by Vance Huxley
The scavengers headed into the store, glancing back at where the woman was being held by Emmy with Holly and Louise close by. They set into scavenging with a will, quickly taking the goods out to heap in the pickups or vans. Harold had just spotted loose cans of baked beans under a fallen shelf when Casper came back in. “We followed the tyre tracks to the border and she came from the Hot Rods. There’s no sign of anyone following her yet.”
“Any idea who she is?”
“No, though Emmy and Holly have got her into the Minibus.” Casper laughed. “I was told to sod off.”
“Fair enough. Give me a hand with this shelving because look, right back there.”
“Corned beef? Don’t tell everyone or there’ll be a fight.” Casper took a firm hold of the steel. “Come on wimp.”
* * *
“We have to get going.” Harold stood clear of the minibus, or rather clear of the woman sobbing sporadically onto Emmy’s shoulder even after nearly three hours. Holly came out.
“There’s a problem. Three Hot Rods will be looking for her when they wake up. She fed them her complete supply of Valium, Rohypnol, and Temazepam for starters and the gods know what else, mixed with really good booze. By the time they’d finished their party with her, all three were stoned out of their skulls.” Holly glared. “I’d really like to wait here for them, with half a dozen guns and no warning?”
“If they survived that, shooting them could be a mercy. My guess is the Hot Rods will come in mob handed but slow so they aren’t trespassing, and then demand her back.” Harold frowned. “I’ll say no, but it’s the next part that could get bloody and cost us people.”
“They’ll want her presents as well, two modern crossbows, about thirty bolts for them, a couple of boxes of ammunition and a lot of good booze. Tabitha daren’t touch the guns and machetes the men were wearing and couldn’t make herself shoot them with the crossbows, so she ran. After one dose of Hot Rod partying that woman really is ready to drive onto the bypass.” Holly glared towards the south and the Hot Rods.
“Does Tabitha want to stay, and does she understand the rules?” Holly nodded. “Then tell her she has to cut and dye her hair and change her name, and never breath a word of today to anyone not present.”
“What about that car?” Holly pointed at the bright red poser Porsche.
Harold grinned. “So sad. Get everyone loaded and gone, and take her presents with you except some of the booze.” Harold turned and raised his voice. “Casper, I’ll need one pickup and half a dozen men with serious weapons.”
“I’ll stay.”
“No Holly, because just now you’d shoot someone for blinking out of turn.” Harold turned her and pushed. “Get everyone home safe and get that lass disguised.” He smiled. “Give her some chocolate to make her feel better.”
“Ooh, I’ll let everyone know you’re paying.”
* * *
An hour later Casper leant close. “You owe me, big-time.”
“You like bagging up the trash. Now shush and look really annoyed but not at them.” Harold straightened and held his rifle low but sort of pointed at the first of the three SUVs that were pulling into the car park. He waggled the barrel as a hint the cars should stop.
As the first car stopped a familiar face immediately got out of the passenger side. “Where is she?” Cooper wore mechanic style overalls and no doubt had his name across the back. Harold bit back a smile as two young men were helped from the second car. Both had to be held upright and were spattered in vomit.
“She? Was that a woman?” Harold gestured behind him at the store, firmly ablaze with the distinctive rear of the red Porsche sticking out of the flames. “If this is your fault I’ll want paying for the food that burned. Not only that but when the ammo went up it nearly killed Alfie.”
“Not a chance. She’s a runner and any damage she did is your problem. Though we really hoped we’d find her alive because she killed one of ours.” Cooper looked at the burning building and the car. “F...damn, that would have been a real poser motor for Porsche.” Harold tried hard to keep the disgust from his face because Cooper didn’t seem worried about the woman. Then the Hot Rod’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Is she still in there?”
“Go and look. We tried to put out the fire because of the food in the shop, but all we got is three bottles of whisky. Decent stuff though.” Harold shrugged and pointed at three bottles on the bonnet of the pickup. “Those must have fallen out when the car hit. It’s a soft top and the rest went up like a torch.” It certainly had with a couple of bottles of spirits, a hole in the petrol tank, and an assortment of flammable liquids from the store to help.
“Trev, bring those, er, crap-heads?” Cooper looked a question at Harold.
“Crap-heads is fine. We get more fussy about language around the women.” Harold waved towards the car. “I hope you haven’t eaten.”
Although they were taken forward to look into the car as well as the flames would allow, the two men were never going to identify the driver. One of those supporting them turned and shouted “the bitch is dead” to Cooper. Harold daren’t look at Casper or they would have laughed. The nameless head had been laid on the dash in front of the steering wheel of the Porsche, with an assortment of other bones and rotten clothes gleaned from the surrounding ruins on the driver’s seat, in case someone got really nosy.
“Satisfied?” Harold let his annoyance show. “Because I’d prefer your lot on the way home before we go, since some of them are a bit light-fingered.”
“Not now.” Cooper scowled. “Not since the rules were explained, though the rules might be altered at the meeting. Cadillac will be letting you know where that is.”
“At the island back there would be good? Nice and easy for all three of you to find, and near enough to the Army to make starting a war a bad idea.” Harold shrugged. “Someone else pick a time and date. Bring a decent shooter if there’s going to be a competition.”
Cooper opened his mouth and then hesitated. “I’ll pass the message, though Cadillac might want somewhere else.”
“Send someone with the message and I’ll speak to the GOFS.” Harold watched the flicker in Cooper’s eyes as he realised that Orchard Close were already in touch with other neighbours. Harold and his pickup full of armed men followed the Hot Rods to the border to make a point, and then went straight home. By the time they arrived, every scrap had been unloaded from the other vehicles and stashed away. Willing hands set into moving the boxes and bags in the pickup.
Sharyn greeted Harold with a smile but before she could speak a five year old hurricane descended chanting Coco Pops at the top of her voice. A triumphant Daisy waved a drawing of dogs and cats eating Coco Pops. Hazel, apparently on drawing duty, waved from the dining room and rolled her eyes at the chants.
“I know Coco Pops are important, but selling your body? Who found them?” Sharyn spoke quietly but Harold saw some real humour in her eyes.
“Selling my body?”
“There were strong hints of compensation and favours for those who found them.”
Harold laughed. “Emmy found them and she’s otherwise occupied.”
“But she’s not actually er, whatevered for another month, because that’s when the house will be ready and Curtis’s splint comes off.” Sharyn frowned. “It wasn’t Emmy who delivered them.” A wicked smile spread over her face. “If you don’t know who you owe, I’m keeping quiet.”
“Emmy will be whatevered?” Harold went for the diversion rather than Coco Pop compensation.
“With confetti but we can’t have weddings?” Sharyn shrugged. “Matthew has his sling off and he managed his first two handed hug so him and Bess are official now. Finn has his sling off but he hasn’t been spoken for.” She snickered. “The latest one might be more his style. Oh, right, did anyone mention the new woman? The scavengers brought her back.”
“For Finn?” Harold thought of a groomed Tabitha and the balding fo
rty odd year old electrician and that didn’t add up.
“Holly says June is nearly forty and going a bit grey.” Harold listened to the explanation of how June had been walking up the road and Daisy’s complaints about school with a little smile, because that disguise for ‘June’ would be perfect if everyone kept quiet.
* * *
Within a week the TV did its best to destroy any good feeling after New Year. “Didn’t we accept some of that lot, the refugees from Africa and Syria?” Sharyn looked rightly worried as a tide of humanity swamped the Army positions around a huge refugee camp, seized the weapons, and flooded across the countryside nearby.
“And Jordan, and Iraq, and Lebanon, and Gaza, but we never had the really big refugee camps because the government refused to take any more. Eventually the EU stopped letting the boats cross over the Med, but before that the richer countries paid the poorer ones to round refugees up instead of letting them through.” Harold looked at the thousands of people heading anywhere but what had been their home, in some cases for the last decade or more. “Where the hell will they go?”
“These are the scenes as militant elements in the refugee camp on Sicily overwhelmed their guards. The escaped refugees are storming the outskirts of Palermo, though conflicting reports claim that the inhabitants are assisting or joining the uprising.”
On the TV a warship fired into a harbour packed with shipping, continuing until nothing remained afloat. An overhead view showed a familiar river of smoke and fire spreading through what the caption said was Palermo, heading for the harbour. The scenes shifted to warships firing on a flotilla of small craft and a large freighter full of people, then into yet another harbour. This time the caption said Tenerife.
“The Spanish government has been forced to isolate the Canary Isles to prevent the occupants of the refugee camps there from escaping to the mainland. Since the refugees seized a ship bringing supplies, no more will be sent. All across Europe an obviously co-ordinated uprising is threatening the stability of the region. Refugees from two camps have combined to break through the Greek Army lines surrounding Corinth. Despite the valiant attempts of the Greek military, the insurgents have seized the crossings over the Corinth Canal and are advancing on Athens.”
Onscreen a camera swept over what was, from the caption, Corinth. Little life showed in the devastation, though fires were raging here and there. “Crap, they’ve got hold of military kit.” Onscreen a missile rose lazily into the sky and blotted out a helicopter. Harold glanced up. “Will you check on Daisy please, Hazel? You might as well stay up there and listen to some music you like rather than watch this miserable stuff.”
Hazel stared at him. “Will it be bad again, Harold?”
“Possibly.” Harold sighed. “Though a long way away. No need for you to have these pictures in your head.”
Sharyn leaned closer as Hazel went upstairs. “You don’t think so do you, about it being a long way away.”
“No because although we didn’t take many, the newspapers claimed the better part of half a million were on the Isle of Wight and in Northern Ireland.” Harold frowned. “Though there was no mention of refugees during the reports of trouble in Northern Ireland so maybe they were moved. If that lot are now on the mainland Hazel will just get worried.”
“Fortunately the British government acted quickly once the first breakouts occurred, and the Isle of Wight has been isolated. Unfortunately, the warnings were too late to save the remaining inhabitants of Cowes. There is evidence that those confined in Ryde and Newport conspired with the refugees to break out and join the assault.”
This time a Royal Navy warship smashed ships in a small port, including a loaded ferry. As that went down struggling figures spread across the cold, grey January waters. An Army post disappeared under those attacking from the ruins of a town and more attackers streaming in across the fields behind them. The scenes shifted to more soldiers being overwhelmed by screaming hordes who then poured aboard a ferry. More overhead scenes showed mobs rampaging over farmland and through smaller communities, killing guards and freeing the orange-suited workers in the fields.
“The Isle of Wight was expected to provide early vegetables to ease the food situation. Now everyone is urged to tighten their belts and ration any food until the farms on the mainland start to produce.”
“We’ll concentrate on getting in the veggies, any that are still in the ground. That’s if we can find them with this snow. We’ll also strip the outer houses first to put off anyone sneaking over the borders.” Harold reached for his radio, but left it until morning.
* * *
The same pictures were showing on the wall screen in the bunker. Owen, the chairman, cleared his throat to get the attention of the rest. “The southern European refugees should clear many of the local large population centres down there in search of food. They will strip the marts and then denude the entire area. After that it’s just a matter of keeping the entire population in the same area a week or two as they starve. I’m disappointed with the result in southern France because that mob is out of control. We must hope those move south to join their comrades in Spain, or the French get their act together.” Owen spoke in his quiet, public school voice but his tone showed annoyance. “The Isle of Wight didn’t go well. Those refugees weren’t supposed to get to the farms.”
Joshua, the Army man, frowned. “But the big population centres are now empty and what’s in the fields won’t last the mobs long. Additional forces including armour are already clearing out any die-hards in the ruins and sealing the perimeters again so nobody can get back in. Scattered as they are now, the mobs can’t break through soldiers. The rest of our operation worked out close enough, or it has done so far. Once the scattered groups die or come close enough to the Army to be shot, the entire Isle of Wight will be clear.” Joshua gestured to the redheaded woman. “The invasion of farms should give Ivy a good excuse.”
She inclined her head. “Yes, we intended reducing the amount of food supplied to marts sooner or later to reduce the population. Perhaps now is better before any of the captive populations start growing their own?”
“We want them to do that, so there is no need to send as much of the produce from our farms to the marts. Eventually we will inherit the cultivated land. Please arrange for someone to look at contingency plans, just in case we have to really cut sooner than expected.” Owen turned to the youngest cabal member. “Gerard, how is the evacuation of supplies going from Calais and Zeebrugge?”
“Very well, they’re nearly stripped. Hamburg, Rotterdam and Antwerp are all being difficult, or their controllers are. We’ll start on Le Havre and Dunkirk next though Dunkirk has been badly damaged by rioting.” The younger man shrugged. “Our colleagues in France arranged for the nuclear powered French warships to be posted to French Polynesia after escorting our share of the Israelis to Australia. There’s not enough control left in France to order them back or stop us emptying any port.”
Boris, the diplomat, sighed. “Which is a pity. France is supposed to be our breadbasket and the base for eventually pacifying the rest of Europe. What happened at Marseille and then Toulon is unfortunate, and a warning. If a mob looks like getting onto the naval ships in Brest or Cherbourg the Royal Navy must be ready.” He shrugged. “I’ve tried persuasion and even bribery, but unfortunately the French Naval Command there will not abandon their bases even with transport for their stores and personnel and a safe haven this side of the channel.” He relaxed a little and smiled at Gerard. “At least our other refugees are doing their job properly, the ones in Ireland.”
“They are now the Loyalists have decided black Anglicans are preferable to white Irish Catholics. Some of them were quite stubborn about that, but now the weapons have been distributed and that evened up the numbers between north and south. Once both sides have used up all their ammunition and killed each other’s hotheads Ireland is another breadbasket.” The young man curled his lip. “Beef
and potato basket, providing they don’t eat the place bare first.”
“They will though by then they’ll have used up the SAMS and armour piercing. Those weren’t planned for either. The old weapons from the troubles weren’t as decommissioned as advertised.” Owen made a dismissive gesture and shrugged. “Maybe half a dozen tanks and seven aircraft is a fair exchange if we finally solve the Irish problem. Any word from across the Atlantic?”
“Not any that makes sense. There were too many private armies in the USA, or there certainly are now. Using up all their ammunition could take a long while so our colleagues are keeping quiet.” Nate glanced over at Boris. “We’ve been putting our heads together but there’s little help we can offer. The American Navy and Air Force are still obeying orders and staying in their major bases, but I think our transatlantic cousins were a little bit optimistic in their other predictions.”
Grace, now wearing a blue two-piece, thumbed through her file. “I’m more worried about China. That really isn’t going according to any plan and we may lose control of the surveillance satellites. We should have moved some of ours, or the American ones, into different orbits.”
“Some whistle-blower would have noticed and realised we had prior warning about the destruction of all the others, the civilian and minor nation hardware.” The older man smiled. “We knew there would be a warlord scenario in many places, and even set some of them up. Providing our allies keep control of the satellites and have neutralised the strategic nuclear weaponry, China can play itself out.” He shrugged. “We have four missile subs and five Hunter-Killers around the globe that are now crewed entirely by our own people, and will deal with any real problem.”
“We hope. There’s a lot of playing out to come yet, and already too much hasn’t worked according to plan.” Gerard frowned and clicked a control to put a map of Russia on the screen. “The pipelines from the Western Siberian oil and gas were supposed to be cut, but the actual production facilities should have been protected. We wanted those available for when refining came back online.”
