Fall of the Cities: Putting Down Roots

by Vance Huxley

  “Stop it.”

  Holly smiled happily. “Yes luv.” That threw Harold completely for a moment but the voice from ahead brought him back to here and now.

  “Some of us want to come and talk.” Harold sighed and relaxed, just a bit. With luck, nobody had to die today.

  An hour later five women, seven men and three children agreed to obey the rules in Orchard Close. Seven men and two women opted to ask the GOFS, but would try to get five women to the far border first so they could approach the Barbie Girls. None opted for the Hot Rods ahead, having heard the radio message, or wanted to go back to the Geeks.

  As he watched the drawn faces on those trudging past Harold wondered how many more out there were still homeless. This group were scavenging as they went because they couldn’t sign on to get coupons. Intentionally or not, the government were forcing every resident to pick an enclave. Harold watched them go, then called Emmy to come and tow the minibus home.

  Two days later Harold tried to get the minibus repaired. “Bloody hell, why bother? How come there’s no blood in there?” Charger had come in response to a message sent to the Hot Rods.

  “Nobody inside it when they opened fire.” Harold didn’t mention the steel plates inside the van at the time. Liz had muttered cripes more than once as she fitted the plates inside, where they couldn’t be seen, and muttered even louder getting them back out. She muttered very loudly while removing the plates she’d laboriously fitted to protect the driver from the engine compartment. The half inch and three eights thick plates weighed just over a ton in all, but those who avoided getting shot willingly helped Liz.

  “We can fix the tyres and the engine, make it a runner again, but why not find another?” Charger looked the minibus over. “The paint job is knackered.” He waved a hand at the bullet holes along the sides, many were long tear marks where rounds ricocheted back out from the plates.

  “They’ll fix that and repaint the pictures. This minibus has sentimental value to the girl club, but only just so much value. Tell Cadillac if he tries to stiff me he’s got a minibus wearing a paint job that none of your lot will be seen dead in.” In truth Harold was willing to be cheated a bit to get the minibus back, because the survivors from the burned flats really did care about their wheels.

  *   *   *

  Despite the better weather Patty made her first knitting sales. Harold’s new thick sweater, a dark blue Arran with a plain panel in the middle of the pattern on the front, had been designed as an advert. Patty had knitted the rest using every Arran stitch she knew. Then she knitted SB in what she called blackberry stitch on the plain panel, and every gang boss or top man who saw it wanted their own. Not identical of course.

  “How much of the price do you want for Orchard Close, Harold?” Patty waved a wad of coupons as the GOFS car departed. “You took a share of what Rob and Finn charged.”

  “I didn’t take it; that went to the Coven. That payment covers the bodyguard for them and guarding the hostage.” Harold grinned. “I daren’t ask what the Coven do with it.”

  “They make sure we’ve all got enough food and clothes until the crops grow.” Patty frowned. “If you hadn’t sneaked around stealing the wool, and if the guards didn’t stand to every night and search the visitors in the day, I’d never be able to do business. We should all pay, everyone who sells anything to visitors. Call it a tax.” She grinned. “ADP, Asshole Deterrent Payment.”

  “PMT would scare them more.” Liz looked at the coupons. “Cripes, did you rob someone? I can give you an alibi for a cut.”

  “That’s a good point, as Caddi said to Holly, if we tax the sellers we should pay Liz for making weaponry. Even if it’s just artwork to her.” Harold scowled. “I can feel a headache starting.”

  “What level?” Patty grinned at Harold’s glare. “That’s your fault. You said a level three cleared the last one.” Harold smiled because it had. Level threes seemed to be more common and in public now, and the level five after the last walk home definitely inclined towards whatever a six might be.

  “He doesn’t care what level as long as he gets a lip-lock, and anyway he’s totally wrong as usual. Artwork costs more than brute ironwork, philistine.” Liz frowned. “The government pay me with a meagre issue of coupons, the scavengers bring in iron and trees, and the nearest sucker gets roped into charcoal making.” She looked at Patty’s coupons. “Though if I can get enough to buy a proper anvil?”

  Harold pointed towards his house. “We need the head witch, and the Coven, and maybe a few others.”

  “I’d lay off the coven bit in there. I heard Daisy asking about covens at school, and two of the teachers are on the committee or whatever it’s called.” Patty sniggered. “Maybe Coven works.”

  “Oy, I’m on the whatever as well. Sometimes. Now explain PMT payments and coupons.” Liz and Harold chewed over payments and taxes with Patty on the way up the street.

  “Cripes, we’ve got to sort this out because there are things like that everywhere on Orchard Close. Kerry sews up anything that’s needed, Hilda teaches the older kids and sees to the library, and there are our medics.” Liz sighed. “Since we can’t get enough free love going for a commune, it’ll have to include some filthy lucre.” She turned towards the girl club and raised her voice. “Holly, leave embroidering your underwear and get down here.”

  “Really? What’s her embroidery like because mine isn’t up to much and I’ll trade.” Patty caught Liz’s grin and Harold’s pink face. “So what is she doing?”

  “Sharpening spear and arrow points, but that’s a labour of love.” Liz pointed up the path at Holly heading towards them, pulling on her coat. “If she’d had to sort out underwear that would have taken longer.”

  “Hi Harold.” Holly delivered a level two hello. “What’s up?”

  “What level are you pair up to?” Liz grinned at Harold’s warning look.

  Holly didn’t even blush. “Five until Easter, why?”

  “Because he’s going to have a really bad headache after this meeting, unless you can really chill him out. How about you deliver a level five to take the edge off and stand by for a repeat afterwards?” Liz narrowed her eyes, watching, then smiled when Holly finally turned pink.

  “What? A five, now?”

  “No, she’s winding you up Holly. We’ve no idea what the meeting will be about and the people aren’t here yet.” Harold took her hand. “Come on, you can join in to add some common sense.”

  “No, it’s all right. I don’t mind kissing because you always get a headache at meetings. It’s just that, well, level five in public?” Holly’s blush grew to become more red than pink.

  “You can use the forge since I’ll be in his house, organising people.” Liz waved towards her garage blacksmith’s shop, her smile becoming a grin. “Take your time.”

  “Stop embarrassing Holly. She said no.” Harold put his arm round her and Liz grinned even wider, and Patty started to smile.

  “I didn’t say no and I’m not embarrassed, not if we go to the forge.” Holly smiled happily. “It’ll be warm in there.” She flapped the edges of her coat, not yet buttoned, to remind Harold of one requirement for a five. “Come on.” Harold went.

  *   *   *

  Though when they finally reached his house he made a beeline for Liz. “What was all that about?”

  Liz patted him gently on the back. “Calm down. You were worried that Holly might be frightened by how far your goodnights had gone. From the way she dragged you off to someplace warm I’d say the last month has dealt with it.” Her eyes narrowed. “What the hell is a level five anyway, and if it’s a doorstep kiss why do you need someplace warm and private?” Harold gave it up because if Liz had decided to pretend ignorance a crowded room wasn’t the place to argue.

  Ten minutes later Harold wanted another level anything or just a quiet place. Fourteen people all had their own ideas how Orchard Close should be organised so anyone doing extra work could be rewa
rded. They were also trying to make sure everyone ended up fed, clothed and educated, and keep a reserve for emergencies. The phone call came as a blessed relief. “Sorry, I’m wanted at the gate.”

  “I’ll come in case it’s stressful.” Holly stuck her tongue out at Liz and followed Harold out. “I needed to get out of there as well. I’ve already got two jobs, trigger puller and stress relief.” She hooked an arm in Harold’s. “Any idea what this is about?”

  “A car and four men who have something to sell me.” Harold shrugged. “That could be anything.”

  Five minutes later a man offered Harold a large preformed case labelled Pelican. He stood in the front room of one of the ruined houses along the neutral road while Alfie stood in one corner with a shotgun. A man with a revolver stood at the opposite corner, while the salesman stood in the middle with Harold. “We offered it to some gang called the Gods of Fire and Steel, and they said to come to you. It’s only got four bullets and that one clip so they don’t want it. We found it in a safe when a wall collapsed but there’s no more ammunition, which is stupid right?”

  Harold didn’t point out the ammo would be kept separate because it took all his concentration to keep the sheer lust from his face. He had no idea what a Blaser R8 Professional Success hunting rifle meant in performance except that it looked like pure lethal perfection. The Pelican case obviously went with the weapon, neatly holding the clip, sights, and the broken down weapon. Harold had never used a setup like this, but already he itched to try that pistol grip set into the usual rifle stock.

  “What else came with it?”

  “I told you.” The man with the pistol scowled. “They said he’s a shooter so sell him the rest and don’t fuck up the deal.”

  “There’s a kit for cleaning. Then some oil and an empty pouch thing for extra bullets, and another sling.” The man hesitated.

  “And?”

  “”And this. It’s a really flash knife and has to be worth something?” The knife came in a pouch rather than a sheath and had an extra saw-toothed blade. Harold pulled the clip out of the case and inspected the exposed round, trying to work out if he’d got any like that. He had boxes and jars full of empty brass now since everyone knew to collect them when scavenging.

  “How much?”

  “The blokes said you’d pay in coupons and guns, real guns not that bloody sixgun thing. We’ll trade that in for a nine mill because we can’t get ammo for it.” The salesman sneered at the pistol. “It’s only got six shots and you can’t change clips.”

  “I might spare a gun, not guns, not if you want coupons.” Harold tried to work out what crap weapon he could give these men, because even if there were no more rounds this rifle came as a godsend. Harold had no telescopic sights and daren’t try to buy one. The mediocre riflemen out there with halfway decent rifles and scopes could all outshoot the 303 with iron sights. So far Cadillac and the Geeks in particular hadn’t realised Harold didn’t have better sights, but that couldn’t last.

  Alfie stirred and for a moment Harold thought he’d object to selling guns. “It’s all right Alfie. I’ll pay with my private gear because with only four rounds it’s not much good, but it’s a nice poser job.” Harold hoped Alfie would back off. He glanced at the man in the opposite corner. “Let me see that pistol.”

  “Sod off. What, leave us unarmed?”

  “You were told I’d deal fair. If I wanted to rob you I’d take a quick step back and Alfie would pull both triggers. My lot would shoot the shit out of your mates as soon as they heard the shot, and then we’d strip the bodies. Give.” The two men exchanged glances and the man handed the heavy revolver over for Harold to inspect. “It’s in crap condition. How much ammo is there?”

  “Another dozen rounds. We’ll want two guns if you take both? Nine mill because we’ve got that.” That wasn’t a surprise since everyone else had nine millimetre, a seemingly unlimited supply.

  “I’ll put this rifle together to make sure you didn’t mess around and ruin it.” Harold looked over at Alfie. “Take them into the next room.” He didn’t want these men to see what sort of pig’s ear he made of this.

  Not much of one, because the rifle went together quickly and smoothly. Harold brought the weapon up to his shoulder and instantly fell in love with that pistol grip. He laid the rifle on the case. “Come on back in.” Harold gestured towards the weapon. “Two semi-automatic nines. No ammo, no clips.” After some haggling he agreed to let them have an empty clip in each. “One of you comes out with me, the other stays with Alfie. I go in the gate and get the weapons, and we trade.” Harold grinned. “I’ve got your guns anyway.”

  The bloke in the corner turned on his friend. “Stupid fucker.”

  “We have rules about foul language. Serious ones. Keep it clean or we’ll fine you.” The men glanced at Alfie, and then at Harold who nodded.

  “Now keep your traps shut, we finish the deal and you leave. Then you don’t come back because we shoot armed intruders.” Harold tapped the rifle. “You’ll never see me because there’s only four of you.” Harold picked two decidedly well-used weapons out of the spares in his gun room, and completed the trade. He strolled back after packing the rifle away again, nursing the wrapped case and trying to explain the difference to Alfie. Alfie still looked dubious as they came through the gate.

  Holly tried to see what he’d got under the wrapping. “What was that all about?” Harold put the case down, then picked her up in a bear hug and delivered a definite three. “Wow. If I see that look again I’m gonna lick my lips.” Holly smirked. “That’s the first time without a walk home or a kiss being offered. Now I really do need to know.”

  Harold explained to her, then to the rest of the group in ‘his’ house and none of them got it. That shook him. They’d all had an unshakeable faith that Soldier Boy would outshoot any scroat armed with anything. Harold stopped trying since, and he smiled happily at that, he probably could now. Better still, The Coven had done all the hard work and hammered out a system to make Orchard Close work.

  Harold felt even happier after the meeting, because Holly insisted they walked back via the forge because it would still be warm. Harold realised that not only wasn’t Holly put off by how enthusiastic the level five became, she seemed very happy afterwards. Maybe Liz had a good point? Later he discovered that those meagre four rounds were 308 and Harold’s happiness was complete, because he had a small plastic tub full of empty 308 brass picked up by scavengers.

  Alfie, Emmy and Holly all put in a bid for the old 303 since Harold had a new toy. Harold held out until he was sure that his new toy really did what its appearance promised, even with his reloads. Alfie and Emmy agreed to share the 303. The big heavy beast had become easier to shoot accurately now Harold had upgraded with peep sights from a ruined rifle, one taken for spares. Holly settled for learning to shoot Harold’s two-two “because I’ll be right next to that new posh one, and I prefer pistol practice anyway.”

  Just how near Holly stayed became clear as various residents in Orchard Close started to refer to Harold as luv, with big smirks. Holly didn’t smirk when Harold said it, and Harold found himself calling her luv more often. Just for the smile, he told himself. More sniggers and looks meant the girl club had some mischief planned for Easter, in a week’s time. Harold would have worried, but Liz had been right and any level up to five seemed be fine with Holly. He just had to remember to keep at five.

  *   *   *

  When Harold arrived at the gate, the first words he heard worried him. “We heard you’ll sell guns.”

  “That depends on what you’ve got to trade.” Harold didn’t sell guns and didn’t want a reputation for doing so, but perhaps these men had something Orchard Close really needed?

  “We’ll have to do it where there’s no witnesses.” The car had four men in, again, and had pulled up tight against one of the ruined houses. “We can go in here?” The man pointed at the house.

  “Two men and the goods.�
� Harold knew the two watchers in the guardhouses, one with binoculars, would make damn sure no extra men went in. He didn’t expect the hiss from the side window of the guardhouse.

  Harold looked up and a very angry looking June looked back. “They took a woman in there. Bent right over so you couldn’t see from here.”

  “An armed one?” That wasn’t typical though a woman fighter wasn’t unknown.

  “We couldn’t tell.”

  “Thanks.” Harold smiled and turned. “Holly, you know I never ever took you on a proper date? This might be the best I can do.”

  Apparently a walk down the road to trade with a bunch of yobs counted as a date, and ticked off another rite of passage. Holly’s dating jewellery tended towards sharp steel, but that seemed to be the current style.

  As before Alfie stood in one corner with the shotgun, and a gangster stood in the opposite one with a pistol, a nine mill this time. This time four people stood in the middle of the room, two men and two women. Or rather one young woman and one definite girl, about eleven or twelve Harold thought. He kept his temper in check until he found out why they’d brought her because she wasn’t obviously armed. The man opposite Harold gestured towards Holly. “We were told you didn’t trade women, but since you brought one?”

  Holly put her hand on her machete and the man’s eyes widened. “If you actually make an offer she’ll cut off your nuts. We don’t trade women, and certainly don’t buy them with guns.” Harold didn’t want a stream of men bringing women to sell.

  “She’s all we’ve got to trade. We tried swapping for someone older but we’ll take weapons?” The salesman glanced nervously at Holly. “She’s not been touched.”

  “Will you take her across to the wall luv, and see she’s not armed, or harmed?” Holly flashed a brilliant smile for the luv but soon lost it when she looked at the apprehensive girl’s face.