humans sure do act funny.
Waco appeared to have been hard hit. From what they could see, Ben calculated less than one percent of the population had survived. Baylor was almost deserted, only a handful of people on the campus.
“Why is it, Ben,” Salina asked, as they walked the quiet corridors of a science building, “that in some towns a great many people survived, in others almost no one?”
He shook his head, unable to answer her question. He still did not know why he had survived when others had not.
Back in the bright sunlight, she asked, “Why do you always go to universities and colleges, Ben?”
“I’m looking for a… friend.”
Salina picked up on the hesitation. “She?”
He told her about Jerre.
“Did you—do you—love her?”
“A little bit, yes. But I worry about her a lot more.”
“Ummm,” she replied.
They headed west. Occasionally, Ben would feel Salina’s eyes studying him as he drove and he knew she had questions she would like to ask, about Jerre. Ben wondered how he would answer them when the time came. He thought he knew.
Less than a year after the worldwide war, the United States Government was off and running, with Hilton Logan at the reins. The East Coast was being resettled, from the edge of the hot areas in the northeast, down to central Florida. Law and order was being reintroduced to the citizens. The regular military watched as Logan’s army, under the command of Col. Kenny Parr, knocked heads, confiscated weapons, shuffled people about, and listened grimly to the rumors of large bands of so-called Rebels moving west, stripping entire cities as they went. But the lawful military was very small, now, and they did little except maintain a presence and wonder what Logan would do next.
Logan chose as his vice president a man the regular military approved of; a man of good sense, who weighed the issues at hand and then acted, not out of emotion, but out of what he felt would be the best for the country. Aston Addison. Maybe, the military thought, there might be hope for the nation yet.
Mid-June found Ben and Salina in the state of Idaho, just on the southernmost fringe of the Great Primitive Area, on the south side of the Fork. Ben had spoken with Ike, and those who supported a free state were moving, from all over the nation, toward Idaho.
Ben cranked up his radio and called in. “How many do we have, Ike?”
“’Bout five thousand, I figure, not countin’ the Rebs. How many folks alive where you are, Ben?”
“Damned few. It’s wild and beautiful, Ike.”
“Not too far from where you are, Ben, there’s a platoon of Army Rangers from Fort Lewis… or what’s left of Lewis, that is. They’ve split with Logan. Down a way from them, there’s what’s left of the West Coast SEAL team. They don’t like Logan either—but they like what you and I have planned and are ready to move to join us. Rebuild. I talked with some folks from up Canada way; they were hard hit. They’d like to pitch their hats in the ring, too.”
“O.K., Ike—let’s get cracking.”
“I’ll see you in about a month, partner. Excuse me—General.”
“What do you really know about Ben Raines?” President Logan asked his wife over dinner.
The question startled her, caught her off guard. She had not thought of Ben in months. Did not know if he was dead or alive. She pondered her husband’s question for a moment.
“Well… he’s a rude man, very arrogant, sarcastic. But he’s also a very tough man—not just physically but mentally. I don’t think he’s afraid of anything. He’s smart, too. Why do you ask?”
“He was put in charge of Bull Dean’s Rebels.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes. But I don’t know if he accepted that charge. At first, word was he did not. Then the word was passed that he was dead. But he was spotted out west just a couple of weeks ago. Rumors persist that he is forming some sort of… state… nation out there. Didn’t he write about that one time? Some sort of free state?”
“Yes. Rather a trashy novel. Where out west?”
Logan shook his head. “I don’t know. The military won’t really cooperate with me; don’t like me. Never have. But damn it, I’m only doing what I think is right and best for the country. And Colonel Parr is all tied up with minor revolts. He and his men put down one group, another pops up. My God, you’d think I was trying to deny them their sex lives instead of just taking their guns. What is this morbid fascination with guns, anyway? People are really
“Hilton?” Fran touched his hand. “Leave Ben Raines alone.”
The word went out, all over the nation: head west. If you don’t like the crap that is coming out of Richmond, head west. Get trucks and head west. Stop at every national guard and reserve armory and strip it bare. Same with every base. Search every deserted town for gold and silver and precious gems. Take every piece of medical equipment you can find; bring anything you think we might be able to use, from panty hose to bulldozers. But if you’re lazy, gossipy, unethical; if you lie, cheat, or if you’re ignorant, you’d better stay away…. Odds are you won’t fit in with the crowd.
Tell lawyers to stay the hell out; we don’t want them, don’t need them. Our laws will be very simple and very few and enforced to the letter; no muddying the water. They will be enforced to the letter. No exceptions. No deals. No plea-bargaining. No twisting of words—truth. Our nation is going to be a bit different from that to which you’ve been accustomed. We’re going to try something; see if it will work. So leave us alone.
The message went into every state and a lot of countries. A lot of people heard it, liked it, and packed up.
And a lot of people heard it and didn’t like it.
“He’s your brother, Carl,” Jeb Fargo said. “What’s he tryin’ to pull?”
A large farm in Illinois; a cooperative venture that encompassed hundreds of thousands of acres. Run by a group of men and women who went by no official name, but whose members secretly embraced the teachings of Hitler and the goose-egg mentality of the Klan. To Logan, they were hard-working, God-fearing people who caused no trouble but just wanted to work the land and do what was best toward restoring this devastated nation to its former glory.
Logan loved them. Addison was suspicious of them. The military knew exactly what they were.
Lots of churches scattered throughout their lands. Funny thing though: wasn’t a nigger or a dago or a chink or a greaser or a Jew in the bunch.
And their churches did not teach love—the ministers preached hate.
“I never was close to Ben,” Carl replied. “Lot of difference in our ages.”
“We’d best keep an eye on what he’s doin’. Might even send some men out there next year. You’d be in charge. You know, Carl, I kinda had my eye on that land out there for us. Good cattle country and farmland. Word is, Carl, your brother’s livin’ with a nigger gal.”
“Ben!”
“That’s the word I get. Hell, messages we been interceptin’ tell us they’s all kinds of undesirables headin’ out there: slants, Jews, burr-heads, greasers—all kinds of filth. We cain’t have that, Carl. Cain’t let them people get a toehold in some of the best land in the country. Brother or no brother, he’s got to be stopped.”
“When you want me to go, Jeb?” Carl said. “I’ll go.” The thought of his brother actually kissing a nigger made him sick at his stomach.
“I’ll let you know, Major Raines,” Jeb said.
All sorts of people were heading west, to join those already there.
There was a young man named Badger Harbin who had met Ben and Salina in Idaho. He just wandered up to them one day, introduced himself, and said he was there to stay.
Ben could not believe anyone would have the first name of Badger, but the young man assured Ben that, yes, that’s what his daddy had named him.
Sid Cossman was a New Yorker who had once owned a radio station in upstate New York. He had lost it by refusing to bow to the often dictatorial whims of the Federal Communications Commission. Sid did not like Big Brother.
Lieutenant Conger was the platoon leader of a contingent of Rebels coming in from the East.
