Out of the Ashes

Ben looked inside to see if they were both dead—they were—and walked slowly back to his truck, inserting a fresh clip from habit. There was little emotion in him as he pulled out into the street. He did not feel himself an avenging angel; did not feel that he, and he alone, had been appointed to rid the land of vermin. He did not even feel much satisfaction. (Is one supposed to feel satisfaction after stepping on a roach?) But he did feel that this scene would, in all probability, be repeated, if he lived, many more times on his journey.

Ben drove out of the city proper and headed north on 51. He stopped before he reached a bend in the road and slipped up behind a house, carrying the lightweight LAW. He had chosen the LAW over the grenade launcher because he felt it more accurate. He had taken five of them from the armory—all they had.

He looked around the corner of the house. The truck, with two men sitting in the cab, was parked about seventy-five meters away. He opened the LAW to its extended position, lifted front and rear sights, armed it, then dropped to one knee and sighted into the truck, making several adjustments before being satisfied. He fired the 66-mm rocket and it was dead-on accurate.

After the roaring concussion, when the glass and metal had ceased its hot raining, the area was quiet. Ben tossed the LAW aside and walked back to his truck. He suddenly felt eyes on him. He spun, the pistol jumping into his hand.

Several older men and women stood by the side of the road. One of the men held up his hand in a gesture of submission. “Peace, friend,” he said. “We mean you no harm. You've rid this town of filth, and we thank you for it. We were listening to those heathen talk on our CBs.”

The men were dressed in dark clothing, flat-brimmed hats; the women in long dark dresses, bonnets.

“Why didn't you men arm yourselves and do it?” Ben asked. “Why wait and let someone else risk his life?”

“Our religion forbids the taking of human life,” the older man replied.

“Then you're fools!” Ben said. He had no patience with a people who would not defend themselves or their country.

“The Lord provided you,” the man said, not taking exception at Ben's hot remark.

“This time,” Ben countered. “The next time might turn out much differently.”

The man shrugged. “The Lord will provide.”

“Wonderful,” Ben said, his voice loaded with sarcasm. He opened the door to his truck. “I have to go find my sister and her family.” The tape recorder was running, recording it all. “I want them to have a Christian burial, if possible.”

“We have been doing that,” the spokesman said. “Street by street. For health reasons as well as decency. Where did your sister live?”

Ben told him.

The man consulted a notepad. “We have seen to that.”

“Thanks.”

“It is we who owe you, brother.”

“Do you know what happened?” Ben asked. “Any idea what brought all this on?”

The man again shrugged. “The Lord's will.”

“Yeah,” Ben said dryly. “Right. As good an answer as any, I suppose.”

The man smiled.

Ben got into his truck and drove away, up 51, heading toward the junction with highway 37. The darkly dressed people stood out in his mirrors, fading quickly. They looked so vulnerable standing there.

But, Ben thought—they had survived.

At a farmhouse just a few miles south of Marion, Ben pulled into the drive and looked for a long time at the place of his birth and his youth and his growing up—the good years, including the lickings he had received and so richly deserved, every one of them. He really did not want to go inside that old two-story home. But he felt he had to do it. Reluctantly, he drove up to the house and got out.

He stood for a time, looking around him, all the memories rushing back, clouding his mind and filling his eyes. He took in the land he had helped his father farm. Fighting back tears, he climbed the steps and opened the front door.

His parents were sitting on the couch, an open Bible on the coffee table in front of them. Ben's dad had his arm around his wife of so many years, comforting her even in death.

They had been dead for some time and were not a pretty sight for Ben to witness.

Ben walked through the house, touching a picture of the family taken years before, when life had been simpler. Suddenly, he whirled away from the scene and walked from the house, leaving his parents as he had found them. He carefully locked the front door and stood for a time, looking through the window at his parents. Through the dusty window, it appeared that his mother and father were sitting on the couch, discussing some point in the Bible. Ben preferred that scene. He walked from the porch, got into his truck, and drove away. He did not look back.