Free Alone in the Ashes by William W. Johnstone

of dawn. Ben tossed his kit into the protection of the camper and walked around to face Barnes.
    â€œI hope you’re not leaving because of me, General,” Barnes said.
    â€œYou’re part of the reason,” Ben said truthfully. “But the real reason is I’m no longer needed here. Captain Chad and his people will handle it. So it’s time for me to be pulling out.” Ben stuck out his hand and the doctor shook it.
    â€œI was thirty-five years old when the bottom dropped out, General,” the doctor said, speaking softly as dawn broke. “I had a family, a fine practice, and everything that went with that. I looked up the next day, and the entire world had gone mad.”
    â€œAnd you bet your whole roll on Hilton Logan,” Ben said.
    â€œAm I that transparent?” Barnes asked.
    â€œLet’s see if I can peg you, Ralph,” Ben said, leaning up against the fender and lighting one of his horrible, homegrown, homemade cigarettes. He offered one to the doctor and Ralph took it.
    â€œIt’s bad for your health,” the doctor grinned.
    â€œI heard that,” Ben replied with a laugh. “You were what was known as a Yuppie. You belonged to the country club locally. You were politically and socially aware and active ...”
    He paused while the doctor inhaled and went into spasms of coughing. “Damn, that’s good!” Ralph said. He took another drag and said, “Reasonably accurate. Continue, please. You’re a very astute man.”
    â€œYou were a democrat, politically. You were opposed to the death penalty and loudly in favor of gun control. You bemoaned the state of the nation’s health care for those who could not afford the skyrocketing medical costs, but you were against any type of socialized medicine. And you lived in a two-hundred-thousand-dollar home and your wife drove a Mercedes or BMW. How close am I, Ralph?”
    The doctor went on the defensive, as Ben had thought he would. “And what did you do about health care for those who could not afford it, General?”
    â€œNothing,” Ben said. “I didn’t have lobbyists in Washington, Ralph.”
    â€œAnd you weren’t paying fifty thousand dollars a year for malpractice insurance, either, General.”
    â€œWant to jump on the back of lawyers, now, Ralph?” Ben said with a laugh.
    Barnes joined in the laughter. “No. I don’t believe so. We’ll save that for your return trip.” He stuck out his hand and Ben shook it. “See you, General. Good luck to you.”
    â€œLuck to you, too, Ralph. See you on the back swing.”
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    His scouts had reported that West and his people had last been seen trudging up Highway 51, heading north toward Kentucky. Ben headed west, taking 155 toward the Mississippi River and into Missouri. The bridge over the Big Muddy was clear and the river rolled beneath him, eternal and silent. Ben stopped on the center of the bridge and got out of his truck, gazing down into the muddy waters.
    As he watched the swirling, ever-rushing waters of the Mississippi, a passage from the Bible came to him: One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh; but the earth abideth forever.
    â€œBut what kind of men and women will the next generation give the earth?” he asked the cool winds of late fall.
    Like the river, the winds swirled and rushed, speaking in a language only they could understand.
    With a sigh, Ben got back into his truck and headed west.
    He stopped at Hayti and looked around. There was no sign of life. But he knew there was life. Almost every town of any size at all held two or ten or twenty survivors. But most, instead of organizing, pulling together, working together in a cooperative effort, for safety and defense and productivity’s sake, were instead lone-wolfing it, and by doing so, were helping to drag down what vestiges of civilization remained.
    â€œNo good,”