Fire in the Ashes

“Excellent,” Ben said. “Should go right with this SOS we're having."

Dawn looked at her plate of dried beef in gravy over biscuits. “Why is it called SOS?"

“The initials for which it stands,” Ben said with a smile, knowing very well what was next.

“What does SOS mean?” She took a small tentative bite. “Oh, this is good!"

“Shit on shingle."

She dropped her fork. “You're kidding!"

“I think it's been called that since World War Two. Maybe further back than that. But it's tasty and hot and really, I suppose, rather good for one."

“We'll let that one be you,” Dawn pushed her plate from her. “I'll just have a little salad and some wine."

“Plenty of wine,” Ben spoke around a mouthful of SOS. “I pinched a case."

Her eyes widened. “A whole case of Rothchild ‘55?"

“A whole case, dear."

“This is going to be a memorable evening.” Her eyes lifted to touch his across the table.

“I hope so,” he said quietly.

* * * *

“I just can't believe it,” Lisa said. She had bathed in the first hot water she'd seen in two weeks, and Jake had rounded up some genuine Levi's for her (which the young lady filled out very well) and a western shirt and good sturdy shoes.

“What is it you can't believe, dear?” Jake took her small hand and guided her slowly toward his quarters at the holding area for survivors of the government crackdown on dissidents.

Lisa rather liked the feel of his strong hand holding hers and the way their hips sometimes touched as they walked. She knew what was coming—what he probably had in mind for her; but the thought was not disturbing to her. Jake had been true to his word right down the line: Lisa had not eaten so well in ... she couldn't remember the last time she'd had a rib-eye; Jake had given her some nice clothes; her friends had a nice place to sleep and some of the same good food. All in all, she mused, it won't be a bad trade-off.

Like most young ladies her age, fifteen to twenty, Lisa had only vague memories of the big war of ‘88. But she, like so many others, had bitter memories of the struggle for survival since the bombings: never enough food or warm clothing; never enough money to buy nice things; the constant threat of being attacked by roaming gangs of hoodlums.

“Oh,” Lisa said, “everything I've seen the past few hours. The nice treatment the people are receiving; the good food ... everything. I just ... I mean, it's so hard for me to believe Ben Raines and his people are lying to us. But I see now that they are. It's ... it hurts, kind of."

“I know, dear,” his voice was deep and comforting in the dusk of evening. “But I won't lie to you—I promise you that."

They had reached his quarters. She stood quietly while he opened the door. He looked at the teenager and she returned the frank stare.

“You'll be sure I have enough to eat and pretty clothes to wear?” she asked.

“I can promise you that, Lisa."

She stepped inside and the door closed behind her.

* * * *

Dawn slept with one arm flung across Ben's naked chest, her breasts warm against him, the soft down of her pubic area pressing against his thigh. October winds were blowing cool across the huge park, and the blanket which covered them felt warm against bare flesh.

They were both adults, the days of groping and grappling long past them. It had been a silent, mutual consenting, with neither one of them in any great rush for completion.

For the first time, it had been almost perfect, for they had talked of likes and dislikes in sexual preferences before anything began.

Her body had been leaner and harder than the pictorials in the magazines, but that served only to make her more mature, at least in Ben's eyes.

Ben looked at her in the dim light in the isolated tent. She was deep in sleep. Easing his way from her warmth, he quietly dressed and slipped outside. He looked toward Ike's tent and caught the red glow of a cigar. He walked toward the glow, checking the luminous hands of his watch as he walked. Ten o'clock. The camp area was very quiet.

“Evenin,’ El Presidente,” Ike said. And Ben knew the man was grinning.

“The camp is unusually quiet for ten o'clock,” Ben said, squatting down beside his friend.

“Rumors fly, ol’ buddy. Folks have decided we're probably pulling out very soon; need their rest."

Ben lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply before replying. “They're probably right,” he finally spoke.

“I'm gonna give you some advice, ol’ buddy,” Ike said. “Take it or leave it. I know your guts must be in a knot about Tina joinin’ Gray's Scouts and about Hazen's suggestion of a suicide run against Lowry. Well, I've been doin’ some thinkin’ ‘bout that.” He sighed. “I just don't think Lowry's the top rooster in the hen house. Not anymore ... if he ever was. I think a move against him wouldn't help us at all."

“I hadn't thought of that. But every indication points to Lowry being the brains behind Logan. How do you explain that?"

“I don't. I believe he was. But couldn't there have been a silent third man just as well? Some invisible third party who was the real brains?"

“Who?"