by Vance Huxley
* * *
A quick search of Barry’s room didn’t turn up a bomb-maker’s bible, so Harold headed for the garage the ex-fireman used for experiments. Whatever materials Barry had left in there might be a hint even if Barry didn’t actually make the bombs, just designed them. There’d be no clues from Bernie or Sal. They’d been caught in the blast when their room blew up, setting the house on fire.
“Hello Harold.” Alicia looked pale with bags under her eyes, and downright scruffy which was unusual. She also sounded wary, maybe a little guilty.
Harold suddenly realised she might be looking for a memento, or possibly just sitting in here because Barry used the place. Regardless of rumour everyone knew there’d never been anything between her and Barry, but since he’d died it was apparent there could have been. “Hi Alicia. I’m sorry to interrupt but I’m looking for any hints on how to blow stuff up.” A quick glance showed that apart from the bottles and boxes scattered over the benches, there weren’t any hints in here.
Harold turned to go but a little laugh stopped him. It wasn’t humour, but was still a surprise from Alicia. “Funny that. I’ve actually got a lot of hints about making bombs, instructions really, but I can’t understand them.”
Harold spun round, looking at the benches, but there still weren’t any papers or a convenient diary. “You found Barry’s notes?”
“Not really.” Now Alicia sounded apologetic as well as embarrassed. “Barry kept his notes in his head so nobody stole them. He wrote down a complete set for me to hide in my room, in case an experiment went wrong. I’ve been trying to make sense of them because he must have expected me to carry on.”
Just for a moment Harold started to step towards her, to laugh and give the daft twerp a hug, then he realised she meant it. “Not really, Alicia. In that case he’d have explained them and maybe demonstrated. He gave them to you because…” Harold wondered exactly why, then realised. “He trusted you to hide them and not let on. Then nobody like Caddi would find out and steal them.” He looked around the garage workshop. “There isn’t a hint in here or even in his room. Barry probably assumed Bernie would survive if he made a mistake, and you’d hand the notes over.”
“But Bernie and Sal are dead, so we need someone to make bombs and Barry gave me the notes. I’ve been looking but I don’t know what some of the materials are. I’m not sure I can do it and”—Alicia took a deep breath—“I’m frightened I’ll get it wrong and kill someone, one of us.”
“So we find you a partner, someone to check everything. Maybe two people, or three, however many it takes. There’s the library to explain any long words.” Harold smiled at her, trying to look confident. “It won’t matter too much if you get the fusing wrong on the first ones because I want to make a gnome-bomb.”
At first Alicia wasn’t going for it, but then a little smile showed. “A gnome-bomb?”
“Bethany wants to make a boom-gnome instead of a sweet gnome, out in the fields. If I get you some help, can you make me some of the fillings please? In plastic bags? No fuses yet because Finn will be trying to fix up electrical detonation.” Harold had to persuade Alicia to get started or give up the notes, because someone would identify the ingredients even if it took sleepless nights in the library. He tried to remember what Barry had shown him, a million years ago, and couldn’t. “You’ll do better than you think because you’ll have picked up hints. All I remember is something about a microwave and bleach and cleaning stuff and… sugar. I even bought some for you.”
Alicia looked torn, still worried, then she straightened up and nodded firmly, looking around the benches. “I’d better tidy up.” Which was when Harold realised that the clutter wasn’t Barry’s. Alicia must have been trying to identify everything in the jars and boxes. Harold sent a thank you to all and any gods that she hadn’t actually tried combining them. Alicia glanced down at herself. “I’d better tidy myself up first if I’m having visitors.”
“And eat, because I bet you missed breakfast.” That didn’t get an answer, just a guilty glance at the floor. Harold left to find helpers, after a detour to call in on Abigail who lived in the next bedroom to Alicia. Abigail promised to keep an eye on Alicia, make sure she ate properly and hopefully get her to relax with the kids now and then. Next he needed someone who wouldn’t be too sympathetic, or Alicia would fall apart. The assistant had to take it easy on her, but not too much, yet be conscientious because bomb-making wasn’t a slapdash sort of job. Harold gave in after a few minutes, passing the recruiting job to his sister. Sharyn would go to the coven, which meant they’d all know Alicia needed someone to watch over her. He didn’t want her taking pills and trying to hang herself, again.
Alicia wasn’t the only one grieving, or who thought she should fill in for someone who died. Veronica had more or less moved into the library, to cover the telephone switchboard now that Faith was dead and Hilda out of action. Hilda didn’t seem to be badly injured, but the bang on her head wasn’t clearing up as fast as it should. Lenny thought it could be concussion. He would normally recommend avoiding stress, but that wasn’t going to happen while Hilda was still upset about seeing Rascal killed. At least Veronica wouldn’t neglect herself because her mum, Kerry, kept calling round to bring food and drinks and check on her.
Faith, Barry, Sal, Bernie, there were a lot of familiar faces missing, the sort of person who wouldn’t normally be lost in fighting. At least some of the faces would be coming back, though mostly fighters. The news from the Barbies, or at least the news about patients, stayed hopeful.
* * *
The morning of the meeting, Harold didn’t have time to worry what might happen when his allies met the General. A terse, worried phone call from Doll called him to the front gate. “Harold, come quick. There’s a big Barbie convoy, but they’re coming in slow.” By the time Harold reached the gate, Doll was even more worried. “I can see some of the passengers and they’re our people, the injured ones who went to Beth’s for treatment. They aren’t due home yet!”
“Calm down. The passengers must be fit to travel or Doc wouldn’t have let them come. Call out their friends and relatives, but don’t make a big fuss. Organise stretchers, or wheelbarrows if necessary, in case some can’t walk.” Harold lifted his binoculars. “That’s Ski in the front car. Phone for Fergie. She might get more information than the official message.”
Ski spilled the beans as soon as she came through the gate. “Ken is worried that if we get an ultimatum it’ll include keeping your fighters, not sending them home. We told them, your people. They could go home early and risk being caught here but unable to fight, or risk being stuck in our place while the General is attacking Orchard Close.” She turned to look back at the convoy. “We’ve brought seventeen, because all but the five worst reckon they can pull a trigger. The other five wanted to come but Doc said no.”
“Does that mean the General is definitely coming, and the Barbies are definitely out of it?” Neither of which would be good news but Harold needed to know.
“Ken doesn’t know, but she’s always told us to work on the worst-case scenario. That way nobody gives you an unexpected lead enema.” Ski stopped for a moment, thought, and sighed in relief. “Oops, forgot for a moment, but I didn’t need any cripesing. You’ll need stretchers, because some of the walking wounded aren’t, not really.”
“All in hand.” To prove it, Harold moved aside to let two men past with a stretcher. “Now has Ken got any more news, or are you here to put ointment on Fergie’s new bruises?”
“Fergie hasn’t got… has she?” Ski shook her head at Harold’s smile. “Naughty. In that case, lead me to the beer. I’ll let you know what Ken, and the other two, reckon the General will be after.”
An hour later Harold watched the Barbie convoy leave, reassured that whatever the General threatened, the Barbies wouldn’t join an attack on Orchard Close. The Barbies had been subdued, angry, but the anger wasn’t directed at Orchard Close or the wounded. The rank and fil
e fighters weren’t happy about possibly being forced to stand by while the General attacked, nor were they happy about letting the patients come home only half healed. From the goodbyes, there were personal reasons for some of the worry and anger. Lenny came to stand beside him. “A good few of these shouldn’t be coming home yet.”
“Is it actually dangerous for them, or do you just need extra nurses?” Harold turned to him and shrugged. “Because they are all volunteers. They’ll tell you, and Ski more or less told everyone, the Barbies think the General is coming for us. Every patient who came claims they can shoot.”
“Christ Almighty, there’s a big difference between pulling a trigger and fit for combat, Harold! At least half of them will tear their wounds wide open if they try anything strenuous.” Lenny looked and sounded horrified. “They’d have been safer in Beth’s.”
“Not necessarily, and anyway they were given that option but turned it down. Please do your best to get them fit enough to shoot, at least. I’ll put them behind walls, sat in armchairs if necessary, but I’ll use every trigger finger that volunteers.” Harold watched Lenny stamping off up the street and wished he had the luxury of letting the wounded sit this out. While he was fantasising, he wished he had a helicopter to pull them out and send them to a real hospital, then drop a bomb on the General.
* * *
Despite an emergency meeting, all the residents could think of was to keep preparing for the worst. Bearing in mind what Ski said about worst cases, Harold nipped down the road to talk to the new neighbours. This time Millicent invited him in for a cuppa straight away, but wasn’t so happy when Harold asked to talk to whoever was in charge. “Nobody really, Harold. We don’t work like that.”
“I don’t mean one person, a boss, just the best people to decide what to do next. Like our Coven, they sort out anything that’s not defence.” Harold sipped his tea while Millicent thought for a little while, then sent a woman off with messages.
Eventually he had five curious people in the room, all a little worried. “I know you’ve just got rid of Caddi, but there might be worse coming.” Harold barely hesitated, because these people needed to know. “The General could be coming for Orchard Close, and he’ll be using the Bloods, the Bloodsuckers.”
Chaos broke out as everyone spoke at once, until Callum finally managed to quieten the rest. “Just Orchard Close or us as well? Is this because we joined you?” He shrugged, carrying on before Harold could speak. “Not totally officially, but we aren’t seriously considering any other option. We’ve even chosen a name. After seeing your fields, we’re the Allotment.”
“They’ll attack us first, then if they win I reckon they’ll scoop you up before attacking the Hot Rods or the GOFS. The thing is, most of our women will die rather than give up, so their fighters won’t get their usual fun. They’ll go after the nearest women they can get at.” Harold didn’t need to be graphic because everyone had heard about the Bloods. “If the Bloods lose, the retreating fighters will be scattered all over. They will pillage somewhere like this just as some sort of perverted payback.”
“Can you take us inside the walls?” Millicent looked around the group. “We aren’t really fighters but we can bandage or something?”
“Then if we lose, you die, or the Bloods get you. I’ve got another option for you to consider. If you camp out in the ruins, at least half a mile away from a cleared road, and manage without fires for a few days, they’ll never find you.” He didn’t need to be psychic; Harold could see the rejection in their faces. “Then if we lose, you can head for the GOFS. I promise they are a big improvement on Caddi.”
“Attila the bloody Hun would be an improvement. The GOFs are another gang, aren’t they? They’ll want rent and all that.” Callum slumped, already expecting the worst. “We’ll have nothing again.”
“They charge rents but actually put guards in the estates to keep them safe, not rob or abuse them, and the GOFS won’t take your women or food. Though you won’t actually pay rents, and will be properly protected as full gang members because you’ll have a buy-in.” Harold stood up, turning towards the door. “This is all just maybe, but I’d rather sort it out now than wait until there’s Bloods already over the borders. Talk about the idea for a minute, then I’ll show you my solution.”
When Harold came back nobody looked happy. Callum, who seemed to be the spokesman, barely let him get inside the door. “What happens if the Hot Rods nip over the border while you are busy? Or if some of these nutcases trip over us out in the ruins? If they’re running, they won’t be sticking to the roads. Then there’s all our food, and the kettles and stuff. Bedding. We’ll never shift it.”
“I told you there’ll be a buy-in, so you’ll be full GOFS gang members. The Hot Rods won’t dare touch you. If necessary, the rest of the price will arrive either later today or tomorrow, as soon as we’re sure what happened at the big meeting.” Harold put the rough wooden box onto the table. “There’s four single-shot pistols in here with ammo, three crossbows, crossbow bolts, and I’ve got a dozen second-rate machetes in the car. The crossbows haven’t got cranks but someone reasonably strong can pull the cord far enough.” He pulled out a crossbow bolt. “There’s a score of these, with hunting points that were used to kill deer. I’ve been selling this sort of stuff, but I’ll give you them as rent.”
Three of those present pulled out the weapons, a man and two women, but Callum and Millicent had picked up on the last part. “Rent for what?”
“For taking in a few adults and their kids, and parking space. I’ve got twenty of those electric cars and twenty of Caddi’s diesel motors.” Pointing towards the back of their little enclave, Harold gave them the punch line. “If I send a message, take down the rubble barrier, just enough to let a van through. We’ll drive right through and out the back to hide the vehicles. Replace the rubble and they’ve disappeared. If you have to hide, use the cars to shift your food, bedding, whatever. I’ll want them back if we win, except one hybrid car you can keep for Mart runs. If we lose, Gofannon will take the cars as a buy-in, as full gang members. No rents.”
“What’s the real reason? Those electric cars are worth a fortune anywhere in the city, too much to give away.” Callum wasn’t the only one to be suspicious.
“One car is because the adults want their kids safe but don’t trust my other escape route. You keep that one. The rest are because if we go down I don’t want the General to get anything. Scorched earth, I hope. Gofannon already tried to buy one electric car. He made a really good offer so you can’t miss.” Harold almost crossed his fingers over the next part because it would mean taking a chance. “If we lose and any of ours can escape in the chaos, I’d like them to have a place to run to. Only to these houses because they won’t know where you went. They’ll hide so I’d like you to check before you head for the GOFS, and take any survivors with you if it’s safe.”
“Scorched earth?” Millicent looked impressed and worried, but not for herself. “Do you want us to take any more of the children or people who can’t fight? We can manage for a day or two.” She turned on a couple of the others who looked as if they might object. “You want to leave the school teachers? Or those little kids who came over for the gardening lesson?”
“Thanks, Millicent, really, but we’ve got a bolthole for the rest, somewhere they think is safe enough to ride it out.” Once again Harold turned to leave the room. “Talk it over. I’ll get the machetes because I’m leaving them here anyway.” By the time he came back all six were in total agreement. Hiding in the ruins, armed, sounded a lot better than sitting here waiting to see who came down the road.
* * *
While Harold appeased his conscience, because he felt guilty about not being able to protect the little estate, Vulcan and Ken were finding out exactly what the General had in mind.
“Take really good care of him, Beetch.” Ken glared at a decidedly unhappy Rhys as he started across the gap to join the Barbies.
“Don’
t worry, he’ll beg to die for a long time if you don’t come back.”
“So will that shit.” Gofannon gestured towards Julius, marching steadily towards the GOFS as a hostage for Vulcan. “But I reckon the General is playing straight for once.”
“In that case—Ken, shall we dance?” Vulcan bowed, sweeping a hand towards the waiting group of heavily-armed men.
At least that lightened the moment. “From what I’ve heard, it ain’t me you want to get on the dance floor, or just on the floor.” Ken smirked as she set off but Vulcan soon caught up. “So how long does it take to disarm a Demon?”
“I’m too much of a gentleman and much too fond of my fingers to find out.” Vulcan frowned as he took in the group ahead. “Who did they swap for Wellington? Patton? That doesn’t seem likely.” That had Ken wondering as well, but then it was too late to talk privately.
“You know me, and my friend here is Wet Willy.” Eleven-inch, the leader of the Pink Panthers, had obviously survived the takeover. “I’d love to search one of you, but I’ve got my orders.” He jerked his head towards a man in a black suit, wearing wraparound shades and carrying a stubby ex-police automatic rifle. “He’s Scrooge, my keeper because he don’t swing my way. According to him and his boss, the pair of you keep all your weapons because it won’t make any difference.”
After a quick glance round at the number of men with very good firearms, Vulcan couldn’t argue with that, so he led the way to the indicated car. Ken went to a different vehicle, and the small convoy set off.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later the cars drew up outside a large tent. A man with an Army uniform and lots of braid on his hat came out, followed by a bigger man with less braid. Once Ken and Vulcan were out of their cars, the first man indicated the tent. “I’m the General and this is Patton. Come inside and sit down. I’ve got an offer you won’t refuse.” With that he turned and went back inside. Ken and Vulcan glanced at each other before following. Inside everyone took a chair around a table, where the General had unrolled half of a map. The exposed portion showed part of his territory and a wide sweep from here across to TesdaMart, marked to show all the gangs in between.
