“Who the hell knows,” the man said with a shrug. “They’re street kids. You see lots of them around. Damn nuisance is what they are.”
Gale stirred beside Ben. He cut his eyes at her. She was getting angry and reaching that state very quickly.
Ben got out of the pickup, Thompson in hand. He faced the man. “I can see why Silver’s people had such an easy time with his only opposition being you tigers. But I cannot believe you represent the majority of survivors in Macon. Where are the other people?”
The man would not meet Ben’s eyes. Keeping his eyes averted, he said, “There’s some folks over yonder.” He pointed. “But we don’t mess with them. They’ve got a lot of guns and they don’t hesitate to use them.”
“Go on,” Ben prompted.
“What are you tryin’ to get me to say, mister?”
“Those … other people, they have a leader?”
“Yeah.”
“Everybody works in their society?”
“Yeah.”
“They have schools for the kids and they raise gardens and maintain some type of law and order, is that right?”
“Yeah. All those things. So what?”
“And what you and these-was Ben’s gaze swept the ragged, dirty crowd of men and women-“other people want is to lay on your lazy asses and do nothing. Is that correct?”
“Our business,” the man’s reply was sullen.
“Yeah,” Ben said, the one word filled with sarcasm. He turned his back to the man. “Sergeant Greene! Get those kids and clean them up. Have the medics check them out. We’re taking them with us.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What about us?” the dirty man said, a whine to his voice that grated on Ben. “Ain’t you gonna give us some food or something? Help us out just a little bit?”
Ben lifted the muzzle of the Thompson, placing it under the man’s chin. Ben saw fleas hop around on the man’s neck. “Don’t tempt me,” Ben told him softly.
The man swallowed hard. “I get the message.”
“I thought you might.”
“Least you can tell me your name.”
“Ben Raines.”
The man’s eyes glinted hard momentarily. His hatred overrode his fear of Ben. “Mr. President Raines, huh? That figures. Your time in office was cut kinda short, wasn’t it? You was really gonna come down hard on some folks, wasn’t you? Make everybody obey your law. Make everybody work, whether they wanted to or not. You weren’t any
better than a damned communist.”
“Don’t worry about it, sad sack,” Ben told him. “You’re not going to last much longer. Not unless you shape up. If thugs and punks don’t kill you, disease will. You might last another year. Two if you’re lucky. And if I’m real lucky, I’ll never have to look at you again.”
“You don’t have any right to talk to me like that, mister.”
“You may rest assured you have my heartfelt apologies for bruising your sensitive ego.” Ben walked back to his truck and slid under the wheel. “Worthless son of a bitch!” he said.
“I could not agree with you more, Ben,” Gale concurred.
They waited in the truck while the kids were rounded up and herded into trucks. The convoy shifted locations and the kids were checked out, bathed and dressed in clean clothes. They had all heard of Mister Ben Raines, and Ben was amused at the way they shyly looked at him. He felt sorry for them, for many told of being abandoned by their parents, left to wander alone, fending for themselves. They told of many of their little friends who had died, from the cold, from hunger, brought down by the many roaming packs of dogs gone wild. They said that Silver’s men had taken several of the girls-after they had raped them.
In another section of the city, the scene was quite different. The streets were free of litter, the houses neatly kept. Gardens grew in every back yard. Block
after block had been cleared and planted with all types of vegetables.
Ben stopped his truck in the center of the street, got out, and held his empty hands in the air. A gesture that he meant no harm to anyone. All the Rebels had been very conscious of eyes on them as they traveled from conditions that would make a pigsty seem attractive, to this well-attended section of Macon, Georgia.
Ben shifted his eyes left and right as heavily armed men and women appeared out of houses, to stand on well-kept front lawns.
“I’m friendly,” Ben called. “We’re just passing through, looking for survivors. To see how they’re getting along. We mean no harm to anyone, believe me.”
“You look familiar,” a man called. “Who are you?”
“Ben Raines.”
The men and women relaxed, lowering their weapons. “I thought it might be you,” a well-dressed man said. “But none of us were certain. Have your people park their vehicles over there.” He pointed. “You’re all welcome here.”
CHAPTER NINE
He did not know why the pain had suddenly stopped. But he was glad it had. His cuts had been cleaned and bandaged. He had been allowed to bathe and was given clean clothing.
Ike now sat alone in a small room. The door was locked from the outside. The room contained a cot, with blanket and pillow, a bucket of water, and a cane-bottomed chair. Nothing else.
He did not have any idea where he was.
But he sure as hell wished he was somewhere else.
He began making plans for escape.
CHAPTER TEN
Cecil knew Ben Raines as well as any man living, and Cecil felt certain Ben was going to pull out once Ike was found and the suspected coup attempt was put to rest. And Cecil really couldn’t blame Ben. The man had never asked for the job. It had been pushed on him, beginning back in ‘88, in the old Tri-States. Ben had never wanted all the responsibility that had been piled on his shoulders. Big shoulders, to be sure, but lots of big problems, too. And Cecil knew Ben didn’t want to break away on any permanent basis-he just wanted to take a rest, get away for a time.
Cecil knew the reins of government would be handed to him if Ben pulled out. And he wondered if he could handle all the problems that went with the territory.
He knew he had the respect of the Rebels. The Rebels were so racially mixed, that old issue never came up. People just did their jobs and nobody gave a damn what color they were. Ben wouldn’t put up with blind race prejudice for five seconds.
But Cecil knew that while he had the loyalty and respect of the Rebels … he wasn’t Ben Raines.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
He would really be king of the mountain if he could kill Ben Raines, Tony mused. He didn’t know what had happened to that Russian bastard, Striganov, only that he had taken his people and headed out west. All that mess had been over and done with before Tony even knew what was happening. One had to rely on the infrequent broadcasts of ham operators for news, and they sometimes got it all screwed up.
Fuck the west! Tony thought. The Russian could have the west, Tony would take everything east of the Mississippi River. Maybe after he blew Ben Raines’ shit away, he could arrange for a sit-down with General Striganov, work something out. Striganov. Christ, what a name. Sounded like something to eat.
Tony leaned back in his chair in the converted motel room outside Savannah. The young chick, Ann, was in the adjoining room, playing with dolls, for Christ’s sake. Acted like she’d never seen a goddamn doll before. Tony
