Fall of the Cities_A Mercedes for Soldier Boy Read online

  A Mercedes for Soldier Boy

  Fall of the Cities – Book IV

  BY

  VANCE HUXLEY

  This is a work of fiction. Any names or characters, businesses or places, events or incidents, are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this eBook may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author.

  © 2018 Vance Huxley

  Published by Entrada Publishing.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Table of Contents

  Shaken and Stirred

  Corned Beef Lunatics

  Cadillac’s New Mercedes

  An Other Woman

  Training and Tweaking

  Unexpected Visitors

  May

  Demon Spawn

  Old Weapons, New Weapons

  June/July

  Expanding Opportunities

  Spring for Liz

  Novelty Heavy Metal

  August/September

  Shopping with Barbie

  October

  Christmas Presents

  Early December

  Digging and Dancing

  New Year

  Blood in the Snow

  February

  Uninvited Guests

  Thirty Pieces of Silver

  Characters

  Dedication

  To my Noeline and to the Joy of my life

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to my editor Sharon Umbaugh,

  for turning my words into a book worth reading.

  My thanks to Rachel at Entrada

  for all her hard work and encouragement.

  Shaken and Stirred

  Four years after the Crash, when the Cabal’s attempt at global domination fell in a maelstrom of violence and starvation, many of the survivors are still struggling to survive. Some countries, mainly in South America, have fallen under Cabal control, but chaos rules in most of the rest. Africa, the Middle East and the Indian sub-continent have been left to devour themselves as centuries of tribal and religious enmity become armed conflicts. In the UK there is a tenuous balance, where the Cabal have control of the government but their surplus population still lives, penned inside the ruins of the major cities. The enclosed populations have devolved into small, fortified city-states, many ruled by brutal dictators.

  At the edges of the second largest city in the UK, a democratic enclave, called Orchard Close, has worked through all the stages from ragged refugees to fortified estate. Their enclave is led by Harold Miller, a military clerk who resigned from the Army to rescue his widowed sister and her kids. Harold, ably abetted by the other residents of a small block of flats, gathered together people with useful skills. The group moved to suitable housing, scavenged and stockpiled essentials, built defences and encouraged everyone to practice with their unfamiliar weapons. As a result, the group of thirty disparate civilians with no military training managed to survive the initial upheaval. After more training and taking in more refugees the determined group survived attacks by rioters, foiling two attempts to orchestrate their destruction and finally persuading the neighbours to leave them alone.

  The surrounding gangs call Harold “Soldier Boy” and believe he is the gang boss, and an SAS sniper. Since very few survivors can shoot at all, even the gangsters, and firearms are in short supply, that makes them very cautious. In reality, the mixed group in Orchard Close have pooled their skills to create a stable community, led by an unofficial committee known as the Coven, who have no ambitions beyond survival. Spreading rumours bring more valuable refugees, such as people with medical and knitting skills. Harold believes there are others among the gangs, tradespeople who hide their skills to avoid semi-slavery.As a result, the neighbouring gangs need dental, plumbing and electrical work, gun repairs or knitted goods, and willtrade ammunition, weapons, scavenged materials, and coupons that can be spent in the Marts. The concentration of skilled workers, and trading their skills and fresh garden produce, turn Orchard Close into a valuable local asset. Fighting off continual small raids also makes the residents dangerous in a minor way, dangerous enough for the neighbours to prefer Soldier Boy as an ally.

  Their leader, Harold, isn’t aware his enclave has caught the eye of the Cabal. He’s only too aware he’s caught the eye of at least one powerful gang boss, the General, who is bent on conquest.To stop that Harold has been negotiating alliances with a gang of heavy metal nutters, a bunch of sleazy ex-shop assistants, a sadistic ex-car thief, and a group of escaped female prisoners notorious for torturing and dismembering trespassing men. The General won’t accept his first defeat; Harold expects another attempt. He is using the reprieve to try and train up his group of no-longer-peaceful citizens, so they can beat off the next horde of maniacs.

  Across the UK, the remaining decent, honest enclaves come under increasing pressure as Cabal agents plot their destruction. Harold and Orchard Close don’t know about them, but potential allies intheir own city are already under attack. Some enclaves will not survive their own version of the Valentine’s Day massacre, while others will be fundamentally changed.

  *

  Dudley Zoo:

  Miles to the west, across a heavily patrolled motorway, but still in the same city as Orchard Close, a small group of armed youths moved up closer to their target. These wannabe gangsters weren’t looking for conquest, just a chance to steal fresh meat and maybe a weapon or woman. Encouraged by alcohol and the information they’d been given by a stranger, a Cabal agent, the disorganised group moved up to the edge of the ruins around their target. “Are you sure the blowpipes are bullshit?”

  Their self-appointed leader sneered. “You heard what that guy told us, it’s all bullshit. Come on, blowpipes with poison darts, Zulus and a hunter with an elephant gun? Whoever came up with that had been smoking some really good shit.” He gestured at the clean, unspoiled patch of woodland ahead, incongruous among the surrounding acres of derelict housing. “The gangs round here buy meat so the big animals are definitely in there.Zebras and deer and some pig things for starters, with only shop assistants to protect them. There’s even charcoal for a barbecue if we cut those trees down.”

  As the gang advanced, a short series of high-pitched calls rang out, getting louder. The men paused until one saw the small creatures with white tufty ears darting through the trees. “Fucking monkeys. Shoot them with crossbows before they wake everyone up.”

  Too late. the clump of woodland came alive as a cloud of birds sporting bright, exotic plumage took flight, calling out in alarm and temporarily drowning out the monkeys. Once the advancing gangsters started shooting, the Marmosets quickly disappeared into the trees, but they had served their purpose. The group of young men moved into the woods, shooting at any sign of movement until one stopped and raised a rifle. “Fucking hell, look at that.” He raised the rifle further and fired above a clump of low trees, then again. “Yeah! Oh shit.” Those nearby looked across but quickly crouched down, because a hypodermic dart with a tuft of bright red on the end jutted from his thigh. The shocked rifleman turned to look at them before crumpling.

  “Fuck, no!” Another stared down at the dart in his arm. He staggered a few steps before going down. A loud boom echoed. Something picked one of the men off his feet and hurled him backwards as blood spattered over the trees and bushes.

  “Poison darts, oh fuck they’re real!” A gangster turned to go but fell, clutching his leg. The rest
froze for a moment, staring at the head of the thrown spear that had sliced his thigh wide open. They’d all seen the distinctive shape of a Zulu assegai on TV, before the Crash. Another crumpled with a hypodermic in his arm.

  *

  “Zulus! It’s all true! Run, run, that fucking hunter is here as well. They’ll kill us all!” The youths scattered and ran, but not before others went down under a hail of arrows, spears and crossbow bolts. A few of the wounded screamed or shouted for help, until spears flew from the undergrowth to silence them. As another youth crumpled with a dart in his back, his friend hesitated until a bullet from that big firearm smashed him into a tree. More youths dropped their weapons, staggering as arrows struck. Friends helped a few of them back towards the familiar safety of the ruins, but more shafts, darts and spears finished off the rest. Silent figures, decorated with greenery and wearing feathers in their hair, pursued the surviving youths through the undergrowth. Their spears and machetes ruthlessly killed any wounded. The slowest invader crumpled just before he left the trees, another of those small darts buried in his thigh.

  A young woman wearing a green smock over her jeans and blouse, camouflaged with leafy twigs, rose from behind a rhododendron bush. She gestured with an ancient crossbow, her eyes full of unshed tears. “They’ve gone, Teddy, but they killed Gwendoline.”

  The man she spoke to, wearing a tiger-skin cloak with the paws crossed on his chest and the tiger’s head as a hat, sighed. “It had to happen eventually, Imogen. She was just too tall.” He lifted a thin tube with a small compressed air can attached. “I think I hit one at the edge of the trees. We’d best get his weapons first, before any of those yobs recover enough to try and retrieve them.”

  “But Gwendoline? I helped when she was born.” The first sob broke through.

  Teddy turned as Imogen dropped her crossbow to wrap her arms around him. He let the tube fall to swing on its sling, and held her tight while she cried. “I’m sorry Imogen, I really am.” He stroked her back and then hugged her again.”Keep clear and the rest will see to the skinning and jointing. I’ll let the canteen know you won’t want any of Gwendoline. They’ll make you something else.”

  “I don’t want to see her, but I don’t mind once she’s in the stew. That’s better than selling her for the rotten sods out there to eat.” She looked up, her eyes red and puffy from crying. “Can I have a piece of skin, you know, something distinctive for memory?”

  “As much as you want. Would you like a cape? Though you won’t want her head on it.” Teddy sighed, gesturing at the tiger skin he wore. “I only left Sangha’s head on because Inga swore it would look better. I’m not so sure but the rest of his skin keeps the wind out.”

  Imogen reached up to stroke the tiger’s head. “Sangha’s head scares those horrible people out there, him and that dart gun.” She hugged a bit tighter. “Sangha might have saved us right back at the beginning, when Stephanie let him out. Those people with guns were terrified, so they all shot at him and the smaller cats instead of us. He gave us time to get the dart guns and the shock sticks.” A hint of a smile crossed her face. “Then you and the other staff charged out, waving those spears and throwing the stock from the gift shop.”

  “We couldn’t have kept him alive anyway, or any of the larger carnivores.We can’t spare enough meat. Are you feeling better now, maybe up to helping me strip the ones I hit?” Teddy looked a bit guilty. “It still doesn’t seem right, shooting them with animal tranquillisers when I know it will kill them.”

  “But you do it because they have guns and would kill us all, or worse. I don’t know what we would have done without you, and Inga, and Takato and Stephanie. Takato and that elephant gun frighten them every bit as much as your hat.” Imogen kissed him and his arms tightened as he kissed back, briefly.

  Teddy pulled his head back, suddenly very worried. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate.”

  Imogen giggled, then smiled through her tears. “Nobody cares any more about a manager kissing an under-keeper. I thought you fancied me but daren’t push.” She cuddled in and sighed. “Now I know, so you may as well give in.”

  “Really? Oh.” A smile started, but before Teddy could say more a woman’s voice cut in.

  “Come on you two, let’s strip the bodies. This lot weren’t a real gang, just a bunch of yobs so we’ve only got a few wounded. Setting the Marmosets free was a brilliant idea, they make terrific perimeter alarms.” The woman stopped talking, breaking into laughter instead. “About time you two stopped dancing round each other.” Four more people, three carrying pseudo-Zulu assegais and shields and the fourth wielding a bow and a machete, came past the pair and headed into the trees. The fifth, wearing a multitude of exotic feathers in her brightly coloured dreadlocks, paused and looked back before following. “The last giraffe is dead, Teddy. One of the rotten sods shot Gwendoline, even though they’d never have got near enough to take the meat. We just haven’t enough people to keep the bastards out of the woods.”

  “I know, Inga.” Teddy looked down at the woman in his arms. “Imogen would like a piece of Gwendoline’s hide to make a souvenir, a cape or skirt. She helped at the birth.” Teddy and Imogen moved apart, a little self-consciously, then followed the rest through the woods to the north of the partially depopulated zoo.

  “Do you think that policeman who came to see us was the real thing, Teddy? He had a police machine gun and uniform.” Inga sounded hopeful, but a real policeman surviving the last three years seemed unlikely. “He could have taken them from a body?”

  Teddy paused to think. “He had the right manner, if you know what I mean. We have to find a gang we trust enough to ask for help, otherwise the neighbours will eventually join forces and run over us to get at the animals. At least with this Precinct Nineteen, we can go through the canal tunnel to make contact, or a few of us will.”

  “I thought the film was Precinct Thirteen?”

  “It was, Imogen. He reckons they got it wrong to start with, and now it’s stuck.” Teddy hugged her. “That actually helps me to trust them in a daft way.”

  “I’m willing to take a chance to get that machine gun in these trees, waiting for the next bunch of yobs.” Inga stopped, looking down. “Here’s one of yours, Teddy.” They bent to strip the body, careful to remove the dart without damaging it. Behind, as the flag above the ruined castle unfurled in a gust of wind, the strengthening daylight clearly showed the black on white depiction of a tiger’s face.

  *

  Sutton Park:

  More alliances were being considered eight miles to the northeast of Dudley Zoo, still in the same city but across a motorway patrolled by armoured vehicles. The residents of Sutton Park, many of them ex-wildlife wardens or Park workers, already had a loose confederation. That had been enough to keep any of the surrounding gangs from more than occasionally rustling a few animals or fish from the extensive grasslands, woods and lakes. Like Dudley Zoo, the Park residents bred animals and fish. Since the Marts didn’t sell fresh meat, protein that wasn’t rabbit, rat or cat made Sutton Park a prime target for the surrounding gangs.

  Now those gangs had realised an alliance might work for them as well. Three days after the successful defence of Dudley Zoo, the heavily armed representatives of eleven small gangs gathered to discuss the conquest of Sutton Park. While these gangs were less violent than some of those near Orchard Close, none of them were either democratic or peaceful. Today they’d declared a truce and met at a neutral location to deal with a common enemy.

  A gang boss known as Odin, an imposing figure wearing a long red cloak and a gold painted safety helmet, stood at the head of a big old dining table in a partially burned-out hotel. He smacked the table with a long-shafted lump hammer. “Stop arguing and shut the fuck up, you stupid bastards. If you don’t want to join in, fuck off, but if you leave now you keep clear of the fucking park afterwards, right?”

  “Elsewhat,Odin? Who died and made you God? Just because you call yourselves Vikings and use
Viking God names means naught.” The speaker, a burly black youth with close-cropped hair, glowered. He wore an old-style skinhead ‘uniform’ of rolled up jeans, Doc Marten boots, and a donkey jacket. “You’re a jumped up shoplifter same as the rest of us.”

  “I’ve got twice as many men as you, Shiner, and if I’ve got four brain cells that’s twice as many as you as well. I’m not fucking God. I’d just rather eat those cows and horses and fish than fight any of you lot for them.”

  “Yeah, go shine your boots and we’ll eat your share.” Several other voices agreed with the latest speaker, a young Asian woman with the hilt of a samurai-style sword jutting up behind her shoulder.

  “As long as you ain’t tryin’ ter take over.” Shiner sat again.

  “No, but there’s eleven gangs here and if we work together we all get to eat better. Right now,each of our gangs attacks on their own, but the residents combine, which costs us men and ammo. If my gang manage to snatch something, one of you twats jumps in to nick whatever we get. That means we’re all losing men to each other, and getting fuck all for it.” He raised a hand to several objections from an all-female gang and several women fighters. “Sorry Hangaku, Angel, we lose men or women. That bunch of gardeners and eco-nerds in the Park are laughing at us while they scoff their fish and chips or steaks. If all eleven of us combine, draw up a plan of the park and divide it now, we can go in mob-handed and take the lot.”

  “Including all the people. We want the ones who raise the animals and fish, who know what we can eat and can breed more. Otherwise we all get fish and steak for a week and then it’s back to raiding each other and eating Mart shit. There’ll be enough to go round if we’re careful, so we want a proper treaty, peace between all of us.” The fortyish man looked out of place because of his age and his suit. His followers of both sexes, a gang based in a partly burned-out college, were also dressed smartly, and many were well past their teens. Despite that, the plethora of well-made and well-used weapons all of them wore guaranteed that nobody underestimated the Hard School. If any of them had been genuine teachers at some time, it must have been at one of the rougher inner-city schools.