by Vance Huxley
* * *
Though Harold only went as far as Barry, where his eardrums were assailed by one-year-old Violet. “Cripes, Barry, how do you live here with that?”
“That’ll be for about five minutes before she goes to sleep. I ended up babysitting Matti and Doll while they were little so this is barely annoying.” Barry finished putting on his coat. “We are leaving anyway, since I don’t play with chemicals near children.”
“Ah, that sort of news, more pipe bombs.” A short walk to the detached garage later Harold looked at a tube with a fuse. “That looks the same as the others.”
“Except, as requested, these don’t use sugar. That pipe bomb will be much hotter when it goes off though maybe it won’t throw shrapnel as far. Fasten that to a container of that old petrol or diesel mixed with oil out of old engines to make a Molotov plus. Better yet, that fuse is in thin plastic tube with an added extra, so once the flame goes in there even water won’t put it out.” Barry gave the usual resigned sigh when he had to make chemicals burn or go boom. “I thought about how the TV kept showing your truck, and all the scroats out there who might decide to armour up as well. If the Russians could kill early tanks with Molotovs, a car with a bit of plate welded to it should burn easily.”
“That’s handy in another way, because glass containers for old-style Molotovs are getting scarcer. The red stripe means burn?” Harold reached out to tap the red band painted round the short length of pipe but thought better of it.
“No, that means a hot boom because the contents get hot very fast which means they expand until the tube bursts and throws the shrapnel. This other one really will burn, which means it’ll be much nastier if it goes off near people.” Barry rubbed at his head and then his face, clearly ill at ease about the tube marked with yellow and blue bands. “I’m still not certain about making those. There’s aluminium filings and some other unpleasant this and that in there. When it bursts those bits will fly out, burning anything they hit. The next part is what really worries me.” Barry hesitated a long time, but Harold left him to decide. “They’re hot enough to stick to skin, and they’ll keep hot long enough to burn deep, or burn through clothing.”
“We won’t use them except to defend Orchard Close, Barry. Then if burned skin slows some up, there’ll be fewer we have to stop coming over walls. After that we may have the luxury of deciding to either kill or treat a burned survivor.” Harold looked at the first one. “We could do with smaller pipes fitted up like that one, then they can go inside plastic containers full of flammable liquids.” He saw Barry wince. “You already may have saved some of us, Barry. You saw them on the TV coming around the flanks, and while you weren’t there your bombs stopped them. One bullet from the flank could have killed Lenny, then Doll wouldn’t have made it.”
Harold knew that would have been unlikely, even if they’d been flanked, but he got the right reaction. Barry straightened and nodded. “Without Lenny she wouldn’t have survived. I’ll make them, or at least show Bernie how to.” Barry still felt uncomfortable with making bombs so he showed Bernie how to do it, and Bernie actually made them.
“I promise we won’t just throw them about without good reason Barry, but you know that. Look on the bright side, your fireworks were a success?” Harold smiled at him.
“Oh yes. Messing about deliberately burning things reminded me of all the pretty colours if some materials just burn instead of going bang.” Barry smiled properly at the memory. “My Dad used to point out that early fireworks did that, without having to explode. He said they were called Volcanoes and Silver Rain so Guy Fawkes night used to be pretty without being as noisy.” He gestured at the pipes. “Those will be pretty, just don’t be near when they get noisy.”
“Cripes no.” Though Harold had a candidate for one or more very hot bombs. Caddi had been trying to jump the queue for repairs, again.
* * *
Several times during the fortnight after the mart attack Harold considered sending Caddi a dangerous firework or a bullet to stop the stream of demands. Caddi didn’t like having to wait his turn for Soldier Boy to fix his captured weapons, sending someone to ask almost daily. Eventually Harold sent the last weapon back to the GOFS and the following day Charger turned up as a hostage, so Harold drove over to The Mansion. Chevy rushed him through the search and Caddi himself opened the door to let Harold in.
“Cripes Caddi, don’t you ever take a break? You’ve been whittling on about a visit since the smoke cleared. I’m still repairing what we took, and anyway the Geeks and GOFS came first. It was their turn.” Harold looked over the heap of weapons on the desk, studiously ignoring the auburn-haired young woman stood in the corner. The Virginia experiment with willing women had finished because this maid had cane marks across her upper legs. “Didn’t you get enough action at the mart?”
“Yeah, more than enough but I made sure we took plenty of loot as well. We should charge the rest of the city for stopping that.” Caddi waved at the weapons. “Free repairs?”
“Not a chance. That was pure self-interest.” Harold frowned. “You lot were definitely a bit slow shooting.”
Caddi shrugged. “We thought you’d be all right in that armour and if they went for you that would make it easier on us. We had an outbreak of common sense because there were enough to swamp you. Then that mob would have your armoured division. It’s a pity the Army hogged most of the weapons.” He scowled. “I notice you got all the glory. I’ll cane the next stupid shit to mention the blonde, or Patty or that fucking Emmy. We lost a lot more people.”
“You’ve got more to lose. We did our bit but can’t afford our losses any more than you.”
Caddi grinned, volatile as ever. “The Ferdinands really got thinned. Pussies. They’re crap at hand-to-hand and didn’t have enough guns.” He smirked. “Probably because of how many we took off them. The bastards coming our way went for them, the weakest spot, then the rest of us hit the arses from the side.”
Harold frowned and glanced at him. “Did any actually break out? Are we likely to see any survivors from that mob running about?”
“No, none broke through. I left people until the Army were done bulldozing the bodies into a heap and so did the Baggies, just in case someone decided to lie doggo. Do you want more coffee, or anything?” Caddi raised an eyebrow, glancing at the woman.
“No thanks.” Harold sipped his coffee and didn’t look towards her.
“You can fuck off since he’s not interested.” Caddi sniggered because Harold still didn’t look up as she left. Though Harold suppressed a small smile because Charger had passed on a bit of news. Roller watched the film and liked Virginia’s willingness. Since Caddi didn’t want her after she couldn’t trap Harold into an indiscretion, Roller claimed the young woman. Virginia really did like polite and dangerous according to Charger, which left Roller looking both smug and haggard.
“I hope you don’t want this lot in a hurry. It’ll be nearly Christmas before they’re done, maybe later for the difficult ones.” Harold waited patiently for Caddi to take the piss or complain.
Sure enough. “Yeah but you’ll have time to stop for a fucking party. What the fuck do your lot do? It’s not like you have an orgy, is it? Bloody frigid, your lot.”
“Just fussy. Fussy and carrying sharp stuff to remind visitors about their manners.” Harold smiled at him. “We can be a lot of fun once the gates are locked.”
“Yeah, right, though you don’t seem to be able to take a joke these days. Have you taken in any more runners?” Caddi never stopped at one complaint. Harold thought he must have a list someplace.
“I’ve got a great sense of humour but not if some arse pulls a knife. I slap those down good and hard but your men never seem to learn. If something breaks that’s hard luck.” Harold grinned. “I take refugees not runners. There has been an increase in those looking for us after the TV publicity.” He smiled happily because Caddi hated the next part. “You know I have more because we close the borders
for a day each month for a welcoming party. Now, do you want to deal or are you going to keep trying to wind me up? It won’t get you a better price.” It wouldn’t. If the harassment became too bad, Harold added something to the bill.
“All right, smartarse. I suppose you want more powder? You can have reloads?” Caddi grinned because he knew the reply.
Or thought he did, because this time Harold wasn’t as short of propellant. “I’ll want propellant, but I also want charcoal. Only clean charcoal and my metals man will check every bag.” All the charcoal meant Liz had finally fired up her forge properly again and swore she nearly had tempering sorted. Harold wanted that since if Liz could finally make tempered blades, she could make the slimmer, pointed machetes he wanted. “Your reloads are rubbish and so are any you found. I know because I’ve got a lot of them.”
“Why? What’s wrong with them?”
“You expect me to tell you? Not a chance. If you ever get ambitious all our rounds will fire and our guns won’t jam, while yours might blow up. Why would I do you the same favour? That one is past repair.” The weapon might not be completely useless but Harold had just ‘fined’ Caddi a badly rusted shotgun as a way of dealing with the crap. “I’ll take it as spares.”
“Right, then you’ll repair it for your lot.” Caddi claimed Harold repaired all the ruined weapons. “How many big rifles have you got now after getting that one from the General?”
“At least three, and several really good shooters in addition to me but I’m not saying how many.” Harold grinned despite Caddi finally learning about his extra rifle. “My extra shooters might practice when your men go home?”
“That isn’t subtle.” Caddi scowled. “Telling them they’d better go home because hanging about after you close the borders can be fatal? That’s a neutral road.”
“Yes, but out in the dark, without any friends coming to pick them up? Something terrible might happen.” Harold smiled sunnily. “We’d be tucked up partying and never hear them scream.”
“Yeah, right, at least you only party once a month these days. What do you know about Myxomatosis? The rabbit disease?”
“Very little. The usual on the TV which is probably crap because our rabbits are fine, tasty even. We’ll sell you some burgers without any rat in them?” Harold frowned at the switch because something must have tweaked Caddi about rabbits.
“I’ve heard that some of the rabbits further over on the other side of the M5 have something wrong with them. The result is gross, a lot like bad mange with something else mixed. Even some of the live ones have disgusting marks and scars. I’ve stopped buying rabbit meat from outside, especially after the TV warning, and I’m hoping the canals stop it spreading.” Caddi frowned, looking at Harold’s hands. “What’s the matter with that one?”
Harold had been frowning about the rabbits, but now he put down the pistol he’d been inspecting and shrugged. “That’ll be expensive.”
“They all are. Right, let’s get these sorted out for delivery seventh of December at the latest?”
“Fourteenth, maybe.” Harold settled down to haggle.
On the way back to Harold’s pickup, Caddi stopped and chuckled. “I might have found an answer to those nasty bitches of yours. Watch her.” Caddi pointed to a young woman who looked a little bit gaunt. At about five foot seven or eight with black hair that looked as if it had been hacked rather than cut, Harold couldn’t see why Caddi had picked on her. Then he realised the young woman wore at least four knives and a machete over her short black skirt and white blouse. More significantly, the Hot Rods were steering clear of her.
A smile grew on Harold’s lips. “An armed woman Caddi? You’re taking a chance, and ruining your reputation.”
“I’ve reassessed some of your bitches after one of my lot saw that Patty swinging a machete. Maybe I’ve tried your method of recruitment?” He pointed at the young woman. “Nobody is allowed to touch her.” Caddi sniggered. “That’s if they dared. I’ve had to stop her taking part in crossbow practice since she’s as good as that bitch of yours and goes for the same targets.”
Harold watched the gangsters rather than the woman. Those coming towards her avoided her eyes or contact while those behind eyed her up, smirked, and made jokes. “Cripes, is she actually allowed to cut them?”
“Fingers, hands, ears or nuts depending on where she’s groped. There’s a list. Put a hand on her ass and find out. Everyone is allowed to ask her?” From Caddi’s little half-smile he already knew Harold wouldn’t.
“Not my thing.” Though on the way back home Harold wondered what sort of woman could walk around The Mansion without the Hot Rods daring to touch her. He worried about someone sending a woman like that to infiltrate Orchard Close, because Harold knew he was a sucker for refugee women.
Harold also worried about the reports of diseased rabbits, because rabbit supplied a high proportion of the meat eaten in Orchard Close. He’d have a talk to Rabbit Bob to see if his tame ones could catch this Myxomatosis since those TV reports seemed to be true.
Then Harold wondered how much hassle the shoppers would get from the new soldiers on the bypass. From experience the squaddies would be suspicious and probably downright belligerent for a while. He didn’t like the soldiers thinking of the Orchard Close people as animals and scum, but it took time to get the difference across. After that Harold spent the rest of the trip worrying about Christmas and the New Year, because he couldn’t see any Happy about either.
* * *
Harold had barely finished stashing Caddi’s repairs in his workshop when the bullhorn on the by-pass started asking for Soldier Boy. Nobody worried because every new sergeant called Soldier Boy up there, to explain this enclave were getting no favours and should watch their step. Harold took off all his weapons, then walked out of the gates and along the road to the edge of the exclusion zone. “Hello the Army.” He took off his jacket and turned to show he had no weapons. “Can I put my coat back on, please?” Despite the cold Harold expected a no.
“Yes, but come up nice and steady and keep your hands in view.” A surprised and grateful Harold did, keeping his hands well out to the sides. Newly arrived soldiers tended to want him down to shirt and jeans for a first meeting. “That’ll do. Turn round for the search.” Harold did while a squaddie came through the sandbags and ran a wand over him. He asked about Harold’s pocket, but accepted it was a phone without patting him down. The soldier retreated. “Come in closer.”
The face looking over the sandbags looked serious but not unduly suspicious or antagonistic, which made a pleasant change. Harold smiled. “Hello sarge. I’m Harold Miller.”
“We know. A brave and honest citizen, bloody but unbowed.” Harold stared and the sergeant smiled slightly. “Yes, you and that thing down there are stars of stage and screen. Though that leaves me with two questions.” The smile went leaving a very serious-looking sergeant. “First off, what is that armour made of?”
“The strongest parts are half inch cold rolled steel, but some is three-eighths and some is softer. Your rifles or any round with a steel core will no doubt go through any of it.” Harold shrugged. “Most of the ammo down here is soft lead reloads and most gangsters skimp on propellant.”
Sarge seemed to relax. “How were your people hit?”
“Eight rounds punched holes in the steel. Two hit people, and one got shot through a loophole. The other casualties were stood up behind a plate using a crossbow or went hand to hand. I tried putting us on an angle to shed any hits.” Harold smiled. “One bloke tripped over a brick.”
“There’s always one. So the armour worked, or nearly, because there seemed to be a hell of a lot of incoming. We only saw the action on TV last night which prompts my second but less official question. How is that blonde lass? This lot can’t sleep for worrying.” Sarge might be smiling but didn’t seem to be taking the piss, while the nearest soldiers did seem very interested.
“Doll is alive and with the best medic around he
re. You’ll know when she comes back if you see a blonde in a Stetson and maybe cowboy boots.” Harold smiled. “She might even bring up some chips or soup if that’s allowed.”
Sarge indicated with his head for Harold to move along the sandbags, further from the squaddies, though as he did he answered in a loud voice. “The lads would love that. They’d be the envy of the entire barracks.” He lowered his voice. “Then I’d have to arrest her so the government could give her a medal.”
Harold kept his voice down. “Seriously?”
“Very seriously. I would have to invite her to a medal ceremony and not take no for an answer. That came in writing that I have seen but I’m not allowed a copy of, which makes me just a little bit twitchy. Though anyone else with chips or soup will be safe.” The last came with a wry smile. “Sergeant rumour says both are delicious.”
Harold spoke louder. “I’m afraid she’s very ill as yet, but someone else might come up to keep your lads updated?”
“They’d appreciate that. They’ve already taken pictures of that paintwork to show off.” Sarge lowered his voice. “Careful lad. Your lot have been set up, and some asshole will try and knock you down.”
“Thanks. We’ll try very hard to keep on being,” Harold smiled, “battered but unbroken.”
“Good. I’ll see you mart day no doubt. That’ll liven the day up since very few use the bypass now and no, I really don’t want to know how you manage.”
“With difficulty.” Harold hadn’t expected this response, but he might as well take advantage. “I know this is an odd thing to ask, but can I show you a phone picture of a bloke? I just want to know if he’s survived because his missus worries.”
“Go on, but carefully.” The sergeant tensed, then relaxed as the phone came clear. He looked at the picture. “No, but I’ll mention it very unofficially. Why was he arrested?”
“He’s a gardener, a good one, but a scroat injured him and he needed a medic.” Harold shrugged. “We knew he wouldn’t come back but it was that or die.”