“My God!” the man whispered. “It’s President Raines.”
“No more,” Ben sat back on the stool. He continued holding the Thompson, the muzzle pointing at the floor. “The government has been dissolved.”
“So I heard,” the man replied. He smiled. “Relax, Mister Raines. I own this drug store. I’m a pharmacist. I don’t have the plague, I assure you. What drugs are you taking?”
Ben told him.
“Don’t overdo it; too much can kill as well as cure. The disease is tapering off now; but it will come back with a vengeance this spring or summer. Save what medications you have left until then.”
“I was hoping it had run its course.”
“
“You’re the first living soul I’ve seen in seven hundred miles.”
The man smiled. “There are survivors, sir. Let me warn you of that. The thugs and hoodlums and filth are out and moving—doing what people of that particular ilk do. The decent folks are hiding, quietly getting together at night. You are alone—why?”
“I’m not alone,” Ben told him. “I’ve got a full company of troops staying at the motel. Are you the only survivor in this town?”
“No. There are about fifteen others.”
“You have plans?”
Again, that smile. “Of course. To live out our lives in peace and solitude and die quietly of old age.”
“Nothing more than that?”
The man shook his head. “Very little. Plant gardens in the spring, can the foods, and stay low, attracting no attention.”
“That’s what I was muttering. This nation will never climb out of the ashes—not wholly.”
“I’m afraid you’re right, sir. But,” he shrugged, “who knows. You did it once. Don’t you think you can do it again?”
“I don’t know. I intend to try.”
“Good luck.”
“Would you like to come with us?” Ben offered.
The man shook his head. “No. But I thank you for the offer.”
“Just give up, eh?” Ben needled the man.
“No, sir—that’s not it entirely. I… think I should like to live… well, free, I suppose is the right choice of words. I don’t have to lecture you as to the faults of big government.”
“But big government doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad government, uncaring and unfeeling.”
“This is true. But they almost always turn into that. Right?”
“That is true. But without some sort of organized society, a government, if you will, how can this nation ever become what it once was? Or even a semblance of what it once was?”
“It can’t, sir. But perhaps it’s time for that to occur. Have you given that any thought?”
“Quite a lot, I’m afraid.”
“And your conclusion?”
“I have to try.” Ben rose from the stool, turning toward the door just as several pickup trucks rattled to a tire-chained halt in front of the drug store.
The owner smiled.
“Why are you smiling?” Ben asked.
“Your people are fearful of you deserting them, Mister Raines.”
Ben walked out of the store without looking back. He faced a half dozen of his troops.
“Can’t I get off by myself every now and then?” Ben asked, his tone harsh.
“With all due respect, sir,” Captain Seymour said. “We’d rather you wouldn’t.”
“I don’t need a nanny, Captain.”
“No, sir,” the captain agreed. But neither he nor any of his people made any move to leave Ben alone.
“I see,” Ben said quietly, the words almost torn from his mouth by the cold winds that whipped down the littered main street.
Ben turned back to the storeowner, standing in the door of the drug store. “How’d you rid yourself of the rat problem?”
The man opened the door. “We didn’t. They just went away.”
“Where?”
The man shrugged his reply.
“Have you observed any other… well, things out of the ordinary?”
“I don’t follow you, sir.”
“Creatures,” Ben spoke the word.
The man shook his head. “Only those big rats. That’s creature enough for one lifetime, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes,” Ben said. “I wish you luck.”
“The same to you.”
The Rebels spent three days at the motel, waiting for a break in the weather. On the morning of the fourth day, the sun broke through the clouds and the temperature warmed, melting much of the snow and ice by mid- morning.
“Let’s roll it,” Ben said.
Three and a half hours later, the convoy rolled into Colorado and Ben halted them.
“I’m going to take a chance that 385 is clear up to Interstate 80 in the southwestern part of Nebraska. We’ll take that and roll it across Wyoming until we hit Highway 30. That’ll take us into Idaho. I don’t anticipate meeting any of our people until we get west of Pocatello. It’s five hundred miles to Rock Springs. That’s where we’ll take our next sleep break—providing all the roads are clear. You drive four hours, switch off with your partner. Let’s roll it, folks. We’re almost home and safe. Patrols out. Let’s go.”
Twenty-one long, tough hours later, the weary column pulled into a motel complex in Rock Springs.
Ike was waiting for them, with a grin on his face not much smaller than the western skies.
SIX
After six hours sleep, which was Ben’s normal time in bed, he showered, shaved, and walked down into the dining area for breakfast.
Ike’s people had prepared the motel for Ben and his column hours before the convoy arrived. Most of the weary survivors skipped food and went straight to bed.
Over bacon and eggs and a huge stack of flapjacks, Ben asked, “How’s it looking, Ike?”
“Fifty-eight hundred, Ben.”
Ben raised his eyes to those of his friend. “What the hell happened to the rest? We had more than ten thousand six months ago.”
“They just didn’t make it, partner. Word is still pretty sketchy, but from all reports, we lost a full battalion of people coming out of Georgia. We were in contact one day… next day, nothing. A couple of companies were ambushed up in Michigan. We lost a full platoon of people up in Wisconsin, and we don’t know what killed them.”
“What do you mean, Ike?”
“Just that, Ben. We don’t know what happened. The two people who survived died on the way here without ever regaining consciousness. They were… well… mangled all to hell and gone. I got the pictures if you got the stomach for it.”
