Free Anarchy in the Ashes by William W. Johnstone Page A

little more than a dozen years, knocking those that survived to their knees. He knew that many of those slapped down would never get to their feet.
    Ben gathered the seventy-five or so young people from the campus around him. “If any of you want to go home, I’ll try to find some type of transportation for you.”
    No one did. Denise explained, “We don’t have homes, General – none of us.”
    â€œFor how long?” he asked.
    â€œYears,” she said. “I’ve been on my own since I was ten. You don’t know there are large groups of young people on both sides of the Mississippi River?”
    Ben shook his head.
    â€œYes, sir. The western group is headed by a young man named Wade. The eastern group is headed by a young man named Ro. Both groups live in the woods. They are, well, rather wild, but they’ve never hurt anyone to the best of my knowledge.”
    â€œI see,” Ben said, not sure if he saw or not. “Well, Denise, you and your people have homes now, if you want them.”
    â€œWith you and your Rebels, General?” a young man asked.
    â€œThat is correct.”
    â€œIf we decide to stay with you, General,” Denise said, “what would we do?”
    â€œStay with us until we can check you out with weapons and survival tactics. Although – ” he smiled – “if you’ve been on your own for all these years, I don’t believe you need any lessons on survival.
    â€œAfter we check you out, you would then move out in teams, attempting to convince other young people that the way of the IPF is the wrong way, that we – Americans – have to rebuild this nation. We have to rebuild with education and hard work, compassion when it’s needed, and toughness tempered with mercy in many cases. How about it?”
    The young people thought they liked that plan. They would stay.
    â€œTell me about these groups of young people, Denise,” Ben asked.
    â€œI ... really don’t know much about them, General, other than what I told you.” She looked at him strangely. “Except, well, their religion is not quite like what the rest of us, well, practice.”
    â€œI don’t understand. They worship God, don’t they?”
    â€œIn a manner of speaking, yes, sir.”
    â€œExplain that, Denise.” There was a sinking feeling in the pit of Ben’s stomach. He braced himself for what he knew was coming.
    â€œThey worship you, sir.”
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    Jefferson City contained more than four hundred survivors, but as was the case in most areas, Ben and his Rebels found organization lacking. People had splintered off into little groups, each with their own leaders, with their own varying philosophy as to what should be done and how to go about doing it. In some cases the people were fighting each other.
    And Ben did not know how to bring an end to the fighting.
    It was what Ben had been afraid he’d find.
    He spoke with a few of the survivors – those that would let him get close to them – and tried to convince them they had to get off their butts and start working, straightening matters out. And to stop warring between themselves. Many times he would turn and walk away in disgust, leaving before anger got the best of him. Of those he spoke with, Ben figured he got through to maybe ten percent.
    Clearly disgusted, Ben ordered his people mounted up to pull out. He told Dan Gray. “To hell with these people. Let them kill each other off. They’ve lost the will to survive in any type of productive society.”
    â€œI concur,” Colonel Gray said.
    It was then Ben noticed that Mary Macklin was reluctant to ride with him. He did not understand it. He thought it might be due to their brief sexual encounter – but he did not really believe that was it. When they reached Fulton, Missouri, just prior to stopping at a small college there, Ben pulled the growing convoy off the