by Vance Huxley
Caddi called and waved, so Harold walked over. “All ready. E-Type is going as escort since you didn’t seem quite as peeved with him. Let’s hope Charger has remembered his manners and comes back unscratched.”
“I’m sure he will.” Harold smiled as they headed towards the exit because Charger might be the most polite of the lot, though Harold wouldn’t trust him as far as Daisy could throw the man. A loud voice interrupted.
“Fucking Pussy. I reckon she cut yer nuts off. A wench like that in the bed and you can’t get it up?” Seven Hot Rods had come out of a house near the gates, heading straight for Harold. The speaker looked a lot like the man Chevy had called off the previous evening. “Soldier Boy? Soldier girl, unless you’ve taken up with that fucking queer.”
Harold looked at Caddi. “I’m a bit annoyed this morning. Do you really want this?”
Caddi smirked. “Not permanently crippled, Soldier Boy. After all, he’s only threatened you not the girl.”
“Could be borderline, definitely concussive, and possibly fatal. I warned Chevy about how imprecise I can be when I’m annoyed.” Harold meant that as he headed straight for the man, since the Hot Rod had a small No Cycling sign on his arm as a shield and wielded a machete. Harold would have to really stop him hard, even though the man only held one of the thinner, smaller machetes sold in hardware stores before the crash. All the gangsters thought Harold carried a wooden stick. He’d try to avoid blocking the machete if possible so Caddi didn’t find out about the steel tube.
“Ooh, are you going to spank me?” The others laughed as the Hot Rod raised his machete and brought the shield round and forward. Harold didn’t answer, just kept coming with his stick on his shoulder. The man expected to catch the blow, either a jab or swing, on the shield. Then he’d chop either Harold’s arm or the stick. Harold started the blow as he took the next step, a wide looping swing out and round to hit the man at the side of the shoulder or head.
The man ducked a little and put up the shield, but Harold bent his legs and waist as he took the next step. He’d deliberately put plenty of power into the swing, enough so his opponent knew he hadn’t feinted. The man knew Harold couldn’t stop his swing, but crouching lowered the impact point, too fast for any reaction. A yell of pain heralded the steel tube striking against his hip bone and his leg gave a little. Harold straightened, taking another step as the man froze momentarily in shock and pain, then as the machete started coming over to chop he caught the man’s wrist.
Harold stepped in close, pinning the shield between them, and grinned right into the startled face. Harold practiced long hours with the heavy steel stick, so his wrist muscles and grip were definitely over-developed. Now Harold closed his hand around the man’s wrist-joint bones and flexed them. The Hot Rod’s eyes flared with pain. “Let go or I’ll crush it.” Harold couldn’t but knew that flexing the joint against itself and the thin layer of flesh around the bone caused excruciating pain. Stones had demonstrated once. The machete clattered to the ground.
“Enough, Soldier Boy.” Harold stood very still, his other hand already raised to drive the brass boss of his stick down onto the Hot Rod’s head.
“He wanted a spanking.” Harold kept grinding the wrist bones, keeping the man close enough to pin his shield arm and in range to deliver a very bad headache at the very least.
“Don’t worry, he’ll wish he’d got spanked. Very bad manners like that deserve some sort of punishment.” Caddi spoke without any real menace, but Harold saw the fear replacing pain in his opponent’s eyes. He pushed the man backwards, stick at the ready, but the Hot Rod looked beyond him towards Caddi. Harold took a couple of steps back, glancing sideways. Caddi had his little smile back but rage flared behind his eyes. Behind him his bodyguard, Mack, had brought his baseball bat up to his shoulder, ready for trouble.
“I’ll leave you to it.” Harold knew whatever happened would be excessive because he’d already wound Caddi up, and now the gang boss had a victim. Harold felt momentarily sorry for the man, but then remembered the scroat would have killed him and been rewarded if the meeting had gone as planned.
“No, you should see. That’s how it works at your place.” Caddi smiled with his mouth, his good humour apparently restored. “I take notes.” The gang boss looked over to the man now nursing his wrist, favouring his hip, and being supported by one of his friends. “Fifty yards range, keep running until I say.” The man looked horrified and opened his mouth. “Since it’s Soldier Boy, we’ll let the women have a go.”
Harold saw the man’s relief and knew why. Caddi had copied the live crossbow target idea to give his men practice, but Hot Rod women wouldn’t have any expertise. “Your women won’t dare hit him.”
“They’d better try fucking hard, or I’ll put them out there.” From Caddi’s look he meant every word.
Harold ended up watching the most bizarre crossbow practice ever. Thirty women of varying ages dressed in everything from full cook’s whites through to two scraps of nothing and aged from maybe sixteen to about fifty did their level best to stick crossbow bolts into a man limping as fast as he could. The women soon realised this wasn’t a joke because the other Hot Rods were winding the crossbows for them, making bets, laughing at the bloke and giving advice. Harold kept his face straight as his companion of last night joined the practice, still in her ‘nightie.’
Despite their inaccuracy, the sheer volume of bolts meant one of the women hit the target eventually. “That’ll do. It’s not moving target practice if he’s laid on the floor squealing and bleeding.” Caddi sounded much happier now. His men were laughing and joking like a bunch of schoolkids. The man had a crossbow bolt in his thigh opposite the hip Harold had hit, so he definitely couldn’t run though he’d reverted to yelling rather than squealing.
Harold leant a bit closer to Caddi, speaking quietly. “Some might consider it unfair him having a machete and shield when I have to disarm. As unfair as our women wandering around dressed like some of these to get more victims for caning.”
Caddi stayed silent for a few moments before answering. “A fair point. If they did I’d have no fit men in a week. These silly fuckers would have to come and check, then wouldn’t be able to keep their stupid mouths shut or hands to themselves.” Caddi raised his voice. “All right you bitches. Fun over, back to work.” The women scattered back to the houses but a good few were still smiling.
“E-Type is ready, Soldier Boy.” Chevy looked happy as well. He held up his hands showing his thick, muscled wrists. “I’m gonna try that because I reckon I’m stronger than you.”
“There’s a knack to it.” Harold avoided any challenge about relative strength or he’d end up arm wrestling or some other stupid test. “Are we leaving today or not?” Caddi smiled as he accompanied Harold to the gate, where the car and four motorbikes parked behind the pickup made up his escort. All the way back Harold tried to decide if he’d stopped Caddi’s worst excesses, or if he would be safer driving in the dark and risking a bullet. Caddi wouldn’t risk a bullet in daylight because then he’d have to produce the gunman, especially if the man missed.
* * *
Nearly three weeks passed before Harold needed his stick again, but not for fighting this time. A grinning Liz tugged Harold into line. “Come on, hold your stick up to make this official. We were going to get Barry to hold his fireman’s axe the other side but Jeremy is worried he’d let it drop. After all, Jeremy is here for his youngest grandchild.” Harold held his stick up and outwards to complete the double line of smiling residents and tapped Casper’s machete, being held out from the other side of the path. He smiled because Alfie sat in a wheelchair halfway down the other side of the line, holding a spear because a machete wouldn’t reach from down there. At least part of the smile came from the faint blush when Alfie’s nurse today, Hazel, saw that Harold had noticed.
Another part was that if she’d agreed to move out of the girl club and set up home with Jeremy, Matti really was over being kidn
apped and dragged off into the night. Harold watched Jeremy knock on the door and heard Thandia’s deep bark in response. The door opened and Harold nearly let his stick drop down. He hadn’t expected Barry to answer the door. From the look on his face neither had Jeremy! “Yes, what do you want?” Barry had a superb deadpan face but Jeremy didn’t seem to appreciate it.
“Um, er, Matti? Please?” Howls of laughter issued from inside the girl club and from those behind Harold who had been in on the joke. Everyone knew just how protective Barry tried to be where his granddaughters were concerned, even if the pair did their level best to avoid protection.
“At least you’ve got the decency to make an honest woman of the poor lass.” More howls of laughter greeted that. “That is what you’ve come for?” Harold had no idea how Barry kept his face straight but he did.
“Yes? Please?” Jeremy tried to see past Barry but the broad ex-fireman more or less filled the doorway.
Then Barry looked back over his shoulder. “You can untie Matti and let her come out, because he really does want her.” Barry put his hand on Jeremy’s shoulder, shaking his head gently. “You’re a brave man.” Then he staggered, before moving sideways for Matti to squeeze past.
“Move over gramps, you’re off the hook. I don’t need a bodyguard now.”
“Not quite off the hook, one to go yet.” A smiling Barry moved outside as Doll, his other grandchild, followed along with the rest of those in the girl club including Elise and Thandia. For once Elise looked happy, actually throwing her confetti first even if she immediately reverted to holding onto the Mastiff. Sort of confetti, because long hours went into cutting coloured bits of plastic into tiny pieces. Every bit possible would be reclaimed and washed for reuse. Jeremy and Matti ran down the path under the arch of machetes, baseball bats and garden canes as more confetti showered down, before jumping over the twig broom at the end.
The pair went down the street hand in hand carrying Matti’s clothes in bags and the crowd streamed off towards the dance house for the start of the monthly party. The couple would be back for the dancing but their names wouldn’t go into the hat at the end. Three of those throwing confetti looked a bit baffled through their smiles. They were new refugees, who had just gone through their own official welcome at the gates since all these new rituals took place on dance day. Harold kept a wary eye out these days for that cauldron, especially since Sharyn had given in and accepted a black kitten called Grimalkin.
“Are you coming to the dance, wimp?”
Harold smiled. “No Liz, I’m on guard duty.”
“Every dance night, apparently. Some of those new lasses are getting really curious about what it will take to get your name in that hat.” Liz nudged. “Don’t give me that look, they’re just grateful.” She raised her eyebrows. “Ooh, I wonder how grateful?”
Harold laughed. “I’ll never know, because I don’t accept grateful.”
“That’s another thing intriguing one or two, just what would you be interested in. Bethany is crowing that you called her sweet, at least twice.” Liz raised an enquiring eyebrow.
“That’s because of her hat. She keeps the first Gnome covered so it reads Sweet Gnome.”
“Only since you called her that.” Liz laughed at Harold’s expression. “Oh Gods, you are so easy to wind up over women. They all know you’re off the dance card but are wondering about in between dances.” Liz nudged him again. “I’d tell them to break down and cry on you but its more fun watching them plot. I’ll know if any of them succeed because you’ll come into my forge to cry when they’ve done with you.”
Harold smiled. “They could just let me be? The men don’t bother you.”
“Because they know they aren’t sooty enough.” She sobered. “Some of the new women are just having a lark, and a few can’t understand why a gang boss hasn’t got a woman. One or two actually want to be the gang boss’s woman for the prestige or whatever, which isn’t helped by the visitors asking who she is.” Liz sighed. “It’s this stupid world. I’d say pick one who’ll just hang on your arm but that’s not going to happen again is it?” Her face brightened. “Why do I care? I’m heartless, feckless and fancy free and it’s dance night.”
“You’ll be more interested at Harvest Festival.”
“There’s going to be one this year?” Harold laughed and Liz scowled. “Ooh, you rotten soldier you. I’ll just have to hope someone visits, though I’m getting worried.” She frowned. “Wayland has stopped over four times now. For a sooty butterfly this is getting a bit like a relationship but he’s the only smith who is allowed to leave his gang and go visiting. What’s the Hot Rod smith like?”
“He’s no more muscly than me but more to the point Caddi keeps him chained to the forge, more or less. I’ll ask if the Ferdinands or the Murphies have a metal-beater.” Harold nudged her this time. “One who’s allowed out now and then, for sleepovers.” Liz rolled her eyes in simulated ecstasy before heading off to get dressed for dancing.
Harold stood guard on dance nights, at either the gate or the corner guardhouse the other end of Orchard Close. He also looked after Amber while Casper went dancing. The young Doberman cross had been spoiled as she grew up, so she’d never become a ferocious guard dog like her sire. Sooty or Amber would bark hello at either friend or foe, though that worked for guard duty on dance night since only foe would be outside the walls. Tonight Emmy wasn’t on duty with Sooty because Lenny and Patricia agreed the bun had probably cooked long enough. The slightest excitement might trigger the birth.
Matthew and Beth stood guard in number six, ‘their’ guardhouse halfway down the wall, because they claimed they had no need to dance in public. They’d moved into the front rooms of number eight, the next house along the wall, and now wanted a pup if more were bred. The dogs had better ears and eyes than the human guards, especially at night. Malt the Staffy cross often stood night guard with them for a while because he barked at approaching strangers. Better yet, he seemed to mean it, but wouldn’t stay all night as he preferred to sleep in the brewery.
Tonight, in between scanning the old caravan park with the charred rubble at the far end, Harold worried about accommodation. Two of the last three refugees had moved into occupied houses, while one of the girl club moved out to make room for the other. There were still spare rooms in many houses but very few held whole families or even people who had been friends before the crash. Orchard Close had room for more refugees, but Harold worried that too much crowding would breed friction.
After Jon and the other traitors the girl club and Coven tried to defuse small disputes, but that would only work if the tension didn’t rise too far. Harold thought it through, but the only solution was to find additional accommodation now, before crowding caused trouble. By dawn Harold decided the best way would be to get Finn and Rob to take a proper look at those terraced houses just outside the walls, to see what they’d need to make the whole row habitable.
* * *
Though with Rob still working on Emmy’s water capture, Harold decided to leave it a couple of days. “Harold, Harold.” Harold grinned and straightened from the weeding. It had been ages since Hazel had come running up yelling like that. She stopped, smiling back at him, trying not to hop from one foot to the other as she used to. After all, at sixteen Hazel had left her home with Harold and become an adult, sort of. “There’s GOFS and Barbies, two of each and they want you.”
“Ask someone to put them in number three please Hazel, while I get spruced up.”
“No need. Vulcan says there’s no need for all the, er, cow poop, because this isn’t that sort of a meeting.” Hazel blushed, just a little. “Chandra asked if I’d taken over searching from Alfie.”
“Chandra would, but she’s only joking. Though you could have brought Alfie down to the gate in his wheelchair?” Harold moved on sharpish as Hazel started to blush properly. “Is she wearing the silk curtains?”
That stopped the blush because Hazel giggled. “Yes, but
with a pair of jeans under them and a jacket over the top. I know she was joking because they aren’t coming in anyway, to save some time.” Harold sped up from a walk to a trot, because that sounded urgent.
The gate had been left partly open, with Chandra, Ken, Vulcan and Ogou waiting just outside. Harold had barely put a foot through the gate when Vulcan spoke up. “Both gangs, GOFS and Barbies, are taking six top people to sort out a non-shooting problem. Bring the five people you need to make some serious decisions about extra refugees, your committee or however you work things out, and we’ll lead you to the problem.”
“Refugees?”
Vulcan grimaced. “The General has just taken the enclave across the water from us. Those who could escape have come through the flood and need help. These people aren’t the fighters. They’re in deep er, whatever and need a roof and a future. Will you help?”
“Yes, give me time to gather someone up.”
Emmy came out of the guardhouse and Chandra pointed to her belly. “Good luck. Free advice from doc if you need it but you pay for medicine.” She grinned. “Yeah, I’m a sucker. We’ll wait in the cars until you get sorted.” The Barbie turned, heading for her SUV while waving off the thanks.
Harold spun on his heel, and went back through the gate. At least contacting everyone didn’t take long with the telephone. Within five minutes Casper, Billy, Patty, Sharyn and Lenny had arrived at the gate. Shortly afterwards Liz, Sal, June, and Seth turned up and more were coming down the road so word of a problem had spread. Though Harold only needed five, including a medic because if these people were running, they might be in a bad way. “Lenny, you are coming to meet the GOFS and Barbies.”
