by Vance Huxley
While they worked on healing Wellington, Harold worked on making as many residents as possibly capable of hurting Geeks or anyone else as he could manage. He still had more handguns than people he could rely on to shoot a human being, and actively looked for more. Especially since the extra income from Wellington’s treatment meant he had enough extra propellant to burn off some in practice.
* * *
Doll sniggered and wiggled her bottom against Harold’s front. “Mmm, assume the position.”
Harold opened his arms and stepped back, his voice and face stern. “Time and place Doll. If you won’t be serious there’s plenty of volunteers.” He pointed at the handgun. “That is loaded. It will kill you, me, gramps or a passing stranger at the twitch of a finger.” It wasn’t just the memory of someone else saying that, Harold really needed these people to get serious about how they handled firearms. They’d seen too much TV where guns only went off on purpose.
“Sorry Harold. I really want to learn, I do.” Doll’s voice suddenly sounded harder, harsher. “The next arse that comes for Matti won’t get a headache.” She scowled. “I wish I’d had my gunbelt, or rather I wish it had a real gun in it.”
“You’ll have the real gun part if that happens again.” Harold just hoped enough would pull the trigger when the time came. The sudden flood of people seeking tuition came after the neighbours started coming for social visits. Shorter skirts, even knee length, had disappeared within days, at least on the main street where visiting gang members were allowed to go. The visitors had watched their language but the looks, whispers between them and the wolf whistles had been enough.
“Then we’ll try again.” Harold moved closer. “Both hands, bring the weapon up nice and steady. Remember, this will kick but that’s all right. Just let your wrists absorb it. Elbows out a little bit more?” Harold stepped back and moved her head a little. “In the middle and don’t hunch your shoulders. Relax them. Nice and smooth, now take up the trigger.”
“Did I hit it? Ow, my wrist hurts.” Doll took one hand off the weapon to shake her offending wrist.
“That is still loaded so don’t mess about. You probably did hit the house, but if you hit the actual door first time it’s a miracle.” Harold frowned. “Are you skimping the exercises for your wrists?” He really didn’t know much about shooting a pistol, just a couple of leaflets picked up from a gun club, so a lot of this was guesswork. Harold did know that the strength of his own wrists definitely meant he had less trouble than most when holding a pistol steady.
“No, but I don’t want wrists like yours.” Doll held up her own and put it against Harold’s.
“These take dedication and long lonely hours with no fun at all. Come on, let’s make certain you hit the house this time.” Harold smiled because although Doll hadn’t hit the door the bullet kept low enough to hit a person. What they all really needed was more live practice, but Harold daren’t burn off enough ammunition.
* * *
While Wellington had his tooth fixed, Harold cleared jams in seven handguns for gangsters and then cleaned and oiled them. Three for Cadillac and two for each of the other gangs, and their condition puzzled Harold. Ogou admitted the pair from the GOFS were a test, just to see what sort of job they got for the money. Cadillac came personally to collect his three, and to have a decent beer he claimed.
“May I?” Cadillac put out his hand and Harold offered one of the repaired guns. Cadillac slid the clip out and produced one of his insincere smiles. “This had ammunition in.”
Harold returned the smile. “You get the ammo at the gate. You’re hardly unarmed if I hand you a loaded weapon, are you?”
“Nor am I suicidal.” Cadillac glanced at Alfie, in the room with a shotgun again. “This is a really good job. Expensive, but a good job. The thing is, if was a bit cheaper I might have more work.”
Harold’s smile widened, because he had started to realise that Cadillac enjoyed haggling. The gang boss also enjoyed violence and abusing women, but not here. “Why can’t you fix them yourselves? I can’t believe gangsters couldn’t keep their illegal weapons working before the crash.”
“They probably did, but most of them are dead.” Cadillac smiled at Harold’s puzzled expression. “You don’t know? I’ll tell you for a crate of beer?”
“Anything from one bottle up depending on how much is bull droppings.” Harold really did want some explanation because the weapons from all three gangs showed a lack of simple cleaning and oiling. “Though I don’t want some sort of windup.”
“No need, because the reason is both simple and weird. More or less every significant armed gang, even street corner punks, went into the city centre to take over.” Cadillac smiled whimsically. “I had a chop shop, and no delusions wild enough to get me in the middle of that lot. The BBC got it dead right, about there being a conspiracy.”
“To take over the country? Bull. That was a fantasy by some government mouthpiece.”
“No, just to take over the city. I don’t know who started the notion but the idea spread, to set up like this, no cops. Though their version didn’t include wrecking the place first. A group of the top gangs, all of them it seems, believed that with the police and mayor gone they could share the city out. They literally invited everyone with a gun to the party and weren’t taking no as an answer. Or rather they made it clear anyone not there didn’t get a piece of the pie.” Cadillac shook his head. “That didn’t work out too well. I reckon most of the gangs never survived the first night once those honest law-abiding citizens got moving. What do you know about the gangs, here or anywhere else?”
“Very little? Nothing? Movies and newspaper reports? Though the films were usually about America and I didn’t get much news for a few years.” Harold tried to connect gangs being dead to the current situation, and that didn’t make sense.
“You really were an honest citizen? There had to be one. Gangs here, in England, don’t call themselves the Pink Panthers, or the Barbie Girls, or the Gods of Fire and Steel for Christ’s sake.” Cadillac sniggered. “At least Hot Rods has a basis. All the motors we dealt with were definitely hot.”
“You were a car thief?” Holly must have been trying to work from car thief to gang boss and her puzzlement showed. “I was as innocent as Harold, probably because the news never named any gangs. The TV just talked about criminals and named the ones who were prosecuted.”
“As I just said we ran a little chop shop.” Cadillac grinned at Holly. “Chopping up stolen motors for spares?” Holly nodded understanding and he continued. “I took one look at who was dying on the TV when all hell broke loose and called Cooper. We nipped down the street with a crowbar and an axe and smacked the only guard on the club belonging to the Tolbert twins, our local nasty boys. We took his gun and then stole everything that wasn’t nailed down because I’d just seen most of their lot gunned down and the rest disappear under a mob. I persuaded one of the staff to show us where a few more weapons, a lot of ammo, money and drugs were kept, and broke the lockers and safes open.” Cadillac’s smile became feral. “Then we went round the area, shot a few local pimps, and commandeered the contents of the brothels and the street girls. By then I’d attracted some recruits.”
“Christ. So how did you end up with the fortress, the Mansion?” Harold wasn’t fooled. Cadillac wanted to tell someone this to show what a smart bloke he was, but Harold didn’t care. He might be able to dismiss some of it as Cadillac flattering himself, but the bones sounded truthful. Harold remembered all those armed groups on TV, getting into fights or being swallowed by the mob.
“When those big mobs came this way we moved sideways, sharpish. On our travels we actually found a mansion. You’ll have to visit sometime. Then we commandeered some labour and made a nice safe place for the fighters we were picking up, and our recreation. The um, young ladies were dead handy for attracting recruits. We got rid of the diseased ones, girls and blokes, and the real hop-heads have gone as
well now.” Cadillac tipped the neck of his beer bottle towards Harold. “You did it the opposite way and rescued the needy, all decent and moral, but you ended up the same place.” He spread his hands. “Forted up with a bunch of young ladies and fighters.”
Holly scowled. “Some of ours are both.”
Harold headed off the argument. “Those Geek Freeks are really shop assistants? They look a bit manic for the usual lot who wished me a nice day.”
“They were probably already nasty little sods on a weekend but yes. Opportunity knocked, or rather barged in the door and presented them with one golden chance to move up the leagues.” Cadillac curled his lip in disdain. “They know less than we do about guns, but that Tell really can use that bow and they really think he can make a proper crossbow. Add in the goodies in that industrial estate and the bad lads they’ve attracted, and you’ve got a gang.” He laughed. “With managers.”
“The GOFS have a strongpoint, some weapons, and a real smith to make more.” Harold spoke more or less to himself. “They don’t seem quite as manic.”
“One of them knew who or where to raid for handguns and ammunition, and enough of them are nasty sods. That’s all it takes, as you know.” Cadillac frowned. “That lot are smart enough to be trouble, so maybe having you here on their flank is handy.” The gang boss grinned. “So where’s my crate of beer?”
“Six bottles.” Harold’s reaction was automatic. Berry would give him hell anyway for giving away beer.
“Ten and I’ll count the two I’ve supped here.” Cadillac smirked. “Throw in one of those crossbow bolts? I’ll use it to encourage my smith to try harder.”
“No, because that’s only an experiment. Our smith wants to make a head that can’t be pulled out. The limb has to come as well.” Holly smiled happily. “The last test went well.”
“I’ll mention that.” Cadillac sighed. “I suppose I’d better go before my blokes think I’ve been seduced into staying.” He tipped his empty beer bottle towards Holly. “Your fan club is alive and well. Just alive in one case and he’ll be one-handed for a bit yet.”
“I’ll do better next time.” Holly smiled which impressed Harold because she wasn’t getting as annoyed as she usually did round Hot Rods. “Especially if you run off without paying.”
“Good point.” Cadillac nodded towards the crossbow point and grinned, then turned to Harold. “I’ll call to the cars and someone will bring up the payment.” He had arrived in two cars this time. “Did we settle on ten pints and one bolt?”
“Holly only delivers them one way, so just ten pints.” Harold would live with that because the lack of people who were comfortable with firearms had really bugged him. In England nobody but criminals and police had handguns, so if both were dead the situation made sense. Sort of, though having vicious amateurs in charge instead hadn’t working out very well so far.
Down at the gate, after the payment had been checked and the weapons had been returned, Cadillac paused. He looked at Holly and Emmy, guarding the gate, with his little smile. “Einstein is a little bit annoyed. He might try for some payback.”
Emmy grinned. “Ooh, good, we can test some bolts.” Holly tapped the one in her crossbow and smiled. Though she frowned after Cadillac had left through the gate, shaking his head and laughing.
“I want to kill him but I’ve decided I can ignore the winding up until I find him someplace private.” She sighed. “Do you think Einstein will try?”
Harold shook his head. “He won’t get backing to do it just now because of Wellington, though I doubt gratitude has a long shelf life. He won’t try personally, just in case one of you gets him alive.”
Emmy and Holly hi-fived each other. “Too true.”
Chapter 5:
Hunting Techniques
“We may as well bring everything in including the floorboards, since rotting clothes now qualify.” Bernie looked disgustedly at the wet, smelly mess that Patty put into a carrier bag. “We’ve been through these houses three times now when new ideas come up.”
“Dirty and soggy, not rotting. Once it’s washed and dry I’ll pull this down.” She grinned. “You’ll be pleased next winter when I knit you a long thick scarf with the wool.”
“Give it up, Bernie. I asked as well and you don’t want the long version.” Harold smiled as he moved along to the next room. “Curtains and bedding as well even if they’re a bit tatty, because they’ll be washed and dried and put away.” Patty turned out to be a definite asset when scavenging because she didn’t miss a thing. The demon knitter, as she claimed to be, had managed without coupons until reaching Orchard Close and signing on in the bus, so she wasted nothing. Worse for other scavengers, she had teamed up with Liz on a mission to strip everything potentially useful from the houses.
Liz and Casper worried about Patty because privately, back in the girl club, the brash newcomer suffered from survivor’s guilt. The local gang threatened to take Patty, so her Dad insisted Patty ran. She’d spent the early winter in a small community and then a gang found them. Patty had run with two other women and both had died, one from illness and one shot while trying to steal food. All three had been looking for Orchard Close though not by name, just the rumour of a safe place.
After the first repeat, dances had been increased to one a week. Two dances later Harold grinned as Holly waved her number. “You mean I actually get to walk you home this time, instead of finding you lurking by the gate?”
“Lurking? There I am walking home nice and peaceable on my own when this bloke drags me up the path.”
“To your own door.”
“Hmm, yes, I must be doing something wrong. Never mind, I’ll ask Liz.” Holly slipped her arms round Harold. “Ooh, hugs. Proper last dance ones.” Which brought a fit of giggles but Harold didn’t mind at all. He could hug Holly and dance without having a convenient patch of skin slid under his hand or her wriggling against him. At the end of the dance Holly gave him one of those sort-of innocent kisses, and whispered “Wait until you get me home.”
This time Barry walked Sharyn home, because she’d insisted. As part of some master plan to get Doll and Matti walked home without gramps. This time the sisters had captured and unsuspecting Billy and Lemmy, a seventeen-year old recent refugee. Harold walked up towards the girl club chuckling with Holly about that, and Sal readjusting her sights onto Bernie, and other bits of gossip. “I want to see if the trees have started budding.”
From any of the others that would have been a come-on but Holly really did inspect branches and twigs on bushes, as well as she could by moonlight. Finally she straightened and sighed. “No sign. We’ll check again after the Valentine’s d... Er, I mean, I’ll check.” Harold knew if the moon had been brighter he’d see a blush.
Harold chuckled. “If I was a betting man I’d put money on the first version.”
“Really? Is that an offer?” Holly had that mischief in her voice again.
“If you happen to be walking home all alone? Of course. Now I’d better do that, walk you home, before Mummy Casper starts looking.” Harold took hold of her hand. “Come on or you’ll be late.”
A few minutes later, outside the door, Holly kept that innocent kiss going way too long for Harold’s peace of mind. If it wasn’t an innocent kiss, lips together and just pushing on his mouth and moving a little bit, he’d be getting ideas. “Whew. So that’s a level four? I’m getting interested in level five.”
“Oh. I forgot. About the fourth, the next level, what to do.” Holly had to be blushing again. “Now you’ll have to kiss me again.” Or maybe not since that sounded mischievous.
“I’m up for that, and even more intrigued.” Harold went for the proper fourth level kiss and his arms tightened involuntarily. Harold’s brain pointed out that Holly must have licked her lips and her usual innocent kiss but with wet lips felt way past innocent. Though maybe not from Holly’s point of view. Harold held that thought and didn’t kiss back how he really wanted to.
�
�Oh.” Holly breathed heavily afterwards as well. “I, er, well, Liz said.” Holly took a deep breath and managed a little giggle. “I wonder what level five is like?” Though right now she didn’t seem sure about five being a good idea.
“We could go back to three or rerun level four just so you get the hang of it?” Harold didn’t think Holly had expected that result so maybe she needed to back off a bit.
“Naughty.” Holly sniggered. “Not right now because Mummy Casper is waiting. But all right, we’ll try level four again before the next dance.” Holly’s smile shone bright and happy in the moonlight as she turned and opened the door. Harold stood for a few moments, nonplussed. He’d meant repeating the four after the Valentines dance! Harold wasn’t sure he could keep up this innocent kissing business if Holly kept licking her lips and practicing in between. The idea of a girlfriend sounded better and better, then Holly could rock Billy’s or Jon’s world, someone more her own age. She definitely seemed to be getting over Brodie.
* * *
The survivors who were turning up at Orchard Close as the snows melted often had something to get over and knew where they were looking for. Rumours had spread about a place that treated everyone, especially women, decently. A place guarded by, depending on the rumour, the Army, a big black woman or a soldier. A good few of the arrivals suffered from the aftermath of what they had seen, been through, or run away and left behind. These survivors all had tragedies behind them and just wanted to slip into the community and live peaceful, anonymous lives.
Some like Trev just wouldn’t talk about their past. The small, thin middle-aged man turned up in the middle of the night, badly beaten, and literally begged for entry. Trev set up a small workshop with scavenged tools and parts and began repairing TVs, radios and stereos. As a first job he tried to resurrect the music and pictures lost in the power surge and when he recovered some, Trev cemented his place in Orchard Close. Enough to have his name in the hat for walking home after last dances.