Last Man Standing

by Vance Huxley

  Vulcan would be back, as would Cy, several other GOFS, and half a dozen Barbies because they all had invites to the next dance. Meanwhile, after Vulcan’s news, Harold still didn’t know who had the Bren carrier, if anyone because the drugged Geeks seemed sure it burned. Harold couldn’t shake a nagging feeling that real armour might not have actually burned, not enough to be ruined.

  * * *

  That evening, after working out who would be disappointed when they couldn’t train because Emmy needed gardeners and Frederick needed help replacing windows, Harold remembered the Dealer mystery. He headed for his bedroom to discuss the comments with Mercedes, but hesitated at the door. Mercedes had flipped up the cover at the side of the bed, patting the sheet. She’d moved across to the far side, finding extra pillows from somewhere. After a moment, Harold shook his head very gently. “I’m not allowed to join you in there. Doctor’s orders.”

  A shy smile answered him before Mercedes moved the covers a little further. “I’m still not ready for that, but we can sleep together, can’t we ’Arold? We slept together before, without you losing control?”

  That really tempted Harold because there’d be no sound and vision in this room. “I can’t promise to be completely good.”

  “No knife in this bed ’Arold, so you can turn over whenever you like. No rules, not for you, not anymore. No boxers either, because it’s about time I won the commando bet.” Mercedes smirked, pulling the covers back far enough to show her bandaged shoulder. “I can’t help you get undressed, but I’m going to watch.”

  When Harold woke up the next morning he didn’t want to move, let alone get out of bed. They were both propped up, half-sat to help Mercedes’ breathing. Mercedes laid on his arm and shoulder, turned slightly towards him, still fast asleep. Harold laid for a while, looking at the big Valentine heart still hanging on the wall where he’d see it every morning. Neither of them had seen the chaos ahead when Mercedes put that round his neck.

  Before they slept, Mercedes confessed that she’d planned to kill Caddi when the time came, then run for Orchard Close. She’d hoped the confusion would stop any Hot Rod coming after her. She’d been surprised, then cried, when Harold told her that Orchard Close had already decided they weren’t giving her up. All she’d been hoping was that Harold might keep her for a while afterwards, not just her knickers as a personal trophy.

  Two sleepy eyes finally opened, followed a slow, warm smile. Mercedes wanted a lip check before Harold got up to face the bloody chaos, to celebrate the first time they’d ever slept together without sound and vision. Harold had to visually check her wounds before leaving, so he could win the commando bet, which earned him another lip check for being such a gentleman. For some reason, despite talking late into the night, Harold started this day in a terrific mood.

  6 – Mid-April

  Precinct 19:

  The two gang bosses stood at one edge of a cleared strip, watching the house with a black-and-white tiger’s head painted on the wall. “Well Curly, what do you reckon they need both of us for?”

  “Dunno, Bonny. The only thing I can come up with is a Mart run, but that doesn’t need bosses to organise.” The short, muscular man glanced at the taller, slimmer woman next to him. “They usually see our people separately, to keep the price down. How about we agree right now? No undercutting or outbidding, we get the maximum and split the proceeds.”

  Bonny, the woman, licked her lips very obviously. “Done. I wonder what they’ll offer this time? I really fancy some pork, roasted, proper-like with crackling and roast spuds.”

  “It’s the right time of year, so suckling pig? Crocodile kebab? We’ve eaten some strange shit since we stopped shooting and started trading.” The gangs next to Dudley Zoo now knew the keepers bred the animals to keep the milk coming, but were willing to sell off the surplus young ones once they were weaned. The man scowled and spat on the floor. “Nearly stopped shooting. Two of my lads, youths, tried to nick one of those foreign zoo birds for the fancy feathers. The twats were on a promise from one of the whores, half a dozen freebies. They were spotted so they ran without any feathers, but the stupid sods wounded one of the keepers.”

  “Shit, Curly, will the zoo still deal with you? Am I safe standing next to you?” Bonny glanced across the gap. “We don’t bring guards for trading, so it would be dead easy to top us both.”

  “Not a problem. I shot the twats and threw the bodies out there for a couple of hours to prove it, then apologised.” Curly looked each way along the cleared strip and sighed heavily. “The whore is giving freebies to everyone for a fortnight, to remind her to behave. I had to. The mothers with young kids and the dads would have lynched the pair of them anyway. They’d have strung up the whore, and maybe me as well, if the milk stopped coming.”

  “Yeah, I’ve got the same problem.” Bonny straightened as the door in the house opposite opened. A familiar man beckoned. “Here we go.”

  * * *

  Inside the house, four top gang members sat around a table instead of the usual two. “Hi Bonny, Curly. Pull up a seat. Sorry about the extra people, but we’ve got a special offer for you.” The man who had beckoned sat on a chair with a tiger-skin cape hung over the back.

  “A Mart run, Teddy? How about a couple of cows so we have our own milk?” Curly sat down, a big grin on his face because he wouldn’t get what he’d asked for. The zoo sold meat, young male animals, and fresh milk, and wasn’t likely to give up their monopoly.

  “A Mart run, a really big one, and very soon. You’ll only get an hour’s notice but we want radio silence until we get back. There’s people out there who might try to thin us out.” Teddy pushed a piece of paper forward, a real surprise because paper was expensive these days. “This is the offer.”

  “Bloody Conan. We’re starting to worry about him because we’re a lot easier target than you. The arse won’t rate my gang because there’s a woman in charge.” Bonny picked up the list. “You’re going to have to give us a good….” She stopped dead, staring at the numbers of animals on offer. Wordlessly, she passed the paper to Curly who read it without comment.

  The woman with brightly-coloured feathers fastened in her dreadlocks, the sort Curly’s prostitutes wanted, leant forward. “Yes, a lot of young animals, and if you look after them they’ll grow up big and meaty. We are paying for secrecy, but we’ll want ammo as well. We’ll settle for propellant and primers.”

  “People talk, Inga. We’ll try, but word will leak out because Conan pays well for information about you.” Curly read the list again. “We really will try, but we’ll have to tell our fighters in advance or they’ll shoot at you.”

  “We mean it about secrecy. One word to another gang and we’ll cancel payment.” The third, older man carrying a police automatic, tapped the table. “You get one hour’s notice and use bikes to tell your people. Radio silence. We’ll be in the Mart before any spies can pass a message, and back home before Conan can launch a big enough raid to stop us.” He patted the weapon significantly.

  “Just in case you are tempted to make a deal with Conan, two of those zebras will be adult females you can milk. If you let a male zebra foal mature you can breed more, so you’ll eventually have your own milk.” Teddy watched that settle in, knowing it was a calculated risk. Zebras didn’t produce much milk, not as much as these gangs were used to buying, but any milk animal made attractive bait. “Alternatively, if you sell us out, we’ll shoot every last animal before Conan runs over us.”

  Bonny glanced at Curly, but there wasn’t much point in haggling except over the ammo. The mothers, or more, especially their heavily-armed boyfriends, would be truly pissed off if either leader messed this up. “An hour’s notice? How soon will this happen?”

  “We can’t be expected to stay on standby for months, so you’ll have to give enough warning for the sentries to tell me and me to pass the message.” Curly hitched his chair forward, eager to get this trade nailed down.

  * * *

&n
bsp; The zookeepers and policeman watched the two gangsters walk back across the border strip, their heads together, arms gesticulating as they discussed the deal. “Do you think they’ll keep to it?”

  “The price is right, Inga, especially if we don’t give them time for second thoughts. I’ll leave it to you and Stephanie to organise the payment.” Teddy sighed, leaning against the door for a moment. “This could go very, very wrong.”

  “If it works, we won’t need another Mart run for six months and we’ll have extra fighters.” Sarge, Thirty-three, patted him on the shoulder. “I feel better now that Fifteen has found a way through those tunnels, a fairly discreet way. I’ll bet Skipper had no idea why we wanted those canal maps.”

  Inga plastered on a big fake smile. “Meanwhile there’s baby zebras to bottle feed, baby piggies to muck out, baby boas to feed with rats, maggots to collect….” She followed the rest back into the zoo, reciting a long list of chores. This time, none of the others laughed. This would be their biggest gamble since the Crash, especially with so many unanswered questions. Everyone knew the Sikhs and the zoo were in Conan’s sights, and time was running short, but none of them knew how much time. As the group passed the huge building covering the canal boat docks, workers were swarming over most of the boats, adding armour or loading food and weapons.

  * * *

  Curly and Bonny only had to keep their secret for thirty-nine hours. Inga hand-delivered the message at 7 a.m. At 8 a.m. the first armoured bus came out of the zoo, followed by a line of steel-plated vans ending in another armoured bus. From the number of barrels and crossbows peeking from loopholes, the Keepers weren’t trusting to luck or the bribe.

  As the last vehicle drove away, men and women carried out posts and wire mesh, quickly erecting a temporary corral at the entrance to the zoo. The first young zebras, pigs and deer were herded into the pen, only just weaned but they would grow. Neither of the gangsters could actually identify all the animals, but from their appearance they’d be meaty in time.

  One gang leader turned to a young woman on a bicycle. “Go down the route and tell them all, let the convoy come home without any trouble. You’ve seen the animals, so tell them I’ll shoot the first idiot to use a radio or pull a trigger.” Curly glanced back at the two bigger zebras being driven into the pen, and he could see the teats. “Those two are milk animals. The zoo lot mean it, because we’d shoot the fucking things if they tried to take them away again. Now get pedalling and make sure none of the idiots screw this up.” The older woman nearby, Bonny, had a similar conversation with her messenger before joining Curly to stare in awe.

  Not just stare, because both of them were wondering if the Keepers had made a mistake. Bonny broached the subject first. “I’m sure I counted five machine guns on this side of that convoy, and a shitload of other weapons. They could have blown through to the Mart anyway with that steel and machine guns. Why are they paying us?”

  “Because we’d have been ready for them on the way back? So they can use our streets instead of the dual carriageway where they’ve got to pass another four gangs? To keep our blokes occupied and away from here so we don’t attack while the fighters are away? How the fuck do I know?” The second gang leader narrowed his eyes for a moment, then relaxed again. “No, we can’t risk it. They’d only have to leave a couple of those machine guns to slaughter us. We’ve no idea how many they’ve got.”

  The muttered “too fucking many” didn’t warrant an answer. Nor did a much clearer “I suppose a pig on the barbeque is worth a lot more than two fancy birds in a bush, and it won’t kill us.”

  The Keeper’s convoy drove steadily through the streets they’d paid to use, ready for a double-cross. At each crossroads armed gangsters waved them through, careful not to aim a weapon at the vehicles. Twenty minutes later the vehicles pulled up at the Mart, where half the fighters became shoppers. The shoppers bought large quantities of items such as contraceptive pills, salt, underwear, flour and thread, things they couldn’t produce themselves. Unlike most shoppers, these didn’t bother with milk, though several rucksacks of corned beef were scooped up.

  * * *

  The convoy formed up for the return trip but waited for the clock to count down. Back at the zoo, a loudspeaker blared out across the cleared ground. “If those vehicles run into someone who expects them, it’s because you warned them. Then you don’t get the meat or milk.”

  “You can’t stop us now, it’s all outside your wall.”

  “We can kill them all, then chuck diesel on the bodies and burn them. You’ll be able to smell all that meat you’ll never eat.” The woman’s voice held total conviction. “We’d rather do that and let it rot if you stitch us. Remember that. Now send your messengers to warn your men. Some of our vehicles will be diverting to pick up passengers, friends of ours who need a place to stay. They might come back along the dual carriageway, but we want your streets kept open just in case.” Before the gang leaders could ask questions, her voice lightened. “The moment the first vehicle comes back through our gates, you can send your men to collect the first two animals. Remember, plenty of ropes and walk them back one at a time. Don’t frighten the zebras or they’ll stop giving milk.”

  The mention of milk was enough. They might be gang bosses, but neither of them would survive messing up the milk supply. “Okay, we’ll keep the deal. Just remember, we can shoot the animals if you try to back out, and then we’ll be raiding properly again.” The gangster lowered his voice. “I might not go for it if they were bringing too many reinforcements, but they’ll never cram more than another twenty or thirty in those buses.”

  “Fuck it, Conan probably wouldn’t pay us anyway.” Both gang leaders sent off their bicycle messengers to tell their fighters the plan had altered. They were to ignore any diversions and definitely shouldn’t gob off about them on the radios.

  * * *

  Halfway home, the relatively sedate Keeper’s convoy split. With a sudden, thunderous roar the front bus accelerated, the horn blaring as it took a sharp right turn. The gangsters at the junction dived aside. One scrambled up again, raising his gun, but another slapped his hand down. “No, you twat. They’ll kill you.” The six gangsters watched the bus and six vans speeding off in entirely the wrong direction. One of them reached for the radio.

  “Don’t, or Bonny will shoot you. Or I will, if you screw up the milk.” This gangster actually aimed his pistol at his friend, because that fresh milk meant health and maybe life for the baby back home. “We were told they might change the route.”

  “But that road won’t take them back to the zoo.” The man looked at the radio, then the pistol. “It makes no sense. They’re heading due north, towards Conan.”

  A third fighter shrugged, indifferent. “I suppose the plough on the bus and those guns will blast through the smaller gangs in that direction but why?” He hesitated, looking more interested as another thought struck him. “Shite, unless they’re heading for that fuckup just south of the Barbarians. Conan might pay to know those automatics are that close?”

  As the two men looked at each other, calculating, the one who had a baby at home tapped his pistol on their car. “Forget it. No radio, and a messenger will never overtake that bus, not now. The rest of the convoy is still heading home so we’ll still get paid. Or I can just shoot you both?” Three more fighters voted for milk, with another pistol, a crossbow and a machete. The friendly smiles behind the weapons had enough steel in them to stop anyone taking a chance.

  * * *

  The men aboard the bus and vans weren’t worrying about the rest of the convoy, because they had plenty of their own trouble coming right at them. As the minutes stretched out without any radio traffic, Fifteen, Koos, relaxed just a little but braced himself again as the bus driver called out. “Everyone hang on tight. Barricade.” The driver dropped down a gear, revving the engine. Moments later the heavy vehicle shuddered and bucked as the vee of steel on the front shunted the cars aside.

 
; Behind the driver single shots rang out as Fifteen called out again and again. “Save the automatics. Save ammo. Aimed shots. No automatics.” He leant forward to peer through a loophole in the rear. “Everyone got through.” A muted cheer rang out in the bus, cut off as bullets clanged on the steel plate. “Keep your eyes peeled. We’re not there yet but if you do your job nobody can stop us.” He turned away from the men, muttering, “I hope.”

  For another three miles the bus thundered down streets that hadn’t seen this sort of traffic for years, a zigzag route that rarely used the roads cleared by the locals. Again and again the ram shunted abandoned, rusted vehicles or rubble aside, while the men inside held off occasional frantic attempts to stop them. The gangsters around them were caught by surprise, still trying to work out why these lunatics were charging through their territory. They had no idea where the bus was heading as the route twisted back and forth, clearing a path through streets that had been blocked for years. A few made a guess, starting a bigger barricade and gathering men.

  “One mile.” The driver swerved into front gardens to get around a heap of rubble where a house had collapsed, too much to shunt aside. As the wheels bounced over the kerbstones and the blade demolished garden walls, he heard cursing from the men being tossed about in the back. “Half a mile to the turn.”

  Sergeant Koos raised his radio, clicking transmit. “Mahaan, Mahaan. This is the cavalry. Three minutes, tops. Open the door.” He waited a few moments for a reply, then repeated the message. The third time he changed the timing to two minutes, starting to sweat a little because the messenger might not have made it back.