Fall of the Cities_Branching Out

by Vance Huxley

  “She never seemed old enough.” Just like that Harold finally let go, talking about all the bottled-up emotion though not necessarily about Holly. About how he’d gone from seventeen to Army to the Middle East before coming back to this mess. Yes, he did feel very old sometimes, when everyone expected him to have the answers. He talked about thinking big sister Sharyn would have it all sorted out, but she’d gone to bits. About worrying over gangsters, all the girl club teasing and tempting, about not wanting the rugrat thing. Then Holly being there all of the time which somehow meant the worries weren’t too bad, then she was gone. About protecting people by shooting and beating scroats. Eventually Harold ran down.

  “That protection thing makes sort of sense and the rest explains why you sometimes seem too old for your face, as it were. We do appreciate your scowling face when the oiks act up. Once my bump is gone I’ll definitely want some more of that machete training to help with that.” Emmy chuckled. “That teasing from the girl club was partly relief at us all surviving, and partly just that, teasing. A few wouldn’t have said no to a fling. I fibbed a bit, Harold. I wasn’t tempted that Christmas, because you were hooked and landed and to be honest, so was I. Curtis said he took one look when we arrived, and fell in love.” Emmy moved her chair closer.

  “I know he did because he told me.”

  “I still remember Davey, but Curtis is different. One day you might have the same luck? Curtis was crackers about me, still is, and it’s the real thing this time for me.” Her voice wavered, then Emmy sobbed. “I hope you find a rugrat girl, and I really hope I can find Curtis again. Can I be soggy first?” Harold presented his shoulder and put an arm round her.

  Harold walked Emmy to her house after the guard shift. He went home afterwards more settled, somehow. That absorbent shoulder thing really did have some benefits for both parties.

  * * *

  Emmy seemed to be more settled or maybe determined after her Easter soggy. Everyone soon realised her new mission. Emmy set into making sure every scrap of gardening knowledge in Orchard Close, much of it from Curtis, would end up producing more food. She wanted to improve on last year, which should mean plenty of salad during summer and thick veggie soup for winter. Harold wasn’t the only one to get blisters or an aching back as she drove them to clear more bricks and undergrowth, then dig over the ground further and further away from the walls. As an added benefit, the bricks were barrowed the increasing distance to Orchard Close where Casper used them to thicken or raise the walls. Harold thought that even without mortar, some of them would now stop a car or van.

  Even the abandoned roads outside the walls were stripped of tarmac and stone fill, used to create pathways through the fields. Once the ruins were demolished the house foundations were robbed out and they, and the roadways, were filled with soil deep enough to allow the gardeners to grow food. Some of the original footpaths were left in and the resulting network made life much easier for those carrying or wheeling loads outside the walls.

  Once the rain finally eased off, the fine mild weather seemed to urge the crops to make up for lost time. In some places the underground drains had survived the Army bombardment so those parts dried out faster. When they did, crops were immediately planted as Emmy drove everyone remorselessly, because according to her every leaf would count. Harold produced his best scowl to insist that Emmy had the right idea, and back gardens inside Orchard Close became veg plots. After all, the damn rabbits couldn’t get at the shoots in there. Soon Emmy had a system running to bring on the seedlings in safety before planting them outside the walls when the loss of a couple of leaves wasn’t fatal. Though after a near-rebellion the lawns at the front stayed as grass so the residents could sit there in good weather.

  * * *

  Gayle the dental trainee became more confident after fixing the mess in Wellington’s mouth, even if the scarring made the Geek’s smile hideous. She drilled and filled teeth and pulled one for senior members of the neighbouring gangs in return for coupons and some gardening tools, electrical spares for Finn, laughing gas and putty. Harold insisted the dental patients came to Orchard Close for the work and Gayle always wore a balaclava, because all the gangs were much too interested in identifying Orchard Close’s dentist. Caddi and the Geeks also wanted to identify the smith and the radio repair man, though they all knew the knitter. Patty’s scowl and crossbow stopped anyone considering actually kidnapping her.

  Medical work, dentistry and knitting were dealt with when needed, not according to the rota system that governed other repair work. Orchard Close repaired weapons, radios, plumbing or electrics for the three nearest gangs on a strict rota basis. All three insisted on their turn, if only to stop the others getting extra work done.

  The request for a meeting with a senior GOFS, Vulcan, came as a surprise since Orchard Close had just finished the GOFS work. Harold had another surprise when he reached the border a mile away, because Vulcan met him personally to explain that the meet would be deeper inside GOFS territory. The group would include two other gangs, Barbie Girls and Geek Freeks.

  The escort vehicle pulled up outside a small bank, now fortified to provide protection for most of a housing estate that still had water and electricity. Vulcan opened the bank door, waving Harold forward. “Just you please, Soldier Boy. Your bodyguards can wait with the Barbie Girl and Geek Freek version if they play nice.” He grinned because Casper being gay would annoy the hell out of the Geeks, and frustrate the Barbies since they couldn’t tease or tempt him.

  Vulcan ushered Harold into a room containing five others, all sat around a table. As a declaration of truce all the handguns were in the middle of the table with the clips removed, so Harold added his as Vulcan followed him in. He looked round the table, naming those he recognised. “Gofannon the GOFS of course, Hawkins and Wellington from the Geeks, Chandra the Barbie but who did you bring this time, Chandra?” The second Barbie Girl dressed like a man, a six foot tall heavily built man, an impression spoiled by the blond wig and her obvious bust.

  “This is Ken and one of the original three Barbie Girls. She’s here because Ken leads our fighters into any serious strife.” Chandra waved a hand around the rest. “That’s why Wellington is here for the Geeks and Vulcan for the GOFS, it’s a council of war.” She smiled. “As Soldier Boy you’re a boss and general. A man who multi-tasks. Wow, I suppose there had to be one.”

  “Thanks Chandra, now if I can regain control of the meeting for a moment?” Despite the words Gofannon wore a tolerant smile because Barbies were always wild cards.

  Harold frowned. “Council of war? Caddi?” Cadillac ran the Hot Rods, the large and ambitious gang bordering most of those present.

  “I wish. Between us we could trim that bastard back a bit but you three bloody fools have a treaty.” Ken scowled. “You do know he’ll break it when he’s ready?”

  “Then you can come with us to trim him back down to size. All done?” Gofannon sounded a bit more impatient now. Ken shrugged and settled back in her chair. The GOFS leader turned to Harold. “We may have a bigger problem on our northern border, or the Geek’s western border. The General is on the march.”

  “How much of a march?” Harold tried to work out how that meant a problem for him.

  “The General is called that because he won contests playing computer war games pre-crash, the strategic type not the shoot ‘em up ones. Since the crash he’s built up a big gang well beyond the other side of the swamp, the flooded area, just the other side of the Pinkies, Pink Panthers. He will be directly across the swamp if he keeps marching and might not stop. The people coming through the water now are running from him because he’s found allies.” Gofannon frowned. “The Bloodsuckers are maniacs but he seems to have them under control as shock troops and he’s picked up more fighters after taking over at least three other gangs.”

  Wellington spoke up. “Worse than the numbers, the MiB, Men in Black, have allied with him. They have plenty of automatic firearms, allegedly pillaged f
rom the city centre before the Army and RAF came back to seal it.”

  Gofannon nodded towards Hawkins and Wellington. “They haven’t got a swamp in the way and if the General comes through there we’re all flanked.”

  “Though we have got a flooded railway line in a cutting along our west and northwest borders. We’ve rigged up a couple of good throwers to cover the gap.” Wellington grinned, a hideous sight due to his badly scarred mouth. “At the moment we’re putting in brick strongpoints as well so he might think the swamp is the easier option.”

  Gofannon picked it up again. “Either way, he’ll have to take out two relatively soft targets first. Both are what we would call civvies, groups or enclaves like yours Soldier Boy, smallish groups that have no nasty criminal types in charge.” He smiled faintly. “Thought these actually are comparatively soft targets since they haven’t got a nasty soldier bastard either. Then he might come after us or the Geeks. If he takes one of us, either Orchard Close or the Barbies are outflanked, or both.” Gofannon looked straight at Harold. “He won’t be able to resist all those experts of yours.”

  Harold shook his head. “I can’t send people across a swamp to fight.”

  “Nor us, since it’ll work both ways as a defence line. I don’t mind helping you stop this General at the edge of the flooding.” Ken looked over at Wellington. “I’ll even recommend we help you nasty shits since we don’t want to be caught between the General and Caddi.”

  “Too true. Caddi would either attack from behind and snip off a few estates or make a deal to split the proceeds.” Harold looked round. “Is that the idea? We all agree to help out whoever is attacked?”

  “Yeah, then if Caddi does get ambitious we turn round after the General bounces and carve the Hot Rods a new one.” Ken curled her lip. “It’ll need doing eventually.”

  Gofannon ignored Ken’s comment. “Will you all agree to a self-defence treaty? The four of us should agree to combine if the General attacks any of us.” Gofannon looked round the table. “That includes ancillary support as well as line troops. We’ll want your medics and best shooters, Soldier Boy, and your medicinal supplies and the doctor, Ken.”

  “The medics will work for cost, and you still supply whatever drugs are available?” Harold could live with that since his fighters would be fewer than the other gangs could supply.

  “We’ll sell medical supplies at fifty percent for battle wounds and give free advice, but doc can’t leave Beth’s. That’s not negotiable.” Chandra tensed but relaxed as the Geeks and GOFS nodded. Instead they all began to talk about practicalities, such as the passage of armed troops through each other’s territories. Harold promised to spread his three best shooters to cover the three weakest spots, providing someone gave up a big rifle and ammunition for one of them.

  Gofannon produced a real typewriter to type up four agreements, all with a carbon copy, then all seven signed and added their thumbprint. On the way back Harold wondered just how serious a threat this General might be. After all there were still two enclaves in the way. Perhaps Gofannon just wanted to pull the Barbies into some sort of agreement since they were definitely wild cards, and on his western border.

  * * *

  Only two nights later Caddi’s next turn for repairs meant Harold driving home as night fell, again, which seemed to be the latest Caddi form of harassment. At least this time Harold knew there were doubled guards with night vision goggles watching on all three sides of Orchard Close, so he didn’t worry about being late. He did worry about the bullet out of the night that hit his pickup! Harold looked towards the flash, blinking as the night lit up. The Hot Rod escort emptied their weapons in every direction. He jumped out of the cab. “Stop you morons! Bloody hell, now we’re all night-blind. The scroat could be ten feet away!”

  “Did you see him Harry?” Harold ignored the Harry because Caddi and Cooper now used it as a wind-up. “Where is he?”

  “Halfway to the city centre with luck. If not you’d better hope he had his eyes open. Otherwise he’s the only one who can see so he’ll shoot you all before stripping our bodies.” Harold inspected the hole in the back of the pickup. “Are you lot letting strangers take pot-shots at visitors, Cooper?”

  “No chance. Caddi says that could cause really big problems. Though this is a problem. If it was daylight we’d get him but at night?” Cooper shrugged. “We’ll have a look when it gets light. Good job he’s a crap shot in the dark.”

  “Yeah right.” Harold drove the rest of the way thinking hard. The Hot Rods knew if Harold had been killed on Hot Rod territory in daylight then Emmy and Alfie would come after Caddi’s scalp with the rifles. Caddi would be held responsible for sheer carelessness at least. Harold had mentioned that, and that the other two gangs would be pissed off at losing gun repairs. Unfortunately Harold didn’t think Caddi had forgiven him for killing Hot Rods or the sniping, and might not care about the gun repairs if he got payback. At night the gang boss might get away with claiming ignorance, and inability to stop whoever fired the shot. Harold decided he’d have to be more careful about travelling through Hot Rod territory at night.

  * * *

  Harold should have been more worried about bushwhackers near to home, because Emmy descended on him the following morning with a tray of chitted potatoes. Harold now knew chitting meant cutting potatoes so they had an eye each. She arrived with Seth in tow, definitely startling Harold because Seth’s only interest in potatoes usually came after they’d been dug up, peeled, and deep fried as chips. Usually Seth preferred working in the brewery and chasing Berry, the brewer’s daughter.

  Emmy thrust the tray towards Harold. “These are ready to plant, they need planting, and the ground is too wet.”

  Harold looked from one to the other helplessly. “I can’t help that. The rain wasn’t my fault and neither is the land not drying up yet.”

  Emmy wasn’t mollified. “Not being able to plant in the only dry land is your fault.”

  “Where?” Harold really tried to work out where because as far as he could see, the unplanted portion of the area used for farming seemed to consist of sloppy mud.

  “Over there.” Emmy pointed dramatically. “There’s acres of well-drained land not being used at all.”

  “The car park? The big one where.. where the fuel tank is?” Where I nicked my motor from wasn’t the best description. Harold sighed. “We can’t. It’ll take for ever to rip up all that tarmac and barrow it away.”

  “But we don’t have to. Dig a trench in the tarmac and we can fill it with soil from the gardens belonging to the derelict housing at the far side. That’ll be easy. The remaining tarmac means the surplus water will run away so the plants won’t get waterlogged.”

  “Cripes Harold, we’ve got to do something. The potatoes are late in already. We’ll run out of chips.” Seth sounded desperate. “I’ll come and wield a pickaxe or whatever.” This really must be a crisis if Seth had volunteered to leave the brewery and Berry.

  “I surrender, sort of. We’ll try a bit first. If the plants are blanking out the field of fire we stop. Hey, put me down, you don’t know where I’ve been.” Emmy put Harold down after the bear hug and retrieved her potato babies from Seth.

  “When?”

  “Go and chit or whatever. I’m on it, right?”

  * * *

  An hour later Harold and Casper were hard at work with four others. They were checking floorboards or cutting firing slits in the plywood blocking the upstairs windows of a row of damaged terraced houses. The windows overlooked a wide stretch of tarmac that had once been used to park new cars prior to shipment, back when such things mattered. “We’ll need extra guards in here if there’s crops, because the guardhouse up at the corner won’t be able to see along the rows.”

  “If we keep the rows end on to Orchard Close the same as the rest of the gardens, nobody will do much sneaking through them. The infrared should get them from the corner anyway since it’ll only be potatoes which aren’t very high.”
Casper elbowed Harold. “Now stop wittering.”

  “Yeah, all right. Paranoia parked up. In any case Emmy is right, we need the potatoes. Veronica found a bit about production in an encyclopaedia while looking for something else. I told her she’d accidentally find out all sorts like that.” Harold looked at Casper’s puzzled expression. “Oh yes, it said an acre could feed eight people if they got their meat elsewhere. Potatoes are one of the very best crops for food value.” Harold gestured at the tarmac. “That’s over four acres so in theory it will feed thirty two people.”

  “Cripes. Give me a pickaxe.” Casper grinned. “I don’t fancy running out of chips either.”

  By evening almost half of Orchard Close, pretty much everyone who could find tools, buckets or wheelbarrows, felt the same way. Trenches were quickly torn through the tarmac and the stones beneath and the spoil carted away towards the ruins. There the wheelbarrows, handcarts and buckets were filled with soil to be brought back and put in the holes. By nightfall the following day Emmy and her gardeners were bringing out the potential plates of chips, carefully planting them along the lines of raw earth.

  A solid week of hacking, carting, blisters and aching backs, and the trenches had been dug. The rain had stopped, but the rest of the arable ground couldn’t be worked yet so Emmy kept planting potatoes. As a bonus some of the tarmac and stone came around the side of Orchard Close to extend the network of paths through the mud. Even as the workers relaxed a bit Emmy warned them not to get complacent. Once the potato shoots poked above ground more earth would be needed to heap up around them, until finally each one grew out of a little mound. Every spade full would have to be carted in from a quarter mile away. By then nobody had the energy left to argue or complain.