Out of the Ashes

He was stopped three times before he got thirty miles inside Virginia. The last time he allowed his anger to push past his control.

“What in the hell is going on?” Ben demanded. “Why am I being treated like a criminal?”

The Virginia trooper wore no expression on his face. Neutral. Impassive. A tree. A big fucking oak tree. “Where is the registration for this truck?”

But Ben had him on that. Before leaving the dealership he had carefully filled out a bill of sale and all other necessary papers. He had notarized them himself, signing the notary's name with his left hand and putting plates on the truck from another truck parked in the shop. It had been a spur-of-the-moment act. Now Ben was glad he'd done it.

“Cute,” the trooper said, not believing a word he had just read. He returned the papers to Ben. “But I won't argue with you. What's your business in Richmond?”

“The first lady—and I use that term loosely, assuming Logan has married or is shacked up with Fran Piper—and I are from the same town in Louisiana. I thought I'd just drop in for a little chat.”

“President Logan married a lady named Fran, yeah.” The trooper looked at Ben, then shook his head. “Raines, what do you think this is, some sort of joke?”

“The ... ah ... first lady is. I wasn't kidding about that.”

“You really know her?”

“Unfortunately. I fucked her for about a week—last year. Right after the war.”

“No kidding! Hey, she's a looker. Was it good?”

“You ever had any bad?”

Both men laughed at the old joke. The ice was broken, the tension gone. Big buddies now; talk about pussy. They introduced themselves. Shook hands. Formal ceremony. Ben and Mitch, standing chatting in the middle of silent devastation. Not two hundred yards away, the bones of an entire family lay rotting in a house.

Ben leveled with the trooper, taking it from the beginning. He condensed it considerably, but hit the high points.

Mitch whistled. “You really carrying all that armament?”

Ben showed him.

“Shit!” the trooper said.

“You would suggest I not go to Richmond?”

“Not unless you want to spend the rest of your life in the pokey. That is, providing the soldiers guarding President Logan didn't shoot you right off.”

“Martial law?”

“Tight as a virgin's cunt.”

Ben nodded. “Tell me, since it appears unlikely I'll be heading into Richmond, what, exactly, has Logan done?”

“Well.” The trooper sighed, removing his Smoky-the-Bear hat. “He's pissed off a bunch of people—of all colors, I might add. Seems Logan wasn't so much in love with the minorities as people thought.”

“What do you mean?”

“Word is he's gonna send troops into this New Africa place, down in Mississippi and Louisiana.”

“When?”

“Don't know that. But I do know the niggers down there are gonna fight the order, so it promises to get bloody. And he's got his own private little army, down in Georgia, headed up by an ex-mercenary.”

“What's the merc's name?”

“Only thing I've heard is Parr.”

“Kenny Parr. I know him; soldiered with him in Africa. He's no good. Fight for any flag.”

“Yeah. That's what I heard. Logan's shuffling the remaining citizens around. And he's collecting all the guns; .22 rifles and 410 shotguns is all he's letting the people keep.”

“Son of a bitch!” Ben swore.

“Yeah,” Mitch agreed. “I never was in favor of gun control. But I guess I'm lucky to have a job doing what I've been doing for ten years. Although I wouldn't want it to get out that I've been talking with the leader of the Rebel army. Logan's put a bounty on their heads.” He spoke the last softly.

“And mine?”

“No.” The trooper shook his head. “He hasn't.”

“You knew who I was all along?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn't you ... arrest me, or whatever?”

“To tell you the truth, Mr. Raines, in my way of thinking, the Rebs haven't done anything to warrant arrest or killing. There's been a lot of accusations thrown at them, but no proof to back it up. And ... well...” He trailed it off into silence.

“You're not real sure you approve of all Logan's doing?” Ben finished it.

“Yeah,” he said heavily. “I guess that's it. It worries me more than a little. I'm afraid he might—will—go too far with this thing. I ... just don't believe he has the right to tell people where to live, what to do. But ... until the people start bristling up and snarling about it, I guess I'll go along with it.”

“And when they do that?”

The big trooper met Ben's eyes. “I know where a contingent of Rebs is hiding.”

Ben didn't press that. “What are we using for currency now?”

“Plain old greenbacks. The storage area where the emergency currency was held took a direct hit—or one of them did, at least. Be a lot of millionaires around for a time, but new emergency currency will be printed as soon as a new mint is established and plates are made.”

An idea, actually several ideas at once, all jumbled, popped into Ben's head. “Want to do me a favor, Mitch?”

“Probably. Name it.”

“Pass the word down the law-enforcement line that I'm dead.”

A thin smile passed briefly over the trooper's tanned face. “You got it ... General.”

He turned and walked away.