Fall of the Cities: Planting the Orchard

by Vance Huxley

  The driver, an Army reservist, shrugged. “I’m not allowed to go down there, mate. Sorry. Maybe you can get a cab or leave some stuff with the guard post.” As Harry looked around for some sign of a cab, the bus door sighed shut and he heard the gears engage. Harry looked down at the full sized Bergen kitbag and two packs, all stuffed with Army kit. Accepted in lieu of pay, or some of it at least. There was no way he could carry them to Sharyn’s flat and the bloody mobile phones were still screwed up.

  Harry shrugged and headed for the guard post. The post was sandbags and a corrugated iron roof, sat at the top of the ramp so they could see anyone coming up. The down ramp was sealed off with concrete blocks. “Hello. Is there any chance of getting a lift into town? Is there a phone so I can get a cab?”

  The squaddie had been watching Harry approach. Now he shook his head. “Not a chance mate. Have you got any civvies? Clothes?”

  “No. I’ve been out of the country over three years and civvie clothing wasn’t a lot of use over there. Not a lot of social life outside the bases.” Harry looked round. “Crap. I’ve got a ton of gear that I took instead of pay.”

  “Running out?” That came with a sneer.

  “No, my sister’s down there with two kids and I came to get her out.” Harry nodded out over the city.

  “Too late mate. You can supposedly still get a pass but once you’re in, don’t bet on it.” The squaddie waved at the burned houses. “There’s a lot of that going on, and we’ve got to keep it bottled up.” He looked Harry up and down. “Still going in?”

  “I’ve got to. I told you, my sister and her kids are waiting for me.”

  “Hang on, because you’ll have to square it with the sergeant.” Harry stood there trying to grapple with that as the squaddie went into the shelter and voices were raised. He needed permission to go into an English city, and couldn’t come out? Sergeant Wilson’s rumour mill was running slow. Harry was also grappling with the government sending him home into a sealed city. Yet they wouldn’t let soldiers into London?

  “Are you serious about going down there dressed like that?” The sergeant’s voice jerked Harry out of his thoughts.

  “What else can I do?”

  “You’d be better off stark naked. They don’t like us down there.” The sergeant looked Harry up and down. “You shouldn’t be wearing proper Army kit anyway if you’ve left.”

  “Surely it’s OK with no badges or stripes? Anyway, it’s all I’ve got, seriously.”

  The squaddie came out and the sergeant nodded at him. “He says you’ve got family down there.”

  “Sister and two young kids. She’s worried so I came to get her out.”

  “Luck with that. We’ve been turning back at least five of every six that try to leave. The rest have a pass. Though even they have to leave most of their possessions.” The sergeant looked Harry up and down. “I can’t do it. It would be as good as murder to send you down there dressed like that.” His eyes drifted past Harry. “Hellfire, how were you intending to move that lot?”

  “Taxi, bus? Nobody mentioned this.” Harry swept his hand out wide to include the shambles below. Most of the small estate that came within three hundred yards of the motorway was intact, but a wide swathe of housing beyond was burned or damaged. To one side of the estate was a caravan storage park with about a dozen of the big mobile home types parked up. To the other was a huge empty car park with less than a score of cars in it. Most of them had luggage heaped on the roofs.

  “Tell you what.” The sergeant pointed to the big empty car park. “Several coaches full of drivers turned up and took the cars from there.” He looked at Harry’s baffled expression. “All new cars, waiting to be sold or for delivery I presume. Those have parked on there because they weren’t allowed out here.” The sergeant glared at Harry. “Keep your trap shut, right?”

  “Yes? What about?”

  “About going down there and looking for a pair of jeans and a shirt that fit you. Then taking one of the vehicles if there’s keys in one.” He smiled. “Unless you can hot wire a car?”

  Harry laughed. “Not a bloody clue.”

  “Nor me. Then bring it to the bottom of the ramp. Just to the bottom, or we will shoot you.” There was no humour in that.

  “Christ!”

  “You haven’t seen what we have.” The sergeant looked at Harry’s heap of kit. “Then cart that lot down and piss off. I never want to see the motor again, ever. OK?”

  “Really? It’s stealing.”

  That brought some humour, but the bitter kind. “Hah, who cares down there? My authority stops at the three hundred yard mark, unless you wave a firearm. Then we’ll do our level best to kill you at any range.” The sergeant watched Harry’s face as he absorbed that. “Sorry, but this is city living 1-0-1. Take one of the pickup trucks if you can because the roads are rough in some places.”

  “Rough?” Harry realised he sounded a bit dumb, but this was a hell of a shock.

  “That mess, where the houses are burned? That sort of rough. The mob that did it was pissed off because the RAF spotted them coming and we had a couple of armoured cars waiting. That damage was pure spite since they couldn’t break out. Be off the streets by dark.”

  Harry stared out over the city. “I thought London was bad. Well it was, we were in a bloody war.”

  “Then you know what it’s like down there. Still want to go?” Harry realised that the sergeant was hammering the situation home to give Harry a chance to back away.

  “Sorry, I left someone in London I couldn’t get out. Can’t do the same to sis.”

  “Fair enough. Your gear is safe while you go shopping, since we shoot anyone stealing on the Queen’s Highway.” Harry stared and the sergeant nodded. “All the motorways and dual carriageways are private property now. They belong to the Ministry of Defence and the MOD will defend them.”

  “I’ll go and get a motor.” Harry set off in a daze.

  He hadn’t gone four steps when a voice called “and jeans. For God’s sake get out of that uniform.” He raised a hand to acknowledge the words and kept going.

  Chapter 5:

  Sister and Rug Rats

  “Harry!” Sharyn hugged him tightly. “Come on in.”

  “I’ve got some gear, downstairs. I’d rather not leave it in the truck.”

  “Do you need help?”

  “Not really ta, it’s just a kitbag and a couple of packs. Is there anywhere I can park up?”

  “Basement garage. I’ll go down in the lift and open up. How did you get in without buzzing me?” Sharyn frowned. “Is the lock all right?”

  “Yes, some old bloke sat in the foyer let me in.” Harry grinned. “He wanted me to take him for a pint.”

  “He would. That’s Clarence, and he’s always doing that.” Sharyn caught herself and the frown was replaced by a smile. “He’s a bit doolally but we’ve got to stop him letting strangers inside. Though this time he got it right.” She hugged Harry again. “Go on, the garage door is round the side. Then you can bring your gear up in the lift from there.” She pushed him. “Round the side, just follow the little road and it’s just off the car park. Hurry, it’s getting dark.”

  Not really, there was barely a hint of dusk, but Harry hurried. He was wearing a big relieved smile because at least Sharyn seemed all right. He wasn’t so happy about the two burnt out cars in the car park, or the big dents in the garage door. Once inside Harry went back to look at the door. Sharyn came out of the lift and joined him.

  “When this did happen?”

  “Three nights ago. It’s getting worse, Harry. The police barely patrol at all now, and never get out of the cars. The coppers carry guns, now, which is scary all by itself. We can hear the gun battles every night on the big estates. The yobs come and steal everything that’s not nailed down at night, which is why we lock up.” Sharyn smiled. “We don’t let Clarence down there at night or he’d let them in.”

  “Can’t you fix the door so it won’t ope
n even if he tried?” Harry didn’t like that idea at all, doors a doolally old man would open to anyone with a pint. This place didn’t sound as bad as things were round Heathrow but then the place he’d taken Cyn to wasn’t that bad either. Not yet, hopefully.

  “Maybe. I’ll ask Finn. He’s an electrician so maybe he can do it? We thought of jamming something under the door to stop it opening, but some of the residents are worried about a fire.” Sharyn was chattering happily as Harry carted his kit into the lift and they set off up again.

  “What about the landlord, or the council if it’s them? Can’t they give you a master key or something?” Harry wasn’t keen on the idea of a fire and doors that were jammed either.

  “The landlord is the council. It’s months since anyone from there came round. We’ve got a caretaker, but Mr Blunder can’t get a straight answer from them either. That’s if the phone works.” Sharyn laughed at Harry’s look. “Sorry, Harry. We call him Mr Blunder but it’s really Baumber. He tries his best but if they won’t talk to him he’s stuffed. It’s a good job we’ve got Finn and Rob living here. Rob’s a plumber.”

  “All mod cons. Why haven’t you boarded up the doors and bottom windows?” That was out before Harry thought properly. “Sorry Sharyn, but if you’re worried about the yobs, that would stop them.” Harry had been thinking of the front doors, and the big glass panes that allowed Clarence to see him, and his brain had slipped to the Cyn palace.

  “I don’t think anyone thought of it. Then there’s the damage nails will cause to the frames. The council will go crackers. They still reckon we should pay part of the cost towards fixing the damage in the kid’s playground, and that was yobs.” Sharyn was thinking it through now. “You really think we need to do that? Board the windows?”

  Harry decided to be honest and calm Sharyn down later if necessary. “After what I saw coming here? Yes, it might be a good idea.”

  “But where would we get the boards? I suppose B&Q or one of the other big DIY places might still be open, but who pays?” Sharyn firmed up. “Anyone who doesn’t want yobs in through the windows I suppose. Where are you staying, Harry?”

  “On your lounge floor?”

  Sharyn gave a big beaming smile. “Wait until the rug rats get up in the morning. As I remember, you aren’t that great at mornings.”

  “Bloody hell, the last time I saw Daisy she was firmly anchored down in a cot. How big is Wills, he’s what, two now? That’ll be a shock for both of us since I’ve only seen pictures.” Harry suddenly realised just how long he’d been abroad. Over three years of sand.

  “Daisy is nearly four. I was going to remind you in the next letter.” Sharyn’s voice wavered. “After all, no present from Daddy this year.”

  “Lots of Uncle Harry spoiling instead.”

  “That will be new for her. I’ve never thought of you playing with kids, though I did wonder if you’d come back with a girl.” Sharyn had her smile back. She loved teasing little brother.

  “Not allowed.” Harry realised that had come out a bit sharp and moderated his tone. “No girls until we got back because Kuwait wasn’t a safe place to go courting the locals. Then there actually was a girl. She was lots of fun and when it came time to leave her behind, I sort of suddenly didn’t want to. The Army put the blocks on it. She’s still in London.” Harry smiled. “You nearly had a surprise sister-in-law.”

  “She must have been a hell of a lot of fun! Seriously?”

  “Yup. Not because it was undying love. It might have turned out that way eventually but there wasn’t time. The thing is, none of us wanted to leave any young woman in that hellhole. The Army put the blocks on it all.” Harry laughed. “Davie? Maynard? He found a girl and he really, really did want to bring her with him.”

  “Maynard, Davie, found a girl? Blimey, did he actually kiss her? Did she tie him down? What does she look like?” Sharyn knew Davie Maynard and the squaddie was tongue-tied round her, let alone a single girl.

  “He got a pretty one, and she really was determined.” Harry laughed. “They ended up locked in a broom cupboard together and Marcie had the key. He’s absolutely smitten.”

  Davie’s love life kept them laughing up to the fourth floor and in through Sharyn’s flat door. “I’ll dump this lot in the corner for now.” Harry turned from putting down his kitbag and suddenly had his arms full of sister. A sister who was sobbing her heart out!

  “Thank God you’re here Harry. Nobody knows what to do.” Sharyn looked up through the tears. “Some of us want to leave but we’ve no idea where might be safe. Freddie said he’d get us into quarters when he came back and now he’s not coming.” That was all the talking since Sharyn buried her head in Harry’s chest and cried. Big wracking sobs and he could feel the damp spreading on the shirt he’d stolen.

  Harry was completely thrown. This was Sharyn. Big sis. The one who had sorted out the strife her little brother got in, slapped his ear for getting out of line and taken the piss out of his friends and girls. It had been a good few years since she’d stuck a plaster on Harry’s knee or patiently listened to his heartbreak over some girl, but it was always that way round. She never needed anyone, not Sharyn.

  When Dad left, and eventually Mum hit the bottle a bit too hard, Sharyn always made sure there was food in the cupboard. She sorted out the money and made sure Mum kept the council flat and Harry had a home. When Sharyn got married, Harry stuck it for a year. Then he joined the Army at the grand old age of sixteen. Mum had signed the papers without hesitation and then moved with no forwarding address.

  Now Harry stood and patted Sharyn’s back, and made little sympathy noises, and tried to work out what the hell to do next. He’d expected Sharyn to know what to do, not be waiting for him to arrive and bring a solution. Eventually the storm subsided enough for Sharyn to back off and try a smile.

  “I’ve sogged your shirt. Not much of a welcome.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s stolen.”

  “What?” That straightened her up a bit, as Harry had hoped. He couldn’t deal with a soggy Sharyn. Sad Sharyn, yes, Harry had expected that after Freddie dying, but not a sobbing mess.

  “Jeans as well. So is the truck.” Harry smiled and put on a terrible fake American accent. “I’m on da lam, sis. I gotta lay low or da Feds will get me.”

  “Piss off. The Feds?” Sharyn sniffed. “I’m a mess.”

  “A mess I’m very happy to see.” Harry looked round. “Where are these rugrats? Did you give them a knockout drop or sell them to slavers?”

  “Two doors down where I dropped them off when you went to get your stolen truck. Now give. Stolen clothes and jeans? I thought the Army let you go?”

  Harry settled down in the kitchen and an hour and two cups of coffee later the bare bones of catching up was done. Then Harry got to meet a very shy four-year-old girl who looked just like the pictures he’d received, but without the cheeky smile. The toddler with her was big-eyed and overwhelmed. They were collected from Susan, a happy, bustling woman in her thirties who lived in the flat literally two doors down.

  “Is the chippy open?” Harry grinned. “I could murder real fish and chips.”

  “Not at night. How about fish fingers and chips?” Sharyn smiled, happier now that she’d got her little brother and kids all together. “Did the Army teach you how to peel spuds?”

  “Not a chance. It’s all modern now. Dead cushy, like a five star hotel.” Harry smiled back because Sharyn was an Army wife. Army widow, ouch, that hit Harry hard. Sharyn was twenty five, too young to be a widow.

  Sharyn smiled at the cushy part. “Well it’s time to learn how to be a civvie again. Let’s see if you remember all those handy lessons I taught you. C’mon Daisy, bring Wills in the kitchen and you can watch Uncle Harry making a mess of the chips.”

  Wills made the biggest mess in the end, but on the little tray at the front of his high chair. The first glimpse of cheeky appeared when Harry pinched a chip from Daisy’s plate and she pinched one back. Bet
ter yet, Sharyn seemed to have relaxed. The TV afterwards was just as depressing as usual so Harry did learn to draw a pony. Apparently a pony, drawing wasn’t his strong point. Harry relaxed as well.

  Daisy went off to bed at eight, and Harry was introduced to the bedtime book and The Amazing Talking Pig. Daisy remarked on the fireworks starting up early and Sharyn made a shushing sign at Harry, finger to lips. Once clear of the bedroom Sharyn turned and shrugged. “I don’t want to tell her it’s gunfire.”

  “Well it does sound a bit like fireworks. Have you heard enough to know the difference?” Sharyn had never been in an official war zone, but now Harry was wondering if this qualified.

  “Every night. I’m not sure when occasionally became every night because the volume sort of worked up from now and then.” Sharyn gave a little smile. “I thought the noise was fireworks at first but Freddie was home on leave once and said not. Though the firing was only now and then two years ago.”

  Sharyn gave a big sigh and looked at the other bedroom, the one where her son was already sleeping. “I’m sad that Wills will never remember Daddy, but maybe that’s easier on him?” That needed another brother hug. Sharyn was definitely fragile at the moment.

  “None of this is easy. I intended taking you out of here but the Army are only letting people with passes leave.” Harry smiled. “If I’d known I would have applied.”

  “Have you got a trade? The only people I know who were offered a pass were Finn and Rob. Finn won’t leave his mother, and Rob is sweet on Susan.” Sharyn produced a real smile. “Yes, that Susan. Rob is divorced as well and we’re all waiting with bated breath for the first real move from either.” Gossip cheered Sharyn up but not for long. “If you go up to the roof, you can see the flashes.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Oh yes, those are very serious people out there. We assume one lot are the police shooting back, but there’s never a proper report on the news. Just some vague reference to unrest.” Sharyn waved a hand downwards. “There’s a lad with a CB radio on the second floor, Toby, and he talks to kids on the estates when he can get through. It’s definitely not all police, because Toby’s friends say that sometimes the lunatics are shooting at each other.”