William W Johnstone - Ashes 15

Author:Terror in the Ashes
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-08-09T13:50:48+00:00

The big fifty started yowling, the slugs clanking off tanks and coming dangerously close to Dan. “Son of a bitch!” the usually unflappable Englishman yelled, and dived headfirst into a water-filled ditch.

The Rebels close in hit the ground and hugged tanks for cover. Dan lifted his head out of the water and yelled, “I’ll whale the tar out of you children!

They’ll be some sore butts this evening, I promise you that.”

The fifty hammered again, the slugs knocking chunks out of the stone wall above Dan’s head.

“Blow it out your arse!” a child’s voice came over the speaker. “This is General Bennie Mays. This town is ours. Move on with you.”

Buddy, lying on the road, turned his head to stare at his father, who was also on his belly, on the road. “Suggestions, Father?”

“At the moment, son, no.” Chapter Five

The column backed up and Dan sent a few of his Scouts in to grab a kid. “And try not to hurt any of them,” Dan added. “I want that pleasure when I lay a belt across their butts.”

The Scouts brought back two, a girl, ten years old, and a boy, nine. The Scouts were bleeding from being bitten and kicked, numerous times.

“Get those bite wounds tended to promptly,” Dan told his people.

The kids were brought before Ben. They were defiant, but scared as well. Ben looked at the weapons the Scouts had taken from them, then stared down at the raggedy and obviously malnourished boy and girl. “All right, now, children. What’s your story?”

The boy and girl exchanged glances and remained silent. Ben pointed to a camp table and chairs that had been set up. “Sit,” he told them.

While the Scouts had been gone, Ben had ordered hot food prepared. Two heaping plates of food were set before the kids and two tall glasses of cold milk.

“Damn me eyes,” the girl said. “Wouldya just look at them vittles.”

“Help yourselves,” Ben told them. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”

“This real milk?” the boy asked.

“Honest-to-God, from a cow.”

Ben watched them dig in. They had never been taught table manners-or had forgotten them, ignoring the fork and grasping the spoon like a shovel. Their clothing was nothing more than rags, their faces and hands grimy with dirt, and both of them had fleas. Ben resisted an urge to scratch.

“Do you suppose your friends down in the town would like something to eat?” Ben asked, sitting down at the table with a cup of coffee.

“I “magine,” the girl said. “They ain’t nothin” to eat on in the town. Them people’s poorer than us.”

“Yeah,” the boy said. “All they got is some bread, and not much of that.”

Ben was silent for a time, watching the hungry kids wolf down their food. They were just kids; they both had milk mustaches.

When they had slowed in chowing down, Ben asked, “You been in the outlaw business long, kids?”

“We been survivin’ ever since I can remember,” the boy said. “Runnin’ from slavers, runnin’ from them cannibals, runnin’ from men who want to do bad things to us.

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