“Twenty-four.”
Ben did some fast math. Odds were good that her parents had not been born when Kennedy was sworn in, back in ‘61.
“Depending on how one counts it, Mary, JFK was either the thirty-fourth or thirty-fifth president of the United States. He was assassinated in 1963. As to his being a hero, he said, “They sank my boat.””
She smiled, then laughed as the humor of it struck her. “Thank you, but that doesn’t answer my question.”
Ben was thoughtful for a few moments, as he skillfully twisted and turned the wheel, avoiding the many obstacles in the road: abandoned cars and trucks, fallen trees, skeletons of humans and animals, tin cans and garbage containers, and an occasional fresh body.
How to tell her? How to tell anyone? How to tell a stranger that Ben had this dream of a free society, free of crime and bigotry and hatred, with jobs for those who wished to work, and those who didn’t could either leave voluntarily or be kicked out.
“I’ll tell you someday, Mary,” he said. “When you have several days to listen.”
Ben drove and drove and finally gave up. “Well,” he said, “I can’t find the house. Crap. I saw it once, back in the seventies. It was beautiful.”
“That’s right!” She looked at him, “I almost forgot. You used to be a writer, didn’t you?” “About a hundred years ago,” Ben said dryly. “I’d like to read some of your books.” “I assure you, Mary. I have many copies.”
They drove the streets of the small town once more. They could find no one alive. But Ben knew from past experience that was probably not true. In a town this size, so his statisticians had told him-and Ben was still a writer at heart and wanted to know those types of things-from five to eight people would have survived. But they would have become very wary of strangers, especially uniformed, armed strangers.
He told Mary that. She asked, “I wonder how they survive-get along?”
“Many of them won’t make it for any length of time. Only the very toughest will stand the test-usually. Of course there is always the exception; but the exceptions find out they’d damn well better get tough or die. The ones who will come out will be those who will not hesitate to shoot first and ask questions later.”
“So we have come to that.” Her words were softly spoken, just audible over the hiss of the tires against the pavement. “Then we have gone full circle.”
“Back to the caves? No, not yet. Not if I have anything to say about it. We’re on the right track, Mary, but we still have a very long way to go before we get home free.”
“Optimistic, General?”
“Only at times, Mary. Other times I hit new lows.”
She looked at his profile in the waning light of evening.
She had heard all the talk about his being some sort of god, that he could not be killed, and all that. That shrines had been secretly built in his honor by some of the people who followed him. She wondered if he knew about those places of worship. She decided he did not. Everything within her being wanted to reject any notion of a higher being, for Mary was more agnostic than believer-at least she felt that way most of the time. She had heard about General Raines’s sexual escapades and the children he had sired. She wondered if Ben was attempting to repopulate the world single-handedly. That brought a smile to her lips. And an idea to her brain.
“Tell me the joke?” Ben asked, glancing at her Mona Lisa smile.
“I don’t think you would appreciate the humor, General.”
“Perhaps not, Mary.” He pulled up, parking in the center of a street lined with Jeeps and trucks. “Let’s see about getting something to eat.”
She came to him later that night, after the area was silent, with only the guards maintaining their lonely vigil. He did not seem at all surprised to see her appear at his door.
“Mary,” he greeted her, motioning her inside the lamp-lit home. “What’s on your mind?”
“Can I level with you, General?”
“Of course.”
“I have a boyfriend back in Tri-States. We plan on getting married in a few months.”
“My best wishes, Mary.” Ben looked at her, a puzzled expression on his face.
“But I’ve been trying to get pregnant for six months.”
“Oh?”
“Jim thinks the bombings back in ‘88 made him sterile.”
“That’s certainly possible.”
“But I want us to have a child.”
The expression on her face and the look in her eyes told Ben everything else he needed to know.
“You sure Jim wouldn’t mind?”
“Like me, General, he would be honored.”
Ben took her hand. “It’s a strange world we live in, Mary.”
“You’ll make it better, General,” came her response.
CHAPTER TWO
It was as if the incident had never occurred between the man and woman. Mary was her usual military self the next morning, and Ben never brought up the subject. It was the first and last time she was to share his bed.
The small contingent of Rebels hit their first armed resistance in southeast Missouri, while they were on state Highway 53, angling northwest toward Poplar Bluff.
“Trouble up ahead, sir,” a scout radioed back.
Ben pulled the column up short and walked forward, his Thompson SMG in hand. Mary walked one step behind him, her M-16 at combat arms.
“Ever killed a man, Mary?” Ben asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“More than one?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ever cut a throat?”
“No, sir.”
“You’ll probably get the chance if you hang around me long enough.”
“I can hardly wait,” her reply was dryly given.
Ben laughed at her. His smile vanished as one of the young scouts hurriedly approached.
“What’s the problem?” Ben asked.
“About fifty motorcyclists have blocked the road a half mile ahead, sir. They’re all armed.”
“Were they hostile to you?”
“Yes, sir. Said if I tried to push through they’d kill me.”
“Well, that makes my job easier. What do they want, son?”
“Women, sir. And guns.”
Mary tensed beside Ben, her hands tightening on her M-16.
“Tell them to clear the road and get out of the way, or we will forcibly remove the blockade, and them with it.”
“Yes, sir.” The scout used a bull-horn to relay the message.
“You don’t own the goddamn road!” The shout was electronically hurled back to Ben. “We got you outnumbered anyways. Give us your women and guns and you can drive on through.”
Ben looked behind him. Colonel Gray was standing in the center of the road, calmly reviewing the situation.
“Colonel Gray?”
“Sir?”
“There is a pile of garbage in the road ahead. Please remove it, if you will.”
“Sir.”
The Englishman saluted, gave an order, and a team
Colonel Gray put down his range finder. “Nine hundred meters,” he called over his shoulder. “Fire for range, adjust, then fire for effect. HE and WP. G.”
The mortars thonked and delivered Ben Raines’s reply. The highway ahead exploded as range was found and clicked in. Saddle tanks on the motorcycles exploded as Ben’s Rebels opened up with mounted ring-type .50-caliber machine guns, spraying the area.
“Cease firing!” Colonel Gray yelled.
The morning grew hot and still once more. Moaning and screaming from up the road drifted to the men and women of the Rebel contingent. Snipers began firing, stilling many of the cries.
Ben glanced at James Riverson. “Clear it out, James. We don’t have time to jack around with prisoners.”
APC’S rolled forward. After a few moments of automatic weapons’ fire, no more moaning was heard. A deuce-and-a-half with a front-mounted scoop rolled forward, lowered the scoop, and unceremoniously cleared a wide path through the smoking, bloody rubble.