Out of the Ashes

Ben skirted Raleigh and they spent their last night together at Pittsboro, a few miles south of Chapel Hill. They made love slowly and then she cried herself to sleep, lying in his arms.

In the early morning hours, just before dawn, Ben felt her slip from his side and dress quietly in the darkened house. She left a note on her pillow and softly kissed him on the cheek. He pretended to be asleep. Jerre opened the door and looked back at him; then she stepped quietly out of his life, closing the door behind her. He listened to the sound of her footsteps fade.

Ben rose from his blankets to stand by the window. He looked out into the dim light and watched her walk up the highway, toward the gathering of hopeful young people. As they had approached the small town, Ben had seen more and more young people, all heading for Chapel Hill.

They had smiled and waved at Jerre. They had flatly ignored Ben.

When Jerre was gone from his sight, Ben turned on the battery-operated lantern and picked up the note she had left.

Dear Ben,

I'll make this short, ‘cause if I try to write too much I'll just tear it up and stay with you, and I think that would be bad for both of us—at this time. Maybe what I'm doing is foolish. I don't know. But I feel it's something I have to do. The world is in such a mess, I have to try to do something to help fix it. Maybe the young can. I don't know. In my heart I kind of doubt it, but we have to try—right?

The mood I get from the kids I've talked with is they blame the adults for the mess we're in. I don't think that is entirely fair, personally. You're a good man, and there must be others like you. But give us a chance, huh?

I don't know what my feelings are toward you, Ben. I like you a whole lot and I think I probably love you a little bit. That's a joke—I think I probably love you a whole lot. That's one of the reasons I've got to split. There are other reasons, of course, but my feelings toward you are right up there at the top.

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 carefully folded the note and put it in a waterproof pouch where he carried other precious, silent memories: a picture of his mother and father, his brothers and sisters, a girl he had once loved. And now, Jerre. He put in the pictures of Jerre with her note and closed the flap, securing it.

He sat on the edge of the bed for a time, the scent of her still in the air, on the pillowcase, the sheets.

“Good-by, Jerre,” Ben said aloud.

He packed his gear and pulled out. Had he turned north, instead of south, he would have found her sitting at the side of the road, crying, looking down the empty road. Looking south.

TEN

Ben was maudlin for a time, his thoughts moody, filled with regret and self-pity. But as he drove, his mood began to lift as he realized Jerre had been right in her young wisdom: she needed to be with her own kind, her own age—at least for a time. He wished the young people well, but did not believe they would accomplish a thing. Except to get themselves killed. Back in 1960, when Ben was sixteen years old, he had believed in Camelot. But the years of combat and of seeing the mute silence of the dead and the screaming of the wounded and the starvation of the peoples in parts of Africa had convinced him that only the toughest survive—there is not, there was not such a place as Camelot.

But, he thought, forcing a grin, let the young people try; maybe they can build a better world from out of the ashes. God knows the last two generations sure fucked this one up.

He drove down to Sanford and angled over until he linked up with the interstate. The on-ramp was blocked, so Ben dropped the truck into four-wheel drive and drove until he found a place where he believed he could get on the highway. He drove down to Dillon and there he spent the rest of the day practicing with the M-10 and getting the feel of the 9-mm pistol. Ben concluded the little SMG did not have the knockdown power of the heavy old Thompson, or the range, but it was lighter and easier to handle. He elected to stay with it.

The barrel extension/silencer increased the range a few yards—about sixty-five yards max—and made the weapon easier to control, for the padded extension/silencer served much as a rifle fore-end. Without it, the Ingram made a hell of a racket. Even with it, it sounded like a fast-quacking duck with a speech impediment.

Ben fixed his dinner and turned in. His dreams were intense, waking him several times. They were mixed—about his parents, his brothers and sisters, Fran, and always, Jerre. And the dream of a free land, run by the people, always intermingled with the others. The Rebels, leaderless ... waiting.

At first light, he drove over to Shaw Air Force Base, thinking surely, of all places, there would be life here; a military organized disciplined order to things.