Out of the Ashes

Ben changed his mind about going to Louisiana, knowing the only reason for the visit was to see Salina. So he crossed the river at Helena, south of Memphis, and headed across Arkansas, making good time, staying on the secondary roads. He skirted Little Rock, not daring to go any further north. For from Fort Smith in Arkansas all the way up to just a few miles south of Kansas City, everything was gone; that area had taken both types of warheads. He spent a night by a lake in the mountains, fishing in the late afternoon sunlight. He caught more fish than he could possibly eat and was cleaning them, preparing to fry them on his portable Coleman stove when Juno growled low in his chest.

“We're friendly.” The voice came out of the brush. “I have some children with me.”

“Come on in,” Ben said, keeping one hand on the butt of his pistol.

A black man and woman with several kids in tow walked up to the cabin porch. The man stuck out his hand. “Pal Elliot.” He smiled his introduction. “This is Valerie. And these,” he said, pointing to the children, “in order, starting with the oldest, are Bruce, Linda, Sue, and Paul.”

Two blacks, one Oriental, one Indian.

Ben shook the offered hands and smiled at the kids. “Ben Raines,” he said. He sat down on the porch and motioned for the others to do the same. “You folks live around here?”

Pal smiled. “No, just passing through. Like a lot of other people. I was an airline pilot, based in L.A. Valerie was a model in New York City. We met about seven months ago, I think it was.”

“Six months ago,” she corrected him with a smile. “We picked up the kids along the way. Found them wandering.”

“No children of your own?” Ben asked.

“No. But he did.” She looked at Pal. “Lost his whole family. You?”

Ben shook his head. “I was—am—a bachelor. Lost my brothers and sisters and parents.” He grimaced in the fading light.

“Memories still painful?” Pal asked.

“No, not really. One brother made it out—up in Chicago. Suburbs, actually. We met ... had a falling out.”

“Carl Raines?” Pal asked.

“That's the man.”

“We passed through that area,” Valerie said. “Very quickly. It was ... unpleasant.”

“Well, folks...” Ben stood up, rubbing his hands together. “How about staying for dinner? I have plenty of fish.”

“We'd like that,” they said.

“I knew I'd heard that name somewhere,” Pal said. It was evening in the mountains. The air was soft with warmth, the lake shimmering silver in the moonlight. The children played Rook in the den of the cabin; the adults sat on the porch, smoking and talking and drinking beer. “Way you write, hard law and order, I had to think you were a racist—at first. Then you did some other books that had me confused about your ... reasoning. What is your political philosophy, Ben? If you don't mind my asking, that is.”

“No, I don't mind. I ... think I was rapidly becoming very apolitical, Pal; pretty damned fed up with the whole system. I did a couple of books about it. I was fed up with the goddamned unions asking for more money than they were worth—trying, in many instances, to dictate policy to the government. I was very weary of crime with no punishment, sick of the ACLU sticking their noses into everybody else's business. Oh ... don't get me started, Pal. Besides, as a young lady once told me, not too long ago, it's all moot now, anyway.”

“Is it, Ben?” Pal asked. “What about Logan?”

Ben chuckled. “Our president-we-didn't-elect? Yeah, I know. I gather you folks aren't responding to his orders to relocate?”

“Logan can take his orders and stick them up his nose,” Valerie said. “I never did like that man; didn't trust him.”

Megan's words.

“I shall live,” she continued, “where I damned well choose to live.”

Ben told them about Ike and Megan; of New Africa and what the government planned to do. And then he told them, just touching on it, of the idea that was in his mind—to get their reactions.

They both were excited. “Are you serious with this, Ben?” Pal inquired, leaning forward.

“Yes, I suppose I am. I know I am. I've been resisting it for months. I didn't believe Americans would follow Logan's orders, falling in line like lemmings on the way to the sea, blindly following orders. You two have witnessed it?”

Pal nodded. “Yes. Several times during the past few months. People are being forced to relocate, many of them against their will.”

“You were going to tour the country, write about it?” Valerie asked.

“Was,” he said. “You people?”

“The kids have to have schooling,” Pal said. “And I'm told a man named Cecil Jeffrey and his wife, Lila, are really doing some fantastic things down in Louisiana.”

“I just told you what Logan planned to do about New Africa,” Ben reminded them.

“Maybe it won't happen.”

“You can't believe that.”

“No,” Pal said quietly. “I suppose not. White people have always been fearful of an all-black nation, whether you will admit it, or not. But I suppose we have to try. I have a master's in science; Valerie, a master's in business. They are going to need teachers.”

“But I just told you—”