BEN RAINES-IF YOU’RE ALIVE AND READING THIS, OR IF ANYBODY KNOWS THE WHEREABOUTS OF BEN RAINES, HAVE HIM CONTACT US ON MILITARY 39.2. KEEP TRYING. WE’LL BE LISTENING. WE NEED ORDERS.
But Ben didn’t want to be anybody’s commanding general. He just wanted to be left alone. To travel the ruined nation, to write his journal.
It was not to be.
Jerre. He had found her wandering alone on a highway in Virginia. She had traveled with him for a time. Finally left him to join others her own age. To save the world from itself. A sort of after-the-bombs flower child.
When they parted she had left him a letter. Ben still had it. He remembered the last paragraph.
You’ve got places to go and things to do before you find yourself-your goal, preset, I believe-and start to do great things. And you will, Ben. You will. I hope I see you again, General.
Jerre.
Ben had found Ike amid a bevy of bikini-clad lovely young ladies in Florida. The ex-navy SEAL had built a radio station-of sorts. KUNT, Ike called it.
Ben had been the “minister” at Ike and Megan’s wedding.
But now Megan was dead. Killed when the government of the United States had grown vindictive and mounted their deadly assault against the Tri-States.
Juno, Ben’s big husky, growled deep in his throat.
“We’re friendly,” the voice came out of the brush. “I have some children with me.”
“Come on in,” Ben said, keeping one hand on the butt of his pistol.
A black man and woman, with four kids, walked up to the cabin porch by the lake. Pal Elliot, Valerie, and the kids. Two blacks, one Oriental, one Indian.
Pal had been an airline pilot, Valerie a top NYC fashion model. They had picked up the kids, homeless, along the way.
Now they were all dead. Part of the earth. Part of Ben’s dream of a society where all were truly equal. Where medical care was denied to no one. Where all had a job. Where crime was virtually non-existent. Called Tri-States. And it worked.
Ben moaned in his pain-filled coma-like sleep as the memories kept coming, and coming, and coming.
Cecil Jeffery’s New Africa never got off the ground before the government crushed it, killing it, grinding it under the heel of democracy turned authoritarian. Cecil and Lila, and a handful of others, had joined Ben’s Tri- States.
Lila was dead, with their children. Dissolved into the earth of Tri-States.
And when it was all over, and the nation had once more been torn apart, and Tri-States lay smoking from the massive government assault, Ben had gathered a few hundred survivors around him.
Ike, Ben’s adopted daughter, Tina, Judith, Doctor Chase, Jerre, and James. Ben had looked at the handful of survivors, his Rebels, the people ready to die for what they felt was right and just. And looking at them, Ben knew the dream would never die. Tri-States would live again. Ben had picked up his Thompson.
“All right, people,” he’d said. “Let’s do it.”
Chapter 40
Ben awakened once more that day, to eat what was left of the stew and drink water. Lots of water. He knew then that he was getting feverish. He began taking aspirin along with the antibiotics. He dropped back into his painful, coma-like sleep.
All during the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours-Ben didn’t know for sure, losing all track of time-he drifted in and out of consciousness. He would awaken just long enough to keep a small fire going, and to force himself to eat and drink something. Then he would fall back into blackness.
When he awakened on what he thought was the third day after the assault on the cabin, he knew he was going to make it. He was weak as a sick baby, but his fever was gone and his wounds showed no signs of infection.
But he knew he was not strong enough to make it to where he had hidden his truck. Not by a long shot.
For several days he was virtually helpless. Just strong enough to keep a small fire going, feed himself, and change the dressings on his wounds. He was not going to chance the deep timber yet. He knew it was cold-blooded on his part, but maybe, just maybe, he could help Rani alive. Dead would do her no good.
A week after the attack, Ben tried for his truck. He gave up before he got any distance at all, and returned to the cabin.
The bodies of Hartline’s men were stinking, fouling the air. But he was too weak to try to move them.
Then, as it so often happens, it seemed like Ben began gaining strength hourly. His wounds were healing well, and he was eating like that much-talked-about horse.
He had been walking around the woods near the cabin daily, each day increasing the distance. Now he felt he was ready to try for the truck and the radio.
He packed a very light rucksack, with rations for two days, just in case he didn’t make it, and a ground sheet and blanket.
He set out for his truck. He wondered what was happening with Rani.
“My, you are a pretty one, aren’t you, dear?” General Striganov said, stroking Rani’s cheek.
She tried to bite his hand, the Russian jerking it back just in time to avoid those strong white teeth. Striganov laughed at her.
“I’m glad you think it’s funny,” Rani said.
“Oh, I do, dear,” the general said. “But unfortunately, poor Sam isn’t in any condition to find anything amusing. Your Ben Raines almost killed him.”
“Where is Ben?”
The Russian’s smile was ugly. “I’m really not sorry to say he’s dead, Miss Jordan. My last formidable enemy in the late great country of America. Now I can make plans to enlarge my … ah … operation.”
“Who was your idol as a boy, General-Hitler?” Rani snapped at him.
“He did have some good ideas, I will admit that. He just didn’t carry them far enough.”
“God, you’re a monster!” she hissed the words at him.
Striganov laughed at her.
“And if you think Ben Raines is dead, you’re badly mistaken. It would take a hell of a lot better man than Sam Hartline to kill Ben Raines. And I think you know it.”
The Russian’s eyes clouded. “So you thought the man to be a god, too, eh?”
“No. I never did. There is but one God.”
“There is no God, you stupid woman! As you shall soon discover. I don’t believe I shall allow Sam to have you, Miss Jordan.”
“Ms.”
“Umm.”
“Forget it.”
“Ms? Oh-yes. Of course. I do so enjoy a strong-willed woman. I enjoy breaking them. I didn’t used to. I suppose my association with Hartline is responsible for that change. A most welcome change, too. Although I don’t carry it to the extreme as my friend Hartline does.”
The Russian reached out, fondling Rani’s breasts. She slapped his hand away.
“I do so enjoy a big-breasted woman,” Striganov said.
She spat at him.
He knocked her off the chair.
Through a red, teary haze, Rani screamed and kicked at the man.
He stepped back and removed his wide leather belt. “The first step is submission,” Striganov said, swinging the belt. “The very first step toward total submission.”
The leather cracked across Rani’s jeans.
“Take off your clothes.”
“Fuck you!”
