by Vance Huxley
Once the Barbies left, Harold’s fighting elite met to talk through the possibilities but there wasn’t enough information. The General wouldn’t ambush Ken and Vulcan because Julius at least was one of his top men, and the Rhys bloke was supposed to be as well. The best Orchard Close could do was what they’d already started, prepare for the worst.
“What about the wedding?” Harold cowered magnificently as the women turned towards him, which turned the glares into smiles. “Seriously. All the local gangs will have leaders here and less fighters at home. It would be a perfect opportunity for the General.”
“You can’t cancel it!” Patty took a deep breath, sounding quieter and calmer when she continued. “Some of our fighters are really worried about another fight while they’re still injured from the last shambles. The new girls from the Hot Rods, and the Riot Squad who escaped from brothels or sex slavery but were tied up in Caddi’s attack, are angry-scared. They’ll fight but will probably go crazy, forget their training or run, if they think we’re losing and will end up sex toys again. The idea of a proper wedding seems to have settled all of them somehow, and with luck it’ll last long enough.” After waiting for a moment for Harold to absorb that bombshell, Patty shrugged. “We still haven’t set a day, or sent out official invitations. We could tell Hazel we’re waiting to find out when all the right people will be free to come?”
“That works.” Tessa’s worried look turned to glee. “With the extra time we can make sure it’s a real Royal Wedding, big cake and everything. Mart run tomorrow to see what we can find.”
Harold wasn’t even a little relieved. He’d spotted that some of the Riot Squad and the recruits were on edge, but hadn’t realised just how bad it was.
Once he’d eased out of the wedding discussion, Harold spent some time trying to figure out a way of avoiding the General. The only possibilities were running, either across the city or under the wire. The more he considered it, the more a convoy across the city looked like a sitting duck. Trying to sneak a couple of hundred people under the wire didn’t sound much better.
* * *
While Tessa and Sharyn, and the coven, carried on planning a bigger wedding while carefully avoiding a date, someone in the Barbies or GOFS had been gossiping. The Riot Squad seemed to be pushing their training even harder, while several people approached Harold with ideas about defence. One previous suggestion came up again—caltrops. Ant, their ancient weaponry expert, had originally mentioned them as a way to stop bicycle cavalry. Now Emmy pointed out that the General wouldn’t attack on cycles, but surely the spikes would cripple men? Harold went to see Liz, but took Ant’s drawing to save time.
“Good idea, the drawing.” Liz smirked magnificently. “There’s no point in your finding excuses to stay in here now, I’m too busy. Unless you want me to make some drawings of us at work? Henry holding things, and me warming things up?”
“Perish the thought. It would be seared on my memory for ever and I’d never sleep right again. What I want is a lot of these, but I’ll leave you to work out who holds and who warms up.” Harold put the sketch on the bench where Henry could see as well.
“Four spikes at different angles? The straight ones would need casting or stamping out of sheet metal. The two curved rods joined in the middle are easier, but fiddly. We’ve got fence wire or some thin steel rod.” Henry looked closer. “How many do you want, and what do they do?”
“Hopefully any scroat who steps on a spike is crippled. I need however many hundreds the magic machine can churn out. Quickly, please.” Harold explained the meeting in three days and what it would be about. “I want to scatter them in the fields if we see the bad guys start to build up in the ruins. They’re designed so there’s always one spike upwards.”
“Hundreds? We’ll need rod, not wire, or it’ll bend instead of crippling. It’ll take too long to create moulds to cast the one-piece version in numbers, so forget the magic cauldron. I’ll keep using that to cast weapons.” Liz looked at the drawing, thinking hard. “That leaves bending two bits of rod, hooking them together in the centre and welding them. It’ll be boring, slow, and not even a tiny bit artistic. The weld might not stand up to a lot, but if it’s only a foot coming down on them?” She shrugged unhappily. “We’ve only got two welders, though I can teach anyone to use one well enough for this job so they can work shifts. Training will only take a couple of hours, but production will be painfully slow.”
“We’ve got lots of reinforcing mesh, the stuff we put across windows. The rods in that are thick enough to do the job if we clip it to leave four spikes joined in the middle, a cross. Then we can bend the arms of the cross to get this caltrop shape?” Henry glanced around but there wasn’t any mesh in the forge. “That’ll need strong wrists, or jamming the rods in something and using a hammer. We simply haven’t got enough pairs of pliers.” Henry gave up, using a slate and chalk to demonstrate. “Even I can sit and do that.” He thought about it for a moment. “The ends might cause damage on their own, but they’d be more effective sharpened up. We’ve only got a few files.”
“We can’t use the grinding discs, Harold, because there aren’t any replacements.” Liz nudged Henry, gently. “Did Harold ever tell you what happens if you start making diagrams in here?”
Harold butted in, because he’d already seen a line of new recruits sharpening weapons on kerbstones. “We won’t need files. Kerbstones will do, providing I can find enough warm bodies.” He sighed in relief, then smiled. “Now you two can get back to whatever is putting a smile on your face these days.”
“Hah! Wait until a certain young lady is fit enough to chase you, then we’ll see who ends up walking around with a big stupid smile.” Liz put an arm round Henry, smirking as she looked towards a pile of bedding in one corner. “Henry is supposed to rest. That means he needs to spend a lot of time in bed.”
Harold left, laughing over an exchange about whether Henry would rest better in bed or out of it. The humour disappeared when Harold suggested the Gunslinger recruits could strengthen their pistol wrists making or sharpening caltrops. Doll thought about it for a few minutes, before turning to look at the nearest house. “If we’re using the mesh, what about the windows? There’ll be nothing to stop an attacker breaking in. Can we scavenge more mesh from the ruins?”
“No scavenging, because there isn’t time to smash concrete floors to gravel to extract the reinforcement. We’ll put ply over the windows, then everyone can live in the dark until the Barbies or GOFS tell me we are safe from an immediate threat.”
Doll nodded thoughtfully, then glanced towards the walls and the fields beyond. “Are you really going to put sharp stuff all over the fields? Emmy’s gnomes won’t be happy.”
“The caltrops are Emmy’s idea. They won’t go out there straight away, but we can seed a wide area as soon as the lookouts see the heat build-up in the ruins. It’ll take a while for the General to get into position.” Harold noticed Doll almost start to speak a couple of times, reluctant to say something. “Come on Doll, give. You know I won’t bite.”
“I wouldn’t have thought about it but a couple of the Riot Squad, Terri and a new girl, Gina, were talking about putting booby-traps in the ruins. Wire snares, ankle-breakers and something called Punji sticks. I said no, they’d be too dangerous for our own people.” Doll shrugged, turning towards where the gnomes were planting and weeding. “I just thought, if you’re going to scatter big spikes on the fields a few more traps might not matter?”
“I’ll talk to Terri and Gina but I don’t want anything stopping the gnomes, not yet. But if we can put the whatevers in at the last minute, or hide them?” Harold spoke to the pair, but there wasn’t anywhere to put two-foot-long sharp sticks on the fields where they wouldn’t be obvious or get in the way of the gardeners. Cutting and driving them all in would take ages, while any traps out in the ruins would be cleared by the General’s scouts.
“We could put short versions in the ankle-breakers?” Terri, having
been press-ganged into a Murphy’s brothel, then tied up by Hot Rods wanting to do the same, was up for any way of stopping the scroats coming to try again. “I read about those in a book. A hole big enough to put a foot in, deep enough so the scroat busts an ankle when he trips.”
“Yeah, a spiked stick in the bottom would make sure.” Gina scowled at her next thought. “We wouldn’t want someone getting their foot out again without an injury.”
“Except they’ll mostly be wearing boots.” Harold didn’t mind injuring attackers, but he didn’t want to waste time on something that would probably break or be pushed aside. “I like the holes idea but hold off for now. If we get any sort of warning, I’ll organise the gnomes to help you dig, then we’ll put bits of bramble or branches over them. They’ll look as if a few bits fell off a barrow-load of rabbit fodder from the ruins.” Both the young women looked downcast. “That’s not a no, it’s a goody, yes, but at the right time. Emmy will go barmy after all the time spent uprooting bramble seedlings.”
“Mmm, bramble jam.”
“Yes Gina, which is why the ruins are alive with the blasted things. We planted them to make fruit juice and jam.” Harold left the pair of them with their heads together, but soon forgot about digging holes anywhere.
Nobody wanted to give up the protective mesh on their windows, not after Caddi’s invasion. The preferred mesh, the heavy-gauge type used to reinforce concrete, was exactly the type needed so Harold ended up press-ganged into persuading the reluctant. “You’ll be safe enough because nobody will sneak over the walls, not again. None of the guards drink anything on duty but their own flasks or bottles of water, not after last time.”
Pat’s John looked at the four volunteers behind Harold, two with bolt croppers and two with hammers and prybars. Behind them another two carried a sheet of plywood. “Pat won’t want the window left unprotected, but it’ll be pitch dark in here if you use plywood. Some windows haven’t got new glass yet.”
“It’s just for a few days. There’s a load more ruins out towards the Hot Rods that were never scavenged properly. We’ll rip up enough floors to fix you up again once this panic is over, but we can’t wait.” Harold kept the impatience from his voice because he didn’t want to panic anyone. “It might be nothing, but better safe than sorry. We don’t want the scroats to get near the walls again, do we?”
“Not likely!” John’s hand went to his arm, where, under the jacket, a bandage covered a long slash. The Hot Rod had lashed out, not caring that the unarmed lay preacher had been trying to rescue the wounded. John looked at the mesh, then at the plywood, then sighed. “Okay, as long as we can get it replaced eventually.”
“No problem.” Harold didn’t quite sigh in relief. “Cut a couple of little holes in the ply if you like, to let some light in.”
“So I can see out more like, to see who’s sneaking around my garden! Sorry, but I’m a bit twitchy.” Despite that, the nearest thing to a Christian priest in Orchard Close pitched in to help. Patty, Emmy and Doll were on the same mission, collecting mesh, but sent Harold to negotiate with anyone who might need some diplomacy. The three women didn’t have much tolerance just now.
They weren’t the only ones. By the time he headed home for something to eat, Harold needed a few minutes of sanity. Orchard Close was on edge, everyone snapping at each other over the slightest thing. Enough had leaked from the GOFS or Barbie visitors for the residents to recognise a crisis.
He’d barely walked through the door when Sharyn confronted him. “A word in your ear, little brother. What’s this about Daisy messing about with sharp spikes?”
“Daisy?”
“June tells me we need hands to sharpen lots of bits of rod, so the school are going to organise the older kids to do it.” Sharyn’s hands went onto her hips as she set herself for a real argument. “Older? She’s all of eight!”
“From the sounds of it Daisy won’t be messing about, she’ll be supervised. Rubbing bits of metal on concrete to grind the end into a point is slow work, but I didn’t ask the kids to do it. The teachers must have volunteered to free the adults to do other work, so they must think it’s safe.” Harold gave up on peace, making himself a sandwich while he tried to explain that at eight, Daisy should be capable of that without killing herself. He assumed so, anyway, or the teachers wouldn’t have taken the job. When he went into the bedroom at least Mercedes understood the urgency, though Harold had to persuade her not to get dressed and set into building walls or scavenging for more mesh.
* * *
The following morning he’d barely stepped out of the door when Terri, backed by another ex-Murphy victim, Gemma, and Chevy’s ex-victim Gina, pounced. “We can put metal spikes in the holes, then they won’t break. They’ll hurt like hell.”
“Because they’ll stab the bastards in the leg, above their boot.” Gemma seemed to like that idea.
“Then with luck they’ll break a cripesing leg as well.” Although a recent arrival, Gina had been a willing convert to cripesing
“And we can cut their throats later!” All three hi-fived each other as Terri finished off.
Harold stopped dead, about to say there wasn’t time to work on any extras, but these three would go without sleep if they needed to. The girls just rescued from the Hot Rods, and the previously abused fighters like Terri, were dead set on making sure no man ever captured them again. “Okay, what do you need?”
“Lengths of steel rod, with cross-pieces. Look.” When Terri produced a bit of tile with a diagram chalked on it, Harold had to give them full marks for ingenuity. A piece of roof tile in the bottom of the hole would brace the long, sharp rod, then one of the short side pieces would go into the side of the hole to hold it upright, with the other stub jutting out. “The scroat puts his foot in the hole.” She pointed at her diagram. “When it reaches this bit, sticking out, that tilts the long bit out of the side. The point will be slanting into his leg above the boot, then his weight drives it in.” Terri stamped her foot with a vicious grin. “That’ll ruin anyone’s day!”
From Harold’s point of view it would definitely slow the victim up so there’d be less attackers hitting the wall. Better yet those spikes were caltrop crosses with two shorter arms, so maybe they could be made from offcuts. “You can start making spikes and gathering broken tile, but don’t dig any holes. Don’t take any bits suitable for caltrops because we can chuck them out in the dark at the last minute, unseen. I reckon any attackers are more likely to step on a spike, even at the edge of their feet, than neatly into a hole. There again, if enough of them charge I’m pretty sure someone will find the holes.” Harold looked at the drawing again. “Ask the school if they can sharpen some, if the kids get the caltrops finished.”
“No need. We’ve been asking around. The hobbling wounded and some of the non-fighters are looking for ways to help. We’ll ask if they’ll help with the caltrop things as well.” Terri turned to go. “Thanks Harold. Don’t worry, we’ll keep up our practice as well. Once the scroats are crippled they’ll still need killing.”
Once again Harold wished he didn’t have to encourage young women to think like that, but these lasses had already lived through the alternative. He went back to persuading residents to accept replacing their protection with plywood. By lunchtime he had another pair of eager amateur killers with a plan. “Harold, you know we put gnomes in the fields?”
“Yes Bethany, because you are a garden gnome.” Harold had to smile because she’d put her gnome hat on her steel helmet, folded so ‘Sweet Gnome’ showed without the first ‘Gnome.’ “Are you trying to sweeten me up for something?”
Instead of her usual glee at getting Harold to say sweet, Bethany narrowed her eyes. “What I’ve got in mind isn’t exactly sweet. Did you know most of those gnomes are hollow?”
“Having had to shift a couple of the concrete ones, I’m pleased they are. Actually, you should rescue them because if we are attacked they’ll get broken.” Harold knew how many of their leisure
hours the gardeners had sacrificed, finding and rescuing gnomes from abandoned gardens.
“How about blown up? How much powder have you got, for the muskets?” Bethany didn’t wait until Harold got his head round the idea, let alone tried to figure out an answer. “If we put them out further than we can throw a pipe bomb, then set them off with a string or electric, it’ll be a hell of a shock to the scroats.”
Cleo, one of the girls from the Hot Rod brothel, butted in. Harold also recognised her from his visits to Caddi as one of the gang boss’s personal victims, one who’d been too cowed to object when Caddi offered her to Harold for sex. She wasn’t cowed now! “We’ll put the gunpowder in plastic bags so it doesn’t get wet, then they can sit out there for weeks if necessary. I’m not very good with a machete, not yet, but if the scroat is already half crippled?” The newcomers were all scroat converts, because their preferred descriptions broke the obscenity rules.
“It’ll thin them out a bit?”
“Whoa, hold up, I’m sold, but we need the powder for muskets.” Harold really was sold. If he could set the gnomes off individually, he could make sure the bombs did plenty of damage. “I’ll talk to….” His voice tailed away, because all three bomb-makers were dead. “I’ll figure something out. Ask Finn if he can set something off that far away, just in case we’ve got enough spare explosive. I don’t fancy pulling on bits of string and hoping.” As the pair headed away Harold wondered if it was desperation, Caddi’s attack, or just the large influx of new refugees that had sparked all these ideas. He headed for Barry’s rooms, hoping the fireman had left some sort of hint about making the explosives for pipe bombs. Harold had bought the supplies for explosives as a reflex, because Bernie and Sal always nagged for more. He hadn’t even thought about finding a replacement bomb-maker. It hadn’t been too urgent because he still had most of the bomb reserve, and some captured from Hot Rods.