever got their hands on him. He is not a well-liked man among conservatives, son.”
“Now, wait just a minute.” Ben held up his hand. “This is getting a little complicated. The Rebels didn’t know Logan was really behind it all?”
“That’s the way I hear it. Neither did Colonel Dean… until the very last, oh, eight or ten days before the balloon went up.”
“But… why would Logan hide his true feelings all these years? For what purpose?”
“To be the most popular liberal in the world, Raines. Hell, the minorities loved him. He was a shoo-in for the White House. He only had the Rebels as a backup in case he lost. But everything went haywire: coups all over the world; a minor revolt in Russia; the Thunder-strikes; the Rebs in the sub.”
“I see,” Ben said slowly. “He… once he got into the White House, then he could show his true colors and with the military behind him—and something tells me they would back him—he would be more than president, wouldn’t he, General?”
“He’d be king.”
“Logan is going in to help all the poor third-world nations after he gets you people organized, isn’t he, General.”
“It’ll take… oh… four to six years. Maybe eight.”
“To colonize.”
“Ugly word, Raines.”
“The truth sometimes is,
The general chuckled.
“Adams couldn’t convince his people that Logan was really a good guy. His people wouldn’t buy it,” Ben conjectured. “And once Adams leveled with them about Logan, they refused to back Adams and Logan.”
The general nodded his head, only once.
“You were part of it, weren’t you, General?”
Again, the nod.
“But… why?”
“Oh, hell, Raines. Nobody really
