Fall of the Cities: Putting Down Roots

by Vance Huxley

  “More therapy first, to get you in the mood. Get a cane but don’t tire your arm out.” Harold grinned at the bound man. “He’ll wait.”

  Celine didn’t tire herself too much. Though the eight men covered in angry red or bleeding stripes from the canes were concentrating on getting dressed and not cursing, rather than if the line of women had been pacing themselves. One of the GOFS soldiers, one without cane marks, approached Harold cautiously. “Why him, Marconi? He didn’t actually swear.”

  “What would Gofannon do if a Geek argued about GOFS rules? What would Caddi do if you stood in the Mansion and told him what he could and couldn’t do?”

  “Kill me, probably. Fair enough. It’s just that Gofannon will want to know. He keeps track of what you do, rules and punishments.” He looked over where a GOFS had just finished getting dressed. “Can we have our weapons back and go now? Do we get our knives back?”

  “You all get your knives, and those who weren’t fined get their weapons back, but there’s another lesson first. Some of those we spanked should have been dodging crossbow bolts. The reason they weren’t is that the women are getting their practice anyway.” Harold smiled. “You all get your gear back after watching us execute a Hot Rod.”

  “F... Christ, you really meant that? Caddi will go crazy.”

  “No he won’t. This is for attempted rape, and everyone knows the penalty for that. Just to be clear, the rules haven’t been altered and if a bunch of blokes turn up waving sharp stuff like last time I will not be as polite.” Harold pointed at the rest of the gangsters. “Hawkins and Caddi will get the same message. I’m done with playing nice.”

  Everyone got the message. Harold and Casper tied the Hot Rod to a pair of timbers nailed across an empty doorway and since they used a derelict house on the neutral road, everyone had a good view. A dozen men stood where the Army wouldn’t see them, and pointed firearms at the crowd of gangsters. A line of women came out of Orchard Close with wound crossbows and lined up, with a few having to wait for a weapon. Harold called out the charge, and the sentence. “Okay Celine. Blimey Patty. Aren’t you having a go?” Patty stood nearby holding her crossbow out for Celine.

  “Too true I am.” Patty sneered at the target. “But first I’m loaning Celine my crossbow, and helping her aim. She’s got a particular target in mind but isn’t very accurate. I’ll get rewound by the time the rest have a go.”

  Celine waved a real Liz special and loaded it. “Therapy, Harold.” Harold did wonder if he could avoid watching, because he knew just where that would end up. After Celine’s shot and the muffled scream that followed several of the gangsters weren’t watching, and others definitely looked ill. A pale-faced Celine came past Harold with a hand over her mouth and Liz took her inside. Patty waited for every other woman who felt up to it to stick a bolt in the man before taking her own turn. Harold didn’t think Patty’s bolt made any difference to the dead or unconscious gangster by the time her bolt crunched into his skull, but that sort of accuracy carried a message to the others.

  Harold made sure the three surviving Hot Rods who’d pulled knives had a close look at Patti’s bolt. “You were almost target practice for her. Let Caddi know we’ll only leave him up a day because we don’t want to attract more vermin, so if anyone wants the body come and get it before then. We’ll chop out the bolts first.” All three needed lifts home from their friends because all three ran the gauntlet and the women didn’t hold back for these. They’d also lost their weapons, all their weapons, so Caddi would no doubt be less than happy.

  *   *   *

  Caddi visited briefly the following day, to check out the corpse and buy beer. He inspected the bolt in the man’s head, and paced out the distance to where Patty had stood. Someone had given him that part of the message, how Patty stood at the other side of the road for her shot. “We thought you might have lost it, Soldier Boy.”

  Luckily Harold still felt better after yesterday so the little smile didn’t annoy him too much. “No, it made me nastier. I’m a lot more likely to just kill someone now.” Harold wasn’t, he didn’t think, but the neighbours would be looking for any sign of weakness. He’d thought about how to back them off. “I kept my head down because the alternative would have upset the survivors.”

  “I’ll buy it. Survivors?”

  “My first reaction would have involved seeing how many gang bosses I could shoot before one of their men got me. I reckon I’d have got a round dozen at least if I’d kept switching gangs.” Harold held Caddi’s eyes even as he saw the anger flare. “That’s not a threat, Caddi, just how I felt. I’m past that but now you understand why I stayed home so nobody annoyed me even more, because the survivors would have attacked Orchard Close.”

  “Yeah.” Caddi nodded slowly. “Never thought of that. If a man who can keep cool and shoots like you gets mad enough, he won’t run about shouting.” He frowned. “I was told you might be dead and your lot had lost their bottle, but the state of my blokes is convincing.” He held up a hand. “I know, that was instead of dodging crossbow bolts. Considering where your lot aim, that was a really good option. Are you repairing guns again?”

  The sudden switch of subject told Harold the real reason Caddi had come. Harold had stopped repairing weapons for a month. The ones Harold had agreed to repair before Holly died were turned away so Caddi still had those and possibly more now. “Have you been squabbling with neighbours again?”

  “That and we’re having to use reloads now. Those mess up the guns really fast, as you’ll know, even if we try to clean them a bit.” He scowled. “We can’t afford to get too ambitious with cleaning in case it doesn’t work because you’ll charge double. Can you cast proper buckshot?” Caddi shrugged at Harold’s quizzical look. “Someone mentioned buckshot and our version is a bit rough and ready. I’ve been told the proper stuff goes further.”

  “Sorry, I’ve just got a few shells that came with the weapon.” Harold had no intention of improving Caddi’s buckshot. Harold’s own version took time because he also thought smooth shot might carry further. As a bonus, carefully filing off the casting marks to get the little lead balls nice and smooth seemed to distract him from his darker thoughts. “I’m repairing guns again, but sticking close to home for a while because Hawkins might get upset about Marconi.”

  “Nah, the Geeks will suck it up because I have, and they daren’t go it alone.” Caddi smiled. “I’d have sent his head, frozen.” The gang boss smiled wider. “Their general, Wellington, is supposed to have gone soft on a woman and he likes your lot so maybe he won’t agree anyway. Did you inject something when he had his tooth fixed?”

  “Manners, maybe?” Harold vaguely remembered Finn saying something.

  “Ouch.” Caddi rubbed his hands. “If I’m bringing the weapons I’ll expect something off, for the petrol?”

  “Not a chance. You’d send an escort anyway in case I’m robbed. That might be a real mistake now especially if I’m killed, because quite a few more men and women are learning to shoot. They’d prefer real practice and I’ve still got people who can use a big rifle. Those have been practicing with the Blaser while I’ve been out of it.” Harold frowned. “Anyway, you’ve got lots of petrol so why are you bothered?”

  “Maybe not. Are you having any trouble with petrol? Some of the petrol cars are running rough and we found all sorts of crap in an engine when it was stripped down.” Caddi seemed dead serious for once. “And yes, we filter the fuel.”

  “I usually drive the diesel pickup. I’ll ask the girl club how that minibus is running.” Harold frowned. “Why would it be the petrol?”

  “Charger remembered an old urban legend thing, from before the crash. Something about petrol degrading if it’s stored too long. Did you ever hear it?” Caddi looked genuinely worried, which worried Harold.

  “No. How long is it supposed to take? It’s been nearly two years since the refineries were first hit. How long after that did the tankers stop coming to the local p
etrol station?” Harold shrugged at Caddi’s look. “I was in Kuwait with the Army.”

  “Ah, right. They stopped within weeks, to the public ones anyway. The coppers, firemen and ambulances got fresh supplies but nowhere else.” Caddi’s frown deepened. “I don’t think any of our diesels have had trouble either. We’re draining all the petrol stations, what bit there is left.” Caddi smiled. “You haven’t got a petrol station, have you?”

  “Not really. Does it save better in cans then?”

  The gang boss suddenly remembered where he was. “Bloody hell, why would I tell you? I’ll sell you the information for gun repairs?” He held up his beer bottle and peered at it. “Have you been mixing some of that Barbie weed into your beer?”

  Harold laughed. “No, because we drink that beer as well. A petrol shortage won’t really bother us anyway. After all, we can walk to our borders in fifteen minutes, more or less, so it doesn’t matter if the cars conk out.”

  “Smartarse. I’ll bring the guns.” Caddi grinned. “Carrying gear about to save petrol can go onto the punishment list.” Though later the guns were delivered by car as usual, with guards and four motorbike outriders.

  *   *   *

  The discussion about petrol worried Harold enough to call an immediate meeting. A curious Seth followed Emmy into the room. “Take a bow, Seth.”

  “Okay. Why?” A grinning Seth did so.

  “Remember a little conversation when we’d just survived the big attack, about petrol?”

  Seth frowned. “No Harold. All I can remember is we survived, and Berry getting that crossbow bolt out and patching me up.”

  Emmy nudged him. “All you remember is Berry kissed you better and held your hand.”

  A big smile broke over Seth’s face. “Guilty. So what did I forget?”

  “You asked about moving the petrol into the enclave, and I said that was too dangerous, and might all go boom.” Harold sighed. “Then afterwards I thought about it, and how having it all in one spot wasn’t a good idea anyway. That’s why we filled as many petrol cans, those plastic things, as we could find. Caddi has just started doing the same because there’s a problem. Anyone, how is the minibus running?”

  “Not so good. We need a better filter for the crap when we get petrol.” Patty frowned. “Though we’re pouring it through layers of old curtains now so we’ll not get much finer.”

  “It might not be the filters.” Harold explained. “Anyone heard of that?” Nobody answered.

  “One of the survivalist types might have, but I don’t know anyone who kept petrol for long before the crash. A can in the car for emergencies or one in the garage for the mower, maybe?” Casper grinned. “We could all ride lawnmowers, they wouldn’t use as much.” Thumping a Geek had definitely cheered Casper up.

  Emmy glared at him. “Motorbikes wouldn’t either and we can steer them. How much petrol did we stash in that cellar, Harold?”

  “No idea, Emmy, and about half of it is diesel which might not have the same trouble. If you top up the minibus with two or three gallons of the canned stuff, then try it, we’ll know. Then if the stored petrol is better, we’ll save it and use up all the other first.” Harold frowned. “Maybe we should drain the big vans since they drink most.”

  “Don’t drain them completely, Harold. My Grandad did that with an old Beetle he wanted to renovate. When he filled it up again, every gasket and joint had dried out and cracked.” Finn snapped his fingers. “There’s got to be petrol, bits at least, in the cars inside garages out there or inside Orchard Close. The garages are probably leaking after the shrapnel and the cars might be seized up, but the tanks should be sound.”

  “Yeuk. I’m not syphoning diesel.” Liz screwed up her mouth in disgust. “I did that once and got a gob full, and even spam won’t wash that taste out.”

  “How did you syphon diesel, Liz, since you might be the expert? Better still, why were you syphoning diesel?” Emmy grinned. “Is this part of that dark past you keep quiet about?”

  “With a rubber tube. Apart from that my lips are sealed, especially around diesel.”

  “We can do better than that. Rob and I were paid in fuel sometimes after the crash, and occasionally had to take it from car tanks.” Finn shrugged. “Blocked toilets or no electric were more important than their motor working so we both have something a bit more advanced than tube.”

  “Good.” Harold looked around his friends and advisors, what in another gang would be the lieutenants, senior members or managers with weird names. “I reckon we take what we can from anywhere we can find it, but compare what we get from each tank. Maybe we can spot the difference in the bad stuff?”

  By the following evening they had answers, and glum faces. Casper pointed at four tumblers. “That’s the good stuff at this end. That brown stuff at the other end is the worst of the rest though you were right, diesel does seem to look all right. These are all petrol. A lot of what we found needs filtering and those two little pumps had to be cleaned out several times.”

  “We mark what we got today and any other from the ruins to keep it separate and save the dark coloured petrol for starting fires. We’ll also take what’s left from the tanks under the garage across the car park, and really filter it and mark that up. Sal reckons the petrol from the cellar of number thirteen made a big difference to the minibus so we save that for a bit yet.” Harold sighed. “I’ll use the petrol pickup until the petrol is used up or spoils, then go back to diesel.”

  “A sigh? Has it got sentimental value, the diesel pickup?” Finn frowned. “You arrived with that one.”

  “Sort of a talisman, it’s the only motor I ever stole.” Harold grinned at the looks. “Ask Sharyn. Now let’s sieve or curtain the take, and try them all in a petrol engine we don’t care about.” He looked round. “We’ve got four motorbikes. Who fancies learning to ride one?”

  Everyone winced. There were still crash helmets, but they weren’t exactly pristine anymore. Patty put her hand up. “Can I ride a pushbike?” Pushbikes went up the list of priorities because although many hadn’t ridden one since childhood, allegedly nobody ever forgot.

  *   *   *

  Harold passed the same message about how many bosses might have died, and the extra weapon training for residents, to various gang members. Part was true because right at the beginning he’d considered doing that, going out with a rifle and a pocket full of bullets. Both Emmy and Alfie took long shots with the 303 while there were visitors about, to drive home that others could shoot even if someone took out Harold.

  In addition more people, especially women, really did want to learn how to be adequate with a weapon, any weapon, at close quarters. Harold tried to train them, or get them started at least, and hoped a few would actually shoot or stab if necessary. Lengths of wood were sufficient for practicing machete work. In addition those learning to use a crossbow had plenty of bolts since those could be replaced as long as the flight and point were retrieved. The ammunition expended in firearms practice wasn’t so easily replaced, but a flurry of weapons repairs brought propellant and those learning could fire a few live rounds.

  Cleaning the guns afterwards confirmed that the new propellant definitely left more residue than Harold’s original rounds, or the propellant he’d taken from gun clubs. Harold could repair again since Sharyn gave Harold the keys to get his rifle, ammunition, and all the gun repair gear. Emmy and Alfie already had keys, for emergencies. Harold set up a workshop there instead of bringing everything home, and over the next week often slept slumped over his bench. Harold worked until he slept, or staggered home to collapse on the camp bed, because that way he dreamed less. All his clothes were now in the study, and Harold used the washroom downstairs or the shower in the gun room house. Sharyn never mentioned where he slept or why he didn’t go upstairs for any reason except to read a Daisy or Wills bedtime story.

  Wills-story had been an attempt by Sharyn to get Harold out of his black hole, and since Daisy insist
ed he’d gone with it. Daisy insisted because she came to help with Wills-story and ended up with a bonus. Casper came round and took up both Wills-story and Daisy-story, and began to wear more clothes and shave. His visits included a rapidly growing Amber who now had a playmate.

  Harold shook his head. “I can’t do it. Hazel can help Daisy.”

  Sharyn cuddled the golden furred pup. “All right, Hazel will help Daisy feed and train her. But you’ve got to take Daisy on dog-walks because Angel will be too strong for Daisy within months, and for Hazel eventually if she ends up anything like as strong as Fury.” As usual Harold winced over the puppy’s name. He never asked why Daisy chose this one, because Harold just knew it was her blonde fur. Not the same blonde, thank all the gods, but Lucky’s Labrador blood had produced one almost traditional coloured pup.

  “All right, I’ll take turns with Casper if he ever allows Amber to walk.” Amber did both walk and run, but Casper still had a habit of carrying her about. “I’m trying, Sharyn, but it’ll take time.”

  “I know, little brother.” Sharyn sat on the edge of the camp bed. “Though if you aren’t going to come and sit with us now and then, I’m moving a chair in here.” She sighed. “At least you’re sleeping here most nights.”

  “Yeah, the killing machine is parked downstairs now but still handy.”

  Sharyn’s face crumpled. “It’s not that! Well it is, but not just. One of your gods might know where Dad got to, Mum could be anyplace but probably in a bottle or an early grave, and Freddy’s gone.” A first tear trickled down Sharyn’s face. “You’re it, little brother, my family. I sat here and waited for Emmy, or Liz, or Patty, to come and tell me you’d done something stupid. Killed yourself or set off with a bloody rifle.” She stood. “So yes, I’m really, really pleased you’re parked in here at night.” With that Sharyn whirled round and stormed out, slamming the door.

  Harold sat and cursed himself, again. He sat while it grew dark, and then until voices from outside roused him. Harold stood and looked out of the window because he hadn’t closed the curtains, and smiled at Alfie escorting Hazel home after their computer game. The pair stopped at the gate and spoke, and then Hazel leaned forward up and kissed Alfie! Harold turned and opened the door, to go outside and…. what? Hazel had turned fifteen and that had been a friendly peck, not a... His mind skittered away from levels of kissing. Harold had just decided he was better off saying nothing when Hazel came through from the hallway and found him standing partway out of the study.