Part 21 (2/2)
”Only what some prisoners have told us, and how much of that we can believe is up for grabs,” Ben said.
”Outlaws, punks, thugs, drifters, slavers, murderers, human crud of the worst sort. If you can hang a name on the dregs of society, you'll find them where we're going.”
”And we are going straight in, right, General?”
Beth asked.
”That's right.” Ben smiled at her. ”We'll just call ourselves ... ah, well, missionaries.
Going on our way spreading the good word.”
Buddy returned his father's smile. ”Are you going to give us bibles to pa.s.s out, Father?”
”You already have them, boy. They're just in a slightly different form than the King James version.”
Buddy held up his old Thompson.
”That's it, son. Yea, verily, and all that.
Amen.”
”Somebody drag them out of the road and burn the bodies,” Ben said, as he looked down at the dead outlaws who had tried to block their entrance into Needles. ”Buddy, take a couple of tanks and a company and secure the town, please. We know they have prisoners in there, so try to take them alive. Corrie, get me Ike or Cecil on the horn.”
After a moment, Corrie said, ”Cecil is out of pocket. Ike is on scramble.”
”Yo, Ben.” Ike's voice came out of the speaker. The sounds of artillery booming in the background was strong. ”What's your twenty, Eagle?”
”Needles. The town's got some crud in it and we believe they're holding prisoners. We'll take it and move on. How's it going on your end?”
”Moving right along, Eagle. We're advancing three or four blocks a day, pus.h.i.+ng the punks and the creepies south. Ben, you might find yourself in a very bad position if you advance further west than Calexico.”
”I know. But I haven't made up my mind what we're going to do yet. We'll secure the airstrip at Blythe and b.u.mp you from there. Eagle out.”
Ben handed the mike to Corrie and listened as a shortbattle raged within the shattered remains of the small town. Buddy returned, escorting a band of prisoners.
”I knew it!” a woman hollered, as she came within sight of Ben. ”I done tol' you and tol' you it had to be him. I tol' you we all ought to run.”
”Shut up,” a man said.
”Civilians?” Ben looked at Buddy.
”They killed all the prisoners before we could get to them, Father,” his son told him. ”They just lined them up and shot them.”
”Why would they do that?” Linda asked.
”To keep them from talking, telling us all the horrors these crud have put them through.” Ben faced the man who had told the women to shut up. ”You comwhat can we expect in Blythe?”
The man spat on the ground. ”Screw you, a.s.shole!”
Ben b.u.t.t-stroked him with the M-14, knocking the outlaw to the ground. Ben placed the muzzle of the rifle against the man's forehead. ”I am accustomed to having my questions answered in a civil manner, punk. Now do so.”
The outlaw with the busted and b.l.o.o.d.y mouth spat out broken teeth and lay on the ground, looking up at Ben. Fear crept into his eyes. He had known for years that Ben Raines and the Rebels would someday come; had known for years that he should change his ways and stop his career of lawlessness. And now he knew it was too late. His guts knotted in fear as he realized that death lay laughing at him just around a dark corner.
”I'll be good,” he mumbled. ”I promise that I'll be good. I swear it!”
The hard eyes of Ben did not change. Contempt for the outlaw touched his face briefly. ”You'll be good only as long as the Rebels stay around. So let's don't kid each other. You can live three more minutes, or you can die right now. It's up to you.
What's in Blythe?”
The outlaw was shaking in fright. He used to think it funny when his prisoners trembled in fear, crying and begging for their lives. Now he could not find a single amusing thing about it as he p.i.s.sed his dirty underwear.
”You don't strike a very good deal a-tall, General.”
”I don't make deals with punks,” Ben told him. ”It's not a good practice. Speak your piece.”
”f.u.c.k you!”
Ben shot him. He walked over to another man. The man dropped to his knees and began praying. He prayed for forgiveness for all the women he'd raped and sodomized. The men he'd tortured and enslaved.
The children he'd s.e.xually abused. Jersey listened to him and spat on the ground.
”What's in Blythe?” Ben asked, when the punk paused to catch his breath.
”Texas Jim!” the man screamed, his spittlespraying Ben's trousers. ”Jesus G.o.d Almighty! You ain't got no right to do this. We human bein's. I'll admit we done wrong, but give us a break. I got const.i.tutional rights, General. I want to see a judge. I want me a lawyer. I got rights under the Geneva Convention.
I got-was A bullet.
The thugs and punks and outlaws and their women began crying and praying and begging.
Ben moved to another man. Put the muzzle of his M-14 on the man's forehead. ”The longer you talk, the longer you live.”
Linda understood it then -- finally, why the lawless feared Ben Raines so. There was no give in the man. None. You obeyed the few laws that the Rebels laid down, or you lay down dead. He was flint-hard and uncompromising. And he was going to win. She knew in her mind that nothing was going to stop him. No woman would ever change him, no man would ever break him.
”Texas Jim is a warlord, General,” the outlaw told him, his voice numb with shock and fear.
”He's got him a good-sized army down yonder.
”Bout two hundred and fifty tough ol” boys.
You know what I mean?”
”I certainly know the type. White trash and a.s.sorted other a.s.sholes who believe they are above any law. Go on.”
The outlaw thought about that as beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. ”He be waitin' for you, General.”
”You think maybe I should run back to my vehicle and hide my face in fear?” Ben asked.
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