Fall of the Cities: Putting Down Roots

by Vance Huxley

  The following day the scavengers had a list from Finn, and some stern warnings about testing first. Surge protection and a selection of spares from fuses up to entire fuse boxes were ripped out of houses that had no electricity, and stored in Finn’s garage. By the first evening the storage grew to include a whole house with replaced windows and a sound roof. Oil filled electric radiators kept damp at bay while Sandy, Stewart Baumber and anyone else with handyman aspirations put up shelves to stack a growing selection of electrical loot.

  Orchard Close took the warnings from Finn to heart, with all electrical equipment turned off and unplugged when not in use. A necessary precaution because too much of the electrical equipment in the ruins turned out to be already damp and useless. Finn hoped some would work after drying out but even with the memories backed up someplace, replacement equipment couldn’t be guaranteed. Mobile phones and music players went on the scavenging list, and any chargers were saved even without a phone.

  Worse for some than any other problems, they lost all their personal music. Because so much music had been either streamed or downloaded prior to the internet dying, many lost songs couldn’t be replaced. Over the ensuing days Harold thought he’d given more soggy-hugs, genuine ones, for music than for anything else. Almost obsolete CDs and even vinyl media and players suddenly went to the top of several personal lists, more so when Rob mentioned how restricted the BBC radio playlist had become. The protest and rock genres were extinct.

  *   *   *

  “I’ve been hoping to get you by yourself. Stand back.” Barry swung his heavily insulated axe to ‘disconnect’ the mains from a house that seemed to have no electricity. There had been two frights and a bad burn when wires were still live, so now the scavengers took no chances.

  “I’m not hard to find. You talked to me a few days ago about moving in with Finn.” Harold smiled. “Some were betting on you moving in with Alicia after New Year.”

  Barry laughed. “Don’t you start. It just seemed pointless heating two houses instead of one, especially with one or the other of us not being at home much of the time.” He grinned at Harold. “I have to keep going round to see Alicia just so I don’t find the local oiks climbing through my granddaughters’ windows.” Harold grinned back because the real plan had worked well. Celine could handle Barry downstairs watching TV and talking to his granddaughters, while Alicia felt better because she had a man in the house. Louise now lived there as well, and Finn sometimes joined Barry in helping Alicia feel safer. If all that failed, Matti and Doll could bring a smile to a statue.

  “So what did you want to talk about?”

  Barry hesitated, looking embarrassed. “I’ve heard you were in the SAS.”

  “I’ve never said that.” Harold also didn’t say he’d been a clerk because not only did Orchard Close find his alleged expertise reassuring, but it also backed off the yobs.

  “No, but you never say you weren’t and I’ve got a problem with that.” Barry paused. “With the SAS part. Tell me to shut up and I will.”

  “Go on.”

  “When we set fire to that car, you didn’t know which products to use. Well you did because most of you read labels and used the ones that said flammable.” There was a question in Barry’s voice and face, but Harold wanted to hear it all.

  “Keep going.”

  “I knew exactly which ones would burn well, because of my training. I would expect an SAS man to know for an entirely different reason.” He shrugged. “Since then Alicia, Louise and even Celine now and then talked about the attacks on the flats and Orchard Close. Because I wondered, I asked a couple of very casual questions. Why did you make petrol bombs at the flats?”

  “To burn any vehicles attempting to force an entry.”

  “Why didn’t you make pipe bombs, especially here when that mob was coming?” Barry had got to what bothered him and had tensed right up.

  “I don’t know how.” Harold gave a short laugh. “I’ll bet Stones would have known.”

  “What?”

  Harold smiled. “Stones is, hopefully still is, really SAS. Unfortunately I’m not.”

  “What are you?” A very tense Barry still held his axe in what would be a white-knuckled grip if Harold could see under the gloves.

  “An ex-soldier, honourable discharge, who came to rescue his sister and arrived too late. The residents assumed SAS and it made them feel better and the SAS bit frightens the yobs, so I let it ride.” Harold tried to put every ounce of sincerity he could into his voice. “I promise I have never, ever claimed to be other than a soldier.”

  “Thank God for that.” Barry sighed and relaxed. “I wondered about deserter, but the others told me the Army know who you are and that Sharyn really is your sister. The Army bit explains your shooting. I’ll bet you had a big rifle with bloody great sights like those on the TV.”

  “No but if we still paid anyone I could keep the records in perfect order.” Harold grinned at Barry’s baffled expression. “Come on, we’ll take a break, drink this flask of tea, and I’ll explain.”

  The tea had gone before Barry sat back with a big sigh. “Stupid as it sounds, I feel better. I assume you don’t want everyone knowing?”

  “I won’t lie to them.” Harold had long since decided that lying and being found out would be worse for morale than just being caught out not denying.

  “I’ll keep quiet. In that case, would you like to know how to make a pipe bomb?”

  Harold stared at Barry’s sad smile. “What? But your job is to stop things going bang, or burning anyway. Oh.”

  Barry nodded. “To do that we learn what shouldn’t mix with what, and the type of thing that should never be heated or chilled, and what will go bang or burn and when. It’s a hell of a hint on how to make them do just that.” He sighed. “It goes against everything I’ve been taught, but a pipe bomb will stop a bunch of those Geeks if they get past your rifle.”

  “Will anyone realise why I put the ingredients on the scavenger list?” Harold still didn’t fancy this idea, because there’d been plenty of warnings about people who tried to make bombs and ended up dead or crippled. In the Middle East a good few bomb makers among the nutters trying to kill soldiers were missing fingers.

  “Come with me, into the kitchen.” Barry stood up. “This is your average house, so here’s your first lesson.” Five minutes later, after a trip to the bathroom as well, Barry gestured at the table. “Cut off a length of pipe, even plastic downpipe from a gutter, and seal it really well. What’s here will make the damn thing into a killer, or at least something to blind or cripple anyone near enough.”

  “Bloody hell.” Harold stared at the collection. “Er, how hard is it? This lot won’t just go bang else half the houses in England would be ruins.” He looked round. “Oops, they are, but you know what I mean.”

  Barry finally smiled, a welcome relief after his expression since the offer. “True. No, they’re all relatively safe like this or Health and Safety might have been involved, though you will be surprised how easy it is to alter that. Just heat and a fridge will do for some.” He looked round. “Where do you want to learn all this, and make some of each?” He smiled again, just a little one. “Carefully, and not in huge quantities.”

  “Cripes yes.” Harold looked at the collection. “Sugar might be a problem because a lot of it is damp or set in a lump.”

  “Sugar is harmless. We dry out the wet sugar and grind the solid into powder again, it doesn’t even matter if there’s a bit of muck in it. Then when some of these are doctored and mixed in with the sugar?” Barry shook his head. “I’d get drummed out of the Brigade if I’d still been in.”

  “If we can get one ready before I meet the neighbours, they might give you a life-saving medal.”

  *   *   *

  By the time Cooper turned up to announce that the meeting would be at the traffic island, Orchard Close had grown by another three men, seven women and two more children. At least two of them h
ad bad bruising, and some of the others were very close-lipped. As Cooper drove off, in a Mini Cooper of course, Alfie spoke quietly to Harold. “Whoever it is seemed very interested in that. They’ve moved up near enough to hear what was said.”

  “After three days maybe it’s time to see who it is. Where are they?”

  “Third house along away from the Army, this side of the road.” Alfie chuckled. “Top left window, because Sal has got the binoculars on them. Though she still can’t make out if it’s a man or woman.”

  “Woman is my bet, they’re more cautious.” Harold cupped his hands and shouted. “You in the third house along, at the bedroom window, come out and talk.” Harold pointed at the window and then cupped his hands again. “Come into the open and either a man or woman will come to talk to you. Your choice.”

  “Send a woman.” Then after a short pause “Unarmed?”

  “I’m pleased I didn’t take the bet because that’s either a young lad or a woman from the voice.” Alfie made a small gesture towards the guardhouse. “Your rifle is upstairs in number two, Sal is keeping it warm. Are you sure you want to be upstairs with Sal?” Alfie had a definite snigger in his voice.

  “She’s been less manic since Christmas and New Year.” Sal still lived in the girl club having told Jon she wanted a bloke for the holidays, not for life. He was still sulking. “Maybe I should send Sal out there anyway, she’s fairly reassuring.” Harold raised his voice. “Almost unarmed.”

  “All right. Where?”

  “Come out of the back door when you see her, and when she gets closer, step clear of the house.” Harold turned to go and get Sal.

  “I’ll go.”

  Harold stopped and smiled. “Good idea, June.” June, at five foot five and genuinely almost forty, definitely classed as non-threatening. At the moment the mousey brown and grey hair cut into a bob was down to a careful dye job, but should be permanent once that grew out. According to Emmy and Liz, June had once been a trophy wife which explained her manicured appearance. When her industrialist husband left the city before the Army sealed all access he’d taken both teenaged children and, presumably, the young model he kept on the side.

  “I have to find a new profession anyway. Mediator sounds about right.” June patted her machete. “Though this probably isn’t the accepted wear.” These days her smiles were much more genuine than the first one Harold saw. “At least I can eat chocolate now, providing I can find any more.”

  “I’ll ask the girl club for some if you can talk this one inside. I get nervous about strangers hanging about.” Harold glanced up at number two. “Give me a chance to get upstairs so I’ve got a rifle covering your back.”

  “Get someone to tell me to slow up if you aren’t ready.” June turned and headed for the back wall.

  “We should have a proper gate rather than the car. It’s a pain walking round to save petrol.”

  “It’s on the list, Alfie.”

  June took her time and Harold had the rifle ready before she walked across the overgrown back gardens. A muffled figure came to meet her, with a big scarf wrapped round most of her face and a woolly hat with a pom-pom. Three or four minutes of arm waving and pointing, and an inspection of June’s machete that had Harold’s sights settled firmly on the scarf, and the meeting ended. June stood and waited as the figure went back into the house, and came out carrying a backpack and several carrier bags.

  Harold put the safety on and propped his rifle up in the corner. “You were well behaved today.”

  “I’m a good girl these days.” Sal grinned. “Though if I’d known you were coming I might have put a hot water bottle in the bed.”

  “That’s better. I thought you’d been exchanged for someone almost sober.”

  “Not really. Most of us have sobered up a bit since Christmas and I really needed to. I got a bit too far into the bottle for a while.” Her smile flashed. “Jon helped. I sort of let off some steam, released some tension or whatever. I’m not usually a tart, or only after I get to know the bloke a bit and maybe have a few drinks. Liz says it’s Darwin’s fault.”

  “When did he move in?”

  “No, idiot, the scientist bloke. Apparently an urge to breed, or practice breeding, is an automatic reaction after near disaster or a narrow escape from death. Wildlife populations boom after a forest fire, that sort of thing.” Sal grinned. “Though since I have got to know you a bit, and I sometimes have a few too many drinks, don’t relax.”

  “Does this mean the entire girl club will be backing off a bit?”

  “Hmm.” Sal actually gave that some thought. “You’ll get teased, and some of us might not say no on a moonlit night, but the edge has gone off if you know what I mean. Though a few are definitely serious, so if you relax you’d better check if the bed has been warmed up first.”

  Harold put up fingers to count off. “Cold bed, no booze, no mood music, I’m off.”

  “Typical bloke, the girl has to do all the work.” Sal picked up the binoculars and moved to her seat by the window. As Harold opened the door she sniggered. “Just remember that Doll and Matti haven’t had chance to take the edge off yet.” Her laugh followed Harold down the stairs.

  *   *   *

  “I want to see an armed woman in there before I come over this wall.”

  Harold smiled at the suspicious eyes peering between the hat and scarf. “How many and how well armed? They can’t show firearms because the Army is just up there.”

  The figure gave a big sigh. “It’s too late now anyway but you really meant what you said, didn’t you? To the man in the car.”

  Harold thought a moment and was sure what she meant. “The bit about foul language?” Harold had reminded Cooper that the meeting would be on Orchard Close property, so there were rules.

  “More the bit about it being a rule, even right up to that roundabout, especially since he agreed.” She, definitely she when the scarf unwound, climbed over the wall. “Don’t you have a door into this place?”

  “Yes, but it costs petrol. We’re working on it.” Harold held out his hand. “Hello, I’m Harold.”

  “Harold Soldier Boy do what he says but he seems a nice enough bloke, according to June.” Behind her June shrugged. “I’m Patty, which will do since unless your surname is Boy, one name is enough here.” She inspected Harold, put out her hand and shook. “You need a scarf in this weather, and I’m just the right person.”

  “You are? Come on Patty, I’ll take you to the girl club until you work out where you want to live. That’s a home for single females.” Harold waved a hand up the road. “Along here a bit and behind those scrawny trees.”

  “That’s civilised. Do the men have a house as well?” Patty looked about as she walked up the road, and seemed totally relaxed now.

  “No, they usually live in pairs so they have someone to drink with when the girls turn them down. Again.” Harold turned up towards the girl club. “Those two houses there, on the right. I live in the end house.”

  “Convenient?” Suspicion crept into her voice again.

  “Not really, I live with my big sister. Though Liz says it’s reassuring having me parked at the end of the road.” Harold raised his voice. “Anyone home?”

  “Of course, especially if you’re calling.” The door opened and a signature hairstyle popped into view. “That’s mean, bringing your own.” Emmy grinned. “I’ll just call up and tell them to forget the frilly stuff.”

  “Naughty. You’re spoken for now.” Harold waved towards Patty. “Emmy, this is Patty. Patty, this is Emmy and if you want to see a heavily armed woman this is the go-to girl.”

  “I hope there’s another hairdresser.” Patty stuck out a hand. “I’m told it’s an all-woman house in here.”

  “Apart from the resident housemother.” Emmy shouted back over her shoulder. “Casper!” Harold left them to it. Patty already sounded as if she’d fit right in. Then he remembered.

  “Emmy? I promised June a bit of chocola
te for going out to get this one. Any chance you could organise some? Just a little bit?” Harold smiled as innocently as he could manage.

  “Oh I’m sure someone can find some, especially at the prices you’ll pay. You still owe some of us for Christmas.”

  As he set off up the street Harold could hear Patty’s first question. “I thought we were all supposed to do what he said?”

  *   *   *

  Patty fitted in with hardly a ripple, once she knew someone would teach her to use a crossbow. “Knives are messy. The next bastard trying that crap is going to get a steel tipped migraine” was a direct quote. Since the girl club were perfectly at ease with those sentiments, Patty moved on to her passion in life.

  “Knitting?” Harold stared. “What, scarves and the like? Hats with pom-poms?”

  “No, real hand knitting. Cable, Fair Isle, Aran, Lace, bespoke, or do you fancy a scarf with Soldier Boy on it?” Patty looked back at the girl club. “They said you haven’t got any wool or needles.”

  “I wouldn’t know.” Harold shrugged. “I don’t know anyone who knits.”

  “Bloody mass production or designer labels have a lot to answer for. What happens when your jumper gets a hole because I’ve heard the ones in the marts are expensive?” Patty had her hands on her hips now and looked decidedly indignant.

  “And really thin. You’ve got a solution?” Harold could spot a losing argument these days.

  “Yes, look up all the wool shops in yellow pages and empty them. Then when the other morons wake up and realise that they’re cold and Santa won’t be coming, we sell them woollens. Lovely new thick ones.” Patty’s gaze sharpened. “So I can buy my own crossbow.”