"Wear loose shirts so's the men can't see how big you are. And get jeans that's too big for you.
Cut that long hair off. Try to make yourself ugly.
If you don't, you gonna get jumped every time you turn around."
Lisa started crying.
Rich was the oldest. Fourteen. But small for his age. He was scared, and looked it.
"You just left some city or town, didn't you?"
Judy asked him.
Rich nodded.
"I figured it. You don't know nothin" about stayin' alive, do you?"
"My parents just got taken away from me. By the IPF. I don't know where they were taken. They hid me in the basement."
"You'll never see them again," Judy said bluntly.
"So forget them. I can't even hardly remember mine, and if you tune up and start blubberin', I'm gonna knock the crap outta you."
Rich tightened his face, holding back tears.
"You gotta get tough, boy," Judy told him. "Or die. I bet your parents protected you, didn't they?"
"Yes."
"They didn't do you no favors, boy. But you hang around with us, you'll grow up fast."
Ann was thirteen; looked younger than that.
Carol was twelve. Pretty and very innocent looking, with blond hair and big blue eyes.
Judy walked over to Kim and Sandra.
"What are we gonna do with them, girls?"
"They got crap for brains," Sandra said. "They could get us killed."
"Do you vote to leave them?" Judy asked.
"Naw," Sandra said. "I wouldn't feel rightdoin' that."
Judy looked at Kim.
Kim shrugged. "Hell, we can't leave them. But Lisa's gonna get us in trouble. I just know it.
You all know how men feel about big-titted girls."
"Rich ain't got no guts," Judy said.
"Maybe he just ain't found them yet," Kim offered. "His momma and daddy kept him safe.
Hell, it's his ass, girls. He'll either grow up or get dead."
Judy shook her head. "A big-titted kid and a boy with no guts. They've all been protected, all their lives. Okay, we all voted to go forward for Ben Raines. If we do that, we got to take them with us."
Sandra stepped out of the tight group and tossed a knife to Rich. The knife sparked on the concrete.
"Pick it up and cut his throat," Sandra nodded at the IPF man.
"Me?" Rich asked.
"I ain't talkin' to the goddamn road, boy,"
Sandra told him.
Rich backed away from the big-bladed knife.
"I can't do it."
Lisa bent down, picked up the knife, and walked to the spread-eagled IPF man. She grabbed him by the hair and jerked his head back.
Bending down, she sliced open his throat, then dropped the knife and threw up on the concrete.
The woods-children looked at each other.
An unspoken message passed between them.
Lisa would do.
Watch Rich.
Kim lifted her AK and finished the remaining IPF members. She slung her AK and said, "Let's go."
Chapter Twenty-one.
"There it is," Sonny Boy told the bizarre-looking gang leaders and their lieutenants and bodyguards gathered at Fort Klamath.
"What does Hartline have to say about it?"
Grizzly asked, standing up and stretching. A huge man, six and a half feet tall, weighing almost three hundred pounds, some of it gone to fat, but much of it still muscle.
"He don't. I didn't talk to him about it."
"I'm "bout tired of Hartline and that slick-lookin" Russian," Popeye said.
"Both of "em act like their shit don't stink. They just too damn high and mighty for my tastes."
Popeye was a freak; looked like a freak, and knew it. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, attractive about the man. His forehead was large and knotty, his eyes bugged out. He was skinny with a pot belly. Both arms had been broken and set badly; they were crooked. One eye was brown, the other blue; both were crossed.
Popeye had no redeeming qualities. None.They all shared that in common, but Popeye was the worst of the lot. He could kill man, woman, or child with absolutely no remorse. He could have sex with man, woman, or child, and enjoy it equally.
"Let's pull out," Skinhead suggested. "Hit the road and fuck with Ben Raines and them Rebels of his'n."
Skinhead was bald. After the bombings, all his hair fell out. He was short, stocky, ugly, and not only was he vicious looking ... he was vicious. He was also stupid. His IQ might hit 85 if he was lucky.
"That your vote?" Sonny Boy asked.
"Yeah." Skinhead slobbered down the front of his dirty shirt. Skinhead slobbered a lot-especially during sex.
Sonny Boy looked at Grizzly. "You?"
Grizzly nodded his big head. "Yeah. I'm with Skinhead."
"Me, too," Popeye said.
"Hartline ain't gonna like it,"
Sonny Boy reminded them all.
"Fuck Hartline," Popeye said.
As a matter of fact, Hartline had no objection to the warlords pulling out. As a matter of fact, he thought it to be a fine idea. As a matter of fact, he was sick to death of the motorcyclists.
Filthy, ignorant lot.
"I think that's a grand idea, Sonny Boy,"
Hartline told the warlord. "I know it's been boring for you around here. I was about to suggest that you boys take to the field and make trouble for Ben Raines."
"You was?" Sonny Boy asked.
"Of course. You and your people are far too valuable to sit around just doing nothing."
And besides that, you all, to a man, stink like hogs and I'm going to have to de-louse my office after you leave.
"Yeah? Well, you right," Sonny Boy said.
"If I might make a suggestion?" Sam said with a smile.
"Whatever flips your dress up, man."
Sam resisted an impulse to shoot the bastard right between the eyes.
"Don't try to meet the Rebels head-on. As good as you are, they're too strong; you'll be heavily outnumbered. I would suggest ambush. Hit and run. And by all means, take as many of the Rebel women as possible. Do with them as you see fit."
was 'At 'airs a right good idea," Grizzly spoke up.
Skinhead nodded his head and slobbered his agreement.
Popeye's eyes bugged out and he grunted.
Hartline managed to hide his grimace of disgust.
Sonny Boy stood up and the others followed suit. "We'll be seein" you, Sam," he said.
"I'm. so looking forward to it," the mercenary said with a sigh of relief that they were finally leaving. "How "bouts them ol" boys back east of here?" Grizzly asked.
"We'll hold them in reserve for the time being."
The warlords trooped out.
Sam called for an aide.
"Yes, sir?"
"Take those four chairs outside and burn them,"
he ordered. "Then find some bug-killer and spray my office." He scratched his head. Jesus, he had fleas.
At the end of the week, Ben ordered a halt to his rapidly advancing Rebels. They were meeting practically no resistance, and that worried Ben.
He called for a meeting of his field commanders.
They met in Redding, in what was left of a motel near the airport. Harris was there; the man Ben had left in charge at Redding. George from Red Bluff. John Dunning from Santa Rosa. And a Pete Ho from Ukiah. Dan had flown in from the northern part of the state. Ike and Cecil.
The meeting room had been cleaned up, and a large map of California was nailed to the wall. Ben stood up, a stick in his hand for a pointer.
"Look at the territory we've taken," he said, placing the stick on the map. "We control everything from Highway 20 south to the Bay area.
Everything north of Highway 299 to the Oregon line. Practically everything east of Interstate 5.
And none of us has met enough resistance to stop a flea. Why? Give me some input."
Dan studied the large map for a moment. "I think, General, we are being suckered. But for what and why, I haven't a clue."
"I got the same feelin'," Ike said. "My recon teams report that from the coast...8he rose and walked to the map-"from right about here"-he punched a blunt finger at Fort Bragg and traced it over to what had once been state and national forests and parks area, "... to here, there are heavy concentrations of IPF troops. Too goddamn many for us to punch through. Why? Why would the Russian mass his troops there?"
Cecil walked to the map, studying it for a moment.