Out of the Ashes

The dog jumped from the truck and walked to the food, eating it in two bites. He looked up at Ben, as if asking, but not begging, for more. Ben opened another can and dumped that on the paper. The animal ate, then walked to the ditch beside the small park and enjoyed a noisy drink of water. His thirst quenched, he walked back to the truck, jumped up into the bed, and lay down, closing his eyes as if he had been doing that, on this truck, all his life.

Probably belonged to someone who rode it around in a pickup truck, Ben thought.

“Well,” Ben said, “if you want to ride, you can damned well ride. I'm not going to tell you to move.”

The dog opened its eyes, looked at Ben, then went back to sleep.

Ben policed the area, dumped his trash into a container, and got into the truck. He opened the sliding glass of the rear window, cranked up, and pulled out. After a few miles, the animal stuck his head through the window, looked at Ben, who was holding his breath; then licked Ben on the cheek. Ben rubbed the animal's head and the dog barked happily, then settled back on the canvas.

“Looks like I found a friend.” Ben grinned.

So Ben and his new friend, whose name, Ben discovered, when he checked the tags on the collar, was Juno (probably, Ben thought, a shortened version of Juneau, Alaska), spent the day and the evening getting acquainted. And Ben and the dog took to each other. He had not had a pet since his boyhood days in Illinois and, after spending a little time with Juno, he wondered why he had not. He found Juno to be alert, probably no more than three years old, and seemingly intelligent.

Ben's sleep that night was deep and secure, for the animal was attuned to the night's every noise. During the night, Juno had snuggled up to Ben's sleeping bag, the closeness and warmth comforting to both man and beast.

Lost a girlfriend and found a dog. Ben smiled as he drifted off.

The next morning, however, Ben discovered he was crawling with fleas.

Juno met his new master's reproachful scratching with a look of doggie disgust, as if saying, “What the hell? Lay down with dogs, what do you expect?”

At the first town they came to that morning, Ben picked up a supply of flea powder and spray, and several flea collars. Then he bathed both Juno and himself and that solved the problem of fleas.

Ben headed southeast out of Callahan, having no desire to travel through Jacksonville. He had seen a few people. They were, for the most part, silent and withdrawn, but some were openly hostile. He picked up talk on his CB, but none of it was friendly. He had stopped along the highway several times to look at bodies. They were all no more than two or three days old and they had been shot.

A few miles down the highway, Ben found a body hanging from a tree alongside the road. A crudely lettered sign hung around the neck read: NIGGER.

Further on, he found the body of a white man hanging from a tree. The sign around his neck read: JUSTICE WILL PREVAIL.

“Wonderful,” Ben remarked. “I am so happy to find our judicial system—inadequate as it was—is still flourishing.”

He drove quickly out of that part of the state. Even Juno seemed relieved to be on the move.

At Raiford, Ben followed the signs to the big prison, but long before he saw the wire and the walls he smelled it and turned around, heading back. A huge flock of buzzards circled in the sky.

He wandered the northern part of the state, all the way over to Hampton Springs, seeing a few people, some friendly, some hostile. He saw signs of looting and violence everywhere he went.

Then, while turning the dial on his portable radio, he heard the music. He was so startled he pulled off the road and turned up the radio. The music faded and a voice sprang out.

“Yes, sir, folks, it's a bright, beautiful day here in the city with the titties. Temperature in the mid-seventies and you're listening to the SEAL with the feel, Ike McGowen, watchin’ the records go ‘round. Are you listening, world? If so, and you're the friendly type, just head on down to the coast to Yankeetown and be received. But if you're hostile, just carry your ass on, brother.”

Ben laughed and wondered if SEAL meant Navy SEAL—sea, air, and land—or was just a nickname. He decided to find out. As he drove, he kept looking for a radio tower. He didn't spot it until he got to the water's edge, and it was the crudest looking tower he had ever seen, leaning precariously to one side, looking as if it might topple over at any moment. Ben pulled into the drive of the large, oceanside house and got out.

A gaggle of bikini-clad young ladies, bouncing and jiggling, came racing out to meet him. They were all armed with automatic weapons. Kind of took away from the beauty of their bare skins. A man with a CAR-15 walked behind them.

“I'm peaceful,” Ben called. “I really can't speak for the dog—only known him for a few days, but I think he's friendly.”

“What's your name, friend?” the man called.

“Ben Raines.”

“I'm Ike McGowen. What's the dog's name?”

“Juno.”