by Vance Huxley
“I’ll put you on collecting arrows in revenge.” Three full sized crossbows, two children’s and three pistol bows had been salvaged from the boxes. Several people were practicing because they could do so in full view of the Army and the arrows could be re-used. Unfortunately the accuracy was erratic, to be kind, especially with the two archery bows. Nobody could pull the one with all the pulleys.
Though everyone was having a go to find who could use that, or the crossbows. Practice cost nothing and the residents needed to learn as fast as possible. Even broken shafts could be replaced using lengths of wooden dowelling or other timber trimmed and turned to size. The searchers on the internet had pulled off several pages about archery and crossbows the last time the connection worked and those were being studied.
“Those children’s crossbows are bloody disgusting. Fancy giving kids a weapon like that. At short range they’ll do real damage.” Everyone had been surprised what the children’s crossbows would do.
Harold smiled. “But they had suckers on wobbly springs on the arrows until you fitted those nasty pointy bits.”
“Nearest I get to artwork these days. Once the homes are stripped I’ll get onto sorting out the knife blades as well, to make spears. There’s an incentive to help me.” Liz grinned.
“Nag, nag, nag.” Though as he went off to help with heaving bricks about Harold was worried. There was so much to do and he didn’t know which was most important.
Very high up the list was working until he was knackered. The sheer chaos of the escape had quietened Harold’s dreams, but now they were back. There was a bloke who jumped off a roof in there now.
* * *
“We’ve been working our way down the lists and phone book and there’s two suppliers within reasonable distance.” Nigel had approached Harold but Berry was in the background.
“It’s been less than a month. Surely we didn’t drink all that lot?” Harold beckoned. “You may as well come over here as well in case your Dad needs a slap.” Both Berry and Nigel smiled as she came over.
“No, we didn’t even make it all into beer yet, but we’re looking ahead.” Nigel glanced at Berry. “We were already having trouble getting supplies, and now the city centre and our usual suppliers are cut off.”
“Definitely cut off. I won’t risk going that way again after we went after the dairy.” Harold shook his head. That had seemed a good idea, to get any remaining milk stocks and freeze them down. “It wasn’t somewhere we expected a war.”
“You didn’t get one.”
“No, we were almost trapped by a mob who didn’t care about milk. They wanted the petrol, weapons, women, or were just bloody nasty. Hard to tell which but we’ve three people who are still nursing bruises from bricks.” Harold sighed. “So no more runs into the city proper. Nor to that big shopping mall we found. There was a big group in there when we came past and two bodies hanging from lamp posts. No Shoppers Allowed was blunt and to the point and spray painted on walls in letters about four foot high.”
“These places aren’t in the city centre. If we wait until we run short, someone else might get there first.” Berry hadn’t been able to keep quiet.
“What if we’re too late anyway?”
“Then you ration beer, right now.” Berry smiled. “Ration them and give anyone who finds beer a bonus bottle. They’ll try harder.”
“Seth couldn’t try harder. He’s in love with you just because you smell of hops.” Harold grinned because it was hard to tell if it was because Berry was his type of girl or the smell of hops, but Seth was definitely a little bit smitten.
“Handy when I need a big strong man to help me.” Berry was laughing because Seth wasn’t as strong as she was, though he was working on it.
“All right, I’ll look at the addresses, and think about it.”
“You should do the same with other really important materials.” Nigel looked a bit embarrassed. “Not telling you your job or anything.”
“Not my job at all but it looks like I’ve got it, and all suggestions are gratefully received.” Harold looked around. “Though as soon as you said about forward planning, it crossed my mind we weren’t. Not long-range planning. I’ll ask around and think, and see if we can combine this and that. Though we will make your supply run sooner rather than later.”
Harold did think hard even as he headed towards the girl club. He went around the back to the shed, and the sound of hammering meant Liz was home.
“Now if I fancied blacksmiths I’d be sorted.” Liz had her sleeves rolled up, a heavy apron on, and was beating seven bells out of a piece of glowing metal.
Liz straightened and rubbed her back. “Not really. I need a lot more muscle to qualify. Then an anvil, some proper tools, a forge...”
Harold interrupted the familiar litany. “We’re looking. Actually we could look harder. If you can find a possible supplier or a place that might have them, let me know. Nigel has been long term planning for essential supplies and we need to do the same.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know. What sort of thing do you need, long-term? Not tomorrow but you’ll run out in six months and it will be a bitch to get it.” Harold was looking round. “Can you weld?”
“Sort of. Good enough but I haven’t done so for a while.” Liz thought. “A welder, a straightforward stick welder and some welding rods, might be a good investment. A lot of small engineering premises might have that.”
“That’s the sort of thing. Oh joy, another bloody list.”
“Hilda will be happy.” Liz waved at her hammer. “How many spears do you want before I can get back to my caravans?”
“Three dozen spears, or two dozen and thirty arrowheads for the crossbows. The bigger crossbow ones not the pistol bows. Then I promise you I’ll pull someone off the scavenging and get the job done.” Harold hated doing this, trading priorities with Liz, because it all wanted doing. “I’ve got four people measuring up broken windows and looking for replacements on the wrecked houses. Though putty will be a bitch to find.” Harold sighed. “Glaziers go on the list.”
“Good thinking. That will stop any further damage in the habitable houses. Right, back to the muscle building.” Liz went back to hammering.
Harold was considering the arrow situation and what a relief it was they could make their own when it hit him. Bullets couldn’t be re-used, or replaced as easily. Harold couldn’t spare enough to train anyone to shoot even if he could do so without making the Army nervous, and that was a real problem. He had all the supplies to reload some ammunition for their meagre selection of weapons, but what about when that was gone? There was little or no chance or getting any replacements.
Gun clubs and gunsmiths had to go on the list. Though Harold expected them to have been robbed. Would the looters think of reloading the rounds they stole? He considered that and no, most wouldn’t consider it. Which meant that moulds, primers and caps and possibly empty brass and some powder might have been left. Christ, how many more obvious things was he forgetting? Harold found out as soon as he arrived home and asked.
“Blackberries, blackcurrants, maybe gooseberries, rhubarb, anything along those lines.”
Harold stared at Sharyn. “Why?”
“The kids, and the adults as well long-term. Lack of fresh milk is already a problem and thank goodness someone scooped up all those multivitamins from someplace. We all need vitamin C and there’s no fruit now. That means when the bottles of Ribena and other fruit juice run out we’ll all run short. Bushes like that will fruit the first year I think, but I’m sure trees for apples and plums and suchlike will take longer.” Sharyn looked over at the phone book. “We’ll need allotments and garden centres.” She grinned. “An orchard in Orchard Close.”
“Make a list and give it to Hilda.” Harold went to scrounge another phone book and get the computer search team organised. Then he went to find their nearest thing to an expert in gardening.
“Trees take seven years from pip
to fruit.”
“Damn.”
“A piece of an adult tree is usually grafted onto a stem to get round the wait, but don’t look at me. I’ve no idea where to start with that.” Curtis looked at the list. “Blackberries and blackcurrants are rampant if you aren’t careful. They send out runners underground and they’re a bitch to get rid of.” Curtis glanced at the damaged housing beyond the boundary. “We could plant them among that lot?”
“Are blackcurrants prickly?
“The plants? Yes, nasty little things, and bramble thorns are bigger and also sharp. We might find thornless blackberries?” Curtis was still considering the list.
“But that’s good, thorns I mean. If they’re out there, and the ungodly come sneaking about?”
“Ouch?” Curtis was laughing. “Though you’ll want to cut them back periodically or an Army could form up behind them. Think of the thorn forest in the Sleeping Beauty.” He gestured at the list. “If we get to a garden centre there could be fruit trees ready to plant. Then there should be seeds as well, so we can grow more veggies.”
“Flowers as well. I’ve been told that flowers are necessary for morale.” Harold smiled at the look from Curtis. “I can send you to the girl club to argue?”
“I’d love to go to the girl club, but not to argue.” Curtis shut his mouth and looked away.
“Who?”
“Never mind because I’ve got a problem. Look, you won’t say if I ask a question?” Curtis wasn’t quite blushing but the colour in his cheeks was definitely high.
“I’m not disclosing information about underwear.” Harold was trying not to laugh.
“No!” Curtis sighed. “Look, how long does it take, after a bereavement? Before a girl, a young woman might, you know, be interested? Elsewhere. I’ll wait, but I’ll be pissed off if someone else nips in.” Curtis rolled his eyes. “Shit, that sounded gross. I don’t mean a quickie, though she is gorgeous? It’s, well I think I’d like to try for long-term?”
Harold took pity on him and stopped the floundering. “I get it Curtis. I think it depends on the bereavement. Boyfriend, husband, Mum or Dad will all get a different reaction and no don’t tell me who. Then it’ll be down to if she wants the same.” Harold tried to work out something to say because Curtis wasn’t the only one to notice all those unattached women in the girl club. “Just be there. Not pushy but be a friend. If she needs a shoulder, pat her back and dry your shirt and be there next time.”
Harold sighed. “I’m no expert. Just remember, if she decides to give you a thank you kiss that isn’t an invite to stick a hand up her skirt. Take it steady. Kiss back just enough so she knows you’re interested. Bear in mind it could be years, or so I’ve heard.” Harold rolled his eyes this time. “We need a weekly magazine and an agony aunt.”
“No good. The girl club would produce it and advice for men would well be down the list.” At least Curtis had a smile now. “Be there, help out, don’t push it.” His smile widened. “No hand up skirt.” Inspiration struck. “Maybe I can get her interested in gardening?”
“Squished up together in a greenhouse? It’s a plan but remember the glass walls.” Harold escaped and heaved a sigh of relief. He was a long way from being a father figure because some of those young women were definitely on his own attraction radar. Worse still, several of them were very grateful because they gave Harold the credit for recuing them. Even if he thought they might welcome a bit of interest, Harold couldn’t really make a move if all they were offering was a thank you quickie. With a little smile Harold decided that Orchard Close needed a broom cupboard, one his sister didn’t know about.
* * *
“Harold, Harold!” Deja vu but this was Sharyn not Hazel and her voice was low. Even as he opened his mouth to answer the telephone rang downstairs. “I’ll get that, you get your soldier head on.”
“What? Trouble?” But Sharyn was gone so Harold packed up eleven days of lists and put his jacket and boots on. Sharyn was still on the phone when he came downstairs and she held the receiver out. Harold put it to his ear.
“It’s Emmy. I’m round here next door to Harry, visiting Sal. The bastard wants a blonde. He says his pal saw one here.”
“Slow up Emmy. Who says?” Harold mouthed rifle to Sharyn and she headed into the study.
“Two cars full of yobs and they’ve pulled up in front of Harry’s house and this one. They’re out of sight of the Army and one of them is waving a bloody great gun about. Looks like a cowboy pistol.” There was a voice in the background but Harold couldn’t make out the words. “Harry is shouting at him, telling him to clear off.”
“Can you get word to Harry and tell him not to go outside with that bloody rifle? He can’t shoot the damn thing so if this bloke starts Harry will just get hurt.” Sharyn already had Harold’s rifle and a box of rounds waiting for him. “I’m on the way and I’ll come in the back of number nine, the other side of Harry. Then I’ll stop them, all right?”
“Shoot the bastard dead, Harold. He’s on about searching the houses if he doesn’t get a blonde. Sal is crapping herself. We’ve only got one of those kid’s crossbows in here.”
“Keep down. You can use the crossbow so send Sal to Harry. I’m on the way. If the bastard comes in wait until he opens the door, stick a bolt in him from behind the kitchen door, and scarper while he’s yelling and bleeding.”
Harold threw on his long coat and took the rifle and ammunition from Sharyn. “Keep everyone inside and quiet, Sharyn. Bullets can go anywhere and if the Army get nervous or spot a gun they’ll open up.” Harold hid the rifle under his coat and headed out and down the street. He could already hear shouting from round the corner. As Harold came past the two houses containing the girl club Liz stuck her head out of a window.
“What’s happening, Harold?”
“Trouble. Yobs with guns. For Christ’s sake don’t turn up and give them any lip, all right?”
“Yes, I know. I said sorry. I’ll let the rest know.”
“Tell them to keep their heads down though if Casper is there he should bring his shotgun.” Nigel the brewer had been happy to give Casper his shotgun because the thought of actually shooting someone had worried the hell out of him. Nigel didn’t reckon he could do it except maybe to protect Berry.
“Will do. Go and gettem, soldier boy.” Liz moved back and closed the window. Harold strode up the side of the last house on Orchard Close, Betty’s house, and across the back garden into the rear of number nine. Hilda’s startled face popped out of a door.
“Oh, thank God. I thought you might be more of them. Toby is in here and wants to shoot the one with a gun. Tell him not to be so silly, please?”
Harold raised his voice. “Don’t shoot unless I tell you to, Toby.”
“OK Mr Miller, Harold.” Harold could hear the tension in the lad’s voice but he was here and ready, which was what counted.
“I’m off upstairs to talk to them.” Harold ran upstairs and to a front window, then looked round the edge. One man definitely had a cowboy gun, or a big pistol of some sort, and was waving it about. Harold opened the window just a bit to hear him, and put the ammunition on the windowsill. He flicked open the box and loaded as he listened.
“If you were going to do anything you would have started, you silly old fart. Now I’m coming up the path and if there’s no blonde in there I’ll slap you silly. Then I’m working down the row with my friends here.” The man waved at the five men around him. “My mates in the other car will take the other side of the road and they don’t care about hair colour.”
The pistolero looked around at the eleven men who had climbed out of the two big estate cars. “I told you, old men and office wankers.” The speaker turned back to number seven, Harry’s house. “We’ll take the keys to those motors across the road as well, since you don’t use them. Last chance. Where’s the blonde?” He took a step up onto the kerb towards Harry’s garden gate.
Harold banged the window wide open and raised
his rifle. Twenty yards, so the bloke might even hit Harold and with that weapon would be dangerous. Harold kept behind the edge of the window frame as much as possible. “Bad idea. Now get in the cars and piss off. You’ve been talking to the wrong person.”
The short stocky man swung towards the noise. Then he brought his other hand across to take a double-handed grip on his weapon. “Who are you then?”
“The man with the rifle. The others were waiting for me. We’re new residents and neither old, office workers or girls. Get in the cars and go.” The rest of the group were looking to each side and a man by the rear car reached inside and pulled out a shotgun. Single barrelled, small calibre Harold automatically noted. Two others pulled out crossbows and looked towards Harold.
“Maybe not." The pistolero was looking intently. “That’s a very little rifle and this is a very big pistol. Hand it over and we don’t kill everyone.” The men behind him, those not already holding a weapon, produced baseball bats or machetes.
“Liar. You would still carry on and steal women at least. Last chance.” Harold smiled internally because if Liz was here she would be muttering macho bastard about now. “Left eye or right?”
“What?”
“Do I shoot you through the left eye or the right one? Hurry up and decide.” Hopefully neither.
“Bullshit. Nobody can shoot like that.”
Harold wanted to rant a bit because every bloody member of the rifle club team could shoot the prat’s sodding eyes out at this range. Christ, the A team could hit the bloody pupil.
“He’s a soldier. He can do it.” Emmy didn’t sound too confident unfortunately.
“More bullshit, and now we know where you are, darlin. I’ll be right there in a minute.” The man raised the big pistol and Harold shot him through the left eye. At the sharp crack the shotgun wielder ducked behind an open car door and several men exclaimed as the gunman toppled. Harold ejected the brass and loaded another round, then slid the bolt home.
“Left eye, who wants to try for right.” One of the group near the body leaned forward.
