Out of the Ashes

At a small town located on a state highway, Ben pulled over when he saw a group of elderly people gathered on and around the porch of a general store. When they saw the truck stop, they ran as if in a panic.

“Why are they afraid of us?” April asked.

“There is a certain type of filth in this world that preys on the old. I think these folks have been the victims of those types of slime. Let's see.”

But when Ben opened the door to the truck, he found himself looking down the twin barrels of a shotgun. It was, he thought, like looking down a twin culvert. He lifted his eyes to meet those of the man standing on the porch, behind the shotgun.

“I didn't stop to harm anyone,” Ben said. “I'm a writer, traveling the nation, attempting to chronicle all that has happened. If you people are in some sort of difficulty, perhaps I can help?”

“Lower the shotgun, Homer,” a woman's voice said. “He speaks as though he has some degree of education.”

The shotgun was lowered to Ben's legs. “One funny move, sonny,” Homer said, “and I'll shorten your reach considerable.”

Ben forced a grin and told Juno to please stop growling. Juno licked him in the ear. “I can see where that 12-gauge would definitely do it, sir.” He cut his eyes to the door of the general store. An elderly woman stood looking at him. Ben nodded. “Ma'am.”

The woman asked, “Where did you attend school, young man?”

“The University of Illinois, ma'am. For about twenty minutes. I didn't like college.”

She laughed. “What books have you written?”

Ben began reeling off titles and the various names he wrote under. She waved him silent.

“That's enough. Some of those books were pornography, Ben Raines. Filth. The sex acts were too descriptive. We're all adults; we know how the act is done.”

Ben laughed. “But I'll bet you read every word, didn't you, ma'am?”

She grinned and moved out onto the porch. “I taught English for fifty-five years, Mr. Raines. You need to learn about the positioning of adverbs and the splitting of compound verbs.”

“And don't forget who and whom and me and I.”

“Yes,” she said, sitting down in a chair. “That, too.” She pointed to April, sitting in the truck. “Are you and that young lady married, Mr. Raines, or are you living in sin?”

“No, ma'am, we're not married. As for living in sin, I wouldn't know about that. She doesn't believe in God.”

“I'm Nola Browning, young man. Ms. Nola Browning, thank you. We have all gathered here from several small communities in this area. I'll introduce you around a bit later. Given a little age, your young lady will come to her senses concerning God and what is His. If not,"—she shrugged—"her loss, not His. As to our troubles ... well ... it seems we have a gang of hooligans and roughnecks roaming the countryside, preying on the elderly ... those who survived God's will, that is.”

“They have been here?” Ben questioned. “Bothering you folks?”

Ms. Browning laughed without mirth. “Bothering us, sir? Oh yes, I would say so. They came up on us ... what, Mr. Jacobs? Three months ago? Yes, something like that. They roughed up the men—humiliated them, I won't go into details—then they left. We hoped they would not return. But of course, they did.

“The second time they took all the weapons in the town. Mr. Jacobs hid his shotgun in a ditch; they missed that. Then they disabled all our vehicles. Left us stranded here. They've been back a number of times since then. The last time just the past week. Mrs. Ida Sikes is the youngest of us all: she's sixty-two. They took turns raping her. Then they pulled Mrs. Johnson out of her house and raped her the next time. A woman a trip. Mrs. Carson is next. She's sixty-five, but still a very attractive woman. The things they said they were going to do to her ... well, they were rather perverted, to say the least. So can you help, Mr. Raines? Yes, very probably. But there is only one of you, fifteen of them, at least. What can you do?”

Ben smiled, and Ms. Browning noted that his smile was that of a man-eating tiger who had just that moment spotted dinner. “Oh, I imagine I can think of something suitable for them, Ms. Browning. I used to write a lot of action books.”

“Yes,” the schoolteacher replied. “And correct me if I'm wrong, sir, but didn't I read in some column that you had been a mercenary at one time?”

“I prefer ‘soldier of fortune,’ ma'am.”

“Of course you do. As for your books ... I so enjoyed your action stories, especially when your hero rid the world of thugs.”

“Well, we'll see if I can't make one of my heroes come to life and lend a hand here.”

“I imagine you can, Mr. Raines. And will. You don't look at all milksoppish to me.”

“Ben?” April asked.

“Umm?”

They lay in bed, waiting for sleep to take them.

“What type of ... slime would do something like what's been happening to these people here. I mean ... I just don't understand.”