by Mick Farren
It seemed to Elly-May that she was gradually joining the tribe and it was about time she did something about it.
Returning from loading a box onto the supply wagon, she met Anna struggling with a large bundle. Looking round to see that they were unobserved, they both stopped. Anna put down her bundle.
‘You okay, kid? Las’ night was kind a rough.’
‘Yeah, I’m okay. I’ve knowed rougher nights onna strip.’
‘Sure, but we useda get paid for ’em.’
‘Lissen, wha’ you think the chances are of givin’ this place th’ slip? Mebbe headin’ north an’ settin’ up in business again? We could make f’ one o’ the iron towns.’
Anna thought for a moment.
‘Wouldn’ be easy unless we could nick some clothes. An’ we’d havta watch out for tha’ bitch Lucille, she’d blow th’ whistle on us f’ sure.’
‘Might be easier once the men have moved out.’
‘Mebbe. We better get movin’, tha’ ol’ biddy in th’ apron’s watchin’ us.’
Anna picked up her bundle and hurried off. Elly-May went back to the pile of provisions, still thinking through. plans of escape.
As she came back from loading another bundle, a commotion behind her made her stop and turn. A crowd of tribeswomen were laughing and jeering, and in the middle of them two men held a struggling girl. Elly-May walked over for a better look. The girl was naked except for long white leather boots and a wide white belt. Two of the women were haggling over a red velvet cape that they had obviously just stripped from her. Torn between horror and sadistic amusement Elly-May watched as the two outlaws walked away and the women fell on the girl, beating and kicking her and fighting over her scanty but expensive garments.
Another of Iggy’s castoffs was going through the nasty ritual.
* * *
Iggy fought to control his nervous crystal excitement as the army—his army—made ready to march. It was the fulfilment of his greatest ambition. He would lead the biggest army that the south had ever seen to the very walls of Festival.
Winston rode back and forth marshalling the men into compact groups, yelling for the troop leading to get their men into line. After some semblance of order had been achieved Iggy rode deliberately slowly to the head of the column. He shouted across to Winston.
‘Okay kid, move ’em out.’
Winston turned in his saddle.
‘Move out!’
The cry was echoed down the line.
‘Move out!’
‘Move out!’
Iggy clapped spurs to his horse and started down the highway; then like an enormous beast coming alive the outlaw army started out on its march to Festival.
* * *
Luther studied the backs of the two retainers as he plodded along the highway. After the rain of the previous day the sun had at first been welcome but by mid-afternoon the heat that beat upon his neck and was reflected from the road had become a tiresome nuisance.
The combination of sweat and his filthy clothes made him itch and his feet felt sore and blistered in boots made for riding rather than marching. To add to his discomfort the other two had not spoken to him since they had left the farmhouse, apparently blaming him for the escape of Valentine and the loss of the horse.
He found the simplest course was to put his brain in low gear and plod on mechanically, staring straight ahead. Problems like calculating the length of time it would take to reach Festival just added to his burden.
For a time he lagged a good thirty paces behind the other two; then he saw them stop and climb down the banking beside the highway to drink from a small stream. They sat down and rummaged in their food bags. Luther climbed down too, but sat a little way off from the others. He munched on the bread and ham which he had brought from the farmhouse, occasionally drinking from the stream. A distant rumble made him look up but he was unable to see the highway from where he sat. The rumble came again and he climbed back up the bank to take a better look.
Shading his eyes against the afternoon sun, he looked back and gasped.
‘Hey, hey yous guys. Take a look at this.’
The retainers looked up, resentful that Luther had broken the silence. He was standing on the highway above them pointing and shouting agitatedly.
‘For fug’s sake, c’mon an’ look.’
Grudgingly they stuffed their uneaten food back into their bags and clambered up the bank to join him.
Almost on the horizon, like a dark smudge, a large body of men was coming towards them. The rumbling was almost continuous and beginning to distinguish itself as the sound of horses and marching men.
For a while they stood transfixed watching the smudge on the horizon grow larger and more solid. Then one of the retainers snapped into life.
‘It’s the fuggin’ outlaws; we gotta get outta here.’
Luther turned round, looking for some kind of cover in the bare landscape. Further down the stream he spotted a clump of bushes and stunted trees.
‘Them bushes, we can hide up there.’
The men scrambled down the slope, crashed through the stream and, after running along the opposite bank, flopped panting into the cover of the bushes.
For what seemed like an eternity the three of them lay listening to their heartbeats. The sound of the outlaw column grew louder and louder; then the first of them came into sight.
First came ranks of lean men on tall horses with repeating rifles and carbines; behind them rode a mass of stocky.‘tribesmen on short-legged ponies. They were followed by lines of bowmen marching to the rhythm of a guttural call and response singing. Then came a massive steam engine, its iron wheels rumbling on the road surface and its enormous pistons rattling and clanking. In its wake marched a mob of foot soldiers armed with shotguns, axes or long pikes, and then even more horsemen, obviously freelancers by their varied styles and weapons. Finally a line of creaking supply wagons pulled by teams of mules brought up the rear.
The noise of the army faded into the distance. The three men from Festival crawled from the bushes where they had been hiding.
‘Sweet prophet, didja see that!’
‘Musta been more’n a thousand!’
‘She-it!’
‘I reckon tha’s gotta be th’ end o’ Festival.’
White-faced, the three stared at each other.
‘Reckon there’s no use goin’ back to Festival.’
‘It’ll be outlaw by this time tomorrow. They don’ stand a chance.’
‘I got a woman back in Festival!’
‘Reckon you best f’get her. She’ll be strapped to a rail with her legs spread b’ time we get there.’
‘Or worse.’
‘Wha’ the fug do we do?’
For a moment they all fell silent. Finally Luther spoke.
‘Reckon I’ll work me way north, mebbe hire on with an Iron Lord.’
He picked up his pack and the other two silently followed.
* * *
Elly-May and Anna lay huddled together on the earth floor pretending to sleep and listened to the breathing of the other captive women. When they felt that all were asleep, they tentatively sat up. The rhythm of breathing didn’t alter and, one at a time, they crawled to the tent flap. Elly-May opened it a fraction and peered out. She leaned over and breathed in Anna’s ear:
‘It looks like there’s nobody about.’
Silently they slid through the flap.
Outside the remains of the evening fires made pinpoints of light and deep shadows. Some distance away one fire blazed brightly and the handful of men left to guard the town huddled round it. Elly-May and Anna carefully skirted the group of outlaws and picked their way towards the big tree at the edge of the highway where, while they were loading the wagons, they had hidden bundles containing food and clothes.
They were at the edge of the town and the tree was in sight when Elly-May felt Anna clutch at her arm.
‘Whassamatta?’
Anna hissed h
er into silence and drew her down into the shadow of a tent. Silently Anna pointed and Elly-May saw two outlaws, obviously guards making their rounds, about to cross the space between them and the highway.
Scarcely daring to breathe, the two women crouched in the darkness, waiting for the guards to pass. They strolled closer and closer, and Elly-May was positive that they would hear her heart beating.
Not more than three paces from where the women lay, the two outlaws halted. There was a spark, a small flame and then a red glow as one of them lit a pipe. Elly-May could clearly hear every word of their conversation.
‘Bad luck to draw camp guard while Festival falls.’
‘Worse’n bad luck.’
‘Aye. All tha’ lootin’ an’ the women.’
The one with the pipe spat and passed it to his companion. Elly-May could see the pipe bowl glow bright as he inhaled. Then to her relief they started to walk on.
As soon as the outlaws were out of sight, the two women scrambled from their hiding place and dashed, barefoot, across the highway. After some fumbling in the dark they located their hidden bundles and quickly pulled on the leather tunics and sandals that they had stolen. Then, slinging the bags of food over their shoulders, they started down the highway, away from Afghan Promise, away from Festival and away from Iggy and his outlaw horde.
* * *
Winston looked around at the gathering dust and spurred his horse to catch up with Iggy at the head of the column.
‘We gonna stop for the night? It’s gonna be hard to see soonly.’
Iggy looked round at him as though Winston’s voice had startled him out of deep, private thoughts.
‘Wha’?’
‘I said are we gonna pull up f’ the night, it’s gonna be dark soon.’
Iggy thought for a moment.
‘Nah, march all night, that way we make Festival by mornin’.’
‘We better make some kind a stop for eats.’
‘Yeah, send out a coupla boys to scout out a place to stop. We’ll take maybe two hours to rest, then move again. Okay?’
Winston looked dubious.
‘Don’tcha think it’s a mistake marchin’ after dark?’
‘We’ll issue torches; nobody’s gonna get lost.’
‘I didn’ mean that, I was jus’ thinkin’ ’bout how we gonna arrive at Festival wi’ the men like dog tired.’
Iggy grinned at his second-in-command.
‘Lissen buddy. When th’ boys have fed, break out th’ crystal. Then when they get to Festival they’ll be crazy.’
XX
‘They’re comin’,’
‘They’re comin’.’
Joe Starkweather hurried to the ladder that led up the side of the Highway Gate watchtower and climbed it awkwardly. At the top Solly, one of the survivors of Valentine’s attack on Afghan Promise, was peering agitatedly through a battered telescope.
‘There’s one helluva lotta them, Joe. Gotta be more’n even the scouts tol’ us about on the road.’
‘How many?’
‘I dunno, looks like more’n a thousand t’ me.’
‘Let’s have a look.’
Starkweather raised the telescope to his eye.
‘Shit! You ain’t kiddin’; there’s maybe twelve hundred of them.’
He looked round grimly.
‘It ain’t gonna be easy. I’m goin’ down to get the word out to the local commanders.’
* * *
A commotion in the courtyard attracted Valentine’s attention and he moved to the window of the small palace room in which Starkweather’s rebels had locked him.
Starkweather was standing in the middle of the palace yard surrounded by more of his gang. Obviously something was happening. Horsemen hurriedly came and went; the gates continuously opened and shut to let them in and out.
Valentine walked to the door and kicked it noisily.
‘Guard! Guard! What’s goin’ on? Guard!’
After some moments the door opened and one of Starkweather’s men stepped inside.
‘Wha’re you yellin’ about?’
‘What’s goin’ on out there?’
The guard thought for a moment.
‘I s’pose there’s no harm in you knowin’. The outlaws are outside the city.’
* * *
Iggy raised his hand and the outlaw army slowly came to a halt. He glanced round for Winston who manoeuvred his horse up next to Iggy.
‘There seems to be some kind a barricade ’cross the highway.’
‘Yeah, get th’ puller moved up an’ tell the horsemen from Oltha’s tribe to form a line across th’ road. Okay?’
‘Ri’.’
Winston rode off to carry out Iggy’s instructions. A while later there was a rumble as the huge traction engine rolled to the front of the column. Banana climbed down from the cab and hurried to where Iggy sat on his horse.
‘Wha’s gonna happen, boss?’
Iggy dismounted and led his horse to the side of the road as the cavalry that was once Oltha’s hurried their stocky ponies to the front.
Iggy watched as they formed themselves into a long line across the width of the highway; then he turned to Banana.
‘I’m gonna put half a dozen boys wi’ rapid-fires up wi’ you. You’ll need the shields aroun’ the cab. I wan’ you to go in at full speed an’ lose that barricade. The tribesmen’ll follow you in. Okay?’
‘Sho’ chief; you wan’ me to stay put or come back?’
‘I wan’ that barricade lost, then get back here quickly. Winston’ll give you all th’ details.’
* * *
Mac the Smith jumped down from the barricade.
‘Here they come! They’re usin’ tha’ fuggin’ engine!’
He ran to his position on the line as the rest of the defenders scrambled for their weapons. There was some sporadic shooting and Mac swung round yelling.
‘Okay, okay, don’t fire; you gotta wait till they’re in range. An’ don’t waste ammunition on that puller unless you can hit th’ driver.’
The line of outlaw horsemen thundered nearer with the traction engine running out in front. Mac fought off the temptation to shoot wildly at it. He was sure that it would reach the barricade and probably smash through it. He crawled to the group of men next to him.
‘Lissen, as soon as tha’ puller hits try an’ get up into the cab. It’s our only chance of stoppin’ it.’
‘Okay Mac, we’re wi’ you.’
* * *
Banana crouched in the cab of the puller and manipulated the steering rods. Behind him were six of the boys tensely clutching their rapid-fires. The odd bullet clanged against the steel shielding mounted around the cab but for the most part the defenders seemed to be directing their fire at the horsemen.
‘Better hol’ onto somethin’; we gonna hit any minute.’
* * *
The engine hit the barricade with a splintering crash of shattered timber. It slowed but did not stop. The wagon that was the main part of that section was knocked out of the way while the smaller things, such as furniture and crates, were crushed under the machine’s iron wheels.
Mac and his small group raced towards the puller as it cleared the barricade and began to turn in a wide curve. Desperately he looked for a clear shot at the driver but the entire cab was shrouded in steel shielding. A few paces in front of the others Mac broke into a sprint; his fingers clutched for the ladder that ran up to the cab. He managed to grip the ladder with one hand and for a dozen paces he was dragged, running, across the highway. At last he was able to find a foothold on the ladder and slowly began to climb the swaying monster. Then the shielding above his head crashed open and there was a burst of machine-gun fire from the cab.
* * *
Banana laughed as Stan and Li’l Henry opened fire through the opening in the shields round the cab. A small group of Festival men were running towards the puller. All but one who clung to the cab ladder were cut down in the first burst. Stan lean
ed over the side of the cab and looked down at the man on the ladder, a working man with cropped head and muscular arms, who stared up at them as though transfixed. Stan fired a short burst and the man fell back onto the highway, his arms and legs flapping as he rolled.
Banana slowed down the puller and swung back another section of shielding. They were now behind the barricade and running parallel to it. He could see the first of the tribesmen swarming across it, grappling hand to hand with Festival men.
All six of the outlaws went to work on the defenders while Banana held the machine steady. It was yet another variation on Iggy’s favourite crossfire trick: the men of Festival had no chance with the howling tribesmen on one side and the hail of bullets from the puller on the other. Banana noted that some of the tribesmen were hit by their fire but their companions seemed too crazed on crystal to notice or care.
Very soon the last defender had fallen. Banana swung the machine round and began picking up speed. Tribesmen leaped from their path as the puller butted a second hole in the barricade. Then they were rolling back down the highway to where Iggy waited.
* * *
Nasty Elaine and a handful of Northsiders stood their ground as the crowds of fleeing people rushed past. A hundred paces away, beside the highway, shacks and tents were burning. A couple of times, through the crowd, she had caught sight of outlaw horsemen on small shaggy ponies harassing the refugees running from their burning homes, but she had been unable to get a clear shot at them. Shotgun blasts had driven back a skirmishing party of outlaws on foot and it seemed that they were waiting for a larger force to move up before attempting to crush the last resistance of the Northside. They probably didn’t realise, she thought bitterly, just how token that resistance would be. They had counted on being able to hold the outlaws, at least for a while, at the barricade and most of the weapons and ammunition had been sent there.