by Vance Huxley
“They might, especially with a lorry.” Casper looked along the line of bricks, towards the gates. “It’ll be a hell of a job. Are you really worried?”
“Yes. Not all the walls, just those where a lorry might get a clear run at them.” Harold didn’t have to pretend to be worried because Dealer didn’t give hints, normally. “You heardabout the General hitting another enclave, a real bloodbath? According to a couple of the Barbie visitors it was someone called the SIMS, and they had proper walls and strongpoints. The General won so his men got through them somehow. Sooner or later he’ll find a way to come for us and the Geeks, if only because of what happened to his men in that railway cutting, and he’ll come prepared.” Harold didn’t mention his other worry, but Casper knew about Caddi anyway. “Top priority, Casper. I’ll even let you use diesel to move bricks from the demolition to the gates.”
“Cripes, that urgent? All right, I’ll get on it.” Casper put on a silly smile. “Building walls, ooh, that’ll make a nice change.”
*
Others made their own significant contribution to everyone’s safety. Martha, one of the Demons and a trainee musketeer, suggested that the cheapest underskirts at the Mart might make bags for powder. She’d been disgusted with how thin they were, then realised the spark from the cap might burn through. A quick test using her underskirthad proved the theory. The shoppers bought a stack, which the sewing apprentices turned into tiny bags. Up to now the reloads varied from paper through a variety of cloths thathad to be cut to make certain the powder ignited. Many had preferred putting the wads, ball and loose powder in, to be sure the weapon would fire. All the musketeers now spent some of their time creating pre-load bags with powder, wads and a ball. The musket volley from Orchard Close would go on, and on, and on.
At least sixty of the residents could now operate the hybrid musket, over twice as many as the number of weapons. That worked out well in the harsh reality of battle, when the shooter was more likely to be put out of action than the musket. Unfortunately, musket practice left tracks in the snow, while the noise of the firing couldn’t be hidden. Hopefully, the watchers thought the Orchard Close musketeers were firing a few weapons a lot of times.
The second row of the Demons began practising with old spears, the less useful versions such as the knife blades on broom shafts, but only in the dark so no enemy had any warning. The ancient weapon enthusiasts finally agreed on a design for a proper spear head, so Liz and her strong shouldered assistant started making them. The newweapons totally outclassed the practice versions.The spear head consisted of a wide, leaf-shaped blade that would slice if it only got a glancing hit, whilethe sleeve went back half a metre up the shaft to stop someone chopping the head off. Harold certainly wouldn’t want one jabbing in his face in a fight, or anywhere in his body at any time for that matter. The Demons and the fighters who would defend the walls were downright enthusiastic.
Liz produced the first copy of Harold’ssword. He tested it,then Liz, Patty and Wamil tried his blade and the new one to compare how they felt and moved. The second sword Liz produced came in a lot closer to the original, near enough to use as a real weapon. Harold started proper sword training with four women and three men. Sword fighting, not fencing for touches, the style included an iron bar in the other hand and a kick in the crotch if the opportunity presented itself.
The trainees discovered how hard the sword could be hit without taking damage, and what the pointy bit could do. The iron bars improved whenLiz filled the smallest bore steel tube with lead, before weldingon a hardened sleeve to weight one end. The weapons were both robust and packed a hell of a wallop. Some were promptly paired with the swords, safely out of sight, while others replaced the plain bars other fighters already carried.
The sword wielders were to plug leaks, by killing any loners getting over the wall and avoiding the Demons. If possible, they would work in pairs with someone trained to use Wamil’s knives, so hopefully two to one. Those training with Wamil and her knives sparred with those using swords, or fought alongside them, which gave both of them an idea of their partner’s skills and weaknesses.
The Riot Squad wasn’t a properly integrated force such as Ant had proposed, because of the variety of styles and weapons.At least letting everyone train in their preferred style meant the defenders were keen on practice, andwere soon competent and pushing to get better.Harold tried to blend the lot into a system, to give them a chance at the enemy.He reallyhopedthat when the moment came the trainees would take that chance and strike to kill,thatnobody would freeze. His worst nightmares included the whole force breaking and running, leaving a few individuals to die.
*
Not everyone spent their time strengthening the defence. The scavengers resumed after the holiday with renewed enthusiasm. A cheering crowd pushed homea small touring caravan,found tucked away in what must have been a custom built garage. A falling wall had crushed the car inside the front but not the rest of the building. The scavengers broke into the intact rear for tools, but then spenthalf a day throwing bricks about to retrieve their prize. The triumphant group asked Harold where he wanted to go for his holidays.
Harold didn’t have the heart to suggest cutting it down for a trailer, or for Liz to have the springs, but didn’t know what the hell to do with it. Casper claimed a part of his initial connecting wall to the Annex needed rebuilding, as part of Harold’s new fetish for better walls. Once he’d dismantleda short section, willing hands pushed the caravan inside to give them a garden shed. Casper and his apprentices rebuilt the wall, thicker as Harold had instructed. Once finished,the brickies went back to their long-term job, thickening the main Orchard Close walls by an extra half metre at least.
Despite all the work, none of the gardeners used the caravan as a shed, and Harold soon found out why. He’d stopped the unmarried couples getting a bit of privacy under the bypass, but now they had a love shack. Harold wondered how many others thought of the other use, an early warning system if someone did try to use those gardens as an attack route. He also wondered if Mercedes would like the caravan. After all, there’d be no kids or sister there.
New Year
Precinct Nineteen:
Deep under a hillside, on a raft in a dead-end canal, David the ex-policeman woke up after his own New Year celebration. No hangover, but he felt definitely dazed and still bedazzled. Beside him a low chuckle and a warm body brought a happy smile. “Good morning, and a very happy New Year.”
David looked into brown eyes surrounded by tousled dreadlocks and some bedraggled feathers. Inga didn’t need lamplight, even her bedhead looked damn sexy. “Happy New Year. I never realised mermaids were a New Year tradition.” He started to gesture towards the water around them but the sleeping bag held them tight.
“It could be?” Inga yawned and stretched as much as possible, a startling but very pleasant experience for David. “I suppose we’d better sneak back home. Will you be drummed out of the barracks?”
David laughed gently and hugged her. “Possibly. I think we can safely say any hint of secrecy has gone.”
“Hah, that big smirk gave the game away ages ago.” Inga sighed, wriggling an arm out to snag her clothing. “But we ought to get back.”
“I know, buffalo to milk, fish to feed, zebras to muck out.” The pair got dressed, climbed into a small rowing boat and extinguished the small oil lamp.
*
As he rowed towards the entrance to the canal tunnel, David kept teasing Inga about the life of a Zookeeper, until her eyes opened wide and she put out a hand to shut him up. He turned to look over his shoulder, out of the entrance, and fumbled at his belt. Unfortunately he didn’t have any firearms, and a machete wasn’t going to stop the boat coming under the railway bridge. His first thought was that it would rip the net and let all the fish out, but that faded into insignificance when he took in the men with crossbows and the muzzles poking from loopholes!
“Quick!” Inga gestured. “To the side.” David du
g an oar in deep and she reached for the rope slung along the wall, stopping the rowboat before it reached the line of sunlight just inside the entrance.
David thumbed his radio, keeping his voice down. “Anyone, this is Six-One-Three. Armed boat in the fishpond. Out.” The radio stayed silent so maybe the tons of rock above them had stopped the signal.
“I’ll go.” David turned at Inga’s voice, ready to argue but he stopped, speechless. She’d pulled her jumper and shirt off and was dropping her jeans. “I can swim better in underwear. I’ll use the buddleia on the wall, just there by the entrance, to climb up to the top of the bank. Then I’ll let everyone know what’s here. Don’t say too much on that police radio because all the neighbours listen now.”
David glanced at the distance, then back. “They’ll see you. They might shoot, or catch you.”
“But if they try to catch me they have to follow me, and you’ll be waiting here in the dark with that machete. I’ll dive back in if I’m spotted, deep so they can’t shoot me.” Inga put a foot in the water. “This water is freezing.” She tried for a smile, but it looked more nervous than confident. “I’ll need a rub down afterwards, to warm up?” Before David could answer she dived over the side, entering the water with barely a ripple. He grabbed onto the rope with both hands as the rowboat bobbed, trying to spot her. He knew Inga could reach that buddleia, she swam like a mermaid, but the next part worried him.
Sure enough, she’d barely got her feet clear of the water when a man pointed and two others aimed weapons. “You. Stay still! We can’t miss from here. Who are you?”
“Inga.” She’d abandoned the diving back in plan. The approaching canal boat had stopped, but much too close to risk a dash for safety.
“Let me see you. Hands empty.”
“I’ll fall if I let go.” Inga showed her head, shoulder and an arm, her wet black skin in stark contrast to the bush and bricks. David eased the rowboat forward. If he showed himself and distracted them, just for a second, she’d have a chance.
“A woman?” The spokesman sounded baffled. “Swimming? In this weather? Where did you come from?”
“A good question.” David sagged in relief as Sarge spoke up. “I’m more interested in where you came from, and who you are. Before you answer, I should mention there’s three policemen pointing automatic weapons at you.”
“Police? I’ve been looking for you. Are you Precinct Nineteen, the ones with the cows?” This voice, from inside the boat, laughed. “Or not cows, someone told me. It’s all right lads, this is who we want.” On deck the armed men, who had all crouched when Sarge spoke up, slowly straightened.
“You’ve got a very strange way of getting in touch. That canal leads under the motorway so how did you get past the Army?” Sarge wasn’t relaxing.
A hatch clanged open and a tousled head came out. “There’s people cutting holes in the wire and crossing all the time, ones and twos carrying a bit of meat or something similar to trade. It’s easy if you wait for a gap in the patrols. That’s no good for us but we’ve finally managed to clear a tunnel, one that starts and finishes out of sight of the Army. The government had welded big grills across it.We’ve got customers begging for real meat, if you’ll sell wholesale?”
While the men shouted, David tried to get Inga’s attention. She finally heard his low calls. “Come on, now. Quick, they aren’t looking.” Inga glanced at the tunnel, at the boat where the men were all looking at the banks or towards Sarge’s voice, and took her chance.
“Hey!” The man stopped, staring at the widening ripples where Inga had disappeared under the water. “Bloody hell, is she a fish?”
“Nearly.” This voice came from the other side of the canal. “I’m Teddy and I’m pretty sure I know exactly what Inga was doing. Now how about you put those weapons down and tie up this side.” The sigh was loud enough for everyone to hear. “You’ll see her again, and get the edge of her tongue when she has to mend the net.”
“A net? Never mind. I’m Skipper and we run a frozen fish delivery service. We’ve traded with a couple of gangs for some of your meat, but I thought it would be more profitable to find the source.”The man climbed out onto the deck.”Put the crossbows down, lads. I think this is a no fishing area.”
Inside the tunnel Inga had surfaced beside the rowboat, her teeth chattering. “Give me a hand.” David held onto the wall rope with one hand and her with the other and pulled her aboard. “Teddy can sod off.” She could hardly talk for her teeth chattering, even when David wrapped his coat round her. “Or at least until I’m warm. Take me back to the towels so I can dry off and get back in that warm sleeping bag for a bit.”
David would have argued but he didn’t fancy facing Sarge and everyone else, not when it was obvious where he’d been with Inga. Not only that, but he’d just pulled Inga out the water clad only in wet underwear, and getting her dry and into the sleeping bag sounded like a terrific idea. As he sculled deeper into the darkness he could hear the newcomers introducing themselves properly. Sarge and Teddy would be pleased with the new trade, a customer who had contacts elsewhere.
*
Sutton Park:
About sixteen miles away, the residents of Sutton Park were waking up to the consequences of their New Year party. “Wake up, dopy. That Nosy bloke tried to do a runner.”
“Wha? Chelle? What’s up?” Shiner, the leader of the Skins, skinheads, rubbed his eyes and peered up at his ‘wife’s’ face. “My bloody head is killing me.”
“Serves you right. You just had to try everyone else’s home brew. Now get your pants on because we might have a problem.” Chelle, christened Michelle, nudged him with her foot. “Happy New Year, misery.”
Shiner’s eyes weren’t tracking right but he finally managed to get dressed, even if Chelle had to lace his boots. When he finally picked up his baseball bat and opened the door, Shiner paused at the sight of all the bodies littering the floor. Not real ones, these were still breathing but might feel worse than he did once they woke up. He picked his way across to the kitchen, noticing in passing that Hangaku’s idea had worked. The Yakuza leader had suggested a party with members of every gang, to break down some barriers.
The skinhead tangled with an Oriental and the two women, only one a Valkyrie, cuddled up in a corner, were obvious examples. Another met Shiner’s eyes when he reached the kitchen because Odin, the big man leading the Vikings, had an arm around a slim woman with a slit skirt, fishnets and long black hair. As Shiner stared a voice spoke behind him. “You’ll need a wakeup, I’m guessing.” Hangaku, an Oriental woman who always wore a Japanese sword sheathed across her back, pointed to the table. “Coffee. Hot, black, and stronger than Odin’s willpower. I wonder if he actually learned any French.”
“Doubtful.” The Headmaster, boss of the Hard School, already sat sipping a drink. “Frenchie turned up well after the Crash. She said the school needed a French Mistress, but I’m not sure exactly what sort of lessons she gives.” The woman in Odin’s arm smirked.
“Now you’re here, we can get started. After all, the asshole chose your gang.” Odin raised his voice. “Bring him in, Asif.” The door opened and a man with a big scar across his nose staggered in. He stopped as the man behind him, a middle-aged Asian, jerked on his collar.
“Nosy?” Shiner remembered what Chelle had said and his face hardened. “You were running?”
“No, I swear!”
“Asif?” Odin looked at the Asian man.
“I found him sneaking through the marsh towards the woods. There’s no reason to go that way.” Curious eyes centred on Asif. “One of the pregnant sheep didn’t fancy using the barn. She’d snuck off into the wood so I went to fetch her back.”
“What did he steal?” Shiner scowled at Nosy and raised his baseball bat. “Were you selling out to that Prophet bloke?”
“No, I swear. I didn’t steal anything.”
“He only had a pistol and blades.” Asif put the knife, machete and firearm on the
table.
“So where were you going?” Now everyone looked baffled, because those weren’t enough to buy in anywhere.
Nosy opened his mouth three times and shut it again, looking around the assembled gangsters, before he took a deep breath. “I daren’t say, just in case it gets back.” He looked frightened, but not necessarily of the people present. “One of you could be a spy.”
“If we are, you’ve already dropped yourself in the shite. A spy?” Hangaku frowned. “For who?”
“I’m not sure. I leave messages. Sometimes there’s a message for me, asking for information about one of the gangs, or weapons, that sort of thing.” Nosy had hunched right over, cringing in anticipation. The likes of Hangaku weren’t noted for their restraint.
“Who pays you?” Chelle looked round the rest. “He has to know that.”
“No pay.” Nosy shut up again, until Shiner smacked his bat on the table. “If I don’t do it, or I’m killed, my mother and sister go to the camps.” A racking sigh followed. “They’ll go there anyway if any of you are reporting as well, because I’ve told you.”
“We’re all gang leaders here, elite or whatever. I doubt we’ll be selling out.” A slow smile started on Hangaku’s face. “We can send someone to watch this drop-off point, from a long way off. Better yet, we can feed whoever it is some shite information.” She waved a hand at Nosy as he made an inarticulate noise. “Not shite enough to be obvious, or you’re no good to us.”
“Good thinking. Well done Asif. We’ll take it from here.” Odin nodded to Asif, who left. Shiner finally got his coffee, and everyone sat to find out what Nosy had been asked to find out. With luck, they’d figure out who wanted to know.
Just out of sight of the building, another of the erstwhile wildlife wardens, Jer, beckoned Asif behind a shed. “Well?”
“It’s a mystery. He’s a spy of some sort, but only because his family will go to the camps if he doesn’t report.” Asif shook his head in despair. “It’s bad enough having to put up with this lot.”
