by Vance Huxley
* * *
“We did wonder just how Orchard Close were organised. That wouldn’t work for us.” Wayland smiled. “Can you imagine the soup kitchen chugging round each estate on a winter’s morning?”
“True. We’re all within one set of walls, though that is going to be a problem in time.” Harold shrugged. “I didn’t expect to grow like this, not as quickly.” A shout interrupted them, from a man upstairs in one of the houses looking over the floods. Gofannon beckoned to Harold and Ken, so they went to look. A pickup truck had reversed out from the far side of the water, stopping halfway, about half a mile away. Four men drove in stakes either side of the roadway, before stringing police tape between them. Two ‘No Entry’ signs, the old council workmen variety, were placed on the road to drive the message home.
Gofannon pointed to a group of four refugees who broke clear of the nearest flooded houses further along the road. “Here’s some more.” They were wading through deep water, stumbling now and then over unseen obstacles while the smaller of them had water up to her chest. The men by the pickup had climbed back in but it stayed as the small group finally reached the shallows. GOFS watchers from the houses came out to help the refugees get clear of the water. A shot rang out, from the General’s pickup. The refugee bringing up the rear threw up his hands and fell face down in the shallow water.
“You nasty fuckers. Did you bring a fucking rifle, Soldier Boy?” Ken shook her fist as the pickup drove away. “What the fuck was that for?”
“A warning. That’s the boundary and they’ve got a decent shooter with a good rifle.” Harold glared at the pickup. “I said this wasn’t a rifle type trip which is a pity.”
“He’s laid in the back and only his head shows.” Gofannon’s lowered his binoculars and his eyes sharpened. “You can nail him from here?”
“It won’t be the first time, though I had an Army rifle last time. That poser thing of mine will do the job.” Harold indicated the dead man, definitely dead even though he’d been turned over and pulled out of the water. “If someone pulls that sort of stunt again, you send word. ‘Bang bang’ on the radios and I’ll burn diesel and tyres.”
“I’ll buy your ammo and fill your tank. Waiting until that poor sod thought he’d made it was just plain fucking nasty.” Ken spat in the direction of the now retreating pickup. “Now let’s sort out these poor fuckers.” She turned on her heel and stomped back to the main group.
There were no fighters or firearms and few machetes or homemade spears among the refugees. They’d brought over two hundred rounds of ammunition, two reloading kits, some brass, primers and propellant so the General didn’t get them. The firearms were being used by the men and women dying the other side of the water to give their families a breathing space. After a quick discussion, every refugee’s name and where they went would be recorded by the GOFS. If any of the fighters survived to make it across the flooded stretch, they could re-join any friends or family.
Harold stopped the pickup by Caddi’s spies on the first trip home. He pointed out that the really pissed off refugees coming behind him might kill any arse they found alone. The two men took the hint, leaving with a message that Orchard Close would be closed for business for three days. Eventually thirty seven people including six children chose Orchard Close instead of the GOFS or Barbies. All the Orchard Close diesel vehicles were needed to ferry them and the bedding and household goods the refugees had brought in packs and cars. The shooting died away across the water as more columns of smoke rose into the sky. The last of the stores and strongpoints were being torched to stop the conquerors getting them.
* * *
Harold made three trips in his pickup, taking the Blaser rifle just in case, but the General and his allies were busy consolidating. Hopefully, according to the last refugees Harold picked up, the General and all his allies were beating their heads bloody in frustration because with luck even the weapons would go up in the last fires.
Then the rest of what the man said registered. “You want pens? What for, chickens?” Harold stared at the square shapes under sacking and two rolls of netting.
“No, rabbits.” The man gestured to the side. “I’m George and this is Maryam. We brought Flopsy and Mopsy. Rabbit Bob over there brought his three because the car is his. He’s got Rocket Man the buck, and two does called Pinky and Snow.”
“Why? I mean why bring rabbits not the names.”
“Rocket Man is a prize buck. We bred rabbits for meat.” George sighed. “We had an agreement that ours, the first ones, wouldn’t go into the pot. We killed all the others and everyone ate as much as possible, then flushed what we couldn’t carry so those bastards didn’t get any.”
“But why? There’s rabbits everywhere.” Harold found he really had scratched his head.
“Not like these.” Maryam flipped the cover off a cage. “These are New Zealand Whites. We can grow a hundred and eighty pounds of prime rabbit meat every year from this pair, and that fur is pure luxury inside your winter mitts.” She smirked. “No chasing, and depending on when they’re harvested these are a fry-up, roast or stew.”
“What about food? Do they need something special?” Harold remembered someone suggesting keeping rabbits but they’d meant catching wild ones. These big white meaty beasts were a whole new ball game.
“Rabbit pellets would help, but if not we can find enough forage among the abandoned housing. That’s not as good so it will slow breeding but not too much.” Maryam glanced anxiously at her husband and then at a nearby man who must be Rabbit Bob. “Can we keep them?”
“Yes, if the Coven agree but that sounds good to me. I might even get you some rabbit food, pellets was it?” All three nodded eagerly. “Come on then, load up.” Harold looked at the estate car. “On second thoughts if that’s diesel, just bring it.” The whoop from Rabbit Bob answered that.
* * *
Liz, Emmy and Sharyn were waiting when Harold came back with the rabbit express. “We’ve got most of them in the dance house or the canteen while we work out where the hell to put them.” Emmy almost wrung her hands. “I didn’t cater for all this lot when I said we’d grown enough. Cripes Harold, how do we feed them?”
“From your rolling acres helped by their lovely coupons buying lots of mart rubbish?” Harold pointed out of the gates at the estate car. “Wait until you meet Rocket Man and Rabbit Bob. He wants to grow giant bunnies for the pot, though we might not want to advertise that to avoid rustlers in the night.” Harold looked up the street. “More important, can we cram all these people in someplace tonight?”
“Yes, but temporarily. We’ll need those terrace houses Harold, and right now.” Liz grinned. “Though I’ll give these people their due, they’re keen to set into whatever work is needed.” Her grin faded. “When the final list is sorted out, of who will cram in where and who will move house, your glower will get serious overtime. Not to impress the new ones, but from those who have got used to a four bedroom house with two or three residents.”
“What about the two who possibly need their own house?”
“Our two ladies of the night? Not a problem because there are two bedroomed houses. We’ll make sure they get one of those. As I said, we’ll explain the options while you glower.” Liz smirked. “With Patty and her crossbow as backup I hear.”
“In case someone cries and he goes soft on them.” Emmy patted her bump. “Since I can’t look threatening just now.”
Harold spoke to some and glared at others as directed. Although some refugees overnighted on the floor of the dance house, the second night those still without beds slept on settees in houses. In many cases the new residents just moved in because Orchard Close had a policy of putting furniture in unused bedrooms and keeping every room aired and dry. Several days of scrambling about and cripesing in the six storage houses produced enough extra furniture to give everyone a bed and mattress, though some still slept clothed or in sleeping bags while quilts were made. The extra beds now crammed into
bedrooms and sometimes lounges or studies would eventually furnish the terraces, though first there’d be some serious repairing and scavenging.
* * *
Meanwhile, extra people weren’t the problem the other side of the swamp, in the conquered enclave. “Well that was a waste of time and fucking manpower.” The man in pseudo-Army uniform with a lot of extra braid and a peaked hat scowled. “These miserable bastards more or less wrecked the whole fucking enclave. We ended up with fuck all.” He glared at one of his advisors. “This is your fault. Rhys, you said these two enclaves would be easy with plenty of fucking and loot for the Bloods.”
“I didn’t expect them to do this. On the bright side you didn’t have too many losses once the Bloods got over the wall. The first enclave supplied entertainment as well as civvies and a few fresh fighters.” The older man shrugged. “You’ve ended up just one gang away from Orchard Close. That’s a really rich prize, better than these two combined.” Smiling, Rhys finished with, “They can’t flood that place and there’s a shitload of tradespeople.”
“Easy wasn’t painless. They killed some and wounded a lot of my men before we closed in. Now the Bloods will want to work their annoyance off on someone. I can’t go round this water, and going through can’t be rushed. I can’t push to the northeast because the fucking Army are too close. I need a quick and easy for the Bloods, one with some rape and pillage at the end.” The General turned as a man behind him cleared his throat. “What is it Branson?”
“You owe us an enclave in return for the automatic weapons. If you want a fight that will supply some women for the Bloods, we’ve got one for you though I’ll want the women back as workers. We’ll be keeping the enclave so the Bloods can’t have the loot.” Branson smiled despite the sour look, because nobody would start on the MiB boss or his lieutenants since all three carried automatic rifles. “It’s one that needs lunatics with machetes, because it’s too near the Army for our weapons. A good practice for this Orchard Close?”
“Let me see the details, because we’ll have to wait for the minor injuries at least to recover. When we’ve dealt with your problem we’ll have to wait another three months for the serious injuries to heal up properly. I’ll get a few people to look at ways round or over this water.” The General glared across the water towards the GOFS. “Though there’s still a few arseholes hiding in this bloody mess. I want the fuckers dead.” He climbed into his Humvee and roared off, much to everyone else’s relief. The remaining fighters and commanders shrugged and got on with flushing out any surviving defenders. They’d captured the bloody enclave, and not too many died, so that seemed good enough for the men up on the sharp end.
* * *
Even as the General’s men rooted out the few hidden fighters or they escaped, a few miles away other gangs worked to make all the escapees comfortable. In the ruins that belonged to Orchard Close and had already been searched once, a small party clustered around Patty. “Floorboards? Are you serious?” Bernie stared while the gang of scavengers tried not to laugh at his outrage. “Cripes Patty, I was joking before about taking up the floors. Are we building huts for them to live in or what?”
“I told you before. Everything is useful, it just takes time to work out what for.” Patty shrugged. “Those moving into the terraces might like the holes in the floorboards filled up but more importantly Rocket Man and his ladies like a proper floor, not a bit of rough concrete.”
“This is for the perishing rabbits?” Bernie paused. “There’s only five of them altogether.”
“But they have already had their own welcoming dance, straight after arriving. Apparently we’ve got about a month before the hoppity-hop of tiny bunny feet. Well technically just under two months before they hoppity hop away from mummy, by which time she will be looking at a nest for the next batch. Breed like rabbits? Does that ring bells?” Patty tapped Bernie on the head. “Ding dong?”
Bernie smiled. “How soon can we eat them? Because I reckon we can actually get a joint off those beasties, slices of real meat.”
“Fry-up at ninety days but some bunnies will become mummies, so we need floorboards for more runs and hutches. They’re going to live in high-rises inside garages. We need oodles of Vinyl, laminate, or wood, preferably not rotten, and lino will do nicely to stop top bunny leaking onto bottom bunny.” Patty pointed dramatically. “Go forth and be fruitful, your orchard needs you.”
A competition quickly developed between those gathering bunny food and those trying to build up compost heaps but Harold called a truce. The two parties agreed that the bunny food came first because that turned into food faster, and anyway any left over each day went into compost. Any surplus greenery weeded, trimmed or otherwise available, went into compost as well as rabbit droppings and the soil in the runs when that needed changing.
Within a week Emmy had consulted with her gnomes and they began to supervise the bunny farmers. Emmy approved of a spare reservoir of protein. Overgrown lawns outside derelict houses became hay, to be carefully dried and stacked in nearby empty garages. Scrawny self-seeded root veggies from the ruins, peelings, veggie tops, borage, leaves, and shoots all went to bunny for snacks pre-compost. Liz gave up her tempering experiments, this time to make brackets for bunny-runs. She also turned some of the old style machete blades into a type of scythe.
Useful skills appeared among the refugees. Charlie, an electrical engineer, seemed very happy buried inside recalcitrant appliances from washing machines to vacuum cleaners. A real carpenter with his hand tools took over Sandy’s old workshop. Three good hand knitters, none of them quite Patty, swore that with all the lovely wool and patterns to work with they would improve. Extra gnomes with their own expertise and experience joined Emmy’s gang while enthusiastic amateurs volunteered to collect calories or dig new ground.
* * *
While the Orchard Close scavengers worked to make the new residents comfortable, their plumber and electrician spent their time fixing up houses for the GOFS and Barbie share of the refugees. Chandra stayed in Orchard Close as a hostage while Finn connected the mains electricity supply to a group of houses for the Barbies. Harold made a request just before she left, which definitely threw the usually unflappable Barbie off-balance for a moment. “Why would you want them?”
“Does it matter? I know you have a pet shop in Beth’s. Now I want a pickup full of rabbit pellets in part payment for the electrical work.” Harold smiled. “The stuff is no good to you so it’s a cheap way to pay us.”
“It might be less cheap if I knew why you needed it.” Her suspicious look moved from Harold to Patty and then Casper without finding any hint of an answer. “Are you trying to capture and breed rabbits?”
“Not a chance. Any rabbit we catch goes into burger or the pot. Do you want to trade or not?” Harold shrugged. “I’ll take soft loo rolls?”
“No you won’t, or not many, but since you are all immune to my wiles I’ll have to consider rabbit food. Though not everyone here is immune.” Chandra smirked. “One of us will find out sooner or later.”
“By which time you will have already let us have the bunny food. Maybe we have a new recipe for stew or curry?” Harold laughed at Chandra’s mock scowl. “Though I will still want some other seriously desirable goodies from Beth’s, since Finn reported there were a lot of smaller problems in those houses. They’ve been stood empty a long time.”
“I know, I know. I don’t mind the trading for pet food, it’s not knowing what the, um, cripes it’s worth that bugs me.” Chandra frowned again. “I’ll have to talk to the others, and see how much we’ve actually got. We’ve been more interested in eating the rabbits than if we can feed them.” She smiled ruefully. “This is really mean, bringing it up just before I leave so I can’t investigate now.”
“But think what fun you’ll have investigating another time?” Harold laughed as Chandra pouted and carefully smoothed out her tight dress.
“Oh, not just me.” She sighed dramatically. “I
know the answer will be yes, but not the value.”
“Good enough. Just weight up what anyone else will offer.”
Shortly afterwards Harold, Patty and Casper watched the Barbie convoy head off, Barbie Radio hammering out at full volume. Patty smirked. “A few people will have a lot of fun resisting the questioning.” She sobered. “I’ll just have a little chat first, to point out that they’ll have a lot more fun if they keep their big mouths shut about yummy bunnies. Better yet, if they keep quiet they won’t have me popping round for a visit.” She patted her crossbow.
Harold frowned. “You, me, the Coven and the girl club.”
“The Barbies will find out eventually, Harold.” Casper grinned. “Then they’ll try and kidnap a bunny.”
“Before that, we have hutches to fix, for both bunnies and the new refugees.”
To fix up the latter, bricks were gathered and stacked to connect the terrace houses into the wall surrounding Orchard Close. As soon as the new walls grew high enough willing hands tore a hole in the original barrier, utilising the bricks to raise and thicken the new addition. Fixing the plumbing and electrics had to wait until Rob and Finn, with their apprentices, had finished their work on the new GOFS and Barbie estates. Though an electric cable across the gardens for blow heaters to get rid of the damp sparked a flurry of other work.
Despite boarded front windows and a lack of furnishings or bathroom facilities some hardy souls moved in just to get some space. Willing hands wielded brooms and then paintbrushes, carried in the furniture, or raised a row of four composting outhouses. The windows at the rear sported curtains, and radio music and even laughter rang out while the block still echoed with the sound of hammers. Elsewhere other new arrivals set to with a will, farming, ripping down more ruins, or tearing long trenches in the old caravan park tarmac. Food might be a bit short this winter, but the latest arrivals were making sure it would only be one winter. Under it all ran a deep, brutal truth. This had to work, because now they had nowhere else to run.