And Rani didn’t let him forget it, yapping at him over the CB.
Ben took it good-naturedly, with a lot of “Yes, Dear’s,” and “No, Dear’s,” as they drove along. He also agitated a lot.
“I bet you thought Hilton Logan was cute,” Ben needled her.*
“Stop changing the subject! And no, I didn’t think President Logan to be cute. And by the way, what part did you have in the death of that man?”
“I ordered his death by our Zero Squads. A very brave young man gave his own life to kill that bastard.”
The CB was silent for a few miles. When Rani again
*
Out of the Ashes transmitted, she had wisely changed the subject.
“How far is it to the Tri-States, Ben?”
“Well, we’re going to see some country first, Rani. We’ll be there in a week or ten days. I’m going to lead those following us on a goose chase for a time.”
“Those following us?”
“Sure. Campo and Texas Red. I read those two like a good book. They pulled their people out of Texas and let us rush around like crazy, looking for them. All the time they were probably holed up three or four hundred miles away, getting information on us from scouts. All the time waiting for you and I to pull out. They’re behind us.”
“And they would know you were heading for the Tri-States?”
“I’m sure.”
“Ben?”
“Yes, Rani.”
“Is the story true? Did you really kill a mutant with your bare hands?”’
“No,” Ben said flatly. “I shot the damned thing seven times with a .45 and then split its skull with a Bowie knife.”
“I see.”
I wonder.
“Ben?”
“Yes, Rani.”
“You don’t seem the least bit worried about the outlaws following us.”
“I’m not in the least worried. Let me put your mind at ease, dear. I know the old Tri-States like the back of my own hand. We left enough bombs, guns, ammo, and materials cached out there to outfit a small army.
And I know where it all is. Relax, Rani. They’ll probably find us, but they’ll wish they hadn’t.”
“I do wish I could share your confidence, Ben,” she said, the dryness coming through the speaker.
Ben just chuckled and kept on driving.
It took them the rest of the day to travel between Gallup and Flagstaff. Ben had never seen an interstate so cluttered with junked vehicles.
“The first thing we have to do,” he said aloud, “is to clear the highways. That will give the people something to do; take their minds off their troubles. Or are you just kidding yourself, Raines?”
Probably, he concluded.
He knew people only too well. Ten out often would volunteer at first. Two out of ten would end up doing most of the actual work. The others would find some excuse not to work. They would bitch and moan and eventually walk away.
Not even the most destructive war known to humankind had changed that undesirable aspect of human nature.
A few miles outside of Flagstaff, Ben began monitoring his CB closely. There was some air traffic coming out of the city, but unlike Gallup, this chatter wasn’t, or at least did not appear to be, hostile.
Ben slowed and pulled off onto the shoulder, Rani right behind him.
He got out and walked to her truck. “You been listening to the chatter on your CB?”
“Yes. It sounds friendly.”
“Yeah. A Tasmanian Devil is cute, too. But have you ever tried to pet one?”
“I’ve never even seen one, Ben.”
Ben nodded absently and reached across her for the mike. “Hello, Flagstaff. Anybody copying this transmission?”
After a brief quiet pause, a voice replied. “You ‘bout blew my doors off with that transmission, friend. You wanna cut it down some? You’re distorting real bad.”
Ben adjusted his output, flipping the switch, putting his CB on normal power. “That better, Flagstaff?”
“Much better. Which direction you comin” from?”’
“East.”
“How’d you get through Gallup?”’
“Quickly and shooting at anything that looked like a punk,” Ben told the voice.
The voice laughed. “Well, I hope you got a bunch of them, friend. Come on in, we’re friendly. We’ll meet you on the outskirts of town.”
“Ben Raines,” Ben said, holding out his hand to the man. “The Ben Raines?” the man asked, pumping Ben’s hand.
Ben could never get used to that reaction from people. “I guess so.”
“Thank God!” a woman said. “Where is your army?”
“Most of them are back in Georgia,” Ben told her. “I’ve got one company still in Texas, helping the law- abiding folks in that state hunt down outlaws and warlords.”
The woman looked horrified. “You mean you and this lady are out traveling alone?”
Ben smiled at her. “Yes. But doing so carefully.”
“I heard that,” a man said. “You’re lucky you got through, Mr. Raines. Outlaws working all over the damn place. Good folks up in Utah cleaned up that state, but it seems the scum they didn’t get just moved south. They’ve been giving us fits around here.”
“Get organized and hunt them down,” Ben said.
“Easier said than done, Mr. Raines. You ever tried to …?” He grinned sheepishly. “Yeah. I guess you have at that. Good Lord, folks! Where did we misplace our manners? Come on, Mr. Raines, ma’am. Please.” He motioned Ben and Rani toward the town. “Spend some time with us. You’ll find Flagstaff a lot different from Gallup.”
Like between daylight and dark, Ben mentally noted as they followed the local vehicles into the small city. The streets had been cleared and cleaned. Most of the stores had no show windows, but there was no broken glass sparkling on the sidewalks and streets. Ben could not see any rusting, junked cars, which were not only an eyesore, but a hazard.
As the small caravan wound out of the city proper and into the suburbs, Ben could see what remained of many large gardens. The homes they passed had been properly maintained, the lawns kept up and clean.
Ben guessed about five to six hundred people were living in the city. The adults were all armed-and well armed, at that.
At the home of the man and woman who appeared to be the spokespersons for the group, over coffee-real coffee-Ben complimented the gathering.
“It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t pleasant,” Jim Blanning told Ben. “I guess there was probably over a thousand of us starting out. About four hundred left when we really started getting tough with the punks and street gangs and criminal element.”
All those gathered in the large home shook their heads in agreement with that statement.
Carolyn Blanning said, “We did try the old way, Mr. Raines …”
“Ben, please.”
“Ben. Good. You know what I mean by the old way. We began making excuses for the gangs, not coming down hard on them; mouthing all the old B.s. from before the Great War. Well,” she said with a shrug, “it didn’t work back then, and it wasn’t working for us now. Finally, and this only happened about… oh, fifteen months ago, we banded together and formed our own police force.” She smiled. “We put your ideas in play. The ones you used up in the Tri-States. We weren’t going to tolerate lazy, sorry, good-for-nothing people; especially the gangs and the thugs and the punks.” She paused, shook her head, and looked at a tall, rangy man sitting across the huge den from
