Blood in the Ashes Read Online Free PDF Page A

OK. I’ll just do this, and if you pick up on it, fine with me.” He tapped the side of his head, temple area, and made a circling gesture. He walked away.
    After several moments of arguing among themselves, the Rebels came to this conclusion: Ben needs a long rest. He deserves it.
    All agreed with that. More Rebels joined the group. They agreed that Ben was probably more tired than anything else, that he was mentally exhausted. But how to get him to take that much-deserved rest?
    â€œLet’s ask Captain Willette. He’s pretty sharp. He’ll know what to do.”
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    Ben stopped the small convoy in Monroe, Georgia. After some searching, a windshield was located, popped out, and the bullet-shattered glass in Ben’s pickup was replaced.
    â€œNo safety inspection,” Ben joked. “I’m likely to get a ticket.”
    â€œBeg pardon, sir?” a young Rebel looked at him, not understanding what Ben said.
    â€œNever mind, son,” Ben said. “All that was before your time.”
    A lot of things were before your time, Ben thought. He looked at the young Rebel and shook his head. They will never be the same. From now on, it’s pure survival.
    â€œLet’s head for Monticello and the Oconee National Forest,” Ben said, after looking at an old map of Georgia. “We’ll hole up there for a few days. Keep our heads down and out of sight. Cec is supposed to contact me tomorrow, at noon.”
    James Riverson, the huge ex-truck driver from Missouri, spoke his mind. “I don’t know about this move, General. Personally, I’d like to go back to the convoy and kick the ass off Willette and his bunch. This move could backfire on us.”
    â€œHe’s right, General,” Buck Osgood expressed his opinion.
    Some Rebels agreed with Buck, others weren’t sure. While Ben demanded rigid discipline from his people, anyone could express an opinion. When Ben was in the active U.S. military, he had detested chickenshit units. In his outfit, officers pulled their weight just like everyone else.
    Surprising James and Buck, Ben agreed with them. “I know that, boys. But I’ve got to know how many of our people are with Willette and his crew. Let’s face it: None of the three, Carter, Bennett or Willette, or anyone aligned with them, has said anything treasonous about me. If I confronted them now, what would I confront them with? This is the best way, I’m thinking. There is an old adage about giving a person enough rope to hang himself. That’s what I’m doing.”
    All the Rebels knew that when Ben made up his mind, that was it. End of discussion.
    They would lay low for a couple of weeks, see what developed.
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    Monticello contained a half dozen survivors. They had survived, but though they were survivors—in one sense of the word—they were pitiful in Ben’s eyes. No one appeared to be in charge. No organization. No one had planted a garden or done anything else constructive. The people just seemed to be existing. Their children were dirty and ragged. There was no type of school. The adults had worked out no plan of defense against the many gangs of thugs and outlaws and paramilitary groups that now roamed throughout the land.
    Ben dismissed the families in Monticello from his mind. They might have survived thus far, but not for much longer. They would be easy prey. God alone knew what would happen to the children when that occurred—and Ben knew it would happen. For the scum—who for some reason seem to survive any holocaust—were surfacing, to rape and ravage and kill.
    â€œWind it up,” Ben ordered. “We’re moving on. Losers don’t impress me.”
    The convoy moved a few miles down the road, to what was left of a small village. The Rebels had what was left of the hamlet to themselves. Only a few scattered bones lay in white, silent testimony to that which once was.
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