by Vance Huxley
* * *
When Harold arrived back at Orchard Close there were two big GOFS SUVs parked on the road outside the gates. He came in through the gate to find Vulcan, the GOFS warchief, in deep discussion with Sharyn and a limping Casper. Sharyn raised a hand to beckon Harold. “Vulcan brought disinfectant and dressings; all they could spare. We’re just sorting out a price. How did you get on?” Her eyes moved past Harold, counting vehicles and realising none of the passengers were Barbies. “At least they took the wounded.”
“Yes, and there’s more of what Vulcan brought on the way. I hope there’ll be no trouble?” Harold turned to look at the GOFS warchief as he spoke.
“Oh no, why fight each other when there’s a much juicier target just south of us?” Despite his cheery tone, Vulcan’s smile wasn’t for Harold. He turned to Patty, giving her an obvious inspection, top to toe.
“So, do you like what you see?” Patty seemed to be back on balance again.
“I like that none of it seems to be seriously injured. If you want someone to help with changing your bandage, or putting cream on any nasty bumps and bruises, I’m a willing volunteer?” Vulcan had re-acquired his civilised accent.
“Not on a first date, and we haven’t had a first date yet.” Patty had a lovely smile now, with a real hint of mischief.
Vulcan laughed, bowing slightly. “You haven’t held a dance yet, or at least I didn’t get an invite.” He became serious, just for a moment. “I will get an invite, won’t I?”
Patty stepped in a bit closer and lightly tugged his goatee. “I think you will. There again, you didn’t come to the last one.” She waved a hand to take in the carnage around them.
“If I’d had an invite?” Vulcan shrugged, but he definitely wasn’t joking now.
“This was sort of short notice. More like gate-crashing. I could have done with another dancing partner.” Patty had her little smile back, half-teasing.
So had Vulcan, the tone of his voice matching her look. “If some uncouth swine does it again, let me know. I’ll bring a few others who would like to dance with these lovely young ladies.” Harold kept quiet but had started to wonder if Vulcan, or Patty, actually meant some of the banter. They sounded a lot more civilised than the usual exchanges between gangsters and women. Both were in their late twenties, so maybe they both remembered how to flirt with the opposite sex and stay civil.
“If I know in time, you’ll be on top of my dance list.” Patty’s face suddenly hardened as her eyes focussed past Vulcan. “I hope the wounded scroats aren’t using our medicine?” Sixteen battered-looking men wearing just underpants and boots, three with rags as bandages, were carrying Hot Rod bodies out of the gardens. Their guards were wounded Riot Squad members with blades bared. Orchard Close residents were bringing more bodies from the garden to lay them out in the street with their other dead, some of them very small bodies.
“Those three are the only wounded that made it past triage. We didn’t waste real dressings on them.” Sharyn’s tone, and her unconscious gesture towards the dressing taped down one side of her face, didn’t seem worried about how few of the Hot Rod wounded had survived. “We had a few more surrenders after you left. Two Hot Rods went to ‘protect’ our ladies of the night. The idiots found out the lasses are also Riot Squad members, but not until their pants were round their ankles. The women only just remembered them.”
Despite the situation that brought some little smiles. A smiling Casper chipped in. “Another two were hidden in the wool store. They threw out their clothes as well as their weapons before coming out, to prove they were unarmed. The Riot Squad liked that idea so all the prisoners are working like that.”
The men shuffled past, avoiding looking at anyone so they missed Sharyn’s sneer. “All of them are completely terrified of the Riot Squad, with good cause. Those lasses are still very angry, Harold. Some of the triage wasn’t, not really, they just weren’t taking prisoners.” Harold winced internally, but not for the Hot Rods. Young women shouldn’t get into that frame of mind.
“You may as well shoot these as well. Unless you’re selling them to the Barbies?” Vulcan’s smile wouldn’t have reassured the prisoners if they’d looked his way. “The Barbies could warm up with them before the main event.”
“Why waste a bullet?” Ru, following the men, had her hand on her Rambo but Harold stomped on that idea sharpish.
“If they work, they live. If one of them does something stupid then it’s also terminal. I mean stupid, not sneeze at the wrong time.” Everyone relaxed a bit.
“They all understand they’re here to work or die.” Casper sneered at the line of prisoners. “They’ve been told. Hot Rods aren’t fit to touch decent people, even dead ones. When they’ve finished with the scroat bodies there’s blood and guts to clean up, or streets to scrub. That’s if any of them live that long.” There didn’t seem much more to say after that, so Sharyn and Harold drew Vulcan back to trading.
Vulcan stayed another two hours, most of it just so he could talk to Patty as far as Harold could make out. The pair were wandering about Orchard Close together with Patty smiling most of the time, which Harold was pleased to see. That helped everyone out because the eight GOFS who came with Vulcan spent the time helping with the clear-up. The fit, rested, uninjured men made a real difference because even bruises and strains were stiffening now. Outside the gates, when he finally left, Vulcan kissed Sharyn’s hand then opened his arms to Patty.
“I told you, we need a date before I even consider that.” Despite the words her smile looked genuine, definitely not against the idea.
“This wasn’t a date?” Vulcan sighed and held out a hand, palm up. “Your fair hand will suffice, if you insist.” When Patty put her fingers on his palm Vulcan kissed them gently, squeezing her fingers before releasing them. He made the almost forgotten phone sign, with finger and thumb by his ear. “Call me.”
Patty stepped in closer and caught hold of his goatee. Vulcan got his kiss, a quick one but definitely lip to lip. “Now I expect you to call me.”
“Oh yes.” Vulcan had a huge grin when he left. The GOFS tooted their horns and waved as they roared off, while Patty waved back.
Patty turned, saw the others looking at her and put her hands on her hips. “What?”
Harold and Sharyn laughed, because there was a definite defensive note in there. Sharyn made the point. “Vulcan is a senior gangster, a gang boss.”
“Yes, but so is Harold.” Patty held up a hand to stop any reply. “I know Vulcan probably isn’t a Harold, because Harold really is a soft shit at times. Vulcan has probably done some really nasty things in the last few years but so have I.” Patty gestured with both hands, to indicate her clothes and weapons. “Cripes, look at me, and Harold, armed to the teeth. I’ve even got a gang name, Demon. That’s not exactly cuddly.”
Sharyn shook her head. “Demon knitter.”
Patty just patted her sabre, which made the point. The gangs knew exactly who they meant by Demon. “Vulcan is a real smoothy. I know that but it’s nice.” Patty sighed, then suddenly sniggered. “Civilised conversation with lecherous intent is almost a dead art these days. If Vulcan turns up I might even save him the last dance, but I won’t be making plans to meet him in a dark secluded place.” She paused, making a production out of considering it. “Not unless it’s my place.”
Harold shrugged, turning back towards the entrance. “Good enough for me. We were just worried about you.”
“I know, but I’m twenty-eight and a long way past never being kissed. It’s your fault Harold. This place makes us think of the past and get a bit nostalgic, especially after a shit-fest like last night. Now can we just move on?” All three of them sobered at the reminder, heading back through the gates to continue the clean-up.
* * *
Sharyn held onto Harold just before they went through. “The Army challenged the GOFS when they pulled up. How many Barbies are coming?”
“Cripes! I don’t know but d
espite promising to come in quietly it’ll be Barbie quietly, and probably look like an attack.” Harold headed for the bypass, quickly shedding his weaponry and jacket.
After the challenge and a twirl he went up to assure Sarge that the manic women, the ones who would come charging up playing loud music, were friends. They were bringing medicine. “Though the challenge is much appreciated.”
Sarge laughed uneasily. “You heard the officer give the order, about anything like that attack happening again?”
“Fair enough.” Harold had heard but thought that challenging visitors was a very broad interpretation. “But thanks anyway.”
“The lieutenant seemed impressed by how many gangsters you killed. To be honest, the lads are a bit more concerned about how many of your people were killed or injured. Especially the, er, young ladies with chips? Those like Rihannon and Bethany?”
Harold didn’t smile because Sarge must be breaking a dozen rules at least. “Those two made it, but some of the others didn’t. I’m sure you’ll be seeing the rest if you check on your lads at the right time.”
When he came down from the bypass Harold arranged for the remaining squadettes, those who weren’t too badly injured, to take some soup. Rihannon and Bethany went with them, both bandaged but mobile. Tilly, another of the squadettes, had passed out as booze finally conquered grief. By then the lack of sleep had caught up, again, so Harold went to sit with Mercedes. He didn’t have much appetite but forced down a sandwich, dozed a little, and exchanged a couple of words with Mercedes when she roused. Eventually the requests for advice and direction dragged him outside again.
* * *
When their convoy arrived the Barbies were loud, very obvious and absolutely loved the challenge from the bypass. The soldiers received several very friendly offers, while all the Barbies waved or blew kisses. The convoy included the pickup and six cars stuffed with fighters. Ski bounced up to the gates looking decidedly worried. “How is Fergie?” She hesitated at the laughs, then someone reassured her. The Barbie still looked worried so Alfie sent a message asking Fergie to come and search some annoying women. For once he got his own back, because the Barbies couldn’t complain Alfie wasn’t searching them without upsetting Ski. Probably just as well, because Hazel had turned hyper-protective over her boyfriend once she’d been untied.
“While those idiots are being searched you should get your people to empty that pick-up. Doc said to treat the contents gently, and Malibu told me to tell you we’ve given as much as we can. Chandra will be over to argue about the price if you aren’t happy.” Ski shrugged, then grinned. “She’ll be over anyway, and so will Beetch. Beetch wanted to come on this run but she’s worried she’ll go all weepy if Logan’s dead or badly hurt. Then she’d have to shoot herself just to rescue her reputation.”
Despite the circumstances Ski’s bright, cheerful chatter managed to lift a few spirits. Her smile faltered when Fergie limped up to the gate, but Ski soon started offering all sorts of personal nursing care. The searches didn’t take long because most weapons stayed in the cars, allegedly because the soldiers would guard them. Once inside, the Barbies spread a little happiness as well as pitching in to help with the clear-up. The mood lifted when a couple of them suggested they should kiss all the injured better, like mummy did, and the rest joined in. Being Barbies, the resulting scrimmage ‘comforted’ women as well as men.
While the rest of her party helped unload the supplies, while flirting outrageously with the residents, Ski came up to the big house. She surreptitiously checked out the damage and stains while having a beer, then delivered a private question from Ken. “Is there a gunsmith here? One who can actually make firearms?” The Barbie looked very pointedly at Harold.
“No, but I would say that anyway.”
Ski nodded but wasn’t convinced. “Ken expected that answer, so here’s another question. How did you kill all those Hot Rods without losing more fighters? The thing is, we are pretty sure we know roughly how many of your Riot Squad are women.” She looked really interested, without any of the usual Barbie razzle. “I know your people are well armed, and probably good shots, but Caddi’s men were inside the walls in the dark. From the damage Ken saw on those vests most of the fighting was close up, hand-to-hand. Some bullet holes, but a lot with just blood which usually means a blade. We sometimes have trouble one-on-one with men, except for Ken and the biggest lasses of course. The only answer we could come up with is you’ve built enough pistols to arm everyone, so they shot the Hot Rods through the head.”
“Slashing or stabbing throats, or stabbing up under the armour, doesn’t damage the protection.” Ski didn’t seem convinced so Harold had a quiet word with Alfie, who went to collect Bethany and Ru as well as Fergie. The Barbies would wheedle parts of the puzzle out of different people. Then they’d fill in the gaps with imagination unless Ski had a proper explanation. While waiting he talked about the damage, the number of bandaged people, and how close the result had really been. The casualty figures flattered Orchard Close because the Hot Rod wounded died.
A bandaged limping Bethany with the badly bruised and bandaged Fergie and Ru arrived in their full Riot Squad kits, including spears as requested. Harold pointed at Ski. “This young lady,” Ski giggled, “is curious how you managed to kill those big strong men, without leaving big holes in their vests. If you could describe how the Demon shield and spear wall works, please?”
Ski stayed silent for a good while afterwards, her eyes working through the description, the locked shields, and the spears sticking out. She nodded as Fergie stood behind Ru and Bethany to stab just above shoulder height. The Demons had taken Alfie’s instructions and Harold’s hints because they hadn’t mentioned using Rambos between the shields. “Romans. You’ve created a legion.” Ski waved her hands, sort of indicating the kit. “Maybe not exactly but from what I remember of school it’s close, especially with those skirts and curved shields. Those spear heads, now I’ve taken a good look, are like big knives so even a glancing blow will work. Then once the spears are broken, those Rambos are nearly short swords. Soldier Boy’s Legion.” She shook her head, regretfully. “We, the Barbies, couldn’t do that. Our lot are too wild, which is a pity because your system obviously works.”
“Not against guns. We lost people because they shot us while we were closing.” Bethany’s voice echoed the pain of that. “We couldn’t always shoot back, not among the houses.”
“But when you got close?” Ski already knew, from the result.
“We cut them to pieces.” This time nobody could miss the vicious satisfaction in Bethany’s voice, or Fergie’s and Ru’s enthusiastic nods. “Payback is a bitch, and now so is the Riot Squad. The scroats shot the biggest first so there aren’t many lads left.”
At least Ski seemed satisfied that Harold hadn’t built a huge arsenal of firearms, just a proper army. She dropped the subject to concentrate on offering to rub something on Fergie’s bruising. The pair left together to get a pint or possibly to find ointment.
* * *
Not everyone had been convinced. With the Barbie Girl convoy tail lights still in sight, Ant came to see Harold. “Harold, I’ve got to ask because it’s bugging me now. Are you building muskets? New ones?” Harold had just relaxed when Ski left. Now he stood for a moment, wondering how to answer. “Those muskets aren’t right. I’ve never heard of anything like them, historically. Hell, they might be faster to load than a Ferguson, so they may be better than anything up to shotguns or bolt action with cartridges.”
Harold gave up and confessed because Ant was a weapons and history buff, but he swore the bloke to secrecy. Most people had no idea about historical accuracy. It took some serious talking to persuade Ant that progressing to rifled barrels would be a bad idea. Tessa gave Ant the bottom line. “If we managed to build real rifles, or even if news of the improved muskets gets out, the gangs will swamp us to get the gunsmith.”
Ant thought the stable door might be a fond memory as the news
galloped through the surrounding gangs. “Trev probably told Caddi, and he will have told the other top Hot Rods. If Trev or Caddi told someone in another gang, half the city will know.”
“Trev. Where is that little bastard?” Ant flinched away from the look on Harold’s face, but it wasn’t aimed at him. “And Pete.”
“I told you. Pete isn’t a problem.” That came out flat and deadpan, so Harold dropped it because Tessa was his sister. He followed Tessa’s pointed finger, turning the corner to find the Riot Squad’s idea of prison. Trev had been kept alive, but he’d been tossed onto the compost heap among the contents of several composting toilets.
Trev seemed to be in a lot of pain, moving very little and biting back moans when he did, but nobody seemed to pay much attention. As Harold came up, Beverley, one of the guards, turned and spoke to the captive. “Shut your trap. If you keep on moaning and whimpering I’ll kick your bloody hip again so you’ve got a reason for it.”
“He’ll shut up soon Beverley, permanently.” Beverley nodded, satisfied, but Trev actually looked pleased to see Harold. He really wasn’t firing on all cylinders.
Penny, another guard, spat on her prisoner. “Just pull on the strings and give him a couple of kicks to break any scabbing. He’ll bleed out, because we only patched him up enough to live until you’d seen him. We shoved Tampax in the bullet hole and a sanitary pad over his face, because real humans need the real medication.” From the muffled noises Trev made, behind the pad taped over his ruined mouth and nose, somebody might have already kicked him several times. Harold had half expected the man to be dead, because a lot of survivors wanted a couple of minutes with Trev.
“How is Elise?” Harold asked Penny, but saw the flinch in Trev’s eyes so he was alert enough to answer questions.
