by Vance Huxley
Harold started back down the room towards where Sharyn sprawled by the armchair. The Hot Rod next to Pete had now drawn his machete and he swung, but Harold caught the blade on his stick before following up with the sword through his heart. Harold wrenched the blade sideways to wreck his lung as well, because the instructor insisted. A stab could be survived, but that couldn’t.
Another machete man rushed in but Harold smacked the upper part of the sword blade into his forearm, knocking the strike wide. Harold twisted his wrist to bring the point round, thrustingdiagonally in beside the Adam’s apple. As the point came out under the gangster’s ear, another wrench tore out most of the man’s throat. Even as the gangster crumpled, Harold caught a flicker of movement and ducked, but pain shot through his shoulder. Hestaggered but hung onto his stick despite the pain shooting down his arm. A Hot Rod with a bullet hole in his chest had hit him with an empty crossbow. Harold kicked at the man’s kneecap, fending him off long enough to bring his sword hand up and over, driving the brass boss down on his opponent’s head.
Patty had got her captor’s knife, and from the blood, a piece of her man, but now he’d got a grip on her knife wrist. She held his other wrist as he tried to line up a pistol, snapping at his face and throat with her teeth. From the way he’d turned his body, she’d already tried to knee him. Her fingers and thumb dug in, Patty twisted her wrist, and with a short cry of pain the man dropped his gun. Patty’s hand drove upwards, but he managed to block it and grabbed her wrist. Patty should get him now, eventually, but Harold didn’t want to risk it. He daren’t go for a killing stroke with them twisting about, but he ran the point deep into the bloke’s buttocks. From experience that would hurt like hell. It hurt enough for Patty to wrench her knife hand free, immediately driving the blade up under his ribs. She turned towards the crossbow wielder Harold had shot, now dragging himself up the wall and groping for his machete.
When Harold’s stick came down again, the man still shrieking over the ruin of his leg shut up. A Hot Rod, on his knees with a Mercedes bullet hole in him, fought to raise his single barrelled shotgun.Harold’s sideways slash gave him an extra mouth beneath his chin and he crumpled.
Harold stopped his lunge at Cooper because it wasn’t needed. Asthe Hot Rod’s head fell sideways, Harold saw that Cooper had two .38 holes in his shirt.Something moved on the floor nearby, next to a dropped pistol. Sharyn, alive and staring up at her brother in some sort of shock. The room fell quiet except for the sounds of men in pain or dying. As Harold turned,shots rang out outside and the screamingand shouting started. Harold hesitated, but he had to concentrate on this mess first.
*
Casper half-sat against the wall, his leg bent awkwardly because of the crossbow bolt still through his thigh. His opponent layvery still with his head at an unhealthy angle. Patty rose from her second victimwith a machete in her hand. She headed for Trev with murder in mind. “Not yet Patty. I want to talk to Trev first.” Patty glanced back, nodding before using the machete on theunconscious man with a ruined leg. She headed for another one who wasn’t dead yet. Trev wasn’t going to enjoy the waiting when Patty finally got there.
Harold lost interest because he’d checked on Mercedes.She’d started sliding down the door jamb, the .38 tumbling to the floor.Harold dropped his sword and stick, leaping forward to catch herbut her skin, slick with blood, slithered through his hands. He followed her down, keeping her half sat, while he looked for the wound.He missed ituntil Mercedes whispered “Ribs. Cooper.” Another, slower look and the blood from above maskedan innocent little 9 mm hole in her ribcage, just below her left breast. Harold tried to stem the flow from what he realised with a shock was a savage bite mark. Mercedes talked in between short, cautious breaths. “Had to.Shut him. Up.” Harold moved her to see round the back but couldn’t see an exit wound. He hoped the bullet hadn’t broken up in there. “Sorry, ‘Arold. All. Messed up. Again.”
“Still a diamond.” Mercedes tried to laugh and winced instead. From the huge bruise on her lower ribs opposite the bullet hole, they were cracked or broken.He had to get her to a doctor!
Mercedes’ eyes came up to meet Harold’s. They worried Harold more than anything else because they were calm, almost resigned. Then the steel showed. “Go on, ‘Arold. Kill them.” She grimaced. “All of them.” Her eyes closed and Mercedes let go. Sharyn and Tessa were suddenly trying to take her, shouting in his ear.
“Go, get it sorted. It’s old night and ruination out there. Sort it, Soldier Boy!” That jerked him up. Sharyn had only ever called him Soldier Boy once before! Harold raised his head and yes, muskets were in play so it wasn’t one-sided.
“I’ll reload that revolver, and we’ve got shotguns here. Don’t worry about us.” Tessa had already picked up Samuel’s shotgun.”We’ll take care of Mercedes and Elise.”
Casper held out a hand for the shotgun. “Use the single barrels in here. I’ll want a mace as well.” He’d already snapped off the crossbow head. “And two pads and a bandage when this comes out.”
Tessa stared at him. “You can’t fight like that.”
“I always stay behind when there’s trouble,because I can’t see far enough for a shooting fight. My job is to defend Orchard Close.” Casper took a grip on the crossbow shaft. Patty hadn’t argued, she’d wadded up two lumps of cloth and cut the sleeve off a gangster’s shirt. “Well this time the bastards are inside the walls, so you’re not leaving me behind again.”
“I’ll get some disinfectant.” Sharyn turned towards the kitchen.
“Not now, I’ll sort that out when we’re done.” Casper pulled. “Kerrripes!” He leant back while Patty and Harold bound the cloth on top of his jeans.
“Can you keep up?” Harold pulled him to his feet. He understood how Casper felt, the big man had always hated being left behind on guard.
“Don’t run. If you do, wait now and then.” Casper recoveredhis big machete and a Rambo, filling his pockets with shotgun shells. Harold went into his bedroom, avoiding the bloody mess on the bed to look down the road. He could see firearms flashing and moving figures.
“We’d best go out the back and pick up the girl club. The scroats are everywhere.”
“Here.” Patty gave Harold his belt with his Rambo andpistol, and as he fastened it stuck another two pistols in the back. He checked the clip and that the rest were still on his belt, then picked up his sword and stick. Patty picked up two more pistols and stuck them into the back of her belt, brandishing her recovered sabre and a pistol with a savage grin. “Let’s go.”
“Ready?” Casper nodded so Harold stuck the stick through his belt, drew a pistol, and the three of them headed out into the night.
*
Dawn was breaking as Harold limped up toOrchard Close. He stopped just inside the gates, looking slowly around with a sense of despair. How the hell would they get through this? Bodies, both gangsters and residents, still lay scattered in the street. Those, the bullet holes, the shattered doors and windows and the pools, trails and spatters of blood across the street, paths and walls, told a gruesome story. A story that had ended for too many of those calling Orchard Close their home.
Harold had left an hour before first light because one of the prisoners had talked. Loudly and repeatedly, and Harold would never know what his captors did to scare him. He didn’t care much, or that the man probably died soon afterwards. Behind Harold a score of vehicles blocked the access road, while back where they’d been parked were a score of bodies. There had been no bloody assault and desperate fight. Harold’s party snuck up on the shits and filled them with crossbow bolts, then went in quickly with blades while the wounded survivors were still screaming in shock.
Another Orchard Close survivor, with her arm in a sling, came past Harold and out of the front gate. She kept herpistol pointed at the two wounded Hot Rods carrying a limp figure on a door. They’d dump the Hot Rod body across the road on the potato field with the rest for now. Stretchers, moving slowly and gently, w
ere taking the Orchard Close wounded to be cared for. Only Lenny and Patricia had the skills to deal with serious wounds, and some of these were well beyond their capabilities.
Eventually the stretcher bearers and medics would get round to enemy wounded, but Hot Rods were well down anyone’s list. There wasn’t enough in the way of dressings or antibiotics, or even disinfectant, to waste on the bastards who caused this. A hail from the bypass broke into Harold’s thoughts. The Army wanted to talk, a relief because Harold had half expected a helicopter gunship and napalm to top off the chaos and gunfire in the darkness. He dumped his weapons, walked to the bottom of the road, did the twirl and limped up to the sandbags.
This time a lieutenant waited, one with unit badges showing he belonged to the sergeant and his men, or the other way round. “The only reason I didn’t call in a strike was because the sergeant here kept insisting that you are decent people.” The lieutenant’s arm came up and pointed at the growing heap of bodies in the potato patch. “That doesn’t look civilised.”
“Suppose some bastard came into your house in the night, and stuck a knife in your sister or wife, and you managed to kill him. Would you care about his body while you were trying to stop up the bloody great hole in your sister?” Harold bit off the rest, about the bloody Army being useless if they let this happen. He wasn’t in the mood for lectures.
“Those were inside your home? Your, er, enclave?” The lieutenant looked again and saw more men limping out carrying bodies, injured men escorted by heavily bandaged women pointing weapons. “Those are injured prisoners!”
“Those are the arseholes who injured those women. They’re lucky to be alive. They can work or bleed out because I didn’t ask them to come here.” Harold pointed out over the city. “If you want decency and Geneva Conventions out there, do something about it. An armoured division and you could clean up the lot in a week.”
The lieutenant drew himself up. “We are not allowed to interfere with the civilians. It is their...”
“That’s the only human rights we have down there. The right to kill the bastards when they try to kill us.” Harold managed to stop himself spitting. “You don’t even allow us to do that properly.”
“I was told you were a reasonable person. Not like the other lunatics.” Beyond the officer Harold could see Sarge’s eyes trying hard to say ‘shut up’ without speaking. Eventually the NCO actually mouthed it, silently.
Harold took a deep breath and shut his eyes for long moments. “My apologies for the tone. It has been a long and very hard night, and I have friends still dying down there.”
The officer relaxed very slightly. “Still? I thought the fighting was over?”
“One of our human rights is to have no medical help. I would be truly grateful for an Army medic, just for the women?” Harold knew a bit of pleading crept into his voice.
The officer flinched slightly, then looked down at Orchard Close. “I am truly sorry but no, unless I call for ambulances to take them away?” Harold shook his head, which didn’t seem to surprise the officer.”They attacked the women?”
“Those wounds aren’t self-inflicted.” Harold paused and moderated his tone again. “They came for me, but the women would have been an encouragement. Our women don’t think that they are property so they fought. Use your glasses on the bodies in the street. The ones being laid out properly.”
There was a long pause, then an obscenity. “Those are women. Girls! A child! They’ve been chopped to bits. They’re bloody animals!” The officer whirled to look at the sergeant, who straightened his face. “Couldn’t you have done anything?”
“Not allowed to go outside the zone, sir. When the shooting and screaming started it was all inside the compound, in the dark. We might have been able to help if the attack had been from outside or in daylight?” Sarge looked at Harold, not the officer,and Harold nodded that he understood. The Army simply couldn’t help even if they wanted to.
“I damn well hope you do. If there’s an attack on civilians from outside I mean.” The lieutenant turned back to Harold. “So why did the anima… the intruders attack? I’ve been told this part is peaceful?”
“They found out who I was. The sergeant will explain. They came for an Army scalp.”
“Then I’m damn pleased they didn’t get it. There is still one problem, all the firearms that are apparently down there. You should hand them in.” The officer’s heart wasn’t in that, because his eyes kept going back to the growing line of bodies. There were some very small shapes among the dead, where children had been caught in crossfire,especially in the tents.
“Then what happens when the bastards come again?” Harold paused to calm down again. “Most of it is small bore or old muskets. I’m hardly likely to start shooting at the Army, am I?”
“You really ought to hand any rifles in. How many have you got? You are ex-Army. What sort of rifles are they?” Suspicion had suddenly flared in the lieutenant’s eyes.
“Not Army rifles. If I ever get one, I’ll hand it over.” Eventually, Harold added mentally. “I need at least one good rifle, in case another nutcase thinks it’s funny to start shooting us from long range.”
The officer thought for a moment, and then spoke to the sergeant. “Do you believe that?”
“Yes sir. This man can shoot, and I’d bet on him against any of the lunatics with a rifle. There was a very good rifleman shooting at the women in the fields some time ago, and this man killed him. It’s in the old reports, sir, before your time.” Harold thought that comment might be for him. Beware, newbie officer. “He’s always been straight with us, and those are just ordinary girls down there. We see them up here sometimes. I hope they are all alive and well.”
Harold answered the unspoken question. “The girls in the shopping party didn’t all make it, sergeant, but they went down swinging. They all will if it comes to that.” Thatpart was true even if the girls weren’t shoppers.All the girls bringing chips to the squaddies, the squadettes as they called themselves, were in the Riot Squad as well. Harold moved his attention back to the officer. “If that’s all, I’d like to get back to my people. We need every pair of hands at the moment.”
The lieutenant looked at the skinned knuckles, the plaster on Harold’s cheek, the bandage showing through his slashed and bloody sleeve and the way he favoured one leg. “Yes. I’ve got all I need for the report.” He hesitated. “I am truly sorry about the medic.”
“I understand. No fraternisation.” Harold pointed to the Union Flag over his house. “Even if we fight under the same flag.”
The lieutenant had the grace to look embarrassed. “I suppose you are entitled to. I hope I don’t need to come back, er, Soldier Boy?”
“Harold.”
“Harold. Well goodbye Harold.”
Harold got the hell out before he lost it again becausethat had to be a newbie. The lieutenant couldn’t have been on the perimeter for long if he hadn’t seen injured or dead women. Harold reckoned the lieutenant stayed about an hour, because after an hour and a quarter a squaddie came down the access road. That wasn’t allowed, nor was leaving aconspicuous parcel in the roadjust outside the exclusion zone.
One of the surviving squadettes, Bethany, went to collect it. She blew the soldiers a kiss, the least they deserved for the First Aid supplies and wound dressings. The enclosed note actually apologised, pointingout that the dipstick was new. There were best wishes for the recovery of everyone down there.It wasn’t signed.
By then a succession of people had pushed Harold towards his house. He should go and get cleaned up, see Mercedes, eat, drink and possibly sleep, while those who were fitter and less tired sorted some of this out. Then he could come back out and sort out the rest. One of those pushing, Doll, promised nobody would be going soft on the Hot Rods in the interim. Ever since gunfire had woken Doll up, laid in a guard house and tied hand and foot, she’d been looking for an excuse to kill someone. The rest who’d been given Trev’s sleeping draught, apart from
four, were also wide awake and in a foul humour. Two of the other four would never wake up again, while Gayle had been giving the last two oxygen and hoping for the best.
Sharyn spoke to Harold quickly and quietly as he came in, an update on Mercedes, Casper, the prisoners and the kids. His bed, the carpets and all the bodies had already been taken out, and a three-quarter bed had been brought from the girl’s club for Mercedes. Harold took his food and drink through to his bedroom to sit with her. Mercedes seemed to be sleeping but he held her hand and talked quietly between bites, telling her what had happened. There were things he had to do, and he’drest enoughto get them done, but he promised to rest right here.Harold smiled as Mercedes opened her eyes. She tried to smile back, winced and slowly closed her eyes again.
Even as he smiled, Harold berated himself. He’d gone and done it again,let his guard down and cared for someone, and this time he’d actually thought she’d be safe. Worse, he really had given his heart to Mercedes, completely and utterly. He’d encouraged her and that had killed her. Sharyn had just told him that Lennie daren’t even try to find out where the bits of bullet had gone,let alone dig them out. The paramedic didn’t have the skills, and thought trying would just kill Mercedes quicker. Now Harold would spend as much time as possible with Mercedes, until she died. After that there’d be all the time in the world to sort out the other shit because he’d have no distractions, not ever again.