“You’re driving.”

  She glanced down at the instrument panel. “This thing sure gets good gas mileage. The needle has barely moved.”

  “Yeah. I like it, too. Rides very well. But we’ve got to get rid of it soon as we can. That cop radioed in, and unless he was a complete fool he gave dispatch the license number and description.”

  “I was thinking about that, looking for something to steal. Haven’t seen anything yet.”

  “Nor have I. People must lock up their vehicles at night.”

  “Oh, they do. You know that car theft is no longer a felony in the USA?”

  “It isn’t? What the hell is it, then?”

  “Oh, just a misdemeanor, if you’re below a certain age.” Lara smiled and glanced at Ben. “It isn’t the thief’s fault, you know?”

  “Oh, shit!” Ben muttered. “Not that crap.”

  “ ’Fraid so. It’s society’s fault, never the individual’s.”

  “Let me guess—the coach wouldn’t let the punk play, so he vented his rage on an uncaring society by stealing.”

  “Or worse. Yes, that’s right. Or the prettiest girl in school wouldn’t date him.”

  “Or the kid next door had a new bike.”

  She laughed. “Or they were poor.”

  “Or his mother was frightened by a goat. Yes, I know. It’s all a crock of crap. It always has been. We’ve practically done away with crime in the SUSA simply by teaching right and wrong in public schools . . . starting at a very early age. For the few who are born bad, we have long prison terms, if they’re not killed by property owners while attempting to steal.”

  “And you’ve done it all in a very short time.”

  “In less than a decade. Through education and strict law enforcement. That’s all it takes. Plus a little help from home, if it’s available.”

  “And if it isn’t available?”

  “That’s where society does come into play. Through sponsor programs and one on one buddy systems. Those are big in the SUSA. People aren’t required to take part, and they aren’t criticized if they don’t do so. That’s not the way it is in the SUSA. Stick your mouth into someone else’s business down there and the nosey person is very likely to get a fat lip. It’s just that people care about each other in the SUSA.”

  Lara smiled. “That sounds very much like an oxymoron.”

  Ben returned the smile. “I guess it does, at that. But that’s the way it works, and the people like it that way.”

  “And the liberals hate it because it does work.”

  “Exactly.” Ben caught a glimpse of a battered old road sign. “How big is this town we’re coming to?”

  “It’s deserted. Used to be a tourist town. Quite a few lakes around here, but nobody’s lived here since shortly after the Great War and the collapse.”

  “Let’s find a place to pull over and stretch our legs and answer a call of nature.”

  “I’ll certainly go for the latter. Your legs stiffening up on you?”

  “A little. I’m a bruise from my head to my toes. Bastards really worked on me.”

  “They will never work on anyone else,” Lara commented drily.

  “Amen to that.” Ben looked around as they pulled into the edge of town. “Nice looking little town.”

  “Used to be. When I was little, my dad used to bring the family here on vacation. We’d fish and swim, and hike and cook out every day. There were ranges where kids could learn archery, and others where gun safety classes were taught. That’s where I first got interested in shooting.”

  “Any of your family still living?”

  “No,” Lara said softly. “My dad was a member of a militia group. This was several years before the Great War and the collapse. I was gone, in college. One night the Feds raided our house looking for illegal weapons. Well, there weren’t any. I don’t believe anyone in the entire group had any illegal weapons. My dad was a strong believer in the right of privacy, due process, the right to own and bear arms, the Constitution in general. Dad fought the Feds that night—unarmed, in his pajamas. One of the Feds hit him with the butt of a rifle. Fractured his skull. Dad died a few days later. He never regained consciousness. Of course, since Dad was an open member of a militia—he never denied it—the press painted him as a right-wing nut. He was anything but. No illegal weapons were found in the house, naturally. There were never any illegal guns there. The government never did apologize for killing my father. My mother and two younger brothers then became very active in the militia movement. So did I. My mother died shortly after the Great War. My brothers were both killed by the Feds two years ago.”

  “Who reported your father had illegal weapons in the house?”

  “A noesy neighbor. A democrat/socialist left-winger all the way. When the collapse came, a gang of roaming thugs hit what was left of our town, on a rampage. My brothers and I fought them off, away from our house. Killed several of them ... using guns my father had buried just before the gun ban and national confiscation went into effect.”

  “And the neighbor? What happened to him ... or her?”

  “Him. Mister Warner. That gang of rampaging punks killed him.”

  “Could you have prevented it?”

  “Sure. At least I think so. But we didn’t. My brothers and I just looked at each other and shrugged. I remember Warner calling out for us to help him. I also remember the tirades Warner would throw about guns and how everyone who owned a gun was a right-winger, especially anyone who belonged to the Republican Party. I remember how he never even came over to apologize for being at least partly responsible for my father’s death. I also remember thinking with sort of a grim satisfaction ‘To hell with that left-wing bastard.’ I’m sure God will punish me for that. But I don’t think the punishment will be too severe. I seem to recall from bible lessons that God liked His warriors.”

  Lara turned down a road and drove for several miles, the road running alongside a pretty lake. “Some old tourist cabins out this way. It’s a fairly isolated place. But there is more than one way out.”

  Lara pulled in behind a row of log cabins and parked in a garage that looked as though it had seen better days . . . which Ben was sure it had. Behind them were dense woods. The truck could not be seen from the road or from the air.

  “I brought several blankets from the storeroom of the nuthouse,” Ben said, getting out and stretching. His joints popped and creaked, and his muscles screamed silently.

  Lara looked at him. “You sound like the Tin Man in need of a good oiling.”

  Ben laughed and nodded his head. Damned if his neck didn’t creak with the movement. “At this moment, I certainly feel like him, too.”

  Lara lit a small candle Ben had taken from the storeroom of the nuthouse and looked at the back room of the cabin. Then she looked at Ben in the flickering light.

  “Oh, crap, no way!” Ben said, looking around him. Then they both started laughing.

  The place was ankle-deep in trash.

  “Let’s just sleep outside,” Lara suggested. “The temperature is mild.”

  “That will sure beat the hell out of trying to clean up this mess.”

  The two of them slept outside, on the ground. Ben was very tired, still a long way from full recovery from the beatings he’d taken, and he slept deeply and straight through until after dawn.

  When he awakened he was still stiff, but some of the soreness was gone. He stretched and groaned and looked over at Lara. She was still sleeping.

  Then Ben heard the faint sounds of vehicles, and the sound was growing louder. He reached over and shook her.

  “Wake up, Lara. We’ve got company coming. Sounds like several vehicles.”

  There was a large bruise on the side of her face and a mouse under one eye from the savage beating at the hands and fists of Bradford, marks Ben had noticed during the night. The whipping she took from the heavy belt must be painful, Ben thought. Lara had yet to utter a single complaint. Tough lady, Ben concluded.

  She sat up and rubbed her face, rubbed it very gently, Ben noticed. “I hear them. But there is no way they could have tracked us.”

  “No. It’s just an all-out search. I’ll bet you they’re spread out all over the state. I told you this is how it would be.”

  “I wonder if the Feds have upped that million dollar reward on you.”

  “Possibly. But I’d guess this is just part of a massive search for us. Let’s get inside that cabin and get ready to make a fight of it.”

  They grabbed their blankets and rifles and headed for the cabin. Ben looked back at the weed-filled yard. There was no trace of tire tracks from their pulling in hours back.

  “Take the back of the cabin,” Ben told her. “I’ll take the front. If they spot the truck, open fire.”

  “We don’t have a chance in here, Ben. They’ll blow this cabin apart.”

  “Yeah. I know. You have a better plan?”

  She grinned at him, then shook her head. “I wish.”

  Ben paused for a second, then walked over and kissed her. “Good luck.”

  She smiled. “Is that a promise of things to come?”

  “Damn right.”

  “You sure you can handle me?”

  “I can try.”

  She laughed softly and pushed him toward the front of the old cabin. “I can hardly wait.”

  The command reached them: “Check out those old cabins over there!”

  “Here we go,” Ben said.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ben had his CAR on full auto, and he had watched Lara do the same with her weapon. They each had taken two 9mm pistols from their rucksacks and they were loaded up full and ready to bang. Each had several grenades within arm’s reach. The Feds might kill them, but they would pay a terrible price before that happened.

  Ben peeped out through what was left of the broken and very dirty panes. Four vehicles. One HumVee, one big nine-passenger wagon, and two Ford Broncos. He figured between fifteen and twenty people.

  Ben counted seven people all strung out along the road in front of the cabins. The rest were working their way behind the row of cabins. Only a few seconds were left before they would spot the pickup parked under the open-ended carport.

  “Get ready to start the music,” Ben called in a stage whisper.

  “What the hell was that?” one of the Feds asked, stopping along the side of the road.

  “What?” another asked.

  “I heard somebody say something.”

  “Probably somebody in the back.”

  “Hey!” The shout came from behind the cabins.

  Ben lifted his CAR.

  “What?”

  “There’s a pickup truck back here. Parked under the carport.”

  He never said anything else. Lara opened up with her CAR, and a half second later Ben did the same. The men and women who made up this small contingent of Osterman’s army went down like pins in a bowling alley.

  Sixty rounds later, Ben and Lara ejected empties and rammed home full mags.

  One Fed made a run for the HumVee. Ben cut him down. Another started running for the big wagon. Lara stitched him, turning him around and around twice, and he dropped lifeless to the ground and did not move.

  “Goddamn you!” a woman shouted from the outside. “Damn you all. You filthy, right-wing militia scum!”

  “Fuck you!” Lara shouted.

  Ben smiled and decided to stay out of this fight. It was getting very interesting.

  “I knew it had to be militia!” the woman Fed shouted. “You cowardly, back-shooting Republican whore!”

  Ben chuckled. His breath blew out gunsmoke.

  Lara’s CAR stuttered. There was no reply of any kind from the Fed in the yard.

  “Have you ladies concluded your conversation?” Ben called.

  “I just ended it,” Lara said. “The bitch isn’t moving.”

  “I would certainly say it was over,” Ben muttered.

  “Help me!” a man called from the back of the cabin.

  Ben waited to see what Lara would do. He did not have to wait long. Her CAR clattered, and there were no more cries for help from the outside.

  “One tough lady,” Ben muttered. “I’m glad she isn’t my enemy.”

  “You object to taking no prisoners in this war, Ben?” Lara called.

  “He picked his side, Lara. He knew what he was doing.”

  “That’s the way I see it. Is anyone moving out front?”

  “No. No one.”

  “Same back here. I count nine people down.”

  “Seven here.”

  “I figure maybe one or two more.”

  “Yeah. That’s the way I see it.” Lowering his voice to a stage whisper, Ben said, “I want those two Broncos. They look new to me. If at all possible, keep your fire away from them ... OK?”

  “OK. You know that the big vehicles like the Broncos, Blazers, and Dodge Rams are made only for the government now. No one else is allowed to have them ... well, some selected civilians, of course.”

  “Of course. That’s the way socialism works. A Russian philosopher summed up a socialistic form of government this way—What’s mine is mine, and what’s yours is negotiable.”

  Just then a man made a wild run for the vehicles. Ben stopped his running in mid-stride.

  “You get him, Ben?”

  “I got him.”

  Ben and Lara waited for a long five minutes, Lara finally saying, “I think that’s it.”

  “All right. Keep a sharp eye out in the back. I’m going straight out the front.”

  “OK.”

  Ben opened the front and quickly stepped to one side, staying inside the cabin. No shots split the early morning. He stepped out onto the porch. Bodies lay sprawled in the front and on both sides of the cabin. Ben could not believe they were all dead, but none were moving or showing any other signs of life.

  Ben stood for a moment, his eyes shifting from body to body. “Lucked out again,” he muttered. Raising his voice, Ben called, “It’s clear out here, Lara.”

  “Same back here.”

  “I’m going from body to body to make sure. Moving out now.”

  “Same here. Moving now.”

  Ben found two that were still alive, but they were not long for this world. All those in front of the cabin had taken bursts in the chest and belly.

  “One left alive back here,” Lara called. “But he’s badly wounded. He’s not gonna be alive long.”

  Ben walked around the cabin. “Let’s hide the big wagon and the Hummer under carports. We’ll put the bodies in a cabin. Somebody will find them ... eventually.”

  The vehicles were hidden. After anything they might be able to use had been taken, Ben and Lara began picking up weapons and stripping the bodies of ammo and grenades. Lara took the boots off the dead woman and found they were a perfect fit. She changed into a set of BDUs she found in a vehicle and laced up the boots.

  They found several cases of field rats and sleeping bags in the big wagon, more ammo and grenades in the Hummer. Field radios and cans of water in one of the Broncos. 40mm grenades for the Bloop Tubes under the standard sized M-16’s in the other Bronco.

  “Here is a fuel transfer kit,” Ben said. “Complete with pump that operates off the cigarette lighter or dashboard power point. We’ll top off both tanks in the Broncos and then get the hell gone from here.”

  “We take both vehicles?”

  “Yes. We’ll get out of here and stop a few miles down the road. You can show me on a map exactly where you have in mind to take us. That’s in case we get separated.”

  “I checked the spares on both Broncos. They’re new and aired up.”

  “Good thinking. What are we missing? Anything?”

  “I can’t think of a thing.”

  “OK. I’ll top the gas tanks while you walk around . . .” He paused.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Did you take the wallets from the bodies?”

  She grimaced. “No. I’ll do that while you’re topping the tanks.”

  Fifteen minutes later, everything had been done.

  “Let’s get out of here, Ben,” Lara said. “I didn’t see anyone radio in, but we don’t know for sure they didn’t.”

  “You’re right about that. You ready?”

  “Let’s roll.”

  “Take the lead. I’ll be right behind you.”

  The Broncos were almost new, and handled well. Ben was feeling much better. The day had dawned bright and sunny, and the temperature was pleasant. They now had enough field rats to last them several weeks. They had sleeping bags and blankets, and a portable water purification system. Things were definitely looking up.

  Of course, all that could change around the next curve in the road.

  And it did.

  Ben saw Lara’s brake lights flash on and he hit the brakes in the middle of the curve.

  She stuck her head out the window and yelled, “Roadblock up ahead. I don’t think they saw us. It’s at an intersection, and there are several cars and trucks ahead of us ... coming from the other direction.”

  Ben didn’t know what direction she was referring to, not that it really mattered. He jerked the Bronco into reverse and began backing up, then turned around and waited for Lara. She pulled ahead of him and they both headed back in the direction they’d just come. A mile later, Lara pulled over and stopped. Ben pulled up alongside her.

  “I think I know another way, Ben. But I won’t make any promises.”

  “We’ve got to do something. We damn sure can’t stay here. Lead us out of here.”

  A couple of miles later, Lara turned off on a gravel road, Ben right behind her. They drove for fifteen minutes, making several twists and turns and road changes, before she pulled into the driveway of a long-deserted house. They both got out.

  “I think I’m lost,” she admitted.

  Ben smiled at her. “You think?”

  “OK. I’ll admit it. I don’t know where in the hell we are.”

  “Well, this road has to lead somewhere, even if it’s to a dead end. Are we in the park yet?”

  “Oh, hell, we’ve been in the park for a long time. Ever since we left the hospital. The park is almost six million acres. About half of it wilderness. We’re almost in the center of it. If I can lead us out of this maze, we’ll be only a few miles from real wilderness, and home free.”