by Vance Huxley
“Cripes, don’t do that. Ooh, somebody pass me one of the roasting dishes because there’s a big bit here.” Patty jumped back. “Ow! One of them got through. Somebody scoop that while I get smoked and check to see if they’ve chewed a hole someplace.”
Despite the occasional sting where a really determined bee found a way inside, a happy crew finally put the bricks more or less back in place against the stump of a wall. They had to light the emergency smoke fire halfway back to finally drive off the last of the bees. The honey didn’t provide much when split among everyone, but did spark determined plans to capture bees. Harold vetoed housing bees inside the walls next year, but some began to build hives in the fields. Then everyone turned to beating back an invasion of wasps looking to share the fruit in the infant orchard, followed by a surge in ant numbers.
The news about honey encouraged the neighbouring gangs to look for bees. Several wild nests were raided, but everyone became more careful after one of the GOFS died from stings. Nobody could be certain if he’d been susceptible, or if the cross-breeding of bees had made the stings more potent. Despite some spirited discussions between gangs, at both boss level and between rank and file, nobody had a beekeeper or anyone crazy enough to capture a complete swarm. Surprisingly even the Hot Rods seemed interested in honey, possibly because the marts had just cut the ration of sugar again. Not exactly a ration; they put less on the shelf and let the customers fight for it.
* * *
Harold visited The Mansion in late August. The maid had changed again because, according to Caddi, “Spanky” had a different job now. Harold didn’t ask what but hoped it wasn’t the brothel. Once again the weapons repairs showed that Caddi wasn’t indulging in much more than minor skirmishing. His geese had escaped again, this time rampaging through the peas. Harold hoped whoever arranged the mishaps kept being careful. Caddi grumbled then bought fresh peas from Harold, enough for himself and his lieutenants.
The Hot Rod boss complained about Harold nobbling job lots of refugees without sharing, but Harold ignored that. This time Harold traded for charcoal since Caddi claimed to have raided his neighbours to cut down some of their trees. However he’d done it, Caddi had plenty of clean charcoal for sale. This time Harold drove back in the dark, refusing to stop over because of how impolite the Hot Rods had been last time. He changed the route after setting off so the escort had to follow a long roundabout route back to Orchard Close. Nobody shot at him this time.
* * *
Work slowed on almost everything in Orchard Close for just over five hours the next day, until a loud aggrieved squalling noise meant everyone smiled and relaxed. Harold in particular smiled happily since if Emmy’s bun had arrived a day earlier he’d have been at The Mansion. “Hey there big Momma. Was he or she wearing wellies?”
“No she wasn’t, cheeky.” Emmy smiled proudly. “Come on Tammy, give him the bad girl smile.” Emmy looked up with a grin. “Maybe not yet, but beware.”
“Too true. Does this mean you’re out of action so we can all relax? Can I lounge around having a beer or throw my potato peelings where I like?”
“Not likely. My gnomes will make a note of anyone wasting a single leaf of possible compost, or failing to harvest one single extra calorie. Then when we’re up and about, me and Tammy will gang up on the culprits.” Emmy sniggered. “She’s a bit late leaving her comfy tummy-home. Maybe the rabbits finally gave her the idea?”
“Cripes yes, they’re multiplying while we watch. Well not actually watch, but nobody dares blink or they’ll have doubled in size. Still, I’ve got to admit that George and Maryam are right about the size. Those big beefy bunnies will be a lot easier to catch when the wild ones are being bashful. I’ve had to agree the originals are safe from becoming pie fillings.” Harold laughed. “We’ve already had to ban any of the kids from having one as a pet or the place will be full of rabbits we aren’t allowed to eat.”
“Cripes yes. Hear that Tammy? Nasty Uncle Harold won’t allow you to have a bunny. It’s not my fault, so beat on him.”
“Already?” Harold laughed again before leaving as instructed to let Patricia do nurse things.
The hallway outside held all the original girl club, while beyond them the queue of later members stretched out of sight. “Come on, how much does she weigh?” Sal smiled happily. “Going by Emmy’s belly I’ll bet she’s a real porker.”
“What colour are her eyes?”
“Has she got much hair?”
“Cripes, give me a chance. I don’t know. Tammy’s eyes are shut, her head’s wrapped up and I didn’t ask about weight. I asked how Emmy is?”
Liz rolled her eyes. “Typical bloke. We know Emmy’s all right because we asked the midwife. Soldier off then so we can get to the good stuff.”
Alicia waved flowers and so did three others. “Did you take flowers?” Harold opened his mouth to point out that was Dad’s job but shut up and took his abuse manfully. He took further abuse from the latest members of the girl club, the gnomes, and what seemed like half the residents when he couldn’t tell them the same vital information.
Harold admitted ignorance to the same questions even more times as he headed to the far end of Orchard Close to help with building hutches. Four more garages were being fitted with rabbit hutches since the refugee bunnies were already doing what bunnies do best to fill them. Rabbit Bob claimed that the first kits should arrive in about a week. Harold thought there’d be nearly as much interest in them as in Tammy. Not as food, this generation of new bunnies would get refugee status to build up the production line.
* * *
Though before the bunnies arrived, all the new people were formally given sanctuary at the gate. Another four refugees had arrived since the big influx, fighters who had survived the final minutes. Now they were re-united with their families before volunteering to join the Orchard Close defence. All of them brought their weapons, but none had a single round of ammunition left. The long line of forty-one men, women and children filing in the gate one at a time underlined the scale of the disaster that had driven them here. The massive party that followed seemed a little wilder than most as many re-banished their own ghosts.
One additional person finally asked for sanctuary, though Elise had already been inside Orchard Close for five months. Despite her arriving in such a terrible state, the girl club and Thandia finally worked some magic on Elise. The skinny waif still wouldn’t say how she ended up outside the walls or where she came from, but at the beginning of September Elise became an official refugee. She still needed the Mastiff, Thandia, to stand with her when she stood at the gate to ask for sanctuary, and Elise disappeared back into the girl club rather than join the party.
The youngster still wouldn’t play computer games with the others, refusing to even go to school. Elise volunteered to be Trev’s apprentice so she could learn how to fix radios and earn her place in Orchard Close. After a few days Trev admitted that she learned fast and would be a big help. Though since Elise insisted on taking the mastiff to work with her, Trev also complained about a crowded workshop.
* * *
A week later Harold had to ban scroats again for a one-off welcoming, for someone who allegedly refused to wait until October dance night for her welcome. “What the hell are they doing that for?” The girl club minibus came up the access road with a smiling June behind the wheel but no engine noise. Harold wondered why, though the eight men pushing from behind might be a hint.
Sharyn nudged him. “Shush. Do your job.”
A grinning Emmy, carrying a wrapped bundle and followed by Sooty, climbed out of the minibus and walked up to Harold. “We have a new applicant to join Orchard Close. Will you give her sanctuary, Soldier Boy?”
Harold shook his head, matching Emmy’s grin. “Welcome to Orchard Close, Tammy. Though I’m a bit dubious about letting in your mother or that hairy lump.”
“Catch.” Emmy carefully deposited her daughter before kissing Harold on the end of his nose. “Yo
u know you can’t resist.”
Harold chuckled. “Sad but true. Sucker and wimp, guilty as charged. Come in then.” He turned as Emmy moved up to walk alongside. “Did you charm or bully those idiots to push the minibus?”
“Some of both though we made it a bit easier for them. We emptied the fuel tank.”
“Seriously? You’ve taken it off the road?”
Emmy sighed. “Yes, the engine ran rougher and rougher. We parked the durn thing up after using it for Elise.” She sniggered. “But Tammy insisted on arriving in style. After all, she’s got the signature hair already.” Emmy reached over to uncover Tammy’s head, showing the little yellow ribbon on a tuft of her sparse black hair.
“Cripes yes. The youngest boys had better start running now.” Harold frowned. “The minibus really is retired? I thought the girl club, or some of them and ex-members, would want to keep that going.”
“We will, if you OK it. If not Liz will beat on you or I’ll turn Sooty and Tammy loose in your study.”
“I surrender. What’s the plan now there’s no petrol engines working?” Harold had stopped using the petrol pickup before it broke down someplace. The remaining petrol wouldn’t even fire up the motors in cars that hadn’t been used. Searchers had found another diesel van that ran, more or less. The next time Caddi wanted guns repaired Harold would have that and Rabbit Bob’s car serviced.
“We’ll take out the engine, gear box, and all the bits that make it drive. If we stick a towbar on the front you can tow us into battle with your diesel pickup, a sort of armoured battle-trailer.” Emmy smiled happily. “The paint job will frighten the scroats all on its own.”
“You’re leaving the armour in?”
“Too true, that’s why it took eight of them to push me up the street.” Emmy stopped. “Right, now you’d better give Tammy back before she learns any bad habits.”
“Or before she works her charm and we run off together.” Harold followed Emmy into the house where a crowd waited to celebrate.
Better still, Harold found himself celebrating, and not just Tammy’s ceremony. At least here, inside Orchard Close, the living conditions seemed to be improving. Food would be tight, but the new refugees were throwing themselves into clearing, digging, repairing and scavenging with real enthusiasm. With their coupons, and the rabbits, the Coven assured him they would have enough food over winter. Better yet, a combination of his glower and threats of violence seemed to be keeping at least this one enclave a civilised place to live.
* * *
Unfortunately Orchard Close stood alone, as the only civilised enclave among the surrounding gangs. It grated that Harold had to pretend indifference to any excesses he saw in other gang territories, but nothing he could do would help. Luckily Harold only saw the really raw side at The Mansion since the GOFS and Geeks preferred to deal at a trading site outside their headquarters. Finn and Rob tried to avoid visiting any gang headquarters, though they didn’t mind dealing with problems in the housing claimed by the gangs and rented to the other survivors.
Gofannon had claimed the women were safe on the estates and Harold started to wonder just how bad the GOFS really were. Unfortunately he had no way of checking what really happened in The Castle, the GOFS headquarters. According to Rob and Finn the conditions on the estates ruled by the GOFS, small areas of viable housing, were relatively benign as long as the residents paid their tithes. Only relative to the Geeks and Hot Rods, because those outside The Castle were definitely second class citizens. Caddi treated his tenants as serfs while in addition to the abuse, the Geeks even charged their tenants for the free electricity.
More electrical and plumbing work trickled in from the Barbies, and surprisingly the Barbies had told the truth about how their refugees would be treated. Apart from taking rent and providing a few guards, the Barbies left their estates to get on with their own lives. That gave Harold food for thought. The supposedly crazy Barbies were better landlords than at least two of the other gangs.
Shopping took his mind off the neighbours because the conditions at the marts deteriorated with more fights as the amount and quality of the food decreased. The mart guards seemed to be less friendly every visit and many were now downright hostile. Harold had expected to only need a small group, three men, for shopping at the mart this winter to top up on underwear, salt, soap, children’s clothes, contraceptive pills, spices, spam and chew sticks.
Unfortunately the food reserves wouldn’t be enough for the new influx, so now Harold needed veg and fruit as well. He took up to a score of shoppers each time, all men and most of them armed with iron bars once the packs were dismantled. After a few trips Harold found it harder to find people who would ignore the taunts from marts and gangs. In addition the shoppers daren’t mention any expertise, especially in gardening, or the soldiers might arrest them.
A pattern emerged each time the soldiers in the guard post changed. The newcomers were suspicious and tense, which gradually eased towards the end of their term on this guard post. Once they relaxed enough, a mixed party would cautiously offer chips or soup, and Harold would show the phone picture and ask about Curtis. So far none could remember seeing Curtis anywhere, though since Harold never told Emmy it didn’t upset her.
* * *
Though it wasn’t soldiers who brought a smile to Harold’s face as he walked up the street early one mid-September morning. “Bringing in the sheaves, bringing in the sheaves.”
“What sheaves, or has the sooty butterfly been scorching her wings again?” Harold laughed as Liz turned, startled.
“Oh cripes, you weren’t supposed… I didn’t think...” Liz went from apologetic to indignant. “What are you doing up at this time?”
“I’m always up early when we’ve got overnight visitors. Though considering the visitor is Wayland, a sweaty, sooty smith with big muscles, I should have known he wouldn’t be wandering. You did mention Harvest Festival.” Harold paused. “Even if we didn’t have one?”
Liz smirked. “You didn’t, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t one.” She hesitated, and, unusually for Liz, looked a bit guilty. “I’m sorry though, you know, reminding you?”
“Don’t be an idiot.” Harold put an arm round her. “This is safe now you’ve had a sweaty fix. I wouldn’t, couldn’t begrudge you or anyone else their fun, jollies, or moonlit romantic moment of madness.” Harold shook his head. “It would be mean considering what you lot put up with from me and Holly.”
“What other behaviour could I expect from a simpering wimp? Now you can walk me home safe in the knowledge that I will spurn your feeble advances.” Liz put out an arm for Harold to hook his into, and they set off up the street. “Bringing in the sheaves…”
Later Harold still had a little smile when Wayland left, but not as big a smile as the GOFS smith had. Wayland carried six novels, a mix including one cowboy novel and a bodice-ripper, exchanged for textbooks because the GOFS really did have some spare schoolbooks. Part of Harold’s smile came from the reaction of Hilda and Faith since only one maths book had the answers in it. The teachers would have work the rest out themselves before using them to teach.
He lost the smile five minutes later when the radio crackled. “Bang, bang!” Harold drove like a loon. As soon as he hit GOFS territory he began to say, “Meet me with a motorbike” into his radio. When he came near the flooded area an SUV waved the pickup to follow and set off parallel to the water, two streets back. As soon as Harold saw a small knot of people and vehicles ahead, he warned Billy. “Just watch my back and keep your head down. The bastard can shoot.”
“I’ve got it Harold.” Billy jumped out of the pickup with the sawn-off to watch Harold’s back, just in case the GOFS took a fancy to the Blaser rifle.
Harold ran across to Gofannon. “He’s back?”
“Yeah, and this time he’s staying. I’ve got Vulcan kicking arses to keep everyone’s heads down because about half my bloody fighters and some Barbies have come to watch. They’re hoping you
kill him.” The General’s sniper had been back twice, to kill refugees in the water. The last time a GOFS soldier fired at the pickup even if the man had a vanishingly small chance of hitting anything with a pistol at half a mile. The sniper shot the GOFS but the pickup had driven away before Harold arrived.
Harold and Billy followed the GOFS boss to an upstairs bedroom overlooking the flood. Gofannon signed for Harold to keep to the side of the room and pointed. A body floated on the water about four hundred yards from the shore, clearly dead which puzzled Harold. “Why is the pickup waiting if he shot the refugee?”
“He hasn’t shot them all. There’s another four at least who ducked back into that house beyond the body.” Gofannon curled a lip in a sneer. “I’ve no doubt the General will bring up more people when it’s dark to flush the poor sods out. Then they’ll light them up with headlamps so the sniper can shoot them.”
Harold couldn’t see the pickup without moving across to the window, which might be a bad idea judging by Gofannon’s caution. “Is he shooting from the same sort of distance?”
“Yeah, exactly the same as the other two times even if he came up different roads. The pickup reverses to the boundary, the sniper shoots the refugees, then they drive off. If you kill the bastard the General won’t dare send another shooter even if he’s got one.” Gofannon turned and beckoned. “I’ll take you into the other room so you can see him without getting shot.” The other room had a window that had been boarded except for a six inch diamond shape cut in the ply. “We’ve found that if someone keeps well back, they can’t be seen through that little hole.”
Harold shut the door and moved across the room slowly to look through the hole from well back. The rangefinder on his binoculars said eight hundred and seventy yards to the tailgate of the pick-up. Harold checked the back window of the cab, covered with a sheet of ply. “I’ll need him to come up to make a shot, so he’ll need a target.”