"Pull over there to our patrol," Ben said, pointing at a Jeep parked curbside, a group of men and women gathered around it.
"Probably beggin" for food," Chuck muttered. "Goddamn, are they helpless?"
"No," Ben said.
"Then they're fools."
"Foolish, at the very least," Ben agreed in part.
Ben sat in his Jeep and looked at the people, standing silently, looking at him. They knew who he was, and Ben could sense the mixture of fear andresentment emanating from them, directed toward him.
Why him and not me? drifted the silent vibes.
"Well, the big bad wolf is gone," Ben shattered the silence. "Now what are you going to do?"
A man broke from the crowd and walked up to Ben.
"Are your people going to stay and help us?"
Ben checked his temper and bit back a smart-assed reply.
"No," he said with a sigh. "That's doubtful at this time."
"Then what are we going to do?" the man asked.
"How about helping yourselves?" Ben offered.
"Give us the means and we will," the man said.
Hope for them yet, Ben thought. "What's your name?"
"George Williams. You're Ben Raines?"
"Yeah. What do you want?"
"Guns," George said, a firmness in his voice.
Ben waved one of the recon team over to his Jeep. When he spoke, it was as if George was not present. "These people know anything about guns, Jimmy?"
"From what they told me, General, no."
Ben arched an eyebrow. He looked at George. "Yeah, George. You can have your guns and ammo."
"But you and your people are not going to stay and help us, are you?"
"Not at this time, no."
"General, can I tell you something?"
"Sure. It's still a free country. What's left of it."
"General, we both hold vastly different political views. As you have a right to yours, I have a right to mine."
"That's right, George."
Ben thought of another George, the civilian he'd met briefly back in Red Bluff and left in charge. That George had been tough and capable looking, not willing to be enslaved by any person. Ben had left him in charge.
He looked at the recon man. "Don't waste too much time on them."
"Yes, sir."
He told Jimmy, "Let's get out of here."
Chapter.
Twenty.
"Now both them girlies is dead," an outlaw reported to Sonny Boy. He cocked his dirty head to one side and stared at the warlord. "I thought you was gonna keep that woman Rebel for yourself?"
"Too damn much trouble," the warlord grunted his reply. "Ever' time I wanted to stuck it up her ass I had to pract'ally whup her half to death. It wasn't worth it. I'm gettin' bored, Snake.
All this doin' nothing is makin' me edgy. You?"
"Yeah. How come Hartline don't just cut usloose and let us go kick the ass off of Raines and them Rebels?"
Sonny Boy shook his head. "I don't know.
All that shit we've heard about Raines and them people of his'n don't add up to what I've seen about them.
I think Raines is runnin' a bluff. That's what I think."
"You think we could take "em, Sonny Boy?"
Snake asked.
"Hell, yes! Snake, you go get the rest of the boys on the horn. We gonna have us a sit-down. And I don't give a shit whether Hartline likes it or not."
But before Snake could turn away, a shout came from the gang's radio operator. "Popeye's on the horn, Sonny Boy! Wants to talk to you.
Says it's important."
"CominThat What the hell? he thought.
Sonny Boy listened through the headset, his face first paling, then turning red, as anger overrode shock. "Yeah," he said. "We can't have no more of that shit. You right. Look, you call Skinhead and I'll call Grizzly. We'll have us a meet tomorrow at noon." His eyes lifted to a dirty map tacked to the wall. "We'll meet at old Fort Klamath. Yeah. I'm with you, Popeye. Looks like it's gonna be up to us to kick the ass off Raines and his people. Right. Is Daddy gonna make it?"
He listened for a moment longer, then signed off.
"What's up, Boss?" an outlaw called Grease asked. He scratched at his lice-infested crotch.
"Some of Popeye's boys was out on the prowl two, three days ago. They come up on some little pussy. Twelve, thirteen years old.
They got her down when some more little cunts showed up.
Seems like these little girlies done killed them boys that wasn't bangin" the kid. They killed Bird and Big Dave, and then cut the pecker off of Daddy. Closed the wound with a hot blade and left him."
"Jesus!" Grease said.
"Get me Grizzly on the horn. We're all gonna have a sit-down tomorrow at noon. I'll take the lieutenants with me. Rest of you guys hang tough."
"You reckon them that done it to Popeye's boys is out of Ben Raines's people?" an outlaw asked.
"Hell, yes. And I'm tired of fuckin' around with Raines and his bunch. We're gonna settle this thing once and for all. Kick his ass back east of the Muddy."
"We can do it, too!" an outlaw called Tony said.
"Damn right!" Snake said.
"I sure would like to find them girlies that done it," Sonny Boy said dreamily. "I like to listen to little girlies holler. We could have us some fun withthem."
One member of Striganov's IPF was definitely not having any fun with Sandra, Judy, and Kim. His fun days were over. His heart still pumped blood, but the blood was gushing out of the knife-inflicted wound in his throat. His friends were spread-eagled on the cracking concrete of the old highway, their weapons stacked to one side.
The recon patrol had been returning to their Oregon base when they came up on a half-dozen boys and girls trying to make it out of IPF'-CONTROLLED territory. The recon members had had their fun with the girls, and were sodomizing the youngest boy when the trio of woods-children suddenly charged out of the timber by the side of the road.
Twelve-year-old Judy looked at the ragged bunch of children. Her young-old eyes flicked from one to the other. No weapons except for an empty knife sheath on one boy's belt. "Where's you kids goin?" she asked.
"Runnin'." A boy said. He appeared to be the oldest. Maybe fourteen years old.
"Runnin'
where?"
"Just gettin' out," a girl said. She was trying to cover her nakedness with the torn rags of clothing ripped from her by the IPF men.
"How come y'all ain't got no guns?" Kim asked.
"There ain't no guns to be had," the girl said.
"We looked, too."
"You didn't look very good," Sandra said. "You got to know where to look."
The girl started crying.
Judy walked to her and slapped her across the face, rocking her head. "Shut up," Judy said.
"That don't do no good. You oughta know that by now. If you ain't tough, you better get tough. If you don't, you're gonna die out here. You wanna cry, do it at night, where nobody can see or hear you. That's the way it's gotta be."
The children looked at the gun-toting twelve-year-old with shock in their eyes. They had, to a person, never seen anything like this tough little girl.
"I don't know what the hell to do with you, ya'll," Judy said. "We can't take you with us; but you don't act like you can survive by yourselves."
"We can survive!" a girl said hotly.
"I don't know how," Judy said, looking at her, standing there crying. "You ain't got no weapons.
And to me, that means you ain't got no smarts."
Kim and Sandra let Judy carry the verbal ball.
"You trust adults," Judy said. "That's a bad mistake. If they ain't wearin'
tiger-stripe or lizard cam-mies, you can't trust "em. You can trust the underground people, but the odds are, they've seen you but you ain't seen them."
"Who?" "Never mind." One of the IPF recon team chose that time to leap to his feet and attempt to run.
Judy shot him in the back, severing his spine. The man fell to the broken concrete and lay still.
Judy turned her eyes back to the kids. "You got names?"
Larry was the youngest boy. Eight years old.
Mary was the girl she'd been speaking to.
Twelve years old. The girl's shirt was torn open. No buttons.
"Your first time?" Judy asked.
Mary shook her head.
"Then you oughta know you ain't gonna die from it. But you're stupid tryin" to fight them. You fight them, and they'll hurt you real bad or kill you.
Give it to them then wait it out "til you get a chance to run."
Lisa was twelve. Already her breasts were as full as a grown woman's. She was shapely with a grown woman's face and body.
"You in trouble right off," Judy told her.