by Vance Huxley
PUTTING DOWN ROOTS
Fall of the Cities – Book II
BY
VANCE HUXLEY
This is a work of fiction. Any names or characters, businesses or places, events or incidents, are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this eBook may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author.
© 2016 Vance Huxley
Published by Entrada Publishing.
Printed in the United States of America.
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1 — From the Ashes
Chapter 2 — Setting Boundaries Mk II
Chapter 3 — A Brave New Year
Chapter 4 — Rules for Kissing and Killing
Chapter 5 — Hunting Techniques
Chapter 6 — Visitors and Visiting
Chapter 7 — Levelling Up and Betrayal
Chapter 8 — Lucky Lucky
Chapter 9 — Ferdinand, Roast, Casper's Fury
Chapter 10 — Nightfall
Chapter 11 — Comback Spankfest
Chapter 12 — Recruitment Drive
List of Characters
To my Noeline and to the Joy of my life
Thank you to my editor Sharon Umbaugh,
for turning my words into a book worth reading.
My thanks to Rachel at Entrada
for all her hard work and encouragement.
Chapter 1:
From the Ashes
Deep in the mostly abandoned English city, a sports stadium towered over the mainly derelict housing nearby. A group of young men and youths armed with makeshift clubs and a few machetes and firearms moved down a street lined with looted and wrecked shops, many burned out. A tall muscular black man pointed at the stadium ahead. “See, I told you. Nobody touched it because there’s sod all in there.”
“Not even that fucking great mob of lunatics were interested.” The overweight man in his mid-twenties frowned. “So why do we want it, Snoop?”
“Because it’s a fucking fortress. All the entrances are steel plated to stop fans getting in without paying, or dossers getting in there when there are no games playing.” Snoop ran forward. “If they’ve left all the kit you’ll be a happy boy, Bull.”
“I’ll be a happy boy if they’ve left the hot dogs.” Laughter rang out from the group around Bull as they followed Snoop. That turned to cries of alarm and then glee as a man ran from a ruined shop ahead, clutching a shopping bag. The group set off after him, quickly running the fugitive down and then beating him to the ground. They stripped off his shirt, jeans and shoes while one handed Bull the bag.
“Do we kill him, Bull?”
“No need, he’s no danger.” Bull laughed. “Bring the twat with us. He’s local so he’ll know where all the boozers are.” The big man opened the bag. “Where the grub is as well. There’s beans and a couple of cans of stew in here.” He kicked the man. “Get up. You’re our native guide now. If you run I’ll let these fuckers kill you. One of stay near him. If he tries, cripple the twat so we can all have some fun.” Bull looked up towards the stadium. “Now let’s have a look at that place.”
Shortly afterwards the gang boosted a youth up to prise away the wire mesh above a gate and an alarm sounded. The youth wriggled through the gap, ignoring the alarm, and dropped down inside to break the padlock and open the gate. A score of whooping, yelling young men ran through the empty corridors and one found the alarm, silencing the impotent warble with a club. The gang cheered when Snoop appeared wearing a helmet with a grill across the front and wielding an aluminium baseball bat.
“The electric is on but there’s no hot dogs here.” A youth shrugged. “Sorry Bull, there’s a shitload of fizzy pop and tea and coffee, but no food.”
“That don’t matter, because Snoop is right. It’s a fucking fortress. How many more of those bats and helmets are there, Snoop?” Bull held out a hand and Snoop handed the baseball bat over.
“There’s lockers full of kit for baseball and that American version of football.” Snoop rapped his knuckles on his head. “These have gotta be as good as crash helmets and there’s knee guards and shoulder things.”
“Magic. Give me that helmet then take this lot and get them kitted out.” Bull turned to a young man with a healing cut down his cheek. “Scabs, you keep half the blokes and check this place out. If there’s anyone here, strip ‘em and throw ‘em out.”
“Scabs?”
“Yeah, all right, we’ll find you a proper hard gang name when that’s healed. Me and Snoop are taking five fighters each and going shopping.” Bull grinned. “We’ll spread out through the houses nearby and collect up food.” He looked around. “We can drag more freezers in here if we have to.”
“There are people in some of those houses, Bull.” The youth who spoke looked embarrassed and then shrugged. “Those Army bastards were blowing the fuck out of anyone who’d been robbing and killing.”
Bull laughed. “Not everyone. They missed us and probably hundreds more. The Army won’t be back now so take the food or better still get anyone living near to bring their food. We’ll need somebody to do the shit jobs, and carry in whatever else you find.” Bull shook the aluminium baseball bat and checked his handgun. “But food comes first.”
“Then booze and women, there’s got to be some women among them.”
“Another good call, Snoop.” Bull hit the limping captive on the arm with the baseball bat, none too gently. “You hear that, native guide? We want a boozer and then find some women.”
“I don’t know any women.”
“Fucking loser. Better think real hard about that.” Bull slapped him across the back of the head. “I’ll want to kill someone if I don’t get a fuck soon.”
“If I’ve had enough booze, I might not care you’re not a woman.” Snoop grinned. “Look on the bright side, Bull will kill you after so you’ll not get pregnant.” The horrified man stared at the gang as several offered to help with the rape or killing, before following a laughing Snoop to get kitted out. Soon half the gang, wearing a motley selection of American sportswear, headed for the nearby streets with Bull taking his unwilling guide. The rest began to really inspect the stadium as a potential new home.
* * *
Just under five miles northeast, miles of mostly abandoned, derelict or ruined houses, a red-headed man looked at the golf club in his hand and frowned at the bent shaft. “I say chaps, I think I might have under-clubbed. Perhaps a driver next time?”
The big man with close-cropped blond hair kicked a still figure with blood leaking from his head. “No, a nine iron did the job nicely. Maybe the problem is your grip or action, you didn’t follow through properly?” He brandished a four foot sword. “You need one of these.”
“But I wasn’t the sort of freak who kept a real sword in his closet, and I’m unlikely to find one now. Did we get them all?” The redhead looked out of the door. “Yo, Kabir, did we get them?”
“Yeah, there were four, and a couple of women we’ve locked in a room full of beds. There’s even an honest to God library over that end even if it’s been trashed. This has to be good enough to fort up in.” He grinned. “Are we using the gang names then or what?”
“We’ve got ours already. Carrot-top always signs on as Vulcan, and I’ve always been Gof.” The big man laughed. “Luck with finding yours. We could poke out an eye and you can go with Cyclops?”
“Piss off.” The man call
ed Kabir looked up at an upstairs window as it opened. “Hey, what God are you then?”
“Are we really using that shit? In that case I’m Wayland. I need a horse and cart, soonest.” The swarthy, very heavily muscled man laughed. “I’ll need something to fetch my smithy here and a shitload of coke and charcoal.”
The redhead looked along the line of upstairs windows with pretty net curtains. “What’s up there?”
“There’s bedrooms, some with one bed and some with three or four. I reckon this was a boarding school.” Wayland threw something down. “You should get in uniform, Gof.”
The man with the sword picked up the garment and waved it at the rest. “Sorry, I stopped wearing gymslips after my chest hair grew.”
“Gymslips?” A bespectacled youth carrying a handgun came through the gates into the central courtyard and glanced back. “Come on girls, we’ve got you a change of clothes.” The eight apprehensive young women who followed him didn’t look overjoyed at the prospect.
Except one near the back. She grinned and held out a hand. “I can work with that. What do I have to do to be teacher’s pet?” The petite dark haired young woman stuck out her chest and blew Gof a kiss. “I can be a very bad girl?”
* * *
Six miles northwest a small group of adults wearing suits or smart dresses under robes gathered in a wrecked and pillaged canteen and none were smiling. “We can’t stay here.”
“But where do we go, professor? There are armed gangs out there, preying on everyone in sight. Some have already raided the student dormitories.” The harassed looking man in his forties looked out of the window. “We’ve nothing to stop them with.”
“There’s the University Archery Club, and some of the students practice Kendo and other martial arts.” The older man frowned. “Did the fencing club survive the last round of cuts?”
“But the students who ran them will have already gone. We’re left with the ones the government didn’t want and who have nowhere to run.” The woman in a long flowing dress wrung her hands. “Sorry prof, I just can’t see what we can do.” She tittered, on the edge of hysteria. “My students aren’t going to fight anyone off with dance steps and face paint.”
The older man put a hand on her shoulder. “You might be surprised what comes in handy, Celeste.” He looked around the group. “First we leave here. Even if the government stripped the place those gangs will assume the University is full of loot of some sort. Gather up everyone, student or staff, who wants to come with us. Strip out anything in the facility or clubs that we can use and load up any motor with petrol or diesel. Anything really portable I mean, and think of survival rather than luxury. Even if nobody can use the kendo weapons and armour or the bows we can learn.”
“But where do we go?” A middle-aged man with a goatee frowned. “Food is going to be a problem, even if the electricity holds out.”
“We’ll pick a place with electricity and water near a stretch of parkland, and fortify. Then the biology faculty, what’s left of it, can start a farm. We’ll need any seeds and cuttings from the greenhouses or the labs.” The elderly man grinned. “We are supposedly intelligent men and women, as are our students. Let’s see how dumb brawn fares against a bit of brain and a lot of knowledge.” Around him backs straightened, shoulders braced, and a few faces even smiled.
“My students are dancers, but dancers are strong, and supple.” The woman hugged the professor briefly. “Thanks prof.” She turned and smiled at the rest. “We are going to have war paint to die for.”
The man in his forties laughed, then rubbed his hands together. “Books. Books are knowledge, and knowledge is power. I’ve got an estate car that’ll make a terrific library.” He set off with a determined look about him, and the rest soon followed.
* * *
Three miles south a young man walked into an abandoned office and burst out laughing. “Christ, with those dark glasses and suits you look like that guy in the film, Men in Black.”
One of the young men waiting inside reached down below the desk and brought out an Army rifle and a shorter police H&K G36 automatic rifle. “We’re armed like those fuckers as well.”
“Fuck, Jonesy, where did you get those?”
“City Centre. I worked out that at night all those rats and cats and dogs must swamp the infrared, and sure enough the helicopters didn’t see me.” He smirked. “Two of these poufs barfed and wouldn’t come any further after the first really rotten maggoty type.” He shrugged. “It really is gross, but there are still weapons and ammo out there. If we’re quick we can have an armoury.”
“Then what, join a gang?” None looked keen on that idea.
A tall, slim man in his mid-twenties came in from a side room. “Piss off. They won’t reckon city boys like us. They’ll have us all making tea and coffee, and I’ve served my time doing that for corporate types.” He pointed at the guns. “We were all in training as market traders, business leaders, wheeler-dealers, all that obsolete rubbish. What were you told if the subject organisation shows weakness?”
“Hostile takeover?” The others were smirking and chuckling at that.
“Oh yes. Though first we’ll be spending some time crawling around in the dark and barfing.” He narrowed his eyes. “Then the Men in Black will look over the nearby enclaves to find a weak one with good assets.”
“Does that make you managing director? In that case I’d better get in the Cappuccinos and suck up to you a bit, sir.” They all fell about laughing, then moved in to inspect the firearms.
“Oh no, I want my sucking done by a secretary, one like my manager’s guardian.” The youth grinned. “Only this one won’t be refusing to let me in without an appointment.”
The older man picked up a weapon. “Maybe we’d better learn to shoot these first.”
* * *
Seven miles to the west, the other side of a wide motorway, gunfire echoed among the empty buildings. Grim men carrying Glock handguns, shotguns or G36 rifles moved forward, covering each other in a smooth, practiced manoeuver and giving terse instructions or reports into headsets. The youths ahead retreated into a night club, firing wildly, as more fell. A sharp explosion echoed in the entrance and four men burst in, gunning down the last defenders before they recovered from the flash-bang. The squad moved deeper, and there were two more short bursts of gunfire.
Outside one of the men straightened, and put his fists into the small of his back. “All clear men. I’m too old for this.”
“Not yet, sarge. Admit it, this is better than driving a desk into retirement.” The speaker, a younger man also in police uniform, looked towards the club where four officers were escorting several civilians into the daylight. “Mostly young women again.” He sighed. “How many more sarge?”
“Another three then we’ve cleared the local area of nasty little arses. Oops, hush my mouth. Misunderstood citizens with antisocial tendencies.” The older man spat. “The powers that be didn’t seem to think we were worth saving any more than them.”
“They offered us passes, any surviving police officer.” This officer, another older one, curled his lip in disgust. “But none for the families of the men who died on the streets or in that effing farce with the Mayor.”
One of the four who had gone into the club came across the street. “The usual sarge, a few guns and some knives and makeshift swords. There’s hard booze and drugs, but once we’ve taken anything useful one will burn the other very nicely.”
“Keep some of the booze for disinfecting wounds and the beer, cider and pop. Right lads, back to Precinct Nineteen.”
“Where?” Several men were looking puzzled while a couple laughed.
“My cousin saw an old film about some American coppers who had to fort up and beat off groups of gangsters. Our family have been calling the estate that for a couple of days. Though maybe we should relocate everyone to somewhere a bit easier to defend.” The police sergeant shrugged. “We�
�ll have to come up with some name for wherever we live before we can sign on the dotted line in that bloody bus.”
“Precinct Nineteen will do for me.”
“Me too.”
“Precinct Nineteen it is. Hang on, did they win?”
“Of course.” The small group of heavily armed ex-police officers set into searching and then destroying another potential gang headquarters that had been too near their families and friends. They’d decided to stamp the lice out now, before any of them grew to be a problem.
* * *
Just under a hundred miles northeast sat ten well-groomed, well-fed people. All belonged to the conspiracy responsible for triggering the current global devastation. A conspiracy that had arranged the destruction of many major refineries and several governments, then encouraged the chaos to spread. The group sat around a large circular polished wood table, watching the devastation on a wall-screen in a quiet, plain room. Their bunker lay a long way beneath an innocent stretch of English countryside, far from that devastation. In the background air conditioning murmured, and lights flickered on the other side of a sheet of glass along one wall. Through the one-way glass efficient, uniformed personnel could be seen monitoring screens and equipment and issuing orders and instructions in a ballet of unhurried efficiency. Also in silence as far as this room was concerned, due to the soundproofing.
Despite the cold December chill across the UK, the occupants of the bunker were warm and dry and wore satisfied smiles as they watched the scenes of destruction on the wall-screen. Short clips showed city after city exploding in violence, then in one city after another the armour and troops rolled in to crush any resistance. Occasionally someone would exclaim or nod in approval as some particular centre of resistance crumpled, or frantic hordes tried to overwhelm the assault with inadequate weaponry.
One of their number rapped on the table with a small auctioneer’s gavel. The other nine people settled back into their comfortable seats and turned to face a distinguished looking man with dark hair showing white streaks at each side of his head. “Phase one is complete, and relatively successful here in the United Kingdom. Successful enough that we can all gather and meet face to face for the first time. The remaining Members of Parliament, Lords, and the Royals are safely tucked away for their own protection, and in case we need a familiar face to blame for something unfortunate. That leaves us the de facto government.”