by Vance Huxley
Satisfied the weapon would fire, she looked up to see Rascal sprawled on the floor, his head nearly cut off. The man caught hold of Hilda by the front of her dress, raising his machete. “You calm the fuck down or I’ll chop you next, you mad bitch.” Hilda tried to claw at his face, kicking at his shins and screaming obscenities as Veronica took two slow, careful steps forward. She mustn’t stumble now. She took the two-handed grip the instructor had shown her before raising the gun, but realised the bullet would hit the telephone exchange. She moved a step to the side. Inside her head someone screamed at her to hurry, hurry, hurry but Veronica felt as if she was drifting, not really there. Still in slow motion the man raised his hand, tilted to bash Hilda with the hilt of his machete. Veronica took aim. The barrel wobbled about so she took a slow, dreamy step forward, jammed it into his back about where his heart should be and pulled the trigger.
The explosion, and the noise, catapulted Veronica back into the real world with a loud scream. The Hot Rod flew forward across the desk, knocking Hilda aside which spattered her with blood before he slithered off again and out of sight. Veronica staggered back as the shock ripped the gun from her numbed hands, unable to stop it from bouncing across the floor. She still hadn’t got her head round what she’d done when Hilda elbowed her aside, reaching for the weapon.
The old librarian flew backwards, hit the desk and crumpled on the floor. “Gently you moron! Caddi wants her alive. Shit, what a fuck-up. You, what’s your name?” Veronica raised her eyes to the new arrival, another Hot Rod, one with a pistol aimed right at her.
“Va...” She tried again. “Veronica.”
The man behind the gunman thumbed his phone. “Got her. We want Veronica to keep the telephone engineer and his missus under control, and as a backup for the exchange and library.” He looked up and grinned at Veronica. “Which means you are safe, lass, unless you misbehave. Now help your friend. Caddi would like her alive as well.” He looked around and whistled. “Hellfire, a real library. I thought Caddi meant a few instruction manuals, that sort of shit.”
A buzzing brought everyone’s attention to the phone board, where more lights were flashing. The gunman walked over to inspect the setup. “Good, still working.” He pulled out the few wires still plugged in. “There, that should stop anyone spreading nasty rumours about Hot Rods. Check the bodies, but they all look past help to me.” He sat on the edge of the desk as two Hot Rods checked the bodies before searching the rest of the library and upstairs. “It’s a pity your dad can’t make these work again, as phones instead of just cameras.” The gangster waggled his mobile phone at Veronica.
Veronica stared back, still frozen in shock. “But.” She wanted to explain the difference between the two systems, like her dad had told her, but her mouth wouldn’t make words.
The man raised a hand in farewell as the other Hot Rods left, then settled himself in Hilda’s chair. “Cheer up lass, I meant it. Nobody will hurt you or even fuck you while Caddi needs you. While we’re waiting, see what you can do for the old biddy.” Veronica jerked her head in a nod, checking Hilda had a pulse and was still breathing. She seemed okay except for a bump on her head, so Veronica collected Faith’s bedding then dragged Hilda onto it. She tried to make the old woman comfortable, concentrating on first aid while trying to push the violence and death, and the stench, back into a corner of her mind. Now everything had calmed down Mischief crept over, whimpering.
* * *
Liz the artistic blacksmith, probably the strongest woman in Orchard Close despite her lean frame, never heard any gunshots. A combination of heavy metal rock music turned up to nineteen, and her new heavy metal hammer man Henry, had sent her to metal heaven. Once they’d finished beating on the latest addition to Harold’s armoury she’d put the bar across the door, because with luck Henry would take her to another sort of heaven. The thought of the bar brought a smile, not the usual response. Liz had barricaded herself in every day since that Hot Rod scroat had tried to rape Celine, right outside her door. Now, with Henry and his mace in here, she finally felt safe again.
A gust of cool air across her sweaty skin brought Liz’s head round with a grin. “You should know better, we could be….” Her voice and smile died as she saw the grinning Hot Rod stepping inside, pointing a crossbow, with another one following. A little voice inside started screaming in blind terror because it was happening, her nightmare!
Henry must have turned as well because his long-shafted lump hammer flew past Liz, whirling across the double garage. The gangster ducked and sidestepped the seven-pound lump of iron, but the second man didn’t have a chance. The hunk of metal smacked him in the face, knocking him back into the third man before he fell forward onto his hands and knees. He stayed there, dazed, shaking his head to clear it as the third man came in and shut the door. Liz tried, she really tried to go for them, to throw her hammer, but she couldn’t. She’d tried to fight once before, but just froze and stood there waiting to die. Only Casper had saved her that time.
Henry had no qualms, or hesitation. He spent part of every day with Casper’s squad, guarding Orchard Close or practicing combat, so now he dived for his mace. The Hot Rod with the crossbow fired. The heavy bolt went in deep, twisting Henry, sending him down in a crumpled heap as his head bounced off the heavy bench. “Shit! You’ve killed the fucking smith. Caddi will skin you.”
The crossbow man laughed, dropping the empty weapon before sauntering across towards Liz. “Nah, this is the smith. Caddi wanted to snatch her when he flogged them the anvil, but he didn’t want anyone realising he’d got a man inside.”
“Watch it, she’s got that hammer. If she’s the smith she’ll brain you.” The last man in dragged the stunned one to the side, propping him up against the wall. “Crap, Nev’s out of it for a while. Who’s the big fella then?”
“Her bloke, Caddi reckons. We were supposed to threaten him to keep her doing her job. I don’t reckon we need anyone, ’cos she’s chicken. Freezes up, can’t hit anyone.” The gangster reached for Liz, prising the hammer out of her loose grip. “See?”
“Fuck, she didn’t even struggle.” The gangster turned to put the big steel bar across the inside of the door. “There, nice and private now so I can take this thing off.” He tossed his helmet on the floor. “The fucking thing gives me a headache.” Speculation coloured his voice as he looked back towards Liz, and he started to smile. “What do you reckon it takes to get her to struggle? She’s a bit skinny but beggars can’t be choosers. Hey, that big fucker is a tough one, he’s not dead.”
“I’ve always fancied a model-type. Six-foot and skinny, but with just enough of everything.” The gangster with Liz reached up, stroking her cheek. She pulled her head away, eyes wild, a wordless voice inside her still screaming because Henry was dying, and now her iron bar would stop anyone coming to the rescue. The man in front of her took off his own helmet and tossed it to the side. “I reckon I can get this one to do whatever Caddi wants, but I’d better make sure.” The gangster’s hand tugged at the bow at her neck, pulling down the top of Liz’s heavy blacksmith’s apron to reveal her bra. “Well, well, well. What have we here? Did you wear that for me?” His hand trailed down her neck and hooked the middle of Liz’s bra.
Liz backed away, but he followed until the anvil stopped her. “Over the anvil? Sort of appropriate really.” The Hot Rod glanced towards the other man. “Turn that fucking noise off will you, before it deafens me.” He turned back to Liz, his other hand trying to remove her apron but it was still tied at the back. “Shit, she’s still not struggling. We don’t need a control. Kill the boyfriend.” He slid his hand around Liz’s waist to untie her apron.
The scream in Liz’s head stopped. Despite Hell’s Fayre trying to destroy their vocal chords and everyone else’s eardrums, Liz couldn’t hear them. All she could hear was a voice saying, “Kill the boyfriend.” She knew they meant Henry, her first real boyfriend, ever. Liz had always been a sooty iron butterfly, ever since she discovered
blokes, always flitting from one sweaty, sooty, heavily-muscled flower to the next. Now she’d finally found one who thought she looked cute beating metal, one who worried about her hearing so he’d made her some furry ear muffs. Her own man, at last, but now this scroat wanted to kill him. “Kill the boyfriend. Kill the boyfriend. Kill the boyfriend.”
The noise she made might have been no or it might have been pure scream, but even then Liz didn’t hit anyone. Instead those strong, lean arms, tempered by years of beating metal, plucked the startled Hot Rod off his feet by the front of his armoured jacket as Liz started to run. Not far, she just took a few steps before tossing him at the wall and going for the man heading towards Henry. He put out a hand to stop her, so Liz used that to throw him after the first one before following both of them.
The first man hit the wall hard, taking a step forward as his head bounced off the brickwork. His head lolled forward, stunned, but Liz smashed him back against the wall, twice, as hard as she could with one hand around his neck. She turned back to the second one as he reached out to stop her, grabbing him by the neck with both hands and squeezing. There wasn’t any plan, or even any real thought as Liz bashed his head on the wall, again and again, in time with the rhythm pounding in her brain. “Kill the boyfriend. Kill the boyfriend. Kill the boyfriend.”
* * *
“Put him down and stand very, very still lady, or I swear I will shoot you dead.” As the calm voice finally penetrated through the red fog and the voice in her head, Liz let go. The man in front of her crumpled, leaving her staring at a really messy splash of something gross on the brickwork. Liz looked down in sudden comprehension, then threw up. The remains of the back of the gangster’s head actually looked better covered in puke, she realised. “I mean it lady. Caddi wants you alive, but if you take one step this way I will kill you.” Liz looked at the other man on the floor at her feet. He wasn’t as bad but she retched again. “What the fuck did you do that for?”
Liz didn’t know. She couldn’t work out why, or actually what she’d done, but then she remembered the words. “He said kill the boyfriend. Henry.” Tears started spilling down her face, mercifully blurring the sight of the bodies. “Henry likes me, even when I’m sooty.” When she turned Liz saw a Hot Rod, the one that Henry stunned, sat against the wall holding a pistol rock steady and aimed right at her.
“Do the tears mean you’ve calmed down now?” Liz’s head jerked in a nod. She felt wrung out, her arms trembling, the muscles jumping and her gut churning. She might have looked as bad as she felt, because the Hot Rod sounded more confident. “If I let you go and look after him, your boyfriend, will you be good?” Liz nodded mutely, because she couldn’t do anything else. She’d never find the whatever to fight again, not if he just pointed a gun at her and didn’t threaten Henry. “Don’t worry about those twats. We were told to leave you alone, and to keep your bloke alive as a control. After this I reckon we really do need him. You can move now, but slowly. Sit next to him. You can bandage him but don’t pick up any metal.”
“Henry, he’s called Henry.” Liz did as she’d been told, trudging over to the bench, though it wasn’t easy because she could barely see through the tears and her limbs didn’t want to obey. She sat down next to Henry, tearing strips from his shirt to wrap around his head and then round the crossbow shaft to stop the bleeding. At least he was still breathing. Sitting there, Liz calmed down enough to think about the rest. If Caddi came through the door first she’d make weapons for him, but only if he got a doctor for Henry. She really, really hoped Harold turned up first, though he might not. With her music off Liz could hear the muffled sounds of gunfire all around her garage-come-forge, so the Hot Rods were over the walls. She concentrated on Henry, trying to shut the rest out.
* * *
On the top floor of Cherry Tree House, a block of flats, Roy heard muffled gunshots but his three friends slept on undisturbed. The four men, now crammed into the flat where Celine usually lived, had once been nine. Twice they’d lost friends when the General ran over an enclave, then again when Stu died saving the local Mart, but the survivors still hoped to piss on the General’s grave. There were no more shots, so Roy assumed they’d been muffled by distance. He quietly picked up a pistol, more or less a reflex, before heading out into the corridor to make sure Celine wasn’t frightened.
He’d never been one for settling down, but he’d started feeling downright domestic around the twenty-eight-year-old red-head. Maybe the fact that she trusted him, despite being raped four years ago, had got past thirty-two-year-old Roy’s usual bachelor reflex. He’d been laid awake thinking about Celine and possible futures when he heard the brief shooting.
Maybe those thoughts were why Roy didn’t notice the fire door opening, not until he’d already started along the corridor. Fire doors weren’t supposed to open from the outside, but the locking bar slid free without a sound. Eyes wide in alarm, Roy ran towards the door. “Chris! Theo! Aaron! Trouble!” He lifted his foot to kick, but the fire door flew open so he missed, staggering into the armed figure. Roy grabbed the hand holding a machete before jamming his pistol into the man’s gut, but the fighter twisted, shoving forward. The bullet hit at an angle, glancing off the plates on the man’s jacket. The intruder grunted in pain but clung on, grabbing Roy’s wrist while trying to drive the machete downwards. Roy twisted his hand as he fired again. This time the bullet went up through the man’s lung, throwing him backwards.
The recoil, at that angle, tore the pistol from Roy’s hand so he tried for the gun on his opponent’s belt. Too late, the dying man lurched forward again as those behind him heaved. Something, maybe the man’s helmet, hit Roy’s head but he staggered back five steps before his foot twisted and he fell. He rolled over onto his back, facing the fire door, scrabbling at his waist as he saw the armed men. His hands reminded Roy he wasn’t wearing his weapons belt. As the Hot Rod he’d shot crumpled, the men behind pushed in through the doorway, weapons raised.
Roy heard a shot and shouting outside in the street, then more shooting. Double-taps, some part of Roy’s brain noted, not some amateur blazing away. Most of his brain was more interested in surviving. The leading Hot Rod saw Roy looking round for a weapon so he ran forward, his machete coming over and down. Roy raised his arm, kicking out in desperation. With that sort of swing the blade would take his arm off and keep coming, which would leave nobody between the Hot Rods and… “Celine.”
The word wasn’t loud or even a conscious act, so Celine’s voice screaming, “Roy!” came as a terrible shock. It would have been a shock to the Hot Rod as well, but he wasn’t thinking too well as a good part of his brains flew out of the side of his head, following the bullet through the window into Orchard Close. The machete still hit Roy’s arm, but the blade had already started turning sideways as the dead man crumpled and his grip slackened. The edge cut deep but Roy ignored the pain and blood, pushing frantically at the body, rolling it off him. “Roy?” Not a scream now. A thud on the floor beside him and familiar arms were round him, but Roy tried to push her away.
“Look out, there’s more.” Roy grabbed Celine tight, rolling as gunfire roared in the corridor, twisting to get above her, between her and the guns.
When the gunfire stopped, Aaron’s voice broke the sudden silence. “There’s a time and place for that, Roy. Put her down, we’ve got a fight on.” When Celine sniggered in his ear Roy blushed, because she was in her nightie and he’d rolled on top of her. He quickly rolled off her again and sat up, nursing his arm. A glance back towards the doorway found a tumble of bodies, which told him who’d been shooting. A rifle fired somewhere nearby, then a few moments later again, this time followed by a scream from below. Aaron came past, peeking quickly out and down before jerking back as a shot rang out. “There’s a couple still on the fire escape, but not for long. From the rifle flash, that’s Emmy shooting from her bedroom.” He turned back, taking in the blood covering Roy’s arm and his head. “Can you still fight?”
Celine had wrapped Roy’s arm enough to stop most of the bleeding. Now she tugged to help him stand up, helped by Theo. “June will help as well. Lenny will be rushed off his feet in the hospital, so send any walking wounded back here.”
Aaron turned from the fire door, sliding Roy’s pistol along the floor. “Here, don’t lose it again. Give it to Celine, it looks like she’s a better shot than you. Hi Finn, will you ask some of the others to search these bodies for guns and ammo? Emmy’s done her stuff, cleared the fire escape, so me and Theo are going hunting. These won’t be the only Hot Rods inside the walls.” Behind him shouts and screams, and the thunder of gunfire, suggested a lot of Hot Rods.
“Hang on a minute then we’ll help you check downstairs first, just in case the Hot Rods got through the front door.” Finn picked up a pistol from the doorway, rifling the body for ammo. “My single-shot won’t be enough tonight.” He collected a machete as well, glancing up as others came out of the flats and crowded the corridor. “Anyone willing to fight, help yourselves.” Another man, then a woman, neither of them recognised fighters, joined Finn in collecting weapons. One of the Riot Squad, now fully armed and armoured, asked Theo if he wanted help with the hunting. Another woman joined them, still fastening her armoured vest. The four fighters went down the stairs first, weapons ready.