Fall of the Cities: Planting the Orchard

by Vance Huxley

  Then Harold explained the whole meeting again to Sharyn and several of his nearby neighbours. Though the latter was after the evening meal because Sharyn insisted on eating on time. Because of the children and because, according to her, someone had to act civilised.

  It was getting dark outside before Harold could relax and get back to his lists. But not for long. Deja vu mark three was Hazel banging on his door. “Harold, Harold!”

  This time Liz was downstairs and almost weeping with rage. “The bastards, the stinking rotten bastards. Shoot them all, Harold.”

  “Christ, why?” Harold also wondered why Sharyn hadn’t got his rifle out if something was that urgent. He kept the weapon locked in the study with all the ammunition and reloading gear so the kids never got near it.

  “They’ve burned my caravans, Harold. They’re shouting bloody insults from the darkness, in the ruins nearby. The bastards say they’ll burn us all. All that lovely bedding. Dry mattresses, and at least two settees, Harold.” Liz grabbed Harold and shook him. “Shoot the bastards!”

  Harold wrapped his arms round her and hugged. “I can’t, Liz. The Army will go crackers if I open up on unarmed men, even if they’re assholes.” Harold hugged a bit tighter as Liz finally cried, to release either her frustration or anger. “I’m sorry we couldn’t find the people to get everything out in time.” Liz sobbed some more and hugged back and Sharyn mouthed ‘shall I go’ and mimed leaving the room.

  Harold smiled and shook his head. Then he spoke to Liz. “Sharyn thinks we need some time alone. She doesn’t know that you think I’m a limp-wristed weakling unworthy of your affection.”

  Liz stopped crying. She gave a couple of sobs and a sniff, then raised her head off Harold’s damp shoulder. She turned her head towards Sharyn and managed a shaky little laugh. “It’s true. That’s why I cry on him. If he takes advantage I can slap him silly.”

  “Thank all and any Gods for that.” Sharyn seemed to like that phrase. “I’m his sister and I’d hate to see anyone sensible get taken in by his boyish charm. Not only that, but if you’d snogged him I’d have been sick on this lovely carpet.”

  Liz was rallying nicely with a bit of banter to distract her, but now she remembered her caravans. “Can’t we do anything, Harold?”

  “I doubt it. I seem to remember lots of scare stories about those places when one of my mates lived on a caravan site. They burn like hell once they’re really going. We can’t risk it anyway since those that ran away might have found friends.” He turned to Sharyn. “I’ll go down to number five in case they get ambitious. Lock the doors and I’ll get one of the girl club to nip over with a crossbow for protection.”

  “I’ll do it, Harold.” Liz sniffed. “I’ll get a crossbow and then Sharyn can tell me all about the sort of women who actually fall for that act.”

  Harold smiled, gave Sharyn a hug and headed down the street. He could see the flickering of the flames above the houses now. Harold went into the back of number five and retrieved the big rifle from the cupboard under the stairs. When he went into the front room Emmy was at the broken window, sat to the side with her child’s crossbow. Liz had been right, the modified bolt did look damn nasty.

  Emmy turned as Harold came into the room, one half of her face and head still covered by a bandage. Though a clean one now, and a lot neater so Patricia had probably been at work. “Oh good, it’s you. Do you think they’re coming back?”

  “No. Don’t worry, Emmy, they won’t risk it.”

  “I wasn’t worried. I want some payback for the scars. Bloody bastards. Er. Sorry.” Emmy didn’t swear at all usually.

  “I was thinking something a bit stronger. Don’t worry about the scars. I doubt there’ll be many. What did Patricia say?” Since Harold had no real idea about scarring and Patricia was a trainee nurse and might have.

  “She said the deepest cuts were on my head, not face, and I might get away with just a couple of little ones that showed.” Emmy sighed. “She shaved off all my plaits on that side so I’ve got to grow them all over again, or cut the rest. It’ll take ages. That’s another reason for payback.”

  Harold gave a little laugh, of relief really. “There you go then. In this day and age, among all the bad boys, a couple of little scars will only enhance your already stunning beauty. Leave the plaits on the other side and you’ve got a statement hair style. Like the models used to have, or pop stars. You’ll knock ‘em dead.”

  Emmy’s teeth gleamed in the gloom, and then she laughed. “Blimey Harold, with a line of patter like that, how come you haven’t got a girlfriend? Oh, sorry. Did you lose someone?”

  “Not really, not like you. I’ve been abroad since I was seventeen. Three years of sand and Dads who would use a gun or a big knife if you looked hard at their daughters.” Harold gave a little smile. “I met a girl when we came back.” Then his smile went. “I had to leave her in London. It never turned into anything but maybe she got the nearest to me. Now? Well, under the circumstances?”

  Emmy’s tone softened. “There’s a lot of us grieving.” A bit of mischief sneaked into her voice. “Though a few of us aren’t, and one or two have wondered about showing you a bit of gratitude, for the rescue.” She giggled. “That’s their excuse anyway.”

  “Which is a bit of a problem. Gratitude instead, of, well, attraction.” Harold shut up because this wasn’t a conversation to have with a wounded girl in a damaged house with nutters dancing round a bonfire outside.

  “I’ll tell them.”

  “What!”

  Emmy gave a little laugh. “Less gratitude and more attraction. That should liven things up.”

  “Christ no. Are you on pain medication?”

  Emmy laughed again. “A couple of pills but I am sort of happy. I saw that gun aiming at me, and then there was a boom and pain, and then all the blood.” She sighed. “Now it’s just a couple of scars and short hair and I’m really happy. Sorry about the teasing.”

  That made Harold chuckle. “Don’t worry about teasing. I’ve got an older sister who still practices.”

  “I’ve got a brother who headed to Jamaica to look up his roots before travel became difficult. About three years ago. I haven’t heard from him for over a year now. I wouldn’t mind him being here to tease me now and then.” Emmy peeked out of the window. “The noise is dying down.”

  “No fun for them if nobody is answering. It’s cold out there as well and they’ll want to find somewhere warm for the night.” Harold knew his annoyance showed in the next words. “Somewhere I can’t find them in the morning.”

  “I don’t think I’ll sleep anyway.”

  “Nor me, just in case they do get brave. Maybe we could move to a warmer room? One with a window?” The cold was definitely biting now all the excitement was over.

  “Good idea but I’m bringing my seat.” Emmy’s half smile flashed round the dressing. “A crate of Berry Beer.”

  “Full ones?”

  “Of course. I might share if you’re a gentleman and carry the crate. After all I’m wounded.”

  Harold spent a pleasant night, under the circumstances. They chatted about this and that, history and relatives, and sipped beer now and then. Harold had his shoulder re-dampened at one stage when Emmy was talking about David, her man. Harold also found out that despite everyone thinking so, Emmy wasn’t married to David and they’d been together less than a year. But they had been sort of making plans.

  He patted her back and Emmy mopped her eye and they moved on to the last news out of Jamaica. Then Alfie being so nice to a Hazel still interested in dolls rather than boys. They both agreed that the interest was Alfie’s good nature, and Hazel being near his age and an orphan.

  Though the choices when the young teens started thinking of romance were going to be very limited. Alfie and Toby were also being nice to Veronica, who was a very quiet girl just as her Mum and Dad were, Kerry and Isiah. One of the few complete families from Sharyn’s block of flats. They played a bit of who mi
ght like who about the four teenagers until Emmy pointed out that one might be gay and mess the whole idea up.

  Sometime as dawn was breaking Emmy drifted off to sleep in an armchair, having abandoned the beer crate some time previously. Harold quietly headed upstairs and peeked into the two rooms with open doors. He brought quilts down and covered Emmy, then wrapped himself up in the other and slept in the other armchair.

  He was greeted by Emmy and a cup of coffee when he woke up. Sharyn gave him a lot of teasing about where he’d spent the night. Emmy teased Harold on her good days, declaring that the last she remembered was the second bottle of beer. Then rolling her eyes and pointing out anything could have happened after that as she woke up under a quilt. Harold laughed along because everyone was well aware that Emmy was still grieving and no man was on her agenda. No living man anyway.

  Chapter 11:

  Setting Boundaries

  Ten days later Emmy’s bandages were off even if her head was still half covered in stubble. Just in time for her to reclaim her shotgun seat in the pickup when the first convoy set off to get long-term supplies. Emmy insisted on coming along as Billy’s guard and this time had one of Liz’s spears.

  The spear heads were the burned hunting knife blades recovered along with the bows. The tang was socketed onto the end of the broom shaft and even spirited stabbing of a door failed to dislodge the experimental model. After a dedicated session of hammering Liz had produced twenty three of the spears, and eleven came on this convoy.

  “This looks more promising.” The convoy was parked at the front of a big warehouse which hadn’t been burned. There was the usual evidence of looting, so when Harold led the group through the broken doors the empty shelves weren’t a surprise.

  Berry pushed past and bent over scattered packaging on the floor. “Good, they were idiots. We want this lot.”

  “What is it?”

  “Yeast for wine making. They’ve looted the kits for making beer and wine but they’ll run out of yeast.” Berry was throwing packets into a wire basket and Billy and Seth both went to help her.

  “Do you need the yeast for beer?” Harold was sure beer needed yeast but it wasn’t on the list.

  “We keep our own going. The brew is more consistent and no need to go shopping.” Berry glanced over to Billy and Seth. “Take any wiggly bits of glass tubing, corks even if they’re rubber with a hole in, and any tubing or filters.”

  Now Harold really was puzzled. “So why take this? Unless you’ve got a grapevine you’re keeping quiet about?”

  Berry delivered a patent beaming smile. “Blackberry wine will blow your brains out. We can make wine out of potatoes, rhubarb, and even tinned fruit, just for a change.” She turned back to her task. “Though beer is best of course.”

  “So that’s it. No beer supplies?”

  Berry stood up and looked around. “Maybe. The looters also left those sacks, so maybe the store at the back has more?” Berry was pointing at four sacks that had been pulled off the shelf and then abandoned. “We want those anyway.” She headed for the big doors at the back of the shop area but Harold and Emmy got ahead of her as quickly as possible.

  “You have a bodyguard, Berry. Let us go first or your Dad will slap me round the head.” Harold smiled to take the sting out of it because Berry was too young to be needing an armed guard for shopping.

  “Bodyguard? I’m just here to help carry things.” Emmy pushed the door open and Harold poked the rifle inside. Emmy’s big torch lit up the large room and there was a stack of sacks at the back. Berry pushed through.

  “Brilliant! Someone has been at them but there’s loads left here.” She pointed. “Those and those are what we want.”

  Harold turned around. “Billy, get the vans here now and everyone loading, Someone is already taking this stuff and they might be back. Send the vehicles round the side to the loading door, there has to be one.” Billy left at a run. “Seth, get all that little stuff in baskets and bring the lot through there and help with loading. Everyone, hurry.”

  The loading bay door was still locked so Harold used the butt of the big rifle on the lock. The first van was pulling up outside as the shutter door went up. “Casper, keep the guns on the vehicles and watch for annoyed neighbours. Someone has already been taking this gear. The rest of you, all of you, get loading.”

  Thirty minutes of intense effort later and Casper called out. “Here they come. A mob not a gang, waving sticks and suchlike. They’re all on foot.”

  “All aboard, leave the rest of the sacks. Casper, get someone with a two-two to fire a warning shot over their heads. Seth, take someone else in the Luton van because it’s going first, so Berry isn’t going inside. That’s the biggest vehicle so make a hole in that lot. Run them down.”

  Seth stared, white-faced, and hesitated.

  “I’ll do it.” He switched his stare to Liz when she shouted. Harold opened his mouth to say he would, but didn’t get the chance.

  “No.” Seth swallowed hard. “I can do it.” He turned and raced for the driver’s cab, beckoning, and Bernie followed with a spear. The big square-backed van lurched into motion as the rest clambered aboard their own transport and the six other vehicles dropped into line. Seth took Harold at his word and kept his foot on the accelerator. The approaching crowd spread across the exit, wavered as the vehicle kept coming, then most scattered at the last moment.

  That decision was too late for some. Men and at least one woman were bowled over as two tons of fully loaded goods vehicle brushed them aside. At least two went underneath because Harold felt two big bumps when the pickup went through the gap. The convoy roared off down the road pursued by a hail of half bricks and lengths of timber, but the shocked crowd reacted too late.

  Five minutes later, on an empty stretch of road, the Luton swerved to the side of the tarmac and Seth climbed out. He tottered three steps and was violently sick. Harold made his way forward past other vehicles. Seth glanced up, still bent at the waist.

  “Christ, Harold. I saw her face. Oh Christ, Harold.” He retched again, trying to be sick when there was nothing left.

  Harold patted his back. “It had to be done, Seth. If you’d said no I’d have done it. Otherwise they’d have ripped us to bits.” He offered the white-faced driver a bottle of water. “Here, rinse and spit, then drink a little bit.”

  Seth half straightened and did. Then he looked at Harold again. “She froze. So I shut my eyes and kept my foot down. Oh shit, Harold.”

  “You might have missed her. She might have jumped and you didn’t get her. You might have hit someone else. I’ll get another driver for the rest of the way.” Harold didn’t think she, whoever it was, had made it. At least one woman didn’t, but Seth needed the doubt.

  “You think? Oh God. I kept thinking, it’s her or B... the rest of you. Oh Christ, Harold.” Someone came past Harold and gathered Seth in her arms. Berry!

  “Thank you Seth. I was so frightened. It must have been awful.” She held him tight for a while, murmuring, then as Seth straightened up Berry gave him a gentle kiss. The young woman turned and headed back along the vehicles, giving Harold a big wink as she passed. The first aid certainly worked because Seth was staring after her and some colour was back in his cheeks.

  “I’ll get a driver, Seth.”

  “Er, no, um, I’ll be all right now.” Seth drank more water and climbed back into the truck, then wound the window down as Harold waved.

  “The pickup will come to the front now Seth. Hang well back the same as usual, all right?” A white-faced Seth nodded. Harold headed back, re-assuring those who asked after Seth. The young man had made himself a lot of friends today.

  Berry leaned out of the girl club minibus as Harold passed. “Did it work? Is he all right?”

  “Yes, but he’ll be chasing you round the brewery after that.”

  Berry smiled. “No he won’t. Seth is a bit frightened of me so he’ll be a gentleman. Anyway, I might let him catch me eventually if D
ad isn’t there. I just haven’t decided yet because some of the others are very sweet.”

  “Hellfire. Whoever it is won’t stand a chance.” Harold shook his head and walked away from the laughter in the minibus. Some of the laughing was close to hysteria because their escape had been shocking and a close thing.

  * * *

  The next two places the convoy visited were useless, one was empty and the other was ashes and twisted metal. Then a collection of garages produced an old welder and several boxes of welding rods that Liz seized with glee. The route zigzagged to take in industrial estates, warehouses, groups of shops and small industrial units. Some were burned but many were now being protected. So were many small groups of houses.

  Firearms were aimed from upstairs windows in a street lined with shops. A barricade across the street to a warehouse consisted of two vans on their sides and several road sign poles. Behind it were people with garden forks, machetes, and a couple of crossbows. A small group of archers with the complicated bows were holding a boarded up supermarket. It had been looted but they were protecting what was left, aiming their arrows down from the roof. Sarge had been right about the enclaves.

  * * *

  Harold told Billy to sweep in a wide half circle across the car park of the garden centre. He wanted to weigh up the store, but also see into the outside area. The place where the greenhouses, big pots and trees were kept, and the raised beds of plants. The big front windows were smashed and boarded up but the building itself was intact. Better still there were trees, brown and withered, showing over the low fence at the back. Billy stopped and Harold climbed out, leaving his rifle on the seat.

  “Go away. There’s no food or booze.” The man’s voice was muffled and came from inside the building.

  “What’s out the back?”

  “You can’t have the spuds and stuff. Go away.”

  Harold could see the movement inside now, behind a gap between the sheets of plywood boarding the door up. “We want trees, and maybe bushes. Can we trade?” He said it without thought because Sharyn had been really worried about getting fruit.