Fall of the Cities_Branching Out

by Vance Huxley

  “We want sand. Nice clean sand. Not the sort you sell us for mortar, just free of stones and rubbish. I know you’ve got a lot of the other sort in that builder’s merchants place and can’t really find a use for it, because you keep trying to flog it to me.” Harold grinned. “Well now I’m buying some but it’ll be cheap.”

  “You’ve found a use for it? What?”

  “To put under a garden pond. We’re landscaping.”

  “Hah, hah. How much do you want?” Darwin looked at the pickups. “Over a ton if both if those are here. What are you paying with?”

  “The gun repairs you’ve got waiting? A few bobble hats or scarves?” Harold shrugged. “If that’s not good enough I’ll call on the GOFS or Caddi. Then I’ll pay with their coupons.”

  “Smartarse. Have you got any rhubarb plants for sale?” Darwin scowled. “Some of ours aren’t coming up this year. The only reason I can come up with is they’ve drowned or rotted in the wet. About this time of year some of us would kill for fresh fruit, even bloody rhubarb.”

  “It’ll rot your teeth, though if you’ll risk it I’m sure we can find some.” Harold knew he could, because the scavenger sweep for pipes had found several rhubarb plants and a few fruit bushes that had been missed the first time round. Having garden gnomes along had been a bonus. “It’ll cost though because the mothers back there will play hell. They want fruit for the kids.”

  “Your lot are all mothers. Hah, the rhubarb won’t rot teeth now. We’ve all eased off on sugar since Einstein had a toothache.” Darwin sneered. “He’s too frightened to come for treatment so he used pot, tablets, coke and probably crack. Whatever it was fucked him up good.” The Geek smirked but then his face sobered. “In the end Hawkins got us to hold him down while he used pliers. Fuck it, that was bad. I’ll come to your dentist and risk not waking up if I get a bad tooth after that.”

  “How is he now?” Harold hoped for dying but didn’t expect to be that lucky.

  “He’s trying to break fuck knows how many addictions and speaking with a lisp. Then it’ll cost him a fucking fortune to replace the antibiotics because the bloody Barbies will skin us for them.” Darwin grinned. “We gave him a nurse but it didn’t work the same as with Wellington. He threw her back afterwards, maybe because he didn’t get the same nurse. Wellington has threatened to geld Einstein or anyone else who touches his woman. He’s gone all domestic.”

  “There’s benefits. How much medicine have the Barbies got?” Harold smiled. “Apart from some very strong pot.” He’d been curious since the mention of medicine and a doctor at the treaty meeting.

  “They’ve got a real chemist shop and an honest-to-god doctor in that shopping centre. The doctor costs a bloody fortune, or rather the advice does because she don’t do house visits.” Darwin grinned. “Which is smart. But the medicine and advice from the Barbies is spot on, if the patient is worth the price they want.” The Geek hesitated, with a little frown. “Will your doc look at someone, at a bad injury? We bought antibiotics but his arm is a mess. We aren’t stupid enough to send Galileo to the Barbies because they won’t give a hostage for medical. He wouldn’t come back.”

  “How big a mess? Our doc isn’t the real thing, just closer than some.” Lenny had been a nearly qualified paramedic and Patricia a trainee nurse when both jobs became redundant inside the Army cordon.

  “Closer than ours. When Galileo made that onager, something sprang free. It smashed the fuck out of his arm. He won’t go to the Army and the camps, but the Barbie doc says it’s probably gotta come off if he doesn’t get real treatment from a hospital. We’ll kill him if we do it but if we don’t the Barbie doc reckons the antibiotics will eventually fail and infection will kill him.” The Geek paused, then pushed on. “One of your lot lost an arm but she made it, didn’t she?” Darwin looked at Harold’s stony expression and held up his hands. “Hey, not guilty. None of us know if Einstein set that up, honest.” A little smile flitted across his face. “That might be why he didn’t want to meet your dentist or be half stoned where your women could ask questions. Well?”

  “I’ll charge you for a look and a diagnosis, at Orchard Close. We won’t give a hostage either and the medical staff will wear balaclavas. If you want an operation it’ll work the same as Wellington’s tooth. If he gives the women any crap when he’s not under anaesthetic I’ll hand him over to Emmy. You supply what we ask, we do our best, but if he dies hard luck.” Harold glanced towards the Geek compound. “Is this part of the trading for sand?”

  “It is now because he’ll definitely come to have it looked at. After that it’s up to Galileo or maybe what Hawkins will pay.” Darwin grinned. “Be more careful driving around in the dark. Your little shit-heap is getting to be really useful. We wouldn’t want that fucked up, especially if Caddi got there first.”

  * * *

  Harold thought about that on the way back. Darwin seemed genuine, because unlike many of the top Hot Rods the Geeks didn’t bother with insincere. They made no secret of how they felt about individuals, but apparently their opinion of Orchard Close as a whole had softened. Maybe not exactly softened, but Darwin wasn’t a fan of Orchard Close. If he thought the place might be useful that made some sort of treachery a bit less likely.

  Harold also wondered where the General might push next now he’d failed to the north. Harold soon put that to the back of his mind because digging out ponds without damage and then making similarly shaped holes elsewhere turned out to be filthy, tiring work. Lining the holes with sand, so fibreglass garden ponds didn’t crack as they filled with water, took enough concentration to clear his mind of anything else.

  The following day a Geek car carrying Galileo turned up, along with a Geek soldier whose upper arm had been broken by a bullet. The Geeks escort brought pure morphine, available because Hawkins had confiscated all medicinal drugs after Wellington’s treatment. He’d kept the vials and other sealed drugs stolen from either chemists or ambulances, to trade for any future treatment. Lenny had a look at the damage while Patricia and Gayle put on their balaclavas because Galileo paid for full inspection under anaesthetic. Hawkins and Galileo read the report, then asked questions, but eventually agreed to the operation.

  Galileo lost most of the use of his left arm when two stainless steel plates were bolted round the bones to sort of hold the mess together. The result might eventually knit but wouldn’t take much strain, though his hand actually worked. Galileo reckoned being alive had to be a plus. He talked a little under medication about how he might find a really nice nurse, one like Wellington’s with luck. Gayle asked a couple of questions and Galileo wasn’t spouting the usual Geek gross. Wellington’s personal private nurse volunteered to stop on after the Geek general healed up. Now the Geek general really had threatened to geld anyone who touched her, or deliver them trussed up ready for Emmy to play with.

  The soldier, Mathias, seemed bemused by Orchard Close once the residents relaxed after the visiting gangsters went home. Gayle used her dental anaesthetics to put him into la-la land while Patricia and Lenny pulled out bits of crap and splintered bone then lined the rest up properly. Patricia started joking she’d have to take embroidery lessons from Kerry to neaten her stitching. Mathias treated everyone with scrupulous courtesy and went back happy to keep his right arm, even if he would never get full use back again. Five days later, when he left, Galileo mentioned he’d promised to skin Mathias alive if the idiot upset anyone, especially the doctors.

  * * *

  One or two of the Geeks were learning that the Orchard Close residents would be civil if they stayed polite and left their gangster swagger at the gate, though the numbers of Geek visitors stayed low. The Hot Rods varied from behaving well up to an occasional one challenging Harold, who slapped them down hard with his stick. The GOFs seemed the best behaved, visited most, and really did like finding new uses for cripes. The occasional Barbies found the rules funny. They flirted outrageously with men or women or sometimes both, but without being
obscene or breaking the touching rules.

  The increasing social interactions led to a deputation intercepting Harold, though Patty, Emmy and Liz seemed torn between little smiles and worry. “Cripes. What did I do?”

  “Nothing Harold.” Liz looked at the other two. They looked back and indicated Harold with their heads. “Wimps.” She turned back to Harold. “I know you don’t mind someone indulging in a bit of sooty passion?”

  “As long as they don’t insist on telling me the sweaty details. Why?”

  “How do you feel about prostitutes? Paid passion.” Liz seemed genuinely interested, not winding him up so Harold thought about it.

  He’d never been to a prostitute, but he knew some who had. He’d known at least one prostitute though he’d no idea if Marcie had been typical. “I’ve never thought about it much. I suppose it’s all right if the woman really is voluntary, though there’s no real need here, is there? You know, everyone gets fed and has a place to live?”

  “There is and isn’t a need, Harold.” Liz rolled her eyes. “I’d keep quiet but you’d find out. We’ve already got two on the game, here in Orchard Close.” She smiled as Harold frowned, obviously trying to work out who. “They aren’t obvious about it. In fact both of them are careful not to advertise, as it were. I’ll bet you’ve talked to both. If you came to dances you’d have danced with them without knowing.”

  “You won’t tell me, will you?”

  “If you insist. Both asked if you should get a freebie as your share because you’re the boss?” Liz‘s smile started to shade towards grin.

  “No!” Harold glared at the three sniggering women. “Stop it.”

  “All right, but they need an answer. Can they carry on, or more to the point maybe branch out? At the moment they’re getting customers from the single blokes, especially those who get excited after the dances.” Liz snorted. “I reckon they should put Doll and Suzie and maybe a couple of the new ones on commission for winding the lads up.”

  “You said you’d stop taking the mickey. What do you mean by branch out? Stick a red light up outside?” Harold didn’t think that would go down well with some residents though he did think that, put like Liz did, two women who were really volunteers wasn’t a no. Maybe.

  “They want to take customers from among the visitors. Whoa, steady on, they’re not stupid.” Harold assumed his expression had showed alarm at least. The scroats didn’t need encouraging. “You know my weakness. At least one of the other women and a bloke have been sweet-talked into livening up a stopover. I promise this pair will be dead careful over picking potential customers. Any scroat types won’t get the option which probably means Geeks and most Hot Rods are out of luck.” Liz narrowed her eyes. “The rules about caning or gelding apply to anyone pestering a woman regardless of her profession, don’t they?”

  “Yes they do.” Harold thought hard about the rest. If he refused permission these women would probably carry on anyway. Apparently some others already were so the only difference was the payment. If he said yes there’d be no secrecy which had to be safer for the women. “No red light or standing under lamp posts in a really short skirt with a for rent sign.” Harold tried to glower at the smirks but had no effect. “You know what I mean. If they’ve got a gangster customer they have to tell someone, someone who’ll make sure they’re OK before the man leaves. They can let the man know that upfront. If he tries to run off without paying, the fine will bankrupt and possibly cripple him.” Harold scowled as a thought struck him. “Explain that he really won’t like the result if he gets rough. If the bloke still agrees, then OK.”

  “I’ll tell the women.” Liz sniggered. “Maybe you should. They’ll be really grateful?”

  “Smith off. Then you can Gnome off and you can Bat off so I get some peace.” The three turned to go, still laughing, though Patty hesitated until the others had moved out of hearing.

  “Bat off? You said something about Bats after I stuck laughing boy. Come on, that smirk is having more fun than I am.”

  “Daisy has a new rescue creature when the ship crashes at night. The Red Cross Bat?” Harold giggled. “He has an escort in case the scroats ambush him in the dark, the Patty Bats with crossbows. They’ve all got their biggest needle loaded, with a bit of wool hanging down to prove it.”

  “You nasty little, little, soldier!”

  “Hey, not me. Daisy came up with them. Ask Sharyn.” Harold knew he wasn’t helping his case by laughing, but couldn’t help it.

  “I will. If I hear a hint you’ve passed that on I’ll get you. Even in the dark.” Her lip twitched and she pointed at her eyes. “Patty-eyes.” Then Patty set off determinedly towards Harold’s house. He went the other way because weeding and slug-bashing might be a better idea than that discussion.

  * * *

  The next deputation looked a cross between embarrassed and wary, but Harold smiled because they were interrupting slug-bashing. “How can I help?”

  “You’re an atheist, aren’t you?” Pat’s John, called that to differentiate him from other Johns, looked uneasy. “You don’t believe in any God.” He hesitated but just before Harold answered, John blurted out, “But what if someone does?”

  “Believe in a God? That’s up to them.” Harold shrugged. “I really don’t mind as long as they don’t insist on me agreeing.”

  “But what if they want a church, for prayers?” John’s Pat, the first speaker’s wife and called that so she wasn’t mixed up with other Pats and Patty, took hold of her husband’s hand. “What about Sundays? Or saying prayers for the dead?”

  “Give me a minute, all right? Just to think it through.” Harold did, frantically. “No church, because we can’t spare a house. You can use a house occupied by believers if all the residents agree. No crosses on the roof or big signs outside, because I’m not having a dozen sects start up.” Harold frowned, thinking hard. “If you want to work longer the other days so you can have a day off, I don’t care if it’s Wednesday or Sunday. I don’t want any hassle from anyone if Moslems or Jews or someone else sets up their own version.” He smiled sadly. “As for prayers over the dead, anyone can say what they feel is appropriate. Ask the original residents about Gabriela.”

  Pat frowned. “Can’t we put some sort of a cross up? Maybe on the front?”

  “Probably once I’ve had chance to talk this through with others, but I need time. You can probably put one in a window, just don’t ram it down everyone’s throat.” Harold sighed. “I don’t care if you kneel and pray or dance naked round a bonfire as long as you keep it private. Fair warning; I won’t change rules based on religious convictions. Now let me go and talk to some other people.”

  Harold spoke to Sharyn who consulted the Coven, the group of women who dealt with teaching, collecting coupons, making sure everyone had food and clothing, and generally kept the place running. They spoke to the girl club and then assorted others all put in their six-pennorth before coming back with their opinion. Though as Liz pointed out, Harold seemed to have already set the same rules as for the girls on the game; no advertising the premises or blatantly enticing new customers. That did lighten the mood but eventually the rules actually were close to Harold’s first attempt. The Coven took on the job of making sure everyone knew that Harold didn’t care what anyone worshipped, but his Soldier Boy persona would be annoyed about intolerance.

  Most residents were a British sort of religious, not actually interested in organised religion, while a surprising number had been put off believing in any deity by the recent disasters. Harold’s all and any gods had sort of gained some adherents who thought that explained the current shambles, though they were a small minority. The Coven turned out to be a mix of religions already. A bit of house shuffling followed and occasionally prayers could be heard from certain houses, but otherwise life moved on.

  * * *

  As an atheist totally disinterested in anyone else’s ideas on the subject, Harold turned his attention back to Emmy’s demands for
waste water with a definite feeling of relief. Almost a month after the first pipes were scavenged the first trials were up and running so Harold went to have a look. Rob pointed to the pipes running down the outside of a house wall, outside the boundary wall, and across the ground between the rows of crops. “See. With the pressure of the water coming from up there, it’ll flow right out as far as we’ve got pipe for. We’ll bury a pipe under the road and wall to bring water from the houses further inside Orchard Close.”

  “Did you manage to keep the clean water in separate containers?” Harold inspected the pipes, but couldn’t see how.

  Rob nodded as he answered. “The rainwater gutters run back inside through the walls and into the tanks, with an overflow out to join the waste water. There won’t be a tremendous amount, just enough to keep body and soul together for a while. I’m more worried about storing enough water for Emmy.” Frowning, he pointed towards the end of Orchard Close. “I thought of using the sewer outside the north end of Orchard Close as a reservoir but unfortunately there’s a definite whiff from there. Not from our pipes, from the row of ruined terraces outside the wall. Those sewers must be choked up.”

  Harold frowned as well. “That’s a pity. I hoped we could use the houses one day.”

  “I thought you were going to knock them down because they’re too near the walls? I know there’s a quarter mile of tarmac and potatoes the other side, but you said the houses were too close to the wall and provided cover for attackers.” Rob glanced out at the only other buildings still standing in the fields, the six big houses. “The sewers under those are really useful to collect water for Emmy.” He frowned. “You said we might need those houses as well. How many more people do you expect?”

  “In time? I’ve no idea but Emmy talked about three years. There’s fruit trees being grown from seed which is a seven year project. If this does go on for years, eventually we’ll be full.” Harold shrugged. “If we put people in the terraces, they could use the working toilets in the nearest houses? Or you could put up outhouses at the end of the garden plumbed into our sewers?”