about him. The young man didn’t know for sure, but…
The radio was on when Ben and the others reached the temporary communications shack. The voice coming from the speakers was weak. “…am recording this on a continuous loop. Sick. Don’t know how much longer I can hold on. Medicines ran out. Thought the plague problem would be gone this spring. Wrong. Rats came back. Fleas —God, the fleas. Everywhere.
“This is Armed Forces Radio from Fort Tonopah, Nevada…. think I’m the last one alive on the base. Big rats hit us in a… bunch few days ago. Wiped us out in 72 hours. Don’t think there is any help for me. Experiment broadcasting here; sun provides… power. Should keep transmitting long after… I’m gone. New-type plague the medics… said. Chills, fever, vomiting. Tongues swelled up and turned black. Died… rats been chewing on this building for couple days. Never seen such big rats. I…”
The tape hissed in its cart for a few minutes. Then the same message was repeated.
The radio operator said, “We have one more tape, sir.” He changed frequencies.
“This is a recording from Calgary. I have put this on a continuous loop. Plugged the generator into a bulk tank, so it should broadcast for weeks, maybe months. Twice a day; automatic shutdown and on. I will be dead in a few hours, but someone must know what is happening. A scientist from Montreal was with me for several days; explained what he thought had happened. He killed himself last night… that would be…. I don’t even know what month it is anymore.
“The rats are mutant—he said that should have been expected and no one should have been surprised. All the radiation and God only knows what type of germs in the air from the bombings of ’88.
“He said the rats were, for years, content. They had plenty of food to eat in the ravaged cities and towns of the world. But a rat is very prolific. One pair can be responsible for thousands. Thousands turn into millions, then billions. But as they overproduced, they had to leave the dead cities in search of food. They carried disease in and on them. We could deal with the mutants; we could even feel sorry for those poor grotesque creatures. But we could not deal with millions upon millions of rats. When we saw we were to be overrun by them, we worked feverishly in setting up this station. The mutants are hideous things to witness; but who do we blame for them? Ourselves, of course. Gerard, the scientist, said he believes the rats will soon die out—they are infected from within. He says. For me, it is too late. They have found a way in. I am putting a bullet in my brain. Better than facing them crawling all over me, gnawing at my flesh. Good-bye.”
After a few seconds, the tape began repeating.
“Record both those tapes,” Ben told the operator. “Make copies of them and save them. The world will want to know—hundreds of years from now.” I hope, he silently added.
“Mutants, General?” someone asked from the crowd in or outside the small communications shack.
“That’s what the man said,” Ben told them. “And, like he said, it should come as no surprise. Most of you people forty or older were raised on horror movies. Most of us have read the scientists’ opinions about what could happen to the human race after a global nuclear war; add to that the germ warheads that bombarded the countries of the world. All right, now we’ve got it to face and whip it, so we can go on living and producing and rebuilding a modern society.
“We are not alone—we’ve seen that, many of us. More pockets of survivors will surface as the weeks and months pass and the plague fades and finally dies. And we are going to rebuild. Bet on it.”
He pushed his way out of the building and faced the crowd.
“Get busy,” he ordered them. “We haven’t got time for lollygagging about. There are gardens to be planted; fields to be plowed and planted; electricity to be restored; homes to be sprayed and repaired. There is a lot to be done, so let’s do it. We’ll deal with boogymen if and when we are confronted by them. And I hope I have made myself clear on the subject.”
May drifted lazily into June and the fifty-eight hundred men, women, and children that now called this part of the country home, began to drift into the areas they had picked to occupy.
Much of this country had not been lived in—by humans—for twelve years, and it does not take nature long to reclaim what is naturally hers. Vegetation now covered many county and parish roads, and vine-like creepers enveloped many nice homes.
Huge truck patches were started, for home-canning later on. Fields were broken, plowed, and cotton and corn and wheat planted.
And life took on some degree of normalcy.
And as before, Ben watched and guided and oversaw each operation. He told Steve Mailer and Judith Sparkman to get the schools open and get the kids in classrooms. He wanted schools to be ready to go by September, and don’t give him any excuses why it couldn’t be done. Just do it. Beginning with this school year, 2000/2001, a high school education would be the minimum allowed. Read. And make it enjoyable for the kids.
Classrooms would not be filled to overflowing; the children would be given all the attention they needed. Books would be in every home.
That can be done if you use patience and go slowly. And we are in no hurry. Remember this: do it right the first time, and you’ll never need to do it over.
His people followed his directions to the letter. But Ben sensed and saw something was gone from the spirit of the survivors. Not all of them, to be sure, but enough of them to worry him. It was not that they were openly rebellious to his wishes; none of them would even dream of doing that. It was much more subtle.
A slight dragging of feet in some areas. Especially education and religion. The former worried him; the latter disturbed him.
He decided he was perhaps pushing them too hard, and Ben eased off. He would let the people find their own way, set their own pace.
But he knew in his guts what the outcome would be. And he made up his mind that when he witnessed it in any tangible form, he was leaving. He would take no part in the downfall of civilization.
One by one the frequencies on the radios of the Rebels went dead. It appeared—although most knew it was not so—that they were the last humans on earth.
Ben had stepped into the communications shack and was idly spinning the dial when a voice sprang from the speakers.
“It appears to be over,” the male voice sprang somewhat muffled from the speakers on the wall. “At least in this area. Thank God. So far as I know, we are the only ones left alive at this base. Five of us. We barricaded ourselves in a concrete block building that was once used to house some type of radioactive materials, I guess. Anyway, the rats and those other things couldn’t get at us. But we had to use the gas masks when we came out. The stench is horrible. There must be millions of dead rats rotting in the sun. I don’t know what killed them.
“I was afraid of fleas getting on us, so I had my men put on radiation suits. But the fleas are dead, too. Little bastards crunch under your feet. And the rats?—God! It’s like they did what those… what are the animals that get together and march to the sea every so often? Lemmings. Yeah, that’s it. Seems like every rat in the state of Texas is right outside our door. But at least, by God, they’re dead. I’ve tried contacting every base I know of. No luck. Anybody out there?”
Ben and his people waited. Someone many thousands of miles away, or with very weak equipment responded. The words were not understandable.
“Say again, buddy,” the Texas man asked. “I can’t understand you.”
But there was no response.
“Get him on the horn,” Ben told the radio operator.
“President Raines?” the Texas man said, startled.
“Ex-president,” Ben said. “What do you know about the situation in this nation worldwide?”
“Sir? If this is General Raines, the Rebels, man, I’m on your side. Always have been. I drew thirty-days stockade time last year for refusing to divulge your frequency location when I stumbled on it one night. You were… 38.7, I believe, coming out of Montana.”
Ben laughed. “Okay, soldier, I believe you. What’s your name?”
