by Vance Huxley
Giving a shit wasn’t easy. The scruffy couple in front of Angel, boss of the Valkyries, had the pinched, beaten look of refugees. There’d already been too many of those. “Don’t look like that, Shiner, I’ve already taken enough crap from Odin and Hangaku. This pair might be refugees, but they’ve got news.”
“Now Shiner’s here you can tell us.” Hangaku, queen of the Yakuza, sneered at the couple. “Then we can get back to doing something important.”
“Let me guess. The Prophet bloke ran over their enclave. He’s big and scary and he’s got lots of men.” Odin tossed his gold-painted safety helmet onto the table and sat down.
A long-haired woman with a split skirt and fishnet stockings promptly installed herself on his knee. “Hush, Odin. It must be more than that if Angel wants to see us.”
“Yeah, okay Frenchie. Come on then Angel, give.”
The two men standing by the door, resident park wardens whose homes had been captured by these gangsters, glanced at each other. They both knew why the gangsters were snapping at each other, on edge. The Last Prophet and his gang, the Children of Cain, were still growing. Sooner or later he’d head this way, unable to resist the lure of thousands of acres of potential farmland with cattle, sheep, deer, chickens, ducks and fish. These men and women were worried they wouldn’t be able to stop him.
Though none of those present expected this news.
* * *
“This pair have been living in a captured enclave, working for the Last Prophet.” Not much of a life, going by the flinch from the man and the way the woman glanced nervously to the East, towards the Prophet’s gang. Angel didn’t notice because she wanted to see the reaction to her surprise. “His blokes, those Children of Cain, ain’t religious. They get pissed, do drugs, and they’re nasty vicious shits who’ll kill as soon as look at you. Three of them decided to party with this pair’s neighbour and brought their own booze. The walls were thin, and once the screaming and begging died down the blokes got pissed and began complaining.” Angel had got them now, because this was the first real news from within the Prophet’s territory. “A hundred and fifty of them, nearly half the fighters, are leaving. They’ll be going south, across the motorway, to help out some other gang.”
“Why? It can’t be a favour.” The Headmaster, leader of the Hard School, frowned at the couple. “Without a reason, I’m not sure I believe it.”
“The other gang will send the same number back with the fighters, to help the Last Prophet. He wants extra men to attack a big gang.” The ragged man looked around the room, cringing from the suspicious looks. “You are the only big gang we know of, so we thought a warning might be worth something.”
“Worth what, exactly?” Hangaku looked the pair over. “A good meal for starters I suppose.”
“Food and clothes, please, then we’ll keep going. We’re going to cross the motorway towards Dudley Zoo.” The man put his arm around the woman. “It’s got to be better over there.”
“Not really. There’s a nutter called Conan over there who’s as bad as the Prophet.” The Headmaster sighed, glancing at the other gang leaders. “If this pair answer all our questions I vote we give them a place with the newbies. That way they’re handy if we’ve got more questions later.”
Eventually, after repeating every word they’d overheard several times and explaining the exact conditions under the Last Prophet’s rule, one of the park residents took the pair off for a meal. The gang bosses sat around the table to chew over the news but kept coming back to the one unpalatable truth. If four or five hundred fighters came at Sutton Park, they’d run right over the defenders.
* * *
As the conversation wound down to a moody silence, Asif, one of the park wardens, cleared his throat to get attention. “It just occurred to me there’s no need to wait to be attacked. You know there’ll be a lot less men there for a week or so, so why not nip over there and hit the Prophet first?”
“We’d have to take nearly all our fighters, and we’d never be able to hold those enclaves.” Shiner shook his head regretfully. “Though I’d love to do it, knock the bastard back.”
“He’s already captured too many enclaves. We’d never take them all or hold enough to make a difference.” Angel thought for a moment, tapping her fingers on the table. “No, too risky. We’d get bogged down and then the Prophet would send for the men he’d lent out and they’d hit this place. We’d come back to find everyone dead or the Prophet’s lot dug in and waiting.”
“We don’t have to take the enclaves. If we hit each one, trample any crops and toss fire bombs over the wall, the fighters will have to come out and try and stop us. If we keep moving, they’ll never know where we are. Before we leave we could let them find us but get set first, suck them into an ambush.” Odin smiled, suddenly keen on the idea. “That would kill or wound more fighters, which is the real purpose after all.”
“We could decide on a time limit? Get out and back here before anyone else can react?” The Headmaster gestured vaguely towards the door. “That couple can tell us the direction and distance to the nearest enclaves, so we can hit them one after the other before the news spreads.”
“If we pull enough of the fighters outside the walls and kill them, the reinforcements won’t matter so much.” Hangaku nodded as she followed the thought, her hand going up and back to touch the hilt of her sword in an unconscious gesture. “Enough damage will stop the Prophet coming this year. If we get inside an enclave we can burn any workshops and steal or kill the experts. Burn any food stores as well. It’ll be a shitty year for the civvies, but the fighters will have to help them fix any damage and grow food.”
As they talked it through, the gang leaders gradually came round to the idea of a spoiling raid. They hadn’t enough fighters for conquest, or a head-on fight, but this might derail the Prophet’s plans. With luck, the borrowed men would have to go back sooner rather than later because the other gang would need them. As the discussion went around and around, several of the gang bosses were unhappy about going in with only the information from the two refugees. They’d be almost blind, with no idea where the fighters were based, while the defenders would know the ground.
Even though they were included in meetings, the ex-park wardens weren’t included in planning that involved fighting. Now Asif glanced at Jer, the other warden, who nodded very slightly. “We can help with scouting, if you want?” He shrugged at the disbelieving looks from the gang leaders. “We’re wildlife wardens, which means we sneak about spying on the love life of blackbirds and rabbits.” As expected that brought a few comments about peeping Toms and weird fetishes, which lightened the atmosphere a little. “Believe me, people are a lot easier to sneak up on. We aren’t fighters, but we can come with you and sneak a peek before you attack. Just in case there’s more fighters than expected? Or if you like we can nip off now to look the job over. Then you’ll know as soon as the fighters start moving.”
Odin looked around at the rest and smiled. “Thank you Asif. That’s more than we expected from civvies and would be a big help. I don’t like the idea of basing everything on those two witnesses. Just remember you aren’t there to check anything’s love life.” Asif laughed along with the rest then he left, along with Jer.
Once outside both men grinned conspiratorially at each other. “We aren’t fighters? Aren’t you tempted to take your little friend along, so you can reach out and touch someone?”
Asif sniggered, glancing back to make sure nobody had followed. “Right between the eyes? Not this time, not until we really have to. I reckon we should take five, one pair to scout the enclaves, one pair to check on this fighter swap and a backstop. That’ll leave three to keep an eye on things back here, watch out for any little songbirds trying to contact the Army or the Prophet. If it’s a go, a raid like this should help to blend this lot into one force. They’ll have to act together and rely on each other.” He raised a hand in farewell as he headed off to check on the sheep. “It’s
slower than the traditional methods, Jer, but we’ll get them trained, and hopefully civilised, in the end.”
* * *
Conan:
Conan jumped off the back of the pickup and slapped Garth on the back. “Enough of this pissing about, collecting tribute and terrifying fucking wimps. You’re in charge for a couple of days because I’ve got some catching up to do. I’ve let the Bitch heal up properly so I can really let go.” He laughed, turning towards the house where the woman was imprisoned. “You watch, she’ll crawl out of there in a couple of days whimpering like a dog and lick shit if I tell her to.”
Garth watched Conan marching towards the house, carefully keeping his face blank because Conan hadn’t been waiting for the Bitch to heal. The shithead had used up three women while his own wound healed, broken them into mindless slaves and then thrown them into the brothel. He’d done that before, but this time it was because a different woman had scared the nasty bastard. Despite the big act, Conan daren’t let the Bitch get near his wound. Nobody else seemed to have put it together, but somehow, knowing that a chained woman frightened Conan had started Garth planning properly. He wanted Conan to take out those Sikhs first, because the Barbarians would probably split if Conan died. Garth thought he could hang onto the majority, maybe two-thirds, which was plenty.
“If you stand looking at that house for too long, someone might wonder if you’re plotting.” Garth whirled to meet Sylvester’s smiling face. “Though if you are it’ll take time and careful planning. Probably a magnum as well, with silver bullets dipped in holy water, and a cross cut in the end to make really certain. The sister at the hospital will probably bless it if you say who it’s for.”
“He’s frightened of her.” Garth cursed silently because he shouldn’t have said that.
“Yeah, he is, because she won’t fit into his world view. Sick shits like that can’t stand a woman that won’t back down. Though most sick shits would have killed her by now, which makes him several levels shittier than most.” Sylvester slapped Garth gently on the shoulder. “Take care and as much time as you need. Meanwhile I’m working on ways to take Mahaan and his merry band without losing too many Barbarians. Just to make it interesting, Conan has decided he wants them alive.”
“Luck with that.” Garth got the hell away from there because Sylvester was right. Conan was paranoid enough to be suspicious of a long look. Though as he walked his mind kept coming back to the Bitch and a gun. The Bitch wouldn’t need a magnum, because Conan left his vest for cleaning when he visited her. After all, he didn’t need clothes in there.
* * *
Inside the house, Catherine groaned when she heard the front door thrown open. The arse had finally come back. She pulled herself up to sit against the bedhead, pulled her knees up to her chest and bunched the loose chain under her hand. With luck he’d be careless after so long. As Conan stamped up the stairs, shouting to tell her to get on her knees and open her mouth, Catherine began to tremble. One of the nuns told her the arse nearly died, so she’d had a break. The trouble was, Catherine wasn’t sure she could take it all again. While Conan had been hammering away at her all the time she’d concentrated on surviving just one more day, but now he’d be starting all over again. The memory of pain as he slowly broke her apart kept working away at her mind, at her will.
“Well look at that, all healed up.” Her appearance genuinely surprised Conan, now that the bruising and scratching had healed. Despite some scarring, the Bitch had kept her good looks and someone had even straightened her nose. “So, do you want a beating or a fucking first? Your treat.” He laughed as she spat towards him, careful to drop his clothes and weapons where the chains wouldn’t reach. “I’ve missed this, a real challenge. I’ve got two whole days to spare, and this time I’ll break you. Unless you’ve had enough? If you’d rather have a quiet life in the brothel, you know what to do. Just crawl down the stairs on your hands and knees, suck and fuck me in the middle of the street, then offer yourself to anyone who fancies it.” He laughed, confident she wouldn’t until he’d had his fun. “Half the gang will want a piece because you’re famous, but it’ll only be the once.”
As he closed in, Catherine felt tears sting the corners of her eyes but held them back. She didn’t want him to talk, to taunt, to offer redemption if she crawled low enough because right now it might work. What he asked was horrific, but they’d take care not to actually kill her and it would be the last time. The women in the brothel were rarely beaten, as long as they did whatever any of the perverted bastards wanted. Catherine gritted her teeth, because if she gave in some other woman would be dragged in here. That strengthened her resolve, as did her pride in holding out this long. Once the pain and the rape started, she’d get angry and he’d never win. Catherine just needed him to stop talking and start punching and she knew one sure way to get him started. As Conan reached out towards her breast she lunged forward, flailing with the loose chain. “Fuck off, pig.”
The chain smacked Conan across the mouth, drawing blood, but then his hand caught her wrist while the other slapped her head sideways. Catherine straightened her legs, aiming for his nuts but Conan turned just enough, cursing as her heels hammered into his thigh. A fist drove into her belly before Conan started swinging with both hands, again and again and again as she screamed and cursed and spat and clawed.
* * *
By the time Conan’s two days were up and he handed the Bitch over to the nuns to be patched up again, Sylvester had a plan for taking the Sikh families. That would force the surviving fighters to join Conan. Sylvester had been working on several gang bosses, persuading them to do what Conan wanted. Now the boss Barbarian had changed his mind and wanted to attack, run right over the Sikhs immediately. “Enough pissing about with the other gangs, Sylvester. If the wankers won’t agree I’ll run straight over them after flattening that Mahaan bastard.” Conan originally wanted the Sikhs as captive fighters, but there’d been too much planning without any fighting. The Bitch still bit and kicked, the Sikhs weren’t giving up, and he hadn’t killed anyone in weeks. “Forget all the smartarsed stuff. Those fucking wogs aren’t worth the time and I’m not begging some fuck-all gang boss to stop the slippery wog fucker from escaping. They’ll do it or I’ll trample them as well.”
Sylvester knew that straight opposition would just wind the nutter up, and then he’d charge off and screw everything up. He sucked air in through his teeth, like a mechanic looking at a dodgy engine. “Expensive. You’d best bring up every man we can spare from the conquered enclaves. Even then, without the roads properly sealed some of the Sikhs might get away. If we can’t scoop up the women and kids we’ll end up killing the fighters, and you want them.” He shook his head sadly, looking at a stain on the carpet rather than Conan. “If we lose too many men, I hope none of our enclaves decide to rebel. That would be a bloody nuisance.” He still didn’t look at Conan, just picked up his mug and peered at the beer in it with a frown on his face.
“I’ll burn the whole fucking place if any of them try. Every man, woman and child.” Conan considered punching the wall but knew Sylvester would think it was stupid. It was stupid; he could break a knuckle. Conan had started considering things like that a lot more since he’d been knifed. “If we don’t go soon the fucker will escape anyway.”
“I doubt it, because the four gangs the other side haven’t quite signed up but they’ve sealed the roads. The gang bosses know if he gets away you don’t need them, then they go on the list of targets. They‘re just quibbling over details.” Sylvester repeated what he’d already explained several times, carefully, judging the reaction as he went rather like hand-feeding raw meat to a starving, rabid animal. “If we take it slow, get them to come in totally willing, you gain four new warbands with the best part of two hundred decent, well-armed fighters.” He gave Conan time to consider all the new fighters. “The rest of their fighters are the usual kids with no brains and too much testosterone.” Sylvester shrugged deliberately, m
aking it look casual as he gave the animal another morsel. “Get rid of two of the gang bosses, make two strong warbands out of the best fighters, then throw the useless ones at the zoo. They can sop up those machine gun bullets before we send the Sikhs in.”
“We’d need a lot of useless shits to swamp machine guns.” Conan knew he wouldn’t be leading that attack when he launched it. “We’ve only got one AK and that Army rifle so I’d prefer an edge, some of your sneaky shit.” Conan kept both machine guns locked up most of the time, unless he had a really tough nut to crack; then he never let them out of his sight.
“The Zoo are short of ammo because Dealer doesn’t visit them. Those coppers might shoot their guns dry killing a couple of hundred bullet magnets, then coppers are shit at hand-to-hand.” Which Sylvester knew Conan would like because it was his strong point.
“You’ve just talked yourself into another trip, buttering up those arses to make sure the roads stay sealed.” Conan smirked when Sylvester groaned in resignation. He’d let the spy have another go at negotiation but if it took too long? “Keep an ear open for a nice easy enclave to storm, just to take the edge off. We need loot to pay that fucking Dealer, or it’ll be us without bullets.” He laughed; his good humour restored now he’d dished out some grief.
After Sylvester left, Conan called Garth in for a beer. “I’m sending you to keep an eye on those Sikhs. There’ll be a steady build-up of blokes but keep them back a bit so it isn’t obvious. If a chance comes, I want them ready to go. Don’t waste ammo because the price of powder just went up, but don’t let the bastard get away or you’ll be on a cross like Attila.”
Garth left, deep in thought. If he had a lot of blokes gathered together and the Bitch found a gun? He shelved the idea because the gangs the other side of the Sikhs had been promised too much. Even if Conan died, they’d still want paying. Garth didn’t fancy leading an attack against Mahaan and his men so maybe he should find something to keep Conan occupied? There were always a few people in the conquered enclaves that hadn’t been completely cowed.
