by Vance Huxley
“We need something a bit tighter than the first agreement. Everyone sending help when it’s needed isn’t fast enough.” The speaker, a man wearing a clerical dog-collar, looked around the rest. “At the moment, if our patch of crops is raided, we call for help. By the time the rest get organised it’s all over. We’re losing men and food.”
“Come on Preacher, the Imam and the Sinners aren’t going to join the same gang as you.” A tall, slim, white gang leader, Eli, indicated a shorter black man. “My gang and Kermit’s might join the Sinners if it came to it, but none of us agree with how any of the others organise things.”
“Well I’m not going to abandon Sin, am I, Eli?” The biggest man there, Sinner, put an arm around a smaller redheaded woman. She grinned and elbowed him. He glared at her without any real heat. “Since it’s your idea, you explain it.”
Sin smirked before turning to the other gangsters. “Not combined into one gang, but we can come part of the way. How about if we put twenty fighters from each gang together, as a sort of central force?” The woman indicated the Preacher, then the Imam. “Your people fight side by side when there’s an attack. Can they do that every day, put up with unbelievers?”
“As long as your people accept that we are entitled to our beliefs. Then you are helping to feed the children of the faithful, so you are misguided but good people.” The Imam’s brief smile at Preacher acknowledged that none of them met pre-Crash definitions of good. “The last few years have tempered the more extreme believers, and left realists.”
“What happens if some other religious nutter decide to attack?” Kermit, the black youth, scowled at both the religious leaders. “Will your people join them if they declare a bloody jihad, Imam, or will Preacher help that bunch up around St. Paul’s Cathedral if they start another crusade? The first crusade is how they got control of the place.”
The Imam curled his lip in a sneer. “The fanatics aren’t true followers of any faith. They twist words to gain power. My people at least will be keener to kill them than they are to shoot you.” His smile had a real edge to it as he looked around the others. “Which should come as a relief to all those present. I agree with Sin, not something I would normally say. Twenty fighters, fully armed. Where do they live?”
“Near the playing fields, the farm, in the old school buildings. They can work on the farm in between protecting the crops.” Sin nudged Sinner and gave him a wickedly knowing look. “We should have arranged this before Valentine’s Day, so they could have a party to settle in. Never mind, we’ll have a warm welcome for the next assholes who try to raid the crops.” Heads went together to sort out the practicalities.
*
Across the world, the unwanted surplus, the people who had no place in the Cabal’s new world, struggled to survive. The original culling of the global population had now exceeded any of the Cabal’s estimates. Even so, more must die because the new social order did not include categories such as unemployed, poorly educated, criminally violent, or some ethnic groups such as gypsies.
A growing number of the proposed victims in the UK suspected they were on the government’s hit list.None had any idea their deaths had been ordained decades ago, before many of them had even been born. For now, many people, even those ruled by violent gangsters, concentrated on making their lives at least tolerable. The more ambitious gang bosses led their fighters in pursuit of power and wealth, and in doing so brought the Cabal a little nearer to total success.
Corned BeefLunatics
Sin might be happier, down in London, but a fortnight after Valentine’s,any hint of good feelingin Orchard Close had long since gone. “I hate shopping,especially when I traipse five miles and then can’t get in.” Casper scowled down the access road from the bypass. A big crowd outside the localMartwere being held back by mesh, barbed wire, fully manned guard towers and a repainted armoured car. Beyond those the squat grey shape of the Mart, with the doors still firmly closed, wasn’t exactly inviting.
Alfie sighed and turned back, his shoulders slumping. “We’ve got no option but to go home, Casper. The nutters are out in force sothere must be new computer games for sale. If we get in the way they’ll kill us.”
“We’ve got no option but to shop, Alfie.” Harold, Soldier Boy, wasn’t any happier, because Alfie’s reaction should be the right one. “Myxomatosis has hit the wild rabbits, hard,and according to the Coven the captive ones can’t supply enough protein. Wealso need spam for the fats, and there hasn’t been any for a month.” He inspected the blocks of young men waiting at the front of the crowd, each gang wearing something distinctive. The front ranks were all armed with machetes, with those at the rear carrying baseball bats or homemade clubs and knives. “When the gangs go for the games, we might get to the spam and out again while they’re fighting. More dried chews would help, but the Coven reckon we’ll all get sickwithout the spam.”
“We can’t get our weapons out, not where the Army can see us.” Casper glanced back at the Army post guarding the bypass, scowling again.Only unarmed pedestrians were allowed along the Army-controlled bypass, so the iron bars were disguised as frames in the backpacks. “That lot down there don’t have to come down the bypass, so they’ll be armed to the teeth.”
“But we’ve got the right people to deal with anything but gangsters.” The other four nodded. Casper, well over six feet of weight-lifter type muscle, and Alfie, only six-foot but similarly muscled, were all that stopped Henry from looking truly impressive. Those three made Harold and Billy, both almost six feet and strong fit men, look fairly average. “We’ll head for the toilets, get the weapons out and shop quickly. If there’s tins we can just shove the iron bars in the packs on the way back. The scanners will never pick them up.” Harold pointed at the crowd. “We want to be just back of the gangs, three or four people back. Otherwise all the rest will pick the shelves clean anyway.”
“Like the last time. There’s less food on the shelves every time, Harold.” Alfie squared his shoulders. “I don’t fancy it but you’re the Soldier Boy.”
“If you get a bruise, Hazel or Veronica might kiss it better?” Casper sniggered, seizing an opportunity to tweak the youngster. “Which is it this week?”
Alfie blushed bright scarlet, suddenly looking much younger than his seventeen years. “It’s not like that.” He still didn’t like admitting anything to do with Hazel where Harold could hear, despite Harold seeing them kissing several times. When the Crash left her a teenage orphan, Hazel found refuge with Harold’s sister and’adopted’ Harold as a surrogate uncle. Now seventeen, she’d moved out but vacillated between still calling him UncleHarold and accusing him of spying on her love life.”Come on or we’ll be too late.” Alfie started down the road.
“Wait up. Let those maniacs pick a spot first.” A convoy of SUVs pulled up in a ring on the rubble near the Mart, the occupants pouring out of them to form a tight group. All the fighters were women, and thosewearing blonde wigs regardless of their ethnicity warned everyone.The Barbie Girls were here. Because of their reputation, other gangs made way for the nutters to take a prime spot at the front of the crowd. “None of our treaties cover Mart visits, so we’ll find a good place behind one of the less aggressive gangs. The GOFSare the best of our neighbours so they shouldn’t give us grief.” Harold smiled, trying to look confident. “Not if they want to buy more decent beer.”The GOFS, Barbie Girls, Hot Rods and Geek Freeks were all theoretically allies of Orchard Close, but that didn’t guarantee safety today.
The five men moved down to the back of the crowd, using their size and appearance to make their way through the shoppers. The ordinary citizens, residents who weren’t fighters,parted without giving Harold any trouble buthe stopped before reaching the GOFS. One glanced back, raising a hand in greeting. “Hey, Soldier Boy. I thought you didn’t play computer games.”
“Hi there Ogou. Some of us shop for food.” Harold glanced each way to see who had noticed. His Soldier Boy rep came in handy sometimes, but som
e of this lot might try for a scalp while he was outnumbered and under-armed.Hopefully they were all more interested in new computer games.
“Cooee, Soldier Boy. Want a lift home?” The blond wig beneath the raised hand made that a no.Any man getting into a Barbie Girl vehicle ended up in Beth’s, and never came home. “Ooh, it’s Alfie. Can I get searched while we wait?” Two more women looked over and waved, laughing as Alfie blushed scarlet.
“Alfie needs to save his strength for the walk home. It keeps him fit.” Harold smiled and waved back, hoping that Chandra wanted computer games more than trouble. The gods that Harold didn’t believe in must have been feeling benevolent, because the electronic locks in the three double gates clicked open. With a roar the front ranks of the crowd pushed through, surging across the open yard towards the three sets of revolving steel doors.
Along the Mart roof the guards rose from behind their sandbags,some of them bringing up rifles rather than the usual shotguns firing non-lethal rounds. Worse, the bowser usually connected to the armoured car wasn’t there. Instead, the slim barrel of a machine gun poked out of the turret alongside the water cannon. “Come on, keep up or we’ll get trampled.” Harold prayed none of the idiots ahead had brought a firearm or even a crossbow, because the Mart guards weren’t known for restraint. All the joking of the early days had disappeared.
“Crap.” Henry had just seen the reason for today’s turnout.
“What is it?” Casper, with Henry, kept close by Harold while Alfie and Billy watched their backs.All four looked around for the problem.
Harold looked where Henrypointed. “The adverts on the Mart. There’s a new TX-Box out today and a new upgrade to Urban Riot.” Both were must-haves for any gang boss.
Casper glanced back, without much confidence. “It won’t be the usual fighting over games, the gangs will kill for either of those. We can call it off?”
“We’ll get trampled trying to get back now.” Behind them a solid mass of people had the same idea as Harold, get to the food quickly. “We’ll just stock up and run.”
“Cripes, we’d better hurry.” Caspermoved faster as those directly ahead broke into a run.
“Quick, catch up.” Harold set off, easily catching up because the initial rush slowed.Chants, screams and the clash of steel weapons announced the first gangs reaching the doors. While thefive shoppers waited for the blockage to clear,they fended off others trying to get in front. Harold didn’t want some idiot attractingattention from the nutters ahead. Behind him he heard grunts, as either Alfie or Billy punched or kicked the more persistent.
To either side a few fools ran past before reeling back, screaming, as gang fighters turned on them. At least the rearguards were using baseball bats or fists. A roar of triumph heralded the first through the doors, butthe access choked again when too many tried to follow.Now some of the bodies reeling back or dropping spurted blood. The knives were out and the machete blades were swinging in earnest.
“Hold up.” Harold paused to take a set of brass knuckles from a conveniently unconscious gangster and pocketed them. “For emergencies.” Sharp cracks sounded from behind. Harold tensed, but there were no more. The guards had shot some poor bastard but only one or two.The Mart visits were getting more dangerous as the amount of food slowly lessened.
The crowd surged forward again as the surviving gang members spread out inside the Mart, aiming for their prizes. Once inside, Harold side-stepped away from the tangle of fallen, shoving past a couple of loners fighting over some poor bastard’s trainers. With a sigh of relief, he headed towards the food aisles.
“Oh cripes, some nasty little pervert has changed the layout, again.” Nobody could work out why that happened, unless the Mart employees enjoyed watching the shoppers mill about in confusion. Harold stopped, looking where Henry pointed and flinching. Today’s confusion would be lethal, because the glittering boxes of gaming gear and the racks of games were right where the meat should be.
“We’ve got to get out of the way.” Casper pointed to the opposite side of the doors. “Over there.” Sure enough, the screaming and yelling at the back, around the usual games shelves, had started back towards the front. The machete wielding maniacs would arrive any moment, just in time to meet the poor suckers here for basic rations. The Mart version of customer care had gone from confusing their customers to trying to kill them.
The five of them tried to get across to the other side, away from the approaching mayhem, but hit a traffic jam. The unarmed shoppers had stopped just inside. Seeing their usual gangster bodyguards now bearing down on them, most tried to retreat, butmore shoppers pushed in from behind.Meanwhilethe screaming horde of gangsters lashed out at each other, and anyone else blocking the way to the gaming shelves. Those outside shoved harder to get inside as more gunshots rang out in the yard. It wasn’t a massacre yet, but the place had only been open a few minutes.
Harold slid his hand into the pocket with the knuckles, barging his way across the flow. Just in front, a score of Trainspotters wearing anoraks assaulted a smaller group, soHarold pointed left. “There, go round them. Make for the toilets.” Harold needed privacy, so the Mart cameras didn’t spot how he smuggled weaponry past the Army.
“That’s further in, Harold.” Alfie glanced at the doorsbut more people pushed in, adding to the chaos.If anybody retreated,the guards might shoot them as they came out of the entrance.
Billy had already started off. “If the games are here, the meat should be back there anyway.”
“Cripes Harold, the nutters are everywhere.” Casper caught a swinging arm, slapping the man hard so he spun away. “Oh great, look.” Harold and Alfie followed Casper’s arm and saw the sign.
“Oh the nasty, stinking, perverted little creeps.” Alfie avoided swearing but doing so would be hard today.The signs for flour and meat hung near the exits. May some God help anyone shopping there,when some barmy banger ran for the exit with whatever he’d grabbed. Queues always formed at the score ofbooths because only one person could go through at a time, but today they’d be death-traps. Gangsters who’d already fought for their prize wouldn’t wait patiently in line. They’d kill to get out before someone stronger set on them.
“Toilets first, get the iron bars, then wait our chance. First lull in the lunatics, we dive into the meat shelves, fill the packs and come back this way. We’ll leave after the fighting dies down.” Harold glanced back at the scrum just inside the doors. “But definitely iron bars first, and soon.” Gangs of men and youths were already hunting, catching and robbing smaller groups who had collected games or gaming boxes. Thatprobably seemed safer than joining the melee by the shelves.
*
“You two, out, now.” The two startled men having a pee finished quickly and left.Billy smashed the only camera that still might be functional while Casper blocked the doors. Unfortunately, the swing doors had no handles to hang on to. Harold passed his pack to Alfie. “You get the iron bars out, I’ll stop anyone trying the door.” He slipped the brass knuckles on.
“Here, in case you need a shield.” Harold accepted Alfie’s pack, one with a frame of aluminium tube.Once outside, as expected, the only ones coming towards the toilet were unarmed shoppers.The nutters were concentrating on fighting to get out,or so Harold thought, until a tight knot of fighters boiled out of the next aisle and into him. Harold staggered, trying to keep his feet as he was caught up in the tangled fighters. Hestumbled and went down, almost losing the rucksack. Rolling clear of the feet,Harold brought the rucksack round over himself, just in time to stop someone caving his head in.
For a moment, Harold thought a gang had decided to collect his scalp, but the fight swept onwards. Some of the gangsters were taking an indirect route tothe exit, butothers had realised and set an ambush. The running fight boiled around Harold as the defenders tried to make a stand.
Someone dropped next to Harold, shook himself and sat back up. The oik looked at the rucksack and made a grab. “Cheeky git.” Harold let go
with one hand and elbowed him in the side of his head, hard enough to rattle the scroat’s head on the shelving. Harold did it again on the side of his exposed neck and the bloke slithered to the floor. Keeping tight to the shelving while keeping the bag between him and the mayhem, Harold eased up onto his feet. Boots or maybe clubs hit the rucksack twice on the way up but canvas absorbed blows better than he would have. When his floor-wrestling partner grabbed Harold’s leg, Harold leaned over and smacked the brass knuckles into the side of the thieving git’s head. “Stay.”
Harold looked for a way to get back to his friendsbut the remnants of the melee, a mixture of gangsters and innocents, were still fighting or being kicked or trodden on. As the fight shifted further towards the checkouts, Harold gratefully headed towards the toilet door. “Harry! Harry!”Another yell, more frantic this time,gave Harold a direction. He located the source, Pete, Tessa’s younger brother, and the youthhad found real trouble. Even if Tessa lived in a different enclave, so he didn’t see much of her these days, Harold couldn’t just abandon her brother to a nutter with a machete. Tessa had a young son by Harold’s best friend in the Army, Stones, and before the Crash he’d spent more than one night sleeping on their couch.
Pete, wearing an old cycle helmet, used a battered wooden baseball bat to fend off another blow from the machete. Biting back a curse, Harold glanced backandforth. The main fighting concentrated on a small group with two big boxes, probably the new TX-Boxes, rather than the computer games scattered across the floor nearby. More pieces flew from Pete’s splintered club as the machete landed again, butluckily the wielder relied on brute force.The blade could have easily lopped off a few fingers.
With two quick strides Harold reached over the top of the assailant’s open-faced crash helmet, jerking back and down. He lifted a knee into the small of the youth’s conveniently angled back, hard, yanking him over backwards and down with a high-pitched squeal. Harold stamped on the hand with the machete. It wasn’t enough, so he leaned down, using the brass knuckles on the lad’s exposed nose and mouth. Once, twice, three times, short solid jabs hard enough to break teeth but not the skull. The nutter dropped the machete, clutching at his ruined face. Harold glanced up again to check if anyone had noticed.
