by Vance Huxley
“A posh way of saying gang boss. Can you agree things and make them stick?” Benny shook hands, nodding towards the well-armed young man and woman stood to one side. “When I was that age, I didn’t like old fogeys slinging orders about.”
“Prof doesn’t sling orders about.” The young woman looked the gang boss up and down. “We pay attention because Prof is smarter than most of us put together. He whupped your gang, and all the rest that tried it on.”
Benny visibly relaxed, just a little. “Good. I was told it wasn’t him, but nobody here is disputing what you said. That’s what I want to talk about, things I’ve been told. In comfort?”
“My study is this way. These two youngsters will stay with us.” The Prof’s smile had a bit of steel in it. “They don’t totally trust you.”
“That’s the usual way we do it. We don’t usually have a meetings with you, boss to boss, so you won’t know.” Benny smiled properly and bowed slightly. “After you.”
*
Once everyone had found a seat and had a drink, Benny didn’t waste any time. “You’ve had more attacks lately. A lot of gangs broke their agreements.” He looked around at the bookshelves. “Do you know why?”
“Food, and our young people, and because some people just like violence.” Prof nodded towards his bodyguards. “Our young people are more experienced now, so none of the attacks succeeded.”
“And because someone in here has set up a very good system of defence.” Benny hunched forward, intent now, and began to explain why there’d been so many attacks. Word had spread through the nearby gangs that the old duffers in here relied on their books. The catapults, the fire bombs that couldn’t be put out, the medicines, treatments for wounds, the amount of food grown, every benefit came out of the books. According to the rumours, capturing those books would give any gang all that knowledge. Winning would be easy. There wasn’t any real organisation, because the kids didn’t rate the old duffers.
Benny had fallen for it as well, until he caught one of his men releasing a pigeon with a message tube on its leg. The message had been in code, and the man had killed himself, but he’d had another four pigeons. Since the same man had been the one who had been telling Benny about the rumours, the gang boss had reassessed.He’d never been convinced by the rumours claiming that the enclave was run by old duffers and kids muddling along, Benny had lost too many men for that to be true. Now he’d just confirmed that Prof was the real boss, and wanted the truth about the books.
Prof explained, the books had a lot of knowledge, but he had genuineUniversity tutors and students to make the most of what they learned. The midwife, for instance, had actually been a Biology tutor. It took a while, because Prof didn’t trust Benny’s sudden change of heart, but eventually he had to take the approach at face value. Finding out he’d been suckered had really pissed off the gangster, now he wanted to stick it to whoever had set Benny’s Boys up. Unfortunately, despite wanting to make as many deals as possible, Bennyhad to refuse one request.
“I’ve got a confession. I can’t give you access to the Marts. We closed the roads to stop you finding out, because we don’t want others knowing we have to pay for Mart runs ourselves.” Benny scowled, but not at anyone in the room. “The Lycans have blocked all the roads except one, with bloody great heaps of rubble. The only way through has big steel-faced gates and a shit-load of fighters. We pay up if we want to go shopping. It’s cheaper than paying two other gangs or fighting through two other territories.”
“That’s a pity, because that’s the main thing we want. We have to pay at least two gangs, and the prices are getting higher every time.” Prof sat for a moment, deep in thought, missing the nasty grin on Benny’s face.
“But you could open the gate with those catapult things. Then we’ll tell the shits, either let us through or we’ll bust them again.” Benny must have seen the rejection on Prof’s face because he pushed on quickly. “We’ll give you free access across our territory. You’ll still pay the Lycans, but not too much or it’s cheaper to knock the gates down again.”
That was a huge incentive, but Prof wasn’t sold yet. “No fighters. I’m not using up our young people like that.”
“Okay, as long as you break the gates and set fire to the wall either side.” Benny sounded downright gleeful. “Don’t worry about fighters. My boys have been taking shit every time they pay up, so they’ll enjoy sticking it to the fuckers for a change.”
“Language.”
Benny looked at Prof, startled, realised, and glanced at the teenage guards. “Er, sorry? I never even thought about it.” A terse nod from a young woman acknowledged the apology. “Right, back to gate breaking?” This time Prof nodded, and Benny began to describe exactly what they’d be facing.
Prof still wasn’t completely sold, he wanted time to think about the idea. He didn’t want to ally with gangsters, but Benny had offered a very tempting prize. Benny left without an agreement, but with a promise that he’d get an answer within days.
*
A week later,Benny stood with Prof on a rooftop. Behind them, in a large car park, were two huge, angular metal constructions. Both were surrounded by Prof’s fighters, but only a quarter were armed with the usual gangster machete and pistol. The solid block of black, armoured Kendo fighters intimidated most who came near them, butsome of the gangsters made jokes about the light troops dressed in gaily painted body suits. Not directly to their faces, the locals had all found out the hard way how bloody quick those kids moved, and how accurate they were with their javelins and pre-Crash bows.
Benny had a huge grin on his face as he watched his men swarm through the shattered gates and spread out beyond, hacking down any surviving guards. To either side of the opening the walls had big lumps gouged out of them, with fierce fires still burning on the bare brick. “I don’t know what shit you put in those things, but I’m glad I’m not trying to put the fuck… damn things out.” He pointed beyond the fighting, now almost over. “A car full of fighters just arrived but we’ve already taken the wall. They’llreport back to their boss, then we’ll get a parley.” He tried to act nonchalant. “My blokes actually did the fighting, so we get most of the loot, right?”
“Not a chance. Our trebuchets probably killed more men than your guns and machetes. I’ll settle for fifty-fifty, including ammunition, as agreed. It would be a pity if we got into an argument just now.” The Prof didn’t even turn his head to argue.
Benny reassessed, again. He kept being fooled by the old geezer’s appearance. Now he glanced back at the car park where the throwers were ready to fire, loaded with the bright red containers that set bricks alight. A few volleys of those and the Prof could probably help himself, because half of Benny’s men were out there around those gates, sitting ducks. “Done. Fifty-fifty.” He shook his head, bemused, looking out at the fires and bodies. Who would have guessed what a nasty murderous bastard hid behind that frail-looking, gown-wearing exterior?
* *
Reivers:
Far to the north, in Scotland, the group of ragged men and women with beautifully maintained weapons weren’t bemused, they were between grief and rage. The Reivers knew they were facing killers, but hadn’t realised just how cold-blooded they were. “We’ve been careful, Bruce. I’ve no idea how they tracked us to the cave.” The speaker, his clothing stained with blood and soot, looked exhausted. “We’ve got to the back but everyone in the cave is dead, and some died badly. We had the bairns and women well away from the entrance but it didn’t help. It looks like a hurricane went through there, a burning one.”
“Thermobaric bombs. They were used against caves in Afghanistan.” Bruce looked up at the clear sky. “The weather isn’t helping us at all.” He thought hard, turning to the group with him. “Any ideas?”
A woman with a long scar down her cheek and a haunted look in her eyes glanced up as well. “They’ve got an eye in the sky, a long way up? Probably at night because that’s when we move about. If the c
ameras record all the hot spots moving about, and put them through analysis or even run them fast, a pattern may show up. I read that in a book once, about a future war but it might work in real life. It might just be enough to show which are sheep and which are us.” She shook her head sadly. “We’ll have to do something, Bruce. We can’t lose more bairns.”
“That might also explain why a couple of raids went wrong.Our people must have been spotted moving into position overnight. I’d thought it was because we’d only half-trained all those volunteers and they’d made a mistake.” Bruce frowned, working at the problem. “We can’t stop drones. We’ll have tae give ground, slowly, and make sure any raids move randomly. Individuals can spread over a large area, or maybe get among small flocks of sheep. They can backtrack and take an extra day or two tae get into position.”
The exhausted rescuer shook his head. “That won’t stop attacks on the refuges and stores. We can’t keep everyone underground all summer.” Most of the group shook their heads at that.
“It’ll cost us a lot of ammunition and sugar for rockets, but we can stop any low runs tae lob bombs into the caves.” Angus looked leaner, more tired, but also more savage and intent. “We can slow up air attacks on our front line troops as well, if we take down a few aircraft and helicopters. They will assume we’ve protected any non-combatants the same. We will if we’ve got enough sugar.”
Bruce scowled. “That willnae stop a bomb launched from high up, a standoff weapon.”
Another man spoke up. “No, but thermobaric relies on the explosion happening in the right place. If the fuel cloud or missile is ignited too soon, too far from the target, it won’t have the same effect. We’ll have to capture a military vehicle, or maybe just a fishing boat that has some sort of radar. Just passive, but enough to see a plane coming and launch something to set the bomb off early.” He looked around them all. “I’ve no idea how we’d actually do that.”
Angus’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve a thought or two, and we’ve some smart lads and lassies out there.”
Bruce hunkered down, bringing out a map covered in scrawled lines and symbols. “We should send yon foreign troops a message as well, to persuade them to leave our families be. For now, we keep everyone indoors for a month, except if there’s heavy cloud and preferably rain.” He glanced up at the clear blue sky. “Never thought I’d hope for a wet summer.”
* *
The Cabal:
The Cabal were jubilant. Two nests of rebels cleaned out, a dozen raids had been mauled, and more new troops from the continent were settling in. The refugee pilots had already punished the Reivers, because the rebels had no answer attacks from the air. The sheep and deer made identification difficult, but the analysis of overnight videos had finally borne fruit. It had taken time because there were too many miles of mountains to cover them all, and most of the drones had to be deployed near the borders in defence.
Despite more raids for food and even more liberated volunteers, the Reivers were giving ground. Scores of Reiver volunteers were being killed during attacks, which didn’t always save the convoys and guard posts. Joshua thought there had to be a trade-off point. The more volunteers the rebels freed from work camps, the more food they needed so the more chances to kill some. He hoped the new troops would be enough to find the break point, to stop the rebels feeding all their new troops.
Maurice kept training snipers, and trying to extinguish relatively democratic enclaves. A few of the latter were tenacious, actually growing stronger so he encouraged the worst gangs to grow larger. Here and there, even the nutters began to wonder where the convenient information came from, but as long as they kept winning most didn’t look too closely.
* *
Cyn Palace, London:
The jihad idea had worked another two times, then once more but dressed up as a Christian crusade. By the time the surrounding gangs realised there wasn’t a real religious uprising, the four strongest had all lost a lot of fighters. One by one the local gang leaders were invited to the library and given a choice. Peace and trade, a truce, or they could raid again. If any of them raided, the counter-attack would wipe the gang out. Facing five combined gangs, none of whom had lost many fighters, none of the neighbours chose war.
Some gangs went further than trading. The Gatts, originally based in Gatwick Airport but driven out by a stronger gang, were between the cleaver and the block. Squeezed from three sides and with most of their leaders dead, the remainder came to Cyn Palace with their own proposal. They would disband, giving up their territory in exchange for membership of whichever gang their members preferred.
A trickle of new arrivals arrived from further away, lured by stories of fields and security, but they caused their own problems. “We haven’t enough room.” Eli ignored the looks from Sinner, Sin, Imam and Preacher, concentrating on Kermit because he looked the most worried. “The ones who are arriving now aren’t fighters. They’ll eat all our food, and we’ll spend our time protecting them and repairing housing.”
“He’s right.” Kermit turned to the others. “Taking the Gatts in was a mistake, because hardly any of them stayed in their own territory. Now we’ve got to protect more ground and it barely feeds the fighters.”
“Because the Gatts were useless at farming.” Preacher pointed in the direction of the school playing fields, now full of crops. “We are using our methods on their cleared areas to get a better return.”
“It still won’t feed them, or barely, and they’ll still need protecting.” Eli glared at the little smile Sin wore. “Go on, spit it out. What do you know that I don’t?”
“Nothing.” Sin spread out a map. “But you keep on about refugees. Sod that, we want recruits. Tell them there’s a price for living here.” She swept her hand over the area given up by the Gatts. “We’ve put guards in there anyway, so we may as well farm it properly. The price for their safe home is that every refugee has to clear a section of ruins. They can dig up the foundations or roads, turn the whole area into a fieldso we can plant on it.”
“Bloody hell Sin, that’s a hell of a job.” Kermit leant over the map. “I suppose they could start where it’salready overgrown gardens, or garages that have fallen down. Even so, eventually there’ll be too many coming.”
“No, because there are other enclaves out there who will attract some of them.” Imam moved to look at the map. “Weshould insist that a certain number of the refugees—” He turned to Sin with a smile. “Sorry, recruits, join the fighters. Then if we run out of room we’ll have enough troops to take a bit more.”
Sin did her best to smile innocently. “Maybe here?”
Preacher leant closer, suddenly intent, then chuckled. “That would take us almost to Gatwick Airport. Have you got designs on all that open land?”
Eli squeezed past Imam and Kermit to look, suddenly a lot more interested. “Nobody claims the airport, just bits around the edges because it’s too big to defend. Still, a strip along this edge, properly farmed?” He looked around them all with a wry smile. “All right, you got me. We’ll do what Sin said, but the new arrivals had better give up some fighters.” He looked at the rest again, alarmed now. “Who gets the extras?”
As the group settled into working on the details, Imam and Preacher exchanged knowing looks. If the new arrivals fought in the current mixed groups from the start, they’d never truly belong to any one gang.
Expanding Opportunities
While the Reivers plotted their response and other gangs dealt with their problems or made their own plans for the future,Orchard Close settled down after the sniper attack.Asthe weather warmed up, more residents joined the football teams. The GOFS and Barbies pushed hard for a chance to play, and now a few residents were interested in letting them. Harold said he’d think about it, privately wondering if that might soften up the GOFS before he met their leaders.
Meanwhile,he hadother problems clamouring forhis attention. Harold still wasn’t sure how he could arrange repairing Barbie Radi
o, even if Trev could work out how to. He’d suggested bringing the whole thing to Orchard Close, but it was too big. Nowthe blondes were pushing. While Harold considered ways and means, Trev madetwo more trips to the Mansion because Caddi wanted the multimedia system in his study fixed. Harold needed parts for that, as well as Barbie Radio, and hoped to get a better deal for bulk.
Before getting too embroiled in radios, Harold had to make his copy musket. Caddi seemed to think the primitive firearms were some sort of super weapon, andkept harping on about getting the original back for Big Mack. Harold thought Caddi’s miserly soul would cringe at the amount of powder it ate. It had shocked Harold when he’d unloaded the thing,because it used one of those scoops full for one shot.
Liz copied all the metal parts, allegedly just for spares, which Harold made up into mechanisms. Stephan carved four stocks and forearms, also for spares in case one came in split. The result looked good enough but Harold wanted barrels because, looking at the sets of spare parts, he didn’t want to be restricted towhat he could scavenge from ruined weapons. He also wanted to buy all the useable tube in one purchase, but didn’t have enough machetes to trade until Liz produced the improved versions. Going back several times for a few more lengths of tube would make the Geeks curious.
When Mack brought Trev back from his third multimedia inspection, Harold had to admit he’d repaired the musket. Mack took the weapon with him, chortling and telling Cooper what he would be blowing holes in. Trev confirmed that the multimedia could be fixed, but thought it might take a couple more trips. He’d certainly got over his worries about Caddi kidnapping him.