Free Blood in the Ashes by William W. Johnstone

out of the pickup, Thompson in hand. He faced the man. “I can see why Silver’s people had such an easy time with his only opposition being you tigers. But I cannot believe you represent the majority of survivors in Macon. Where are the other people?”
    The man would not meet Ben’s eyes. Keeping his eyes averted, he said, “There’s some folks over yonder.” He pointed. “But we don’t mess with them. They’ve got a lot of guns and they don’t hesitate to use them.”
    â€œGo on,” Ben prompted.
    â€œWhat are you tryin’ to get me to say, mister?”
    â€œThose ... other people, they have a leader?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œEverybody works in their society?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œThey have schools for the kids and they raise gardens and maintain some type of law and order, is that right?”
    â€œYeah. All those things. So what?”
    â€œAnd what you and these—” Ben’s gaze swept the ragged, dirty crowd of men and women—“other people want is to lay on your lazy asses and do nothing. Is that correct?”
    â€œOur business,” the man’s reply was sullen.
    â€œYeah,” Ben said, the one word filled with sarcasm. He turned his back to the man. “Sergeant Greene! Get those kids and clean them up. Have the medics check them out. We’re taking them with us.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œWhat about us?” the dirty man said, a whine to his voice that grated on Ben. “Ain’t you gonna give us some food or something? Help us out just a little bit?”
    Ben lifted the muzzle of the Thompson, placing it under the man’s chin. Ben saw fleas hop around on the man’s neck. “Don’t tempt me,” Ben told him softly.
    The man swallowed hard. “I get the message.”
    â€œI thought you might.”
    â€œLeast you can tell me your name.”
    â€œBen Raines.”
    The man’s eyes glinted hard momentarily. His hatred overrode his fear of Ben. “Mr. President Raines, huh? That figures. Your time in office was cut kinda short, wasn’t it? You was really gonna come down hard on some folks, wasn’t you? Make everybody obey your law. Make everybody work, whether they wanted to or not. You weren’t any better than a damned communist.”
    â€œDon’t worry about it, sad sack,” Ben told him. “You’re not going to last much longer. Not unless you shape up. If thugs and punks don’t kill you, disease will. You might last another year. Two if . you’re lucky. And if I’m real lucky, I’ll never have to look at you again.”
    â€œYou don’t have any right to talk to me like that, mister.”
    â€œYou may rest assured you have my heartfelt apologies for bruising your sensitive ego.” Ben walked back to his truck and slid under the wheel. “Worthless son of a bitch!” he said.
    â€œI could not agree with you more, Ben,” Gale concurred.
    They waited in the truck while the kids were rounded up and herded into trucks. The convoy shifted locations and the kids were checked out, bathed and dressed in clean clothes. They had all heard of Mister Ben Raines, and Ben was amused at the way they shyly looked at him. He felt sorry for them, for many told of being abandoned by their parents, left to wander alone, fending for themselves. They told of many of their little friends who had died, from the cold, from hunger, brought down by the many roaming packs of dogs gone wild. They said that Silver’s men had taken several of the girls—after they had raped them.
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    In another section of the city, the scene was quite different. The streets were free of litter, the houses neatly kept. Gardens grew in every back yard. Block after block had been cleared and planted with all types of vegetables.
    Ben stopped his truck in the center of the street, got out, and held his empty hands in the