Fall of the Cities: Putting Down Roots

by Vance Huxley

  “No offence, but no.”

  “None taken.” Casper climbed slowly to his feet. “Amber needs her breakfast.” Though he only went to a pair of dishes someone had brought out in the darkness. Casper watched as Harold did exactly as he had, pulling out charred timber and shovelling ashes, and then heaving the cooking pot up by its handles. “Sharyn said she’d go up to see the Army at first light. You should wait for the reply.”

  “Won’t make any difference.”

  “Be polite.”

  Harold didn’t answer and set off towards the exclusion zone. He’d gone somewhere far away in his head, a place where none of this was real. Almost as peaceful as when he went shooting, except in the back of his head something wanted to go completely apeshit crazy with a sword and a rifle and kill as many of the bastards as he could. Hot Rods, GOFS, Geeks, he didn’t care because they were all the same, all Spike Pierce’s waiting for some lass in the dark.

  “The sergeant said stop and show them you’re not armed, Harold.” Harold walked past Sharyn and kept going despite the voices behind him. This would be quicker and cleaner, providing they’d got a squaddie who could shoot. Harold walked onto the exclusion zone towards the line of markers and someone had put another one ready to be hammered in. He heard more shouting as he knelt and began to spread the ashes, nice and even in the brick rubble. With luck he’d get them spread before Sarge stopped warning and started shooting. The voices stopped but still nobody fired and Harold kept tipping, then picked up the marker and a brick, and hammered it home.

  When he finally turned to leave, Harold found out why the Army hadn’t fired. A solid mass of women and kids stood right behind him, right where a high bullet or ricochet from the bypass would have gone. They parted and Harold walked home and sat down. He was lost, because he really hadn’t expected to get this far, and now what? The study, he could work on the guns. Harold went in and stopped. There were no guns, no bullets, no brass. Just a camp bed. “I didn’t think you’d want to go upstairs yet. Now try to sleep properly.” The door closed behind him.

  *   *   *

  Harold remembered bits after that. Days smashing down ruins and barrowing bricks to build the walls higher and thicker. Too high for anyone to climb over, with a firing step inside so he could shoot the next to try, if he could find a rifle. Days when he was given a shotgun to watch over blackberry pickers, when he saw Emmy with the Blaser and Alfie with the 303 doing the same.

  More days spent digging up potatoes and beets and turning over the ground for even more planting. Nights walking round and round the perimeter with a machete and an iron bar because his stick went missing. Harold found where the guns were, but didn’t trust himself enough to break the padlocks. There were weapons in people’s belts and the guard houses, but sitting alone in a room full might be too much.

  Some nights Harold staggered home and slept on the camp bed and put on the clean clothes always waiting, others he slept in the nearest derelict house. If the shower worked he used it, and he shaved when Daisy complained too much. Harold’s nightmares were back and there were new ones. Time and again he tried to shoot past Holly, to kill Spike Pierce. Time and again the bullet hit Holly. Other nights he shot Caddi, and Cooper, and Einstein and Gofannon and all the others, and they popped back up like fairground targets. Because it wasn’t losing Holly that ate him. It was failing to protect her, and Cynthia, and Gabriela, and Toby, and the list went on. And now Muhammad and Luke, the two night guards, had joined the list.

  Through all the nightmares and the blank days, no matter how scruffy or unshaven or tired he was, Harold felt a little hand pulling him out into the world again and again. Daisy insisted on dragging him off to practice archery or plait hair, to admire her latest ripe tomato or tie up her sunflower because he was tall, to make a daisy chain or draw. Though drawing the special place for Holly nearly broke Harold again, especially when Daisy insisted on angel wings.

  Chapter 11:

  Comeback Spankfest

  “Get your bloody Soldier Boy head on and get down there or they’ll kill the guards.” Harold stared at Sharyn and his stick, and the pistol in her other hand. “Go. Stop it before we all die.”

  “Emmy’s got it covered. Emmy and Alfie.”

  “Emmy and Alfie have done their best for nearly a bloody month now but it’s not enough. Those animals won’t respect a woman, a sixteen-year-old boy, or a gay even if Casper pulled his head out of his arse far enough to help. Now one of them has decided he can get away with rape.”

  Harold came to his feet. “What! Who? No, where?” His head spun. Rape? His fault, again.

  “At the gate Harold, he tried to rape Celine and now he’s going to tell Caddi I’m the blacksmith. He says he’ll ask for the job of taming me.” Liz looked pale and much too mouse-like just now. Her face crumpled. “Christ, what good is a killing machine if it’s broken? The bastard may as well go back to Celine and finish the job.” Liz turned and Harold started forward.

  “Wait. Where is he? No, tell me on the way. Jacket.” Harold could feel it now, like an old friend coming back or a light burning through the murk inside his head. The anger, the edges all going blurry with the centre sharp and the darkness, the smothering muddled mess, swept away by rage. He threw on the jacket Sharyn held out and headed across the living room to the door, taking his stick and shoving the gun in the back of his belt. “Tell Casper I want his ugly face and that meat cleaver now.” He didn’t see the half-apprehensive, half-relieved smile on Sharyn’s face as Hazel flew past and down the street to deliver the message.

  Harold set off down the street at a quick march. “What happened?”

  “My music stopped and before I started another playlist I heard voices outside the forge. A man, a strange voice, so I went out.” Liz sounded furious now, which had to be better than terrified or maybe she was both. “He’d got a knife to Celine and a hand up her skirt. I said stop.” Liz stumbled and Harold realised that furious or not Liz was half blind with tears. “It happened again, Harold. I couldn’t hit him. I screamed stop and he sneered and asked why.” Her voice dropped. “The bastard said you were done, finished. Then he saw my apron and hammer and said they thought Jon had been bullshitting, about me being the smith. He left Celine to go and tell Caddi, because Caddi would pay him and he could come back for her or me.” Liz’s voice ended in a wail. “He’ll tell everyone.”

  “No he bloody won’t, he won’t live long enough.” Harold came out of his street onto the main road and could see a crowd of gangsters, though they all had their backs to him. Everyone’s eyes were on someone or something just inside the closed gates, and voices were raised. He picked up the pace. “Find yourself a mousehole, Liz.”

  “Not a bloody chance this time, not if you really are going killing machine. I’ve seriously considered human sacrifice to get you back.” Something had definitely cheered Liz up though her tone didn’t sound like happiness, more like fierce anticipation. Despite sniffing and rubbing at her eyes she’d certainly stopped crying.

  A man’s voice rose above the rest. “You bitches can’t stop us leaving, that’s not in your stupid rules. Though now we know that fucker really is screwed up, I might stay.”

  “That’s cost you a fine.” Emmy didn’t sound her usual confident self.

  “Fuck off. We’ll take her spear first and then sort you out. The bitch is nearly ready to drop it anyway and you’ve only got one bolt in that fucking toy.” There were only two people in the windows of the guardhouses but one was Alfie with his shotgun aimed at the crowd.

  Billy, the other, saw Harold and raised his crossbow to aim down towards the voice. “Touch her and you’ll die.”

  The stranger’s voice rose again, dismissive. “Then the rest of this lot come up there and throw you out of the window. You and the other twats who think they can fight.” Harold thought that might not work out well because Alfie would definitely shoot.

  Harold was only a few steps from the crowd now
and had heard enough so he lunged forward and bellowed. “You! Move!”

  Several men’s heads came round and one said “fuck off” even as he turned. The jar as his stick caught the gangster on the temple felt like sweet release to Harold, and adrenaline surged.

  “Fined. Anyone else?” He straight-armed the man in the way, put his shoulder into another and shoved between the next pair. By the time the startled crowd realised what had happened, Harold burst out the front and came up behind four young men, two slightly ahead of the other pair. Men who had all drawn knives. Facing them were Emmy, Patty and a definitely shaky Umeko holding a spear and a child’s crossbow.

  Emmy’s bright smile swept away her frown and she raised her child’s crossbow to centre on one man. “I said fined.” She pointed with her machete. “You get caned as well for the repeat.”

  Umeko straightened as well and a savage grin grew on Patty’s face. “All of you already owe one fine so be real careful what you say. You want this one Soldier Boy.” Her crossbow centred on another man. The other two turned and one cursed and then screamed as his wrist broke under Harold’s stick. He might not have been going to use the knife but Harold wasn’t taking chances. Something in Harold warned him not to enjoy himself too much, but another part thought he should have done this a long time ago, beaten a few of them shitless. The second man dropped his knife and backed away a few steps, then stopped when Umeko prodded him with her spear.

  The one Patty had aimed at spun and cursed, then grinned. “You touch me and I’ll tell them all what I know.”

  Harold didn’t speak because this one had to be the attempted rapist so he had to be shut up. Instead he jabbed towards the man’s gut with his stick and kicked at the knife hand and the gangster bent at the waist and moved back to avoid the blows. Harold didn’t have to do any more because Patty took a long step forward to ram her crossbow against the bloke’s kidneys. “I reckon I can get the flights to go right through now. Drop it.” She jabbed again. “Bet I can do it before you get two words out so be really quiet.” The knife dropped, the last man turned, and his knife clattered on the road. Harold took the few steps to walk past them and join Emmy, then turned to face all the gangsters.

  “Hi there Emmy.”

  “Welcome back, Soldier Boy.” Emmy’s huge grin almost split her face. “Are we really going to fine them all?”

  “At least.” Harold waved his free hand over the nearest men. “You three get him with the broken wrist over against the wall. If any of you say another word I’ll kill you because you all pulled a knife.” Harold really wanted one of them to argue, but none did. “Patty, watch them.” Her crossbow followed as they moved. Harold looked over the score of gangsters watching and pointed. “Him on the floor at the back owes a fine, and you and you from when I came through. Any others Emmy?”

  Before she could answer a Geek in a smock and suit spoke up. “You can’t make that stick, not just for swearing. You might be SAS but there’s too many of us.”

  “I’ve had to let it ride if it’s not directed at one of us. Sorry Harold, but...”

  “Not your fault Emmy.” Harold fixed the Geek with his stare. “You’re a manager so you should know the rules. I didn’t alter them and Hawkins agreed.” He took a deep breath and let the big smile come, the one born when he hit the first asshole. “I might not get you all, but who’ll bet their lives on it?” Harold held the stick just below the boss with one hand and slid his other hand down below the decorated band, as if holding a club or axe. He’d be rusty but the training would still be there, his smile widened, when he turned into what Liz called the alien killing machine.

  “This is buckshot not birdshot so he doesn’t need to get you all.” Alfie sounded actually cheerful. Other voices chipped in from the guardhouses and another two men appeared at the doors with machetes.

  “Welcome back Harold. I came as fast as I could. Keep it to the left Alfie, and I’ll get the ones this side.” Seth’s voice sounded from number three and from the muttering and movement among the men that side, he’d brought his sawn-off shotgun.

  The Geek manager sneered. “You still can’t change rules just like that. We’ve been allowed to swear.” Two men on the end looked over, startled, and dived aside as someone charged out from behind the guardhouse. The apparition, wearing a blanket and underpants, seized the Geek and hurled him against the brickwork. Casper’s manic grin appeared from under the blanket as the Geek slid down the house wall, stunned. The big machete flashed in the weak sunlight as Casper waved it in greeting.

  “Sorry Harold. I was asleep.” Casper looked, if anything, worse than the last time Harold could remember seeing him. Except for the smile, so maybe hitting someone worked for Casper as well? “Are there enough to go round?”

  “I think you’re in time.” Harold glared at the crowd. “Anybody else fancy their chances?” Nobody looked keen to volunteer, so Harold turned to the four youths against the wall. “You four, inside that house. Can you handle them for a minute Jeremy?”

  Jeremy waggled his machete and he looked happier as well. “Matti can’t come to a window because of the Army, but she’d love to shoot at least one in private.” He glanced backwards, then towards Harold again. “She says go gettem Soldier Boy.” Jeremy looked at the four men nearby. “Come on, chop chop.” He accompanied the last two words with the machete, everyone seemed a bit over the top just now.

  Emmy spoke quietly. “I didn’t get details but Patty said to stop anyone leaving until something got sorted. She didn’t say why.”

  Harold answered just as quietly. “The one she threatened is probably a dead man once the legalities are sorted.” Harold saw her look. “Because he deserves it, not just because I want to kill him.”

  Emmy shrugged. “Just wondered. What about this lot?”

  “If they back off, are you and Alfie happy to keep them covered for a few minutes? I won’t be long.” Harold glanced at the guardhouse, where the last man had just gone inside. “I won’t go far.”

  “Back them off a bit first to give us some room. Then with Seth as well, we’ve got it.” She smiled happily. “I just saw Doll, Bernie and Finn at the upstairs windows of number three with guns and Bernie has a shotgun. We were short of gate guards because a lot of us shooters stay home to guard our families. Don’t go away again, Harold.”

  “I won’t, not now. Casper!” Harold beckoned. “We need a chat in there.” Harold pointed to the guardhouse. He turned to the rest of the gangsters. “If you pulled this stunt on anyone else’s patch they’d just shoot you, but we’re civilised. You all get one chance to put your knives on the road and go back ten paces. Anyone still here or wearing a knife when I come back out runs the gauntlet, and I’ll give this lot baseball bats instead of canes.”

  “Yee-ha, Soldier Boy.” “I’m up for that.” “Too bloody true.” Startled heads looked up at the windows either side. The residents held crossbows or machetes where the Army could see, but the rest had firearms. Despite the quiet non-swearing complaints, knives started to clatter on the road.

  Harold shouted as loud as he could. “Mouse? Get Celine and anyone else who has a complaint.” He heard Liz reply and followed Casper inside. “Jeremy, if he speaks, cut out his tongue.”

  Jeremy moved his machete near the indicated man. “Er, okay Harold.”

  Casper stared at the prisoners and turned with a question starting. “Through there first Casper.” The pair of them went past a Matti pointing her handgun steadily at the Hot Rods and wearing a huge grin.

  Casper turned as soon as Harold came through the doorway. “Look Harold, I’m sorry. It was my fault and I should have been there.”

  “Why did you come here just now?”

  “Hazel said you were in trouble.” Casper grinned. “You needed my ugly face and meat cleaver.”

  “If you’d known Holly was in trouble, you’d have been there as well. If I’d known, I’d have shot Pierce months ago or told Caddi to piss off and come home earlier.
” Harold sighed. “How do you feel?”

  Casper frowned. “Better? It won’t last.”

  “No, and I’ll feel like crap in a bit, but right now I think I know how to cope. If I beat some of these shits up now and then, maybe shoot the occasional one, I can manage. What about you?”

  “Maybe.” Casper frowned and then shrugged. “It’s got to be better.”

  “Good. Now that little shit through there held a knife to Celine and stuck his hand up her dress. Then he told Liz he’d let Caddi know she was Orchard Close’s smith. Wait up.” Casper had started towards the other room, machete at the ready. “First we gag him, then try him all legal.”

  “Then execute him. I like the plan.” Casper looked down at himself. “I forgot to bring a gag.”

  “Or clothes.” Harold found a hankie in his pocket. “This is a start.”

  *   *   *

  Harold held the brief trial in public. The four Hot Rods stood against the inside of the gate and Celine pointed “Him.” She shuddered. “It was the knife, Harold. I fumbled the pepper spray, he put the knife to me and I was suddenly back there. You know, before.”

  Harold nodded. “Yes, I do know. That’s the trial done with and the verdict is guilty. There’s only one penalty for attempted rape, death, and the woman has the option of gelding the bastard first.” The man’s eyes bugged out but his gag held. Harold turned to the watching gangsters and raised his voice because they were still back up the road. “Anyone want to open their big mouth to object?” Nobody did so he turned back to Celine. “Do you want first shot with a crossbow, or a knife?”

  “Crossbow please. I’m not up to cutting someone, but I can do that.” Celine tried for a smile. “The therapy is working.”