The Last Rebel: Survivor (7 page)

“Do you mind if I bathe while you go through the rest of the house?”

“Hey, no problem,” Jim said. “No problem at all. Have a good time.”

“See you in a few minutes,” she said, and for a flashing millisecond wondered what Jim would look like without any clothes on and in the shower with her. He looked like he had a very wiry body with a washboard for a stomach. These were decidedly un-preacher-like thoughts. But there you were.

“By the way,” Jim said, “lock the door and take a weapon in with you.”

“How can a gun help me clean myself?” Bev asked with a straight face.

“If you see any cooties you can shoot them,” Jim said with an equally straight face.

“I have to get some clean clothes from the HumVee,” she said.

“Go ahead, I’ll watch you from the window.”

Bev did, and two minutes later, Jim watching, stepped into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She righted a hamper that had been knocked down and put the Glock and clean clothing on top of it. Then she peeled the clothing from her body, feeling as if she were peeling off some sort of alligator skin.

Nude, filthy, stinking, she turned on the shower and manipulated the hot water handle. It didn’t take long before the hot water was flowing, so hot it steamed, and Bev turned it down and turned on the cold water. When the mix was perfect she stepped under it.

“Hallelujah,” she said softly. “Praise the Lord and pass the soap.” And then she was lost in the luxuriant feeling of applying soap to her slick skin.

Jim waited until he heard the click of the bathroom door lock, then headed toward what he thought was the only other downstairs room left to check, the garage. There was a door to it off the kitchen. He opened it and was immediately accosted by the smell of oil and chemicals.

The condition of the garage told the story. Tools, lumber, and other materials were strewn all over the floor of the empty room. Here, too, a search had been made but apparently not as thoroughly as the other rooms, because there were a few paint cans on a shelf that had not been touched.

He scanned the rest of the room—there was no car. The last of the walls, the one that was behind him when he had stepped in through the door, had a surprise, and confirmed that this was the work of the Rejects. Someone had used green spray paint to paint the words god is dead all over one masonry wall.

Jim found himself pissed and he went over to the shelf where the spray cans were and selected one with orange paint. Then he walked back across the room, shaking the can as he went to distribute the paint, and then used it to obliterate the obscenity.

Then he went back inside the house and as he passed the bathroom he heard Bev singing something. He stopped to listen. She was singing “Rock of Ages.” Jim had heard it before and liked it and he just lingered there, the sound enveloping his body as the warm water was enveloping Bev—even though she was butchering the song. He smiled, recalling a favorite expression of his grandfather: “Don’t give up your day job, honey!”

He debated whether to leave Bev alone in the shower while he went upstairs. But she had brought the Glock in with her and the search should only take him a few minutes. She would be all right. He knew that if anyone approached the house he would know it. For a moment, he thought that maybe he should have brought Reb in with them but then decided against it.

He climbed polished, elegant oak stairs to the second-floor landing and once up there he was accosted again, though very faintly, by the smell of death.

There was a full bath directly across from the stairway and five rooms leading off the hall, which extended to both his left and right. The lavatory and three of the rooms had their doors open and one had it closed. It wasn’t hard to figure where the foul smell was coming from. Someone had stuffed a towel along the space under the closed door on the third room down.

He went into each of the rooms where the doors were open, and predictably they had been trashed. The first one he looked at was a master bedroom, and here again he found evidence of sacrilege. There was a painting of Jesus Christ on the wall, and someone had sprayed brown paint all over it.

One was the room of a teenage girl, which he could tell from the young feminine touches and the canopy over the bed, one was the room of a teenage boy, one of a young boy, and one was a guest room, Jim thought, and another was empty.

Sadness surged in Jim—and anger. It was so sad that people who had once enjoyed so many privileges and rights in the greatest country that ever existed should now not even have the right to live in their own homes, the right that a lot of people had risked their lives for, and died for. Goddamn bastards.

Jim took out a handkerchief and put it over his nose. If the smell was coming through the door, it would be much more potent, of course, inside the room. He turned the knob and pushed the door open.

The smell was not as bad as he thought, and whoever or whatever or wherever the smell was coming from was not immediately apparent. The room was a study, every single inch of the walls covered with bookshelves, but as was the situation downstairs, all of the books had been pulled out of the bookcases and onto the floor, which was so covered with books it was barely visible. A number of the books had their pages pulled out of them, perhaps, Jim thought, because the looters found nothing and were enraged.

There was a large oak desk in front of a bay window, but nothing on it except what looked like a leather-bound journal, or diary. It was open, and something was written on one of the pages.

Jim picked his way through the piles of books and glanced behind the desk. The source of the smell was there. It was the body of a man, lying on his back, his eyes open, pupils fixed and dilated, who had only recently died. He was past rigor mortis, Jim guessed, but there was extensive lividity and he was just starting to smell.

The man was bald except for a fringe of dark hair and a short goatee. There was a small red hole in the middle of his forehead. He had been shot, Jim thought, judging from the size of the hole, with a small-caliber weapon, probably a .22. He was fully dressed, complete with vest. Jim also guessed that, granted all the books, he was some sort of professor.

Jim covered the remains with a blanket from a nearby couch and leaned over the desk so he could read the journal.

The page began:
I strongly suspect, despite the rather ludicrous claims from our government that the bug came from outer space, the virus that is rapidly killing off the world’s population was homegrown, right here on earth. I believe it was an experiment gone awry, released into the air quite by accident from some top-secret lab, perhaps even one financed by our own government. I . . .

That was all that was written.

Lying, Jim thought. The U.S. government was lying? So what the hell else was new?

Jim wondered who the dead man was. He flipped the journal back to the first page, and there was a sticker on it with the name Harold Charles, Ph.D.

Definitely a teacher.

Jim put the book down, and as he did he saw, on the floor among the books, what looked like a diploma—at least the paper was parchmentlike—and he reached down and picked it up and turned it over. It was something else that he decided to read when he was downstairs. He disliked leaving Bev alone longer.

He left the room, closing the door behind him and replacing the towel.

He went downstairs and stood in the hall. The water in the bathroom was off and Bev had stopped singing.

SUSA Manifesto

Freedom, like respect, is earned and must be constantly nurtured and protected from those who would take it away.

It is the right of every law-abiding citizen to protect his or her life, liberty, and personal property by any means at hand without fear of arrest, criminal prosecution, or lawsuit. The right to bear arms is central to maintaining true personal freedom.

That liberal politicians, theorists, and socialists are the greatest threat to freedom-loving Americans. Their misguided efforts have caused grave injustices in the fields of criminal law, education, and public welfare.

Therefore in respect to criminal law:

An effective criminal justice system should be guided by these basic tenets:

- Our courts must stop pampering criminals.

- The punishment must fit the crime.

- Justice must be fair but also be swift and, if necessary, harsh.

- There is no perfect society, only a fair one.

Therefore in respect to education:

Education is the key to solving problems in society and the lack of it is the root cause of America’s decline.

An effective system of education:

- Must stress hard discipline along with the arts, sciences, fine music, and basic skills in reading, writing, and mathematics.

- Must teach fairness and respect.

- Must teach morals, the dignity of labor, and the value of family.

Therefore in respect to welfare:

Welfare (we prefer workfare) is reserved only for the elderly, the infirm, and those who need a temporary helping hand. And the welfare system must also:

- Instill the concept that everyone must work if able and be forced to work if necessary.

- Instill the concept that there is no free lunch and that being productive in a free society is the only honorable path to take.

That racial prejudice and bigotry are intolerable in a free and vital society.

No one is worthy of respect simply because of the color of their skin.

Respect is earned by actions and by deeds, not by birthright.

There are only two types of people on earth, decent and indecent. Those who are decent will flourish, those who are indecent will perish.

No laws laid down by a body of government can make one person like another.

A free and just society must be protected at all costs even if it means shedding the blood of its citizens. The willingness of citizens to lay down their lives for the belief in freedom is a cornerstone of true democracy; without that willingness the structure of society will surely crumble and fall into the ashes of history.

Therefore:

Along with the inalienable right to bear arms, and the inalienable right to personal protection, a strong, skilled, and well-equipped military is essential to maintaining a free society.

A strong military eliminates the need for “allies,” allowing the society to focus on the needs of its citizens.

The business of citizens is not the business of the world unless the rights of citizens are infringed upon by outside forces.

The duty of those who live in a free society is clear. Personal freedom is not negotiable.

In conclusion:

We who support the tri-state philosophy and live by its code and its laws pledge to defend it by any means necessary. We pledge to work fairly and justly to build and maintain a society without fear and without intervention.

General Ben Raines

Jim nodded. Yes, he was lucky to have met Ben Raines. A great man had written these things. Ben Raines was a great man.

Not thirty seconds after he finished reading the manifesto, Bev came out of the bathroom.

“I feel a hundred percent better,” she said. “Now it’s your turn.”

Jim looked at her for a moment. She was really a beautiful woman, with her large dark eyes even more striking against the newly washed paleness of her skin, and for a moment Jim thought that she had put on lipstick. But she hadn’t. Her lips were naturally that red. She had on her new clothing, and now she smelled good. Real good.

Jim told her about finding the dead man and what he had written in the journal.

“That’s what my father suspected, too,” Bev said.

“Could be,” Jim replied, “but we’ll probably never know for sure. It certainly makes more sense than things from outer space . . .” His voice trailed off.

“Here’s something else I found.”

Bev glanced at it.

“I’m familiar with it,” she said.

“Pretty powerful stuff in it.”

“General Raines was one of a kind. A warrior and a thinker, a philosopher. My father said that when Raines died people were going to be asking the same thing a character in Shakespeare asked when Caesar died: ‘When comes such another?’”

“There’ll be others,” Jim said. “That’s the way life is. My grandfather once said that it’s heat and pressure that produce diamonds. That happens to people too.”

“I hope you’re right,” Bev said.

Jim nodded.

“I’m going to shower and shave. Then we’ll have supper.”

“Anything I can do to help?” Bev said, her face reddening a little when she realized the double entendre. “I mean with supper.”

Jim did not react to the mistake. But he surely understood it. Bev did too.

“All we have to do is open some cans and heat them up,” he said.

She smiled at him. “I was hoping you found some T-bone steaks.”

“I wish. Be back in a few minutes.”