Ben thought he knew what the pictures would reveal; that he had seen something very similar to it on a lonely windy highway in Illinois.
He said as much.
Ike toyed with his coffee cup. “And…?”
Ben slowly shook his head. “We deal with it if or when we see… whatever killed those people with our own eyes.”
Ike grunted softly. “Probably be best. Keep down horror stories, I reckon.”
The large dining room was quiet; only a few Rebels were up and about.
“Goin’ to be a pretty day,” Ike said. “Winds all died down. Jerre asked me to bring her babies to her soon as I could. I could have a chopper down here in an hour; take ‘em to her up in Twin Falls.”
“That’s a good idea, Ike. Why don’t you do that.”
“That’d give you time to look in on the babies and play with ‘em some.”
“I have no intention of doing that,” Ben spoke the words without emotion.
“I see,” his friend said after a few seconds had ticked past. “You’re a hard man, Ben. Knew that the first day I saw you, down in Florida. Sure you need to be
“I’m sure.”
“All right.” Ike motioned for a uniformed young woman to come to the table. She rose from a table across the room and walked to where Ike and Ben sat.
“This is Lieutenant Mary Macklin, Ben.”
Ben looked into her eyes and nodded.
“Mary,” Ike said, “you get on the horn and call them ol’ boys up at whirly-bird country. Have one of ‘em bring Jerre down here—pick up her babies.”
“Yes, sir.” The young woman saluted and left.
Ben smiled. “Getting a little rigid on discipline, aren’t you, Ike?”
“That ain’t my idea,” the ex-SEAL replied glumly. “It’s hers. She was regular Army ‘til about six months ago. I can’t get that damned salutin’ out of her. Drives me up the wall.”
“Tell me how you have the people spread out, Ike.”
“I had them pulled in pretty tight at first, Ben. But even with that, we sprayed one hell of an area and burned even more. But the burn was all controlled and nothin’ got out of hand. Twins Falls down to the Nevada line, then across the top of Nevada and Utah to Interstate 15 then north to Pocatello. 15 and 80 is the northern line.” He grinned. “I kept folks right busy, wouldn’t you say?”
“You did all that since I called Lamar?”
Ike’s smile was tight. Controlled. “No. Doctor Chase suspected something was in the wind. Something about finding too many little furry critters dead. Half of it was done before I ever got here. Then when you called we really got jumpin.’”
Ben told him about his idea of shifting everyone to the southeastern U.S.
“Good plan. I was gonna bring that up to you; talked about it some to bunches of folk. They all agree it would be the best move.”
“I don’t want to stay here any longer than is absolutely necessary.”
“I know,” Ike’s reply was softly given. “Bad memories for me, too, friend.” He glanced at his watch. “Couple more hours, we’ll start rollin’ folks out of the sack and get this circus on the road. Sooner we get home the sooner y’all can get settled in for the winter. Then we can start makin’ some firm plans.”
Winter hit the high country with a mindless fury: high winds, blizzard conditions, and bitter cold. Most stayed in unless outside travel was imperative.
The first two weeks of February proved no better as far as the weather was concerned, and the Rebels began developing cabin fever. Ben organized dances and get-togethers and box suppers and card and bingo parties—anything to occupy the time.
Then the Chinooks began blowing in the third week of February, and the bitter cold and blizzard snows abated. It was not yet spring in the high country, but as Ike put it, “Damn sight better than the past six weeks, boy.”
Frayed nerves and high-strung tempers knitted and healed as plans for the massive move were formulated. Now people had something to do: rounding up and servicing hundreds of vehicles for the push south.
When Ben asked for volunteers to scout the area he had chosen as their new home, five thousand hands went up.
He sent three teams of them south. Stay in radio contact. Don’t take chances. For God’s sake, be careful.
“Southern part of Arkansas, north Louisiana, and central Mississippi,” Ben said, thumping the map. “That’s where we’ll call home.”
Ben turned to Doctor Chase. “Has the plague run its course?”
The man shook his white-maned head. “Typical layman’s question. How the hell do I know! I would say not. Fleas prefer rodents, but they’ll damn sure jump on a human. I would suggest sending teams to that area. Crop dusters, preferably, at first, to spray the outlined borders with insecticide and then put out aerial rat poison; and I mean
“Did anybody ever tell you that you’re a crotchety old bastard?” Ben said.
“Of course I am,” Doctor Chase replied. “If you don’t like it, go to another doctor.” He smiled sarcastically, plopped his hat on his head, and walked out.
“Navy doctors,” Ike said with a grin. “’Specially captains—strange bunch of people.” He looked at Ben. “Generals sometimes get that way, too—General.”
Jim Slater and Paul Green and a dozen other dusters headed for the new Tri-States. Transport planes had already flown in the chemicals to airports sprayed and burned by volunteers. The massive job was underway in both the northwest and the southwest parts of the ravaged nation.
“People in that area?” Ben asked the scouts.
“Damn few,” the voice crackled out of the speaker. “But I want to tell you sir, we have met some real squirrels coming down here—and here, as well.”
“Squirrels?”
“Cults popping up everywhere. You know, call themselves religions, but as far as I’m concerned, they are anything but that. Got one over in the Ouachita Mountains run by some nut name of Emil Hite. That’s the biggest one we’ve found. Jim Jones type of thing with a Manson mentality.”
“Any trouble with them?”
“Not since one of my people butt-stroked one of them and knocked out about a dozen teeth. After that, Hite decided to pull back into his hills and stayed there.”
“Rats?”
“A few, but the poison got most of them, I think. We found a lot of dead rats when we got here. Got a man joined up with us in Texas; used to be with the CDC. He says it appears to him the rats are dying of some inner infection of some sort. He’s set up a lab, of sorts, and is working out of that.”
“It’s going to take us a while to get there. Big problem of logistics.”
“We’ll be secure in two weeks here, General.”
“It’ll take us that long to get the first convoy there. I’ll see you in two weeks.”
“Roger, sir. Out.”
“Head ‘em up and move ‘em out time, Ben?” Ike asked. Ben’s eyes clouded, for a moment, he was flung back in time, back years, to just a few days after the bombings of 1988.
