by Vance Huxley
Footsteps behind disturbed Harold’s musings. “Sorry about Fury. Now I don’t know if he’s accepting that he shouldn’t bark at skin colour but can at strangers, or just reverted.” Casper sounded really worried.
“It’s only a matter of weeks, Casper. He might have been trained for years.” Harold grinned. “It all worked out because those two want to buy one of his pups.”
“You’re going to sell Fury’s children?”
“Calm down Casper. It isn’t white slavery, or any other sort. We can’t afford to feed nineteen dogs which is what Holly thinks we might end up with.” Harold nudged him. “We were after one litter of puppies and then some soft sods decided to kidnap dogs wholesale.”
“It wasn’t kidnapping. Fury likes me.” Casper glanced back. “He really does. I’d better get back or he’ll be worried.”
“I hope you train him to like lumberjacks.”
“Cripes, yes.” Casper set off back to his new home.
“He’s really hooked by that dog.” Harold watched Casper striding back to the gatehouse.
“We all need a little love.”
“What?”
Patty waved towards the departing Casper. “Casper really is Mummy-Casper to the girl club, but he can’t show real affection because he’s our resident fairy. Some people would think it was weird. He can’t pat a bloke on the back or be friendly without jokes or someone thinking it’s more than that.” Patty shrugged. “Casper can be as daft as he likes with that dog, and the bloody animal really does like him.”
“Maybe it’ll be good for him. I once offered to take him to that gang of gays.” Harold smiled. “To kidnap one if he couldn’t charm one. I feel guilty about bringing him out here really.” He scowled at Patty. “Are you a psychiatrist or something?”
“No, just a late-comer so I see you all a bit different. There’s the originals from here and those flats, and they’re a solid group, bonded. The refugees who stood off the mob with you belong, and the rest are mainly just grateful.” Patty nudged Harold. “Now you’ve got me at it. I’m one of the grateful ones, if you ever need a crossbow and a big knitting needle.”
“Get off, he’s spoken for.” Holly grinned. “Especially tonight because I’m not tempted by the other camp and there’s real lettuce for tea. Bunny food.”
“Cripes.” Patty paused. “Why does everyone say that? Is it an infection?”
* * *
“Six puppies? Well that’s better than the top figure.” Harold smiled. “Don’t mention slavery to Casper but we’ll have bids for some of these. Definitely for the two black ones with ginger markings because they’ll look fiercer. All the gangs want either a Staffy or a Dobermann but I’m not selling to the Geeks.”
“You are not selling Lucky’s babies to that creep Caddi.” Sal moved in front of Harold. “Not a chance. You do know the sick bastard has adopted the target practice idea, but not always as a punishment?”
“I know, though the one he made run about when I visited had actually offended in some way.” Harold considered. “You’re right. We won’t sell pups to Caddi because he’ll probably train them up like Fury has been trained. The Geeks really want some of Barley’s and I know exactly why. The nasty sods were talking about dog fights and wanted a bitch to breed from.”
“It’ll take them ages to do that, set up dog fighting from one dog. Thank all and any gods.” Sal scowled. “Now look what you’ve done, that’s your saying. Cripes, we’ll be speaking another language in a generation.”
“Worse, you’re wrong. They are already trapping strays to set up fights with the next gang the other way. The Geeks want a Staffy because they think it’ll win and make them a lot of coupons.” Harold scowled. “They want a bitch to breed more and sell them.”
“Are the GOFS and Barbie Girls any better?” Sal looked over her shoulder at Lucky and her puppies. “We’ve got six to eight weeks to decide because you’re right, we can’t keep this lot. At least the cats seem to be feeding themselves now except the kittens, and they’ve taken to minced rat and mummy is catching mice. But not birds, thank all and any gods.”
“Maybe there’s not enough meat on a bird if they’re hunting to eat? I’m pleased to see all the birds, because they seemed to disappear over winter.” Harold smiled. “Except Curtis’s Robin.”
“We’ve got a couple of people who used to feed the birds. They reckon the birds all went out to the countryside, to the deserted fields, because the bird tables were all empty.” Sal shrugged. “Now they’ve come back to pick over all those abandoned, overgrown gardens full of caterpillars and bugs.”
“They’ve been back since March, some of them, but Curtis reckons they’re eating more bugs this last two months. I really did get fed up with inspecting plants and trying to decide if a bug is beneficial or not. Then squishing the little swine.” Harold pointed. “There’s a Sparrowhawk nesting over there, I am reliably informed.” Harold jumped as a voice sounded just behind him.
“More interesting still, there are all those pigeons trying to scoff Curtis’s greenery. Liz has made me some long thin points with tiny spines on because the other heads turned pigeons into feathers and goo.” Patty smirked. “After trying to hit pigeons, hitting some oik running about will be a doddle.” Behind Patty another four hopefuls had crossbows with odd looking bolts.
“Not in the air, Patty, or someone will be doing a King Harold.” Harold mimed pulling something from his eye.
“Wimp, though with your name I can see why you’re nervous.” Patty turned to the rest. “We’ve got to sneak up and get them on the ground so don’t miss with the first one.” The five of them set off through crops interspersed with flowers.
“Do all those flowers actually stop bugs, or is Curtis being influenced by Emmy?”
“Yes to both. Now go and collect bugs, knock down walls, plant even more food, or other Soldier Boy things. Anything but eye up innocent puppies with larcenous intent.” Sal pushed him.
“Holly will be round to kidnap one soon enough, and she won’t even pay. Daisy will come to help her choose. You have been warned.” Harold went to do Soldier Boy things, which was a shame. Today was much too nice to be cooped up fixing guns but that’s what paid the rent. Though first he wanted to see Liz.
“Hi, mouse.”
“Hey, it’s the wimp. I thought you were all canoodled up with that blonde hussy these days.” Liz grinned. “At least I don’t have to knock before coming into the forge.”
“Blacksmith off.” Harold parked himself on the end of the bench. “Patty said something odd about Casper and that dog, and now he’s a bit protective over the pups. Is Casper okay?”
“He’s as happy as a dog with two tails. Casper’s got a friend.” Liz smiled. “There, now you can desert me again.”
“He’s got a lot of friends.” Harold frowned. “He moved away from his friends.”
“Cripes, what makes you think I know any more than Patty?”
“Drunken mutual confessions. You mentioned them once?” Harold tried not to smile as Liz glared.
“You said you’d forgotten, and I certainly have.” She rolled her eyes. “Obliterated in one night of sooty bliss. So what did Patty say?” Harold explained. “She’s sort of right, but too complicated. Casper was lonely.”
“In the girl club?”
“Yes. If you say a word I’ll gang up with your sister and that blonde hussy. You do not want three-girl trouble.”
“I don’t. My lips are sealed.”
“Drunken confessions, or one anyway. Casper was brought up to think gay was wrong. He can’t do the pink panty bit and never fitted the gay scene, and isn’t comfortable with my method of one-night stands.” Liz reached over and prodded Harold in the ribs. “You turned up and didn’t give a shit if he was gay, everyone in the flats accepted him as a big bloke with a machete, and suddenly he belongs. That’s why he makes the stupid jokes, he’s sort of drunk on coming out. He’d have been beaten to death if h
e’d done that before the crash.” Liz stopped, frowning. “Where have you been recently, during the gay backlash? In a black hole?”
“Sort of, it’s called the Middle East. What gay backlash? The Army doesn’t have any, or rather none of the squaddies admit to being gay. Before that I was a quiet kid who shot little paper rings for fun.” Harold frowned. “Spitting Sid was a gay, him and Karl, down at the rifle club. They were okay, used to hug each other if they got a good score but that’s it. He showed me a lot about setting up rifles and how to reload empty brass, stuff that’s dead useful now.” His frown turned to a smile. “Those lessons are how I ended up in the group messing with old rifles at the Army range, and learned about custom loading and setting up different weapons. Dead handy now.”
“Spitting Sid?”
Harold laughed. “They called him Spitting Sid because he had a speech impediment, he sprayed a bit so he’d look to the side when talking. Sid told me he’d prefer Sid Snot, which I never understood until I looked it up. Then they stopped coming, just before I turned sixteen.”
Liz didn’t laugh. “Quick and nasty, the gay backlash. A chunk of Human Rights was rescinded after one particular election about nine years ago, when you’d be more interested in porno magazines or playing with rifles.”
“I do remember that. I had to learn feet and inches and pounds and ounces at school after working in metres and kilos since I started school. Then it changed to learning both just before I took my exams. It was a bloody shambles.”
Liz nodded. “That was the same election. Some nasty things came out of attics. Blacks, Asians, immigrants and gays went back about fifty years overnight and mostly ended up in communities. Then another election and Human Rights were back and even more loony, but the attitudes and the isolated communities stayed.” Liz sniggered. “Now Casper’s got a friend who doesn’t care if he’s gay or wears no panties at all. A friend he can hug and tell all his worries and nobody gives him odd looks, and that’s all you’re getting.”
Harold grinned. “What was your confession? The one you swapped.”
“Your ears are too young and tender. Now soldier off because I’m busy. My best efforts have been spurned, and those ungrateful gits want arrows with barely any artwork at all.” She smirked. “Though I get the first pigeon pie.”
* * *
“Come and watch this Harold. Would you recognise the library and playing fields in London from an overhead?” Holly patted the settee.
“Doubtful looking from the air. Blimey, definitely not if it’s turned into a farm.” Onscreen the cameras were showing wide swathes of land covered in neat rows of plants. “That lake is the Serpentine in Hyde Park. Or Hyde Park until someone dug most of it up.” The view changed. “Hey, that must be one of the other parks and they’ve penned the deer. Those are cows. Oh crap.”
Holly sighed. “It’s another of those broadcasts, isn’t it? One taken hours or days ago with a commentary added?” Onscreen running figures intercepted others who were trying to take the deer and cows. Gunfire and clashes between two groups ended in a scatter of bodies in the grass. Mainly human, but some of the deer were dead, and others had escaped when fences were broken. Two of the cows were down.
“As can be seen, the inhabitants of London have failed to cleanse the city of rebels and criminals. Under these circumstances the marts are unable to open again. Worse, these rebels have conspirators in Brighton. If such breakouts continue, the remaining population centres in the south of England will face severe shortages this winter.”
A horde stormed over an Army post and out across fields full of crops, near Brighton the caption claimed. Soldiers, and then armour and helicopters, eventually stopped them and the few survivors finally retreated back inside the Army cordon. The cameras panned across trampled crops and burned swathes of countryside.
“At least that’s down south and won’t affect us.”
“That is definitely a blessing, Hazel. Perhaps you should listen to music in case we get more of this type of news?”
“Yes Uncle Harold.” Hazel grinned at Harold’s look. “I’d rather go and play computer games with Veronica and Alfie. We’re trying to get Pricilla and Jilli levelled up so we can play as teams.”
“That’ll probably be even better.” Harold smiled after Hazel as she skipped happily out of the door. “I did go a bit Uncle Harold there. Hazel seems to be spending more time playing games now there’s more players, and she’s a lot happier.”
Holly sniggered. “Especially since there’s all that levelling up to do. Hellfire, what is that?”
Onscreen huge explosions tore apart dockyards and several warships. One of the ships fired its main armament until missile trails tore across the screen and explosions smashed the ship into wreckage. A tall column of thick black smoke rose from behind warehouses before more explosions tore through them. Close-ups showed running figures in among the offices and warehouses, engaged in a fierce gun battle. More pictures revealed the smoking ruins of another port, seething with ragged figures waving weapons.
“The government has received information suggesting that the weapons used in Brighton were smuggled across the channel. The Royal Navy have taken measures to cut off the supply, which came from the French naval bases at Brest and Cherbourg when they were overrun. Some warships were captured by rebels and had to be destroyed. The British government had hoped to salvage fuel from the bases but the attempt failed, and cost the lives of many brave sailors. This failure means that the present fuel shortages will continue in the foreseeable future.”
A tanker heeled over ablaze from one end to the other. Men could be seen leaping into the water but fire spread across the water to engulf them.
“I might be the nasty suspicious type, but those rioting refugees and general scumbags seem to have managed to get a major warship under way and work out how to use the armament very quickly. Just saying.” Holly turned and stared at Harold, then back at the screen.
“What part of the first news item caused your nasty suspicious self to send Hazel elsewhere?” Sharyn spoke softly but her gaze was intent.
“The part that wondered if the mushrooms down south saw a breakout from somewhere like Leeds, and were told only the north of England would be affected.” Harold sighed. “Now do I tell everyone that to encourage thrift and more food production, or leave the mushrooms feeling relieved?”
“I’d rather you hadn’t told me which might be a hint.” Holly looked over at Sharyn. “Look away because I need some comforting, right now.”
“Maybe that’s the real reason he sent Hazel away? You’ve got while I go and make a cuppa, since I haven’t got a comforter these days.” Sharyn stood up. “If that’s not long enough you may as well just drag him upstairs.”
“Okay, but I’ll try this first. Thanks Sharyn.”
* * *
The bunker looked almost empty this time, though through the glass the uniformed personnel were running about and obviously in the middle of something major. There were only four people around the big table deep under the countryside, and two were in uniform. “What actually happened with that tanker?”
“Sorry about that, Owen. That was caused by a suicide boat. We had to stop the operation then but most of the fuel from Brest had already been removed. The whole operation had to be rushed because the base had hoped to hold out.” Victor, the naval officer, spread his hands. “We agreed with their assessment until heavy weapons were used to break into Cherbourg. The delay in attacking either base had to have been while those weapons were brought north from Toulon.”
“There would have to be a delay to train people to use them.”
“No Gerard. There were armed forces personnel among the attackers and the assault, the last one, had all the hallmarks of a military operation. Worse, there were sympathisers inside both bases, Cherbourg in particular which is why that fell so quickly and without much warning. There were fewer in Brest but we still didn’t get every
thing out.” The naval officer tapped his file. “That film doesn’t show how many ships and how much material we destroyed in Cherbourg. Luckily most of the warships left Brest carrying dependents just before the lines broke.”
The older civilian, Owen, frowned. “More mouths to feed. How are the French sailors taking the attacks? Our ships sinking theirs I mean.”
“Not too well, although most are relieved their families are out of there. We’re keeping them separated from the European aircrew who evacuated when their airfields were overrun. We’ll need another brothel.” The naval man looked across to the other man in uniform. “How solid are our soldiers, Joshua? The last assault on Brest included artillery and heavy armour and men still in uniform.”
Joshua came halfway out of his seat, face reddening. “The British Army is lot better disciplined than the French! Our men will do as we tell them.”
“Calm down Joshua.” The older man pointed to the screen, now showing details of the attack on Brest that would never be shown on TV. “Those forces were loyal and disciplined until the tanks and soldiers were sent into Marseille with orders to clear the city. If we ordered tanks into London now, your Army, the British Army, would come apart at the seams.” He chuckled. “Don’t frown because it’s true. But another year or two of nutcases shooting at them, and brutalised women fleeing to the Army begging for help, and that will change.”
“Will a year be enough?” The younger civilian looked at his figures. “Though all those parks and playing fields that have been planted up would be a big help towards food production. So would farming a bit nearer to the population centres.”
“Not yet Gerard, for the same reason we can’t use the armies on civilians. If the soldiers saw all the tractors and combine harvesters chugging across fields, questions would be asked. Since the men asking would all have rifles, I prefer to avoid that. The areas around the segregated cities and Army bases must remain deserted.” The older man also perused figures. “After Brest, I expected the container ports further north to see sense. That is your job.”
