Part 31 (1/2)
”End it. You all heard the short-wave last night. n.o.body made it out of San Diego.
Less than ten percent of the people who ran L.a. are still alive. That's a guess on somebody's part, but I'd say it's fairly accurate.”
”What are you gettin' at?” Fang asked.
”We die quick, or we die slow from the cold.”
He was reflective for a moment. ”Somebody once said that Ben Raines wasn't human. Maybe that's true. I laughed when I first heard it. But I ain't laughin' no more. A few years ago, Ben Raines said he'd clear the earth of punks and thugs and lawless types. I got a good laugh outta that too. At the time. At the time there was nearabs sixty thousand of us in L.a. Ben Raines had about five thousand Rebels. Well,look who won. Ben Raines has got seven or eight thousand Rebels now, and we're reduced to about seventy-five. Can any of you really grasp the enormity, the awesomeness of that?”
Sally could. Before anyone could stop her, she stuck the barrel of her M-16 in her mouth and pulled the trigger, blowing the back of her head off.
Fang jumped up, staring at the b.l.o.o.d.y mess, horror in his eyes and on his face. ”That's it!”
he said in a hushed tone. ”That's all for me. The Rebels may shoot me, they may put me up against a wall or they may hang me, but G.o.dd.a.m.nit, I'm gonna have me a good meal and be warm for a while before they do it.” He let his pistol belt fall to the cold ground and let his rifle stay propped against a rock. He pulled a dirty white handkerchief from a pocket of his jeans and walked out of the camp, holding the signal of surrender high.
”You don't mean it,” Bull yelled.
”The h.e.l.l I don't,” Fang yelled over his shoulder and kept on walking.
Bull leveled his pistol and shot the man in the back. Fang twisted and pitched face forward, falling to his knees. ”You sorry b.a.s.t.a.r.d!” he gasped, then died, his blood staining the white dusted ground.
One of Bull's own men said, ”I can't take no more of this.” He pulled the trigger on a shotgun, blowing a hole in Bull's back. Bull cursed and screamed and tried to lift his pistol. ”Sorry, Bull” the punk said. The shotgun roared again.
Bull slumped forward and died on his knees. He stayed that way for a few seconds, then toppled over.
”Jesus Christ!” A woman had breathed the words.
”That's it,” the street punk said, laying the shotgun on the ground. ”It's over.”
”They won't let us surrender,” a thug said.
”I think they will,” the punk who killed Bull said.
”Leastways I'm gonna find out. Anybody goin' with me?”
They all stood up and dropped their weapons.
A punk lifted his walkie-talkie. ”We're quittin'. Anybody who wants to join us, just drop your weapons and start walkin', hands in the air.” He threw the walkie-talkie to the ground and lifted his hands.
The siege of southern California was nearly over.
Or so Ben thought. He could not know that the G.o.ds of war were laughing hysterically.
Chapter Six.
”About a thousand of the street punks surrendered, General,” Corrie said, relaying the message to Ben. ”They walked out with their hands in the air. A badly beaten bunch. According to the prisoners, there isn't a leader of a major Los Angeles street gang left alive.”
”Tell the commanders to accept their surrender, Corrie. Transport them to that old NavalAir Station the pilots have been using. Have medical personnel check them over carefully and then hold them under guard until I get there. Get some transport planes ready for us. Tell Cecil where we're going.” He looked at Therm and smiled. ”You're in command here. Start the push north.
Take your time, check it all carefully ...
Colonel.”
”Thank you,” Therm said dryly.
Emil bounced into the CP, his turban c.o.c.ked sideways, down over one eye. ”I'm ready, Colonel Therm,” the little man said.
”Have fun,” Ben said.
”To be sure,” Therm replied.
Ben looked at the punks, sitting on a runway at the old Naval Air Station. There was no bl.u.s.ter left in any of them. He'd seen some beaten-down POW'S in his time, but this bunch took the prize.
”I ought to shoot every d.a.m.n one of you,” he said through a bullhorn.
The arid odor of urine filled the air as many of the prisoners peed their underwear.
”But ...” He paused. ”For the first time in years, I'm going to go against my own rules. You people are going to make the town of Fallon a Rebel outpost.
It's going to be a model for all others. It's going to have schools and churches and clinics and lights and running water and proper sewage. And above all, it's going to have law and order. And you people are going to do it all. All by yourselves. Prove me wrong, people.
Make it work. Do that, and I'll admit I was wrong. You're going to elect a leader, and a town council, and you're going to make this outpost work. I don't think you can do it. But you'd better do it. Because if you don't, I'm going to come back here and hang every G.o.dd.a.m.n one of you!
”Dan, get some people ready to start fingerprinting and photoing these new model citizens.” He turned back to the stunned but highly relieved crowd.
”Notice I didn't say mug shots. See, I'm already giving you the benefit of the doubt. You're on a honor system, people. In a manner of speaking.
There won't be anyone here to prevent you all from running away. But your prints will be on file and so will your pictures. And if you run away, we'll find you eventually, and we'll kill you.
”In all fairness to you, I don't know if this area can support this many people. If it can't, half of you move down the road to the next town. Let me give you some advice. Have a meeting and see what group will be planting potatoes, who will raise beef and sheep, sweet corn and feed corn, and so forth. Whatever you need to get started, we'll supply you.
”I don't know if this is going to work or not. The Rebels have never done anything like this before. Usually, with people like you, we just shoot you and have done with it. Maybe I'm mellowing in my middle age. And it could be that I'm running a slight fever and not responsible formy actions. Whatever my reasons, I'm handing you a new life. You're free of all your past crimes. I'm going to stick around here for a few days. I want to talk to as many of you as possible.
Take over, Dan.” He handed the Englishman the bullhorn.
”It might work, General,” Dan said softly.
”I hope so, Dan. I hope so.”
During the next several days Ben met with former nurses, former store owners, ex-cops, people from nearly all walks of civilian life. And a lot of hard-core, lifelong punks.
He set the tone of the meetings first thing, and bluntly. ”I don't want to hear about your childhood. I don't give a d.a.m.n if your parents didn't have time to play games with you, or even if you had parents. I don't care if you didn't like school; that's your problem if you thought you were so smart you didn't need an education. Ninety percent of your problems is that you grew up in one of the most permissive periods that ever dawned on the face of the earth. And that's not all your fault.”
At that, puzzled looks would pa.s.s over the faces of those in whatever group Ben was speaking to. Then he called for questions.
And it surprised Ben that many of the questions they asked him were intelligent ones, dealing with values, morals, and the work ethic. He found many of them to be highly intelligent, and a few to be borderline-stupid. And he pulled no punches with them. He wanted them scared of him, and they were.