Out of the Ashes

“Well, Ben and Juno, come on into radio station KUNT and set for a time.”

Ben laughed at the old joke of call letters. “KUNT?”

Ike returned the laugh. “Yeah—it's a little fuzzy around the edges but mighty fine, man. Mighty fine.”

In the sprawling house, Ike introduced Ben. “This one here is Tatter, and that's June-Bug, and that one there is Space-Baby, and that one is Angel-Face. The blond is Honey-Poo. That dark one all sprawled out on the floor, too goddamned lazy to get up is Bell-Ringer. She claims to be a black person of the Negroid persuasion, but I think she's just been out in the sun too long.” Bell-Ringer smiled and gave him the middle finger. She smiled at Ben, then went back to reading her book. Ike said, “We got all the conveniences, friend. Generator for electricity which gives up light, music, and hot water. So fix yourself a drink and let's talk. Then we'll vote.”

“Vote? Vote on what?”

Ike grinned. “To see if you'll stay with us for a time—or leave.”

“Well, I wasn't planning on staying, but I'll take your offer of a drink.”

“Aw.” Ike waved off Ben's idea of leaving. “You look like an O.K. sort of guy. Hell, hang around awhile. Tell us your story and we'll vote.”

Over his bourbon and water, Ben told them what he was doing—and had done. He told them about the general at Shaw AFB, about Logan, the Rebels.

“I wondered if you were the writer. Yeah, I've heard about the Rebels; talked to them a couple of times on 39.2. I don't know much about them—what they're all about—but they sound pretty straight. Hell, Ben, we can't throw a general out of here.”

Ben grimaced and they all laughed.

“You don't strike me as the DJ type,” Ben said to Ike.

Ike grinned, his boyishness coming through. “I'm not, really. But I always wanted to be. No,” he said, sighing, “I'm—was—in the Navy. SEAL. We were doing some training at Fort Walton Beach when the balloon went up. Talk about confusion, man. Jesus! Nobody knew their ass from peanut butter. I got sick as a dog.” He looked at Juno. “No offense, pooch. And wandered around in a daze for about a week. Ran into Bell-Ringer; she was in the process of gettin’ raped by a bunch of rednecks—so I sorta jumped in and did my survival bit on her behalf, since her below was all filled up, so to speak.”

Bell-Ringer shot him the bird.

“You killed them.” It was a statement on Ben's part, not a question.

“I damned shore did.” Ike grinned. “Me and my little ol’ CAR-15. Then, the next day, we ran into Tatter and June-Bug and we all sorta migrated down here. The others just wandered in when I got the station on the air.” He looked at the ladies. “Let's vote. All in favor of Gen. Ben Raines stayin', raise your hand, or your foot, or lift a tit—do somethin'.”

All hands went up.

Ike's grin widened. “You're home, General. Let's get you unloaded.”

Juno was cuddled up to June-Bug. He had already made up his mind to stay.

Ben couldn't blame him for that.

ELEVEN

“Have there been many visitors around?” Ben asked. It was dusk on the coast and the gulf was as beautiful as the Prussian blue eyes of Jerre; it gleamed softly, bathing the sand with a peaceful glow. For a moment Ben thought of Jerre and he was saddened.

Honey-Poo picked up on the gentleness in his voice and stirred. Ben was conscious of the vibes from her, and she of the vibes from him.

Ike looked at both of them and grinned knowingly. “Yeah, several have tried to come in here and take over; throwin’ their weight around, runnin’ off at the mouth. But I've taught all these gals about weapons, and they won't hesitate to blow the ass off a troublemaker. Those guys didn't last long. We buried ’em right over there.” He pointed. “The other side of that house way down yonder. I guess the word spread after the last shoot-out; hasn't been any more rednecks or trash comin’ around. But we hear it's really tough up in the north part of the state, and really bad down in Jax and Tampa. Some of the other cities, too.”

Ben spoke of the bodies he'd seen hanging by the side of the road and he elaborated on what was about to happen—if it hadn't already occurred—in Chicago and some of the other cities around the nation.

“Right and wrong on both sides,” Bell-Ringer said; then rose from her chair and went inside.

Ike followed her.

“They got a thing for each other,” Honey-Poo said. “I think they're gonna get married here pretty soon.”

Suddenly, without any warning, Ben thought of Salina. “She's a beautiful woman.” And she was.

“Smart, too. Was going to college in Gainesville, working on her Ph.D. in something or the other. Doesn't talk much about it, though. Guy she was going with—not steady or heavy—was killed two or three days after the war, or whatever the hell it was that happened.”

Ben told her of the tape recording he'd heard, sitting in front of the Radio Shack in Morriston—a thousand years ago, it seemed.

“Yeah, Ike heard that same tape.”

“Bell-Ringer's boyfriend, or just friend, whatever—how did he get killed?”