by Vance Huxley
Harold wrote down the number and gave his own. “If you change your mind don’t tell anyone. Just phone up and then we’ll arrange to pick you up without any fuss, from somewhere outside the barricades.”
“I should be all right in here. Everyone is putting their food together and these men brought several van loads in and they’re selling it to us all. Bye for now Harry. Best of luck.”
“Bye Mr Pilsworth, and thanks.”
Harold sat for a moment before phoning Sam. The people who had put up the barricades had weapons, and had brought in van loads of food. Harold was a bit worried about what happened when Mr Pilsworth couldn’t pay anymore, but there was nothing he could do about that.
Harold dialled, and the phone at the other end rang, and rang, and rang.
Harold wasn’t sure what happened if the phone was broken but the line was open so he waited. Then the phone was picked up. “Who is it?” The man’s voice was hushed which was crazy if the phone had just been ringing away.
“Harold, Harry. I came in for a pint with Mr Pilsworth from the gun club and then for a pint of home brew now and then.”
“It’s been robbed. I’ve been robbed. What do you want?”
“I know, Mr Pilsworth gave me your number and the news. Some of us have got out to the edge of the city and we’re building a community. Do you want to come? Better still, do you want to bring the brewers? That was really good beer.”
“Are you crazy? There’s only one couple still brewing and they’ve almost stopped now. All the rest were robbed and the biggest one was stripped of everything and the brewer went with the gear. Maybe voluntary but he didn’t phone anyone.”
“We’re out next to the bypass so if the looters come with guns the Army will shoot them.” Harold thought a moment. “We’ve got an electrician and a plumber and we’re trying to build a real community.”
“One of those gang things? All guns and do as you’re told?”
“No. We all get a say.” Harold gave a short laugh. “A brewer might get two votes when we can’t find any more cans in the ruins nearby.”
“Hah. Yes, probably. Personally I’d go for the plumber as my favourite. Have you got your rifle?”
“Maybe?”
“So yes. Good, you’ll need it if the brewers come and someone finds out. I’ll ask them. Where are you?”
“I’ll give you the number. If you come with them you’ll know. If not you can’t tell anyone.” Harold had suddenly realised that giving out the actual address might be a bad idea if someone knew he’d got a brewer. Luckily Mr Pilsworth hadn’t pushed.
After a long pause Sam spoke again. “That makes sense. All right, I’ll phone them but I’ll need your number.” Harold gave it and Sam repeated it back. “I might want to come but I’ll need to talk to family.”
“Any non-looters are welcome. There’s spare houses at the moment and enough empty housing nearby to provide food for a little while.”
“All right. Thank you. I’ll call.”
Harold sat for a while after putting the phone down, then started calling the numbers in the classified directory. Builders, electricians, computer repairs, sewing services, he worked steadily through them. About one in seven answered and none wanted to take a chance on a total stranger. After an hour Harold gave up. He couldn’t blame people for being cautious, but the six out of seven not answering was more worrying. Surely they hadn’t all got a pass and left?
* * *
“Harold, Harold, Sharyn has just had a phone call. They’re calling back in half an hour.” Harold straightened and stretched then smiled at Hazel. He had been helping to remove a gas fired cooker from a mobile home. Liz, encouraged by Sharyn, had organised a small gang and removed the easiest accessed gas fires or worktop stoves. Harold was here with some extra labour to tear out the seriously built in appliances, with Rob to supervise.
“Any idea who it was, Hazel?”
“No, it was a woman and she asked for Harry Miller.”
Harold actually thought briefly of Cynthia but she would have probably ask for Corporal Miller, or, he smiled, Harry Corporal Miller. Though it was vanishingly unlikely Cyn got out of London, let alone found his number here. Hazel chatted happily on the way back, about the garden digging, and collecting new bedding from the mobile homes.
She was also enthusiastic about the stack of magazines that Alfie had brought back from scavenging. The fifteen year old teenager had curled a lip at the girly publications, but then they turned up in Harold’s house. Though he hadn’t shown any other sort of interest so maybe it was just Alfie’s generally genial nature. Harold realised he was already getting Daddy syndrome over Hazel and vetting any boys who were nice to her.
Hazel was having a good day today. Sometimes she was weepy, and others she ranted or hid in her room. The fourteen year old was trying to accept that Dad was definitely dead and Mum was missing. The news reports showing more riots and gunfire didn’t help with the missing part.
As soon as they came in Hazel went to join Daisy where she was greeted by complaints that Hazel had left with the pirate ship half drawn. Daisy came for an Uncle-hug and to confirm that there would be an Uncle-Harold story tonight. Those alternated with Uncle-Casper stories, some of which Harold was half-sure Casper made up.
Sharyn had a mug of coffee ready, and a list. “This is from Hilda. The twenty most common suggestions though she’s ignored a pub or a tank and a few similar ideas.” Sharyn smiled. “It’ll keep you busy while you wait because no, I don’t know who it is and she wouldn’t say.”
The list worked. Harold actually jumped when the phone beside him rang. “Hello?”
“Hello, who is that?”
“Harry Miller. Who are you?” Harold certainly didn’t recognise the voice. Definitely a local accent, and a woman, but that was all.
“I’m a friend of a friend who said you might want recruits. What do you drink and what pub do you use?”
Harold was now fairly sure who this was. “None now. I used to have a pint at the Dog and Stoat with Sam, and drank home brew. Is that the right answer?”
The sigh of relief was an answer all by itself. “Are you really set up somewhere safe?”
“Safer. The Army shoot people with guns if they see them and know we are law-abiding citizens. Apart from taking food from the ruins.” That was a bit of a stretch, since the Army didn’t seem to care about law-abiding. Though they didn’t like violence aimed at or near them.
“So where are you exactly?”
Harold had already decided he wasn’t giving that out. “Where are you?”
“Ah. Right. Awkward. Hang on.” There was a muttering of voices in the background. “Can we meet?”
“If we have to bring a convoy into the city, even in broad daylight, it’ll be just once. We either come to get you or not at all.” Harold thought quickly. “If you load up your gear we can meet someplace and then come here? So you don’t give me the location?”
“No chance. We haven’t got... Hang on.” More noises in the background followed. This time the woman’s voice was resigned when she spoke again. “We’ve only got one van left. The other two were, are, gone.” She sighed. “It sounds awful but we’re sort of relieved that the drivers must be dead, or we would have had visitors.”
“I do understand, but we can’t risk the trip twice.”
“We understand that. I’ll give you a place and a time. Someone will be there and I promise we are near and want to come. But D.., Nigel wants to look at you first, all right?”
“Fair enough, but we might be late.” Harold distinctly heard ‘two hours, tops’ in the background before the woman’s voice was back. “He’ll wait two hours, from midday until two o’clock. Can you come tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow? Hang on, let me think.” Harold did think. That was a bit keen so was it a trap? If so, why? The vehicles? Surely there were still lots out there. Or were the brewers just very worried? Worried, he decided. “Am I right in thinking this w
ill help with finding replacements for the cans of ale?” Harold was laughing at himself for not just saying brewer but the woman’s paranoia was catching.
“For a long time. You’re coming?”
“Two transits, a pickup truck, and maybe a car or possibly a minibus because we’ll bring bodyguards. I’ll have to check the fuel.”
“Bless you. The car park in front of the burned out Halfords on Mortimer Street. Have you got a map?” The relief in the woman’s voice was stark.
“Yes thanks. Are there any barricades nearby?”
“Not on the through roads, only in the entrances to estates or the industrial estate. You’ll need the two transits to load um, supplies. We’ll pack tonight. See you tomorrow.” The phone went down and Harold realised he had neither her number or the woman’s name. He sighed and stood up. Now he needed enough people to cross half the bloody city.
* * *
Harold looked them over. His crew, or gang? Mob of ruffians the way the women were muffled up. Nobody had said anything to Harold but all the women had carefully hidden what sex they were under big coats or jackets with hoods or woollen hats, or in one case a balaclava. No makeup, not even a bit of lippy, and three had smeared their cheeks in an attempt to look unshaven. It might work at a distance.
“Well you frighten me.” There were some nervous giggles and chuckles. “We aren’t looking for a fight so just look ready for one while we back off any opposition.” He looked at the weapons three of the women had. “What are those?”
“My new project. I thought about those knives taped to sticks, and thought I could do better. It’s a sort of sleeve socket and then I screwed it to the shaft and the knife handle.” Liz was giving hers a critical look. “Maybe I could make a spear head if I’ve got some plate and enough gas to get it hot enough?”
“Hold that thought for when we get back. I want one of those in each van and the minibus to keep anyone ambitious from getting too close.” Harold raised the big rifle with its long bayonet. “Harry loaned me his pig sticker for the pickup and the estate car can keep in the middle with a knife taped to a stick out of the window.”
“There’s several of those.” Seven were waved along with an assortment of machetes and baseball bats. “Us girls are in the minibus.” Casper brandished his machete and grinned. “If anyone gets anything inside there, it’s coming off.” There was a cheer from the women.
A group of residents not coming on the run had come to see the convoy on its way. “Don’t worry Harold. If we get visitors I’ll see them off.” Karen was holding her air pistol and smiling and behind her Stewart was hefting a spade and nodding. Several of those remaining also had knives on sticks, garden implements and baseball bats. With the two rifles that should be enough if trouble came.
“Put two cars across the entrance once we’re gone and take the keys out. We’re giving ourselves lots of time so we should be back long before dark.” Harold knew this was a risk, and would seriously weaken the little community if it went wrong. For that reason the route took in several other targets so there would be no need to go again. The Halfords might be one target depending on how burned out it was.
The drive into the city was stop-start. Harold was in the back seat of the pickup crew cab so he could shoot or stab either way, with Billy driving. A very determined Emmy with a baseball bat was in the passenger seat. Since Emmy was already tall and well built, the big jacket, pulled down woollen hat and heavy gloves made her look quite formidable. Emmy was nervous, as were most of the score of people coming on the run, but insisted on doing her part.
After turning into two blocked roads, one with a barricade and one with a building collapsed across it, Harold changed the routine. Reversing every vehicle out took too long, so now the pickup moved well out in front. By the time the second vehicle, the minibus, got to a turn the driver could see if the pickup was stopped. That speeded the job up but even so the diversions to look at prospective loot ate up time. Most of the premises were either emptied out or burned out.
A petrol generator was salvaged from one place, and four new car batteries from another. All the hardware stores were already looted, though twice the convoy found wooden shafts for brooms, hammers and even pick shafts that had been left or dropped. A small selection of garden tools were also salvaged, and any scattered packs of torch or radio batteries were picked up. Then there was a good find, seventeen car batteries and a carton of bottles of distilled water. Everyone was worried about the electricity failing.
Two possible locations for crossbows were gutted ruins. At first Harold thought the third was as well. This was an archery store so he’d hoped the place had been missed but the gaping roof and soot-stained window on the end killed that hope.
The convoy drove into the car park and swung around to leave again and Harold asked Billy to stop. The other end was a showroom and had two broken windows but wasn’t burned.
“I want six people please, but everyone else watch out for trouble.” Men and women climbed out of vehicles and followed him towards the unburned end of the building. Harold stepped through the smashed door and was puzzled. There wasn’t a bow or arrow in the store, but the showcases were empty, not broken. The glass doors had been opened but there was no sign of chaos, or looting. Apart from some boot marks on the floor, the place was clean.
“This is weird.”
Harold agreed with Liz. “It looks like the place was evacuated properly, so why the fire?”
“This door should tell us.” Matthew gestured with his knife on a stick. Harold walked over and gave the double doors a little push, and they moved. Everyone gathered round and Harold pushed them open.
“Now we know where the stock went.” The shelves around the edges were empty and from the remains every item had been heaped in the middle and torched. Presumably with enough petrol to make sure they burned well since there was open sky above, where a roof should be.
“There’s some arrows that dropped clear, but nothing to use them in.” Matthew moved up one side of the mess of twisted shelving and bits of metal and charred wood and plastic.
“There’s knife blades but all the temper will be gone. Are they worth picking up for spear heads?” Liz kicked one clear, picked it up and tapped it on a shelf. “I could make something to stick this on a broom handle?”
“Go and get a couple of those shopping trolleys, please, Bernie.” Bernie went through into the shop again. Matthew’s excited voice sounded from the back of the charred mess.
“Hey, there’s some that fell off the fire. Some boxes caught but what’s inside might be all right.” There was a rush round and nine boxes had fallen clear along with a lot of arrows of various sorts and small packets. “This is a bow, but it’s covered in little wheels and cords. There’s another bow here, or it will be if we find some string.”
A quick glance at the pictures on the boxes was enough. “Take them all, the arrows as well, and the easily retrieved knife blades.” Harold looked round at Bernie and his shopping trolley, just returning. “Take all the little boxes and packets laid about in case they’re useful. Put everything by the door and I’ll get a van over here.” Harold had barely started towards the side door that would lead into the car park when motors growled outside. Vehicles were pulling into the car park. “Keep collecting and loading.” Harold moved to the side door and peered through the little window.
Two big estate cars, the off-road types, were backing across the exit and men were getting out. Four men armed with machetes and a couple of hand guns. A single barrelled shotgun poked out of one car window. One man was ahead of the rest and he spoke first. “You lot are trespassing.”
“All right, move aside and we’ll leave.” Casper climbed out and he had the butt of a handgun poking out of his belt. As he’d told Harold, it was impossible to tell if the weapon was an air pistol or a real bullet type. The machete was very obviously what it was, a big chopping blade. Impromptu spears stuck out of windows and two rifle barrels appeared,
one from each van.
“Not really. There’s a fine for trespassing, so we’ll take the weapons.” The speaker was a burly, bald man in his mid-twenties and carrying both a machete and a handgun.
Casper grinned. “Not really. We’ve got you outnumbered and outgunned.”
“The shotgun in the car trumps those little peashooters. Air rifles I reckon.”
“Wrong, and fatally wrong if you find out. Toby, shoot him first.” A rifle barrel moved across to aim at the big man.
“Kurt, shoot the big bloke first.” The shotgun centred on Casper. “Guess who’ll bleed most.”
Harold was already moving because either this bloke was on something or really did think those were air rifles. Harold had eased open the door and now raised his rifle. “Him with the shotgun bleeds most. This thing will go through the windshield, Kurt, and the man behind him if there is one. It might go through the car door and one of those trees behind as well.” The four men who had got out of the cars were now looking at Harold.
The leader spoke first. “What the fuck is that?”
“The real thing. Did you ever see any World War films and all those soldiers with big rifles and bloody great bayonets?” The double-take said the man had. “Better still it’s got a clip so I get five tries. Those peashooters really are bullet rifles, not air rifles, so how about that shotgun points skywards?”
“Then what?” This man expected Harold to do what he would. Kill everyone and strip the bodies.
“Then you leave, we leave, and you come back and get the rest.”
“Yeah right.” Then his interest quickened. “The rest of what? The bastards burned it all before they left.”
“We’ve found some blades and such that might be some use. I thought they were unclaimed. Since this is your patch we’ll leave here with what we’ve got instead of digging deeper. Deal?”
“Maybe. Where are you from?”
“Nowhere near here. Just passing through and we’ll be long gone if you let us. This was just a detour and a bloody disappointment.” Harold waggled the rifle barrel just a bit. “Now let’s see the shotgun moving and nobody needs to die today.”
